Chapter 2
The following day, the Erlauf army officer showed up again at the chateau’s market stall shortly after Cinderella and Vitore finished unpacking the day’s produce.
“Mademoiselle,” the officer said, a mocking pitch colored his tone as he spoke the Trieux title.
Cinderella brushed her bangs from her eyes. “How can I help you, sir?”
The officer tilted his head as he studied Cinderella the way a fox studies a chicken. He glanced back at Vitore—who bustled behind Cinderella.
Vitore busied herself with arranging eggs in a basket, but Cinderella did not miss the way the maid/produce-seller quivered in fear.
“Sir,” Cinderella repeated.
“Another basket of carrots, if you would be so kind,” the officer said, his smirk cutting into his black eyepatch.
“Yes, sir,” Cinderella said, pouring a basket of carrots in a sack.
“The price is still ten copper coins?”
“Yes, sir,” Cinderella said. She handed the vegetables over after the officer placed a stack of coins on the rough, wooden counter.
“Until tomorrow, Mademoiselle,” the officer said, tipping the brim of his hat before turning to his soldiers.
Cinderella said nothing and watched him go.
“He’s a rake, that one is,” Vitore muttered.
“I wish he would buy his carrots someplace else,” Cinderella said, pinching a copper coin between her fingers. “But coin is coin, even if it comes from Erlauf.”
Cinderella was churning butter when Gilbert found her. It had been almost a week since the Erlauf officer became a consistent customer. Neither he, nor his soldiers, ever said much, but the officer’s gaze seemed to linger on Cinderella during the transaction.
“Vitore is right. He is a rogue. I’ll have to be careful with him,” Cinderella muttered as she thumped the churn, working out her aggression in the buttery milk.
“Mademoiselle?” Gilbert called. The land steward’s voice was muffled as he wandered through the section of the barn where the cows slept.
“In back, Gilbert.”
Gilbert followed Cinderella’s voice to her spot outside where she thumped the butter in the shade of an ancient tree.
“Mademoiselle, the newest tax regulations have been posted. Pierre was in the capital to collect Vitore’s empty baskets and copied them down. Would you like to look at them?”
Cinderella wiped sweat from her face with her apron. “Yes, please,” she said. “Would you tell Pierre he has my thanks?”
“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert said, passing a curl of birch bark to Cinderella. (Paper was expensive, after all.)
Cinderella was relieved to see the biggest tax increase was the one already imposed on carriages. It wouldn’t affect Aveyron. Cinderella had gotten rid of the carriage collection months ago, and the carriage horses were now used to pull loads of lumber and carts of produce.
The tax on income had decreased slightly, but there was an increase in landholding tax. She couldn’t be certain (as mathematics and finances were not her strong point), but Cinderella suspected there would be little change to Aveyron’s taxes. Perhaps a slight increase, but nothing unbearable.
“I need to ask Pierre,” Cinderella murmured.
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle?” Gilbert said.
“Sorry,” Cinderella said, looking up from the birch bark. She had forgotten the steward was there. “If they can be spared, could you send a stable boy or kitchen girl to Lord and Lady Delattre to see if there will be a meeting? I imagine the other Trieux noble families will have something to say about this.”
“Right away, Mademoiselle.”
“Thank you, Gilbert,” Cinderella said, handing the land steward the birch bark before wiping her hands off on her rough dress. A callous on her hand snagged on the material.
“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert said.
Cinderella returned to the butter churn. “Aveyron doesn’t have any carriages left, but the other remaining noble families of Trieux do. Erlauf certainly knows how to kick us where it hurts.”
With all the riding horses sold and the carriage and work horses resting from a long day of work, Cinderella’s only available method of transportation was to walk to the Delattre estate. Thankfully, the Delattre estate was only a half-hour walk away, as it bordered Aveyron.
When Cinderella entered the magnificent manor, a maid took her cloak and showed her to one of the salons.
“Cinderella, darling. It is so good to see you,” Lady Delattre said, rising from the settee to embrace Cinderella.
Lady Delattre was an older woman with dove-gray hair and beautiful manners, as exemplified in the way she noted Cinderella’s shortened hair and plain day dress that was little better than a servant’s uniform, but said nothing. “Please, sit. We have a few moments to share between the two of us. How are you?”
“Well enough, thank you. How are you, Lady Delattre?”
“I am quite well, now that winter has left. The cold weather makes my old bones ache,” Lady Delattre said as she poured Cinderella a steaming cup of tea. “How is your step-mother?”
