The Next Cinderella

Chapter 8--A Servant's Got the Power

Silence hung heavy in the back of the library, as Myrielle tried to determine her next move.

Run? But where to? And in this dress? She'd never be able to out-run him. Or maybe the window was an option? Should she jump? But what about the thirty-foot fall? Broken bones were a guarantee, and she'd end up being captured all the same.

As for Fredrick, his brain was busy processing that the woman he'd seen in the crowd didn't merely have an odd sense of fashion; she was mentally ill. And what would he do about it now? He tried his best to size up the situation, while at the same time trying to avoid catching a look at her exposed lower half. The last time he'd seen that much skin was during a summer of love at age sixteen. The peach orchard...the cool grass...the feeling that the entire universe had been made just for them...He fought off the memory of the butcher's daughter, remembering that she was married now and had seven kids.

He could feel his temperature rising in the presence of the madwoman's legs, so he distracted himself by focusing on the sacks that were scattered around her feet. He was utterly baffled by the presence of these sacks and what could possibly be contained inside them. So he kicked one and a turkey leg rolled out.

And he finally understood.

His curiosity and arousal were replaced with a desire to defend the rules of the land. It was an urge that made him feel important and useful, something his daily tasks seldom offered.

"It is my duty to inform you of the consequence of this act," he declared, his words taking on a merciless tone.

"Consequence?" she whispered, her voice unusually meek.

"Yes, very serious..." He was once more distracted by the scandalous view. "Pull your skirt down," he said, forcing his eyes towards ceiling.

She obeyed his command and clasped her hands together tightly. "You can look now."

He studied her with a stern eye, remembering what needed to be done. "There's a specific protocol that must be followed," he said, "and it begins with the summoning of the knight's guard."

She dropped to the floor. "But I was only helping my family!"

As he watched her go from meek to desperate, he remembered how the king had administered a flour quota, all so he could continue hoarding resources for himself. Didn't the people deserve to take something back? Perhaps, if there wasn't this thing called the law of the land...

He crossed his arms in forced conviction. "Family isn't an excuse for what clearly amounts to treason." He'd seen the knights spend hours being trained on staring down criminals and he tried to do the same, but in his quest to be just as merciless he twitched.

She immediately noticed his split-second reflex and sighed. "Emilia will probably take it the hardest," she said sadly. "She's only six but I swear she goes on and on about cherry tarts; every morning it's the same, tarts, tarts, tarts!" She shook her head emphatically, hoping it would help. "And the cured meats!" She gasped. "My god the cured meats...they were exactly the protein father could've used to get his strength back." She noticed Fredrick's hint of curiosity and burrowed her way deeper into the crack. "He has chronic pain," she explained. "It used to just be an ache here or there, but now he spends most of his day in bed." She caressed the nearby turkey leg. "He couldn't even make it to the festival today, which is a big reason why I was tasked with bringing this food home..."

Fredrick studied her, wondering if it was a lie. Even if he wasn't sure, there was a clear intensity in her eyes as she spoke, and he found it impossible to ignore. "Why didn't you just go home then?" he said, the protocol for treason temporarily off the table. "Why are you here?"