Cinderella and the Colonel (23 page)

“I suspect you are think
ing of firepower, Duchess Lacreux,” Angelique said. “You believe you don’t have the power to fight back because you haven’t an army to your name or magic to shield those you love?”

Cinderella nodded. “There are things I can do—things
that will affect Aveyron and perhaps Werra. But how can I extend my reach?
All
of Trieux festers with hate.”

“I believe
, Duchess, you underestimate the power of kindness. A gentle word, a smile, an act of compassion, these are the things that can turn hate to love,” Angelique said.

“Or
, if that is your worry, ally yourself with someone who
can
reach all corners of the country,” Sybilla said.

“Who?”
Cinderella asked.

“Queen Freja
, of course,” Sybilla said, adjusting her eyeglasses.

“And
how will I win Queen Freja to my side?” Cinderella asked, fighting some of her own prejudices.

Sybilla patted Cinderella’s hand. “Dear
, it might not be a matter of ‘winning’ her. Have any of you nobles from Trieux tried to talk with her?”

Cinderella
was silent.

“Speak to her. She is a brilliant queen
, not a tyrant,” Sybilla recommended.

“
But how?”

“There is no time like the present. Isn’t there a ball com
ing up? I nearly drowned in the invitations when the queen learned I was here,” Sybilla said.

“It is tonight
,” Angelique said.

“Perfect! There you
have it—a ball is a public party. You will freely be able to approach the queen, or at least a member of the royal family,” Sybilla said.

“Yes
,” Cinderella said, warming to the subject.

“
If the ball is being held now, you ought to go change so you may leave as soon as possible,” Sybilla helpfully added.

Cinderella blinked. “I haven’t any dresses suitable for the occasion. My step-sister said I
could borrow something of hers—though she is taller than me,” Cinderella frowned. “I know—I can walk to Werra and borrow something from Marie.”

“Borrow?
Borrow
? Goodness,
no
. There will be
no
borrowing of ball gowns tonight,” Sybilla said, shivering as if the word was dirty.

“Than what am I to wear?”

“I can help you,” Angelique said, standing up. Her dress was spotless and perfect even though she should have wrinkled it while sitting on the ground. “I am a little skilled in alteration magic. If you do not mind the wait, I should have something suitable in a minute or two.”

“In
that case, please excuse me, so I may wash,” Cinderella said, shakily rising. She ran to the well and scrubbed at her hands, face, and neck. She poked her head in the kitchen, looking for some of Aveyron’s servants, but they were nowhere to be found.

Cinderella looked through the chateau for a few minutes before she gave up and rushed back to the enchantress and fairy godmother.

“Ahh, there she is,” Sybilla said, clapping her hands.

“Please hold still for a moment
, Duchess Lacreux,” Angelique said. She walked a circle around Cinderella, first brushing Cinderella’s chin-length hair.

Immediate
ly Cinderella’s head was heavy with hair as her long, scarlet locks draped to her elbow. As if it had a mind of its own, her hair started moving, braiding small tendrils that pinned themselves to the crown of her head with pearl-topped pins and white roses the size of a thumbnail.

When Angelique touched the
sleeve of Cinderella’s dress, the fabric changed to a beautiful shade of snow-white silk. The changed fabric bloomed across Cinderella, rearranging itself as it moved, and grew until Cinderella had a full-skirted dress that brushed the ground. The tops of her shoulders were bare, but a stretch of pale, storm-gray fabric skirted around the top of Cinderella’s dress and glided around the sides of her arms before fastening in the back. A similar shade of fabric gathered at the waist, held in place by a string of pearls.

Gloves the same storm-gray as
the highlighter fabric encased her hands and ran up to her elbow. Pearl bracelets appeared on her wrists, and a pearl necklace with a diamond shaped like a heart draped across her chest and fastened itself at the back of her neck.

“It
is a masquerade ball, yes?” Angelique asked.

“Yes
,” Cinderella said.

“Then you will need this
,” Angelique said, brushing her palms together. As she slid her hands apart she revealed a mask—covered with white silk and storm-gray lace—that would cover Cinderella’s nose and circle around her eyes—just as Mariska’s mask did. She handed it to Cinderella, who held it close to admire the lace pattern.

