Cinderella 1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes:

The story of Cinderella and Walt Disney's Cinderella are being used purely for my entertainment. No infringement is intended.

I've pretended that Cinderella 2 and 3 never occurred, though I do plan on using the character of the baker Anastasia falls in love with.

* * *

><p>The young girl raced down the hallway, hoping that the sound of her hurried footsteps wouldn't betray her location. Her heart pounding, she pushed open the door to the nursery, her favorite room in her home. Once she was in the large room, however, she was at a loss for where she could hide. Looking behind her, she knew she couldn't go back out again. It was simply too much of a risk of being discovered. Scanning the room again, she decided to hide behind a massive wooden trunk sitting near the window that was full of linens. She wedged herself between the back of the trunk and the wall, pulled the drape over it slightly, and waited.<p>

She couldn't hear her pursuer's footsteps approaching, and that made the girl all the more nervous. She almost would have rather heard them, so that she could at least know how much time she had. Maybe she wouldn't be discovered, she told herself. Maybe this time…she'd escape and win.

Nearly a minute passed, and the girl was still safely hidden behind the trunk. She began to wonder then: had she left the door open to the nursery or not? If she had, then it would be a red flag that she was in there. But perhaps she'd closed it behind her? She couldn't remember now. The girl tried to piece together her actions again in her mind. She'd run up the stairs, down the hallway, to the nursery, opened the door, and-

"Gotcha!" a voice called out, while two hands simultaneously grabbed her from behind. The girl screamed as she was pulled out from her hiding space and turned around to face her pursuer.

Ellie grinned. "Mama, you found me! How did you know?"

Ellie's mother laughed gently and tickled her. "Your brother and sister always used to hide here too, sweetheart. And your father too, from what your grandpa had told me. I guess it's just everyone's favorite."

Ellie climbed into her mother's lap and wrapped her arms around her neck. "Did you used to hide here too, Mama?"

Her mother smiled, but there was just a hint of sadness in her eyes. "No, dear. I didn't grow up in the palace like Papa did. By the time I came here to live, I was already grown up."

"Where did you grow up, Mama?"

The queen stood up while holding on to her daughter. "Oh, a very lovely chateau not too far from here."

"Did you live with your mama and papa too?"

"For a time, yes." The queen carefully made her way down the hallway and walked down the grand, sweeping staircase.

Ellie played with a dark gold lock of her mother's hair. "Did you play hide and go seek with them too?"

"I think I played it with my father a few times. I don't remember playing it with my mother. She died when I was very little – even littler than you."

"Oh." Ellie felt bad for her mother. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, the queen set her daughter down on the ground and took her hand.

"Come, dear. Let's go find Robert and Sarah. It's almost lunchtime."

Queen Cinderella and Princess Elizabeth walked hand in hand through the lush, well-manicured royal gardens in search of Prince Robert, the heir apparent, and Princess Sarah, second in line to the throne. Their mother knew they were probably in the gazebo taking their lesson from their tutor. Sure enough, once the queen and the princess passed the sparkling fountain, they could see Robert and Sarah sitting with Lord Evington, listening to a history lecture.

Lord Evington heard their approach, and stood to meet them. He bowed to Queen Cinderella. "Your Highness," he greeted her.

"Your Excellency," the queen replied with a dainty curtsy, then held out her arms to embrace her children.

"Hello, my darlings! Have you enjoyed your lesson?"

"Yes, mommy! Lord Evington was telling us about ancient Greece!" Sarah piped up.

"Oh, yes, how exciting! You know their culture had a tremendous impact on ours."

"That's exactly what Lord Evington said!" Robert added.

The elderly gentleman smiled. "They have been quite attentive today, Your Highness. You should be quite proud of them."

"Oh, I am! But now, I think it would be nice to take a short break and have some lunch. Does that sound good?"

"Oh, yes, mother!" all three children said at once.

"You will join us, won't you, Your Excellency?" the queen asked.

"It would be an honor, my lady," Lord Evington replied with a bow.

The queen decided to have lunch on the south balcony, overlooking the lake. After everyone had partaken of the tarts, soup, and rolls that were served, the children took off to the gardens, running wildly together in search of little adventures. Their mother and tutor followed slowly behind them, taking advantage of the time to chat together.

"Thank you again for tutoring Ellie in the autumn. I hope it won't be too much of a burden. You will tell me if it is," Queen Cinderella told Lord Evington.

"It is no burden, my dear, none at all," he insisted. "You know I love Christopher's children as though they were my own, as I loved Christopher as well."

The queen gave him a sympathetic smile. Lord Evington had been her husband's tutor when he was a child, and retired shortly after the king no longer needed lessons. Not long after Robert was born, however, Lord Evington's wife passed away. Knowing firsthand the empty pain that comes with losing a loved one, the queen insisted that her husband ask his former tutor to return to the palace and resume his duties, correctly assuming that the work would help ease his grief. Lord Evington first tutored Queen Cinderella, preparing her for her future role as the wife of the King. Once Robert was old enough to begin lessons, the lord's attention shifted to him, and then to his younger sister Sarah.

"In any case, Ellie will fill the place that Robert will leave once he begins military school," Lord Evington pointed out.

"Ah, very true," the queen replied with a sigh. When he turned 12, Robert would begin military and strategic training at the same academy that both his father and grandfather attended. It was a tradition in their family, and it had been instilled in Christopher that a king should always be ready to defend his land, even taking up arms himself if needed. Their kingdom hadn't been to war in nearly eighty years, but it was nonetheless a prudent course of action. Queen Cinderella would miss her son desperately, but at least she had another three years with him before he would have to leave.

Just then, there was the rushed footsteps of someone running behind them. The queen and Lord Evington turned to see one of the royal couriers, coming to meet them.

"Your Highness!" the courier cried breathlessly. "I bring you a letter!"

"Oh? Thank you," the queen told him as he handed it to her. When she told him she needed nothing else, the courier bowed and ran off as quickly as he'd come.

The letter was in a simple cream-colored envelope, with her first name scrawled hastily over the front. This was odd, for it had been many years since anyone had addressed her simply by her given name. Frowning, the queen opened the envelope and read the letter inside.

Lord Evington stood away slightly, wishing to give his queen her privacy, but the startled look on her lovely face that quickly turned to horror compelled him to approach her. "What is it, Your Highness? Is something wrong?"

Slowly the queen turned to look at him. "It-it's a letter…from my stepmother, Lady Tremaine. She's…she's very ill, and….she has sent for me."

Lord Evington darkened slightly at the mention of the woman's name. It was well known in the King and Queen's closest circle that Lady Tremaine's treatment of her stepdaughter had been monstrous. The queen never complained directly about the treatment, but the circumstances surrounding her life with Lady Tremaine provided more than enough evidence. The stately chateau the family lived in had been the queen's father's, yet she'd been forced to work as a servant – cleaning, cooking, and otherwise waiting on her stepfamily hand and foot. Lady Tremaine had taken drastic steps to keep the Grand Duke, who'd been sent to find the girl the prince had fallen in love with, from discovering Cinderella. It was for these reasons that Lady Tremaine and her two daughters were considered pariahs in high society. The queen had tried to dissuade those members of the royalty and nobility from excluding her stepfamily, but it was for naught. Ironically enough, it was Cinderella's kind-hearted forgiveness and willingness to forget the past that made society all the more eager to cast out Lady Tremaine. After all, why would anyone wish to have sympathy for someone who could treat such a wonderful, gentle lady with such cruelty?

"I am sorry to hear such news," Lord Evington replied as diplomatically as he could. "Do you require some time to yourself? Shall I take the children for the rest of the afternoon, or perhaps…call for their nurse?"

The queen did not answer, as she appeared to be reading the contents of the letter over and over again. Lord Evington frowned. "Your Highness?" he inquired gently.

Queen Cinderella looked up, startled. "Oh! Lord Evington, I apologize. Yes, it would be lovely if you could take Ellie to her nurse and finish your lesson with Robert and Sarah. Thank you."

"Of course, my lady." Lord Evington bowed, turned and began to walk away, but hesitated. He turned around and walked back to his queen. Leaning in confidentially, he said softly, "Cinderella, my dear, you will forgive me for overstepping my bounds, but…I feel I must say something, if you'll permit me." Cinderella nodded.

"You are a kind-hearted, sympathetic lady, and that is a tremendous thing. But…not all creatures are worthy of such kindness and sympathy. Please take care…that it is not taken advantage of."

The queen sighed. "I do appreciate your concern, Your Excellency – truly. And thank you for minding the children. I shall leave you to it."

Cinderella waited for a moment, watching Lord Evington gather her children and take them away. They were her treasures, the cumulative symbol of all the happiness she'd found. The letter in her hand was a grim reminder how easily all of this could have never been. She turned and reluctantly made her way back to the main building to find her husband.

* * *

><p>King Christopher was in a meeting with his council as per the usual hour, and the queen did not wish to interrupt him. She waited patiently in the adjoining sitting room, which was open and allowed her a view into her husband's chamber. As the King sat at the very end of the table, she was able to see him clearly from across the room. At thirty-one years old, Christopher cut a very handsome, very dignified form that was softened by a still-dewy youthfulness. He sat just slightly back in his chair, legs crossed, listening intently to the concerns of his counselors. He had only been King of their land for two years, ever since his father had suffered a heart attack and died, but he had already shown the makings of an excellent leader.<p>

In spite of how much she came to love and adore her father-in-law, and as much as it pained Cinderella to admit it, even to herself, she understood that the reason her husband made such an excellent king was that he was so little like his father. Physical features aside, Christopher possessed an even temperament and the capability for impartial, rational thinking that his father never did. The old king's bouts of passion, while often very romantic, also took a toll on his health. Therefore it was very little of a surprise that when it was discovered that a trusted member of his court had been selling secrets to a rival kingdom, the king exploded in such rage that his heart could not bear it.

The entire kingdom had grieved the loss of their old, beloved monarch, but most found comfort in the knowledge that his young, handsome, charismatic son and his lovely, charming wife would be their new rulers. And Christopher had proven he was more than prepared to handle the pressures of the throne. She could only hope that he would react with the same calm rationality when she came to tell him her news.

Just then, Christopher turned in her direction and their eyes met. He smiled gently at her, then turned back to the meeting. "Gentlemen, I believe this would be a prudent time for a short break. Let us return to our meeting after two hours," he announced. The council agreed, and all got up to leave the king's chambers.

Cinderella entered the room as they left, accepting their bows to her with a graceful nod. The Grand Duke, who sat in on the king's council as he had when his father was in power, took Cinderella's hands and smiled warmly at her.

"How are you, my dear?" he asked her. The Grand Duke had always been fond of Cinderella – ever since he'd found her and put the glass slipper on her foot, effectively saving her from a life of misery and saving himself from the wrath of the king.

Cinderella smiled kindly at the Grand Duke. "I'm very well, Your Grace, thank you. I must speak with my husband."

"Of course." The Grand Duke bowed to the king as he approached them, then left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Hello darling," Christopher greeted his wife with a kiss.

"Hello, my love," Cinderella replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. She loved being in his arms, but Christopher could clearly see that something was wrong.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"And so, she has asked for me," Cinderella explained, after reading the letter to Christopher. They sat in the drawing room in two stuffed chairs by the window, overlooking the grounds.

Christopher sat quietly in his chair, staring out at the winding path that led to the bridge where he'd taken Cinderella that fateful night when they first met at his father's ball. Finally he asked, "You wish to see her?"

Cinderella hesitated, searching for the right words. "I believe….it is the honorable thing to do."

He took her hands. "Darling…do you remember the day the Grand Duke brought you to the palace? After you'd tried on the slipper and he knew you were the one I'd been looking for?"

Cinderella nodded, her eyes shining with happiness. "Of course. It was the day I'd been waiting for all my life."

"It almost didn't happen. Do you remember why?"

Cinderella's face fell. "Yes…my stepmother locked me in my room. And then she tripped the page so that the slipper broke."

Christopher brought his hand to his wife's face, to cup her cheek. "Darling, that…woman…has never cared for you. She did everything she could to keep you from being happy, to keep you…as low as possible. Why would you wish to return to her? Why, when—when you have such love here? I, and our children, our friends and our subjects, who all love you so dearly? What outcome could there possibly be from returning to that place, other than painful memories?"

Cinderella sighed, holding the hand that laid against her cheek. "I do realize all those things, I truly do. But, dear, she is dying! It has been ten years. Perhaps-perhaps she wishes to make amends. To ask forgiveness. I do have it within me."

"Of course you do, Cinderella. You are a good, kind-hearted person. That's why I fell in love with you."

"No, what I mean is...I've wanted so badly to forgive. It's difficult to explain—I will try. What I mean is, I've carried it around inside of me, the way a mother carries a child. I've wanted to forgive my stepmother, not just because she may need it, but because I need it too. But I've never had the chance."

"Is there no way that I can make you reconsider your decision?"

Cinderella shook her head. "I don't think so, dear. I plan to leave the day after tomorrow."

Christopher sighed, leaning forward to press his forehead against Cinderella's. "Darling, I love you and would never keep you from something you wished to do. I can only beg you to be careful. Please, be careful."

"I shall," Cinderella murmured, kissing her husband.

* * *

><p>It was a cool, dreary morning when Cinderella left the palace. Christopher and the children said their goodbyes to her and the footman helped her into the carriage. Once settled in, she looked across from her to the Grand Duke, who had insisted on accompanying her on her journey. The old man gave her a warm, reassuring smile and she did her best to return it.<p>

The drive wasn't going to be very long, she remembered. When she was going to the ball that fateful night, and when she was traveling to the palace when she left home for good, she could hardly wait to get there, and was grateful that it was such a short distance. Now that she was returning to her old home after ten years, she wished it was farther away so she'd have more time.

The neighborhood hadn't changed very much – a few houses here and there, a few more people traveling on the road – but otherwise it was the same as Cinderella had left it. She couldn't help but wonder if she would find the chateau in very much the same state.

Suddenly the carriage came to a stop, and at first Cinderella wondered why. She looked to the Grand Duke, who said gently, "We are here, my dear."

The Grand Duke helped Cinderella out of the coach, and she stopped to look up at the chateau in which she'd been raised and lived for the first eighteen years of her life. It had been falling into disrepair while she'd lived there, but it had only gotten worse since she'd left. The roof had holes. The paint had stripped away in wide sections – the result of a decade of furious rainstorms and snowstorms. The lawn – once well-trimmed, verdant, and neat as a pin – had now become a brown, stringy, weed-ridden mess. Cinderella looked up once more and noticed one of the windows towards the top of the chateau was broken.

Her eyes felt warm and wet, and then realized there were tears in them.

The Grand Duke offered the queen a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepted. As she dried her eyes, he told her, "Your Highness, we can turn back right now and return to the palace. You needn't venture any further into this—" he searched for the right words—"place. You needn't upset yourself any further."

"No, Your Grace," Cinderella replied with a sniffle. "Thank you for your concern, but I have made up my mind. This was once my home." She looked back at the house. "This was once my family. I was asked for, and I have decided to come."

The Grand Duke sighed. "Then I shall escort you to the door."

Carefully they made their way up the path and to the front door. Cinderella knocked three times, stood back, and waited for someone to answer. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she heard footsteps on the other side of the door, heard the latch lift, and saw the doorknob slowly turn…


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes:

_I modeled some of the dialogue after the interaction between Jane Eyre and her Aunt Reed when Jane comes to visit her when she learns she's dying._

_I know most fanfiction uses "Eleanor" as Lady Tremaine's first name, but I've decided to go with Julia. Cinderella's nickname is "Ella" and her mother's name I chose as "Elizabeth," so it just seemed like too many "El's." Plus, Julia was the name of the wicked stepmother in "Hellraiser," so it seemed appropriate. :-)_

* * *

><p>The old familiar door opened, and on the other side was Drizella. Dressed in a torn, dirty dress, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked pale, exhausted, and older than her thirty years. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw Cinderella standing in the doorway.<p>

"Cinderella!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice, gripping the door. It was a shock, no doubt, to have proof of the reversal of fortunes in front of her: Drizella, dressed in rags, while Cinderella stood before her in the elegant raiment of royalty.

Cinderella, for her part, looked just as shocked to see her stepsister. Finding her voice, she stammered, "Dri-Drizella."

Drizella's shock slowly receded, and a scowl of irritation took its place. Cinderella knew that look well. It seemed to be the usual setting for Drizella's face.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"Hold your tongue, woman!" the Grand Duke rebuked Drizella. "Show some respect for your queen!"

"Please, Your Grace, it's all right," Cinderella interceded, holding up a hand, then turned to Drizella. "I received the letter your mother sent me, and I've come according to her wishes."

Drizella raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "My mother wrote you a letter, eh? My mother—wrote you—a letter. Ha! Well, isn't that rich? Well, I'll have you know that my mother—"

"Drizella, leave off!" a high-pitched, scratchy voice exclaimed from within the house. Drizella was pushed aside, and Anastasia, Cinderella's other stepsister, now appeared at the door. The younger of the sisters was in no better condition than the other, with her dark red hair covered by a kerchief and her dingy yellow shift speckled with dust. Anastasia also eyed Cinderella with disbelief, but she managed a lopsided smile and said, "Won't you come in, Your Grace? Cinderella?"

Anastasia led the two visitors into the chateau, ignoring Drizella's protests. When Cinderella was inside the main sitting room and her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she fought back a gasp of shock. It looked as though bandits had torn through the house. All of the tapestries, all of the draperies, and much of the furniture was gone, spare a couple of chairs and a small table. Bare, dusty floors and yellowing, cracking paint was now all the ornamentation the room could boast. Holding a hand to her mouth, Cinderella willed herself not to venture to the adjoining dining room, certain that the beautiful silverware and china she'd once worked to take such good care of was also gone.

Cinderella turned toward Drizella, who was standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and a look of satisfaction on her face. "Well, what did you expect, _Your Highness? _After you left, there was no one to look after the house. Mother fell into such a state that she never recovered. We had to sell everything to keep our heads above water!"

"I-I had no idea!" Cinderella cried. "I didn't know this had happened, I-"

"Cinderella." She turned at the sound of her name to Anastasia, who was standing on the other side of her. "You came to see Mother, right? She's upstairs in bed."

"Upstairs," Cinderella repeated, looking upward to the second floor.

Anastasia nodded. "Yes, in same room she always had. You remember."

Cinderella began to walk up the stairs, and was stopped by the Grand Duke. "My dear, would you like me to come with you? Would you feel more…secure?" a shot a distrustful glance at the two sisters.

Cinderella smiled gently and laid her hand upon his. "Thank you, Your Grace, but I will be fine." She turned and made her way up the stairs, trying not to pay too much attention to the groaning and creaking of the wood beneath her feet.

