Archive of Our Own ^beta

And so Cinderella went to live in the castle with the prince, never again to toil in the service of others. She was given all manner of jewels and fine clothing, which she delighted in wearing for her prince, who could not have been more pleased with her had he made her himself.

Everything in the castle was cleaned and polished on a regular schedule devised and supervised by the housekeeper, so that Cinderella had never to lift a finger in labor unless she desired to do so purely for her own satisfaction.

Her days were filled with matters of the home and the closely tended tidy rows of the kitchen garden she worked diligently in every day, her tender hands carefully protected by cunning little gloves of silk, which were cleaned and pressed every evening by servants so as to be ready again the next morning.

Her prince had tiny wooden houses built and mounted on poles at each corner of the perfectly square garden plot, and bluebirds were permitted to take up residence in the charming little houses, two birds to a house, no more and no less.

In the Prince's magnificent study, with its wide windows which would have allowed him to observe her at work in her garden, had he the time for such idling, there was a splendid mantel. Upon the mantel the prince placed his most prized possession, the tiny furred boots which had brought them together. After having the fur trimmed neatly back, he'd had the shoes bronzed, and placed in the very center of the mantel, just as, he'd explained, she was placed in the center of his heart for as long as it should beat.

For nigh on six splendid years Cinderella lived a life of ease and peace in that magnificent castle, with servants a plenty to appease her every wish. Every fortnight she and the prince rode out together to survey the kingdom, and every able bodied peasant would emerge from his hut to bow down to their liege lord and his lady. Cinderella, modest and kind-hearted, was loved throughout the kingdom without exception. And as these things tend to pass, in time Cinderella had given birth to a red cheeked, pale skinned and perfectly healthy baby girl, whom she named Hetitia. This little angel soon became the center of Cinderella's life, growing into a sturdy child who naturally inherited the beauty and goodness of both her doting parents.

On this particular fine day, Cinderella came down the broad steps into the crisp morning sunlight shining through the windows which the housekeeper had thrown open to air out the downstairs rooms. She held Hettie's hand, for the little girl could be incautious on the polished stairs. In fact, when Hettie saw her father waiting at the bottom of the staircase, she pulled free of her mother's grip and pitched forward heedlessly. She would have fallen but for the quick thinking of the prince, who sprang forward and caught her up in his arms. "You must not run on the steps, my child," he admonished her, then kissed the beginning of a pout from her face tenderly.

"Papa doesn't want you to hurt yourself," Cinderella said, taking the child from her husband. Hettie parted from him reluctantly. The prince took his leave from his little family and headed off to his many duties, and Cinderella took Hettie into the kitchen for breakfast. Cinderella's maid, Sara, was permitted to bring her little boy to breakfast with them so as to provide company for Hettie. They made a comfortable little group together, setting aside propriety in favor of intimacy. Cinderella never forgot her humble start in life, and she was always kind and generous to Sara and her son. Her maid's little boy, who was less than a year older than Hettie, was quite devoted to her.

The day passed quickly enough, but the prince did not return for supper. He was a stern but just lord to his peasants, and he took his responsibilities for the kingdom very seriously, so it was not unusual for Cinderella to be left on her own until late in the day. As dusk was drawing near, Cinderella took Hettie out for a turn about the grounds and down to the fish pond, where Hettie often delighted in playing in the sand the prince had ordered to be placed around the side of the pond for her amusement. She had many shiny little pails, shovels and other implements with which to dig in the sand, and could occupy herself for long periods of time while her mother watched and rested on the marble bench near the water's edge.

This evening as they sat companionably near to the pond in the dimming light, Cinderella saw a young man draw near and dismount from an elegant chestnut gelding. He had on a wool cloak with a hood, and Cinderella was frightened for a moment at the approach of a stranger, but when he turned about, his large brown eyes were kind and warm. "What is this," he said, in a soft indulgent tone, bending down to meet Hettie in the sand. "What are you building here so intently, child?"

Hettie looked up and smiled at his interest. "Making a house," she said, scooping up a shovelful of sand and adding it to her pile. She poked two fingers into the mound and then pointed at it. "See? A door," she explained.

