Charm (13 page)

Cinderella’s insides churned as a servant took her plate away. She itched to see the huntsman and hear about his plan to save Buttons. Had it even been possible? There were always rumours of people surviving taking the Troll Road and escaping to the forest, but as far as she knew none of them had ever returned to the city, so it was all just myth and legend. The huntsman wouldn’t come until three and that was four long hours away. Time that she should spend searching the castle for whatever it was the fairy godmother was so keen for her to find. She’d been through so many of the rooms she was sure she’d never find whatever it was, and what then? Would the fairy godmother transport
her
to the Troll Road for her uselessness? The way their bargain had turned out she wouldn’t be surprised. She looked across the mahogany table to the prince whose face was ever more handsome in the candlelight.

She also wanted to know where he disappeared to every night. Was it something as simple as a serving girl? Or one of the other ladies of the court? She wondered why she cared – for all her worry about his feelings towards her, she hadn’t really taken much time to think about how her feelings for him had changed. Had it ever been more than a childish crush? She’d fallen in love with a picture and a dream. The reality was different. Still, the image of his empty bedroom stuck in her mind and her curiosity was beginning to overwhelm her.

She’d follow him, she decided, as the apple pie arrived laced with Chantilly cream. The scent of sweet apples was like perfume in the air and her mouth suddenly watered. Following the prince and searching the castle weren’t necessarily different things – especially if he was going somewhere she hadn’t yet explored. She bit into the pie and the pastry melted on her tongue and cinnamon apple exploded sharply on her tongue. That’s what she’d do. She’d follow him.

After dinner, while the king and the prince drank brandy and discussed whatever it was men talked about when women weren’t present, Cinderella ran back to her room and breathlessly changed out of her stiff formal dress into a looser, lighter one that she could move quickly and quietly in. Barefoot, she made her way back to the drawing room and hid behind a thick curtain, peering through the gap at the double doors. She didn’t have to wait long before the prince came out, nodding a polite goodnight to his father and leaving the king to the fire and the quiet and his thoughts.

Cinderella saw his shoulders slump as soon as the door closed and he paused for a moment before walking away. She gave him a head start and then crept out from between the curtains and followed, staying close to the walls. It was late and most of the castle was sleeping or in their rooms; the only sound was the click of his heels on marble echoing as she snuck along behind him.

Her heart sank as they reached his apartments, Cinderella still on the stairs, peering with one eye round the wall to watch him. He’d stopped outside his door. Was this going to be the first night he actually went to bed? Surely it couldn’t be? Surely—

The prince leaned his forehead against the closed door and took a deep breath as if battling some internal dilemma. Cinderella’s heart raced as his jaw clenched and he stood up tall. What was plaguing him? Surely if he was just sleeping with a serving girl that wouldn’t cause any inner crisis. Unless he was beginning to fall in love with Cinderella, of course. Her heart leapt slightly at that. Even if she wasn’t sure that she loved him, she wanted him to love her. He sighed again, tapped his head gently against the wood two times and then turned away. Cinderella crept after him.

T
he servants’ quarters – with the exception of the king and queen’s personal maids and footmen – were mainly located in the lower levels of the castle, and that was where Cinderella had expected them to head. The prince, however, didn’t lead her down into that hubbub of warmth and life. Instead, he walked steadily, with a sense of purpose rather than urgency, along several corridors that twisted and turned and then led into the heart of the building. It seemed far from the places that Cinderella knew, where windows let in so much light. This part of the castle she’d never seen before. She wondered how many months she’d have taken to find it herself.

The corridors were darker, only occasional lamps lit on the walls, and here and there statues and pictures had been covered to protect them from dust. The air was cold and smelt slightly of damp as if no fires had been lit in the surrounding rooms for years. The prince’s shadow stretched long behind him and Cinderella let it guide her in his wake. She wondered for a moment what would happen if she lost him? Would she ever find her way back to the castle that she knew? Or would she wander these rooms screaming until she died? She wished she’d taken a hunk of bread from dinner and left a trail of breadcrumbs to follow should she need to. She shivered and crept closer. She wouldn’t lose him. She didn’t have a choice.