The Grand Duke watched as Cinderella ascended the stairs, then turned his attention to Drizella and Anastasia. "I am watching you two," he warned them with a glare. "I shall remain right here until Her Highness returns."

Anastasia shrugged at the threat. Drizella nudged her sister in the ribs. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Just be patient," Anastasia whispered back with a smile.

* * *

><p>Cinderella slowly walked down the hallway, now stripped bare of all the lovely paintings and ornate vases that used to decorate it. At last she came to her stepmother's door – the third on the right. It was shut, and she debated on whether or not to knock. Finally she rapped gently at the wood panel and waited for a response. None came. She tried again, with the same result.<p>

After mulling it over to herself once more, Cinderella at last decided to open the door and go in. Her heart pounding, she walked into the darkened room. The light from the hallway provided a small amount of illumination, and Cinderella could tell that her stepmother's room had not changed too much. The dark mahogany canopy bed still stood proud in the center, layered in mauve coverlets. As Cinderella got closer, close enough to see the figure lying the bed, she thought for a moment that she'd gone to the wrong room. For the pale, shriveled, gaunt woman asleep in the bed couldn't possibly be the mighty Lady Julia Tremaine…

Cinderella stood over the woman, looking her over, trying to see her stepmother's features in this old woman, when the lady let out a wet, strangled cough that shook her entire frail frame. Cinderella jumped back in surprise. The woman's head rolled from side to side, as if the cough had been painful to her. Her eyes opened, and that's when Cinderella finally saw her stepmother in their grey depths.

"Who…" Lady Tremaine began in a raspy drawl.

Cinderella trembled slightly. She noticed the wooden chair sitting off to the side. She brought it closer and sat down next to the bed. "It-it is I, St-Stepmother. Cinderella," she stuttered, taking one of Lady Tremaine's withered hands in her own.

But Lady Tremaine snatched her hand out of Cinderella's grasp – a surprising feat considering how weak and emaciated she was. "You are not Cinderella," the old woman stated hoarsely. "Cinderella would never come here."

Cinderella frowned. Perhaps it was too dark in the room for her stepmother to see her clearly? Not seeing any other candles around, she tried again. "Yes, it is. I received your letter, and I've come to see you. How are you, dear Stepmother?" Cinderella surprised herself with her words. She hadn't ever referred to Lady Tremaine as her "dear stepmother."

Lady Tremaine coughed again, and let out a long, phlegmy groan. "Cinderella would not come," she insisted. "She is far too busy, living the life of a queen in the palace. Ruse…" she closed her eyes once again.

Cinderella sighed. Where was she to go from here? Not only was her stepmother gravely ill, she was also delirious. Perhaps she should take the Grand Duke's advice. Perhaps she should simply cut her losses and go home. She was just about to get up and slip away when she heard a voice from the bed croak, "It seems strange to me, that my life should end this way, when it started with such promise."

Cinderella stopped, turned, and sat back down in her chair. "What do you mean?" she asked softly.

Lady Tremaine looked up at the ceiling. "People. They've all shunned me, called me names, because of the way I handled the girl. But what could I do? How else was I to bear it, raising Elizabeth's child? No one ever knew…how difficult that was for me."

Cinderella was confused. Elizabeth had been her mother's name. "My mother? You knew my mother?" Lady Tremaine did not answer, having closed her eyes again.

Cinderella tried another approach. "Why was it difficult to raise Elizabeth's child? What did she do to you?"

Lady Tremaine coughed again, and this time she didn't stop. "Water! Water!" she cried out breathlessly.

Cinderella looked around frantically, then spied a pitcher and cup on the nearby nightstand. She shakily poured some water into the cup, tucked an arm under her stepmother's neck, and raised her to sip from the rim. When the cool liquid hit Lady Tremaine's lips, she sputtered and choked, but managed to swallow a few sips. Cinderella gently laid the old woman down again, and placed an extra pillow under her head to keep her propped up and hopefully make it easier for her to breathe. She didn't want to judge Drizella and Anastasia, but she suspected the two sisters did not know how to properly care of someone, since they'd never had to think of anyone else beside themselves.

Lady Tremaine's breath was slightly ragged, but steady. Cinderella uneasily sat down in her chair again. After a bit, Cinderella pressed her again, gently. "Who was Elizabeth to you?"

Lady Tremaine turned to look at Cinderella, and for a moment, there was that old elegant villainy in her eyes once again. But then her expression softened, and much to Cinderella's surprise, a small, tender smile crept onto her stepmother's face. "She was my oldest and best friend."

* * *

><p>The minutes seemed to drag as the Grand Duke stared down the two Tremaine sisters, his coal-black eyes following every subtle shift in their posture, every flicker of their gaze. He simply could not fathom how these two could have such contempt for someone who had such a capacity to love – and be loved. One of them—the redhead—appeared respectful enough, while the brunette seemed to be quietly rebelling as much as she could: rolling her eyes, scowling, crossing her arms impatiently, and giving great sighs of irritation.<p>

At last he heard the queen's dainty footsteps as she descended the stairs. Greatly relieved, he rushed to the bottom of the staircase to take her hand.

"Shall we go, Your Highness?" he asked hopefully.

"Your Grace, you are free to return to the palace. I thank you for your companionship, but I shall remain here for a few days."

"Remain-remain here!" the Grand Duke exclaimed, nearly dropping his monocle. He glared at the stepsisters. "Your Highness, please, may we speak outside?"

Cinderella consented, and together they walked out to the grounds. Once they were outside, the Grand Duke said, "My dear, I must ask you to seriously reconsider your decision. You are the queen! What would it look like for the wife of our monarch to be staying here in this-this-hovel?"

Cinderella frowned. "Your Grace, please, this was my father's home."

The Grand Duke bowed his head. "I'd forgotten, Your Highness. I apologize. Your father's home aside, I fear for your safety, staying here with these women! They are bitterly jealous of you, and they are desperate! Who knows what they might do, once you are alone with them?"

"Lady Tremaine is dying, Your Grace. I have seen this with my own eyes now. Drizella and Anastasia…well, they are lost, but I don't believe they are capable of harming anyone. They need help, and if I can help…I must try."

The Grand Duke scrutinized the lovely face of his queen. "There's something else, my dear, I think. May I ask what it is?"

Cinderella looked off to the side, remembering the story Lady Tremaine had just told her. "My stepmother has done some terrible things. I've always wondered why. I'm just beginning to learn some things about her. And maybe if I can understand her, she and I will reconcile….before it's too late."

The Grand Duke took Cinderella's hands in his and sighed. "Very well. I shall leave you here. But I shall send a palace guard each day to check on you, and courier any correspondence you may have with the King and the children. I will not bend on this point, Your Highness," he said sternly.

Cinderella smiled. "Yes, Your Grace, of course. Thank you."

"Very well. I shall have a valet stop by later this evening with a wardrobe and sundry items."

Cinderella leaned forward and kissed the Grand Duke on the cheek. "I will miss you, Antonio."

The Grand Duke smiled sadly and kissed her hand. "And I you, dearest 'Ella." He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "Right, then. I shall return for you at the end of the week."

* * *

><p>Anastasia and Drizella peered out of the dirty front window and watched the Grand Duke reluctantly bid goodbye to Cinderella and climb into the carriage. Drizella snorted derisively. "Well! I guess Miss High-and-Mighty is staying here. I hope she doesn't expect me to do anything for her. I'll sweep the streets first." She walked away.<p>

As the coach pulled away and rode down the street, Anastasia smiled to herself. Everything was going according to her plan.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:** First, I wanted to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my story. I would like to respond to one of the last reviews I received that was quite negative and demanding. The person does not have an account, and so I could not respond privately to their review as I would have liked._

_I appreciate and welcome questions, comments, suggestions, and constructive criticism about my stories. What I don't appreciate are threats or rude demands. If you don't like the way a story is progressing, then the best thing to do is to create an account and write your own story. That is the point of fanfiction: to create the things you wish to see in the stories you love._

_All right then, on with the next chapter!_

* * *

><p>When the morning light streamed through the curtains and awakened Christopher, he immediately felt a sense of panic. He woke up alone; he stretched out his hand to his left, where his wife usually lay, and felt nothing but cool sheets. He hadn't awakened on his own in ten year. And then he remembered why he was alone. Cinderella had decided to stay at her family home for a few days and help care for Lady Tremaine. He'd been furious when the Grand Duke returned without her, but he did not blame the man. His wife could be quite stubborn and headstrong in her own gentle way.<p>

One of the advantages to being the King was that he was never at a loss for things to do, and there would be plenty that would keep him busy for the day. He first had breakfast with the Grand Duke, who reviewed the agenda for the day. Next, he went to visit the site of the new dam that was being built on the western side of the country and track the progress. He then returned to the palace to receive the Duke and Duchess of Cerves, who would be visiting their kingdom for a few days, and to have tea with them.

"Your Majesty, where is your lovely wife?" the Duchess asked. "She was such a jewel when you two came to visit a few years ago."

Christopher smiled weakly and sipped his tea. "She is attending to some family business, my lady. I regret that she cannot be here with us."

Once his guests were settled into their quarters, the king attended his daily meeting with his counselors to discuss the issues of the day. He tried to pay attention to the council, but his thoughts were filled with Cinderella and his worry for her. The Grand Duke met his eyes once during the meeting and gave him a sympathetic smile.

After his meetings, Christopher went to see his children. They were playing happily in the nursery with their governess, and upon seeing him, they rushed into his arms like the tide crashing into the shore. He laughed at their rambunctiousness. "Down, down, all of you! You'll crush me!"

"We missed you, Daddy!" Ellie cried.

"Will you have dinner with us?" Sarah added.

"Is Mother returning tonight?" Robert asked.

Christopher frowned at his son's question. "We shall have dinner together, the four of us. But your mother will be away for a few days."

Bearing his children's groans of disappointment as best he could, he gathered them up and got them to the dining room. Marie, the old cook, knew the children would be sad that their mother wasn't there, and had spent the day whipping up all of their favorite foods to cheer them: roast turkey, potato pies with onion and parsley, cheese soufflé, and chocolate torte with raspberries for dessert. The dinner was successful for the most part, as the children ate heartily and even enjoyed a few giggles with their father.

The reason the dinner was such a favorite of the children was because all the courses were their mother's recipes. As much as it pained Christopher to think of his wife's years of servitude and drudgery, he had to admit that that life endowed her with culinary skills that would rival any royal chef. The kitchen staff never begrudged her for it; in fact, they had a profound respect for her, she, the queen who'd originally come from aristocracy but could roll out a pastry dough or roast a wild boar with the best of them. Christmastime was especially amusing, as Cinderella would put on a plain shift, tie up her hair, roll up her sleeves, and dive into helping the staff create the most elaborate meals the kingdom had ever seen. Christopher smiled when he thought of the laughter echoing through the halls, and his wife, emerging from the kitchen at the end of the night covered in flour and wrapping her arms around him and kissing him with good-humored exhaustion.

"You're thinking of Mother," Robert told him, rousing Christopher out of his thoughts.

"Oh?" Christopher replied. "How did you know that?"

"Because you were smiling," his son replied with a smile of his own. "You only smile that way at Mother."

Christopher chuckled. "Very perceptive, my son, very perceptive. An excellent trait for a king to have, by the way." Robert beamed with pride. Being nine years old, validation was very important to him.

"Now go on. Help Mrs. Strawbridge with your sisters and get ready for bed. I shall say good night to you all in a while."

"All right, Dad. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Robert."

After Robert was gone, Christopher decided to take a walk around the grounds. While he had no particular place in mind to visit, he found himself arriving at the menagerie. It was a very special room Cinderella had built for the mice and birds that had previously lived in the chateau with her. They were intriguing creatures, who seemed to love working together on little projects. Cinderella was able to communicate with them, although she was the only one who had the ability. When Christopher asked her about it once, she told him that yes, they could speak just as clearly as any person. All he could do is smile and believe her.

Nevertheless, they did appear to be very intelligent creatures, and Christopher always treated them with respect because they were so dear to Cinderella. Of course, the original mice she'd kept as pets in her house had long since passed, but she still loved and cared for their descendants just as deeply.

Christopher found watching the mice work together soothing, and they didn't seem to mind his presence either. He was so lost in watching their latest project – building a miniature version of the dam he'd visited today – that he nearly jumped out of his skin when one of the pages approached him.

The page, for his part, appeared quite startled too. "Many apologies, Your Majesty," he blubbered with a bow. "I bring you a letter from Her Highness, Queen Cinderella."

Christopher took the letter and dismissed the page, waiting until the little man was out of the way before he eagerly opened it. Realizing the sun was soon going to disappear from the sky and he'd lose the light, he began to make his way back to his chamber while he read:

_Dearest Christopher,_

_I must first begin by apologizing for my absence from our home and family. I realize the burden I have placed on you, and I count my blessings to have a mate that is so understanding. I do hope that you weren't too harsh with His Grace when he returned without me._

_You will be very happy and relieved to know that my stay with my stepfamily thus far has been relatively pleasant and uneventful. Drizella and Anastasia have not been rude, but have done their best to avoid me. Perhaps that is all I can expect._

_My stepmother, Lady Tremaine, is indeed dying. She cannot breathe without great difficulty, and the strain appears to be affecting her ability to reason. From what little I could glean from Anastasia, it appears there is some sort of massive shadow over her lungs that has been draining the life out of her little by little. I offered the services of our physician, but both my stepsisters have insisted there is nothing anyone can do. _

_My stepmother is not always coherent, but her illness has forced her to divulge secrets she kept from me for as long as I'd known her. I've only begun to scratch the surface, but I've uncovered at least one great revelation: not only did she know my mother, but they were girlhood friends. Christopher, you are not only my husband but also my best friend, and I must confide in someone in order to avoid being overwhelmed. I can think of no one better than you. Therefore, I will try to relay the story Lady Tremaine told me in the closest manner that I can:_

* * *

><p>'Elizabeth Farringdon's and my family had been associated with each other for years. Each generation counted each other as both dear friends…and staunch rivals. Elizabeth and I, having been born within four years of each other, were constantly paired—and <em>com<em>pared. I shall admit, I was the more competitive of the two of us, but that was because I had to be. Elizabeth's beauty was both overt and compelling. Her strawberry blond hair, sapphire eyes, full, pink lips, and fair complexion naturally made her an object of admiration. I, on the other hand, with my dark features and long, thin face, was usually called 'handsome'. 'That Julia! Such a handsome girl!'

Hah. How easily that became tedious.

Therefore, I had to work harder to garner even just a fraction of the attention that Elizabeth commanded so effortlessly. My mother beat that work ethic into me, that a woman's greatest triumph was to marry well – and then subsequently ensure that her children married well also. And when I turned twenty and still had not gotten any marriage offers that measured up to my mother's expectations, she became more determined than ever.

My father, having come from a very old, very obscure aristocratic family, was just on the outskirts of high society and still had access to the news of the innermost circles. Therefore, when he found out that foreign royalty was coming to our little isle, my mother pounced on her chance with a speed that would rival most large predatory cats. She managed to coerce, cajole, and perhaps even beg several members of the aristocracy to attend a piano recital held at our mansion for my benefit.

If I was no raving beauty, I could at least boast of my skills as a pianist. I had an excellent teacher, but I also possessed that raw, natural talent that every master dreams of. My long, thin fingers were a valuable tool that I used to their full potential, as the ivory keys seemed to meld with my flesh and bring the music to life.

Despite the room being filled with royalty, I had no fear as I played at that recital, for I knew there were very few – and most certainly no one in that room at the time – who could match me in skill. I stole a few fleeting glances around the room as I played, and I spied several attendees with their eyes closed and their mouths turned up into that dreamy countenance that signifies the listener has been thoroughly enchanted with the sounds they hear.

One such listener had caught my eye in particular. His name was Miguel de Argentes, the youngest son of the King of Arragosta. He would most likely never be king, but he was a prince, and would probably gain a dukedom upon his marriage. What made him so captivating was that I'd caught his eye as well. His gaze bore deep into me. He was beautiful: black wavy hair, warm, caramel skin, a wide, full mouth, but his eyes! Oh, those were what I fell in love with. They were like the darkest night, with flecks of amber. And those eyes were seeing me, only me.

At last my performance ended, and everyone gave their polite applause and surrounded me to give their praise. I was trapped, enclosed in a sea of faces and voices when all I wanted was one, was him. But I had to be polite, had to endure all of those hindrances – especially with my mother's claw-like hand pressing into my shoulder.

Finally the herd dispersed, and I was free to look for him. I searched the parlor and the adjoining room and even the hallway, but with no luck. Disappointed, I went out to the gardens to escape the company—especially my mother.

I walked along the cobble path restlessly, until I heard a heavily accented male voice say behind me, 'So…the pianist makes her grand escape.'

My heart pounding, I gathered myself before I turned around. There he was, glorious Miguel de Argentes. I gave my most nonchalant smile and replied rather cheekily, 'It is a necessary skill for those of us burdened with great talent.'

He laughed heartily. 'I have no doubt.' He walked up to where I stood and offered his arm. 'Might I walk the gardens with you, my lady?'

I graciously accepted, and I could barely feel the ground as we walked together. We walked in silence for a while, as we both seemed unsure of what to say, when Miguel asked, 'How long have you played the piano?'

'Since I was four years old. I scarcely remember a time when I didn't.'

'Your skill is evident. It is well-honed.' He gave me a dazzling smile. 'Your technique reminds me of my sister Carlota. She is quite accomplished herself.'

I bristled slightly at the comparison. I didn't want him to think of his sister when he thought of me. Then again, the comparison meant familiarity. _Work with what you have_, my mother had always taught me.

So I tried to use it to my advantage. 'She sounds like a wonderful lady. I'd love to meet her,' I replied.

Miguel looked at me with those amber eyes and I felt my heart melt. 'Perhaps someday you will.'

Miguel spoke about his trip and his family for the rest of our walk. We made the entire circle of the gardens and returned to the parlor. When my mother saw me approach, there was murder in her eyes, as she was furious that I'd abandoned the gathering she'd so meticulously planned. But when she saw who was entering the room right after me – who'd been with me the whole time – her face changed from fury to surprise, and then to barely concealed glee.

That night, after everyone left, Mother assaulted me with question after question about my brief time with Miguel. She demanded to know every word that passed between us, every look he'd given me, even the way he'd spoken the words he'd uttered. Finally when I was too tired to speak, my mother finally allowed me to go to bed. But the last thing she'd said to me was, 'You could very well become royalty if all goes well with this man, Julia. If you don't fail.'

My mother's words—meant as both encouragement and a threat—pierced my heart and left me wide awake for hours that night.