The young man smiled back at her. "May I?" he asked. He picked up one of the small shovels with a pale, slender hand, and at Hettie's nod, he began digging a trench around the sand she had called a house. "I hope you don't mind my intrusion on your solitude, my lady," he said to Cinderella as he worked. "I've been riding well on two hours this evening, and would enjoy a rest before returning to my home."

"From whence have you come riding, my lord?" Cinderella asked.

"We are neighbors," the young man said. He stood up, extending his hand to her. "I am Prince Edward, younger son of King Talis, who rules the land bordering your own on the east." His smile was simple and earnest; in fact his whole manner was one of such easy friendliness that Cinderella felt herself warm to him at once.

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Edward," she said. She took his hand in hers, but he neither bowed nor stepped closer, keeping a respectful distance between them and turning his head aside as if reluctant to offend. In a moment he stepped back and resumed playing with Hettie.

"And do you not wish to know with whom you are playing in the sand?" she asked.

"Ah, my lady," he said. "Everyone for miles about knows the story of the girl who tended the ashes in her father's home and yet won the heart of a prince at a ball without his ever even knowing her name, of how she vanished mysteriously into the night, and of the wondrous furred boot with which the prince found her again and made her his bride. This young architect at work in the sand is no doubt the product of that union, by name, if memory serves me, Hetitia."

On seeing Cinderella's blush at being an object of gossip, Edward jumped up, brushing the sand from his hands and clutching at his trousers awkwardly. "Do not be distressed," he begged her. "Twas not rudely meant."

They were interrupted by the sound of Cinderella's maid calling to her, saying that the prince was finally to home, and Cinderella, after assuring Edward that she was not offended, took leave of him hastily.

In the wake of her encounter with the neighboring prince, Cinderella's days passed quietly and pleasantly, taken up by the care of her little girl and the overseeing of the household. She found the housekeeper extremely efficient and not unkind, though her appearance-she had somewhere lost an eye and covered the empty space with a black patch- occasionally unnerving. The woman wore a cloak with a hood which hung down over her missing eye, apparently in a vain attempt to spare others the sight of her mutilation, but Cinderella often thought that this only added to her strangeness.

Sara, the maid, had a dislike for the housekeeper, and peppered her criticisms of the woman with wishes that she would go off to join the wild women of the hills. She was quite strident against her at times, so that Cinderella had need to point out to the girl how industrious and efficient, as well as charitable toward the faults of others the housekeeper was, and really if her only criticism of the woman was her appearance, she should not be suffered to voice those criticisms aloud again.

The prince continued to be occupied in affairs of the kingdom until late every evening, so Cinderella began to take Hettie down to the pond nearly every night in hopes of passing the time with Sir Edward. He came to visit more often than not, and they fell into an easy companionship which made the time fly by most pleasantly.

Sir Edward was the youngest of five children, his two brothers and two sisters all being much older than he, and thus he'd learned to entertain himself during his lonely childhood, he confessed to her one evening. He had lifted Hettie onto his horse and was instructing her in the fine art of dressage. The little girl had thrown one leg boldly over the gelding in a way which was not in the least ladylike, but she was so delighted with the task, and listened to Edward's suggestions so raptly, that Cinderella could not bear to correct her. She had both of her tiny feet, shod in the soft pink slippers the prince had ordered fashioned especially for her, pressed firmly, albeit somewhat ineffectually, into the horse's flank.

"I used to make up stories," Sir Edward said. "First making up adventures about my toys, but later I would fashion all sorts of tales and fables in my head."

"What a delightful way to pass the time," Cinderella remarked.

Sir Edward looked down at his gloved hands, clasped loosely in front of him, and smiled. "Sometimes, even now, I amuse myself with making up my own trifling tales," he admitted.

Cinderella clapped her own gloved hands in delight at this. "Oh, do tell, Sir Edward," she said. "Won't you share one of your stories with us?"

Edward's round brown eyes mirrored her enthusiasm. "Do you really want to hear?" he asked. "I shouldn't wish to bore you."

"Oh, please, Edward," Cinderella replied. "I would love to hear a story. But tell me, have you not written any of these stories down? It would be delightful also to read a tale penned by you."

Edward shook his head. "I wouldn't write them down," he whispered with a sly smile. "They are secret, not to be shared with just anyone."

