Ardennia: The Unlikely Story of Cinderella's Prince

Cinderella and the Masquerade Ball

“Cinderella, come here and primp my hair,” ordered Drizella.

“She’s busy painting my nails,” said Anastasia.

“She’s been painting your nails all day. It’s my turn now.”

“A turn won’t do you any good. You’re hopelessly ugly,” said Anastasia.

“And your teeth stick out a mile,” retorted Drizella.

“Now girls, don’t fight. Especially not today,” Lady Tremaine said.

“Yes Mother,” they said.

“Cinderella, go primp Drizella’s hair,” said Tremaine.

Cinderella switched sisters, and Drizella stuck out her tongue at Anastasia when their mother wasn’t watching. Looking in the mirror she remarked that she might just have a shot at the Prince since it was to be a masked ball.

“Fat chance,” said Anastasia.

“Listen, girls. I want you to leave the Prince alone. I procured our invitation to the ball by promising Phill-, Lord Phillip that we will behave.”

“I’ll behave Mama, but if the Prince finds me irresistible, what am I to do,” Drizella said.

“You are the most conceited sister a sister could ever have,” observed Anastasia.

“At least I have something to be conceited about. The village wig maker once offered to pay me five deniers for my hair,” said Drizella.

“It will take more than a luxurious head of hair to land the Prince. It will take a real title and neither of you have that,” said Tremaine.

“But we are Ladies aren’t we?” said Anastasia.

“Technically no, but don’t tell anyone,” Tremaine said.

“Ouch!” exclaimed Drizella.

“Sorry,” said Cinderella.

“Sorry doesn’t cut the mustard; be more careful,” said Drizella.

“Mother?” said Anastasia.

“Yes.”

“If we’ve no chance to bag the Prince, why are we going to the ball?”

“Because the Prince isn’t the only fish in the sea,” said Tremaine.

“Well as far as I’m concerned, if I can’t have a Prince I don’t want anyone,” said Drizella.

“Then you’ll end up being a shriveled up old maid,” Anastasia warned.

“You’d like that,” accused Drizella.

“Girls, for once and for all stop it,” said Tremaine. “Our conveyance will be here any moment and I want you ready to go. We don’t want to be the last to arrive at the masquerade ball. It will make us appear too haughty.”

“I’m ready,” said Drizella, pushing Cinderella’s hand aside.

“Me too,” said Anastasia, admiring herself in the mirror.

“Good. Cinderella,” said Lady Tremaine.

“Yes.”

“You are not to use our attendance at the ball as an excuse to desert your chores. I want this house spotless when we get home, which will be very late by the way. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” said Cinderella.

“If you do a good job we may tell you about our evening and the grandees we meet from Picardy and Comte; or the food that was served or the music that was played or the masks that were worn.”

“Mother, why waste your breath on her,” said Drizella: “You know the minute we leave, she will slack off. She is simply a loafer – why one of my blouses still needs a button sewed on.

“Cinderella, make sure to sew on that button to,” Tremaine said in a reprimanding tone.

“The conveyance is here!” blurted out Anastasia.

“Let’s go,” said Tremaine.

The three ‘Ladies’ departed in such a rush that they left the front door open. Cinderella went to the door and saw them clamber into the conveyance. As soon as they had boarded it the conveyance headed out and Cinderella was left to her own devices. She closed the door, sat in Lady Tremaine’s favorite chair and twiddled her thumbs for a good five minutes. After that act of defiance she went upstairs to find the blouse with the missing button. With some difficulty she found the blouse, but the button was not to be found. This brought her to tears, for the missing button seemed like the last straw; even if she did want to keep on the good side of Lady Tremaine, it was impossible – there were just too many missing buttons and dust specks and uncatchable mice running around the house for her to deal with. She renewed her search for the button, still in tears.

That was when she heard the front door open and someone come inside. She wiped her tears away and ran down the stairs with the blouse still held in her hands. She saw a nondescript middle aged woman wearing a simple frock.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” asked Cinderella.

