RELEASE DATE: 15 August 2020
The king announces a ball in order to end the war. His subjects? Overjoyed.
Marian? Determined to stop it. Her sponsors need the war to continue.
Looks like sabotage will feature at the top of tonight’s menu. A Cinderella retelling for everyone who ever wondered why Cinderella wanted to marry the prince in the first place.
Not Quite Cinderella
“Have you heard? The prince is giving a ball!”
“In the middle of a war?” Marian looked at the thin, sallow pastry chef behind the counter who didn’t look like he’d ever tasted his own wares. “Are you serious? A party during a major offensive?”
The sallow chef nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes! The prince will choose a bride, the king will abdicate, and the whole war will be over.”
Marian nodded slowly, weighing the options. “So, what I’m hearing is, your side is losing?”
“My side?” The thin man looked confused.
“The king is losing, isn’t he?”
The man’s eyes widened. “I would never suggest something so traitorous!”
“Of course not.” She gave him a polite smile. “One fudge brownie, please.” She pointed to the rich confection and waited as he bagged her purchase. Her sponsors couldn’t afford for the war to end now.
“Three coppers.”
She slid a silver piece across the counter. “The stars shine on those who show charity today,” she said and walked out with the brownie, skirts swirling around her. An end to the war. Not good. Still, it could be fixed easily enough. Plans began to circulate through her mind.
The baker wasn’t the only one with news of the ball. In the centre of town the square buzzed with people rushing to prepare for the upcoming party. Dress shops, barely open for the day, had lines of customers and coaches waiting outside. The grocer’s cart was empty. Flower sellers were scarce, or possibly just waiting in line for a seasonable dress.
One very determined hat seller stepped into Marian’s path, advancing at her with a bright green horror stuffed with purple feathers. “Have you something fetching to wear to the ball, Mi’lady?”
“No,” Marian said, trying to side-step the feather tickling her nose.
“Have you considered green, Mi’ lady? It would be a most becoming color on you.”
“Yes, if I had darker skin or fairer hair I’m sure it would. But since I have neither, I think perhaps not.” She offered the hat seller a strained smile.
“Purple?” The hat seller waved the plumes closer to her face.
“No, lime and plum aren’t the right shades for me,” she said. Or anyone with a modicum of taste. “Thank you.”
The hat seller pounced, placing the hat on her head and stabbing it in place with a five-inch hairpin.
Marian glared as she counted, in Greek, to ten. “Remove the hat.”
“But for just a few silvers…” the seller wheedled.
“REMOVE THE HAT.” Thunder cracked through the clear sky.
The seller grabbed the hat, ripping the felt, and ran.
Marian removed the pin from her hair and tossed it on the ground. Around her, the natives edged away, fearful of what she might do next.
She rolled her eyes and walked back to the inn she’d checked into late last night.
It wasn’t the fanciest place she’d ever spent the night, but it certainly wasn’t the worst.
She tossed a small bag of silver pieces to the innkeeper for a hot bath and a warm meal, and walked up the stairs, musing over the worst place she’d spent the night. Probably in the burnt-out hovel last year, where the ruins were still smoking and the air smelled of burnt flesh. She’d slept on the floor in the stone cellar, waiting for the pain to stop.
Opening the door to her small room, Marian paused. No, the cellar was the second worst. The first worst had to have been that palace three years back, with the hideous pink silk and white lace covering everything. That was the worst. Definitely.