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He was sweeping the kitchen when his step-sisters, Drizella and Anastasia, came in, followed by his step-mother, the woman who seemed to go out of her way to make his abysmal life even more miserable. He tried to sweep into the pantry so she wouldn’t see him but it was pointless.
“James Tiberius,” Rodmilla said in a low, threatening voice. It was the only voice she ever used when talking to her step-son, the one she’d reluctantly inherited when she’d married his widowed father. What she had wanted was George’s status and his wealth, not his far-too smart son.
“Yes ma’am,” Jim said when he’d emerged from his hiding place. Drizella and Anastasia were looking down their pert noses at him, their expressions the one they reserved for him and any time they were near the stables that hadn’t been mucked out recently enough to suit their delicate sensibilities.
“Where have you been lollygagging this entire time?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I haven’t been lollygagging. I was sweeping. Before that I changed all of the beds, washed all the linens, and fed the livestock,” Jim said, knowing she would not believe him even when she saw the evidence for herself.
She stared at him with her beady black eyes but he refused to break eye contact first. She had always underestimated the extent of his stubbornness and this was no exception. “Where is our dinner? I told you we’d be home precisely in time.”
“It’s in the oven. If you’re ready to eat, I’ll fetch it,” he said, his tone even although he wanted to hit her with his broom.
She sniffed and went to the dining room, regally sitting at the head of the table. He silently bristled that she sat in his father’s chair but knew he was powerless to stop her. Drizella and Anastasia sat at her right and left, staring at Jim as they waited to be served.
He went into the kitchen, putting the roast on a platter with the vegetables he’d steamed the way they preferred. Once it was prepared, he took it into the dining room, placing it on the table. He waited the requisite five minutes of complete silence before returning to the kitchen. If they required anything further, they would summon him with the hated bell at Rodmilla’s right hand.
Jim sat on his stool close by the fire and tried not to think about how his life could have been. That way led heartbreak. He had heard his step-sisters discussing the fancy ball they would be attending in a few days. They had been out all day today looking for the perfect gowns to wear to attract the attention of the Prince.
The ball was intended to provide the prince a chance to find a spouse. It had been decided by King Sarek and Queen Amanda that Prince Spock needed to wed before his next birthday. The prince had been studying at a university far away and had spent far more time on his academic subjects than he had finding a subject of the realm who would be suitable royal material.
Jim thought the ball was so much nonsense but if his father hadn’t died and left him at the mercies of the witch in charge of the house, he’d be planning to attend as well. He’d have gotten an invitation and would have gone to be fitted with the appropriate formalwear. Instead, he’d be left behind the night of the ball. At least he’d be home alone, not having to tend to every whim of his ungrateful step-mother and sisters.
He heard the sounds of the three women leaving the dining and made sure they were clear of the room before he went in to clean up the dishes they had left. He’d put the kettle on before leaving the kitchen, knowing he’d be summoned to provide them tea before they went upstairs for their much needed beauty sleep. He was of the opinion that there wasn’t enough sleep in the entire universe to provide them with ‘beauty’ but those were thoughts he wisely kept to himself.
~o0o~
“I fail to understand the purpose behind this planned affair,” Spock said to his parents as they shared lunch in the family dining room. It was much smaller and far less formal than the one where they ate when hosting dignitaries.
“Your mother and I have lost faith that left to your own devices you will find a suitable match,” the King told him in the same even tone he always used. It held neither approval nor disapproval, affection nor apathy.
“My dear,” Amanda said, placing her hand over her son’s. “You’re already much older than was your father when we wed. You must marry before your next birthday or the people will be concerned that our lineage will die with you.”
“Mother,” Spock said, trying very hard to keep the exasperation he was feeling out of his voice. His father would never forgive him if he revealed the Human emotions behind the words. “I will marry. I wish to do so on my own time.”
“Your duty is to the realm, Spock,” Sarek reminded him. “Your heart is not of primary importance in this matter.”
“You married Mother for love,” Spock pointed out.
“We were indeed fortunate,” Amanda agreed, looking over at Sarek with the love that was always reflected in her eyes.
“We thought you would find an appropriate match at University,” Sarek said. “As that did not happen, the ball will afford you the opportunity to meet the eligible residents of the realm.”
“But Father,” Spock began.
“No, Spock. It has been decided,” his father said, cutting off the rest of his protests.
“Yes sir,” Spock agreed, looking down at his plate so he no longer had to look at the barely disguised disapproval on his father’s face.
~o0o~
“James Tiberius,” Rodmilla said from the foyer. She was waiting there with Drizella and Anastasia, all three in their new dresses of finest silk.
