Cinderella Is Dead(38)
She disappears into the crowd, reemerging a moment later beside her fiancé. He slips his arm around her waist, and in this moment I realize I know him, too. It is édouard. And the men turning their faces away from Erin, as if they can’t stand to look at her, are Morris and his friend. I feel sick.
Constance appears at my side. She’s procured a short dagger and several other items, all held in a small leather pouch. She dumps it out in her hand and shoves the items gleefully in her pockets. She follows my gaze out to Erin.
“You know her?” she asks. I quickly wipe my face.
I nod, and Constance puts her hand on my shoulder, studying me carefully. “You’re angry. I understand, but we can’t make a scene here. We’ll be arrested on the spot.”
“He did that to her.” I point to édouard, who is now nuzzling Erin’s neck in a predatory way. I want to break his pointy, arrogant face.
Suddenly, a blaring of trumpets cuts through the din of voices. Constance pulls me back against the wall as a line of royal guards marches into the market, pushing people aside and upending tables to make room for the procession. Behind the phalanx of guards, King Manford rides in on a snow-white steed. He sits atop it, his chin raised high. Everyone bows. Constance yanks me down, and the horns blare again. Is he here for me? No, that can’t be. I glance back at the cart. We can make a run for it, but Constance holds tight to my arm, shaking her head no.
“If we run, we die,” she whispers. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
I keep my head down as the king dismounts and paces in front of the crowd.
“I am so disappointed,” he says. “The ball is a sacred tradition. But, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now, the night’s festivities did not go entirely according to plan.”
My heart crashes in my chest.
“There are consequences for defiance. I thought you were all well aware of that.” He sets his hand on the hilt of his sword and glares at the crowd. “It seems you need a reminder.”
18
A hush descends on the crowd, and as he turns in my direction, I quickly bow my head and stare at the ground.
“Do you not respect the rules that have been set forth for you?” the king asks. He clearly isn’t looking for an honest answer, but someone in the crowd pipes up.
“We do!” A woman pushes through to the front of the crowd and bows low in front of the king. “Your Majesty.” As she stands I see the king smile in a way that catches me completely off guard. He seems happy to see her.
“Lady Hollins.” He takes her hand in his and kisses it.
“We are thankful for your benevolence,” says the woman. “We are outraged that someone among us has defied you so blatantly. We will not have it.”
I don’t know why she feels the need to make such a public display, but she is falling over herself to pledge her loyalty to him, and he soaks it up. As I watch her, it becomes clear that she absolutely believes what she’s saying.
“Our traditions are sacred,” says the king. With a flick of his wrist he dismisses Lady Hollins, and she takes her place in the crowd. “Our ways are absolute,” he continues. “Prince Charming saved Mersailles from devastation, saved your beloved Cinderella from a meaningless existence, and we honor him by continuing to follow the example he set. My predecessors and I have put rules in place for your own good, and how do you repay this kindness? By defying me.” His voice takes on a raspy darkness that sends a shudder straight through me. “One of your number left the ball without permission. She has been located and dispatched.”
Constance glances at me.
Liar.
“However, it has come to my attention that one of you fine people may have aided this girl in her escape. And that, my humble subjects, simply will not do.”
From behind him, a cart appears. In the back is a woman in a tattered dress, tied at the wrists with a hood over her head. The guards forcefully remove the prisoner and bring her down to kneel before the king. He reaches out and snatches the hood off, revealing the tearstained face of the seamstress beneath. I take a step, and Constance nearly breaks my arm trying to hold me in place. What is this?
“This woman’s husband informed me that the girl who left the ball came to his shop to seek the services of this seamstress,” he says angrily. “And he, being the diligent and loyal subject that he is, noticed that the funds collected by his wife were light. It is my opinion that she intended to aid the runaway by giving her money to fund her travels.”
The seamstress shakes her head frantically. “It’s not true!” she sobs. Her eyes are rimmed with red; she trembles violently.
“Are you calling me a liar?” the king demands.
The woman hangs her head, defeated. “No, Your Majesty. I would never do that.”
But he is. He is a liar.
“Was there a young girl in the shop or not?” the king asks.
“There were many young girls in my shop, Highness.”
“Your shop?” The king looks perplexed. “Your husband is the owner of the shop, is he not?”
The seamstress nods.
“Those who would aid a fugitive are just as guilty as the runaway herself,” the king bellows, glaring into the crowd as the people of Lille cower in fear. “How can I make you see that it’s simply not worth it to try to defy me? You cannot win.”