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Sequel to Cinderella

One would hope that after such a story, there would, of course, be a happy ever after, but alas, it was not to be. Our young beauty found herself in the arms of a man whom she did not love, nor admire. She found her new husband a dry, witless man, with interests in naught but politics, yet she was too kind to even suggest leaving him. Besides, with her family living in the palace, happily strutting about in their new finery, she had nowhere to go. How she wished things would change, how she wished and wished and wished.

She would not go to her fairy godmother, in fear of seeming ungrateful, and therefore had to dress in her beautiful dresses, eat at lavish feasts and converse with her monotonous husband, all the while keeping a smile on her face, dealing with her troubles on her own. Needless to say, it was a lonely time for poor Cinderella.

It was on one winter’s day, the sky black with rage, rain lashing down, splattering against windows with a relentless fury, a visitor came calling. Now, as one could see, it was not, by any means a day to be travelling, so it came as rather a surprise when the great door bell of the palace began to bellow out its tune.

The red uniforms of the bowing foot men became dark, as rain was swept into the brightly lit hall, drenching the gilded, emblazoned doors and polished marble floor. The doors slammed shut the moment both the travellers feet were past the entrance. Everyone waited with bated breath, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger who would go out in such weather. The king, along with Cinderella herself, stepped out from their royal chambers to greet this guest.

It was a man. A beautiful yet strange individual. His large, black leather boots clicked, as he made his way across the floor, his long legs encased in trousers of the finest silk, hands clasped together, pulling off deftly sewn riding gloves to reveal long, thin fingers. The rest of him was hidden in the shadow of his billowing cloak, his face obscured by the hood, pulled down low over his brow.

Cinderella could not help but acknowledge the draw she felt to this unfamiliar figure, the way everything about him seemed inviting, compelling, dangerous. She shivered, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced up at her husband, searching for a sign that he had noticed her fluttering hands, the way she stared so at the stranger. Any girl other than dear Cinderella would have cared little about the feelings of others at a time like this, but here she was, gracious and good, putting others before herself.

The man lifted his hood, to a collective gasp from the onlookers. His face was that of an angle, as if carved from the finest stone, his perfection evident. High, defined cheekbones, no doubt of royal blood, full, pink lips, shaped to fit a picture, stubborn, regal chin, lifted just so, soft almost feminine lashes brushing his cheek, hair so dark, there were shades of blue flashing in the light and eyes that spoke of merriment, laughter, yet also knowledge, compassion. The corner of his mouth twitched up- he knew the affect he was creating, whether or not he enjoyed it though, was unreadable on his chiselled features.

Cinderella clenched her fists, willing herself to stay strong, no matter what the man looked like. It was a very hard thing to do.

Upon resting his unnerving gaze on the king and queen, the stranger folded himself into a perfectly executed bow, somehow managing to seem mocking, respectful and charming all at once. This time, the queen could not control the fluttering in her stomach, and it seemed that this time too, the king had noticed. His hand snaked down, encasing hers tightly, and she lowered her eyes, ashamed. Then, the man spoke. His voice was beautiful, melodious, like music on the wind, the voice of one born to sing, a voice so, so hard to resist.

β€˜Your majesties.’ He inclined his head, making no eye contact with Cinderella. This seemed to reassure the king, as he dropped her hand and nodded for the speaker to continue. What he said next though, did nothing to ease the king’s nerves.
β€˜I have a message, one of the utmost importance.’ He paused, β€˜for the queen’s ears only.’

The king started to shake his head at the absurd idea of leaving his wife with such a person, but the messenger held up a hand, shocking him into silence. It seemed regular rules of respect were lost on this stranger. Unused to such behaviour, the king allowed him to continue.
β€˜It is but a message my lord, nothing more nothing less, just a message.’

Slightly mollified, the king nodded, and still reluctant, he motioned at the assembled crowd and they left the room, until only the stranger, and Cinderella remained. To her immense shock, horror, and yes, delight, the man got down on one knee. He raised his eyes and caught Cinderella’s chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his stare. He smiled gently.

β€˜My name is Alexi, my last name of no importance. I bring a message from your god mother. Yes my dear, I know her, how she has helped you. She says only this.
Follow your heart, the rest will be taken care of.’ He let go of her, returning to his feet. A tear trickled down her face.
β€˜Oh, but what about the king?’ she cried. Alexi gently wiped the tear from her cheek.
β€˜You heard what I said.’ He whispered. β€˜Everything will be taken care of, why I do believe that at this very moment he is talking to the Lady Teresa, who I must say, would make an excellent match for one as, ah, interesting as him.’ He grinned, eyes sparkling with humour. Cinderella couldn’t help but smile back, her dreams of a future with someone she loved returning with a renewed vigour. She took his hands in hers and led him towards the door.
β€˜Let us leave,’ she said. β€˜Somewhere we can be happy, free.’ Alexi kissed the top of her head, nodding.
β€˜Come, I know a place we can go.’

The last that was ever seen of Cinderella and Alexi, was the retreating rump of a white horse, carrying two laughing figures through the rain, until they disappeared off the horizon, never to be seen again.

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Publication Date: 06-20-2012

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