“Yes,” Jim said, peeking around from the pantry. He’d hoped they would just leave, not bothering him as they sashayed off to their evening of royal abundance.
“Is the carriage prepared?” Rodmilla demanded in the same low, menacing tone.
“Yes,” he confirmed, remaining in the kitchen, his hands deep in the pockets of his threadbare pants. “The horsemen you hired arrived several minutes ago.”
“You will lock the door when we leave. You will not allow anyone inside my house while we are gone,” she told him.
“I remember,” he told her, resenting every word.
“Have our breakfast prepared tomorrow at 9:30. Not a minute later, not a minute earlier,” she said.
“I remember,” he repeated.
She looked down her nose at him one more time before leaving the house, her daughters following her with a haughty air that did nothing to help their looks.
He sighed when the door closed behind them, waiting until he heard the familiar clip-clop of the horse pulling the carriage away. He wandered out into the tiny kitchen garden, sitting on the low wall that surrounded the bubbling fountain he’d constructed from scraps of metal. Rodmilla had threatened to destroy it when she had discovered it, but surprisingly, Drizella had talked her out of it. “Let the boy have his wishing well,” she said, laughing at him. But he didn’t care because it saved his fountain.
He leaned over to look at his reflection, seeing the blondish-brown hair going every way, strands escaping from the twine he used to tie it back. There was a smudge of ash across his cheek from where he’d shoveled out the kitchen fireplace. He pretended that the bubbles floating across the surface were the lights gleaming from the castle.
None of it changed the fact that he was still, in reality, a prisoner in the house that should have been his home. He had been left behind when he should have been invited to the ball. He hoped he never heard how grand the ball was or how handsome the prince looked. He had caught a faint glimpse of the prince when he had ridden through town several weeks ago and Jim thought he was the finest man he’d ever seen.
Jim gasped and nearly fell into his fountain when lightning struck from the clear sky, creating a giant plume of smoke between him and house. He thought about seeking shelter inside but the smoke prevented him from running to safety.
“All right, kid. I’m here. What do you want?” a man asked him when the smoke cleared.
“What?” Jim said, staring at the man. He was about the same height as Jim with unruly black hair and intense green eyes. His eyebrows seemed permanently furrowed, his mouth turned down in a disapproving frown. He was wearing a blue silk shirt and black pants. “Who are you?”
“Leonard H. McCoy at your service. I am your fairy godfather. Your genie, if you will.”
“What?” Jim repeated, staring at the man.
“What what?” this McCoy said, studying Jim. “You can’t go to the ball dressed like that.”
“What? I’m not going to the ball,” Jim said, wondering if the man was really there or if he was just imagining him.
“I’m here, kid,” McCoy said, pinching Jim’s arm. “See. Here. Now, let’s get you changed into something more appropriate.”
“Wait,” Jim said, holding up one hand. “Changed into something else? You are going to make me…what…a frog?”
“Frogs are exclusive for princes,” McCoy scoffed. “I meant we need to dress you for the ball.”
“You keep saying that. But I’m not going to the ball,” Jim told him.
“Of course you are,” McCoy said. “Otherwise you’ll never meet the prince. Well, you would eventually but I ain’t got time to wait for that. These bones are older than they look.”
“I’m going to meet the prince,” Jim said, shaking his head to see if that would help things make sense. Because right now nothing did.
“Kid,” McCoy said like that explained everything. “You and him? Tea and crumpets. The creamy center of an Oreo. Wait, you don’t have Oreos, do you? That’s another century.” McCoy waved it away, focusing back on Jim. “Anyway. You need a proper outfit for the ball.”
“I still don’t understand,” Jim told him. “I don’t know where you came from or what you are talking about.”
“All right, “McCoy said, sitting on the edge of the fountain. “Have a seat. I’ll try to explain it.”
“Please do,” Jim said, sitting next to him.
“You know how there are things that are supposed to happen? You don’t know how or why, you just know they are meant to be.”
“Yeeaaahhh,” Jim said, still uncertain. He thought he understood what this stranger was saying but he wasn’t completely sure.
“You and Spock, you’re like that. If your father hadn’t married that shrew, you’d have gone to the university that Spock attends. But you didn’t. That has delayed things for a while. But this ball is the perfect chance to fix it.”
“My step-mother….”
“She won’t know anything about it until it is way too late. Speaking of getting late, we need to get this show on the road,” McCoy said, standing up. “We need a horse.”
“They took it already,” Jim said.
