Chapter Two

SEARCH FOR SLIPPER GIRL ENDS: CINDER MAID TO BECOME FUTURE QUEEN!

The proclamation was nailed to the largest tree in every village square, announcing the Prince’s betrothal.

“Well, good for them, I hope they’ll be happy,” Charlotte said, reaching into the bag at her waist and pulling out an apple for her horse. Poor old Beau was still expected to keep up his daily duties, even though he’d barely recovered from the long trip to the palace and back for the ball a fortnight ago. Still recovering as well, it seemed, was Charlotte.

“So, he’s going to marry her, then?” A familiar voice spoke nearby, and Charlotte looked up to see her friend, the young apprentice to the village blacksmith. She had known Thomas since they were both too small to climb the tree they now stood before. It became a contest between them as the years went on, until work took the place of play full time. Now, neither could remember when last they’d raced to that tree and grasped bough after bough until they overlooked the whole of their little village.

“Looks that way. They never even made it this far out with the slipper to try it on anyone. Not that I’d have bothered. I knew it wasn’t mine.” Charlotte shook her head. “Imagine, leaving a party in such a rush you lose your shoe.” She reached out as Thomas repeatedly tossed an apple he had brought with him into the air. She snatched it away and held it out toward Beau.

Thomas patted Beau’s swaying back, noting that the horse looked wearier every time he saw him. He didn’t know what Charlotte was going to do when Beau’s days upon Earth came to an end.

The horse gobbled up the fruit and whinnied his approval, nuzzling his nose into Thomas’s hand. “You’re not really disappointed, are you? About… you know?” Thomas let the question hang in the air. He hadn’t liked this idea of the Prince selecting a bride based upon one initial meeting under such strictly controlled circumstances. How could a man ever expect to find a woman to be his partner, his equal, in such a way? Someone with the strength to stand beside him and rule the people justly? For the life of him, Thomas couldn’t fathom the idea, and he was glad that, for Charlotte, any dreams of becoming royalty had ended the night they began.

“About the Prince?” Charlotte shrugged. “I didn’t even get a very good look at him, they had him sequestered in another room most of the night, and then he just danced the golden-haired maid past us all and was gone. I know nothing of him; nothing of his character or spirit. So I can’t say I’m disappointed that I didn’t get the chance to marry a stranger...” her voice trailed off.

“But?” Thomas looked away, examining his rough-hewn hand as if he’d never seen it before.

“The idea of a different life… for just a moment.” She paused, and he looked up at her again as she seemed to try to shake the thought from her head with vigor. “No. Not the life I ever thought I wanted before that cursed invitation arrived. And not the life I would dream of again, now that mother’s old gown is back in the trunk where it belongs, no worse for my having worn it after all those years.” She looked up at the sky, noting the position of the sun overhead. “Aren’t you due to be back at the smithy? Old Rowan will take a stick to you if you’re late.”

“He hasn’t done so in years and wouldn’t dare try now. I’m much bigger than he is.”

Charlotte laughed momentarily at the thought of ancient, crouched-over Rowan shaking his walking stick at his young, strong apprentice. “Would be a sight to see.”

“Still, I should get back. He’ll be waiting for his lunch, and he especially hates for me to be late when fetching it.” He indicated a basket with handles draped over one arm. “So I bid you good day, Charlotte. Shall I stop by later for a bit of practice? It’s been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure.”

“It’s been far too long since you enjoyed beating me so easily, you mean. You’ve clearly got the advantage in strength and size.”

“Ah, but that is the best part about fencing. There are also advantages in agility and speed, and you would best me in both of those aspects with your eyes blindfolded.”

“Maybe. At least, if you come by tonight there may be some of Mother’s pie for you.”

“She is up to baking pies again?” Charlotte’s mother’s health was a fragile, unpredictable thing, and Thomas never assumed.

“She was this morning.” Charlotte smiled, though the corners of her eyes betrayed a sadness that her lips attempted to conceal. “Apple.”

“My favorite.” Thomas returned her smile. “I shall come round at seven. I will bring wine.”

“Then Father will be as happy to see you as Mother.” Charlotte bowed her head slightly. “Good day, Sir Thomas.”

His face reddened. “I am not a knight now, and you know I never shall be.”

Charlotte knew the reason he believed so, but did not speak of it now. He was self-conscious enough as it was. “Of course you will. The finest knight the King has ever been served… by…”

A tremendous rumbling sound stopped Charlotte’s speech. The ground beneath her feet began to vibrate. She raised her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the glare and staring into the distance. “Thunder? How can there be thunder on a day clear as this?”

“That’s not thunder,” Thomas’s brow creased with worry. “Horses—” He’d barely spoken the last word when the din of trumpet blasts joined the approaching thud of hooves.

“Urgent news from the palace?” Charlotte asked, noticing a crowd was beginning to gather around them. “Did the Royal Princess-to-be lose another article of clothing?”

“No.” Thomas shook his head once and grasped hold of the basket handles so tightly that Charlotte thought they might snap. “This is wrong. I fear something terrible has happened.”

* * *

By the time the royal party arrived in the village of St. Fleur to make their proclamation, most of its residents were present and waiting for whatever word would come.

The man on the mightiest horse and wearing the largest hat raised a trumpet to his lips. He blew three piercing blasts, making Charlotte wish she was standing nearer to the back of the crowd.

“Hear ye, hear ye, one and all!” Each word was spoken more slowly than the last. “The King is dead, as is his son and Heir to the Throne, our beloved Prince.”

Gasps of horror and cries of disbelief rose around Charlotte and Thomas. All they could do was stare at each other in shock.

“By what manner of illness did both perish so suddenly?” Charlotte turned to see her father, the closest thing the village had to a physician, approaching.

“Not by illness,” the royal guard replied. “Their lives were taken in an attack by robbers as they rode in a small, private hunting party.”

“Hunting party?” Another voice from the crowd called out. “For what purpose?”

“To bring back a prize for the Prince’s wedding feast; a symbolic offering to his bride showing his strength and courage,” the guard answered. “The party was overtaken by thieves and only three survived: two royal guards who have since been hanged for their failure in their duty, and the King’s cousin, Grand Duke Frederick.”

“Isn’t he third in line for the throne?” Charlotte whispered to Thomas, and Thomas nodded.

“I believe he is, unless…”

“Silence!” The guard blew his trumpet again to warn the crowd they should cease their clamoring and listen. “There is to be a fortnight period of mourning in the entire kingdom, as we bury our exalted King and grieve the loss of his son, whose mortal remains are yet to be recovered. If anyone has any information that leads to the arrest and execution of those responsible for this heinous crime, there will be a large reward in gold and treasure from Her Royal Highness, the Queen.

“After the fortnight period of mourning, rule of our beloved kingdom will rightfully transfer to Duke Frederick, and he shall be declared King by means of royal coronation. Further proclamations will be made soon as to changes that are to take place under the wise direction of our new monarch. For now, let us all pray for the souls of our lost King and Prince, for the Queen and for the Prince’s betrothed; as well as for the long life of Duke Frederick.”

“Long live Duke Frederick!” The crowd began to chant, and a chill ran down Charlotte’s spine. The people were clearly in shock, so distressed over the loss of their King no one seemed to consider the meaning these changes under wise Duke Frederick may have for them all.

“Long live the Duke,” Thomas whispered, staring down at the ground.

“Amen,” said Charlotte’s father, and together the crowd observed a long moment of silence before the men on their horses continued on their way toward the next village to spread the terrible news.

Charlotte wrung her hands, consumed by visions of what the loss of their good, benevolent King would mean for her family, and the village that was the only home she’d ever known.