“I have not seen much of her,” Cinderella reported. “Nor of my step-sisters. They mostly keep to their rooms, and when they venture out, it is to visit friends from Erlauf,” Cinderella said, holding her tea for extra warmth.
Lady Delattre sniffed. “It’s a crime against goodness, what that woman does. I do not understand how she can live off you like a parasite. To think she refuses to help you pay the taxes you incur through Aveyron—the estate of the man she married.”
“She married Papa only because the Queen Freja ordered her to, and she does pay for her and her daughters’ living expenses,” Cinderella said.
“No woman should allow a child to take on the burdens you have, darling,” Lady Delattre said.
“I am seventeen,” Cinderella said.
Lady Delattre’s sharp features softened. “You are too kind to her, Cinderella.”
“Hardly—,” Cinderella started. She cut herself off when Lord Delattre—a rail-thin man who always wore solemn expressions—entered the salon with Lord and Lady Rosseux and their eldest son, Julien Rosseux.
“I am telling you, Delattre, they will see the end of us yet,” Lord Rosseux said, his face flushed. “They might not have killed and exiled us like they did to all other Trieux families of nobility, but that is only so they could slowly wring our wealth from us like a rag.”
“Lord Rosseux, there are ladies present,” Lady Delattre said.
“I beg your pardon,” Lord Rosseux said, throwing himself into an arm chair.
“Are the Girards, Feautres, and Leroys not coming tonight?” Lady Rosseux, as soft-spoken as her husband was loud, asked as she seated herself on a settee with her son.
“It was too far for the Girards to come at such short notice; the Feautres are indisposed, and the Leroys decided it was best not to come,” Lord Delattre said.
“You mean Erlauf’s dogs still watch us for any sign of rebellion,” Lord Rosseux said, covering his eyes. “A meeting of the only six remaining noble families of Trieux would be marked with suspicion, but a meeting between an eligible lady, her chaperon neighbors, and a family with a marriageable son would raise less interest.”
Julian, a handsome blonde who was a few months older than Cinderella, cleared his throat and blushed.
He and Cinderella looked in opposite directions and did not acknowledge Lord Rosseux’s observation.
“Lord Rosseux, I beg you to rein in your words. You have allowed your emotions to run freely,” Lady Delattre said.
“Of course I have. We’ll be forced to lay off more servants to make the tax.”
Cinderella took a sip of her tea—it was weak. Lady Delattre had probably used the leaves two or three times already. It was a handy way to save on what was becoming an expensive import.
“We will sell one of our carriages to minimize the effect of the tax,” Lord Delattre said.
“Some Erlauf scum will buy it,” Lord Rosseux grunted.
“What will you do, Lady Lacreux?” Julian asked. With his quiet temperament, he took after his mother more than his father.
Cinderella put her tea cup down. “It won’t affect Aveyron. I sold all our carriages sometime ago.”
“You persist in retaining all your servants?” Lady Delattre asked.
“Yes,” Cinderella said.
In a country that used to brim with lavishly dressed lords and ladies, only six families remained. The rest had been slaughtered in the takeover or exiled. The remaining nobles were left to face an enormous tax burden. Most of the families, like Rosseuxes, made the taxes by lowering the wages of their servants or dismissing them. Cinderella was an extreme opposite. She sold everything she could and kept all of Aveyron’s staff on. The Delattres held the medium ground, dismissing some of their servants and selling some of their possessions.
The taxes were harder on some families. The Delattres owned the least land and the smallest taxable income. Cinderella, on the other hand, possessed the largest estate and the highest title—Duchess. The taxes imposed on Aveyron were the highest in the country.
“Did you hear the Erlauf Queen gave the Lefebvre Estate to an Erlauf army officer?” Lord Delattre said.
“I did. Lefebvre must be rolling in his grave,” Lord Rosseux said. “The queen is taking her time in handing out the estates. They’ve been in royal possession for two, almost three years.”
“I imagine they’re trying to decide which of their army officers to plant where. Their country places the highest importance on military service. Even nobles are required to serve,” Lord Delattre said.
“Working, pah,” Lord Rosseux said.
“Aren’t most of the officers titled nobles?” Julien said.
“It is my understanding that officers are esteemed as highly as members of nobility—perhaps higher in social standing, if not economic. Most of the officers, I believe, are sons of noblemen,” Lord Delattre said.
“Giving out Trieux estates is a brilliant way to reward them, then. If officers are second or third sons, they won’t inherit a title or lands,” Julien said.
“Brilliant of the Erlauf Queen and her consort, yes,” Lord Delattre said. “But it saddens me to see my countrymen’s’ lands going to…,” he glanced at Lady Delattre and Cinderella and trailed off.