“Not a problem,” McCoy said, looking under one of the leaves trailing into the clearing of the garden. “This white mouse will do nicely.” He pointed his finger at the mouse and with a clap of thunder and the air turning to sparkles, there was a horse where the mouse had just been. “I like the shape of this pumpkin,” McCoy said, waving his finger at it until it transformed into a beautiful coach. “Perfect. Now you need a coachman,” he said, looking around the garden.
“What about that cat?” Jim said, pointing at the black and white barn cat that had wandered up.
“He’ll do nicely, “McCoy agreed, turning the cat into a proper coachman. “There you go,” McCoy said, nodding at the coach. “On your way.”
“I think you’re forgetting something,” Jim said.
“No, I don’t think so. You have a ride, you have a horse. What more could you need?”
“Clothes?” Jim said, gesturing to the rags he wore.
“Dammit Jim I’m a fairy, not a tailor,” McCoy grumped.
“What?” Jim asked, frowning at him.
“Sorry. You’ll understand eventually,” McCoy laughed. “Okay, close your eyes and turn around twice.”
Jim figured if this McCoy could make a coach out of a pumpkin and a horse out of a mouse, he’d trust him to provide him an appropriate outfit.
“There we go,” McCoy said. “Open your eyes.”
Jim did it to find his pants transformed into black velvet breeches over black dancing shoes. He was also wearing a white shirt under a golden velvet jacket, the buttons gleaming in the low light. There was a wide black belt around his waist adding an air of authority. “Wow.”
“I take it you like it?”
“I do,” Jim agreed. “Thank you. I’m still not sure why you’re here.”
“You don’t have to understand. You only have to go to the ball, dance with the prince, make him fall in love with you, live happily ever after.”
“Oh,” Jim laughed. “Is that all?”
“Well, no,” McCoy said. “There are only enough magic reserves left in these bones for the spell to last until midnight. When the clock finishes striking the 12 o’clock hour, everything will turn back to the way it was originally.”
“Midnight,” Jim said. It sounded like a question more than a statement.
“I’m allocated a certain amount of magic each month,” McCoy said trying not to sound defensive. “It’s been a tough month, what with Ariel needing my help being human, and Belle finally breaking the spell, and Snow White…well, never mind.”
“Okay,” Jim said, walking with him to the carriage. “Will I see you again?”
“When you need me you will,” McCoy said, helping him into the carriage. “Have a good time.”
“I will,” Jim said as the door was closed by the coachman. “Thank you, Bones.”
“Bones? What is with this Bones?” McCoy demanded as the coach left for the ball.
Jim watched the countryside slide by as the coach advanced toward the castle. He couldn’t quite believe he was actually going to the ball but the sound of the horse was real, the orders of the coachman rang in his ears. They couldn’t be denied.
The coachman opened the door when the carriage stopped, offering Jim a hand to step down. “Don’t forget, James. You have until midnight,” the former cat turned coachman reminded him.
“I’ll remember,” Jim assured him. He watched the coach pull away to park with the rest of the carriages before he mounted the huge marble staircase that led to the castle entrance. The guards did not look twice at him, reassuring him that no one intended to stop him from entering the ballroom.
He followed the discrete directions of the palace guard, arriving at the huge double doors that stood open to provide a breathtaking view of the gigantic ballroom, aglow from thousands of candles. The decorative floor below him was filled with dancers, the music sweeping them all up in its sound.
Jim stood at the top of the stairway to try and get his bearings, unaware that all eyes had turned toward him.
“Sir,” one of the guards said, offering his arm.
Jim automatically took it as it seemed to be the thing to do. He was escorted down the steps, conscious that he was in fact being watched. Quiet voices filtered through to him: Who is he? He’s beautiful. Is he a nobleman? I’ve never seen his equal.
Jim gazed back at all those who would dismiss him if they knew the truth, trying to project an air of nobility. He didn’t think he succeeded but when the guard stopped at the bottom of the steps, it no longer matter. Waiting for him was Prince Spock, dressed immaculately in rich blue and black silk, his black hair caught in a braid down his back, the tips of his ears barely visible.
“Sir,” the prince said with a bow for Jim. His eyes never left Jim’s face as though he was afraid that if he looked away, Jim would disappear and take his heart with him.
“Your majesty,” Jim returned with a low bow.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” Spock asked, holding out one glove clad hand in invitation.
“The pleasure would be mine,” Jim replied, putting his hand into Spock’s. He joined Spock in the center of the dance floor, effortlessly moving in concert with the prince. They danced as though they had done it before and often.
“Will you give me your name?” Spock asked.
Jim laughed, smiling at the question. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” Spock repeated. “Must I earn it?”
Jim laughed again, allowing Spock to hold him closer to his very firm, very warm body. “Are you having a good time, your highness?”
