His Side (standard:fairy tales, 3504 words)
Author: Eponine	Added: May 27 2001	Views/Reads: 4953/3157	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Cinderella, told by Prince Charming's point of view.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

of discovering her name were abandoned.  “Midnight?  Surely you would 
be forgiven if you arrived home a little later?”  But she said no, and 
took her leave.  I decided to chase her.  I at least needed a name, and 
to know she would return the next night.  I called after her: 
“Mademoiselle, at least give me your name!”  In the distance, I thought 
I heard something like “Ella,” but I could not be sure. 

I queried the guards as to ‘Ella’s’ possible whereabouts.  But no
princess was seen leaving the palace gates, only a ragged kitchen maid, 
carrying what appeared to be dancing slippers.  But none were certain, 
and none paid the utmost attention to her direction.  I was crushed.  
Back in the gardens where we had been talking, I found something 
glittering in the moonlight.  Music from the festivities inside floated 
out to me, but I ignored everything.  Except the emerald and pearl ring 
that had adorned a hand I so desperately wished to hold again.  I 
pressed the object to my lips for a moment, before sliding it onto my 
smallest finger. 

That night I only dreamt of Ella.  I had come to calling her that, for I
thought the name fit her.  Ella.  I hoped that she would return the 
following night, if for no other reason but to claim the ring. ‘Well,’ 
thought I, ‘at least Father will be happy.  Of course, I doubt he will 
be if she never returns and I refuse to marry any other.’ 

She came back at the same time as the previous night. .  She was
splendid in a gown of silver.  The bodice was covered with a pale blue 
lace, and over it all sparkled sapphires, diamonds and opals. This eve 
I was certain of the glass slippers.  Her hair was crowned with more 
sapphires.  I was so entranced I forgot to ask her name.  “Hello, 
Prince Charming,” she curtsied.  “Hello, darling.  I thought I asked 
you not to be so formal with me,” I smiled.  “You did, but I do not 
think that the King, nor the others in attendance, would 
quite...understand.”  Then I remembered the ring I wore, which was 
hers.  As I handed it back to her, she said, “Thank you.  But I left it 
for you, because I did not know if I would be able to come back this 
night.” 

Much of the evening proceeded as the last.  Again she spoke with the
horrible girls as though she knew them, though they showed no sign of 
recognizing her.  After we had been served supper, we went off on our 
own again.  This time I remembered to ask her name.  “Does it matter, 
sir?” she asked in response.  “Of course it does!  How do you expect me 
to find you again?”  She did not answer for a long time.  “This all 
must be a dream.  It is not real, it can’t be.”  She said this more to 
herself than to me.  To me, she DID say, “If you really wish to find 
me, you will.  Now, I must leave, for I am to be home by midnight.”  As 
she turned to leave I grasped her hand.  “At least let me accompany 
you,” I said.  “I cannot.  I wish I could, but I cannot.”  And she 
disappeared. 

Again the guards said that they had only seen a scullery maid of some
sort pass through the gates.  “Tomorrow night, then, I want you to 
follow anyone who leaves at about this time.  No matter if they may be 
a queen or a keeper of chickens, you must find where she lives.”  They 
agreed, of course.  No one would dispute my wishes. 

After all the guests had left, I found myself pacing up and down the
Grand Hall.  I knew I was in the way of servants trying to clean up, 
but I cared not.  When at last I went to bed, the unknown beauty, 
again, plagued my dreams.  ‘Ella, what is your real name?’ I asked her. 
 And in my dream, she only laughed and said, ‘That is my real name, for 
I have no real name.’  I was confused when I awoke.  And, after a bad 
night’s sleep, my father wished to be “graced with my presence.”  
Terrific.  I would have to do him that honour, of course.  Too bad I 
would not be as sharp as usual. 

“Son, who is that girl I keep seeing you with?” he demanded.  He was not
going to like my response.  “When I find out, I will tell you, Father.” 
 “What do you mean?  You do not know who she is?”  No, he did not like 
it.  “She refuses to tell me.  I think her name is Ella, or something 
such as that.”  My father immediately summoned courtiers.  “Have you 
ever heard of a girl called Ella?”  There was one lady who spoke.  “I 
know of a girl called CINDERella.  She belongs to Madame Cosiune, and 
her daughters.  Some say that she was the daughter of the Comte de 
Fromd.  She disappeared shortly after her father’s remarriage without a 
trace. However Madame Cosiune is a respectable woman, and I doubt that 
she is the same girl.” 