“And for the final touch
,” Angelique said, placing the glass slippers she held on the ground.

“I couldn’t
,” Cinderella protested.

“Please
,” Angelique smiled. “They are not what I was searching for, and I have no use for them.”

“I cannot thank you enough
,” Cinderella said, sliding her feet into the shoes. They were surprisingly comfortable—as if made of pillows of water rather than glass. “You have helped me beyond what I could have dreamed of. Is there nothing I can do for you?”

The Lady Enchantress shook her head. “It is the duty of those of us gifted with magic to use it for whatever good purposes we can find. I am pleased I could help you.”

Cinderella shyly brushed the fabric of her dress. “Thank you,” she said, her cheeks turning light pink.

“Now
, shall we call for your footmen and carriage?” Sybilla asked, eagerly clapping her hands.

Cinderella smiled uneasi
ly. “I will walk.”

Sybilla blinked. “
Walk
?”

“
Aveyron does not have a carriage, and I cannot use the horses. They have worked all day and are likely to be eating their evening hay.”

Angelique cleared her throat and thoughtful
ly looked away. Sybilla gaped, her jaw hanging. “No carriage?” she repeated.

“No.”

“Humph. We shall fix that—temporarily at least,” Sybilla said. She turned and studied the goats. “No, but I will be back for you later,” she said to the unconcerned livestock. “Cows—oh goodness no. You can hardly have
spotted
horses. Sheep? Too stupid. Hmm, I know. Attention, creatures. This young lady is in need of some assistance to reach a ball. Are there any volunteers?”

Aveyron
was silent.

Cinderella shifted her gaze to Angelique to see if this
was acceptable behavior for a fairy godmother, when there was scuttling at her feet.

Four clean
, well-fed mice scurried across the lawn, stopping in front of Sybilla.

One mouse sat on his hind legs and twitched his nose at Sybilla. The other three mice cleaned their whiskers and occasional
ly helped pat a neighbor’s fur into place.

“Of course
, I see. I’m sure she will not object to that,” Sybilla said. “In that case, I thank you for your kindness. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, be horses.”

There
was a bang, and a cloud of smoke encased Sybilla.

“Drat
! I forgot about that,” Sybilla coughed from inside the cloud. “Where are you, mice? Oof!”

When the smoke rolled away
, four horses, outfitted in black harnesses, were lined up in front of Sybilla. The horses twitched their noses a little too often, and their fur was the same shiny, well-kept, velvet brown as the four mice, but they took to their new bodies quite well.

“Magic
,” Cinderella gulped.

“Sybilla’s magic
,” Angelique was quick to add.

“Yoo-hoo! Yes
, you two! I need a footman and a driver. What say you?” Sybilla called out to the two nearest goats.

The goats chewed mouthfuls of grass and looked unimpressed.

“How is that for gratuity? Is anyone else more prone to honor than these two pigs?” Sybilla called to the rest of the herd.

An ancient
, shriveled buck goat Cinderella kept because she didn’t have the heart to see him slain approached Sybilla with one of the year’s baby goats—a doeling.

The doel
ing pranced and jumped, leaping over the back of the old goat, who baaed at Sybilla before knocking the doeling in the head with his horns.

“Thank you very much. I assure you the mice won’t be much trouble. I’ve already given them directions
,” Sybilla said. “Now, be men!”

Noth
ing happened.

“Herm.
That was embarrassing,” Sybilla said as the goat baaed at her. “I beg your pardon. Be a man and a girl!”

There
was another explosion of smoke. When it cleared, an elderly driver dressed smartly in white and gray stood with a young girl who wore gray breeches, a white shirt, and a white hat.

“Very good
; you both look grand. If you would stand with the horses, please. Now, a carriage. Duchess Lacreux, have you any pots or apple baskets?”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind. I see a pumpkin patch yonder. It is the wrong season, but with luck, that will make the pumpkin more cooperative,” Sybilla said, striding off towards a field.

She returned some minutes later
, a suspiciously
round
carriage plated in gold rolling after her. The mice-horses arranged themselves in front of the carriage—their harnesses curling into place by magic—while the goat driver climbed into place.

The goat footgirl opened the door of the round carriage
, revealing an inside of orange satin.