Finally they came to a spiral stone stairwell and the prince began to climb it, Cinderella behind him. They climbed for several minutes and Cinderella hoped the prince wouldn’t hear her breathing as it became more laboured. There were no lights here, but a cold breeze zigzagged in the small space, and here and there tiny holes had been cut into the thick stone, perhaps for bowmen to shoot through a long time ago when the kingdoms were still to learn to keep their battles away from their capitals. Through them, shards of moonlight landed on patches of stone and Cinderella caught glimpses of abstract parts of the prince’s body; a leg, a shoe, a slice of torso, as the air grew colder and the stairs turned into a level floor.

She’d thought they must be in one of the turrets, but instead it was another corridor. There was no pretence at decoration here, however, the walls only hung with cobwebs that extended from their corners, covered in dust. Grit dug into her bare feet as she hid in the shadows and watched the prince as he finally came to a halt outside a door. Unlike the others they’d passed this one had been polished recently, the dark wood shining and the iron that studded it black and gleaming. The prince reached around his neck and undid a chain. A gold key glinted in the gloom and Cinderella pressed herself against the wall as he glanced around before sliding it into the lock.

The door swung open and then he was gone. Cinderella scurried forward in time to hear the grating of metal on metal as he locked the room once again from the inside. Her heart thumped and she pressed her eye to the tiny gaps where the hinges sat. What was he doing in there? What did he have in there that was so precious he’d locked it up so far from the central hub of the castle? He was the prince – surely he didn’t have to worry about anything being stolen? Why hide whatever it was? And why only visit in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep? She could see nothing through the tiny gap and pressed her ear against it instead. She could hear something; the scrape of a chair, and then his voice. He was talking, but she couldn’t make out his words. She frowned and listened harder, holding her breath. There was only one voice: his. Who or what was he talking to?

She stared at the door wishing she could see through the wood. What was in there that was making him so secretive?

A secret.

That’s why he kept the key around his neck. That’s why he only came in the middle of the night. And that was why he kept whatever it was in this forgotten part of the castle. The king didn’t know about it. No one did. Her face flushed with excitement. Could this be what the fairy godmother had wanted her to find?

She shivered in the quiet and the cold for an hour, listening to his voice burbling through the wood and then, when the key turned in the lock again, she darted back to the shadows, this time on the far side. Her hiding place didn’t matter. He was lost in his own thoughts when he emerged, and as soon as he’d secured the room he placed the key on its chain back round his neck and tucked it under his shirt before heading back towards the stairs, oblivious of Cinderella behind him.

This time she paid attention to the journey. Her searching of the castle had honed her directional skills and at every turning they made she logged some small landmark, whether it be a covered picture or a crack in the paintwork on the walls. Finally, the lights grew brighter and she recognised her surroundings.

She stopped and allowed the prince to slip away from her, knowing that he would be going back to his bedroom. Whatever need had driven him was sated by the secret contents of that locked room.

Somewhere a clock chimed as if to welcome her back to the world of warmth and light and beauty. It struck three times. The huntsman would be waiting. Her heart leapt and she raced down the stairs, red hair flying out behind her, flames against the wall. Perhaps he’d have good news of Buttons. And she had news of her own.

She arrived at the back door breathless and yanked it open. He was leaning against the wall, just as he always was.

‘I think I’ve found something! There’s a room! Somewhere forgotten! And he keeps the key around his neck. The prince! It’s where he goes at night. Do you think that’s what she wants?’

She was dancing from foot to foot with excitement and it took a moment for her to realise something was wrong. The huntsman was leaning against the wall, that was true, but not with his normal laconic elegance. His head was down and one arm clutched against his side where a dark stain was spreading through his clothes. Her stomach shrank into the pit of her belly.