Cinderella took a long slow breath, savoring that, for it was clear Edward intended to share at least one of his secret stories with her. It reminded her of slipping down under her counterpane as a child to listen to her mother tell a story made just for her, and cool evening faded away as Edward began to speak.

Once upon a time, he said, There lived an old mother elephant who ruled over a small herd of elephants, her sisters and daughters all, with wisdom and care. Three of her daughters had lost their sight when a sickness had afflicted the herd, but otherwise were able to live well. It happened that the three blind daughters came upon a woman alone on the plain of an evening. This woman had gone out onto the plain alone in order to give birth, and lay among some scant vegetation in the throes of labor.

The oldest daughter elephant stumbled against the woman's head as she lay on the ground moaning softly. The second daughter, being called by the first to come and examine this strange creature, ran her trunk over the woman's swollen belly gently. The third daughter's trunk happened to fall between the woman's legs, which were slick with blood, just as the baby's head crowned. All three of he daughters, surprised and puzzled by this creature-for they had never seen a human being before- hurried back to their mother to tell her what they had observed.

"I almost fell across a creature made of soft fur over a hard shell, singing in a beautiful soft voice," said the oldest daughter to her mother.

"Twas not made of fur," her younger sister scoffed. "It was more of a round soft ball-like creature, though indeed it did sing prettily."

"You are both mistaken," said the youngest. "I observed the creature closely. It was surely some water sprite stranded on land, for it was slick and tangled in some sort of seaweed."

Their mother listened patiently to each of them in turn, as was her way when any member of her herd spoke. "My daughters," she told them when they had finished their descriptions, "the creature you have met is called woman."

"But which of us is right, mother?" asked the youngest daughter. "Is woman possessed of a hard shell, or is she more of a round soft creature, or a sea sprite stranded on the land?"

Edward paused there. "I confess, I haven't thought out the tale any more than this, my lady," he apologized.

"But it is wonderful, Edward," Cinderella assured him. The tale was strange, and Cinderella was not at all sure she understood it. It seemed somehow fitting, though, that Edward's tale should be unlike any she had ever heard before, and she wanted to retire now, in order to ponder it at leisure.

"Tis late," Edward said, as if sensing her desire to be off. They took leave of each other at that, Hettie giving 'Dede', as she'd taken to calling Edward, a brief hug before sliding into her mother's arms without her usual protest against bed time.

That evening, just as Cinderella was helping Hettie dress for bed-she liked to do it herself most nights, rather than leaving it to Sara-the prince came into the bed chamber. He rarely disturbed them so in the evening, and Hettie reached out to him, crying "Papa!" with such pleased surprise that the prince swept her up into his arms for a hug.

"But what is this?" the prince cried, on seeing two small bandages on his daughter's little knees as he settled her back into her bed.

"She fell in the garden earlier this evening," Cinderella hastened to explain.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Hettie announced bravely. "Dede kissed the hurt away for me."

The prince smiled down t her. "Dede? And who is that, my child? Have you imagined a playmate to run about the garden with you?"

"Dede is quite real, Papa," Hettie said, setting her little face into stern sincerity.

"Tis Prince Edward she is speaking of, sir," Cinderella said. She pulled the coverlet up over Hettie and snuffed out the candle. "Now to bed, my dear," she said, softening her firm tone with a gentle kiss to the little girl's forehead.

Cinderella thought the prince would quit her company in the corridor, but instead he followed her to her door and then into her bed chamber. " Who is this Prince Edward?" the prince asked. "I don't believe I have heard his name before."

"He is the younger son of our neighbor, King Talis," Cinderella explained, as she unfastened her hair for bed. "He often rides out in the evening, and passes the time with us in a friendly manner."

"I see," the prince said. He took up her brush and began untangling her hair for her. " I suppose it can be lonely here for you at times," he observed. "A younger son has time to trot about the countryside and visit." He replaced the brush on her vanity and helped her to her feet. "I am glad you have found a friend to keep you company," he said.

Cinderella knew the prince must find the lack of an heir troublesome, but he never reproached her, or even referred to his disappointment obliquely. His behavior to her was always respectful and delicate, never coarse or assuming. So much so that on the rare occasions that he shared a bed with her, she tried always to please him, and be as dutiful a wife as custom dictated, happy to feel that she could repay him in any way he desired. He kissed her tenderly when they were finished, then pulled his clothing back on hastily. He paused in the doorway, as if reluctant to quit her. He was always awkward and apologetic after being intimate with her. "Sleep well, my wife," he said, the echoing click of his riding boots on the polished threshold lingering behind him for a long moment in the darkness.