“I am now,” Spock said into Jim’s ear.
“As am I,” Jim said, relaxing against Spock.
They danced, they flirted, they knew they were supposed to find each other.
“I could use some fresh air,” Spock said, holding tight to Jim’s hand. “Will you join me on the balcony?”
“Certainly,” Jim agreed, going out with him. The crowd parted to allow them to proceed unimpeded to the open doors.
“You must tell me where you have been hiding,” Spock said when they were sitting beside a gurgling fountain.
“Closer than you’d think,” Jim said with a secretive smile. “May I inquire what you have been studying at university?”
“Science,” Spock said. “Theoretical fields that I hope will come to fruition to the betterment of the realm.”
“Is it true that you are researching ways to provide light without candles?”
“I have attempted it,” Spock said. “I inadvertently destroyed two laboratories which Father paid to rebuild.”
Jim laughed at his confession. “Lucky for you that your father can afford them.”
“Indeed,” Spock agreed. “I am uncertain what caused either explosion.”
“I’ve heard it said that you were trying to produce electromagnetism from fortified cores of enhanced frequency wave.”
“I did attempt it,” Spock said, looking as embarrassed as a Vulcan every looked. “That was the first explosion.”
“Did you try reversing the polarity of the neutron flow?” Jim asked, pleased by the surprised expression on the prince’s face.
“I did not,” Spock said, considering it. “You may be correct. That may be the very supposition I had neglected to factor into the equation.” Spock postulated other theories about how to make the electromagnetism workable, delighted in his own low-key way to have a knowledgeable, interested audience. Jim made several suggestions, continually surprising Spock with his understanding.
“What is that?” Jim asked when bells began to chime.
“The clock tower,” Spock said, pointing up at it. “It is chiming the hour as it has done since the founding of Vulcan.”
“Chiming the hour,” Jim repeated, following Spock’s finger to look up at the tower. When he realized what time it was, he jumped up and started toward the ballroom doors.
“Wait,” Spock said, reaching out for him. “Where are you going?”
“I have…to…oh dear,” Jim said, realizing he’d run out of time. He looked around the balcony in a panic, seeing the open stairway that led down to the street behind the castle. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” With that, he fled the balcony, running down the steps. In his haste, his foot slipped out of his shoe but he had no time to retrieve it. He had to get away from the castle before anyone could see who he really was.
He discarded his second shoe, watching in dismay as his finery reverted back to the rags to which he was much more accustom. He was disappointed that his time of nobility had come to an end but he couldn’t be angry. His godfather had warned him. He had gotten lost in his internal fantasy that he was somebody, somebody with a possible future with the prince.
Entering his house reminded him how unrealistic his brief dream had been. He was little more than a pauper, meant for nothing grander than waiting hand and foot on the three women who ruled his life.
He climbed up to the attic, laying on his bed to look out the window at the stars. When he’d been with the prince, he felt he could touch the stars. Now he understood they were far out of his reach and would remain so forever.
He refused to acknowledge the tears that may have fallen from his tightly clinched eyes. The black and white cat that earlier had been his coachman curled up with him, offering warmth that did nothing to thaw his heart which he knew was frozen forever.
~0~
Several days elapsed before rumors began to spread that the prince was desperate to find the mysterious nobleman who had so abruptly left the ball, taking with him the prince’s heart. Jim did not respond to any of the gossip he heard when he went to the market, knowing the prince would never find him now that he was back in his rightful place.
With a heavy heart, Jim returned home to find his stepmother and stepsisters buzzing over the rumors.
“A shoe. He found a shoe and that is all,” Anastasia said in a dreamy voice. “If it weren’t all so tragic, it’d be romantic.”
“What if he never finds the owner of the shoe?” Drizella said mournfully. “His heart will be broken.”
“Enough with this gossip,” Rodmilla chastised them. “Go and wash up. We’ll be eating soon.”
The sisters went out twittering about the prince and how terribly tragic it was. Jim continued preparing the meal, acting as though he knew nothing of what had occurred.
He glanced up to find Rodmilla staring at him. “Ma’am?” he finally said, wondering what he could possibly have done to deserve her current displeasure.
“Where were you the night of the ball?” she asked.
“Right here. Where else would I have been?” he asked, placing the food on the table.
“Where else indeed,” she said, still staring at him.
~0~
It was only by luck that Jim discovered the next day that the prince was out searching for the owner of the shoe. Jim had gone to market for more washing soap when the owner of the mercantile mentioned it to a customer.
“And whoever fits in the shoe will claim his hand in marriage,” the owner said.
“A shoe,” the other man said. “I wonder what size it is.”