Cinderella smoothed her plain dress on her legs, and was surprised when Lady Delattre took her hand. “You look tired, darling,” the older woman whispered.
“I might be a little, but my work is not without its rewards,” Cinderella said.
“You will not let even a single servant go?”
“No.”
“You are just as stubborn as your father,” Lady Delattre said, shaking her head. “It is very noble of you, but what will you do when you marry? Julien and Marcus cannot afford Aveyron.”
Cinderella kept her face a smooth mask. When Cinderella’s father was alive, no one had dared to push the topic of Cinderella’s marriage. Now that he had been gone for over two years, Cinderella’s marriage seemed to be the only thing noblewomen could think of.
It wasn’t like the groom was going to be a surprise. Cinderella had two choices: Julien Rosseux or Marcus Girard—who was several years younger than her.
It was expected she would marry, and with taxes as high as they were, she would be forced to marry without a dowry. Her husband would take her to preserve Trieux nobility, not to inherit Aveyron, as had once been the reason for her popularity. When she married, it was likely that Aveyron and everything in it would have to be sold, for no one would want an estate of such monstrous size to care for in addition to their own.
Cinderella wished there was another way, but she couldn’t see it.
“Cinderella?”
Cinderella gave Lady Delattre her best smile. “I apologize; my thoughts clouded my mind for a moment. I do not know what I will do,” she said.
Lady Delattre sighed. “If only my Rodolf hadn’t died in the war,” she said, referring to her deceased son. He never would have been a candidate for Cinderella’s hand before—the Delattres weren’t of high enough standing to be joined to Cinderella’s family in the lavish times before the Erlauf invasion.
“I am sorry, Lady Delattre,” Cinderella said, resting her fingertips on the older woman’s hand.
Lady Delattre took a shuddering breath and bravely nodded.
When Cinderella removed her attention from her saddened hostess, she met Julien’s gaze.
The shy young man blushed and looked away.
Cinderella folded her hands together and returned her attention to Lord Delattre and Lord Rosseux’s conversation. She wouldn’t give up on Aveyron until she had exhausted all other options.
Julien and Marcus were nice enough, but Cinderella’s priority was Aveyron.
“You seem distracted today, Mademoiselle.”
Cinderella tore her gaze from the squad of patrolling soldiers. “I beg your pardon,” she said, setting the officer’s usual bag of carrots on the counter.
“There is nothing to pardon,” he said, coins clinking in his hand. “It was merely an observation.”
Cinderella said nothing and held her hand out for the coins as the officer did not seem inclined to place them on the counter as usual.
The officer held Cinderella’s gaze, his mouth slanting in a smirk as he brushed his fingertips against her palm, touching her hand longer than necessary.
Cinderella jerked her hand back. “Thank you for your business,” she said, her tone as stiff as the set of her shoulders.
Three soldiers stood with the officer instead of his usual pack. One of them laughed at Cinderella’s reaction and nudged the officer.
The officer still smirked. “What is your name, Mademoiselle?”
Cinderella, in the process of sliding the coins in the money box, almost dropped the coins. “What?”
“Your name.”
Cinderella puffed up like an anxious cat. Behind her Vitore squealed and dropped a basket of winter potatoes. She could lie, but the farce wouldn’t last long. Hair as red as hers was rare, and everyone knew the produce stand belonged to Aveyron.
“Mademoiselle?” the officer said, his smile growing more crooked.
“Cinderella. My name is Cinderella,” she finally said.
The officer tipped the brim of his hat. “Until tomorrow, Cinderella.”
He left with his cronies, exiting the market the same way he entered.
“Mademoiselle,” Vitore said, hovering at Cinderella’s shoulder.
“I know,” Cinderella said, her heart icing over as the officer disappeared from view.
With his exit, market business resumed. The cobbler went back to mending a busted shoe; a baker once again shouted his list of baked goods, and even the meat chickens five stalls up started clucking again.
The tap of the cobbler’s hammer on the bottom of the shoe barely resumed before a mousy-looking woman scurried across the market. “Lady Lacreux, whatever will you do?” the mousy woman wailed.
“About what?” Cinderella said, checking on the potatoes Vitore had dropped.
“About the officer. You’ve caught his eye, mark my words. He’s going to try and seduce you,” the woman said, wringing her hands.
“The Erlauf devil,” added the milkmaid in the stall next door.
“He can try all he wants. I will ignore him,” Cinderella said, placing the potato basket on the counter.
The mousy woman tisked. “But he’s with the Army.”
“I fail to see what that has to do with my refusal.”
