Cinderella Is Dead(48)

“No,” says Amina sternly. “I age. I do not suddenly become young when it suits me. I use herbs, spells. It is a constant effort, but I cannot go on indefinitely.”

“You can’t make yourself young, but if you’re as old as you say you are—” I don’t know how to say it without it sounding like an insult.

“Why don’t I look like a rotting corpse?” Amina asks.

I nod.

“It is a glamour, an illusion. I’ve perfected it over the years, and I use it now so I don’t frighten your friend.” She winks at Constance, who crosses her arms hard over her chest, glaring back at her.

“Why have you decided to stay all this time?” I ask.

Amina grows still and quiet. “Because I must.”

I think of Manford ruling over Lille for the rest of time, finding new and terrible ways to hurt us. I can’t let that happen.

“Once a man has tasted the kind of power he now wields, he won’t ever give it up willingly,” says Amina.

“We’ll strip him of that power by force,” I say. I sit quietly for a moment before asking a question I know Constance wants answered. “Why did you take Cinderella to him? Why did you help her get to the ball if you knew what he was?”

Constance’s angry exterior melts away, and a look of desperation takes its place. She needs answers.

Amina hangs her head. “Cinderella’s parents stoked the flames of rebellion after Charming began to implement laws and rules that were so restrictive and damaging to the people of Lille that they began to question his ability to be a fair and just ruler.”

“The decrees,” I say.

Amina shakes her head. “If you drop a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will jump out. But if you stoke the fire slowly, it will allow itself to be boiled to death. The changes in the very beginning were subtle. A curfew was imposed for the safety of the women. Women were required to wear long dresses to protect their modesty. Men were elevated to positions of power because they knew best.” Amina gives an exaggerated sigh. “Everything was framed as being in the best interest of the people.”

“And the people just allowed him to do it?” I ask.

“Of course,” Amina says. “Why wouldn’t they? He was their savior, their protector.”

“You didn’t seem so concerned with people’s well-being when you were causing a famine and letting them starve to death,” Constance snaps.

“He saved my life. I was indebted to him,” Amina says. For the first time, I see something like regret in her eyes. “After Cinderella’s parents were killed, he held the first annual ball. He sent out invitations that instructed young women to present themselves to be chosen. He made death the penalty for not attending. I realized I had to do something to stop him, and that I would have to take extreme measures to do it.”

“You tried to kill him?” Constance asks.

“No.” She hesitates. “I couldn’t, not after what he had done for me.”

“So what did you do?” I ask.

“I found someone who wanted him gone as much as I did. Someone who might appeal to his lust for beautiful young women, maybe someone he’d already stolen everything from.”

I glance at Constance, and her face goes blank.

“I knew what he did to Cinderella’s parents,” Amina says. “They were dead because of him. I went to Cinderella, expecting to find a fatherless girl, grieving the deaths of her family, willing to do the impossible out of sheer desperation. Instead I found a stepmother, Lady Davis, fierce as a raging fire, who almost slit my throat upon seeing me. I found three young women, Cinderella being the youngest, who were ready to crush Manford under their boots. They were prepared to move against him. I gave Cinderella everything she needed and accompanied her to the ball in disguise.”

“She went there to kill him?” Constance asks, astonished.

Amina nods.

I loop back through the story Constance had shared with me. It is the one mystery that seemed to haunt her the most—why would Cinderella have married Prince Charming after everything he did to her family?

“He’s still alive,” I say. “Why didn’t she do it? What happened?”

Amina lowers her gaze. “When he saw her for the first time, the look in his eyes—he wanted her more than anything and he told me that if he could have her, if I could assist him in this, that he would be a better man, a better king. I thought maybe, if he could love and be loved in return, he could atone for the things he’d done.”

“That makes no sense,” Constance says. “He’s not capable of loving anyone except himself.”

“Isn’t that what love does?” Amina asks. “It changes people. It makes them want to be better.”

Constance leans in. “She goes up there to kill him and ends up his blushing bride? Make it make sense, Amina.”

Amina closes her eyes as if she’s in pain, furrowing her brow, breathing deeply. “I’m a witch. I used a potion, slipped it to her in a glass of punch before she had a chance to assassinate him. She fell for him as soon as their eyes met, and nothing he’d done in the past mattered anymore.”

My mouth hangs open in shock. Constance doesn’t speak.

“Lady Davis and Gabrielle tried to drag her back to the house, losing her slipper in the process. They took her home and locked her away, but there was no hiding from him. He came calling, shoe in hand, and made a spectacle of it. He had palace artists record the event, immortalizing it in what would become the first palace-sanctioned version of Cinderella’s story. He took her to be his wife, and for a very brief time, it felt as if tensions in Mersailles were eased.”