Now it so happened that the king, being of advanced age and failing health, decided to quit the public sphere completely, leaving the prince in sole charge of the kingdom. To commemorate this occasion a great ball was planned, and Cinderella was swept up in the preparations under the steadying hand of the housekeeper. There was much to be done, decorations to decide upon, a menu, and guest list, and Cinderella relied on the greater experience of that formidable woman, as the prince's mother had died many years previous, and the king had never remarried.

In the evening she discussed the preparations with Edward. They were sitting quite close together, in order to hear each other, as the wind was high and drowned out any sound more than a few feet away. Hettie was drowsing in Cinderella's lap after a long play session with Edward, who had been showing her her letters by forming them with the pebbles that decorated the pond's edge. It made for a natural intimacy that inspired confidences between friends, but Edward was uncharacteristically quiet, and seemed ill at ease.

With Cinderella's attempts to draw Edward out and restore his good humor having fallen flat, she asked him to share with her another of his stories, in hopes that it would improve his mood.

Edward sighed, and she thought he would refuse, but instead, he drew himself up resolutely and began.

Long, long ago the honeybees lived not as they do now, but as equals, male and female working together to feed and care for the young bees and the hive, and to make that same sweet honey we enjoy today.

Now it happened that the King and Queen of the hive had twelve children, all daughters. And all twelve of the daughters loved nothing more than to dance, so that every evening, when their lessons were finished, they would gather with their friends in the castle ballroom and dance until late in the evening.

But the King, seeing this frivolous behavior, and convinced that the girls would do better at their studies if they were quieter and more serious, decided that they were spending too much of their youthful energy on dancing, and so decreed that they should be locked in the bedchamber they shared after study time, coming out only briefly in the evening to dine.

The young princesses appealed to their mother for help, but she, feeling that she should not side with her children against her husband, declined to interfere, in hopes that her husband would soften his temper in time if his will was not opposed.

For several weeks, all was quiet, though it became clear that the King's notion that the Princesses would do better in their studies if they were not distracted by dancing soon proved false. The princesses became wan and moody, with flashes of temper that they had never before indulged, and far from showing an increase in productivity, in fact, their lessons went increasingly poorly. The king, angry at what he saw as their stubbornness and willfulness, only hardened his resolve to prevent their dancing.

The queen bee, still thinking to soften her husband's heart with her own reasonableness, continued in her failure to intervene.

After a time, the princesses seemed to adjust, and all returned to harmony, though perhaps the castle was less boisterous than in former times.

But then one morning, the King having stopped in the princess's bed chamber to bid them good morning, noticed that all twelve pairs of little slippers belonging to the princesses were worn almost through with holes. He said nothing to his daughters, but he was pleased at their humility in not asking for new slippers, and he commanded that twelve pairs of new slippers be made at once. It was done as he commanded, and that evening the twelve princesses took themselves off to their bedchamber after supper in brand new slippers.

However, the next morning the king happening to stop by their bedchamber again, was astonished to discover that their new slippers were worn excessively, as if they had been danced in for hours in the night.

The angry king questioned his daughters closely but all denied that they had left their bedchamber, and indeed it had been locked when the king had stopped by in the morning.

That evening, the king himself accompanied his daughters to their room, and locked the door himself, pocketing the key, but the next morning when he unlocked the door, he found their slippers even more worn down and now full of small holes.

The irate king now placed a guard in the form of a male bee inside the princess's bed chamber to watch them and determine what they were up to in the night. But the youngest princess, who was a clever bee, had a habit of taking a drought of wine to bed with her, saying that it helped her to sleep. She shared this wine, which was drugged, with their guard, and only pretended to partake of it herself, so that he fell into a heavy sleep and never saw what they were about in the night.

The king was nearly insane with rage and his inability to control his daughters, and he had their guard put to death, further declaring that no male bee would live past the spring of the year if the princesses continued to dance, but that whichever bee could catch them out, to him the king would give reward of riches and power, also allowing any such fortunate male to choose a wife from among his daughters.

