“And he did what he said he would,” I say. I know this story, too. The founding of our kingdom by the benevolent Prince Charming.

“The crops once again flourished; the rivers ran through drought-stricken lands. There were rumblings of magic, of curses somehow broken, but the people of Mersailles knelt at his feet.” Constance shakes her head. “As soon as Charming had the people in the palm of his hand, things began to change. Cinderella’s parents spoke openly of how the laws Charming was implementing were unfair and dangerous. While Cinderella’s father tried to rally political support to overthrow Charming, her mother tried to rally local people, to get them to organize and protest. When Charming got word of her efforts, he sent his guards to arrest her. She would not go quietly, and they executed her in the driveway.”

I look toward the front of the house. Had I walked over the spot where Cinderella’s mother had died?

I turn back to Constance. “My grandmother spoke out against King Stephan, Manford’s predecessor,” I say, measuring my words, trying not to cry. “She was taken, arrested. Executed.”

Constance hesitates for a moment. Her eyes fill with tears, and I look away.

“Then you can understand all of this,” she says.

I nod.

“Cinderella’s father remarried, and his new wife, Lady Davis, was just as disgusted with Charming as Cinderella’s mother had been,” Constance continues. “But she thought the best way to fight him would be to train, to learn to fight, to carefully plan his downfall. She passed messages to others who were willing to fight, a sort of underground network of resistance.”

“I’ve never heard anyone speak of Lady Davis as a good person,” I say, questioning everything I’ve ever thought was true about the tale. “She’s the villain of the story.”

Constance shakes her head. “She vowed to keep her girls safe no matter the cost, but I don’t think she had any idea what that cost would be. Prince Charming ordered Cinderella’s father to the palace for questioning, and he was never seen again.”

“Prince Charming killed him,” I say. It’s not a question as much as harsh realization. Of course he killed him.

“There was no proof, but Cinderella’s father loved his family. Lady Davis believed he would have come home if at all possible. By this time, Cinderella was eighteen. Prince Charming held his very first ball, and everyone was required to go and well … you know that part of the story.”

“But the story—Cinderella’s story doesn’t say anything about that. That’s not how it goes.”

“It is a lie,” says Constance.

We sit in silence for several moments.

“Do you want me to continue?” she asks. “The truth is tricky. People want to know it, but when they do, sometimes they wish they didn’t.”

I think carefully about this. Everything that happened in the palace plays in my head. “Yes, I want to know. Tell me everything.”

She takes a deep breath and continues. “Shortly after Prince Charming married Cinderella, the laws surrounding the ball and the treatment of women and girls in Lille became so much worse than they had ever been. Some people rebelled, but he put down any and all resistance.”

She reaches behind her and pulls her braid forward over her shoulder. She twists the end, which reaches down into her lap, between her fingers. The firelight glints in her brown eyes as she glances at me. She catches me staring, and although I am a little embarrassed, I don’t look away. The corners of her mouth creep up in amusement.

“When Prince Charming died, I think the people of Mersailles actually thought they might be able to bring about some change, but that never happened because his successor, King Eustice, was worse than he was,” Constance says. “I have a letter from my great-grandmother to her daughter telling her of the horrible things King Eustice did.”

“The kings of Mersailles have all followed the same tenets Prince Charming put forward,” I say. “People are so afraid that they would rather stay quiet than say or do anything.” As I try to take in everything I’ve learned, one thing sticks in my mind. “Cinderella went up to the castle willingly. Even after everything Prince Charming had done? Why?”

Constance clasps her hands together in front of her. “That is the question, isn’t it?” She lowers her tone. Anger and frustration color her voice. “It’s something that’s haunted my family through every generation between Gabrielle and me. They couldn’t understand it, and neither do I. You traipse up to the castle to see the man who destroyed your family? Who does that?”

“What does your family think?” I ask.

A gentle sigh escapes Constance. “My mother suspected the fairy godmother may have had something to do with it.”

“The fairy godmother was Cinderella’s friend,” I say. “She helped her.”

Constance shakes her head. “You have to set the story you know aside, Sophia.”

My name from her lips sounds like a song. I look down. When I gather the courage to look up at her, she is fighting back tears, a mask of pain stretched across her face.

“You don’t have to go on,” I say. “I can see that it’s hurting you.”

“I want to tell you. I need to tell someone.” She sighs heavily, and sorrow pours out of her. “The prince shackled them to wooden stakes just beyond the towers, Lady Davis and Gabrielle and her younger sister, and left them there to die. Gabrielle was able to free herself and the others after three days. They were starving, half-frozen, but they escaped. Prince Charming said they were exiled to save face. I imagine he was furious when they got away.”

“Where did they go?” I ask.

“Out into the country, past the White Wood. They moved constantly, afraid they’d be hunted down.”

“What became of them?”

“Lady Davis died twenty years after their escape.” Constance tugs at the ends of her hair again. “Gabrielle and her sister made a life for themselves far from here, but they never gave up on Lille. Through the years, their descendants have trained and fought and died trying to fix what is broken here, carrying on the legacy of Cinderella’s mother and of Lady Davis, but it has all come to nothing. I tried to take out that statue in the square a few nights ago, but the charge wasn’t powerful enough.”

I remember the burned circle of grass. “That was you?”

She nods. Then suddenly her face falls and she leans toward me. “I am the last. The last one who knows the truth.”

“I’m so sorry, Constance.” I don’t know what else to say.

“He’ll be after you now.” Her knee presses into mine on purpose. Testing her boundaries a bit. I don’t move away. “He won’t stop.”

“No, he probably won’t,” I say. “But neither will I.”

She presses her lips together and lifts her chin a little. “You’ll just stay on the run forever?”

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” I say. A wild thought takes shape in my head. “Maybe I get to him before he gets to me.”

15

The fire dies as the evening hours creep up on us. I had expected Constance to laugh in my face when I told her maybe I’d go after the king before he could get to me, but she sits quietly, studying me. After a few minutes she leans forward, crossing her bare arms over the plane of her legs. I try to refocus.