“I am your Fairy Godmother and I am here to send you off to the masquerade ball,” she said.

“I see; and am I supposed to believe that,” asked Cinderella.

“No, not until I prove it,” she answered.

“Prove it then, before I get my broom and give you a good thrashing,” said Cinderella.

“I just did,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“How?” asked Cinderella.

“Look at the blouse; you’ll see the missing button is no longer missing.”

Cinderella looked at the blouse and saw this was true.

“This must be a trick,” said Cinderella.

“It’s no trick; it’s magic. You do believe in magic, don’t you?”

“I believe in what I can touch and see,” said Cinderella.

“And what have you just seen?”

“A button magically materializing,” said Cinderella.

“And what do you see over there,” said the Fairy Godmother, snapping her fingers again and pointing to the sofa behind Cinderella.

“A ballroom dress,” said Cinderella as she turned to look at the sofa.

“So?”

“So if you are my Fairy Godmother, where have you been all my life?” asked Cinderella.

“Waiting for this moment.”

“What was wrong with a moment from last week; or last year, or right after my father was killed?” asked Cinderella with a bit of an attitude:

“Do you want to go to the ball or not,” said the Fairy Godmother rather huffily.

“Why would I want to?

“Because the Prince will be there.”

“So what.”

“So this is your chance, your only chance, to meet him and see if he is your one true love.”

“What good would it be if he was? He’s a prince and I’m nobody,” pointed out Cinderella.

“You are not a nobody. Do you think I would be here if you were?”

“I don’t know what to think,” said Cinderella, sitting down.

“Listen, what have you got to lose by going to the ball?” asked the Fairy Godmother.

“My hide; my stepmother will really give me the strap if I fail to finish my chores.

The Fairy Godmother snapped her fingers once more and the house suddenly smelled and looked squeaky clean.

“Wow, now there’s some magic. I don’t suppose you can teach me that,” said Cinderella glibly.

“I can’t; it’s a gift and using it drains me so don’t expect too much.”

“What is too much?” asked Cinderella.

“Staying out past midnight,” answered the Fairy Godmother.

“I don’t understand.”

The Fairy Godmother snapped her fingers one last time and Cinderella saw a mask and glass slippers materialize next to the ballroom dress. She also felt her hair swirl around and form up into a pillar.

“I still don’t understand,” said Cinderella.

“The ballroom dress, the conveyance that awaits you outside, the mask, your hairdo, lipstick, face powder, rouge and right glass slipper all will disappear at the stroke of midnight. I have not the magic to make it last longer.

“What about the left glass slipper?” asked Cinderella.

“That is the one thing that will endure, but don’t ask me why.”

“Alright, you are being pretty mysterious, but alright,” said Cinderella.

“Good then, let’s see you in the dress, slippers and mask,” said the Fairy Godmother.

Cinderella donned her mask, dress and slippers and looked in the mirror. She couldn’t recognize herself.

“You look gorgeous. Now get going, you haven’t got all night.”

Cinderella gave her nondescript Fairy Godmother a warm embrace and bounded out the door to her conveyance. It took her up the escarpment to the castle and dropped her off in front of the ballroom. She disembarked, and to the admiration of everyone who saw her, she made her grand entrance to rub shoulders with the scions of viscounts, barons, baronets and the Marquis of Picardy. The son of a viscount from Picardy, escorting his sister Esmeralda, was the first to make bold and speak to Cinderella.

“I am Jon Roye of Boulogne,” he said.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my name is of no consequence,” she said.

“Ah, but your beauty is,” said the gallant son of the Viscount of Boulogne.

“You are too generous,” she said.

“Do you have you any dances left on your dance card?” he inquired.

“I have two left feet and am not inclined to dance,” she said.

“Oh, but you must dance with me for I have two left feet as well and another waltz is just beginning.”

With that Jon Roye took Cinderella in tow and led her to the dance floor. Once there he put his left hand on her waist, grasped her left hand with his right and introduced her to the three step waltz. After two sequences she had it down pat and the two stole the show, so to speak.