Unfortunately I had no time that day to find out where Cinderella lived.
 There were too many duties to being the crowned prince, and my father 
made sure I would learn them all.  Before the final night came, though, 
I had a chance to seek out my mother, and ask her about Madame Cosiune. 
 She had heard of her, but that was all.  Then I asked about the Comte 
de Fromd.  “Ah, yes, his first wife’s death was a tragic one.  Most 
think that he is very lonely for her.  Even though he loved his 
daughter very much, he could not get over his loss.  She was perhaps 
ten at the time, the girl.  I knew he had remarried, but I cannot 
recall to whom.  Oh, yes, I do, she is your Madame Cosiune.  She has 
two daughters, the rather distasteful sisters at our balls.  Anyway, 
his daughter, her name was...Mirabelle.  Many of the women would call 
her ‘la Belle de Lorraine,’ for that was where her mother’s family was 
from.  After her father married la Madame, she was never seen again.  
Why are you asking all this?”  I told her there was no time to explain, 
but I would, sometime.  ‘Mirabelle,’ thought I.  ‘Of incredible beauty. 
If that is her name, it suits her well...’ 

Time dragged on, and at last the ball began.  Beforehand, my father had
requested to meet the strange girl.  I arranged, as well, for one of 
the servants to pour pitch over the outdoor staircase leading into the 
palace after all of the guests had arrived.  That, I hoped, would slow 
her down when she tried to run. 

Ella, or Mirabelle, came at her usual time. Tonight she wore a golden
gown, with rubies and amethyst.  The dress was even more exquisite than 
the last, if that were possible.  I saw that it was adorned with an 
expensive golden lace. A diamond-encrusted tiara sat gently on her 
head, with her long hair partially down. The rest of her jewels 
mirrored a king’s ransom.  “Mirabelle indeed,” I said under my breath.  
Everyone had stopped conversations and dancing to look at the angel who 
had stepped into the Hall.  I rushed to her, seeing she was 
uncomfortable with such attention.  She curtsied to me, and our 
audience became alive again.  “Come, my father is anxious to meet you,” 
I said to her.  “Oh...I don’t think that is such a good idea,” she said 
in a timid voice.  “Why not?  He will love you, I am sure.  And my 
mother will, too.”  “It is not that I am afraid of their meeting me, 
exactly.  But this shall be the last night, I am certain, that we will 
be together.  I would hate for them to...oh, I don’t know.  I just 
don’t think it is a good idea.” 

I was still trapped on what she had said.  “Our last night together,”
were her words.  “Nay, Mademoiselle.  If you will consent, it shall be 
our last night unwed.”  I hoped I did not sound too stupid.  She looked 
away, and when she spoke, her voice was miserable.  “I would accept, 
but my family will not.”  I froze.  Most, no all, of the families in 
the kingdom would more than gladly give their daughter’s hand to me.  
She continued on, as though she could read my thoughts: “My family is 
the sort who would be rather jealous.  But let us not worry about that, 
we still have a few hours to be together.”  I could not help but think 
of the two sisters who were Mirabelle’s stepsisters.  After supping, we 
journeyed again to the gardens.  Soft music floated out to us.  “Will 
you ever tell me your name?” I asked sullenly.  “There is no point now. 
We never shall see each other after this,” she said. 

“What if I were to guess your name?” What on earth had I just said?  “I
doubt you could,” she answered.  “Is it Ella?”  “Something like that,” 
she murmured.  “Someone told me that she thought your name was 
Mirabelle,” I said gently.  She shivered, and I wrapped my arms around 
her.  “Who told you that?” She tried to sound as though she was 
brushing it off lightly.  “Mirabelle is a wonderful name,” I whispered. 
 “Please...dreams cannot last forever,” she whispered back.  "So you 
are not 'la Belle de Lorraine?"  She tensed, and I said no more.  I ran 
my fingers through her hair.  “Stay longer tonight,” I said.  “I have 
told you I cannot.  If my mother finds me missing, she will have my 
head.”  Mother, she said, not stepmother.  Then perhaps this was not 
Mirabelle.  She leaned against me, and I held her tighter.  Finally she 
said, “Lets dance.  We can hear the music well enough out here.”  And 
so we did.  As a waltz ended I drew my face closer to hers.  And the 
clock struck midnight. 

She bolted.  “Wait!” I cried.  “Come back, please!”  She had dashed
through the Grand Hall.  The guests stared after her.  I pushed my way 
through the crowd, trying to reach her.  At staircase I could see her 
silhouette stop abruptly.  The pitch must have slowed her; I had 
forgotten all about it.  “My love, please come back!” I called in vain, 
as she freed herself and ran.  I looked down.  Left in the black, 
sticky tar was a golden slipper.  The guards approached me as I 
retrieved it.  “Milord,” said the commander, “we followed the girl as 
you requested.  However she...disappeared.  I had my men search the 
area, but she was no where to be seen.” 