The next morning, barely after the breakfast dishes were cleared from the table, my mother was dragging me halfway across the city to pay a visit to the sprawling estate in which Miguel and his family were staying. I exited the carriage and followed my mother's hurried footsteps to the door, doing my best not to faint in the process. She'd laced me into the corset herself that morning as tightly as she could, and breathing deeply was no simple feat.

Her knock on the door was answered by an exceptionally tall, exceptionally skinny butler with a noise so high and pointy that he almost didn't look real. He informed us, in a gruff, thick accent, that Prince Miguel had been invited to visit Lord and Lady Farringdon at their home.

Naturally, this wouldn't do. When we were back in the carriage, Mother informed our driver that we would be paying the Farringdons a visit.

People said that I was the spitting image of my mother. As I sat across from her, watching her complexion darken with anger and her grey eyes shine with rage, I couldn't help but wonder if this was what I looked like when I was angry as well.

'The bitch,' my mother spat out, more to herself than to me. Her language sent a chill of shock right down to my bones, for my mother was meticulous in her good manners. 'That Laura Farrington. Always trying to defeat me.' She laughed cruelly. 'Does she really think her gangly little urchin has any chance of winning Prince Miguel? What nonsense.'

Wisely I held my tongue, and kept my thoughts to myself. In spite of my mother's vitriol-laced words, I knew she felt threatened. She knew Elizabeth was beautiful, charming, and talented, and just as capable of alluring Miguel as I was. That was the reason Mother insisted Elizabeth and I be friends: it was important to have friends of quality, for they reflected your quality as well. Until they became your rivals, of course; then it was every woman for herself.

When we arrived at Elizabeth's house, my mother boldly walked to the Farringdons door, announced herself to the butler, and in spite of the man's protest that Lady Farringdon was busy, she walked into the house with no reservations. It didn't take us long to figure out where everyone was. There was singing—a sweet, melodic voice that I would know anywhere. Elizabeth was singing for her guests.

Mother led me to the parlor, and sure enough, there was Elizabeth, standing in front of the room, with her mother, father, Miguel, and Miguel's companions, his aunt and uncle, sitting before her, listening to her sing. For a moment I was transfixed. She looked and sounded like an angel, with the sunlight hitting her hair and making it shine like gold, and her mezzo soprano voice sending shivers down the spines of even the hardest of listeners.

I looked at my mother, whose fists were clenched so tightly I feared she would cut open the flesh of her palms. I saw the rage in her eyes slowly beginning to change to defeat, and then to despair. I had to do something. Then I saw it—the piano sitting in the corner not far from Elizabeth. I stole away to it, before my mother could protest, and in a few quick, graceful steps, I sat down on the bench and began to play the accompaniment to Elizabeth's song. It was no challenge for me. It was one of the first songs I'd ever learned to play: _Sing, Sweet Nightingale_. Because it was so well known to me, I could play it to perfection.

When I started in on the song, adding the harmony to Elizabeth's melody, she turned and looked at me, confusion written all over her lovely face. But when I met her gaze with a confident smile, she returned it, turned back, and continued to sing the song with my accompaniment. At the end, Miguel and his family clapped heartily for us, as did my mother and Elizabeth's father. Only Lady Farringdon did not clap, and I could see the anger burning in her as Elizabeth and I bowed together.

My mother walked up to us, triumph gleaming in her eyes. She first bowed to Miguel and his family. 'Your Excellencies. How wonderful to see you again.' She didn't forget to put emphasis on the word "again," lest Lady Farringdon forget that she had already been able to spend several hours with them only the day before. Then she added, 'Elizabeth, darling! What a lovely song. You two sounded excellent together.' She turned to Lady Farringdon with a smile dripping with honey. 'Laura dear, I do hope you don't mind our impromptu visit. You didn't come to our tea party yesterday that I feared you might be ill.'

Laura Farringdon narrowed her eyes. My mother knew her rival had spent the entire day yesterday preparing for this visit, and that was why she wasn't at our home. My mother clearly had the upper hand. But Lady Farringdon couldn't appear ungracious in front of her esteemed guests. 'I do apologize, dear Alexandra. Won't you join us?' she asked through clenched teeth.

'Oh yes, Lady Hartwell, Julia! You must join us for brunch!' Elizabeth piped up, innocently oblivious to her mother's glare.

And so, we ended up having brunch with the foreign royalty and Elizabeth and her family, and it was during the meal that I realized something about my friend: as beautiful and as charming as she was, she had no guile whatsoever. She allowed me to monopolize Miguel's attention, pulling him into one-on-one conversations that barely left any room for anyone else to join in. Her mother tried to commandeer the talk, turning it to Elizabeth whenever she could. But her sweet young daughter was far too kind-hearted and not nearly cunning enough to take a cue and go with it. Elizabeth had her mother to put her on a pedestal, but without her steadying hand, she'd immediately plunge back to earth. I met my mother's eyes once during the brunch and we shared a knowing look. We'd won.

Miguel's uncle excused his family shortly after brunch was over, explaining that they had a few more appointments that day to attend to. We bowed to them all, and the gentlemen took each of the ladies' hands in a show of affection from their country. When Miguel took mine, he looked me right in the eye and gave me his most enchanting smile. And that was when I knew two things: one, he knew exactly what I was trying to do; and two, that he was enjoying it.'

* * *

><p><em>Lady Tremaine said no more after this that I could understand. She babbled for a bit, then fell into a coughing jag so intense that it seemed to knock her out completely. I left her for the night, and sat down to write this letter to you, while the story was fresh in my mind. I hope that she will be able to rely more of it to me as the days go on. Perhaps it will shed light on her relationship with my mother, and why I have always been such a displeasure to her.<em>

_I also remain here in the hope that she will gather her senses, at least for a brief moment, and she will allow me the chance to speak from the heart and offer my forgiveness. I must keep believing that such a thing as reconciliation is possible._

_Please give our children my unending love and tell them I miss them dreadfully. Tell Robert to put his soldier figurines away or he will lose them. Make sure that Ellie studies her multiplication tables – they have been giving her trouble. Help Ellie look under her bed as well as the closet for the monsters or she won't be able to sleep._

_I love you more than words could ever say._

_Yours always,_

_Cinderella_


	4. Chapter 4

Cinderella awoke early in the morning from a tense sleep. All of her dreams were thinking dreams, in which she tried to make sense of the things Lady Tremaine had told her. Finally, when the sun shone through the cracked window of the room she chose to sleep in, she decided not to try to rest any longer and instead make the most of the day.

She did not sleep in her old room in the attic, as Anastasia informed her that there were holes in the roof that had let water in and left it uninhabitable. Instead she was given the guest bedroom next to Drizella. Cinderella's oldest stepsister sulked a bit, but said nothing.

She crept quietly out of bed, pushing aside the tattered old quilt that had been in the house since Lady Tremaine and her daughters first moved in. She knew from the moment she walked out into the hallway that she was the only one awake, for she was greeted with the familiar duet of snoring from her stepsisters. Ignoring this, she tiptoed to her stepmother's room and pushed open the door. Peaking her head in, she stilled herself as best she could in order to discern the sound of Lady Tremaine's stilted breathing. She waited several moments and was unable to hear anything. Cinderella panicked at first, worrying that the story of her mother and stepmother's friendship would die with her. But then, she heard a soft, wet cough, followed by labored breathing. Relieved, she gently closed the door behind her.

Not knowing what the routine was around the house anymore, Cinderella decided she would try to tidy up the house and get something ready for breakfast. It was surreal—walking down to the kitchen where she'd spent so much of her time. The room itself hadn't changed; it was slightly filthy, but otherwise intact. Drawing from muscle memory, Cinderella's hands lit the stove, filled the teapot with water, and pulled out the teabags from their usual spot on top of the pantry. As the water boiled, she looked for something to make for breakfast. She didn't bother looking in the yard; she knew there would be nothing there but an overgrown mess of weeds and dirt. The chickens were all gone, probably having been sold to pay the bills, so there would be no fresh eggs. The cow had been sold many years earlier, when Cinderella was a teenager, so there was no fresh milk either. She'd taken Major and Bruno and all of the mice with her when she went to live in the palace. No, the yard would now be just an empty graveyard of old memories.

Any food would be in the house, in the kitchen. Peering into the pantry, Cinderella frowned as she discovered how unkempt the shelves were: food had been opened and not sealed, biscuits and fruit lay strewn about inside. Cinderella reached into the case and jumped back in fright as a roach nearly crawled onto her arm.

Her stepsisters were lousy housekeepers. Cinderella closed her eyes and shook her head, then resigned herself to doing her best to clean up a decade's worth of mess that had built up after she'd left. She had just begun to steep the tea when she heard a knock on the back door. Puzzled, Cinderella cautiously walked over to the door and slowly opened it. On the other side was a stocky young man about her age with sandy brown hair. He was carrying something wrapped in white cloth under his arm. His small eyes widened when he saw Cinderella. "Oh! I'm very sorry! I must be going!" He turned to leave.

"Wait, please!" Cinderella called out. The man stopped and slowly turned around. She could clearly see he was frightened.

She smiled kindly at him. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Cinderella's kind smile seemed to set the man at ease, because he came back to the door and slowly unwrapped the package he was holding. Inside was a box of freshly baked pastries. "Please, will you give these to An—Miss Anastasia?" he asked.

"Certainly. Oh, they smell wonderful!" Cinderella told him, taking the box. "This is very kind of you."

The man grinned in a lovable, oafish way and replied, "Aww, it's no trouble." Suddenly his smile disappeared and he looked fearful again. "Please, Miss, whatever you do—please don't tell Miss Drizella that you saw me. Do you promise?"

Cinderella was confused, but she replied, "Oh, yes, yes of course! I shall be quite discreet!" and put one hand over her heart to prove her trustworthiness.

He bowed his head and began to back away. "Thank you! Thank you very much! I must be going now!" And he quickly walked off in the direction of the village.

Shrugging to herself, Cinderella closed the door behind her and put the pastries on the side table. In spite of the dishelved state of the pantry, there was some fresh fruit sitting nearby that looked perfectly good. Cinderella chopped up the fruit into a salad. The tea was piping hot and ready, and now the lovely pastries the man had brought would be a perfect accompaniment. Cinderella found herself starting to reach for the serving plates, ready to bring her stepmother and stepsisters breakfast in bed, but then she stopped. She chuckled to herself, amazed that after ten years away from here, ten glorious years of marriage, motherhood, ruling a kingdom, consorting with royalty, and traveling all over the world, that she could still slip so easily into such old, humiliating habits. Yes, she had prepared breakfast, but that didn't mean she had to serve it to them.

So Cinderella brought the food out to the dining room, and planned to knock on her stepsisters' doors to let them know that she'd made breakfast. If they wanted it, that was wonderful. If not, that was their issue, not Cinderella's.

After laying out the food, she started to turn around and nearly collided with Anastasia. "Oh! Cinderella!" Anastasia squeaked. "What are you doing? You scared me!" She scowled at Cinderella, and her tone had become imperious, like the old days.

"Oh Anastasia, I'm sorry!" Cinderella cried. "I didn't mean to, I—" but then she stopped herself, squared her shoulders, and said in a firm, confident voice, "I put together some breakfast. You're welcome to have some, if you'd like."

Anastasia scowl turned into a look of surprise, and her eyes dropped to the floor. She remembered, once more, that Cinderella was no longer her serving girl; she was her queen, and she did not have to do a single thing that she did not wish to do. "You didn't have to do that," Anastasia mumbled.

"No, I didn't," Cinderella agreed with a stern look on her face. But a gentle smile replaced it and she added, "But I wanted to. Please, have some." Anastasia hesitated for a moment, then dropped into one of the few chairs in the room and began to quietly eat.

A few minutes later, Drizella came downstairs and joined the two in the dining room. "Well! Someone could have at least told me breakfast was ready!"

"Breakfast is ready. There, satisfied?," Anastasia replied, her mouth full. Cinderella smiled into her teacup.

Grimacing at her sister, Drizella picked up one of the pastries the man had given Cinderella earlier. Eyeing it closely she said, to no one in particular, "Well, these are fancy."

Anastasia's chewing slowed down and a worried look crossed her face. "What is, Drizella?" she asked.

"Wherever did they come from? I don't recall buying them when I went into town yesterday." Drizella's tone became theatrical, almost mocking.

Anastasia's back was to her sister, but Cinderella, sitting opposite to her, could see she was panicking. She remembered the man made her promise not to tell Drizella that he'd come.

Drizella continued, not waiting for a reply. "They look like they've come from a certain…bakery. Don't they look familiar, Anastasia?"

Anastasia slowly turned her head to face her sister, sputtering, "I don't know, maybe they…well, what I mean is…"

"Do try one, Drizella," Cinderella spoke up. "I woke up early and decided to visit the village for a while. I saw them in one of the shops and decided to buy a box for us all."

Drizella's eyes narrowed. "_You_ bought them?"

Cinderella smiled. "Yes, I thought it would be a lovely treat for us to share. Please, help yourself." Anastasia turned back to Cinderella and gave her a quick smile of gratitude.

"Humph," Drizella grunted. "I'm not hungry right now. We need to take care of Mother, Anastasia."

"I'm on my way," Anastasia answered, popping the last bit of fruit into her mouth and getting up to follow her sister.

"I can help as well," Cinderella offered, also getting up from her chair.

"Ha!" Drizella scoffed. "Why would Her Highness the queen want to help with menial tasks like that? After all, you're soooo much better than us, aren't you, Cinderella?"

Cinderella inhaled sharply. "I was asked for, and I came. If I can help in any way, then that's what I'll do. And just for the record, Drizella, I don't think I'm better than you, nor have I ever thought that – even after becoming queen. All I ever wanted was to be treated as your equal. I didn't think that was too much to ask." Without waiting for a reply, Cinderella walked past the two stunned stepsisters, and went upstairs.

Caring for a sick and dying person is never easy, and Lady Tremaine certainly wasn't willing to make it any easier. She thrashed about wildly when they tried to bathe her, screaming and panting as though they were pouring acid on her skin instead of water. She nearly clawed Drizella's face while the three were putting her into her gown, and then started into a coughing jag that was so violent, she left blood and sputum on Anastasia's dress and Cinderella's hands.

Then there was the matter of the bed linens. The sheets on her bed were soiled and needed to be replaced, and then Anastasia quietly disclosed to Cinderella that they only had two sets of bedsheets left for their mother's bed. Cinderella found the last set of sheets, made a note to herself to ask the page who would be visiting the house that day to bring more from the palace, and helped put them on the bed while Drizella and Anastasia half carried, half dragged their mother over and got her back into it.

As she was being tucked back in, Lady Tremaine suddenly grabbed the collar of Drizella's shift and cried, "Drizella! Be sure to check with Madame Clevant about those gowns I ordered for you and Anastasia! The Houghton wedding is in two weeks!"

Cinderella remembered the wedding her stepmother was talking about. When she was 15, Cinderella learned that Angelica Houghton, the oldest daughter of the town's most prominent physician, was marrying the heir to one of the largest battleship manufacturers in Europe. It was the talk of the town for several months before the big day. Lady Tremaine made sure she and her daughters were dressed in the finest gowns of the season, but conveniently, there was no money left to order a gown for Cinderella. She remembered standing at the top of the stairs, forlorn, while Lady Tremaine ushered her daughters out of the house. "You wouldn't have fit in anyway," she tossed over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her.

Drizella looked over at Anastasia, rolled her eyes, and replied, "Yes, Mother, I'll see to it right now." She gently but firmly pried her mother's fingers from her clothing.

"Hmm…good," Lady Tremaine said, closing her eyes dreamily. "Those gowns are satin…designed for girls with figures…but you work with what you have…"

Cinderella was surprised to hear Lady Tremaine say such things. In all her years living with her, Cinderella had never heard her stepmother criticize or berate her daughters in any way. It always seemed as though she'd saved up her insults for her stepdaughter.

Drizella groaned in irritation and threw up her hands. "All right! So the old woman is clean! I'm done now." Without waiting for an answer, she stalked past Cinderella and Anastasia and left the room, practically running down the stairs.

Anastasia turned to Cinderella and opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. Fidgeting slightly, she finally said, "I have some…things to attend to. If you'll excuse me, Cinderella."

"Of course," Cinderella replied kindly. She could tell her stepsister was embarrassed: by the condition of the house, by the condition of her mother, by the condition of herself. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay here with-with your mother."

Anastasia looked surprised, but she said it was perfectly fine with her and that she'd come back later to check on her, around lunchtime. Again, Cinderella's stepsister looked like she was ready to say something, but once again stopped herself and quickly left the room.

Cinderella turned back to the bed, where her stepmother lay, inert and plagued with heavy, raspy breathing. How was she going to get her to continue the story where she'd left off? At this point, would Lady Tremaine even remember how the story went? Still, she had to try. Pulling the chair back to the bed, Cinderella sat down and gently called, "Stepmother."

There was no reply. Cinderella called again, and still no response. Then she thought for a moment, and tried once more, but this time, she called, "Julia?"

The old woman's eyes opened foggily. "Hmmm….," she croaked.

"Julia, tell me about...Miguel de Argentes."

At the sound of his name, Lady Tremaine started to cough so violently that Cinderella was frightened. She worried what her prodding might do to the dying woman—that it might bring her to a precipice from which she might not return. But soon enough the coughing eased into a few sniffles. Lady Tremaine took a long, shuddering breath, and her words came out like a sob. "Oh, Miguel! How I loved him! I truly think he was the only man I ever loved."

Cinderella swallowed, debating on whether she wanted to ask the next question she'd been thinking. Finally she asked gently, "What happened to him? Did…Elizabeth have something to do with it?"

Lady Tremaine looked right at Cinderella and narrowed her eyes. "Of course she did," she hissed.

Cinderella nodded, her heart pounding. "Tell me about it."

Lady Tremaine sighed and turned back to the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, she continued her story.

* * *

><p>"Miguel and his family had been tastefully vague about precisely how long they were going to be visiting our land, and my mother, being the pragmatist she was, knew that she'd better err on the side of having less time rather than more in terms of ingratiating ourselves. She went on a spending binge, insisting on new tapestries and draperies for our home, and new dresses for herself and me. She ordered had all matter of exotic foods imported and delivered to our mansion: black truffles, beluga caviar, pomegranates, Colombian chocolate. She even forced my father to have a new carriage built for us, because, in her words, 'it's as important to show we're going someplace in style as it is to show we're going someplace.'<p>

Lavish spending aside, Mother made sure that we attended every public event that Miguel and his family were supposed to attend, and that she consistently invited them to our home 'for a modest gathering.' Of course by now, everyone in our social circle wanted the de Argentes to come to their estates, so my mother had to wait her turn—as patiently as someone like her possibly could.

