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Once upon time, there was a wealthy noble couple who had a daughter. Her father compared her to sunshine, for her bright demeanour, as well as her golden curls that she had inherited from her mother. As her baron father frequently left the estate to increase his investments, it was frequently only Ella and her mother, Kathleen, for that was the noblewoman’s name, left in charge of the manor and its finances. As such, Kathleen ensured that her daughter understood the jargon of the world the young girl’s father was immersed in and how to navigate it, alongside societal niceties and protocols of what was to be her station.
It was a tragedy when Kathleen fell sick, confined to her bedroom so that the illness was not passed on. Days before she succumbed to the illness, she wrote a single message to her daughter, a request to always have a good heart, a promise that good fortune would come her way if she was always kind. Ella swore to it, and her father bought her a locket with a picture of her mother in it, so she could carry around the memory of her mother even as she grew.
And as she grew, she kept to her routine of going to her mother’s grave every evening with her mother’s favourite pastry, a new drawing, or even singing if she was particularly despondent.
However, the Baron slowly began to realise precisely how much his late wife had done for their finances, he decided to take on a new wife, a young woman he had bonded with during his many trips, as she had similarly lost her spouse, and had two daughters of which she was very proud. Convinced of Ella’s need to have a mother and the manor's need for someone to direct finances while he was absent, he asked her to marry him. When she agreed, Ella pasted on a smile for her father who had a joyful smile on his face for the first time in two years but quietly wept as she sprinkled birdseed next to her mother’s grave that evening.
The new stepmother had brought her two daughters into the house, all three of whom were fair of face, but vile of heart. A bad time had begun for poor Ella.
“Is the stupid cornhusk to sit in the parlour with us?” They laughed, sounding more akin to a honking goose than anything else, as they tugged on her golden hair. “They who want to eat bread must earn it; out with the kitchen wench.”
The new Baroness took her pretty clothes away from her and presented them to her daughters, giving her an old grey bedgown and wooden shoes instead.
“Just look at the proud princess, how decked out she is!” Her stepsisters cried and laughed, and led her into the kitchen. There she had to do hard work from morning till night, get up before daybreak, carry water, light fires, cook, and wash, the long list of chores increased by the day as her stepmother let go of more and more servants so she could spend the Baron’s money more lavishly. Besides this, the sisters inconvenienced her in every way they thought of — they mocked her and emptied peas and lentils into the ashes so that she was forced to sit and pick them out again. In the evening, as her stepmother refused to give her a bed to go to, she had to sleep by the fireside in the ashes. And as on that account, she always looked dusty and dirty, her stepfamily dubbed her Cinderella.
It happened that one day Cinderella's father was going to the fair, and he asked his two step-daughters what he should bring back for them. The eldest immediately demanded lavish dresses, while the younger clamoured for pearls and jewels. When Ella’s father brought the question to her, she requested only the first branch which knocked against his hat on his way home.
So he bought the lavish dresses, pearls and jewels for his two step-daughters, and as he mounted his horse to begin his journey home, his hat brushed a hazel twig, knocking it off his head, so he broke it off and took it with him for his daughter. The stepdaughters were delighted with what he had gifted them and mocked Cinderella for her twig when her father’s back was turned. But she only thanked her father, went to her mother’s grave and planted the branch on it, and wept so much that the tears fell and watered it. Thrice a day, in between her chores, Cinderella would visit the branch, and as time went on, the branch grew into a beautiful tree.
Unfortunately, also as time went on, Cinderella’s father became weaker and weaker and was eventually bedridden in his exhaustion. The physician chalked it up to straining himself in his youth, even though the baron wasn’t that old really, but would be restored if he rested. However, that wasn’t what happened. An abrupt and violent fever spread throughout the Baron’s body, and he was gone within the week before Cinderella’s eighteenth birthday.
Cinderella wept, for even though her father was largely absent for much of her life and had been ignorant to the cruelties of her stepfamily, he still cared for her. The only grief her step-family showed was with black veils and dresses to the public. Behind closed doors, their spending was more extravagant than ever as they bought unnecessarily precious commodities and luxuries.
It happened, however, that the King announced a festival which was to last three days, and to which all the eligible and beautiful young girls in the country were invited so that the prince might choose himself a bride. When the stepsisters heard that they too were to appear among the many women invited, they were delighted and called Cinderella to prepare them accordingly.
Cinderella obeyed, but her heart clenched with despair, because she too would have liked to go to the festival as well, but she was only laughed at and mocked when she begged her stepmother to allow her to attend. “Cinderella, you are dusty and dirty! You cannot go to a festival! You have no clothes or shoes to make a suitable appearance, nor are you able to dance.”
As, however, Cinderella went on asking, the Baroness at last said, “I have emptied a dish of lentils into the ashes. If you have picked them out again in two hours, you may attend with us.”
