by Jeff Chapman
“It’s not fair,” said the Princess Desriella through clenched teeth, “that a hired girl should go in my stead.” Desriella thumped the arm of her chair. Her left foot rested on three pillows piled atop a footstool with a sheet draped over her bruised ankle.
“It can’t be helped,” said the Chamberlain. “And what a scandal would erupt if a princess from a neighboring kingdom snubbed Prince Arwek. Your father wants to flatter Arwek’s family, not insult them.”
“Does she really look like me?”
“A passing resemblance, but she lacks your air and sophistication.”
“Obviously.” Desriella sighed. “Bring her in. I suppose I should see her.”
A maidservant escorted a young woman dressed in the finery befitting a princess. The blue dress rustled with layers and folds of silk. A purple mantle edged with white ermine draped her shoulders. Vair-lined slippers wrapped her feet. A leather strap held her raven tresses, secured with the feathered shafts of two arrows.
“Princess Desriella,” said the Chamberlain, “I present Cinderella.”
Cinderella curtsied and bowed her head respectfully without fawning. She stood taller than the other servants, not afraid to expose her stature, having learned from her father what it meant to be the best at something.
Desriella looked Cinderella over from head to toe, her trained eyes assessing every detail and its significance. “She needs a necklace, something with gold and pearls. We don’t want Prince Arwek to think me a pauper.”
“Excellent suggestion,” said the Chamberlain.
“And what are those arrows in her hair? Imitating a peacock?”
Cinderella looked to the Chamberlain, who nodded. “They’re a gift from my father, the master fletcher. He crafts arrows for the King.”
“All very well, but she will not wear them to Prince Arwek’s ball,” said Desriella.
Cinderella sucked in a breath. “Then I cannot attend.”
Desriella locked eyes with Cinderella. Her knuckles bulged as she gripped the arms of her chair.
“Princess,” said the Chamberlain. “I’ve given this some thought. The Prince fancies himself a skilled archer.”
The Princess tapped her lip with her finger. “You’re lucky, Cinderella. Be gone.”
“I don’t believe I can do this,” said Cinderella.
The Chamberlain led her across the ballroom toward Prince Arwek and his entourage. “Of course you can. Smile sweetly and follow his lead. He never dances with anyone more than once.”
Cinderella caught snatches of whispered conversation as they weaved through clusters of courtiers. “Who is she?” “Arrows?” “Did someone shoot her?”
“Chin up,” said the Chamberlain. “You’re a spoilt snob, remember?” The Chamberlain chuckled. Cinderella mustered a smile.
Arwek faced them, his countenance as indifferent as a gray, stone wall.
“Prince Arwek,” said the Chamberlain, “I present Princess Desriella.”
“Enchanted,” mumbled the Prince, raising her fingers for the customary kiss, but Cinderella’s fingers never reached his lips. His brow wrinkled as he stared over her head.
Her heart thumped and her stomach convulsed. “What have I done now,” she thought.
“Those arrows,” said Arwek, dropping her hand. “May I examine one?”
She thought she had misunderstood, but Arwek’s gaze remained fixed over her head, so she loosed a shaft from her hair and placed it in his hand.
Arwek’s eyes danced with wonder as he flexed the shaft and brushed his fingers over the feathers. “This is the finest craftsmanship I’ve ever seen. Where did you get them?”
“A gift from my fa…. From the most skilled master fletcher in the King’s service.” Cinderella glanced at the Chamberlain, who smiled broadly and nodded.
“If I had a bow and arrowhead at hand, I would fire it right now just to see how true it flies.”
“Prince Arwek,” said the Chamberlain. “May I be so bold, but the music has commenced.”
“Yes, yes,” said Arwek. “Of course.”
Cinderella refitted the arrow, and the pair took their place among the dancers. The Prince talked of archery and found to great delight that Cinderella knew as much about bow strings and arrows as he did. Arwek requested a second, a third, and then a fourth dance. A line of young ladies eager for Prince Arwek’s attention rolled their eyes and groaned with each new dance, glaring at Cinderella with envy and enmity.
“I am usually so bored with these balls that I sneak out early,” joked Arwek. “But tonight is different.”
“One must be very fortunate to find such extravagances boring.”
“Very wise,” said Arwek. “You speak with such sincerity.”
“And you listen more ardently than any man I’ve met.”
“I listen when anyone has something to say.”
The Chamberlain stepped forward after the fourth dance. “Forgive me, Prince Arwek, but I see the Princess is exhausted.”