Finally our turn came around. My mother hosted the most opulent, most decorated ball we'd ever had at our mansion. She invited everyone to attend, and she made sure that our maids spent hours on primping me for the event. In spite of being born into nobility, and having wealth all my life, for that one night, I truly felt like a princess. I felt that I commanded that ball, dressed in my gold gown, my hair styled with white roses and pearls. I glided down the staircase, feeling every eye upon me. My father met me at the bottom of the stair. He took my hand and smiled, but I saw he was sweating and shivering slightly.

I frowned at him. 'Father? What's wrong with you?' I asked. He waved it off. 'Nothing, dearest, nothing. Just…go have a lovely time.'

I knew exactly what I needed to do. I scanned the room for Miguel, narrowing my eyes to hone in for that dark, gorgeous face. But he wasn't there, at least, not yet. Bearing my disappointment as best I could, I accepted several dance offers from other eligible bachelors. The whole time I swept over the dance floor, however, I searched for him.

Finally I'd had enough of dancing and decided to sit for a while. No sooner had I sat down then Elizabeth Farringdon came and sat to next to me. She greeted me with a smile and I returned it.

'You look lovely, Julia dear,' Elizabeth told me.

'As do you, sweet Ellie,' I replied. And it was true. Dressed in her royal blue gown with silver gloves, my best friend simply shone. I secretly hoped that somehow Miguel would not notice her. I sighed as I realized it had been an hour since the ball started, and the de Argentes family still hadn't arrived.

'What's wrong?' Elizabeth asked upon hearing my sigh.

'Oh…nothing, dear," I told her. I searched for an excuse. 'It's just…these balls. They can be quite exhausting and a bit…overwhelming.'

She nodded sagely. 'You're right. My mother has been planning one for us to hold at our estate next week.' She placed her hands in her lap. "You know, Julie, sometimes I wish…ah…never mind.'

'No, what were you going to say?' I was intrigued.

Elizabeth smiled wistfully. 'Sometimes, I have this fantasy of waking up one morning and just running away. Just running and running…running past the estates, past the city. Running into the woods and out to the other side, into tall golden stalks of grass. Running to the beach, to the ocean.'

I chuckled lightly. 'And where would you go after that? Walk on the water, perhaps?'

She laughed along with me. 'Tis true, my friend. Just a little escapist dream of mine. Maybe all girls have the same dream, in some form or another.'

I gave her a kindly look, but did not answer. As a woman I knew exactly how cruel the world could be to my kind. I didn't want to indulge in fantasies of escape; no, I wanted to live in the reality of each present moment, and to plan for the next one to come. Nevertheless, a part of me knew exactly what Elizabeth was speaking about, and admired her for putting those unspoken feelings into words.

We sat together for a while longer, chatting about the ball and those in attendance, when our doorman announced in his clear, basso voice, "May I present His Royal Highness, Prince Miguel de Argentes of Arragosa!"

And there he was, coming into the main hall, polished and debonair in his red and black suit. I swore that for a second, my heart stopped. I felt myself rise from my seat automatically. "Ellie, dear, if you'll excuse me,' I murmured, not taking my eyes off of him.

By the time I reached him, a crowd had already started to form around him. He was cordial and gracious to all of his admirers, of course, but when he looked over and saw me standing there, that same conspiratorial smile he'd given me the other day at the Farringdon estate lit up his face. 'Ladies, gentlemen, pardon me,' he told the crowd, then darted away from them to approach me.

He took my hand and kissed it. 'Miss Hartwell. How lovely to see you again.'

After bowing to him, I decided to take a chance again, and used my same saucy approach as before. 'Your Highness. What a coincidence that we should be attending the same ball! And at such a lovely estate as well!' Miguel threw back his head and laughed, quickly catching the attention of several other guests. I felt my heart soar.

He asked me to dance, and naturally I said yes. We seemed to fly over the floor, and everything else—the room, the house, the guests—all seemed to disappear. His eyes never left mine, and I was lost in them, lost in their deep, dark depths. I never wanted to be saved.

And then, it was over. Other girls wished to dance with him, and other men wished to dance with me. Before we parted, Miguel gave me that same knowing smile as before. I went off to dance with my other partners, my heart full of hope. I danced, I ate, I made conversation, but I barely remembered any of it. My thoughts were all turned to him. I didn't mind watching him dance with the other girls—even when he danced with Elizabeth, and he'd leaned over and whispered something to her and she giggled. I knew I'd already started to leave my mark on him.

I didn't get to see much more of him that night, but that didn't worry me. The ball ended gloriously and was a testament to my mother's skill as a hostess, and I went to bed feeling exhausted and yet restless and giddy with joy.

The days that followed the ball felt dull and colorless in comparison. I practiced the piano, attended events in town, visited with Elizabeth. But I yearned for Miguel. He and his family were off attending so many functions our calls and invitations had not been answered at all.

Then, five days after the ball, the turning point been hoping for finally came. It was early morning. I'd been fast asleep when I was awakened by the sounds of shouting coming from the bedroom down the hall from mine – my parents' chambers. Slowly I peeled myself out of bed and tiptoed to their door, kneeling down and pressing my ear against the wood panel so I could hear what was going on.

'Two hundred pounds for silk handkerchiefs for the valets, five hundred for orchids from India! Two thousand for Spanish sherry and cheese! Agnes, what on earth were you thinking?'

I'd never heard my father sound so furious before—or so frightened. Swallowing nervously, I leaned closer to hear more.

'How else do you expect us to impress Prince Miguel? There are a dozen more eligible girls in our kingdom—I have to get Julia to stand out! And our daughter won't make any impression on the son of a King in last season's gowns or living in a house with subpar interior design that serves pedestrian fare!"

'Agnes,' my father began quietly. 'You know our fortunes have almost run out, don't you?'

I felt my heart race and I felt dizzy for a moment. We were almost of money? I had no idea. I knew my mother could be extravagant, but it always seemed as though we had unlimited funds to support her spendthrift ways.

My mother sighed. "Of course I do, George! But it will work out, don't you see? When Julia marries Prince Miguel, she'll be royalty! _We'll_ be royalty! The de Argentes would never allow their family to fall into poverty. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if Julia moved us right into the palace with her! Those Arragostans, they're quite focused on family, you know—"

"Oh, stop it, would you? You act as though the prince has already proposed to Julia, when he's only ever really spoken to her twice. And you said so yourself: there are dozens of other girls in the kingdom, and even then you're assuming the boy has any desires to marry! He's not heir to the throne; he's under no duress to do so!"

'You could try having a bit more faith in our daughter! She's charming, she's graceful, she's talented, and very handsome too!"

There was that word again – _handsome_. Oh dear.

Dejected, I got up and went back to my room. I paced the floor, thinking about what I'd just heard. Now I knew why my mother was putting so much pressure on me: she didn't just have my future to consider, but rather all of our futures. What a burden to place on my shoulders. I thought back to Elizabeth's idea of simply running away one morning. Maybe this was my morning to do it.

I dressed quickly and slipped out of the house before my parents noticed my absence. Instead of running through the meadow, however, I called for the coachman and asked him to take me to the botanical gardens. It was one of the main attractions in our kingdom for tourists, but I just loved going there as a common outing. I felt peace when I was there, everything felt simplified. When I arrived, I told the coachman to return for me in an hour – and to keep my whereabouts to himself.

The gardens were laid out in one large circle. There were gleaming white fountains, lazy green waterfalls, and cool marble statues in addition to all the dark, fragrant plants from all over the world. I walked directly to my favorite place in the garden, a grey marble bench shaded by mimosa trees dusted with soft, feathery flowers. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of the flowers, allowed myself to be lulled by the babbling of a nearby stream.

"And so, the great pianist has escaped into the world of Flora,' a voice said. My eyes flew open and I jumped slightly.

It was Miguel. He was standing over me, that charming smile on his lips. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,' he apologized.

'No!' I cried, just a little too eagerly. 'No, I was just lost in my thoughts.' I stood and bowed. 'Your Highness.'

But he waved it off. 'Ah, there's no need for that. Might I join you?' I consented, and he sat down on the beach next to me.

'What brings you here?' I asked.

'The botanical gardens' Miguel replied, gesturing to the plants surrounding us. 'I'd been told this was a main attraction in your kingdom, but truthfully this place reminds me of the gardens at my home in the palace.'

"Ah, they must be a sight to behold."

"Yes, they are." Miguel sighed deeply. "I miss them. I miss my sister and brothers. I miss everything."

I smiled sympathetically, but I was worried. Did this mean he was returning home? Did he not want to be here anymore? What was I to do? I could not lose him—not just because he meant saving face for my family, but also because I'd fallen very hard for him. I searched for just the right words, I told him gently, "I understand, Your Highness, but sometimes we can find things that make us feel at home no matter where we are."

Miguel's brow furrowed. "Oh? Tell me more, please."

"Well…for example, these gardens are like the ones you know. The rolling hillsides and deep green valleys of our country are like the ones in Arragosta. And…my playing," I added with a blush, "you said is very much like your sister's. Perhaps, if you look for the things you love here, then it won't feel so alienating to you."

A wide smile slowly spread on his face, and my heart skipped a beat. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I have been looking at this the wrong way."

We sat for a while in silence. I was trying desperately to find something to say when Miguel suddenly asked, "Miss Hartwell?"

I smiled generously. "Julia, please."

"Julia," he corrected. "Do you believe that…it is possible for two people to be in love, to truly be perfectly matched to one another, even when they come from two very different worlds?"

My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest, and I had to keep my hands clenched together so they wouldn't shake. Oh, he felt the same way I did! It was too much, too much. But I kept my composure and answered in a slightly unsteady voice, "I believe that…love can happen anywhere. As long as two people find beauty in each other…and understand each other…it is absolutely possible."

Miguel thought for a moment, then exclaimed, "Yes! You're right!" He jumped up, taking my hands and helping me to rise as well. "I must go. There are things I must do. I will be in touch with you later, I promise!"

I smiled. "Oh yes, of course."

Then Miguel did something I will never forget. He leaned in, closely, and kissed my cheek. "Thank you, Julia. Thank you! You're wonderful!"

I was so taken aback I could not answer him. He smiled again and nodded quickly, then rushed off. After he left, I slowly brought my hand to my face, to the cheek he'd kissed. I closed my eyes and cupped my face with my hand. I'd never felt anything so wonderful.

I walked out of the botanical gardens, my feet barely touching the ground. I'd won! I'd won him! Prince Miguel of Arragosta was going to be mine! His question was practically a proposal, I knew it. He had to go home and speak with his uncle, of course. There were certain rules of decorum he had to follow. He would write to his parents and tell them of his decision, and he'd make an appointment to speak with my father and ask for his permission to marry me. Then he would ask me directly, of course. Oh, the waiting was going to be the most difficult part! How could I ever endure it?

The carriage was waiting in the front for me, and my first inclination upon climbing inside was to go straight home and tell my mother. But then I thought better of it. She would fly off the handle, blabbing the news to everyone before Miguel had the chance to do things properly. No, it was better for me to keep my knowledge to myself, until it was official.

"Where shall I take you, Miss Julia?" the coachman asked.

"Town Square," I ordered. I decided I would visit the dressmaker and have something special ordered. I would be ready. Something elegant, yet unassuming. Oh, I could barely sit still as we drove to the shop.

After visiting the dressmaker and ordering something sophisticated in a dreamy shade of mauve, I walked along the cobbled roads and noticed Hernando de Argentes, Miguel's uncle, speaking to Elizabeth. It seemed a short, pleasant sort of conversation they were having—most likely just meeting in passing. He'd already departed from her when I was approaching. When Elizabeth saw me, she lit up and gave me a kiss.

"Julia, darling!" she cried. "Why what's this? You look-well, you're glowing!"

"Glowing?" I asked with a smile. I had no idea it was so obvious.

"Yes, glowing! I've never seen you so radiant! What's happened to make you so happy? Please, tell me."

I hesitated. I wanted desperately to share my good news with someone, and who more fitting than my best friend? But no, I could not. It wouldn't be proper. "Oh, it's nothing," I said, trying to look less radiant.

"Oh yes it is!" Elizabeth insisted. "Something wonderful has happened to you! I must know, please!"

"Oh Ellie, I can't!" I cried. "I want so desperately to tell you, but…I've been asked not to say just yet. Please don't ask! Just—just—just be happy for me! Please?"

Technically Miguel never asked me not to say anything, but the fact that he didn't tell me and he said he'd be in touch with me later were his indirect way of telling me to keep mum. I had to respect this.

And Elizabeth understood. Taking my hands, she said, "Of course, my darling Julia! Anything that makes you happy makes me happy as well. I shall simply have to stew for a while, but it is more than worth it. Come, we'll walk a bit, won't we?"

As we walked together, I realized something. Elizabeth truly did care for my happiness. She wasn't interested in being rivals. She really did love me. Oh, what a wonderful friend I had! I knew that I would have no one else as my maid of honor at the wedding. I'd dress her in pale blue satin, and she'd stand right next to me with a lovely bouquet of lilies. And then, after I was married, I'd ask Miguel to find a suitor from his family for her too—a cousin perhaps. And then we'd be family, both splendidly married into royalty. And all this rivalry rubbish between the Hartwells and the Farringdons would be over, once and for all..."


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: This entire chapter picks up exactly where the previous chapter left off, so it's all Lady Tremaine telling her story to Cinderella._

* * *

><p>"For the next few days that followed my meeting with Miguel, I lived like a hermit. Granted, a glowing, joyous hermit—but a hermit nonetheless. I didn't want to be out somewhere when Miguel came to call and ask my father for permission to marry me. And so I didn't leave the house at all: not to shop, not to visit the gardens, not even to visit Elizabeth. And, strangely enough, Elizabeth didn't visit me, nor did she send any notes calling on me. Normally I would have found that odd, but I couldn't be bothered at that moment. I was deeply, hopelessly, blissfully in love.<p>

My mother noticed my change in mood, naturally. She asked me, both indirectly and directly several times over those days, but I held my tongue. I passed it off as youthful caprice, or some nonsense of that sort.

I was able to tolerate the first day, then the second, and just barely the third, but when the fourth day came and still no word had arrived from Miguel, I began to get anxious. I didn't want to eat, didn't want to sleep. I didn't practice my piano as I usually did. All I did was sit in the parlor by the large bay window for hours, watching desperately for the royal carriage to come down the path.

Finally my mother couldn't stand my introversion anymore. She yanked me from the windowseat by the arm, led me out of the parlor, and practically yelled, "Enough! I can't stand all the pining and sighing! For goodness sake, go to town and buy something—I don't care what, just get out of this house!"

I didn't see any other option than to heed my mother's advice, so I did just that and restlessly walked the streets of the town for nearly an hour. None of the shops interested me; I wanted nothing but Miguel. At last I stood outside a florist's shop, debating on whether to waste more time browsing inside, when two elderly ladies of the gentry were leaving the store and I happened to overhear their conversation.

"I tell you, Ingrid, it's true! The girl is from right here, in the valley!" one woman said to the other. "From what I've heard, Prince Miguel is quite smitten with her!"

At the sound of Miguel's name, my body stiffened as if electrified. I fumbled with my bracelet, pretending to adjust it while listening to their conversation.

"Ah, Ethel, what great fortune for us!" the old lady named Ingrid replied. "Has he already formally proposed?"

"There has been no announcement, but I'm sure it will be sometime this week. He's been courting her for a few weeks now."

My heart throbbed in my chest and I could barely breathe, I was so overjoyed. Miguel was going to propose soon! I walked away from the store, hardly feeling my feet upon the ground. Oh, where was I to go? I wondered as the coachman helped me into the carriage. I thought perhaps I should go home and tell my mother and she could prepare. But I wasn't sure. I feared my mother would take my glorious moment and turn it into her moment of triumph. No, I needed to be with someone who would truly be happy for me, who would celebrate my moment pure-heartedly.

"Farringdon Estate," I told my driver.

When I arrived at Elizabeth's home, she was not there. I was disappointed, but I decided to wait for her. Her parents were off somewhere else at the estate, and so I sat in their parlor by myself, lazily playing the scales on their piano. I did not have to wait for long, as Elizabeth arrived home less than fifteen minutes later. She seemed breathless yet happy, her cheeks flushed as though she been running. At any other time I would have been dying to know why she looked so undone, but I was far too focused on my own situation.

"Julia!" she managed to wheeze out. "I didn't know you were coming, dear!"

"I'm sorry for stopping by unexpectedly," I told her. "But I have wonderful news, and I had to share it with you!"

"Oh? Well, come, sit down, sit down and tell me! This is the same happy event you could not talk about earlier?"

"It is," I answered with a smile, sitting down with her on the couch and taking her hands. "But now I feel I can speak of it! I must, or I shall burst! Oh, Ellie, it's everything you could ever dream of! Miguel—Prince Miguel of Arragosta—is going to ask me to marry him! Isn't that the most stupendous thing imaginable?"

When I spoke these words, I expected my friend to share in my enthusiasm, to be giddy and joyful and celebrate along with me. But she did not. It was not happiness on Elizabeth's face I saw—it wasn't even envy. It was confusion, and a little sadness.

"Prince-Prince Miguel?" she asked. "He asked you to marry him? When?"

"Well, he hasn't asked me yet, but he will!" I then proceeded to tell her the story of our meeting at the botanical gardens and what Miguel had said to me, and what I'd just overheard in town.

Even after telling her my story, her somber look didn't change. "Are you not happy for me?" I whined. The smile was still on my face, but I was starting to feel puzzled by her reaction.

She frowned and looked away. "I wish to be, dearest, but…"

And then I understood. Elizabeth worried about what my impending marriage would do to our friendship. I had to reassure her. "Oh Ellie, don't be sad! We'll always be friends, even after I marry! Nothing could change that."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head fervently. "It's not that, Julie. It's that…well, have you considered you might be…mistaken?"

My smile faded. "Mistaken? I repeated. "Why ever would you think I could be mistaken?"

She fidgeted nervously with her hands. "Well, it's just that…that…he didn't actually ask you."

"Well, yes I know that, but there's already talk in the town that he's going to propose to me! I told you about those two old women who were talking about it."

"Yes…" Elizabeth looked almost sick. "But dear, did you consider that perhaps…they weren't speaking about you? That perhaps…there's another girl who may have caught his attention?"

I felt the blood rush to my face. I fought to control myself. How could this girl—who claimed to be my friend—say such things? And then it clicked in my head: everything my mother had ever warned me about was true. There could never be true friendship amongst women. Even the closest friend a woman might have would only try to cut her down if it benefitted her. Elizabeth was doing just that. She was the pretty one, the charming one, and she couldn't stand to see me win the prize!

"You think I'm lying," I said flatly. "You think that I could never win Miguel's love."

She looked at me with wide, frightened eyes, opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. "No. No, I…oh Julie, please don't be angry with me! I simply don't want you to get hurt! Please understand!"