As he finished, a man of about fifty came up to me, and bowed.  “Your
Highness, I believe I can help you find the girl.”  I was shocked, but 
I had enough sense to dismiss the guards, first.  “Sir, I do not know 
who you are, but I would be more than grateful for your help.”  He 
pulled me aside.  “Your Highness, I know of...the magic...that has 
brought you two together.  What you must do is promise to marry the 
girl whose foot will fit in the slipper, for there is only one who can 
wear it comfortably.”  Here he was cut off by a woman who said, “My 
husband, we must be leaving now.”  Then she nodded curtly to me and 
half bowed.  I was astonished. 

Immediately I told my father of the conversation I had with the strange
man.  “Well, son, I think you ought to do as he says.”  I agreed, 
though I knew it would take days to find Mirabelle.  The next morn I 
set out to find my love.  The first three days I passed with young 
maidens trying desperately to fit their foot into the shoe, but it was 
too small for them all.  On the fourth day I came upon the house of the 
two despised sisters.  I was amazed as the woman from a few nights 
before, the one who had interrupted my conversation with the man, 
strode into the room.  He came in next, looking as though he were about 
to be hung.  The herald announced him to be le Comte de Fromd.  I kept 
myself from looking as startled as I felt.  I was not surprised when 
the girls were introduced as Cosuines.  The eldest took the slipper and 
went upstairs with it.  When she returned she announced a perfect fit.  
Indeed it was, but I knew she was not Mirabelle.  However, I had 
promised that I would marry she whose foot fit the shoe.  I mounted her 
on my horse, and climbed up behind her.  As we rode toward the palace, 
a little bird began to sing, “The shoe is filled with blood, this 
girl’s not thy beloved.”  I stopped the horse and looked at the foot.  
Indeed, part of the toe had been cut off for the shoe to fit. 

So we turned around, and I delivered the girl back to her home. 
Mysteriously, the blood which had stained the slipper had disappeared.  
The next girl took the slipper to her room.  When she returned, the 
slipper fit again.  She also looked as if she had eaten a lemon.  But I 
was not horribly stupid, besides which I could hear the faint echo of 
the bird chirping, “The shoe is filled with blood, this girl’s not thy 
beloved.”  I ordered her to remove the shoe and then put it back on; 
lamely she did so.  Part of her heel was missing, in order that the 
foot could be stuffed into the slipper.  I took it from her as she 
wept.  Again the blood was gone, and I asked, “Sir, do you have any 
other daughters?”  The wife answered for her husband, “Yes, but she was 
not at the ball, I can guarantee that.  She spends all of her time in 
the kitchen hearth, such a silly girl she is!” 

I requested to see her anyway.  “Why, we haven’t seen her all day.  She
is probably playing with the pigs.”  I stood and asked where the 
kitchen was.  I was shown into it; no one occupied the room.  At the 
same time, I ordered the herald to the barn, and told him to bring me 
any maidens he might find.  He returned without anyone.  I would not be 
defeated, though.  “Comte, where is she?”  He wore a grim expression, 
and stood.  I, too, stood, and followed as he climbed the steps.  In 
the unkempt servants’ quarters, he opened a closet door, and opened a 
much smaller door within.  And out came my Mirabelle, dressed in rags.  
Ash and dust covered her face and dulled her hair.  Her eyes were red 
and puffy, and tears had cut through some of the cinders on her face.  
She wore thin, dirty rags that looked worse compared to the thought of 
her ball gowns.  And I loved her even more. 

I escorted her down to the parlour and into a chair.  Madame Cosuine and
her daughters grimaced, while I beamed with joy.  I took the slipper 
and slid it onto Mirabelle’s foot, more for effect than any other 
reason, for I knew she would be my bride.  When I at last tore my eyes 
from hers I found her father smiling.  The other ‘ladies’ in the house 
were sobbing.  I held no pity for them.  Even if I wanted to, my heart 
was so full of love that I probably could not have found room.  As we 
rode towards the palace, the bird sang,"The shoe is not filled with 
blood, this girl is thy beloved." 

Mirabelle became the princess she rightfully deserved to be.  Never
again did she touch a broom or pail.  Her father was forgiven for 
letting the stepfamily get away with so much.  They, however, became 
simple servants in the palace kitchens.  And we spent every day 
together, blessed that the kingdom remained peaceful during our 
sixty-three years of rule. 


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