Chapter 3
When the Erlauf officer strolled up to the market stand, Cinderella pretended not to notice him. Her back was to him as she sorted through a basket of onions, but she knew he was there because the market went quiet in the way it did only when he was around.
It was earlier than usual. Some of the market vendors hadn’t arrived yet. Vitore was gone with the milkmaid stand-neighbor, fetching water for the day. The maid’s absence made Cinderella uneasy.
She was reassured when the baker started humming—sounding much closer than the location of his stand warranted—and the ropemaker nonchalantly sidled up to the milkmaid’s goats and started petting them.
“I heard you ran into some trouble yesterday, Cinderella,” the officer said.
Cinderella stopped sorting and reluctantly turned to face the high-ranking soldier. Based on the quirk of his lips he knew very well she was Lady Lacreux, the Duchess of Aveyron. “Trouble?” Cinderella said, widening her eyes. “I have no idea to what you are referring.”
“I was told you came upon some soldiers as they were in the process of conducting random searches,” the officer said, tugging on his black eye patch. He was alone this time, although he still wore his army uniform.
“Oh, yes,” Cinderella said. “That is true, but I have no recollection of there being any trouble.” Normally she would ornament such a statement with her brightest smile, but she did not want to encourage this officer in any way.
The officer studied Cinderella, his face blank and emotionless for the first time since he started coming to the market.
His scrutiny was unnerving, so Cinderella busied herself with the carrots. “The usual?” she asked.
“No.”
Shocked, Cinderella looked back to the officer. “I beg your pardon?”
“Today I have a different offer in mind,” the officer said. “But first, my mother would tell me introductions must be made. Cinderella-who-has-no-curiosity, allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Friedrich of First Regiment of the Dragon Army.”
Cinderella almost dropped the carrots. She immediately fixing her reaction, casually brushing her fringe of bangs out of her eyes. “Colonel?” she said, as if enquiring after the weather.
“Quite so,” the-no-longer-nameless-officer said.
Oh dear. I should have listened to everyone, Cinderella thought. Although she was able to keep herself schooled, the baker came down with a coughing fit and the ropemaker froze—he didn’t even notice when one of the milkmaid’s goats started nibbling his shirt.
A colonel was one of the highest offices an Erlauf soldier could achieve. A colonel ran a regiment of over 600 soldiers and served directly under a general. There were only a handful of them in existence, and the rank was a great honor.
As a conquered noble, it was safe to say Colonel Friedrich’s rank was considered higher than Cinderella’s—even though Cinderella had more assets and a higher monetary worth. Such was the value Erlauf placed on the Army.
What this meant was Cinderella could not safely disregard the Colonel. If he was so inclined, he could make her life a misery. In the span of a few heartbeats, the Erlauf officer had gone from an irritation to a danger Cinderella could not flee.
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Colonel Friedrich,” Cinderella said.
“I’m sure,” the Colonel dryly said.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Cinderella asked.
“I would like to spend the day with you.”
Cinderella twisted her fingers together. “I am afraid I must respectfully decline, sir.”
“Oh?” the Colonel said, his voice weighted with his displeasure.
“Yes, I have…prior engagements,” Cinderella said.
“Then tomorrow?” the Colonel said, tapping his fingers on the rough wood of a beam that supported Aveyron’s stand.
Cinderella almost winced. He was going to be persistent, was he? Perhaps it was better to bore him into giving up. “I may be able to accompany you today if…”
“If?”
“If my time was properly compensated,” Cinderella said.
The Colonel went very still. His eye was neither friendly nor amused as he studied Cinderella. She could almost feel the power and danger radiating from him as he asked, “You want to be a paid woman then?”
As a proper lady, Cinderella didn’t know exactly what kind of work the colonel referred to, but she knew it was a kind of work no lady would do. Cinderella’s anger burst past the walls of decorum. “WHAT?” she shrieked, stepping back from the Colonel.
“You were the one who said it,” the Colonel said, his stance once again relaxed and liquid.
“I said compensated. I work in Werra in the afternoon, and I cannot afford to miss the pay! I meant as long as you expected me to trail behind you, I had better get a pay equal to my job—or I will never be able to accompany you,” Cinderella said, the words rushing from her mouth before she was aware she thought them. When she realized what she said, she almost clamped her hands to her mouth, but settled for stiffly awaiting the Colonel’s anger.
To Cinderella’s surprise, the man seemed amused. “You work? Why?” he said, his familiar smirk flashing on his lips.
