Dancing on Glass

Our Secrets

"Well of course they didn't think you were a servant, you used my nickname," Jazz said from where he was sat on the stone wall of the balcony that over looked the waters, leaning back on his hands.

Cinderella glared at him through her mask, hands on her hips.

"Don't say it like it's so obvious," she snapped, "I've only ever known you by one name. You're the one who insisted Jazz was your real name."

"Actually all I said was I liked my name," Jazz pointed out and Cinderella was tempted to shove him over the balcony.

"It's not funny, Jazz! I was scared!"

Jazz straightened and reached forwards, holding out a hand. She eyed it for a moment, glaring, but gave him her hand regardless and he pulled her closer until she stood between the V of his legs and her face turned a blazing red, looking away and pulling back.

"I'm sorry," he muttered making her blink and look up, "I'm sorry I never told you and that I wasn't there to help you. I didn't think a situation like that would happen. I'm glad there was someone there to help you."

"So what is it?" Cinderella asked, looking up.

Jazz tilted his head to the side.

"What is your real name?"

Jazz grinned a slow smile, the moonlight behind them casting half his face in shadow, and shook his head. "No."

"Why?!" she cried, shoving back from him.

"Not until you tell me who you are," Jazz said, swinging off his seat and leaning down so they were at eyelevel, "You told me Cinderella was your real name, I still don't believe you. I cannot believe that you are just some servant girl with nothing more to her."

He pulled a letter from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it up.

"Any old servant girl isn't threatened and almost poisoned," he said.

Cinderella looked at the letter, then looked away and Jazz straightened.

All humour filtered out of him as he looked down at the top of her head and Cinderella suddenly realised all that humour had just been a façade from the beginning. He wasn't in a good mood, not in the slightest.

He was furious, she could now feel the beginning of his fury radiating off him like a heatwave, he was just better at hiding it then her. He'd annoyed her in his usual teasing way because it made her relax, even if she was angry at him, before he broached the topic he really wanted to discuss.

His hand suddenly came up to touch her jaw and lift her head to look at him and he slowly tuned her head left and right, as if examining her.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked, his voice low and deep.

"I'm alright," Cinderella muttered, pulling her jaw away, "As I said in the letter, I didn't drink it."

"You realise you cannot stay there, right?" he asked, putting the letter away. "You have to leave. Just come here. I can—"

"Stop, Jazz, I had this conversation already. I can't leave my home," Cinderella said.

"Stay there and you might not get a choice," Jazz said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"No one wants to keep a dead body in the house. It doesn't fit the décor."

Cinderella shoved him aside and walked passed, glaring as she looked out over the balcony.

"Why are you being so stubborn about this?" Jazz cried, spinning to her, "What are you trying to achieve by staying there? Whatever you want to do, you can do it here. From the safety of the palace! I will make it so no one can ever hurt you again!"