“I wonder who that could be,” said Lord Phillip to Lady Tremaine, referring to Cinderella.

“I don’t know, but forget about asking her for a dance. She is far too young and pretty for an old goat like you.”

Cinderella took leave of Jon Roye after the dance and was immediately besieged by a flock of men. Some were tall, some were short; some were the sons of barons, some were the nephews of viscounts; some were charming, some were lacking in charm. They all wanted to talk to her, they all wanted to know her name and they all wanted to dance with her. She selected the cousin of a baronet from Comte for the next waltz. He really did have two left feet, but she took the lead and they survived the dance. Next she danced with a nephew of the Marquis of Picardy. He was light on his feet, extremely curious about her and told her a lot about himself in the hope that she would give tit for tat.

“I escorted my cousin, the daughter of the Marquis, to the ball. Until you got here I thought she had the inside track on Prince Henry, but now I am not so sure.”

“I do not see myself as competition to the daughter of a marquis,” said Cinderella.

“Oh, but you are. The Prince is watching us at this very moment. Who are you anyway, the daughter of a baron from Comte?”

“No,” she said.

“A niece of a viscount?”

“No.”

“A daughter of a viscount?”

“You aren’t even close, so you might as well give up,” she said.

“I won’t, I can’t. You are too enchanting, and if there is one chance in ten that you might settle for a marquis’ nephew – third in line to his title – instead of a prince, I’m going to take it.”

“If you knew who you were talking to you’d take those words back,” said Cinderella.

“Milady, being mysterious only makes me want you more,” he said.

“Wanting me and having me are two different things,” she said as the waltz ended and she was swallowed up by a sea of admirers once again.

The dearth of young men left to dance and socialize with the other young women – who had come to the ball for such purposes – left little else for them to do but cast jealous eyes upon Cinderella and make acid remarks.

“What do they see in her?” asked Drizella to the young ladies of one of the clutches that had formed.

“Her beauty, obviously,” said the daughter of the Viscount of Ponthieu.

“Which only runs skin deep I am sure,” the Marquis’ daughter said as she took out a compact mirror and reassured herself that she was beautiful too.

“That and the mystique she has created by concealing her identity,” added Esmeralda.

“How do you know she is hiding her identity?” asked Anastasia.

“My cousin told me,” said Esmeralda.

“Isn’t that just like men,” commented a baron’s niece, putting her hands on her hips in disgust.

“Yes; they simply can’t resist a beautiful and mysterious woman,” said the Marquis’ daughter.

“Does anyone know who she is?” asked Anastasia, who hadn’t been asked who she was by a single person yet.

“I have it on good account that she is the illegitimate daughter of a baronet from Comte,” said the heretofore silent daughter of the Viscount of Vermandois.

“I wouldn’t doubt it; she has the look,” said Esmeralda.

“And it would explain why she won’t tell anyone her name,” added Drizella.

“Well, I think one of us should alert Queen Bernadette, for if she is illegitimate I’m sure she wasn’t invited to the ball,” the daughter of the Viscount of Ponthieu said.

“I agree, why don’t you do it?” said the Marquis’ daughter.

“Because. . .”

“Because if we are wrong or the Queen already knows it would be a faux pas,” said the Marquis’ daughter.

“But something must be done. She’s spoiling the ball,” said Anastasia.

“Yes, how are we to operate while she is hogging the limelight?” said the daughter of the Viscount of Vermandois.

“We aren’t. Our only hope is that she will pair off with someone and the rest of the men will come back our way,” said Esmeralda.

This was not to be, at least not yet. The grandees elbowed each other to get to Cinderella to ask for a dance or the privilege of fetching a glass of wine for her, and some succeeded. The son of the Viscount of Laonnois was amongst them.

“There you are,” said Pierre, handing a glass of wine to Cinderella.

“Thank you, I’ve never had wine before,” she said.

“If that were true it would be exceedingly strange,” said Pierre, raising his glass to her.

“It is true, strange or not,” she said, taking a sip.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Not really, it tastes a little like apple cider gone sour.”