“Why not? Have you something to say about working for a living?” Cinderella said, pointedly staring at the medals pinned to the Colonel’s uniform.
“No, nothing at all,” the Colonel said, chuckling with a maddening confidence. “I would be happy to pay you for your missed wages. I shall return in an hour then to pick you up.”
“Are you so sure you can cover my pay?” Cinderella asked.
“I assume it isn’t more than a handful or two of copper coins?”
“A day’s work is one silver coin,” Cinderella said, giving herself an outrageous raise.
The one-eyed Colonel shrugged. “Hardly more than spare change. In one hour, then,” he said before setting off.
Cinderella angrily gawked at his back as he left the market. A silver coin was spare change? “Filthy-rich dandy,” Cinderella scoffed, angrily stuffing carrots back into the basket.
“Mademoiselle?” the ropemaker ventured.
“What?” Cinderella hissed.
It rankled her that an army officer could treat such a sum like it was nothing when Cinderella—a duchess—clambered for every copper coin she could get.
The ropemaker winced. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” Cinderella said, calming as the officer slinked out of sight. “Just…irritated.”
The ropemaker hesitated. “Are you going to be alright?”
The anger left Cinderella like a cloud on a windy day. “I think so,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “He doesn’t seem…terrible.”
“None of them do, until they reveal their true colors, Mademoiselle,” the ropemaker said.
“I know,” Cinderella said. “But he’s a Colonel. I dare not offend him; the risk isn’t worth it. I can only try to bore him in hopes that he will move on.”
“Here lie the remains of the Sanct Pavilion, which saw the signing of the Griford Agreement. The Griford Agreement, as you may recall, was the third piece of the Glitter Accords, the articles that gave jurisdiction over magical matters to the Veneno Conclave,” Cinderella said, indicating to a pile of rock and rubble. “Trieux, Erlauf, Kozlovka, and Loire were the first countries to agree to the Glitter Accords.”
“Hey,” the Colonel said.
Cinderella ignored him and pointed the white flap of cloth she fixed on the end of a thin, whip-like willow branch to a beautiful but abandoned stone building. “Next door is the historic Lutenau. Most recently, it was used as the capital offices for Trieux nobles when conducting governmental business. It was built over two hundred years ago, however, as a summer home for an Erlauf lord who was madly in love with a Trieux princess.”
“Cinderella,” the Colonel said.
“The Lord, Lord Worgl, built it as close to the Trieux Royal Palace as he could,” Cinderella said, spearing her makeshift flag in the direction of the palace. The prism-like points of the palace towers could be seen from just about anywhere in Werra, but they were especially close now. “He desired to be close to his lady love, although the princess scorned him. One day when he approached her in the public gardens, the princess’s dog bit him. The bite grew infected, and Lord Worgl was rushed home to his manor in Erlauf. He nearly died from the bite, and he lost a finger in the process. It was not all in vain, for he fell in love with and married the woman who nursed him back to health, earning him the nick-name One-Less-Worgl—the man who is credited with inventing the Erlauf tricorner hat, which can be adjusted without a thumb.”
“Do you plan on doing this the whole time?” the Colonel said, his head lolling to the side.
“I beg your pardon?”
The Colonel indicated to Cinderella’s flag. “The history lesson. You cannot possibly mean to take me on a guided tour all afternoon.”
Cinderella batted her eyes. “I only want you to get your money’s worth, sir.”
“So this is your part-time job? Historic tours?”
“Historic Tours of locations from Erlauf Lore, yes,” Cinderella said.
“So if I pay you another silver coin, can we stop the tour, discard the chaperon, and go eat?” Friedrich said, turning to stare at the Aveyron housemaid that trailed approximately five feet behind him.
Oh yes. I really hate him for being rich, Cinderella thought as the housemaid sniffed and fanned herself with a paper fan.
Cinderella kept her expression pleasant as she spoke. “Forgive me, sir, but it would be improper for us to be without a chaperone, and I could not stand to see you overpay me so.”
It was amazing how intensely the Colonel could stare with one eye. “I see,” he said, the two words dripped with sarcasm. (He must have known she overcharged him a great deal for the “tour,” and that her maid was no proper chaperone, but was there to ensure he did nothing…untoward. Even if it was a little late, Cinderella would try to mind the wisdom of her fellow market stall sellers.) “Is there any way I can convince you this history lesson is unnecessary?”
“None whatsoever,” Cinderella said, her voice sunny and bright. “If you look to your left, you will see the Reflective Pool of Serenity. It is empty now, but previously it held a family of gold-scaled fish. Those fish, or their ancestors more correctly, were gifts from the Erlauf King Cristoph II.”