“You do look tired,” Arwek said to Cinderella. “Forgive me. It’s so rare that I find a princess worth the effort of conversation. You should rest. And take a glass of raspberry wine.”
As the Chamberlain ushered her off the dance floor, Cinderella looked back and waved at Arwek, who stared after her. “Goodbye, my prince,” she whispered. “I’ve lived a lifetime in a moment.” When she passed through the line of young ladies, Cinderella lowered her eyes but felt their sharp scowls like whips all the same.
“How curious,” said Desriella as she watched the passersby below her window. “At least half the women are wearing arrows in their hair.”
“Extraordinary,” said the Chamberlain.
“I thought it peculiar to that hired girl. Not a general fashion. All those women with arrows in their hair like birds simply because Prince Arwek found it charming. They look ridiculous.”
“The Prince thinks of archery and little else.”
Desriella startled. “Impossible. It can’t be. It is.” Her cheeks flushed, molded equally by fear and elation, Desriella motioned the Chamberlain to the window. “The Prince. He’s here. I must stand to greet him.”
“Tell him you twisted your ankle descending a carriage, but don’t volunteer when.”
“You never fail to impress with your quick thinking.”
The Chamberlain bowed.
A knock announced Prince Arwek, who followed close on the heels of a footman.
“Delighted to meet you again, Prince Arwek,” said the Chamberlain with a bow. “And I have no need to introduce the Princess Desriella.”
“What happened?” cried Arwek.
“I twisted my ankle alighting the carriage,” said Desriella.
“How unfortunate,” said Arwek. “I gave up my morning archery to come see you and thought you might…. Where are your arrows?”
“I’ll arrange for tea,” said the Chamberlain.
“Yes, thank you,” said Desriella.
“Your arrows,” Arwek persisted.
“My arrows,” said Desriella, touching her hair. “I only wear them on special occasions.”
“I’d hoped you might have some that we could try out.”
Desriella laughed. “You wouldn’t want me to draw a bow. I almost shot a guard when I last tried. I don’t know how many years ago.”
“You’re different this morning.”
“Perhaps you are more sober?”
A faint knock signaled the arrival of tea. A footman held the door and in walked Cinderella, carrying a gleaming silver tray arranged with tea service for three.
Desriella gasped. Her eyes darted toward the Chamberlain, who feigned fascination with the flowery whorls in the carpet.
Cinderella stood rigid as an oak, staring at the Prince’s back, at the man she had believed she would never see again.
“No,” said Arwek. “I had the impression that you were quite accustomed to a bow.” The Prince turned to Cinderella, his hand poised over a pastry. “It’s you.” He snatched the tray and placed it on a table.
Cinderella smiled. “Prince Arwek,” she said with a curtsy.
“Why is the Princess serving the tea?” Arwek asked the Chamberlain. “And who are you?” he said to Desriella.
“Princess? Serving tea? I’m the Princess,” said Desriella. “She’s a maid, a village girl.”
“Allow me,” said the Chamberlain, who outlined the diplomatic difficulties that Princess Desriella’s injury occasioned. “You see. We had no choice but to send someone, and Cinderella here could look the part.”
“Cinderella,” said the Prince. “That’s your name?”
Cinderella nodded.
“And the arrows?”
“From my father. I’m the master fletcher’s daughter.”
“Then take my arm, Cinderella, daughter of the master fletcher, and I will make you a queen.”
Desriella gasped.
“That is very noble of you, and I am much pleased, but I cannot leave my father alone in the village with no one to care for him. My mother, you see, died long ago.”
“Indeed. Your father shall be appointed the King’s fletcher, a courtier, and always welcome at table.”
Cinderella flung her arms around Arwek’s shoulders.
“Disgraceful,” cried Desriella.
“You are so kind,” said Cinderella. As she and Arwek embraced, her gaze fell on the Chamberlain, who winked at her.
“Good day, Princess Desriella,” called Arwek as he and Cinderella departed. “You should take some lessons in frankness and honesty. Good day.”
“He can’t do that,” cried Desriella through clenched teeth. “Marry some craftsman’s daughter? It’s not fair.”
“I’m afraid he can,” said the Chamberlain. “He’s a prince, an archer, and she’s the fletcher’s daughter.”
© 2011 Jeff Chapman
Original fiction debuting at Residential Aliens.
Tags: fable, fantasy, flash fiction, Jeff Chapman