Now the princesses, horrified at these decrees, ceased their dancing for a time, but after many sad, dragging days, they rebelled again. This time, however, their new guard, becoming wise to the drugged wine, only pretended to drink and feigned sleep, while surreptitiously observing them. When all was quiet, the princesses pushed aside their little beds, and exposed in the wall a tunnel they had painstakingly dug. Their guard, by means of a magic cloak which rendered him invisible, followed them into the tunnel and down to the lake, which they rowed across in small boats to an island, and on this island they proceeded to dance into the small hours of the morning with each other with great joy and abandon.

In the morning the king called the princesses before him. There they were confronted by their guard, and all was revealed. The king ordered their tunnel filled in, and decreed that the guard should choose one of them as bride. At this the princesses, maddened by this treatment, began to fly about the room, banging roughly into the furniture and knocking the pictures from the walls, stinging the male bees in the room so painfully that they all fled.

The Queen, on seeing this unrestrained display, herself lost her temper and stung the king onto his deathbed, declaring without remorse that from thence forward the princesses were free to dance as they wished. The king would not rescind his own cruel decree even as he breathed his last, and so from that time until now, male bees live only a short time in the spring, and the females continue to dance together without any help from the opposite sex.

This tale had excited Cinderella's imagination and stirred her emotions so, that she started violently
at a sudden clap of thunder, waking Hettie, who sat up in her lap, crying," Dede!" The skies opened to a sudden drenching downpour of rain, and Edward threw back his head, allowing the water to pelt his bare face, exposing his long, smooth, slender neck. Cinderella, overcome by a strange wildness, grabbed onto Edward's surcoat and pulled him to her, kissing him with rough passion on his full, tender lips. Edward clutched at her waist and returned the kiss for a moment before springing back, eyes wide with shock, and leaping to his feet. He stumbled away from her, turning back for a frightened glance as he thrust his foot into his stirrup and mounted his horse. His face was wet with rain, and his eyes were wider than ever. Cinderella sprang up, not knowing what she should do, but only wishing to stop him from leaving, fearful that she might never see him again. Alas, Edward turned his head and, urging his horse with arm and foot, galloped away before she could think what to do or say.

Cinderella had little time to worry herself about Edward over the next few days, as all of her free time was taken up with last minute preparations for the ball. Finally that grand event was upon them, and Cinderella found herself circling the guests, almost all of whom were members of royalty from the surrounding small kingdoms. If her gaze lingered on a slender hand, or she turned quickly to follow a certain type of riding boot, the prince was too busy courting good will from their neighbors to notice.

Finally she thought she spied the one she sought, but when he turned, though the resemblance was striking, this man was a good decade older than Edward, at least. On introducing herself, she learned that he was Edward's older brother, and heir to the throne, one Sir Michael by name. "Ah," Sir Michael said, with the same warmth and interest Edward had always shown to her, "I know someone whose acquaintance I believe you would much delight in, my lady."

Sir Michael led her outside onto the balcony, where dusk was settling over the castle, the air crisp and cool. Grasping the slender arm of a young woman who stood with her back to them, gazing out over the parapet at the land below, he turned her about saying, "I present to you my young sister, Edwardina."

Edward, no Edwardina turned about, her face resigned, and genuflected to her with an awkwardness she had never shown as Edward. Cinderella stood, stupid with shock, staring into those wide brown eyes, which were glistening with unshed tears, until Edwardina turned her head aside, blushing furiously, and pulled free of her brother's hand. He was blathering on about how much the young ladies had in common, and how they should certainly become fast friends, as Edwardina turned and ran back into the ballroom and then out the main door and away.

Cinderella did not pursue her, though she had an absurd moment when she expected at least one of Edwardina's dainty little heels to come off, and could almost see herself trolling through the land with the little shoe, seeking its owner. Nothing like that happened, of course, and Edwardina fled fully shod. Anyway, she already knew where Edwardina lived. Lived as a young princess much like herself, spending her days...but Cinderella could not fathom it, could not picture Edwardina, strong and, yes, manly, passing her days as Cinderella did, filled with household details and idling about in the garden waiting for the men-folk of her family to return from their duties.