“I could not get it to entire
ly agree with me, but no one will see the interior anyway,” Sybilla grudgingly said. “Now, dearie, I am sorry to say it, but this magic will only work until midnight. The mice need to be home by then, and I must confess I need to leave the Werra city limit, and once I do, my magic will cease functioning.”

“I hadn’t thought of
that,” Angelique frowned. “I, too, must be leaving.”

“Off to see
that Arcainian princess?”

“Yes. If she can overtake Clotilde
, it would be wisest to make our move as swiftly as possible.”

“Smart.”

“Perhaps,” Angelique said before turning her attention to Cinderella. “I will stay in the area with Sybilla until midnight, but on a night as suitable as this for my mount, I really should ride. When I fall out of range, my magic will fade as well. I apologize, but I cannot stay longer.”

“There is noth
ing to apologize for. I cannot repay you for this,” Cinderella said, gesturing to her clothes and the carriage.

“It
was our delight,” Angelique said. “I wish you all the luck I can spare.”

Cinderella shaki
ly smiled. “Thank you.”

Sybilla narrowed her eyes at Cinderella. “Do not be afraid
, dearie. Your good cheer has more power than you know. Even your animals know you labor for them. Now, run along. You are fashionably late, but you haven’t much time to spare.”

“Thank you
,” Cinderella said, accepting the goat-footgirl’s help into the round carriage. The door closed after her, and Cinderella barely had enough time to push aside an orange, velvet curtain to wave at the magical women before the carriage jolted forward.

Dazed
, Cinderella sat back into the satin covered bench. “I’m going to the Victory Ball to speak to Queen Freja,” she said.

Her heart pounded in her throat
, and Cinderella’s mind buzzed. What should she
say
? What
could
she say? No one would mistake her for an Erlauf lady, but did everyone know of her brilliant red hair?

“I won’t say my name. Not yet. Even if someone in the court does know of my red hair
, they must also know I chopped it. Perhaps they will think I wore a wig as part of the masquerade. I don’t think anyone will correctly guess who I am. I haven’t even
met
any Erlauf nobility besides when I was presented to Queen Freja as the new duchess.”

Chapter 15

Cinderella felt ill
-prepared when the carriage entered Werra. In less time than Cinderella would have liked, the mice-horses pranced to a stop in front of the palace, which glowed with the setting sun.

The carriage door opened
, and the goat girl helped Cinderella exit the pumpkin.

The palace entrance
was lined with soldiers and guards. Cinderella looked for familiar faces among the men—although she didn’t see any—as she climbed the stairs. They did not blink or even acknowledge her presence. They stood stiffly, their swords unsheathed but lowered.

C
owed by the silence and swords, Cinderella followed the burgundy runner rugs that lined the floor and led the way to the ballroom.

As the
palace—and thus the ballroom—were built and designed by Trieux, the architecture was over the top with extravagance.

The ballroom
was two levels—the main floor housed swirling dancers and an orchestra. The second floor was nothing more than a balcony that edged the perimeter of the room, although it held over a hundred guests who strolled, murmured, and admired the views from the full-length windows. On both floors, there were patios and terraces made of the finest white marble that allowed attendees to enjoy the cool evening air and afforded them a lovely outlook of the royal gardens.

The ceil
ing was vaulted and covered with ornate Trieux murals—typically hunting scenes, the Trieux unicorn rearing beautifully, and meadow scenes. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling like glittering webs, and the floor was Trieux blue, made to compliment the night sky and set off the white marble.

The biggest feat of the room
was the throne. The Trieux throne was a monstrosity of white and blue marble, set off by Trieux lavender cushions. The throne was placed on a platform created by the merging of three staircases. Two of the staircases cascaded down from the second floor, and the biggest rose up from the first floor to support the smaller two.

Chandeliers
, blue curtains, and candelabras were arranged around and below the staircases to make the throne look as if it were rising up out of the stars.

Before Cinderella always thoug
ht it was beautiful imagery. Now, a member of the working class and responsible for the livelihood of all her employees, she felt the throne—beautiful as it was—was a tacky show of poor spending.

Queen Freja
stood on the platform, some paces in front of the throne as if to distance herself from it.