“The queen has a soft spot for her army lads,” the tanner’s wife said, joining the mousy woman. “She may let him yank you before her with the complaint that you have scorned him.”
“Just so,” the mousy woman emphatically nodded.
“Mademoiselle,” Vitore said, hunching with distress.
“It will be fine, Vitore,” Cinderella said before turning to her growing audience. “All the man does is buy carrots from me. He has given me no reason to think he sees more to the exchange than obtaining vegetables.”
“Oh, but he asked for your name.”
“And you cannot miss the way he eyes you—like you was a wee rabbit and he a fox.”
“You best watch your step with him, Lady Lacreux,” the potter across the way called as he wrapped a clay pot for a customer. “No telling what he might try.”
“He makes it plain he comes here for you,” the sharp-mouthed milkmaid said, feeding her goats some hay. “He enters the market and heads for you, as if you’re the only person here.”
“Aye,” said a woman selling candles. “The rest of us is plain as dirt. You, Lady Lacreux, you’re why ‘e comes ‘ere.”
The public reckoning warmed Cinderella. Most of the after effects of the war with Erlauf were negative, but not all things were bad. Previously no commoner would have spoken to Cinderella. The change probably had something to do with seeing her work side-by-side with her servants, but their concern softened Cinderella even if their worries were aggravating.
“I will be careful,” Cinderella said to the expectant crowd.
“Good,” the mousy woman said. “We want none of their kind messing with our nobles!”
“Couldn’t you stay away a few days?” the ropemaker, a friend of the milkmaid, asked.
“What a grand idea,” Vitore said.
“No,” Cinderella said, wiping her hands on her apron. “He hasn’t done anything yet to make me worried.”
“He brushed your hand as if he was caressing your cheek,” Vitore muttered.
“If he makes any further insinuations, I will avoid the market,” Cinderella said.
The mousy-looking woman planted her hands on her hips. “If you’ll excuse me for speaking so, Lady Lacreux, if that foreign devil looked at one of my daughters the way he looks at you with that eye of his, I would pack her up and send her to her aunt in the country before the day was over.”
“Perhaps,” Cinderella said.
“But?” the tanner’s wife asked.
“But I do have the protection of Aveyron, and my title. They don’t mean as much as they used to, but it should be enough. Furthermore, I have made many allowances, but I will not let Erlauf keep me from conducting business,” Cinderella said, sticking her chin out. She paid her taxes and upheld the law like a good conquered noble, but she would not let this feckless officer affect her any further!
The commoners exchanged glances. “Pride of nobility,” the milkmaid offered.
“Foolish thing,” the ropemaker said, shaking his head.
“I thank you for your concern. Should the situation grow dire, I will not hesitate to take action,” Cinderella said.
“Nobles, think they’re above the worldly desires of others,” the tanner’s wife said, shaking her head in disgust.
Cinderella had to choke back the laughter. There was truth to their words—Cinderella would have to be stupid to miss the wolfish way the officer looked at her. But they were forgetting—those from Erlauf hated the citizens of Trieux just as much as the citizens of Trieux hated them. Why would the officer want anything to do with a high-ranking noble whose heritage, country, and inheritance was something he hated?
It was dusk when Cinderella started home. The market stall had been packed up earlier in the afternoon, but Cinderella had stayed behind in Werra for…reasons. Not that it mattered—she failed in the goal she meant to accomplish.
The walk from Werra improved her flagging spirits. The dirt roads were peppered with people taking their goods home and walking with their pack animals and flocks. The countryside was painted hues of orange and crimson from the setting sun, and the birds still sang.
It was beautiful, and it required no work on Cinderella’s part to enjoy it. She treasured the quiet moments when she didn’t have to worry about her future or taxes.
A farmer on a cart pulled by two mules doffed his cap to her as he passed by, his wagon laden with bags of grain.
Cinderella elbowed her cloak out of the way and waved.
“At times like this it seems like nothing has changed,” Cinderella said, tossing her head to get the fringe of her bangs out of her eyes. She watched wild geese and swans fly overhead, returning to the north as winter fled the onslaught of spring.
The beauty of the moment was shattered by raised voices.
Further up the road, a small caravan of four wagons was stopped. One cart was filled with cages of ducks and chickens, another had produce, the third was packed tight with goods—blankets, pots, and the like—and the final wagon held a handful of commoners. Cinderella recognized the drivers and the passengers as sellers and craftsmen from the market.
A squad of Erlauf soldiers had stopped them. Some of the soldiers were rattling the poultry cages, and several others were going through the wagon of goods.
A soldier tore open a sack from the produce wagon, inspected it, and tossed it back into the wagon, untied.