My eyes narrowed. I could see right through her. "I understand perfectly, Elizabeth," I told her coldly. "I came here to confide in a friend, but it's quite obvious that I came to the wrong house."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the parlor, ignoring Elizabeth's calls and pleas to come back. I had the butler call for my carriage, and when it arrived, I got in and told the driver to take me to see the de Argentes'. I would speak to Miguel myself. I would get him to speak the words I'd been waiting for, convince him to go see my parents and make it official. And once it was, I would be sure to tell Elizabeth personally and throw it all in her face. My mother would probably tell me to shun her, but no, that wasn't the way to do it, I knew. I would include her in everything. She'd be invited to the engagement banquet. She'd be my maid of honor, standing right next to me, watching me marry into royalty. I would even invite her to the wedding breakfast so that she'd be forced to watch each and every moment of my glory. And every minute of my wedding, she'd feel it—she'd feel the shame and guilt she deserved for doubting me.

It was a mere twenty minute drive to the estate Miguel's family was leasing, but it felt like an eternity. I felt my rage devouring me from the inside out, but I willed myself to chant one of the many lessons my mother instilled into me: _above all, self-control._

When I rang the bell, the rat-faced butler informed me that His Highness had just returned from an important trip and was consulting with his uncle at the moment. I informed him, in as controlled a tone that I could possibly muster, that my business with the prince was urgent. When the stubborn fool still wouldn't allow me to enter, I grabbed a china vase that was sitting on the porch and threw it into the yard, watching him run frantically after it. With the butler properly distracted, I dashed into the mansion.

"Miguel? Miguel!" I called, peeking into the many rooms and feeling more desperate with each passing moment. Finally, after I'd check all the rooms on the bottom floor, I heard footsteps above me and saw him at the stop of the stairs with his uncle in tow.

"Julia?" he asked with a puzzled look on his face. "What's happened?"

"Miguel, please," I begged. "I must speak with you!"

Miguel looked at his uncle, who consented, and then joined me on the bottom floor. "Come," he said, pointing to the room closest to where we stood, "We can speak in the drawing room."

He ushered me into the room and slid the doors shut behind us. "Now, what's happened?" He asked. "I've never seen you so upset."

Willing back tears, I said in my most controlled voice I could muster, "I feel I've waited long enough, Miguel. I would appreciate it if you would ask me so that the news can be distributed properly."

"Ask you?" Miguel repeated. "Ask you about what?"

I realized something in that moment: Elizabeth and Miguel shared the same confused look when I tried to speak of the engagement.

"About…about our engagement, of course. You asked me if two people from different worlds could be in love…and-and I thought…" I trailed off. I suddenly felt very stupid and very alone.

Miguel looked stricken. "Julia," he began gently. "Julia, my dear, I'm so very sorry, but I wasn't speaking about you and I."

Elizabeth had been right. I brought a hand to my mouth to suppress a sob and turned away. Miguel tried to lay his hand on my shoulder but I shook it off.

"I never intended to hurt you. I had-I had no idea you felt this way! Our friendship, it always seemed so light and carefree. You've reminded me so much of Carlota, I…I didn't know."

So it was true. I reminded Miguel of his sister and that was all. I was there to give him sisterly advice at the botanical gardens and play the piano in a familiar style and nothing more. I turned to face him again. "But you are planning on marrying someone from the valley, aren't you?" I asked, wiping away a tear. "That's the rumor in the town."

Miguel was silent. I could tell by the look on his face he was trying very hard to try to tell me something that would be even more painful than his rejection. Finally he admitted, "You…know her, yes. Very well."

I was confused at first, and then all at once it hit me, as though I'd been slapped in the face. Her flushed face, her wrinkled dress. She'd just come home, just like Miguel. She hadn't come to see me in several days. I hadn't seen anything of Miguel either. At the ball—_my_ ball—he'd leaned forward to whisper something in her ear and she giggled out of delight, and it was so very intimate. And then there was the sad, confused, guilty look she'd given me when I tried to give her my happy news.

"Oh God," I whispered. "Of all the girls it could have been, why her?"

Miguel shook his head sadly. "I love her. I've loved her since the first day I saw her, when I came to her parents' estate and she sang for me. It's only grown stronger since then—for both of us."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in. I needed to control myself. I couldn't break down there—not in front of him. "I see," I said in a low voice. "I shall leave you to your business, Your Highness. I apologize for visiting unannounced." I gave a small curtsy, and turned to leave.

Miguel put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. "Julia, please. I never meant to hurt you. Please believe me."

I glared at him coolly, willing the tears in my eyes not to fall. "If you'll excuse me, Your Highness," I replied, and wrenched myself out of his grasp.

I walked out of the mansion as if in a trance. Nothing around me felt real; it all swirled and bubbled around me as if in a dream. I could vaguely make out the rat-like butler chiding me for throwing a priceless antique on the grass as I walked past him. I ignored all of it and kept walking.

I kept my held high as I walked out of the well manicured estate, my gait as graceful as a Queen's. The driver was waiting just at the gate, and he looked surprised as I approached. He bowed and opened the door to the carriage, and I quietly climbed in. I gave him a silent nod and he knew to take me home. Once we began to move I lay down on the seat and stared up at the maroon velvet of the roof of the coach, allowing the tears to flow freely from my eyes.

I'd failed. Not only myself, but my family as well. What were we going to do, with our fortunes almost gone? Would we have to sell all of our fine things, discharge our servants, and my mother and I take jobs as seamstresses or cooks? Would we be forced to live on the charity of distant relatives? I'd brought this fate on my family, by not being beautiful enough, charming enough, lovable enough for Miguel.

Miguel…oh, the very thought of him was making my heart ache. How could he love her and not me? Was she so much better to love than I? How could I have not seen what was happening between the two of them? My despair shifted over to rage. Elizabeth had kept this from me. All these days, when I believed I had a chance, she'd been hiding Miguel's courtship. Couldn't she have seen how I felt about him – was she really that oblivious? And now, I would have to watch her marry a prince and go to live in a castle, and listen to her irritating harpy of a mother squawking nonstop about how her daughter was now royalty. Oh, I was never going to bear this. Never.

Eventually the carriage stopped. I heard the driver get out, and I sat up quickly, collected myself, and took his hand to exit. I held myself long enough to get to my room and shut the door behind me, and then I fell to my knees and began to sob like a baby, my tears so thick in my eyes that I could barely see anything.

My cries made my body strain against my corset, and my skin ached against the rigid material. I just wanted to lie down and close my eyes and die.

Eventually my sobs were loud enough for others to hear, and my mother immediately tried to get into my room; however, my body was blocking the door.

"Julia!" she called through the door. "Julia, open this door this instant! What's gotten into you?"

"No!" I screamed. "Leave me alone!"

"What is it?" she pressed. "What's happened? Where did you go?" When I didn't answer, my mother's voice softened. "Darling, please," she cooed. "Please tell me what's wrong."

I fought to catch my breath through my cries, and finally had controlled myself enough to stammer, "P-Prince M-M-Miguel, he's…marrying someone else."

There was a pause. "Who?" my mother said in a soft, fierce voice.

I trembled as I brushed the tears away. "It's-it's…Elizabeth Farringdon. He's in love with Elizabeth Farringdon."

Again, there was silence, even longer than before. Finally my mother said quietly, "Julia, open the door and let me in, please."

I didn't know what to do, but finally I backed away from the door and sat down on my bed. My mother turned the doorknob and walked in. I kept my head down, afraid to see what her face looked like. I heard her walk over to the bed and felt the mattress shift as she sat down. Then, to my surprise, she gently pulled me against her and stroked my hair. Oh, it felt wonderful. The love, the comfort, it was what I needed, what I'd yearned for from her for so many years. I leaned my head against her shoulder and wept softly. We sat like this for a short while, and then I heard her take in a soft breath and say, "You failed."

I sniffled. "Yes," I admitted.

My mother sighed. "All that money I spent…all that time planning that ball…and you allowed that simpering, scrawny little pest to steal him away from you. Why did I even bother?"

I pulled away and wiped the tears from my face. "I tried—really I did! But he fell in love with her. He said he loved her since he saw her singing that day. What else was I supposed to do?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Mother mimicked me in a falsetto voice. "You allowed this to happen, Julia. You allowed our family to become a joke to those godawful Farringdons and all the other families in the kingdom. And now, I will have to start making other plans for you—plans that I can guarantee you won't ruin." She got up from the bed.

"Can't you be a little kinder?" I pleaded. "This hurts—so much! Can't you help me?"

My mother turned to face me with a cold look. "Help you? Oh, dear child, I am helping you. I've been trying to help you all this time. The world is a cold, cruel place. Better you learn that from your own mother than a complete stranger." And with that, she left.

I lay in my bed for the rest of the day and the day after that. My mother had the maids come in and forcibly remove me one time in order to bathe me. The trays of food that were brought to me were left untouched. I didn't want to do anything but lie there.

Finally, two days after I'd found out about Elizabeth and Miguel, there was a knock on my door. Martha, my maid, opened the door and stood timidly in the threshold, holding a long box in her arms. "Miss Julia?" she asked. "A package from town came for you today."

"I don't want it," I snapped, turning over in bed. "Take it away."

"It-it looks like it m-might be a dress, ma'am," Martha stammered. "I'll just leave on the table in case you change your mind." She laid the box down and quickly scurried out of the room.

After she was gone, I reluctantly turned back to face the table. I knew what it was; the dress I'd ordered in town almost a week ago had come in. Slowly I peeled myself out of bed and shuffled over to the table. I moved practically like an old woman because I'd been sedentary for so long. I took my time unwrapping the box, but eventually the layers of tissue were pulled back and there it was, the mauve satin gown I'd ordered to wear at my engagement party. I laughed lightly at this, the absurdity of my assumptions, but it then turned to a sob that I had to suppress using the back of my hand.

I had to return the gown, I supposed. It was only the right thing to do. But it was so beautiful, and I wanted to try it on. I stood there for a while, debating it, when I heard my door open again. "I thought you went away…" I started to snap at Martha, but when I turned around it was my father.

"Oh! Father," I said simply. "I'm sorry." I started to pack up the box with the gown.

"No, dear, I'm sorry for coming in unannounced," he told me. "I only came to tell you…that we received an invitation to attend a celebration at Farringdon estate tonight. It appears to be…an engagement party."

I stood there, mute, clutching the box with my gown. So it was really going to happen. Elizabeth and Miguel were going to blithely celebrate their engagement, without caring at all about what it was going to do to me. The lovely, happy couple – what did they care about anyone else? They had each other. So very genteel.

My father continued. "Your mother has made it clear that she has no intention of attending, and…I certainly have no inclination to do so either. But I felt that I should tell you; I felt that you should know. I shall leave you to yourself, dear."

As my father left the room, I realized how old and tired he looked. And then I remembered my parents' conversation several days earlier: we were almost out of money. I feared what our lives would be like soon.

And then a hot, crimson rage fell over me. My father should have been overjoyed at that moment, not quietly falling apart from worry. He should have been celebrating his daughter's engagement to a prince. There should have been a lavish celebration at our estate, not Elizabeth's. I suddenly noticed my hands were aching, and then I looked down and realized I was gripping the box with our new gown so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. I wanted an outlet for my rage. I wanted to rend the gown from bodice to hem, wanted to throw it out the window with a fierce cry.

But then, a cool calmness began to drift over me like a breeze over the ocean. My mind had started to push the rage away, and instead turn to calculating. I knew what I was going to do…

Servants have the largest ears of any creature on earth, you know. They can hear everything happening on every floor of a house. They can discern even the smallest bits of dialogue and piece together a whole conversation. Therein lies their true talent. So it was no surprise at all that most of the people attending Elizabeth's engagement party knew about my mistaken belief that Prince Miguel wished to marry me, and my subsequent breakdown that followed. Elizabeth's servants heard our emotional exchange, heard her crying to her parents about it after I'd left. Those servants spread it through town during their errands to the servants of other estates, and of course, Elizabeth's servants spoke to my servants, who also spoke to Miguel's servants. And any good master or mistress of an estate keeps a close eye and ear on what their servants are attending to, and were soon enough privy to the news of my humiliation and distress.

For all these reasons, I'm sure it was quite a surprise for the aforementioned party guests when they saw the Hartwell's coach pull up to the front of the Farringdon estate, and Miss Julia Hartwell emerge from it, dressed splendidly in my dark pink gown and with her head held high. I heard the faint whispers, saw the surprised looks on their faces, but I ignored it all. That was not what I was there for, after all. I was there to congratulate my best friend and celebrate her happiness.

I'd barely made it into the mansion when I was confronted by Lord and Lady Farringdon, who were ready to defend their daughter. Laura Farringdon had was forming a rebuke, but she had no chance to say it. I immediately curtsied to her husband and said, "Lord Farringdon, congratulations are in order! The celebration is simply stunning."

My cheerful demeanor and warm smile caught them both off guard. Lord Farringdon stammered, "Y-yes, thank you, Julia. You're very kind."

I turned to Lady Farringdon and added, "Thank you very much for the invitation, Lady Farringdon. Unfortunately my parents were unable to attend, but send their gratitude for thinking of them, and their best wishes for your family, of course."

Her jaw nearly dropped, but she recovered and replied, "Thank you, Julia. I'm so…pleased you were able to make it."

I made my smile even brighter. "I wouldn't have missed this for anything! Elizabeth must be so very thrilled, isn't she? Have you all started making your plans yet?"

She shook her head. "No. No, I…there's still much to do." She was practically squirming, she was so uncomfortable. She excused herself and her husband quickly and ran off to some other corner of the celebration.

Not long after, I saw Elizabeth and Miguel on the far side of the room. Once again, I was taken by his beauty and it made me ache. Elizabeth, for her part, looked every bit the princess in the making in her sea green gown with gold trim. He had her tucked affectionately under his arm as they spoke to their guests. He looked down at her lovingly several times, and she was beaming. I willed myself not to breakdown right there. I watched them calmly, all the while feeling like a knife was in my heart.

Finally Elizabeth got wind of my presence and looked around for me. Our eyes met, and I could tell she was afraid. With a slight smile, I made my way over to them. The guests they'd been speaking to saw my approach and quickly dispersed. Once I was there, I gave a grand, sweeping bow—one so magnificent, in fact, that several guests turned to see it and were mesmerized. Once I rose, I looked Miguel in the eyes and said impassively, "Your Highness."

Miguel gave a short nod, "Julia," he replied simply.

I turned my attention to Elizabeth. Holding out my hand, I said, "Elizabeth, darling. Congratulations."

Cautiously Elizabeth took my hand and answered, "Thank you, Julia. I'm so happy you could come."

I gave a small smile and excused myself. For the next hour, I was a model guest. I sipped a glass of wine while mingling with the other guests. I complimented the groom and bride to be every chance I had. I smiled and laughed and appeared to be sharing in the joy of the moment.

But then, I was ready to go. I had one of the servants call for my coach and have it brought to the front of the house, so that I could leave quickly. I made no indication of this, however. I simply stood quietly in the corner, watching Elizabeth perform her duties as the guest of honor. But I knew she could feel my eyes on her. She knew that our moment was coming.

Finally she came up to me while I was alone. She smiled gently. "Julie, dear. I can't tell you how glad I am that we're friends again."

I stared at her for a moment, then gave a low chuckle. "Well, it certainly looks that way, doesn't it?" I saw the questioning look on her face, but before she could say anything, I added, "Everyone has been wishing you things tonight, haven't they? Well, allow me to give you my own special wish."

We were standing several feet away from everyone else, so to the casual observer, it appeared that we were just making small talk. I took her hand in mine. "I hope that every time he takes your hand, you remember how badly you've hurt me." Elizabeth gave a very small gasp that only I could hear, and tried to pull away, but my grip was strong. I pulled her close to me, so that my lips were right next to her ear. I whispered, "And I hope that every time he gives you a kiss, you remember just how deeply I despise you."

I pulled away and looked at her closely. There were tears in her eyes now, ready to fall at any moment. Her misery was almost palpable, and I loved it. "Just something to keep in mind," I said aloud, in a pleasant voice, that everyone could now hear. "Good night, Ellie dear." And with that, I left the ballroom.

I was walking through the halls, walking past the guests, making my way outside to the carriage. I heard Miguel and Lady Farringdon making exclamations of dismay and asking Elizabeth what was wrong. I was outside, walking to my coach when I heard rushed footsteps behind me. I walked faster, getting to the carriage as quickly as I could.

Then I heard Miguel yell out, "Julia! What did you say to her?"

Before I got into the carriage, I stopped and turned around to face him. Miguel was several hundred feet away, still standing at the front door. He was looking at me with shock, disbelief, and pain. And it was in that very moment that I realized something: he really and truly loved Elizabeth. It wasn't a case of her getting to him before me; he would have always chosen her, because they were meant for each other. And the knife in my heart plunged just a little deeper into my core with that realization.

But I didn't want to hurt. I wanted to do the hurting. So the cold, neutral expression I'd be wearing up until that moment slowly faded, and it was replaced with a cruel, mocking smile. I slipped into the carriage, and motioned for the driver to get moving. I looked back through the window and he was still standing there, forlorn.

When I got home, my mother was waiting for me. "How could you go there?" she demanded. "After what they did to us, how could you go…" I walked past her, barely listening to her rants. She followed me up the stairs as I went to my bedroom, but when I got there I shut the door behind me and locked it. She pounded on the door a couple of times, demanding that I let her in, but I ignored her. Eventually she gave up and went away. I undressed and put on my nightgown. I washed my face and took my hair down and combed it out. I got into bed thinking of Elizabeth's misery and all of Miguel's fruitless efforts to try to make it better, and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep.

I slept late the next morning. The late morning sun shone brightly in my room and tried to awaken me, but I resisted. I could hear whispered conversations in the hallway, scampering feet going up and down. Something was happening but I didn't care. Finally, around noon, there was a knock on my door.

"Go away," I called from my bed.

"Julia, open this door right now," my mother called from the other side. "I have something important to tell you."

Groaning, I pulled myself out of bed and opened the door. "What do you want?" I demanded.

"It's Prince Miguel, Julia, I…"

"Oh what? What is it? What has the great Prince done now?" I asked acidly.

My mother looked down at her hands. "Prince Miguel, he's…dead. He died early this morning."


	6. Chapter 6

"He-he died?" Cinderella asked in disbelief as her stepmother finished telling her the latest part of her story. The old woman didn't answer her, and her breathing seemed to get heavier, indicating to Cinderella that she'd fallen asleep, no doubt exhausted from her storytelling.