The two Erlauf Princes stood at the base of the stairs
that breeched the first level, standing in a military style and speaking to those who shuffled forward in the long line, waiting to speak to the queen. The consort was nowhere to be seen.

Cinderella
considered joining the line until she caught whiff of the refreshments. “Food,” Cinderella said, abandoning her goal and following her nose.

Tables of food
were laid out in a connecting room. There was stuffed cabbage, five kinds of smoked sausage, poppy seed rolls, crepes stuffed with nuts and chocolate sauce, chilled cherry soup, sweet plum dumplings, and many more traditional Erlauf dishes Cinderella did not have a hope of recognizing.

There
were also tables of wines, brandies, and beer to consume, as well. None of the food or drinks bore even the vaguest hint of Trieux influence.

Cin
derella bit her lip before she sampled a piece of sausage. It was fantastic. So fantastic that Cinderella gathered the courage to try the dishes she did not know. She nibbled on the delicious food, wondering if she could smuggle some home, when she grew aware of someone standing next to her.

A young man dressed in the uniform of a Major bowed when Cinderella final
ly looked at him. “If you would pleasure me with a dance, Lady,” he said, extending his hand.

C
inderella stared at the soldier.

This
wasn’t part of her plan.

Besides Friedrich
, she was used to being ignored by males from Erlauf. Why was he asking her to dance? Did she look pitiful?

Cinderella
looked nervously around and swallowed the last bit of food she was chewing—an excellent sampling of cheese. “Of course,” she said, taking his hand and allowing herself to be led back to the ballroom and to the dance floor.

Cinderella tried to study her new companion—wonder
ing if he was one of Friedrich’s men and, thus, had recognized her—but his mask covered at least half his face.

The Major swept her into the dance—which
was, surprisingly, a dance Cinderella recognized as originating in Loire. It was simple, thank goodness. All Cinderella had to do was hold her dress with one hand and the Major’s shoulder with the other.

The Major
was a competent dancer. He swept Cinderella across the floor, keeping time with the other dancers.

Attempt
ing conversation seemed awkward, so Cinderella allowed herself to be silently guided along. When the song finished, she dipped in an elegant curtsey.

“Thank you for the dance
,” Cinderella said.

“Thank you
, Lady,” the major said, bowing over Cinderella’s gloved hand and kissing her knuckles.

After Cinderella reclaimed her hand she muttered
, “Perhaps I have not given Friedrich enough credit. Maybe
all
Erlauf men are the grabbing type.”

She directed her attention to the line of those wait
ing to address Queen Freja. The queue curled around the stairs. “Still too long, back to the refreshments,” Cinderella said.

When she turned around
, she nearly smacked into an elegantly dressed male.

“I apologize
. I did not look to see where I was going,” she said.

“No harm done
,” the man—he was perhaps a decade older than Cinderella—said, straightening his jacket. “Skirts, I have been told, could almost be considered a weapon. Would you care to dance?”

“Certain
ly, thank you,” Cinderella said, once again allowing herself to be pulled into a dance.

Her second time on the dance floor
was slightly more difficult, as it was an Erlauf dance Cinderella rarely took part of. She did not mind the lack of conversation as she focused on moving her feet.

The beat
was faster, and by the end of the song, Cinderella knew she was flushed.

“Thank you
, Lady, for the wonderful dance. You are very skilled,” Cinderella’s partner said when it was over.

“You are too kind
,” Cinderella said, breathing heavily. “But I thank you for the compliment, and for the dance,” she curtsied.

“The pleasure
was all mine,” the man said, kissing Cinderella’s knuckles like her previous partner.

Glad she
was wearing gloves, Cinderella glanced at the line to the throne—it was still long—before she slipped through the crowd, making her way towards a patio.

“Lady
, I beg you to forgive my impertinence, but would you grant me the pleasure of dancing with me?”

Cinderella almost ignored the request—he couldn’t possib
ly be talking to her—before she realized she was the only one standing near the man—a middle-aged soldier. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. It was difficult to guess thanks to his half mask. His uniform was…different.

Cinderella couldn’t put her finger on it
, but the cut of his jacket was unusual, and he wore no identifying badges or medals.