The Colonel didn’t try to mask his impatient sigh, but he trailed behind Cinderella with remarkable perseverance. After the first hour, Cinderella thought she would have shaken him off, but the persistent Erlauf officer stayed with Cinderella until her voice died just before sunset.
“And that was why pointed shoes went out of fashion,” Cinderella said, her voice rough like sandpaper. She gave the Aveyron maid a grateful smile when the woman offered her a water skin.
The Colonel squinted at the red horizon. “Are you done now?” he asked as Cinderella drank her fill.
“Yes, I think so,” Cinderella said, handing the water skin back to the maid.
“You sound like a camel.”
“I would not know what a camel sounds like, sir,” Cinderella said, resting a hand on her throat. Never before had she given such an ungodly long tour. She almost bored herself to tears. How did the Colonel endure it?
“Excellent. Shall we stop at an inn or pub to get you a drink?” the Colonel said.
“I must respectfully decline, sir, for I am expected at home,” Cinderella said, her voice giving out several times.
The Aveyron maid nodded in approval.
“Of course,” the Colonel said, as sweet as sour dough.
“I hope you enjoyed the tour. Have a good night, sir,” Cinderella said, curtseying. She—and the maid—turned away from the Colonel when the officer called out after her.
“Tomorrow, then?”
Cinderella stopped and turned to face him. She struggled several times to speak before she could make her tired voice say, “I beg your pardon?”
“I will pay you another silver coin for your afternoon, if you are willing,” the Colonel said.
Cinderella frowned. “You want to do this again?”
“I was hoping you would be willing to forgo the history lesson.”
Cinderella opened her mouth to reply, but the Colonel beat her to the punch. “No, I shall spare your camel-voice and answer for you: you will insist on another sightseeing tour with the chaperone?”
“If you wish to spend the afternoon together,” Cinderella said.
The soldier sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow, then. I will find you at the market,” the Colonel said, bending the brim of his hat to Cinderella before he made his exit and walked towards a group of Erlauf soldiers who were congregating beneath an arch a short distance away.
“Erlauf. Nothing but trouble,” the Aveyron maid said before she made her way to the market where Vitore and a cart were waiting.
Cinderella watched the Colonel go and felt for the silver coin in her pocket. Tonight she would have Pierre test its authenticity. There was little she could do to dissuade the Erlauf Colonel. Her best chance was to continue stringing him along on tours and hope he grew bored with it, and with her.
“Cinderella!”
Cinderella grimaced as a pig wiped its snout on her dress. After the Erlauf Colonel bought her afternoons for a full week, Cinderella suspected Marie would pay her a visit. Cinderella had hoped it would be at a time when she was not filthy and muddy.
So much for hoping.
“Cinderella, you cannot hide from me! Jeanne said you were out here,” Marie said, sounding just as imperial as she used to back when she wasn’t a merchant’s wife but a duke’s daughter.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Cinderella shouted, skidding in the muck and mud the pigs created by dumping their water trough. She almost fell flat, but steadied herself by grabbing a great, black pig.
The animal ignored her and nosed through food scraps.
Cinderella edged her way out of the mud hole. She popped over the wooden fence just as Marie—in a clean, crisp dress—rounded the corner of the dairy barn.
“Oh, Cinderella,” Marie sighed.
“The pig boy is helping out in the high pastures today. Someone had to feed the pigs,” Cinderella said, trying not to shudder as she looked at her dress. The thighs up had remained clean, but lower, the pigs had nosed and brushed against Cinderella’s legs, making the hemline of her dress filthy and her legs coated in mud.
“Yes, but did you have to crawl into the pen to feed them?” Marie said.
“I will know better next time,” Cinderella grimly said.
“You shouldn’t have to know at all!”
“Marie,” Cinderella said.
“I know, I know. I would hug you, but I will decline to touch you. You smell like refuse.”
“I understand. What brings you to Aveyron?”
“I heard about the officer,” Marie said.
“Ah,” Cinderella said, starting for the dairy barn. “Who told you?”
“The whole capital talks of it. One of the maids mentioned when the Erlauf officer started stopping by your stand every morning. That was forgivable. Irritating, but not dangerous. But, Cinderella, is it really wise to spend your afternoons with him?”
“I don’t have a choice. Didn’t your maid tell you? He’s a Colonel.”