Cinderella sat back in her chair, thinking of what Lady Tremaine had just said. It was a shock, that a vibrant young man could be alive and well and celebrating his engagement one moment, and then gone from the world just a few hours ago. Then again, Cinderella better than anyone else should be able to understand, with both her mother and father having died and relatively young ages, and her father-in-law having been a formidable ruler one moment and then dying of a heart attack the next. Death didn't make appointments, didn't run on any sort of schedule. It was there, on the heels of every foolish choice, every thoughtless action, every unchangeable mode of living.

In a macabre sort of way, it also made sense that Prince Miguel should die: after all, here Cinderella was. Her mother had eventually married someone else—her father—and had her. Had Prince Miguel lived and married her mother, history would have unfolded in a way different way.

Cinderella was pondering these things when the bedroom door slowly opened, and Anastasia peeked her head in. "Is she asleep?" she asked Cinderella in a soft, scratchy voice.

"Yes," Cinderella whispered back.

Anastasia nodded and stepped into the room. "She probably needs to be changed again. This is a good time; it's much easier to do when she's asleep…as I'm sure you figured out earlier today."

Cinderella snorted lightly in response and nodded. The two women worked together in silence—stripping off the sheets, taking out the bedpan and emptying it, wiping the old woman down, and tucking her back into bed. As they worked, Cinderella watched her stepsister's large, thin hands, which had grown dry and callused over the years. Many years ago, they were awkward and clumsy, but now, having found purpose, they'd developed a kind of gracefulness. Cinderella didn't say it, but she felt proud of her stepsister—both her stepsisters, actually—for taking care of their mother the best they could. She imagined it couldn't be an easy life, but it was one they'd committed to. Ten years ago, Cinderella could have never imagined her spoiled, selfish, arrogant stepsisters doing what they were doing now.

After they were done, Anastasia said, "Mother doesn't eat much these days. Usually the most she can keep down is some gruel or broth. I'm going to put something together for her when she wakes up, and something for myself too. You can have some as well…if you want."

"That will be fine," Cinderella answered kindly. As they walked to the kitchen, Cinderella could once again sense Anastasia wanted to tell her something, but couldn't find the words. She sat down at the crude wooden table while Anastasia cooked some soup and strained off some of the broth for her mother. The silence was beginning to get uncomfortable, so Cinderella decided to find something to say.

"Where is Drizella this afternoon?" she asked.

"Probably down at the river, watching the ships come in and out of the dock. She does that a lot. I think it…comforts her." Anastasia replied as she filled the bowls with soup.

"Does she do it every day?"

"Not every day. Sometimes she goes into town…" Anastasia suddenly paused mid-sentence as she brought the bowls to the table.

Cinderella frowned. "Anastasia?"

Her stepsister looked up at her. "Cinderella, I…I want to thank you for telling Drizella you bought those pastries."

Cinderella smiled. "You're welcome." She took a spoonful of the soup and debated on whether to say more. Finally she added, "The man who brought them asked me not to tell Drizella he'd been there."

Anastasia looked up from her bowl in surprise. "He-he came here? Knocked on the door, and…talked to you?"

Cinderella swallowed. She worried now if she was going to get the poor man in trouble. "Yes, he asked me to give you the pastries," she answered simply.

Anastasia started to say something, then stopped and mumbled, "I see."

Cinderella frowned. "What is going on, Anastasia?"

"That's my business," Anastasia snapped back quickly. But when she saw the look on Cinderella's face, she added in a gentler tone, "I need to take some broth to Mother. If you'll excuse me." Anastasia quickly got up from the table, threw together a tray, and hurried upstairs.

Cinderella was a bit taken aback—and slightly curious now—but she wasn't going to pry. Shrugging it off, she finished the last of her soup and took the dishes to the sink to clean. Soon thereafter, there was a knock on the front door. Drying her hands quickly, Cinderella walked to the door and answered it.

It was one of the palace guards, who bowed immediately to her. "Your Highness," he addressed her in a reverent tone.

Cinderella smiled slightly at the surreal nature of the situation: she, dressed in a simple peasant dress, answering the door at a decaying old house, but still treated like a queen. She greeted the guard in return.

"I bring you a letter from His Royal Highness, King Christopher," the guard announced, handing her the letter.

"Thank you," Cinderella accepted it.

"Are you…well, Your Highness?" The guard glanced around the house doubtfully.

Cinderella assured him she was quite well, and, remembering the situation with her stepmother's bedclothes, asked him to bring a couple of sets from the palace during his next visit. The guard accepted his orders, bowed again, and briskly returned to his steed, seemingly relieved to be leaving the site.

Afterwards, Cinderella returned to her temporary bedroom and sat down to read her husband's letter:

_My Love:_

_Though it has only been a few short days since you left us, I must tell you how deeply the children and I miss you. The lack of your calming, steadying presence has been felt by all of us, but most sharply by me. I have never realized how much I depend on you to keep our family in harmony, but now, I have developed a new appreciation that I shall not soon dispense with._

_You will be pleased to learn that Robert's fencing skills have only continued to improve. His instructor told me that he is advancing at a level he usually sees in pupils two or three years older than he. I have no doubts that he will be quite ready for the academy when he leaves._

_Sarah has lost another tooth, and is mourning the loss. She is worried that she will not be beautiful for the harvest ball next month. Oh, how I wish you were here to comfort her! I fear my assurances carry little weight._

_Little Ellie made the most excellent strawberry tarts this afternoon—with the assistance of Cook. She told me she wants to be ready to make them for you when you come home. Of all our children, my love, Ellie reminds me the most of you: I can see that kind, golden heart shining through her tiny chest. I am grateful to have her little hand in mine, to have a small piece of you to keep with me whenever I need it._

_I read your last letter to me, and I understand your surprise in discovering the connection between your mother and stepmother. I suppose that must mean that your father did not know of their relationship? How odd that your stepmother should marry a man previously married to a former friend. _

_After reading your letter, I decided to do some research on the Kingdom of Arragosta and the royal family. While I have heard of Arragosta through my studies in school and through policy-making with my counsel, I haven't ever had any personal contact. As the kingdom does not border ours, and is in fact, several hundred miles away, I have never actually had cause to visit with them. I looked through some old records and logs of my father's, and he had, in fact, been acquainted with Manuel de Argentes, the King Regent of several years ago. Upon further reading, I learned that Manuel did in fact, have a younger brother named Miguel, who had visited the valley kingdom of Avendrine and had died in a most unfortunate and unusual accident during the visit._

_One book of logs I read described the incident as thus: Miguel de Argentes had courted and proposed marriage to a young woman of noble birth that lived in Avendrine, and several days after the formal announcement, had gone for a walk in the hills outlining the kingdom. It had rained the night before, and the terrain was quite muddy. Apparently the prince had lost his footing while trying to reach a particularly steep ledge, and plunged several feet down into the rocks below. By the time they found him, he'd bled out so much that there was nothing that could be done to save him._

_Based on what you've told me, it would seem that the young woman Prince Miguel was engaged to was either your mother, or your stepmother. His preference for one over the other must have ruined their friendship. A very sad situation for all involved, to be sure._

_I do hope, however, that you are able to make peace for once and for all with Lady Tremaine and her daughters. I am aware of how important this goal is to you, and only wish that it was something I could attain for you without the risk of disappointment. _

_I shall not burden you with guilt of your absence, but I shall say that you that your family eagerly awaits your arrival home and our longing for you is matched only by our intense and constant love._

_Yours, always,  
>Christopher <em>

Cinderella couldn't help but sigh in longing. Her stepmother's story had captivated most of her attention that day, but now, her mind inevitably turned to missing her family. She desperately wanted her children at that moment, to hug their soft little bodies close to her, to kiss their chubby little faces.

She missed her husband just as dreadfully. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to experience the warmth and tenderness of his lips against hers. Even after a decade of marriage, they were still very much in love, and still very much devoted to one another.

Cinderella closed her eyes and lay back on the bed. The only way to bear it was to not think of them. Her fingers gently closed over the paper in her palm, and she thought about the other part of Christopher's letter: Miguel's death. So sudden, and unexpected. How did her mother cope with it? She supposed that meeting her father helped heal her heart. But what about her stepmother? Had those things she'd told Cinderella about-the mistaken love, feeling betrayed by her friend, the death of the first man she'd ever loved—is that what had made her become so cruel, so cold?

All of these thoughts suddenly left her feeling quite tired. Before she knew it, her mind was wondering and her thoughts were slipping away, drifting into sleep.

* * *

><p>With a heavy heart, Drizella climbed the stairs to her room. She'd enjoyed her day at the dock—it was the closest thing to a diversion she had these days. It certainly wasn't exciting, but watching the ships go in and out somehow had a hypnotizing effect on her. Sometimes she imagined she was on one of those ships departing from the dock, with a rich, handsome man standing next to her, holding her hand while they looked forward to sailing away to a grand destination.<p>

The thought made her smile, but then she sighed sadly. That was never going to happen. No wealthy man would ever want her. Even had she been blessed with beauty, she was practically penniless, living in a dilapidated house with her dying mother—not exactly the portrait of desirability.

She was nearly to her room when out of the corner of her eyes she spied a figure lying asleep on the bed in the room next to hers. She'd had the briefest moment of fright, having become accustomed to that room being empty, until she realized it was Cinderella. Her eyes narrowed as she watched her stepsister sleeping, her beautiful face the picture of peace.

Drizella hated her.

It wasn't just because Cinderella stole the life that Drizella was supposed to have. It was also because she'd come back into their lives, reminding Drizella once again that she'd achieved everything that Drizella had always wanted and would now never have. And it was also because Drizella and Anastasia had to watch their mother slowly lose her mind after Cinderella left, slowly poisoning herself with alcohol or opium or whatever she could get her hands on.

Drizella remembered the day Cinderella left. The Grand Duke and the guards escorted her out, and the little brat turned around one last time, guilt all over her face. "Goodbye," she'd told them. Anastasia had said nothing, just turned away. Drizella stood there with her arms crossed, staring her down. Their mother had quietly retreated to the sitting room and closed the door behind her several minutes earlier.

Hours after Cinderella was gone, their mother still hadn't left the sitting room, so Drizella quietly opened the door to ask if she wanted something for dinner. Lady Tremaine was sitting in a large stuffed chair, her back to the door. Her arm was resting on the arm of the chair, and Drizella could see she had a glass of scotch in her hand. The bottle it came from sat on the end table next to the chair – and it was nearly empty.

"Mother," Drizella said softly. "Would you like…"

"You must be so pleased." Her mother cut her off.

Drizella frowned. "What?"

"You've beaten me again, haven't you, Ellie? Your sweet young thing gets the handsome prince, and I'm the lonely fool. You're up there mocking me, aren't you? You and Thomas. Your girl gets to live the life I always wanted."

Lady Tremaine took another sip of the scotch and angrily hit the arm of the chair. "It's what you always wanted," she hissed. "You were never my friend. You always wanted to humiliate me. I could never have anything of my own. And you know as well as I that I deserved it more than you!"

Drizella shut the door quietly behind her, fear creeping up the back of her skull like a shard of ice. This was the beginning of the end, she knew. Her mother always had such grace, such control; she always knew what to do. Drizella always relied on her to guide them, she and her sister. What was going to happen to them?

Ten years later, Drizella still didn't know what she was doing. And Cinderella's arrival only made her misery more palpable. Oh why had Anastasia invited her? Drizella knew now, after having thought about it the entire night before while lying sleepless in bed, that her sister had been the one who wrote the letter and had it delivered to the palace. But why had she signed their mother's name? And what was her plan? Anastasia wouldn't tell her.

Drizella wanted to be rid of her stepsister so badly. She thought of being rude and unpleasant. But they were already blacklisted in the kingdom and had so little that it wouldn't behoove her to mistreat the queen. So she had to endure her presence in the house. Drizella could only hope that it wouldn't be too much longer.

Anastasia knew, perhaps. But she wasn't very forthcoming with information. For example, she knew that grubby baker from town was still fixated on her sister. She was almost certain Cinderella had been lying about those pastries. But why would she cover for Anastasia? She just didn't know. In any case, she hoped Anastasia knew better and would keep that old bread-head away from there.

Drizella sat on her bed and stared at the clock, waiting for her mother to awaken so she could feed and clean her. It was how she measured her life now – the sweet, silent moments between being a caregiver to the old, dry, senile husk of a woman that had once been her mother, her champion, and her protector.

* * *

><p>It was getting dark, and Anastasia had finally gotten her chance to slip away. She quietly crept to the garden, and nervously sat down on the old marble bench that was shaded in a weeping willow tree. Ben would be around soon. The box of pastries he'd delivered this morning was his way to telling her so. It was a code they worked out. Pastries meant he'd visit. It was a code they'd used for quite a while, and unfortunately was being used less and less frequently over time.<p>

She'd waited for nearly ten minutes when she heard the rustle of branches. She jumped slightly and turned around, and was relieved to see it was Ben. He smiled in his homely, boyish way. "Hi," he whispered. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

Anastasia smiled, then looked around cautiously. When she knew no one was around, she got up and met him behind the weeping willow tree. He pulled her against him and kissed her. Anastasia sighed into the kiss, her hand coming up to cup his face. Ben broke off the kiss and held her. "Oh Ben," she murmured. "I hate having to meet you this way."

"I do too," he whispered, stroking her hair. "So let's not."

Anastasia pulled away and looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

He grinned down at her. "Let's finally do it – let's run away!"

"Oh Ben."

"I'm serious! I've been saving up some money. We could do it!"

Anastasia turned away. "You know I can't leave Mother. I can't leave Drizella to look after her by herself."

Ben looked down. "I know. It's just…hard."

"I told you that you should find yourself someone else. A nice girl who's not tied down, who's got a little bit of money. I-I wouldn't begrudge you that."

Ben grabbed her hands. "I'm not leaving you, Ana! I love you! I'll wait as long as I have to!"

"And I love you too, Ben. But…I have nothing to offer you. I don't want you to waste your life waiting for me!"

He sighed. "Let's just drop the subject. We've talked about this all before and it gets us nowhere." He thought for a moment. "That girl who took the pastries from me…is it safe to trust her?"

Anastasia winced slightly, thinking of Cinderella. "Yes, I think I can trust her," she said truthfully. "She's my stepsister."

"Oh! Well, she was very nice. She kinda reminds me of someone I've seen before…can't remember where, but she looks familiar—"

"It's Cinderella," Anastasia told him flatly.

Ben's eyes widened. "Cinderella? You don't mean…_Queen_ Cinderella?"

"Yes, Queen Cinderella. Don't get all starry-eyed with me. She was just plain Cinderella when she lived here."

"Well, if she's queen, she could help us, couldn't she? I mean, she's royalty! She could make our problems go away!"

Anastasia rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. "I…I'm not sure. We…didn't really get along when we were younger. She's here to help with Mother, but…I don't know if she'd help me personally."

"Oh." Ben reached out and took her hand. "I probably should go."

She sighed and leaned her head against his chest. "I suppose so. Oh Ben, I'm so sorry about this. I wish—I wish I could give you more."

"I know," he answered, kissing the top of her head. "I feel the same way."

"Just wait a little longer! Mother probably won't last too much longer, and then I'll be free! And then…I'll go wherever you want to go."

"Sure, Ana." Ben gently kissed her, and released her. "I'll be in touch." He backed away slowly into the deep, thick brush, and then was gone.

Willing herself not to cry, Anastasia held her skirts in one hand and made her way back to the house. She didn't notice the figure standing in the shadows of a nearby tree, who'd been listening. The figure waited until Anastasia was back in the house, then quietly followed suit and went upstairs through a side door.


	7. Chapter 7

Cinderella turned restlessly in bed for the fourth time that night. Sleep was evading her, and it didn't seem like she was going to capture it any time soon. She had to assume that it was due to the afternoon nap she'd taken earlier, as well as all the revelations she'd just learned that were troubling her thoughts. She shut her eyes tightly and tried again to relax, when she heard a round of painful-sounding coughs emanating from the room down the hall. Opening her eyes once again, Cinderella let out a light groan and pushed herself out of bed, wrapping a dressing gown around herself as she went to her stepmother's room.

Taking up a candle from the hallway, she opened the door and peered in. Her stepmother was writhing on the bed, wracked with tremors from the coughin. Cinderella turned to face the hallway and listen. The snores coming from the other two rooms told her that her stepsisters' sleep hadn't been interrupted. She turned back and tiptoed into the room, walking over to Lady Tremaine's bed. She propped up her stepmother's pillow, poured her a glass of water from the pitcher, and helped her to drink it. The old woman took a few small sips, then waved the glass away. Cinderella could see in the dim light of the room that there was a faint smear of blood beneath her stepmother's lips. She wiped it away gently, and when it appeared the old woman was at peace again and asleep, Cinderella started to make her way out of the room.

'Wait,' a frail voice called. Cinderella stopped and turned around. There was a faint light coming from Lady Tremaine's grey eyes as she watched her. Cinderella returned to her bedside and sat down.

'What is it?' Cinderella asked softly.

'I…I'm going to die, aren't I?,' the old woman said, punctuating the statement with a painful cough.

Cinderella searched for the right words. 'Well…yes, we are all going to die—'

'That's not what I meant, and you know it,' her stepmother snapped. 'I don't have long. There are still things I need to say.'

'Talk to me,' Cinderella said. 'Tell me what happened after Prince Miguel died.'

Lady Tremaine's face contorted into a pained sort of smile. 'Miguel,' she whispered, before launching her story.

* * *

><p>"After Mother told me that Miguel was dead, the strangest thing happened to me. I didn't scream, or cry, or rend my clothes or beat my chest. I didn't even weep slightly. A feeling of calm surrounded me, as though I were sitting on the beach on an early summer morning. My mother appeared upset by the news, but I couldn't feel the same sort of unrest. She told me the circumstances surrounding his death and left me alone, and I simply sat there peacefully for a long while.<p>

I knew I should feel something; after all, I'd been desperately in love with this man who was now gone. As I sat there for a while, alone with my thoughts, I finally came to understand my impassivity: for every inch that I loved Miguel de Argentes, I also hated him just as much. The idea of him not loving me and choosing my best friend over me stirred the greatest of rages and sorrows within me. But now, with him gone, Elizabeth and I were now on even footing. After all, she was now just as miserable as me. Oh, I would probably dislike her for the rest of my days, but perhaps I would dislike her less. Perhaps we could even be civil to one another.

And so I dressed in my finest black dress and went to visit the Farringdon estate several days later, after Miguel's body was being carried back to his native land. I entered the house full of forgiveness, ready to publicly reconcile with Elizabeth and accept any sort of demonstration of remorse she wished to give.