Thrilled with the opportunity, Cinderella hurried to the kitchen and began picking out the lentils by hand. Seeing the fruitless task for what it was, she began to cry, and as she cried, the birds that she had fed since she was a young girl flocked in through the kitchen window and began picking out the grains into the dish. Hardly an hour had passed before the fireplace was empty of grains and the dish nearly full.
Cinderella thanked her feathered friends profusely and hurried to her stepmother, now believing that she would be able to attend the King’s festival. But the Baroness refused, saying, “Cinderella, you have no clothes and you cannot dance, you would only be the ridicule of our name.” And as Cinderella begged her stepmother to change her mind, the stepmother frowned. “Very well. If you can pick two dishes of lentils out of the ashes in one hour, you may attend with us.”
Before the rest of the hour was over, the birds and Cinderella had picked out the lentils from the ashes, but when she presented them to her step-mother, she was again refused, as she had no dress and could not dance, and Cinderella could only watch as her step-family left, dressed in their finery.
As no one was now home, Cinderella went to her mother’s grave beneath the hazel tree and wept. She wept so loudly that one of the birds flew off in distress to a nearby manor where another young woman sat, though she was garbed in a modestly pretty dress compared to Cinderella’s shabby maid clothes and the garishly lavish gowns of her step-sisters. She too, had frequently fed the birds outside her window since girlhood and becoming particularly fond of this one, so when she saw him twittering outside the panes of her window, wings beating in distress, she followed him without question.
He led her to a young maiden, one huddled under a tree, head bent in sorrow. Despite the filth and sorrow that coated her being, she was still one of the most stunning women she had ever laid eyes upon. Hesitantly, she cleared her throat and when the bright blue eyes that Adeline thought she could drown in if she regarded them for too long, her breath caught. Distantly, she heard the young woman questioning if she was a fairy on account of her sparkly dress, and in her attempt not to laugh, she barely caught a slip that could have ruined her.
“I am The Honourable Adeline Archambault, daughter of Viscount Pierre Archambault.” She introduced herself, ducking her head slightly so she could let a small smile slip at the woman’s childlike question. “Unfortunately, I am not a fairy. However, I might be able to assist with what ails you.”
The woman curtsied, introducing herself as the daughter of Baron Jacques Tremaine, Miss Ella Tremaine, a statement that took the viscount’s daughter aback slightly. Not only had the baron’s only daughter disappeared from society, allegedly ill, according to the second Baroness, but she was coated in dust and grime but not a bit bothered by it. As if she was used to it.
“If I might overstep, why are you not attending the King’s festival? A maiden such as yourself should be thrilled to attend such a party!”
“So why do you not attend?” Adeline cleared her throat, avoiding the piercing eye contact of Miss Ella, pretending instead to watch the birds that were pecking at birdseed on the ground next to the tree…and beside a grave. She chose not to comment.
“My father is ashamed of me.” She admitted, tucking a brown lock behind her ear. “I was presented with another entirely suitable marriage to an entirely suitable man, and I had to admit to my father that I couldn’t marry him, or any man, as my interests lay…elsewhere.”
Miss Ella raised an eyebrow. “Elsewhere?” Adeline nodded, and Miss Ella stuck out her hand, a surprising informal gesture for someone she had just met. “I insist you call me Ella.” It was now Adeline turn to raise an eyebrow, and Ella nodded, cheeks turning a bright rosy shade.
“If you wish to go to the festival, why don’t you attend in my place? I have numerous gowns that I have never worn and a nice carriage you can utilise. The servants won’t tell.” Eyes shining with hope, Ella agreed, and the two hurried to the Archambault manor.
It was this way that Ella found herself properly clean for the first time in years, hair twisted up into a complicated knot with silver beads and a violet woven in, and in a glimmering dress that was more fit for a princess than the forgotten daughter of a baron. She informed Adeline of this, humour in her tone, and was swatted for it, promptly being told that she should have been allowed to attend the festival in the first place.
They planned that she should leave at midnight so she had enough time to reach home and hand off the gown, shoes, and accessories, undo her hair, and dirty herself to persuade her stepfamily of the fact that she had not left the manor. Adeline extended the offer of one of the many empty rooms in her home, but Ella refused, noting that her father would think her to be more than a friend of Adeline and forbid it, reducing her to a nameless nobody out on the streets with no fire to warm herself by and not even crumbs to eat, a worse fate than the Cinderella of the Tremaine manor.
Ella was the last to arrive at the festival, as much was evident when she entered the ballroom and all eyes turned to her as she entered. She would have felt self-conscious if a young man hadn’t asked her to dance for the next song. They danced together for the next three songs, twirling around the dance floor together, even past her stepmother and stepsisters who thought she must be a foreign princess, she looked so grand in her silver dress. Her step-sisters felt envious of her, the centre of the entire room’s attention. When she quietly whispered that she wished a respite to him, he nodded and whisked her out to the palace gardens.
