By Natalie Mo

            When the prince finally tracked down the owner of the mysterious glass slipper, the whole kingdom rejoiced.

           All except the king and queen, of course. They’d condoned the silly search, but never actually expected anything to come out of it. After all, what were the odds the shoe could just fit one single maiden?

           “We’d be the laughingstock of the land!” the king deplored, yanking anxiously at his beard. The prince had brought his soon-to-be bride to the castle yesterday. Though her skin was the smoothest cream, her hair the gold of freshly harvested corn, her clothes were tattered and soot-stained, nothing like the wondrous gown she’d worn at the ball. When asked where she’d obtained the dress, the maiden blushed and stammered it had been a hand-me-down from her long deceased mother.

           Her dowry consisted of a lone vegetable patch.

           “A girl like her can’t rule a kingdom,” concurred the queen whose own dowry twenty years ago had equaled the size and weight of a small navy. “We must rebuff her—gently, as to keep the peace. Charming will understand. We’ll buy him a new horse. Thoroughbred, twenty hands high. He can enter it in the races next year.” Both the king and queen unanimously decided there would be no more balls as long as they lived.

           The next day, they summoned Cinder to the ballroom where she’d danced with the prince. “A good queen meets with foreign dignitaries to improve the standing of her country,” the king said, “Fill this ballroom with individually decorated tables by sunset and you will wed the prince on the morrow.”

           Cinder, used to manual labor from her time with her stepsisters, rolled up her sleeves and got to work. But the ballroom was as wide as ten wheat fields and the tables heavy as hearses. Cinder walked back and forth from the entrance until the skin on her delicate feet grew rough and callused.  

           One hour from sunset, only ten tables were ready and the emptiness of the ballroom stretched before her like a parched desert.

           Suddenly there came a musical trill from the window. A bird large as her forearm sat there. It was bright scarlet from head to toe, all except for its tail which gleamed silver as though the bird had flown too close to the moon and brushed its surface.

           “Pretty maiden, why do you cry?” it asked.

           “I must fill this ballroom with individually decorated tables by sunset or the prince will not marry me,” Cinder answered honestly.

           The bird looked at the yards of barren space and replied, “I will do it for you on one condition.”

           “Which is?”

           “Ask your prince if he loves you.”

           The king and queen pushed open the doors at sunset, expecting several shoddily decorated tables, but found rows and rows of artful designs, each unique and utterly matchless to its neighbor.

           The king hung his head. The queen called for scented candles.

           That night, remembering her promise, Cinder asked the prince, “Do you love me?”

           The prince laughed and patted her head. “Of course I do.”

           Tomorrow arrived and Cinder asked if she could marry the prince now.

           “Not yet,” said the queen, who had been up all night hatching a new plan. “A good queen manages the state coffers and nurtures pennies into wealth. Spin this barn of hay into gold by sunset and you will wed the prince on the morrow.”

           Cinder, used to fickle minds from her time with her stepsisters, rolled up her sleeves and got to work. But try as she may, she could not transform the brownish gold hay into a more pleasing color. She wound it through the spinning wheel again and again until her thumb bled wet red droplets upon the wooden floor.

           One hour from sunset, the bird appeared again.

           “Pretty maiden, why do you cry?” it asked.

           “I must spin this barn of hay into gold by sunset or the prince will not marry me,” Cinder answered honestly.

           The bird looked at the mounds of hay and replied, “I will do it for you on one condition.”

           “Which is?”

           “Ask your prince if he loves you.”

           The king and queen pushed open the barn doors at sunset, certain they’d managed to drive her away this time, but found piles and piles of neatly wound silk that glimmered as gold as Cinder’s hair.

           The king gnashed his teeth. The queen poured herself an extra large glass of wine.

           That night, remembering her promise, Cinder again asked the prince, “Do you love me?”

            The prince cocked his head, confused, but smiled anyway and patted her head. “Of course I do.”

           Blood stained the bandage wrapped around Cinder’s thumb. “Really?”

           Had she always been this talkative? the prince wondered. He hadn’t remembered her talking this much during the ball.

           Nonetheless, he kissed the top of her head. “Really.”

           Tomorrow crept up the horizon and Cinder once more asked if she could marry the prince now.

           “Not yet,” said the king and queen at the same time. They’d spent the night and the better part of the morning concocting a new task. “A good queen, above all, is devoted to her husband. Go up to the mountains far north and bring back a ring made of pure ice that will never melt as proof of your love. The wedding will be held on your return.”

           Cinder had no comparison for this request. Bundled in a thick coat borrowed from a servant and carrying a sack heavy with provisions, Cinder trekked through forests and towns to the jagged scar of mountains that bordered their country. Her hands broke open on the sharp rocks while climbing, then again from cold the higher she got. Wind snatched at her hair until it whitened to match her icy surroundings.

           After she reached the top, she brought out the tiny hammer and chisel she had tucked in her coat and chipped at a shard of ice fished from a nearby frozen lake.

           It shattered instantly. Cinder cut out a new piece and tapped more gently this time. She managed to wear it down to a minute circle that would fit the prince’s finger, but it splintered when she hammered its heart.

           It might have been sunset when the bird appeared a third time.

           “Pretty maiden, why do you cry?” it asked.

           “I must bring back a ring made of pure ice that will never melt or the prince will not marry me,” Cinder answered honestly.

           The bird looked at the slivers of ice and replied, “I will do it for you on one condition.”

           Cinder knew what the bird would request, but nevertheless asked, “Which is?”

           To her surprise, the bird answered, “Ask yourself if you love your prince.”

           In all honesty, the king and queen were not that surprised when Cinder trooped back into the castle, hair white as age, clothes even more bedraggled than the day they formally met her. The ring bit into the wearer’s skin with a knife-like chill, but did not melt even when a careless maid dropped it in a pot of boiling soup. They scheduled the wedding at sunrise the next day, thinking a maiden who could accomplish such astounding feats clearly had witchery running through her veins. It never hurt to have a little magic on your side in times of war or famine.

           “Isn’t it exciting?” the prince said the night before the ceremony. “We’re finally going to be married!”

           Cinder remembered the promise she’d made. The bird had taught her to use her glass slipper, the one that had led the prince to her door all those weeks ago. She tapped it once and it broke cleanly into a perfect translucent ring.

           “Do you love me?” she asked a third time.

           The prince laughed. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

           “Because you watched me suffer through three impossible tasks and did nothing.”

           “I couldn’t!” the prince protested. “It would have been cheating.”

           “Cheating to help me prove I’m worthy of you?”

           The prince stammered a reply. He looked much less handsome than the night they’d danced together.

           Cinder stood and walked out. The prince called after her, but she did not look back. Her bare feet took her through gleaming hallways, the marble foyer, past the curious guards posted at the entrance, to the bird waiting outside. Only she no longer looked like a bird. The woman at the foot of the stairs wore robes of the brightest scarlet, her hair gleaming silver as though she had climbed too close to the moon and brushed its surface. 

           The maiden who would have been queen padded down the castle steps she had once fled across. Cinder slipped the ring on the bird’s slender finger and hooked her arm through hers. Both fit perfectly.

           “How did you know?” Cinder asked.

           “I was engaged to a prince once. Very demanding creatures.”

           They started forth, towards a world beyond princes and castles.

 

Published on: February 15, 2018 < Back >