Most of Elizabeth's immediate family who lived in and near our kingdom were there, moving softly and quietly as if underwater. I saw Elizabeth sitting in the reception room with her parents on each side of her, holding each hand. I moved closer, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence. She, too, was dressed in black, her face pale and tired and her eyes watery but not flowing with tears. At last she looked up at me, and I expected a sad smile or some sort of expression of gratitude at my presence. But that was not what I saw.

Instead, Elizabeth's face contorted into a look of anger. She let go of her parents' hands, and I heard her mother start to say, 'Ellie, dear, let me…'

'No, Mother,' she said in a voice so low and grim it startled me. 'I will handle this.'

And then Elizabeth was walking toward me, so determined and dark that in spite of her petite size, I felt a moment of fear. She looked up at me, blue eyes hard like granite.

'Why are you here, Julia?' she asked me in a soft, fierce voice. In spite of the soft tones of her words, the others in the room were attracted to our exchange and turned around to see what was going on.

'I…,' I wasn't sure how to respond. I was unprepared for this. 'I came to offer my sympathies and-and my support.'

Elizabeth stared at me coldly for a moment. Then she said, 'I don't want anything from you. You aren't welcome in my home. Please leave.'

I was stunned by her words, and evidently everyone else in attendance was as well. I could feel every eye at the gathering on me. Feeling my face burn with embarrassment, I promptly turned on my heel and left the house. I felt as though my whole body was on fire, as though I were being bathed in a shower of crimson rage. And up to that moment, I have never hated anyone so much in my entire life."

* * *

><p>"Up to that moment," Cinderella repeated softly to herself. She wondered if somehow, she'd replaced her mother in terms of her stepmother's incomprehensible hatred. Her mind flew over the painful memories: the humiliating orders, the hurtful insults, the neglect. She was her stepmother's revenge on her mother, she realized now. She put these thoughts aside as her stepmother continued her story.<p>

* * *

><p>"The next few days were spent moving in a trance. I ate, I slept. I practiced on my piano. I went into town. I didn't notice or care much about the things happening around me, except I did observe my mother writing a copious amount of letters, and then fluttering about nervously, waiting for the postman to bring the mail each day. She pored over the society columns, and even had a 'very discreet' appointment to attend to in town one afternoon. She was planning something, I knew. She was trying to find a husband for me. <em>Ah well, let her<em>, I thought. I had no romantic ideals about love and marriage anymore, not after Miguel. If my mother was able to secure me a husband of comfortable means and with a little bit of charm and intellect, then I should have no true grievances, should I?

After nearly three weeks, I was tired of my self-imposed imprisonment and decided to take in some fresh air. I left the carriage at my estate, and instead took a walk, allowing the sun to warm my back and neck and the wind to flutter against the skirts at my ankle. I walked nearly two miles, past the other estates, past the town. At last I came to the old overgrown fields, which had once been lush, manicured gardens that my family and several of the other families of nobility would go to for picnics. The owner of the fields had died several years ago, and with no one willing to maintain them, they quickly were reclaimed by nature in her entirety. I waded through the tall grasses, thinking about the times I'd had here as a girl, and inevitably, Elizabeth came to mind. For even as a young girl, my memories seemed to always contain her.

In the springs and summers our parents would bring us to the picnics and I, being the older one, would always end up playing with and looking after little Ellie. I was the one who taught her to play croquet and how to hold a racquet while playing badminton. I kept her from wandering off into danger and shielded her from the sun and rain. I fed her the petit fours and fruit from my plate. Would I have cared for her so much at the time had I known that eventually she'd be my rival? I didn't know.

'Julia?' a familiar voice called from behind me.

_Ah,_ I thought with a bitter smile. _Speak of the devil and he doth appear. _I didn't turn around, choosing to instead to continue walking as the footsteps got closer.

'Turn around and talk to me!' she demanded.

Rolling my eyes, I turned around to face Elizabeth. 'I thought you had nothing to say to me,' I snapped.

'Oh I have much to say to you,' she argued. 'The dilemma is whether you're willing to hear it.'

'It seems to me,' I said through gritted teeth, 'I never had a choice as to what I was allowed to hear or not hear.'

Elizabeth sighed sadly. 'I am sorry for that, Julia. Truly. Miguel asked me not to say anything until he could contact his family in Arragosta. I would have told you long ago.'

'Long ago,' I repeated. 'So you two were carrying on for quite some time. It must have been so romantic. You must have felt so grown up, with your little secret courtship, knowing you were with a prince—'

Elizabeth winced. 'Julia, stop, please.'

'Your mother must have felt such triumph! I'm sure she couldn't wait for the wedding, to lord it over my parents' heads, that she had succeeded where we failed!'

'I said stop!' she screamed, and I was silent. She burst into tears, but she wiped them away angrily. 'I loved him, can't you understand that? I loved him! He wasn't just a prize to be won for me! I accepted his proposal because I wanted to be his wife, not because I wanted to be a princess!'

'And you think I didn't love him too?' I demanded. 'Do you think I would hate you so much if I didn't?'

She stared coldly for a moment. 'You went too far,' she accused. 'You ruined our engagement party, and Miguel was so upset about what you'd done that he went for that walk in the hills and wasn't being careful. He never would have taken such a risk by himself! If he hadn't been so emotional, he wouldn't have gone for that walk and he'd still be with me!'

I was stunned. 'Are you—you're not possibly—blaming _me_ for his death?'

'Not-not completely. But yes, in part.' When I didn't answer—as I was still too shocked to answer—Elizabeth continued. 'But I can forgive you. And perhaps…you can forgive me too. We're both hurt, but we're even now. Perhaps someday we will be able to reconcile completely. We have known each other all our lives. We shouldn't throw that away.'

My eyes narrowed to slits. 'Well, isn't that quite the comfort? You'll forgive me if I don't stay any longer to listen.' I turned around to leave.

'Julia, please! You're my best friend. I don't want to lose you!' Elizabeth pleaded.

I laughed mirthlessly. 'There is very little sense in striving to hold on to what is already gone. Goodbye, Elizabeth.' I took up my skirts and made my way out of the fields, not pausing to look behind me.

I ran. I ran until my chest felt like it was on fire and my breath came out as frantic huffs, and still I ran. She had the gall to blame me for Miguel's death. I couldn't believe it. Couldn't she see that she'd brought all of this on herself? If they hadn't fallen in love, none of this would have happened! Could she not see that?

Finally, I came to my parents' estate, and slowed my pace to a graceful walk. I entered my house and could hear my mother and father's voices, along with one I'd never heard before. As they heard my footsteps, my mother said, 'Oh that must be Julia now! Excuse me!' My mother soon appeared in the hallway, and her welcoming smile quickly faded as she saw the state I was in: my face flushed, my hair long and wild around my face, the bottom of my dress and shoes splattered with blades of grass and hay. 'Oh goodness,' she said in disappointment. 'Too late now. Come on.'

She led me into the drawing room, where my father was sitting by the window with a man I'd never met before. He appeared to be only a few years younger than my father, I had to guess. He was not a handsome man by any means. His nose was wide and stubby, his thin lips barely covering the enormous crop of teeth in his mouth. His eyes seemed to bulge slightly. As he stood up to greet me, I could see the rest of his form left much to be desired too. He was tall and gawky, his arms, legs and hands seemed too long and clumsy. The only scant bit of attractiveness this man possessed was his dark red hair—an unusual, somewhat exotic shade in my estimation. Of course, the hair he had was in a ring around his head, the top of it long since fallen away and having left just shiny pink skin.

'Mr. Gareth, may I present my daughter, Julia. Julia, dear, this is Mister Alvin Gareth,' my father told me.

'How do you do, Mr. Gareth?' I said unenthusiastically, holding out my hand.

He took it and I willed myself not to wince from its cold clamminess. 'She's lovely. Every bit as lovely as you described in your letter, Lady Hartwell. You must be so proud.' He spoke as though I weren't in the room.

'Thank you, you're very kind. Julia, Mr. Gareth will be joining us for dinner tomorrow night. He has requested permission to court you, and your father and I have accepted,' my mother said.

I smiled as well as I could. So. This was the best my mother could do for me. A hideous man, practically old enough to be my father, who reeked of new money…"

* * *

><p>Lady Tremaine abruptly stopped her story, and Cinderella looked up with bleary eyes to find the old woman had drifted off to sleep. She didn't know what to do: whether she could go back to her room or wait here under the possibility of her stepmother waking up again to finish. And so, Cinderella sat quietly for a while, and was just barely cognizant of her eyelids starting to get heavy, and her mind beginning to go empty and wander off.<p>

* * *

><p>Anastasia tentatively pushed the door open to her mother's room with one hand, while the other hand held a large package wrapped in paper. They were sets of bedsheets that a one of the royal pages had brought to the house early that morning. At first, Anastasia was confused by this. "What are these for?" she asked the man.<p>

"Her Highness Queen Cinderella asked for them. That is all I know," the guard told her. "One of the royal guards shall be visiting later today. See that Her Highness is made aware." The page gave Anastasia a stern look as though it were a threat, then promptly left the property.

She was happy to have them, but she also felt a great deal of guilt. She didn't want to be in Cinderella's debt. Nevertheless they were needed and they would be used.

When she walked into the room, Anastasia was shocked. There, sitting next to her mother's bed, was Cinderella, fast asleep. Had she sat there all night?

Putting the sheets down, Anastasia crept over to her stepsister and shook her gently. Cinderella's eyes popped open in surprise. "Oh! Anastasia!"

"Shh," Anastasia responded, putting a finger to her lips. "Have you been here all night?"

Cinderella looked around. "I…I suppose I was."

"Why?"

Cinderella hesitated. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell Anastasia the story her mother was telling her, especially since it appeared Lady Tremaine was beginning to speak of her first husband in such unflattering terms. She worried it would upset her. So she said, "Oh, I couldn't sleep and I heard your mother coughing, so I came to check on her. I suppose…I fell asleep."

"Oh." Anastasia felt uncomfortable. She decided to change the subject. "Drizella got up early and went off by herself. She seemed…annoyed. I told her that you and I would take care of Mother this morning. I hope that's all right?"

"Of course." Cinderella stood up from the seat, and noticed the package on the floor beside her stepsister. "What's that?"

"Oh…yes…one of the royal pages brought it. Bedsheets?"

Cinderella smiled. "Perfect timing."

And so, together, they bathed Lady Tremaine, put her into a clean gown, and changed the sheets. Once they were done, Anastasia began to fluff the pillows under her mother's head and Cinderella gathered all the dirty linens to wash downstairs in the tub. The old woman opened her cloudy eyes and saw Anastasia standing above her. "Anastasia," she croaked. "You won't leave me."

Cinderella saw the defeated look in her stepsister's eyes. It reminded her of how a bird might look if its wings were clipped, or a horse if its legs became lame. Anastasia sighed. "No, Mother. Get some rest."

After they'd left the room and closed the door behind them, Anastasia asked Cinderella if she wanted some breakfast. Cinderella agreed, and they sat together while sharing some bread and butter and tea. Afterward, Anastasia excused herself to do the laundry, but Cinderella offered to help with that as well. Together they filled the huge washtub with water and added some soap, and worked to scrub the linens. When they were done, together they hung the sheets on the lines to allow the sun and the wind to dry them.

Next they started on the pillow cases and the towels, and all the other linens. Cinderella washed them in soap while Anastasia rinsed them in clean water and hung them to dry. They worked together in silence for several minutes until Anastasia said, "Cinderella?"

"Yes?"

"I…I have something to confess to you."

"Oh?" Cinderella turned to look at her stepsister and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. "What is it?"

Anastasia chuckled slightly. "You probably already figured it out by now. Mother didn't write that letter asking you to come. It was me."

Cinderella nodded. "Yes, she doesn't seem to be in any condition to write a letter."

"Yes." Anastasia put the clothes she was washing aside. "Cinderella, I wrote that letter hoping that you'd come, see how horrible everything was, and just throw some money at us and go away. But instead, you stayed. You've helped to take care of Mother and to take care of things around the house. You're a queen with riches and luxuries I can't even imagine, and here you are, scrubbing bedsheets in a tub. In some ways, I'm disappointed, because I just wanted your money and I didn't want you to see how low we've become. But in other ways, I'm glad you're here. You really, truly care. Even when you shouldn't have to."

Cinderella smiled. That was the kindest thing—in truth, the only kind thing—Anastasia had ever said to her. "As I said before, Anastasia: I came here to help any way I can."

And then Anastasia looked like she wanted to tell her something else, but she stopped herself and resumed rinsing the linens. She said nothing else after that. Cinderella shrugged and went back to work. She had a feeling she knew what Anastasia wanted to talk about: that man who'd come by the other day with the pastries. Cinderella had seen them together the previous evening in the garden. The man had come by and spoke with Anastasia. They'd kissed and embraced. Cinderella had seen her stepsister sneaking out of the house, and had followed her and hidden behind a tree. She felt guilty about spying on Anastasia, but she'd been curious. And now she knew that Anastasia was in love and miserable because she couldn't be free to be with her beau. She had to assume that the man was of low birth and therefore completely unworthy in Lady Tremaine's eyes._ So sad, _Cinderella thought to herself. Even though Anastasia had been cruel to her in the past, she still believed that everyone deserved love.

_Maybe there's something I can do,_ Cinderella thought_. I have to think about it, but I know that I could help Anastasia find happiness with the baker._ _After all,_ she thought with a secret smile, _I know for a fact that dreams can come true._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This chapter takes place at the same time as the previous one, only from Drizella's point of view._

That day, instead of just standing at the dock watching the ships roll in and out as she usually did, Drizella decided to visit the business office at the Port Authority.

The clerk on duty, a small, neat little man with a white trimmed beard and blue suit, peered at her carefully over his gold rimmed glasses. "Yes?" he asked sharply.

Drizella sucked in the air nervously before stating, "What is the rate for first-class passage to America, please?"

He told her. "Same as it was last week, and the week before that," he added wearily. This was not the first time he and Drizella had had this exchange.

Her eyes fell. "I see. And…second-class passage?"

"The same as it was last week and the week before that," he repeated in a tight voice. He looked her over and sighed in pity. "I can give you the rate for steerage too, Miss-"

"No!" Drizella cried in dismay, then collected herself. "No, I am not interested in steerage. Thank you."

She turned away. What good did it do to dream? She didn't have the money, and wasn't sure when she would. As she left the office and started making her way through the busy streets of the town, she began to picture once more the language written in her mother's will. She had had the chance to see the document when her mother became gravely ill and the attorney was asked to finalize it. Drizella had memorized the words of the will in much the same way a child internalizes the words of her favorite bedtime story:

_To my daughters Drizella and Anastasia, I leave the remnants of my fortune in the amount of- as well as the property and all objects contained within, which were inherited from my late husband, Lord Thomas Tremaine….under the provision that neither of them enters into a marriage that I deem beneath their breeding…should either of my daughters enter into such a union, any and all claims to my estate shall be hereby withdrawn effective immediately…_

Just a little longer, Drizella told herself, again and again and again like a mantra. Every day it was a little harder for Mother to breathe, every day she grew a little thinner, every day her mind became a little hazier. She couldn't last forever. Soon Drizella's burden would be gone, and she could finally leave that miserable house and try to find a little happiness.

Drizella tentatively planned to go to America. It was possible that she still had some family there, some obscure relative of her father's that might provide an inroad to New England society. She could still lean somewhat on her noble descent. That combined with the small fortune she would inherit might be just enough.

She had to hope.

Drizella returned to the chateau late in the afternoon. She was starting to walk up the cobbled path to the front of the house when she spied her sister and Cinderella in the back of the house, both bent over washtubs, scrubbing clothes. She watched as Anastasia said something to Cinderella, and the little brat smiled at her. They exchanged a look of mutual understanding, perhaps even a hint of friendliness? Drizella grimaced and marched into the house. She didn't want to think of her sister possibly siding with that little thief. She would talk to her little sister later that evening, and remind her that Cinderella was not on their side – no matter how useful she might seem.

And then, Drizella had an idea.

Quietly Drizella climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, hoping that Cinderella and Anastasia would be occupied long enough for her to do what she needed to do. She crept up to the door of the room Cinderella was staying in, turned the knob ever so gently, and slipped inside the room, taking a quick look behind her before shutting the door.

Apparently Cinderella's days as a servant had left its mark on her in more ways than one, for the room was as organized and tidy as the tightest run ship in the military. The bed was neatly made, the floors clean and swept. Every miscellaneous belonging was tucked away in some drawer, cupboard, or shelf. In some ways it made the task more difficult, for Drizella had to be sure that wherever she searched, she left everything as she found it.

She didn't know exactly what she was looking for, but she didn't care. She was being driven more by curiosity than anything else. She first searched the scratched and scuffed wardrobe, tentatively pulling open the doors and reaching in. Her fingers came into contact with smooth, silky material. Drizella pulled gently towards her to see what it was. It was the lavender satin gown Cinderella wore when she first arrived. With a light grunt, Drizella reached up and pulled the gown from the bar it hung from, shut the wardrobe door, and held stood in front of its mirrored exterior, holding the gown in front of her.

It was a thing of beauty, to be sure. It was simple, yet unwaveringly elegant. Even the tiny pearls sewn at the bodice winked in the light, seemingly aware of their own charm. Cinderella wore it as naturally as her own flesh, Drizella grudgingly admitted to herself. It had been made uniquely for her, being the queen.

The gown hadn't been made for Drizella, and it showed. The pearlescent lavender, which had made Cinderella's peaches and cream skin seem to glow, only made Drizella look sickly and washed out. The tailoring of the sleeves, bodice, and skirt were designed to show off delicate, graceful curves, but on Drizella, it made her long, bony arms, boyish chest, and wide hips even more noticeable.

Stifling a cry of anger and frustration, Drizella willed herself to not rend the gown and instead put it back into the wardrobe. Looking around again, she decided to try the dresser in the far corner of the room. She reminded herself that she was short on time, for Cinderella could return at any moment. She had to use her time wisely.

Slowly she opened the top drawer, looked in, and smiled in triumph. There was a small satin bag inside, and when she unraveled the small knot at the top and reached in with her fingers, she pulled out gold ring with a rather large and opulent sapphire sitting at the top. For a few moments, she just stood there, staring at it, watching the angles of the gem catch the light brilliantly. She'd never seen anything like it in her life, not even when she was a little girl and her father was at the height of his success. Her fingers closed around it and she felt the smoothness of the stone rest warmly against her palm. How much would a ring like this be worth? How much would a jeweler give her for it? Enough to buy herself a little happiness perhaps? Start a new life?

But just as quickly as the buds of hope started to blossom in her heart, the cruel, cold winds of reality stunted their growth. She couldn't sell this ring. It was engraved with the insignia of the royal family. Any reputable jeweler who would offer her an honest amount for the ring would instantly know it was stolen. Sighing, Drizella slowly opened her palm and gazed upon the trinket's glimmering beauty once more before. She finally forced herself to slip the ring back into the satin bag and put it back into its resting place.