“What do you think of carnations, my lady?” He asked, his eyes flicking to the violet in her hair. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow.
“I find them quite lovely, but as it is, I prefer violets.” She responded, and the man’s shoulders relaxed.
“So, women?” He quipped, plucking a carnation from the flowerbed behind them.
“So, men?” She mimicked, and the two laughed. He introduced himself as Henri, and she told him that she was Ella. She traced the lines in the stone bench idly. “Is that why your father insists you attend the festival?”
“He wasn’t pleased when I told him of my…inclinations, insistent that I wouldn’t bear an heir with that attitude.” He sighed, letting his head drop back. “If I may speak candidly, he is desperate for grandchildren.”
“If I may say so, it is illogical for your father to assume that if you pick a wife, then you will have children.” Her dance partner’s eyebrow rose. “Some couples are unable to produce an heir for many reasons.” She picked at her nail. “My advice, should you want it, is to choose a wife that is uninterested in bearing heirs.” Henri chuckled, tapping her shoulder with his.
“And how am I to know if you are not just interested in the power I hold?” Her brow furrowed in confusion, and he hummed in understanding. “I see. You do not know then that I am —“
The royal bell tower interrupted him, marking the twelfth hour, and Cinderella jumped out of her seat and to her feet. Making her apologies and promising Henri that yes, she would be here tomorrow evening, she hastened out of the garden and out of the palace.
Adeline was waiting for her in the garden with her grey kirtle and a large bag that she hurriedly shoved the silver gown, shoes, and accessories into before giving Ella a cursory glance before she accepted Ella’s profuse thanks.
When Baroness Tremaine and her daughters arrived home, the eldest stepdaughter snuck into the kitchen to see Cinderella sleeping next to the cinders as she always did, still covered in the soot and ashes of the fireplace. Satisfied that the young Cinderella had a miserable evening while they danced with noblemen, she retired for the night.
The second night, Cinderella again begged her stepmother to allow her to attend the festival, Adeline insisting upon her doing this so the Baroness did not become suspicious. Again, she was refused and told that she had no beautiful gown or shoes and that she could not dance. As soon as they had departed, Cinderella made the short trip to her new friend’s home knocked on the servant’s door, and said —
“Pitter patter,
I have run far,
Please let me in
And dress me in magnificence.”
She was let in by Adeline, who beaming in delight at their shared secret, led her to her chambers, where she was again scrubbed clean and dressed up in splendour, this time in a gold dress with slippers embroidered with silk and silver. Her friend swept up her hair, knotting in shining crystals, and clasped a similar necklace around her neck.
The guests at the festival were again astonished at her beauty, and Henri again danced with her while no one else dared to even ask to cut in before they escaped to the garden where they conversed of many things: Henri’s hobby of painting and Ella’s hobby of singing, the delectable banquet inside, and Henri’s father’s expectations and Ella’s horrid stepfamily. Upon this last topic, Henri’s face took on a speculative expression.
“How considerably do you wish to escape this stepfamily of yours?”
“Dreadfully so.” She admitted, nibbling on a custard tart a servant friend of Henri’s had snuck out of the banquet for them. A friend that Ella suspected was more than the prince would care to admit on account of his eyes lingering on him as he departed. “For what reason do you ask?”
“Are you aware of the fact that I am the prince? The one everyone in the ballroom is clamouring to marry?” Ella’s gaze snapped to his, lowering her tart. “However, as you are aware…” She nodded, taking a bite of the tart, chewing slowly as she pondered the predicament. “If you would be willing, would you marry me?”
“Why, majesty, I’m flattered, but as I’ve mentioned, I’m rather fond of the ladies.” Henri smiled.
“Well, that’s rather the point. Marrying at all would ensure my father cease his aspersions, and you would be granted the ability to take leave of your stepfamily and even charge them for their crimes in court if you so wished.” Ella ruminated on the idea, nodding her head slowly. “Granted, any lovers taken would have to be discreet.”
“And children? The entire kingdom would be troubled if we did not produce a single heir.” Henri nodded and chewed on his lip.
“My parents had difficulty producing me and were seriously considering adopting before my mother discovered she was pregnant with me, so it’s not completely off the table.” He ran a hair through his elegantly coiffed hair. “The only thing that worries me is could I adopt a child and leave the rest behind?”
“If you improve upon the orphanage system, I am of the belief that one could live with themselves.” She smiled as the clock marked the twelfth hour. “And my answer to your question is yes.” Henri grinned and squeezed her outstretched hand in thanks.