The commoners protested.
“Please have some respect,” the driver of the produce wagon said as he reached to tie the sack shut.
“We’ve only come from the market. Whatever you’re looking for, we don’t have it,” an older man—the potter—said.
A baby cried,. Its mother bounced it up and down to try and cheer it.
“Silence,” the lieutenant—the leader of the soldiers—said.
Cinderella caught up to the farmer with the wagon and mules. He pulled his team to a halt a short distance away from the stopped caravan and watched the interchange with stormy eyes.
The two soldiers going through the goods abandoned the cart for the produce wagon.
“Anything of interest?” they asked the soldier who opened sacks and tossed them back in the wagon.
“Nope,” the soldier said, helping himself to a handful of peas from the wagon. He bit a pea pod in half and tossed the rest on the road to be stomped into the ground.
The driver of the produce cart—the farmer—scowled deeper as he watched the soldiers ransack his cart. The baby cried louder in spite of the mother’s best attempts to shush it.
A boy—perhaps thirteen-years-old or so—climbed off the passenger wagon so he could restore order to the wagon of goods.
One of the soldiers noticed and returned to that wagon. “We didn’t say we were finished, boy.”
The boy ignored him and tucked a clay jar beneath several blankets.
“I said we aren’t finished,” the soldier said, grabbing the boy by the collar of his shirt. He pulled him away from the wagon and pushed him, sending the boy sprawling to the ground.
Two Trieux men sitting in the passenger wagon stood, and the driver of the produce cart leaped from his seat.
Things were going to get ugly.
“That’s enough,” Cinderella said, hurrying forward to step between the soldier and the boy. “What is going on?”
“It’s none of your concern,” the soldier sneered.
“Lady,” Cinderella said.
“What?”
“It is Lady Lacreux to you, soldier,” Cinderella said, using every bit of her manners schooling to stand tall and elegant in a way that demanded respect. “And it is my concern as we stand on lands belonging to the Duchy of Aveyron.”
The soldier hunched his neck into his shoulders. “What?” he repeated.
“These lands are my lands. So would you be so good as to explain what you are doing on my estate?” Cinderella said, folding her arms across her chest as she tipped her head back and looked down her nose at the soldier.
“Um,” the soldier said.
“I beg your pardon, Your Ladyship,” the lieutenant, mounted on the only horse, said. He urged the beast a few steps forward so he could address Cinderella without shouting over the wailing baby. “We received information of several armed ruffians traveling through these parts. For the safety of all, we are performing random checks.”
“Of course,” Cinderella said, magnanimously bowing her head. “When one is searching for ruffians and the like, it is always the wisest course of action to shake down farmers returning home from the capital.”
The lieutenant’s saddle creaked as he leaned. “Perhaps I allowed my men to be too enthusiastic in their duties.”
“Perhaps,” Cinderella said. “You have conducted your search. Are they not free to go?” Cinderella said, gesturing liquidly with her right hand. (Since the takeover, Cinderella had been bitter about investing so many years in dancing and fan-work, as fun as it was, and finding herself stupid in the ways of running an estate. But perhaps there were some uses for learned elegance.)
As if testing Cinderella, a soldier rattled a chicken cage, making the bird squawk.
“If you are so worried they are secretly ruffians, please allow me to vouch for their character,” Cinderella said.
“They are your serfs?” the lieutenant asked.
“No, but they all have stands in the market near Aveyron’s stall. I know them quite well. As a member of nobility, I despise all forms of thievery and bullying. I can promise you none of the people before you are the kind to delight in such behavior,” Cinderella said, taking care to highlight her noble accent, making her words crisp and clear.
The lieutenant dipped his head to her. “Very well, Your Ladyship,” he said before wheeling his mount around to face his men. “Back into formation. We return to Werra.”
The soldiers left the wagons and formed two lines. They marched back towards the capital, leaving ruffled commoners and peasants in their wake.
“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” the produce wagon driver said.
“Of course. Are you all alright?” Cinderella asked, extending a hand to the fallen boy.
He scrambled up without any help and bowed three times to Cinderella, almost falling again when he tripped on his bare feet. “Yes, Mademoiselle. Thank you, Mademoiselle.
“Blessings over you, Mademoiselle,” the mother of the howling baby said.
Cinderella smiled. “Thank you, take care,” she said before continuing ahead, splitting off on a small road that ducked between some of Aveyron’s plowed fields. It was a farming path, but it would cut minutes off the walk.
“Mind you watch out for that Erlauf officer, Mademoiselle,” the potter said.
Cinderella raised her hand to acknowledge the comment and kept walking home.