She was ready to give up and leave when one last spot to search occurred to her: the night table. Walking over to it and kneeling down, she carefully opened the drawer and peered inside. There leaves of paper in it and envelopes. She reached in and took out the entire stack, and flipped through them. The items on the top were empty pages and envelopes, but on the bottom were written letters. Drizella scanned the lines quickly, picking out the "my loves" and "my darlings" rather easily. They were from King Christopher, once Prince Christopher. Cinderella's husband. The father of her children.

Drizella had only met him once, if it could have even been called a meeting. He was so tall and handsome, so regal, standing in the reception hall, ready to greet her and her sister. And as he bowed, he saw someone else. A beautiful, elegant woman, who'd appeared out of nowhere. Drizella didn't know it at the time, but it had been Cinderella—her maid, dressed in rags with a sheen of sweat on her brow, who'd washed and ironed her gown that day, and had set her hair in curls.

The moment Drizella had been waiting for all her life—to meet Prince Christopher—was taken from her so quickly that it could barely be called a moment at all. The prince had brushed past her, his arm barely grazing hers, and that was it. Nothing more. From that moment on, he belonged solely, exclusively, completely to Cinderella.

Ignoring the heat behind her eyes, Drizella forced herself to read the words on the page. The first few lines were reports on their children—very little of interest there. But then, the king was referring to her mother –and Cinderella's mother? They had been friends? And something there about a prince who they had both known from a faraway country?

So this was what Cinderella was doing for hours on end—listening to Drizella's mother tell her stories of her youth! But her mother had never told Drizella and Anastasia any of this. Why should she disclose these personal stories to her vile strumpet of a stepdaughter?

And the resentment Drizella already bore Cinderella reached its precipice, bubbling over like a rich, acidic brew.

She'd had enough. Enough of this ramshackle house that was more stifling than a prison. Enough of an old, doddering shell of a woman who obviously never cared for her. Enough of a sister who betrayed their bond by befriending their enemy. Drizella was going to be free of this place, no matter what it took.

Throwing the king's letter aside, Drizella discovered the sheet below it was a letter Cinderella had begun to write in reply, but had folded in two, suggesting that it was a scratch sheet she would not finish. It had been many years, but the clean, bold loops and strokes of her stepsister's handwriting were familiar to Drizella. And then an idea came to her. If she practiced, again and again and again, could she possibly duplicate Cinderella's hand? Could she produce a replica so flawless, that perhaps even the good King Christopher might be deceived by it?

Licking her lips in nervous excitement, Drizella slipped the draft of the letter, one of the sheets of blank paper, and an envelope in her pocket. She neatly organized the rest of the stack back together and put it back in the drawer, hoping that Cinderella wouldn't notice the missing items.

Very carefully, she opened the door to the bedroom, relieved that Cinderella was not around. She quietly crept back to her room and shut the door behind her. Leaning against the door, she gently drew the purloined items from her pocket. She looked at them and smiled wickedly. She knew what she'd be doing with the rest of her evening.


	9. Chapter 9

The late afternoon sun was hot and bright, and it warmed the back of Cinderella's neck nearly to the point of discomfort. She covered it with her hand and squinted up at the sky. "My, the sun is warm today," she remarked.

"It is," Anastasia agreed, hanging the last of the linens on the line. "Fortunately, we're done."

Cinderella smiled in satisfaction and stood up, wiping off the dust from her dress. "Is there anything else you need help with?"

Anastasia looked away shyly. "Well, no, but…well, the thing is…I wanted to go into town for a little while. But it's not necessary…"

"Go," Cinderella said with a gleam in her eye. She had a feeling about where—and who—her stepsister wished to visit. "I'll look after your mother and start dinner."

"You will? Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You didn't. I offered. It's all right."

"Well, all right. I'd best go in and clean up a bit before I go." Anastasia started to walk back in the house, but stopped and turned around. "Cinderella?"

"Yes, Anastasia?"

The red haired girl wrung her hands. "I just wanted to say—I mean, I don't really know how to say it, but…" she closed her eyes and sighed. "Just…thank you, Cinderella."

Anastasia's stepsister smiled warmly at her. "My pleasure. I'll go and check on your mother now."

The two women went upstairs together, then parted ways to go to their separate destinations in the house. As Anastasia walked to her room, she passed Drizella's room. She could faintly hear the sounds of her sister working on something inside—rustling paper or some similar sort of activity. Anastasia crept past and resolved to get dressed and head to town as quickly as she could before Drizella discovered her. She was confident that Cinderella would come up with a credulous excuse for her absence if Drizella asked; she had, after all, covered for her the day before when Ben had brought the pastries.

Anastasia smiled to herself as she got dressed. It was amazing, truly it was, that of all the people in the world, she was beginning to trust and depend on Cinderella. She could concede that her stepsister had done a great many things for her in the past, but Anastasia never thought of it as rooted in kindness in respect. It was quite the opposite, in fact: her mother had subtly taught Anastasia that the best way to get what she wanted was to withhold any shred of kindness or respect from Cinderella at all. And even though Anastasia had been cruel to her before, Cinderella was still here.

Maybe Ben was right. Maybe they could trust Cinderella after all.

* * *

><p>Cinderella entered her stepmother's room and found her attempting to sit up. She rushed to the older woman and tried to get her to lie down again. "Stepmother, please! You shouldn't get up, you could fall. Whatever you need, I will get for you."<p>

Julia Tremaine emitted a gravely sort of chuckle that was laced with bitterness. "You can't get me what I need. You, more than anyone else, in fact." She shrunk away from her stepdaughter's touch once she got back into the bed.

Cinderella started when she heard this. "Wait a minute. You know who I am?"

The old woman glared at her. "I've known it was you since you first arrived to see me, Cinderella. I'd know my enemy anywhere."

Cinderella felt her heart sink. It was an old, familiar feeling, one that brought all the memories of her abuse flooding back to her. "I never wanted to be your enemy," she said in a trembling voice.

"Of course you didn't," her stepmother acknowledged. "But you have your mother's face and her blood flows through your veins. It was never going to be any other way."

"Then why have you bothered to tell me your story? Why didn't you just drive me away when I first came?"

"Because…"and then Julia Tremaine fell into a particularly long and nasty coughing fit, and when she was done, Cinderella discovered, with horror, that a large glob of black blood was dripping down her mouth. She grabbed a cloth and dabbed her stepmother's mouth, and this time the old woman didn't resist—mostly because she was exhausted.

"Because I don't care anymore if you know," Cinderella's stepmother told her. "I know you always thought of me as being simply cruel by nature, and perhaps by the end, I was only that. But I didn't start that way. Many things, including your mother, made me who I am. At one time, I wouldn't have wanted to tell you that, because I thought it would give you power over me—you knowing that your mother was my friend and she hurt me. But it doesn't matter to me anymore. I don't have much longer, and I won't have to live with it anymore. But you will. You'll hear my story and you'll have to carry it with you."

"Your legacy to me, Stepmother?" Cinderella asked with a mirthless smile.

Julia Tremaine returned the smile with a cool cruelty that lit up the wrinkles and creases of her face, and for a moment, Cinderella could see the fearsome, indomitable woman she remembered from old. "It's all that I can give you, child."

* * *

><p>"My first dinner with Alvin Gareth I treated like one of the many tedious, yet necessary rituals one had to endure as a part of life. I sat uncomfortably in my chair, stuffed tightly into a midnight blue frock that I absolutely hated, but that my mother insisted I should wear, citing its 'matronly appeal.' I did my very best not to outwardly show my incredible distaste for my suitor's complete lack of manners. He took too many large bites, chewed his food loudly, and slurped his wine. Oh, how I wondered where my mother found this man. Had he received her letters in a tavern? I did not know.<p>

I only listened to the conversation he was carrying on with my parents as much as was needed. I eventually learned that he was an American, with a lucrative and expanding textile manufacturing company in New Hampshire. The other details about him were less of an interest to me. Eventually, however, the topic of conversation turned to me.

'So your daughter is quite the accomplished pianist, is she, Lady Hartwell?' Mr. Gareth asked.

My mother gave our guest a prim smile and replied, 'Oh yes, quite accomplished, Mr. Gareth. She has played for several local and foreign dignitaries.'

I smiled and was about to comment, when Mr. Gareth added, 'Has Julia ever visited America?'

'We visited New York several years ago, but that was Julia's only experience of America,' my father told him.

'Hmm,' Gareth responded, gazing at me over his spoonful of soup. I gave him a cool smile and took a sip of my wine. I despised the way this man talked _around me_ instead of _to_ me.

'I will say that New Hampshire isn't quite the bustling, dazzling metropolis that New York is, but it certainly has its charms. I daresay Julia would be quite content in Concord. Has she read any books by my New England compatriots?'

Before either my father or mother could answer for me, I said in a sharp voice, 'If you have any questions about my experiences, tastes, or preferences, Mr. Gareth, I wholly invite you to present them to me directly. I assure you, I am the foremost expert on the subject of myself.'

'Julia!' my mother chided me. I gave her a quick, cutting look, but said nothing.

Gareth's face turned nearly as red as his hair, and he fumbled around for his words. 'I-I do apologize, Miss Julia. I shall restate: have you read any recent American literature?'

'As a matter of fact, I have,' I answered, my smile warming just slightly. 'I recently finished reading _Walden_.'

'_Walden_? Thoreau? Really?' Gareth chuckled. 'How amazing!'

_Why? Why should it be amazing? Because I'm a woman who doesn't read those tiresome sentimental novels?_ I wondered irritably to myself. But instead I asked pleasantly, 'And why is that, Mr. Gareth?'

'Well, it just seems such a dull subject – nature, I mean. Whatever do you see in his writing?'

'I appreciate the idea of being left alone,' I said simply, squaring my shoulders in pride. I could almost feel my mother's anger radiating toward me like an open flame.

My father cleared his throat. 'Mr. Gareth, shall the two of us retire to the drawing room and have a glass of sherry?'

'Oh, yes, that sounds lovely,' Gareth said, his voice full of relief.

After Gareth and Father made their way to the other room, my mother closed the door behind them and turned to me, her face bloodless white and full of controlled ire. 'Come with me,' she said in a quiet voice. She then walked past me, not bothering to see if I was following behind her (which, of course, I was, having placed a great deal of value on my life).

We both made our way into the parlor. 'Close the door behind you,' my mother told me, and I obeyed. I had barely turned around to face my mother when I heard the sound her hand meeting my cheek in a slap that was so hard it made my ears ache. I held my face and my mouth opened in a silent cry as tears began to fill my eyes.

There was not a scrap of guilt or remorse in my mother's face as she looked at me. 'You must derive a great deal of pleasure in circumventing me at every turn, don't you?'

'I-I don't! I'm not!' I blubbered. 'I can't understand why you would match me with someone like…like that!'

My mother leaned back slightly to take in the sight of me, then chuckled. 'Of course you wouldn't, stupid girl that you are. Mr. Gareth is the solution to our problems, most of which you are responsible for, I might add. Because of your feud with Elizabeth Farringdon, we've been ostracized from our circle. They've all taken her side, which means that no eligible bachelor in our kingdom will come within three yards of you, much less marry you.'

I was shocked. 'No one would…they've all sided with Elizabeth?'

'Naturally! She's the young, sweet, pretty one who just lost her fiancée—why should anyone be sympathetic to you? As I was saying, no one in our kingdom will marry you, so I had to look elsewhere. I have an old friend who lives in New England, who referred me to Mr. Gareth. He needs a wife; you need a husband. It was a perfect fit.'

'And…he was the only one?' I asked cautiously.

My mother's eyes narrowed. 'He was the wealthiest. He himself comes from a family of no importance, but has worked his way to the top of his industry. He wishes to ingratiate himself with the old money families in New England; a wife who comes from European nobility will help him to do so. In return, he has agreed to pay our debts and help us remain afloat. It is a prudent agreement on both sides.'

_A prudent agreement_, my mother called it. I rather saw it as proof that prostitution does not only occur among the denizens of the streets, but also amongst the upper echelons of society.

'Put yourself together,' my mother ordered, giving me a handkerchief. 'Then meet us in the drawing room.' Without another look, she turned on her heel and left me.

Truly fearing my mother's wrath should I take too much time, I dried my eyes, smoothed my hair, and quickly went to the drawing room. I opened the door to find my parents and Gareth chatting together in a warm, chummy sort of way, as though they were all old friends.

My mother looked up an ersatz smile of joy on her face. 'Ah, there she is! Come, dear, join us!'

Stiffly I walked to the open chair at Gareth's right side and sat down. The ugly man smiled eagerly and looked me over in that way a merchant might when gazing upon a new palette of wares. I swallowed my disgust and tried to paint my face in the colors of neutrality.

'Mr. Gareth and I thought it might be lovely if Julia gave him a tour of the botanical gardens tomorrow afternoon,' my father announced, a pointed smile on his face.

'Oh, that is a lovely idea! When should Julia be ready to receive you, Mr. Gareth?' my mother asked. Naturally no one asked me if I wished to spend time with this man. I simply sat back and watched my day being planned for me—a rehearsal for the rest of my life, I imagined.

'I shall arrive at 1 o'clock with my carriage. And now I must be off,' Gareth replied, standing up from his chair with all the grace of a giraffe suffering from vertigo. He bid my parents good night, collected his hat and cloak from our maid, and left.

I didn't cry that night as I lay in bed. I'd cried so much when I learned that Miguel didn't love me that it seemed my tears had run out. Indeed, I felt dried out, as though all of my emotions and passions had been evaporated from my bones, my flesh. Even lacking the tears, I still felt dread like a cold ball in my core. I didn't want to marry this man. I didn't want to be his wife, and leave my home in live in a foreign land.

But I had no choice. I didn't want my family to lose everything. There would be no more Miguels that were going to walk into my life, I knew it. This was the best I could do.

I remember little about our first meeting during the courtship. I recall that for the first time in my life, I couldn't wait to leave the botanical gardens and go home. The lovely place had always been a respite for me, and I resented my parents for forcing me to spend time with this hideous man there.

We walked the grounds, and mechanically I identified the different plants for him. At some point, Gareth asked if we could sit down, and so I acquiesced, choosing a shady spot near the babbling fountain so that I could be somewhat distracted and soothed by its sound if Gareth tried to talk to me.

'Miss Julia?' he asked after we'd been sitting for a few moments in silence.

'Yes, Mr. Gareth?' I avoided looking at him directly.

Suddenly he took my hand, and it was all I could do not to jerk away in disgust. 'I wish that you would call me Alvin from now on.'

'Very well…Alvin.'

He did not speak again for several minutes, and I was glad for it. Finally he said, 'I do hope that I shall have the chance to show you New Hampshire. I believe you would find it lovely. And I think it would be excellent if I could take you to a play or a concert sometime soon while I'm in town. I would so love to get to know you better.'

He babbled like this for nearly a minute more, speaking as though this were a romance we were cultivating. Finally it was too much for me to bear and I spoke up. 'Mr. Gareth, may I say something?'

'Alvin, please.'

'Alvin, of course. Forgive my bluntness, but I would prefer if we could dispose of these pretenses. I understand they are customary, but I think we can agree they don't change the outcome. You needn't 'court me' as you feel you must. I understand that we are to be married, that our union is mutually beneficial to us all. I will do my duty by you as your wife, as I am sure you will do the same for me as my husband. If you have a date and time, as well as any other details that you wish for our marriage ceremony, by all means, communicate it to my mother. I shall be made ready for it.'

Naturally Gareth was greatly taken aback by my candor. He managed to stammer, 'Of-of course, M-Ms. Julia. I feel the s-same way.'

'Excellent,' I told him with a charming smile. 'Shall we go? I'm sure my mother will be quite anxious to begin planning.' I took his arm and led him out of the gardens, and he was too surprised to resist.

The next several days were spent planning the ceremony and reception for the wedding. I cared little about what it was to be like, seeing as how I just barely tolerated the situation entirely. Whatever colors my mother picked, I agreed to. Whichever patterns for my gown my mother wished, I consented. About two weeks later, my mother sat me down and outlined all of the plans for me. We would be married in the kingdom cathedral one week from that day, and then shortly after that I would be boarding a ship for America where I would live with my new husband.

'I think that covers everything,' my mother told me, with all of the curtness and efficiency of a London lawyer. 'Do you have any questions, Julia?'

I had only one, the one I'd been asking in my heart my entire life: _why couldn't you have been kinder to me?_ I knew my mother had given me her answer before, but I always asked it to myself, nonetheless. It didn't matter anymore. She and my father had won. As long as I was _where_ I needed to be, _when_ I needed to be, everything else I could worry about was irrelevant.

'No, Mother. No questions,' I told her. 'I think I'm going to ride into town, if that's all right.'

'Perfectly fine. Be back in time for supper,' she told me with disinterest, looking down at the papers on the table. I excused myself and left.

I had the carriage transport me as far as the harbor, and then I got out and walked up the great hill above it so that I could get a full view of the ships and the dark blue sea beneath. In a little more than a week, I would be on one of those ships, leaving my home forever.

And then it hit me. The emotions I thought had dried up and flown away from me had pierced my heart. The landscape became distorted as my eyes were dampened with tears.

'Julia?' a voice asked behind me. I didn't turn around, but I didn't have to. I'd know that voice anywhere. Elizabeth was standing just a few steps away. Quickly I brushed the tears away and straightened myself as best I could.

'Julia, please,' she pleaded. 'I…I want to try again.'

I crossed my arms and said nothing, pretending she wasn't there.

'I'm leaving home, you know,' she said. 'Tomorrow. I'm going to be traveling Europe with my aunt and uncle. Everyone thinks…it will help me to heal.' I rolled my eyes and tried to suppress a sniffle as Elizabeth dared speak about _her _pain.

'I'll be gone for a long time, and I-I don't know when I'll be back. I suppose there's a chance…that I won't come back at all. I know you're getting married, Julia. You and I, we're going in different directions.' Elizabeth laughed. 'I guess it was always going to be that way, wasn't it? That's the life of girls. But Julia, life for me started here, with you. Can't we be friends again, even if we never see each other? Isn't it worth it to know that you have a friend out there, somewhere?'

I felt more tears coming to the surface. Elizabeth's words sounded so gentle, so kind, and I so wanted to believe them. And I knew that all I had to do was turn around. If I just turned around, that would be enough. But I couldn't. No matter how badly I wanted to turn and look at her, I'd never be able to do it.

Several minutes passed, and Elizabeth didn't say anything more. I knew she wasn't there any longer. Still I turned to look behind me.

And, indeed, she had left me. I was alone. Just as I'd been up to that point. Just as I would always be from then on."


End file.

Cinderella, Drama