“Forget your shoe tomorrow evening when you’re rushing out. I’ll persuade my father that I must find you and will use the shoe to ensure that someone doesn’t attempt to fake your identity.” Ella consented to the scheme and took her leave with great haste, weaving in between the dancing guests and out the gates of the palace.
Adeline was again waiting for her with her grey kirtle and the bag, accepting the gold gown and accessories before she glanced at her to ensure she had removed it all. Ella informed her of the plan she and the prince had hatched as she donned her kirtle and smeared dirt in her hair. Surprise glittered in Adeline’s eyes, but she nodded and charged Ella with instructing Prince Henri to the Archambault manor so she could direct him to the Tremaine castle and he could push for her location if they resisted. Ella nodded and hastened to the Tremaine manor to coat herself again in ash. She lay by the fireplace just in time for her younger stepsister to ensure she was there.
On the third day, she only saw her stepfamily off with slumped shoulders, glad of the fact that they knew not of what she was plotting with Henri and Adeline, and once they had set off, she slipped out the back door once more to Adeline, knocking again on the servant’s door.
“Pitter patter,
I have run far.
Please let me in,
And dress me in magnificence.”
The brunette provided her with another wondrous dress, this time the colour of amethysts, with accessories and jewellery to match.
This time though, before she could set off in the carriage, her friend leaned in and laid a soft kiss on her cheek, whispering a wish of luck in her ear. Ella’s cheeks were tinted pink the whole ride to the castle.
Henri was at her side the second she entered the ballroom, mischief and hope dancing in his eyes as they waltzed together. This time though, one nobleman was brave enough to ask Ella for a dance, and the prince refused for her, making a show of clutching her closer. Ella made her apologies, flicking Henri in the stomach when no one was looking.
They made off with a significant portion of the tarts this time as they escaped into the garden, though Henri’s friend, Claude, still made an appearance, much to Henri’s flusterment, especially when Ella bumped her shoulder with his as she savoured her tart happily. Once Claude had left and Ella felt she had teased her friend enough, she detailed where both her and Adeline’s homes were so he could find them with little effort and have an excuse to search the castle for her when the Baroness inevitably forbid her from making an appearance.
“Not even married yet and you’re ordering me around.” He teased, breaking the last tart in half and handing off the larger half.
“Consider the fact that you’re a gentleman.” She quipped, inhaling the tart happily. He laughed, and on a balcony far above the two, the king smiled in relief that his son had seen sense, oblivious of what was to come.
Once the clock struck midnight, Ella fled, and as planned, Henri chased after in pursuit. She barely managed to shrug a shoe off on the stairs while Henri purposefully lagged behind, caught in the throngs of eligible maidens who had convinced themselves the prince was interested in them. By the time he had made it through the crowds, Ella was already well on her way, leaving only her shoe behind.
That evening, Henri went to his father, the king, and told him that he would wed no other but the woman he had danced three nights with, the owner of the abandoned shoe while Ella and Adeline covered Ella’s tracks, though this time, Ella kept the shoe and hid it carefully before she dusted herself in ash and soot.
The next morning, the announcement for the search for the woman the Prince had become smitten with was proclaimed. The two stepsisters were very glad, as the pair had the same wish to marry the prince so they could spend the rest of their days in comfort.
However, when the Prince arrived at the manor of Archambault, the daughter of Viscount Archambault, Adeline, tipped him off that she was passing acquaintances with a young maiden that matched the prince’s description whose home was the Tremaines’ castle. And so, when the prince arrived at the castle, shoe in hand, to their door, he would not let either sister touch the shoe, insisting that the owner was golden-haired, therefore it could not be either of the Baroness’s daughters and ordered a search of the castle when she insisted that she and her daughters were the only ones present, as her family had been falling on lean times and decided to let all of the servants go temporarily.
So Cinderella was fetched, and upon laying eyes upon her, the Prince declared that he had found the right bride, and playing the part of a besotted Prince, proposed the second she revealed that she had the matching shoe. The step-mother and step-sisters were thunderstruck and flushed with rage, but Henri helped Ella on his horse and they rode off together.
And when the wedding of Prince Henri and Miss Ella was appointed to be held, the false sisters came, hoping to curry favour, but only found that they and their mother had been forbidden from partaking in the festivities.
The history books detailed that King Henri and Queen Ella were a happy couple who loved each other and their three adopted children, Kathleen, Charles, and Colette dearly until the end of their days. And that is true, but not in the way many assumed. Henri’s and Ella’s relationship only ever extended to friendship, and their true loves were with their dearest ones, Claude and Adeline. And when their children had their own children, it was common knowledge that they jested that their children had four grandparents instead of two, and though the people interpreted that to mean that it was because the Queen’s advisor, Lady Adeline, and the King’s advisor, Lord Claude, had been quite close to the royal children as they grew, only Ella and her family knew the truth.
The only thing everyone agreed on was that they all lived happily ever after.