‘What happened?’ She stepped outside, not caring about the icy cold that stung her bare feet. ‘You’re hurt.’ Finally, he looked up.

‘I’ll be okay.’

His eyes were black with pain and his mouth pressed tight. Blood stained the side of his face.

‘No, you won’t.’ Without thinking she pulled one of his arms around her shoulder. ‘Come on.’ He was heavy against her, using all his strength to stay on his feet, and she tried to murmur encouragement to him as they negotiated the route back up to her bedroom. In the light she could see that half of his tunic was sodden with blood and his tanned skin was pale. She choked back tears that suddenly sprang hot in the back of her eyes. The huntsman was always
there
. He couldn’t die. He just couldn’t.

Thankful it was the dead of night, they finally made it to her apartments and once inside she locked the door behind them.

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ he muttered.

‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘And take your shirt off.’

He gave her a half-smile and raised an eyebrow. ‘You might not get my best performance but I’m willing to give it a shot.’

‘Just do it.’ She flashed him an angry look, but inside her heart leapt. He wasn’t dying at least. Badly injured perhaps, but not dying.

She filled a pan of water from the large jug on her table and hung it over the fire to warm, before turning the lights down and creeping through the connecting door into Rose’s room.

Rose rolled over and murmured, but didn’t wake, and Cinderella checked her drawers as quietly as possible until she found the box of bandages and salves she knew Rose would have, exactly as she always had in their old house for every time Cinderella fell or scraped her knee or banged her head while playing. She silently thanked her step-sister and crept back to her own room, closing the door behind her.

She left the lighting soft in case it would creep under the door and wake Rose and fetched the warm water. The huntsman had peeled his filthy shirt off and she could see the gash that ran up his side, his skin pulled apart and his flesh exposed. Thankfully it didn’t look too deep. She took a soft towel from the table and dipped it in the water, carefully starting to wipe the blood from his chest. His skin was tanned and the muscles in his stomach twitched as the cloth touched him. The prince’s chest was pale and smooth. The huntsman’s was tanned and scarred and dark hair curled across his sternum. She wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it and feel the strong muscles underneath, and she swallowed involuntarily as a heat flooded through her body that had nothing to do with the fire. She could feel him watching her as she washed the edges of his wound, the atmosphere between them suddenly electric.

‘What happened?’ she asked, desperate to break it. She dipped her fingers in the pot of salve and smoothed it over the long cut. His skin was warm beneath her touch and he gasped and swore under his breath.

‘Don’t be a child,’ she said, and smiled up at him from her place on the floor and for the first time she realised how very handsome he was. She didn’t know what she felt about him, this stranger. Sometimes she was sure she didn’t like him very much at all, and yet her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst out of her chest. Her skin tingled with a sudden urge to feel his hands on her. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said again, wiping her hands.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ The huntsman pressed a pad against his wound and held the end of the bandage against his stomach as she passed it round his back and wound it tight against the dressed wound. ‘All that matters is that your friend is safe. He’s in the woods.’

‘Buttons?’ Cinderella looked up. ‘But how . . .’ The questioned drained away as she thought of the gash on his side. It hadn’t been from a knife or a sword, it was too ragged at the edges. A claw, however . . .

‘
You
fought the troll?’ She got to her feet and stared at him as he tucked the end of the abandoned bandage away and stood up.

‘Sadly I didn’t kill it.’

‘But I don’t understand. How did you get past the guards? How did you—?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.

He stood up, and they were so close the bodice of her dress was nearly brushing his bare skin.

‘You saved him?’ she said. She was breathless. She couldn’t help it. She felt like she had on the balcony at the Bride Ball but this time there were no charmed slippers to encourage the heat.

‘You wanted me to.’ His voice was cracked slightly and as his eyes travelled over her face she knew he felt the same passion she did. He reached for her, one hand sliding round her neck, the touch of his rough fingers sending sparks through her whole body, and he wrapped them in her hair. He spun her round so quickly she gasped. They were facing the large, ornate mirror that hung almost the length of the wall.