“Of course
,” Cinderella said, allowing herself to be led back to the dancers and musicians.

“What do you think of the ball?” her companion asked.

“It is lovely,” Cinderella said.

“What do you enjoy most?
The dancing?”

“The food
. It is exquisite,” Cinderella said with feeling.

Cinderella’s dance partner released a bark of laughter
, drawing glances from some of their fellow dancers.

“I am glad to hear you think so
,” the man said.

Cinderella noticed
that as they swept past a group of soldiers, the men saluted.

Am I danc
ing with a general?

“The music is skillful
ly played, of course, and everyone is dressed beautifully,” Cinderella added, slightly insulted by the humor he found in her choice.

“And what of the venue?”

“No one can say the Trieux Palace is not grand.”

“And the throne?”

Cinderella was silent for a few beats. “It is mostly an eyesore,” she admitted.

The solider—or in all likelihood
, officer—smiled at Cinderella. “It is certainly gaudy. You could feed an army for at least a few months with the funds that monstrosity cost.”

“Or you could buy a year’s supp
ly of seed and hay. Perhaps more,” Cinderella said almost dreamily.

“You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders
,” Cinderella’s dance companion said, his voice colored with approval.

“T
hank you, sir. I would like to think I do.”

They chatted for a few minutes more
, until the dance was over and they parted ways.

“Thank you for the splendid dance
, sir.”

“No
, thank
you
, Mademoiselle. You have done me a great service,” the officer said. He bowed over Cinderella’s hand but did not touch it with his lips. He clicked his heels, nodded at her, and disappeared in the crush of the crowd.

Encouraged by the fun
, Cinderella once again tried to fight her way to the refreshments. Halfway there, another young man found her and begged her for a dance.

This pattern continued for some time. Cinderella could
scarcely understand her popularity among the men—masked and parading around with the fair skin of a Trieux lady as she was—but she rarely had a moment alone and did not have time to grab more than a few morsels from the refreshments before a new man would request her to dance with them.

After hours of dancing, Cinderella was hot and thirsty. She stole off to the refreshments, doing her best to dart behind ladies with l
arge skirts and men of immense bulk. When she reached the tables of food, she greedily took several pieces of sausage—having discovered she had a fondness for it—and approached the table awash with drinks.

She stood there, tryi
ng to decide between a wine or an odd, sweet-smelling juice, when she heard male voices strolling in her direction.

“—barely made it back in time for the ball.
My valet was dumping water on my head to get the goblin slime out of my hair as we rode back.”

“How many goblins were there?”

“Three packs—which was an unexpected surprise. We thought there would only be one.”

“Did you lose any men?”

“No. Several were badly wounded though. We left them at the Semonè fortification for medical attention.”

Cinderella chewed her s
nacks and considered the voices and the implications of their conversation. Goblins moved in packs, but typically the packs didn’t group up together due to the petty natures of the creatures. Furthermore, the last time goblins were seen in Trieux was over a century ago. The black mage hadn’t lied. Darkness was coming. Wondering who would discuss such a thing at a ball, Cinderella risked a glance over her shoulder and choked on her sausage.

Colonel Merrich and Lord Diederick—both mask
-less and grim faced—strolled in her direction, heading for the drinks.

“That was smart of you.”

“Indeed. So, what have I missed? Have any fist-fights broken out?” Colonel Merrich asked.

“The hour is not nearly late enough, and no one has had
enough to drink, yet,”  Lord Diederick said.

Cinderella thumped herself on the chest as discreetly as possible to clear her throat before she snatched up a glass
of the unidentifiable juice, glided—even when hiding, it was not good for a lady to scurry—behind a support pillar, and faced the entrance to the ballroom.

“Have the mothers
of eligible daughters hounded you all night?” Colonel Merrich asked, selecting a brandy.

“Not so much. I suspect they were combing the crowds for you. An army officer is a better prize than a lord, after all,” Lord Diederick said.

Cinderella peeked around the pillar. She needed to get out of the room without drawing their notice (as they were quite possibly the only two beings in the room capable of recognizing her) and, more importantly, she needed to find out what hour it was. Balls could continue until the wee hours of the morning, but Cinderella only had until midnight, and she still hadn’t talked to Queen Freja.