“That’s because of the fermentation; take another sip, it won’t kill you.”

Cinderella took another sip, and then another and then she finished the glass and gave it back to him.

“Would you like another?” he asked.

“No, I’ve seen what too much wine can do to people and I don’t want to become intoxicated,” she said.

“But one more glass won’t intoxicate you,” Pierre said.

“But three or four might; and I suspect you would like that,” said Cinderella.

“Maybe you would too,” he said rakishly.

“It was nice meeting you, Pierre,” she said.

“But I didn’t get your name.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, turning away.

Pierre took her by the upper arm and turned her back to him.

“Not so fast,” he said.

“Let me go!”

“Not until you tell me your name.”

“Let. . . me. . . go.”

“I will as soon as you –”

Henry seized Pierre’s wrist and twisted the offending hand off of Cinderella’s arm.

“Go,” he said in such a menacing tone that the half-drunk son of a viscount took to heel without a word.

“Thank you,” said Cinderella.

“I am at your service, Milady; my name is Henry.”

“I know, your Highness,” she said.

“You can call me Henry. Would you like to dance?” he asked.

She nodded and they danced to a waltz while everyone, including the King and Queen, looked on. The Queen put her hand on the King’s hand as though to say what was happening was what they had hoped would happen. The King remarked that they made a handsome couple.

“Everyone’s watching us,” said Cinderella to Henry as the waltz came near to its conclusion.

“Let them watch,” he said.

“Well you may be used to being the center of attention, but I am not.”

“Shall we stop, then?” he offered.

“No, it’s too divine to ever stop.”

But at the end of the waltz they did stop; at which point Henry invited Cinderella to the balcony.

“That is quite gallant of you. I almost feel as if I am burning from all the looks I’m getting.”

“It is hot in here,” agreed Henry, guiding her to the balcony.

Once on the balcony Henry took off his mask.

“That’s better. Are you enjoying the ball?”

“Very much so,” answered Cinderella.

“I’m glad,” he said.

“What about you; are you having a good time?”

“I am now,” he said.

“You mean you weren’t before?” she asked.

“No, I was feeling somewhat overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t want to ruin your evening with my. . .

“Your what?”

“My situation.”

“What is your situation?” she asked.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay then: Not long ago my betrothed, the daughter of the Count of Lorraine, ran off with a buffoon.”

Cinderella giggled.

“Why are you giggling?” he asked.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m dead serious and I shouldn’t be telling you this but I am because you asked and for some reason I feel I can tell you anything and –”

“I apologize, please go on,” said Cinderella.

“So since I was unattached again my mother concocted this ball in order for me to meet someone new.”

“Has your heart mended so fast?” asked Cinderella.

“It was never broken,” he answered.

“How can that be; how could having your betrothed leave you for another man not break your heart?”

“Because I had not given my heart to Lenore; we were matched in order to unite Ardennia and Lorraine, not because either one of us had affection for the other.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Cinderella.

“Too bad?” said Henry.

“Yes, too bad. But it’s not the end of the world. I can think of a lot of things worse than having to marry someone because you want to unite kingdoms, and then having that someone run away with a buffoon, and then having to attend a masquerade ball to find another suitable candidate for marriage.”

“Yes, I suppose, but –”

“But nothing, from my viewpoint I think you have it pretty good, despite your situation.”

“You sound like Guy,” said Henry.

“Who is Guy?”

“My friend and mentor; he’s made similar remarks about how soft I have it compared to most everybody else.”

“He’s right. Still, finding true love is a thing much to be desired,” said Cinderella.

“It is; have you ever found it, or come close?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why is that, I should think with your beauty –”

“You think I am beautiful?”

“I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“And I think I like that you think that,” she said.

He pressed forward to kiss her but she stepped back.

“Your Highness, just because I said I liked the fact that you thought I was beautiful doesn’t mean you can kiss me.”

“What does it mean?” he asked.

“It means that you may one day get the chance. First we must get to know each other better.”

