Cinderella

Falling the girl

As Mariette left each evening to train with Nicolas, she began to feel a growing suspicion that she was being followed, but by whom she did not know. It was subtle hints that gave it away-a quick twinge of fabric within the trees, a snap of a twig behind her. Once, Mariette thought she saw the full figure of a person, but it was merely a trick of the light, so she thought.

"Someone is following me," she said bluntly to Nicolas as he adjusted her shoulders (she was practicing how to shift her weight).

The pair had been meeting in his personal tent at night to practice, as she wasn't entirely sure Monsieur Olivier would approve of their endeavors.

"Hmmm...," he murmured. "I can't think of a reason why anyone would wish to follow you. Unless, of course, it is Monsieur Olivier. But, if it were him, he would have interrupted long ago."

Nicolas stood behind her, and grasped her fist in his. He raised it in the proper position, they curled her fingers correctly. "This," he said, tightening his hand around hers, "is how you make a fist. Not that shameful thing you were trying earlier." He dropped her hand then, and stepped away. "Now you try."

Mariette tried to do what he had told her, surprised that something as simple as the position of one's fingers would alter the strength in a hit. "Like this?"

He nodded. "Well done. Now angle your body like this..." He shifted her shoulders, then her hips. When he stepped back, he was blushing.

"What?" she asked curiously, not shifting the way she was standing.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Though Mariette was curious, she didn't question him again, and soon their lesson was over. He held the flap of his tent open for her as she stepped outside. "I will see you again tomorrow, yes?" After her quick nod, he continued in a whisper, "If you feel again that you are being followed, we will search outside. Hopefully, it's just a young admirer."

Again, Mariette nodded. "Thank you, Nicolas."

The next night, as Mariette trudged through the dreary tents, she heard the distinct sound of footsteps behind her. She slipped into Nicolas's tent and ran to his side.

He took in her wide-eyed fear, her raspy breath, and ducked outside of the tent. "Hello?" he called loudly, and Mariette heard a crunching of feet on leaves, too light to come from Nicolas.

"How could you?!" a feminine voice called, and Nicolas gasped, "Melina?!"

Mariette forced her frozen feet to move, and she stepped out of the tent. Melina's green eyes were flashing with an anger Mariette could not place, and when Melina spun to face Mariette the anger did not dissipate.

"And you!" Melina gasped, practically steaming with anger. "I would expect as much from him," she waved a hand at Nicolas, "but you are a woman. What iswrong with you? Do you know how much this would hurt my brother?! What are you thinking?"

Nicolas placed a hand on Melina's shoulder but she shook it off. Calmly, as if to settle her, he said, "What are you talking about?"

Melina's responding laugh was sarcastic. "I am talking about her sneaking into your tent each night. When she first arrived, I deluded myself into believing that she had come to help my brother; that, for some reason, she was doing this for him. Never," she dropped her voice coldly, "never in my wildest dreams, did I think she had arrived to see you in the dead of the night."

When Mariette realized what Melina had thought, she began to laugh. This elicited cold stares, but she could not squelch her giggles. "I'm sorry," Mariette said, trying to choke back the laughs. "But, with all due respect, you are insane. Nicolas is teaching me self-defense."