Cinderella Is Dead(85)

“Cinderella’s story is a lie,” I say. “It was used to manipulate you. To make you feel as if your voice shouldn’t be heard. The king lied to us.” I pull out the journal and hold it up. “The words written here are in Cinderella’s own hand. It’s all right here.”

Constance stares at the little book. A man walks toward me, gritting his teeth and spewing obscenities. Before I can confront him, Constance steps between us. She pulls out her dagger and shoves it against his chest.

“If you dare touch her, I will end you. Is that in any way unclear?” Constance’s tone leaves no room for discussion. A young woman pushes through the crowd, sword in hand, and stands at Constance’s side. Constance seems shocked.

“émile?” she asks.

It’s the young woman from the cell. They share wide smiles, and émile glances back at me. “Leave it to Constance to find the girl who could bring all this to an end.”

The man backs away and disappears into the mass of bodies gathered in front of the castle. There is a shift in the crowd. Many of them have never seen a woman defend herself. This is how it will be from now on.

“Everything Sophia said is true,” Constance says. “My family is descended from Gabrielle, Cinderella’s sister, and she was not the monster the king made her out to be. None of them were. You’ve been lied to. But you have a chance to change things. Right here. Right now.”

I see fathers with tears in their eyes. “You can keep your girls from harm,” I say. “And more important, they can be allowed to keep themselves from harm. These girls don’t want to be here tonight. Look at your children, your friends, your wives, and your daughters. Don’t do what is right because they hold those titles. Do what is right because they are people. Make a choice to change things.”

The entirety of Lille has gathered in the front drive of the palace. A few people nod and embrace each other, but even more have looks of disbelief, of confusion. They need more convincing.

“I know this is hard to understand,” I say. “Many of us have never known anything other than Manford’s way.”

“How do we know he’s dead?” a woman yells, fear distorting every syllable.

“I put him in the ground myself,” I say. “You don’t have to fear him anymore.”

Constance stares at me as tears well up in her eyes. A murmur runs through the crowd. A group of people have broken off and are talking among themselves. Forty deep, at least a half dozen palace guards and many suitors from the ball among their ranks, they shove their way toward me.

“We’re going to have a problem here,” I say to Constance, who follows my gaze.

“Are we?” she asks as she holds up her dagger.

émile takes a wide stance. Even though her frame is skeletal and her face bears the look of someone who has seen unspeakable horrors, she is ready to fight.

Shouting erupts as this faction of angry men push their way through the crowd. The man at the lead is the same man I’d seen haggling with the guard in the dungeon. He’s found a sword and apparently has made himself the leader of this mob.

“Who is the king’s lawful successor?” the man asks.

“He has no heirs,” I say. I stare at the man unflinchingly. “And if you think we are going to allow another monster to sit on that throne, you’re mistaken.”

“Why should we listen to you?” The man clasps his hands together around the sword’s grip. “You’re just a girl.”

Constance steps in and disarms the man so quickly that I don’t know exactly how she’s done it. All I see is her flaming red hair and then the man lying on his back in the dirt, clutching his chest, a trickle of blood dripping down his lip. I pick up his sword and stick it in the ground.

The crowd pushes in, surrounding the mob who at the very first opportunity are trying to put us right back where we’d been before. I didn’t kill the king and almost lose my life in the process for them to do this. The people of Lille—women, men, the children from the dungeon, the girls from the ball, the families who’ve come looking for them—stand at the ready, glaring down at the man.

“We want a say in what happens next,” the man on the ground says as he scrambles to his feet.

“You’ve sat idly by while the people of Mersailles suffered and died, and now you want a say in what happens to us?” I’m shocked at his arrogance. “You’re not in a position to make demands. I watched you try to buy a young girl in the dungeon.”

Whispers and groans ring out. Some people in this crowd have no idea what the king did behind the walls of the castle. All they have are rumors and hearsay. The man glares at me with contempt.

“Leave,” I say to him. “Leave. Or stay. You have choices now, but I suggest you make the right ones. Your actions will have consequences from now on.”

The man scrambles back, tripping over himself as he flees. Some of the others follow him. Some stay. An uneasy calm settles over the crowd. I turn to Constance and sigh.

“They’ll be back,” I say.

“I know,” Constance says. “But we will be prepared.” She nods at émile, who tilts her head and gazes up at the sky. I wonder how long it’s been since these prisoners have seen the stars.

As I look out over the gathering, two familiar faces emerge. My parents. My mother’s knees buckle when she spots me, but my father catches her, and they push through the crowd toward me. My father seems to have aged ten years, and my mother looks as if she hasn’t slept in days. I search my father’s face for the anger I’d last seen when I left home, but find only sadness.