The days following the ball passed slowly, Cinderella barely able to respond to Hettie's inquiries as to why Dede no longer came to see them. Edward, whom she could admit now she had grown to love, had lied and tricked her, and the betrayal cut deeply into Cinderella's young heart. She determined to put the whole affair out of her mind, and attend to her husband and child as she should have been doing all along, but the memory of that shameful kiss she had initiated kept circling her mind like a predator awaiting just the right moment to strike a fatal blow to her self respect. What a fool she had been, and how Edwardina must have laughed herself silly, perhaps even telling her brothers and sisters about Cinderella and how gullible she was, how easy to fool, how vulnerable to a false friend.

One evening, coming back early from her walk about the pond with Hettie, who was so quiet and wan that Cinderella feared she was courting some illness, Cinderella overheard Sara speaking to her son. She stopped in horror when she recognized the story Sara was telling to her little boy, for it was the story of the Twelve Dancing Bees that Edward had told her he had invented himself.

She slammed into the room angrily. Sara jumped up guiltily, clearly hiding something behind her back which Cinderella, in a fit of pique, roughly grappling with her, finally laid hands with a vengeful triumph at odds with her usual kindly manner toward the servants. It was a book, roughly fashioned from some sort of animal hide Cinderella had never seen before. Rifling through it quickly, she saw several of the tales that Edward had told her. The book was titled "Stories from other Lands", and the author listed as Anonymous. "What is this?" she cried, her voice shaking with fury.

Sara had fallen back from her, clutching onto her little boy in terror. Reading was a special skill reserved for the lords of the land, who needed it to run their important affairs, not a trifling thing to be used for entertainment. "I'm sorry, my lady," Sara cried.

Hettie ran to Sara and clutched her skirts, turning back to face Cinderella as if she could protect the hapless maid with her tiny self. "No," Hettie shouted, a perfect reflection of her mother's bad temper.

"Hettie has been so bored and restless, my lady," Sara confessed. "I thought it would do no harm to teach her to read, in order to pass the time more pleasantly, and my son naturally learned along with her. It harms no one, and gives them much entertainment."

At this explanation, Cinderella felt quite ashamed of her temper, for it had never occurred to her to teach Hettie to read, even though her own mother had secretly taught her the skill at a young age, and she had passed many a pleasant hour idling with stories. She softened her tone. "It is all right, Sara," she said. "But please tell me where you got this book."

Sara was reluctant to say, but finally confessed the book had been given to her by the housekeeper, who, according to Sara, supplied many of the women of the household with reading materials.

Cinderella promptly confronted the housekeeper, who was quite unrepentant at her subterfuge. She turned her back to Cinderella and began undoing the fastenings of her rough peasant shoes as if Cinderella was not even there.

"Where did these stories come from?" Cinderella demanded. The housekeeper turned about, and... what enchantment was this? For before her stood her own fairy godmother, who she had not recognized and who had been by her side and watching over her all along.

"You must not leave without these," the fairy said, taking the furred boots from the mantel matter-of-factly. When she touched them, they glowed with white heat, losing the bronze coating and returning to their former supple state. However, when Cinderella looked closely at them, she saw that the bronzing process had shrunk the boots considerably, to the point where they were quite too small for her to wear. "They are not for you any longer, my dear," the fairy godmother said.
"And where would I be going at all?" Cinderella asked in bewilderment.

The fairy did not respond to this query, only stood smiling and nodding patiently, as if in no doubt that Cinderella could figure it all out for herself. Just then Hettie bounded in. "What fine boots," she exclaimed, and indeed they were fine, and indeed, they fit Hettie's childish little feet perfectly. Cinderella bundled herself and her child up in their winter cloaks, and put on the fairy godmother's own rough peasant shoes. The fairy produced warm woolen leggings with a wave of her wand over a dusty tapestry which had been hanging on the wall for years, and Cinderella hastened to pull them on under her skirts and likewise Hettie's. The leggings would allow them to sit Cinderella's bay mare astride.

The fairy kissed Cinderella and Hettie goodbye tenderly before passing up to them a small bag of provisions for their journey, and they were off, making only one small stop by a neighboring kingdom, where another young person of noble lineage, dressed in sturdy boots and riding pants, happened to be taking a turn about that small kingdom, and this second young person was more than willing to join their little escape party.

Where they went after that, and how they lived, not even their fairy godmother knows.