Jim didn’t quite know what to think. If only there were some way he could prove the shoe was his, he would find freedom from his prison and be united with the man he had fallen in love with. But how could he possibly get close enough to the prince to prove he was the one?
“Is there anything else?” the owner of the shop asked Jim not unkindly when he’d recorded the purchase in his ledger.
“No sir. Thank you,” Jim said, leaving the store with his head buzzing from the possibilities. He went between two of the shops to take the shortcut home when he nearly ran into a familiar figure in blue and black.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, kid?” McCoy asked from where he was leaning against the side of one of the shops.
“Where have you been?” Jim asked in return.
McCoy shrugged. “Why are you going home this way?”
“I always do,” Jim said. “It’s quicker.”
“I’d think you’d want to take the slowest way possible. Maybe going to the end of the main street and taking a right toward the gazebo.”
“The gazebo?” Jim repeated. “That’s on the wrong end of the street. And why are we discussing directions? I want to…would like to know if I’m ever going to see the prince again.” He didn’t like the way his voice nearly cracked or the tears he felt come unbidden to his eyes. But he couldn’t control either reaction in front of the…person who had the power to make his dreams come true, dreams he wouldn’t be harboring if he’d never gone to the ball to start with.
“What does your heart say?” McCoy asked.
“I don’t want riddles,” Jim said in anger. “I want an answer.”
McCoy shook his head, turning Jim to face the way he’d come. “Go to the end of the lane. You’ll find your answers.”
Jim sighed but knew he wasn’t getting any more information from McCoy. Fat lot of good it did to have a fairy godfather when he refused to make your dreams come true.
Jim went back to the main street, turning right to go toward the gazebo. He stopped when he saw a line of men and a scattering of women, all waiting to enter the small, open structure. When he saw the prince and one of this guards, he understood the reason for the line. They all wanted to claim the shoe and by extension, the prince.
Jim started forward until he looked down and realized that the prince would never believe him, dressed as he was. Even though the shoe was his, he was not the man that had gone to the ball. He was a servant in his own home.
Jim turned to leave the square, stopped by a now familiar voice.
“Kid,” McCoy said, standing just next to him. “The prince doesn’t care how you are dressed. He just wants to find you.”
“He won’t accept me looking like this,” Jim said, sweeping a hand at his tattered clothes.
“He doesn’t care. You’ve already claimed his heart. Go try on the shoe and claim his hand,” McCoy said in encouragement.
“Are you sure?” Jim asked, wanting to believe but still afraid to.
“Am I sure,” McCoy scoffed. “Just go.”
Jim took a deep breath and went to the end of the line. A few of the men frowned at him, eyeing his clothes that were rags compared to their finery. But Jim had the assurances of McCoy that the prince would see past the outside and into his heart.
“You,” the guard said from the gazebo. Everyone looked up at him, Jim only a little surprised to find that he was the one being pointed to. “Come here.”
Jim approached, looking up at the prince who was watching him very, very closely. “Your majesty,” Jim said with a bow.
“Come,” the guard said, holding out a hand. Jim accepted it to mount the steps, sitting in the chair that was waiting.
“I am not mistaken, am I?” the prince said to Jim in a quiet voice.
“Can you accept me knowing the truth?” Jim asked, looking up at him, trying not to be too hopeful.
“What truth? That you have my heart? I have already accepted that,” the prince said, taking the shoe from his guard and kneeling in front of Jim. “I know this isn’t necessary.”
Jim smiled at him, putting his foot easily in the shoe, accepting the second one as well. When he had them both on, he glanced over his shoulder to see McCoy standing just outside the gazebo. With a wave of his hand, Jim’s rags were transformed into clothes fit for the spouse of a prince.
“You are indeed beautiful,” Spock said, taking hold of Jim’s hand as though he would never relinquish it. “Will you tell me your name now?”
“Jim Kirk,” Jim said with a warm smile.
“Ahh…son of George. We were led to believe you had died,” Spock said sadly.
“If my step-mother had her way, I would have,” Jim said, dismissing it with a wave.
“I shall have her jailed for treating you the way she has,” Spock decided.
“No, please,” Jim said. “Knowing I’m living the life of a prince will be a much more severe punishment.”
“Indeed,” Spock agreed. “We need to return to the castle so that I may introduce you to Amanda and Sarek. We will enroll you in the university and we will study together.”
“Before or after we marry?” Jim asked with a smile.
“After. We will marry immediately,” Spock assured him.
Together they left the gazebo to a smattering of applause. The people were happy because Spock was happy. In fact, he and Jim lived happily ever after. Because that’s the way it works.