“He is? Oh dear,” Marie gasped. “I thought it was unusual you would even look twice at an Erlauf rat. What do the two of you do?”
“First of all, it is three of us. Even I am not so bold that I would accompany a stranger without a chaperone, so a housemaid attends to us. And it is not a true social interaction. I give him tours—although I am beginning to run out of places tied to Erlauf history to visit. I have tried to make it as business-like as possible. He even pays me for the tour.”
“You’re trying to get rid of him, then?”
“As best I can. It is not going well,” Cinderella said, stopping at a well. She dropped a bucket into well and waited for it to sink before drawing it back up.
“Do Julien and Marcus know?” Marie asked, naming the two eligible, Trieux noble boys.
“Julien must. His family is too close to Werra not to have heard of it,” Cinderella said, grunting as she pulled the bucket of water over the lip of the well.
“And yet the Rosseuxes have made no move?”
“I haven’t heard from them since I last saw them at Lord and Lady Delattre’s.”
“How unusual. One would think they would sweep in and snatch you up before the Erlauf rat ruins you,” Marie said, backing away from the well when Cinderella started scrubbing.
“I am not surprised. Lord Rosseux is bitter, but cautious. If the Colonel is petty, he might get nasty if someone tried to step in,” Cinderella said.
“But it is so dishonorable to leave you alone to defend yourself. What of the Girards?”
Cinderella considered the family for a moment. They—from Lord and Lady Girard to fourteen-year-old Marcus—were a younger sort of family. “They might step in and make an official marriage offer if they lived any closer. As it stands, it will take a good week or two for the news to reach them.”
“You could write to them,” Marie suggested.
Cinderella, pink skinned from the cold water and the spring air, shook her head. “If they make an offer, I will have to accept,” she said, studying the chateau, which austerely stared down at her from a hill. “I’m not ready to give Aveyron up, yet.”
“Foolish girl. If you wait much longer, the worst might happen—and no one will want you,” Marie said wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.
Cinderella didn’t reply.
Marie crossed the short distance between them. She placed her hands on Cinderella’s shoulders and shook her. “Stop dreaming and wake up. Someday soon, you will have to take care of yourself and put your needs above the needs of your servants. You are running out of time! By staying here, you are only delaying the inevitable, or, worse—bringing personal ruin upon yourself!”
“Marie—,” Cinderella started.
“Don’t! Can’t you just…Couldn’t you….,” Marie’s face crumpled as she tried to keep from crying. She let go of Cinderella, only to hug her tight.
“Your dress, it’ll get ruined,” Cinderella said.
“I don’t care,” Marie muttered.
The two friends hugged until the tension left Marie, and she slumped into Cinderella’s shoulder. “Can’t you be selfish? You’re all I have left—I don’t want to lose you too,” Marie said, her voice fragile.
Cinderella patted Marie’s back. The takeover was difficult on Marie in a different way.
Marie was a Trieux Duke’s daughter, or she had been. Several years ago, she met and fell in love with Armel Raffin, her husband. He was wealthy, but he lacked a Trieux title and noble blood. Marie’s father forbad her from marrying him, but she did anyway.
So Marie’s father disowned her. He cut all ties with her, and her family acted as if she had died rather than married beneath her station.
When Trieux was invaded, all of Marie’s family was executed. No one was left, except for Marie—who had been spared because of the separation.
Marie had been furious with her father for refusing to acknowledge her marriage, but she was perhaps even more enraged with him for dying before they could make any sort of amends.
“I hate them,” Marie said, as if reading Cinderella’s mind. “I hate those Erlauf soldiers.”
“Unfortunately they are here, for better or for worse. And we are no longer citizens of Trieux, but citizens of Erlauf,” Cinderella said when Marie pulled away.
Marie sighed. “It is as you say. Could you stay home from the market for a few days?”
“I don’t know,” Cinderella said. “He knows I do not enter Werra on the days the market is closed,” Cinderella said.
“Try it,” Marie suggested. “He may forget about you in your absence and go plague another pretty girl.”
“Perhaps,” Cinderella said, grimacing as she studied Marie’s dress. It was ruined, pressed with the same filth on Cinderella’s work dress.
Marie paid the damage no mind. “It will work. You can see to the activities of Aveyron for a few days, and he will forget you. It is a winning solution.”
“Perhaps, but what if he sends inquires after me?”
“Inquiries can be ignored. Social interaction is the real danger. And surely this Colonel wouldn’t come to Aveyron to bother you.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Good heavens, no. Even an Erlauf rat couldn’t be that shameless.”