“Alright, you go ahead,” he said.

“No, I think you should start,” she said.

“But I’ve already told you a lot. It’s your turn,” he said.

“Alright, as I said I have never found love or come close to finding love. I did, however, have the most extraordinary sensation on two occasions when I locked eyes with a handsome stranger. For now I will only add that my favorite person in the world is my godmother.”

“That’s not much to go on,” he said.

“You’re the one who wants to kiss me; your turn,” she said.

“Alright: Since boyhood I have been brought up to be a warrior and a diplomat – someone who would make a fit king when the time came. I am still working at becoming a diplomat and my baptism as a warrior occurred not long ago when our army raised the siege of Paris.”

“There has been much talk in the village about that battle and the brave part you played in it,” said Cinderella.

“I was not brave, I just lost my head when the contest was joined and I hardly remember anything about it and I hope I never have to go through something like that again.

“Which will make you a good king someday,” said Cinderella.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you will not take the prospect of going to war lightly, but if you do go to war you will lead your men with caution and steadfastness,” she said. “Go on.”

“I’ve had the good fortune to be trained in the art of combat by Sir Guy of Lucent who has also given me some insights into my subjects’ lives. Furthermore my father has been a good role model and my mother has taught me much about being wise and fair. My betrothal to the Count of Lorraine’s daughter was not a happy one, though. As I have already said, there was no affection lost between us, but that was just the veritable tip of the spear.”

“How so?” asked Cinderella.

“She was, for me, a woman who was not only painful to look at but painful to be around. She talked incessantly about how she missed her cat, had atrocious table manners, guzzled beer like a soldier, took no interest in anything I said and was prone to passing gas.”

“I can now better understand why your heart wasn’t broken when she ran off with the buffoon,” said Cinderella.

“Yes, it was a blow to our diplomacy but a great weight off my shoulders. Your turn again,” he said.

“No, I don’t want another turn,” she said.

“I must insist,” he said, just as the midnight bell for Matins rang.

Cinderella’s eyes grew wide and her hair began to come undone. She took off her left slipper, pressed it to Henry’s chest and said: “If your heart is set on me; find me.”

With that she dashed down the balcony steps and ran to the gatehouse where she passed by the guards and flew down the escarpment; her mask dissolving into nothing, her right slipper vanishing into thin air, her cosmetics evaporating and her ballroom dress decomposing. By the time she got home she was gasping for air and as naked as the day she was born; but no one had seen her thanks to her swift and dainty feet and the lateness of the hour.

At a much later hour Lady Tremaine and her daughters returned home. They were not gasping for air, but the daughters were complaining bitterly about their evening.

“That was the worst masquerade ball I have ever been to,” said Anastasia, throwing her fan, the fan she had held up all evening to hide her buck teeth, onto the floor.

“You’re telling me. What kind of prince dances with only one guest and then disappears for the rest of the night,” said Drizella.

“Oh stop your whining. You never had a shot at the Prince anyway,” said Anastasia.

“Girls, lighten up, it wasn’t that bad,” said Lady Tremaine.

“Easy for you to say Mother; you had Lord Phillip to dance with all night,” said Drizella.

“To keep him happy and maintain his patronage,” Tremaine said.

“Don’t lie, you know you enjoyed tonight,” said Anastasia.

“And what if I did; after all the effort I have put in to keep him satisfied so we could remain solvent, don’t I deserve some fun?” Tremaine said.

“Why don’t you just get him to just marry you? Then we’d be better off and Anastasia and I would be in a much stronger position to secure husbands.”

“Getting Lord Phillip to the altar is easier said than done. I have been trying to do that ever since the siege,” said Tremaine.

“Well try harder, Mother,” said Anastasia.

“Yes, try harder,” Drizella said, kicking off her shoes and adding that her feet were sore.

“My feet are sore, too,” said Anastasia.

“Oh you two can be such a nuisance,” said Lady Tremaine, kicking off her own shoes and then yelling at the top of her lungs for Cinderella to come down from the attic and give everybody a foot rub.