Cinderella

Captain James

Winslow stepped into the cell, his eyes even in the dark flashing with an anger Mariette hadn't seen before. He stalked toward the bandit, but before he was half way there the bandit pushed the knife further into her skin. She hissed in pain, and the bandit said, "Stop. Unless you want to see her die."

Winslow froze, raising both of his hands as if to show that they were empty. Though his gesture meant peace, his eyes were fiery. "Don't touch her," he hissed. "Or I promise you, you will regret it."

The bandit laughed and once again pressed his lips to the bare skin of Mariette's shoulder. The chapped, scratchy feel of them was as grotesque as his breath, and Mariette once again tried to pull away. "No," the bandit said conversationally, as if they were having a pleasant chat over tea, "I think I'll keep here. She really is rather beautiful, even in the dark." One of his large calloused hands began pulling at her hands that were the only thing holding her dress in place. She struggled to hold her hands where they were, but the bandit was much stronger than her.

"Stop," Winslow ordered, and the tone of his voice caused the bandit's hands to freeze. "I said don't. Touch. Her. What part of that did you not understand?" Much faster than Mariette would have thought, Winslow surged at the bandit and knocked him to the ground. Unfortunately, with the bandit's arm still tight around her, she landed on top of him. Struggling to hold her dress together, Mariette scrambled out of the pile while he was still disoriented.

Within moments, Winslow had the knife out of the bandit's grasp and firmly pressed into his throat. He looked at Mariette. "Still wish to speak to him?"

Mariette's heart was stuttering, the beats erratic, but she nodded. "Please." She looked at the bandit in distaste. "Do you always greet women that way?"

He smiled, unashamed. "Mostly. With the exception of my mother." Winslow pressed the knife a little deeper.

"Do you have a name?" Mariette asked the man on the floor, trying to re-lace her dress without showing anything.

"Cyrus," he said, breathing shallowly as not to push to knife deeper.

"Cyrus," Mariette said, testing it. "Where is the prince?"

He snorted. "Is this a joke? You don't know the Captain...you don't know what he would do to me."

Winslow smiled wickedly. "It cannot be any worse than what I will do. After all, I am very angry with you for your plans concerning my fiancée."

Cyrus's eyes narrowed. "They will be much, much worse. Captain James would castrate his own brother if it would earn him a profit."

Mariette's heart clenched. "Winslow, that's the man who has him. We need to save him."

Winslow nodded. "I know. But how can we rescue him if we don't even know where he is? We have nothing to go on."

Cyrus smiled (at least Mariette thought he smiled-a flash of yellowish-white showed for a moment against the floor) and said, "Not 'nothing'. I can tell you the name of the wood he is hiding in. I can even lead you there."

"Why?" Mariette asked, her eyebrows bunching. "Why help us like that? Wouldn't it be easier to just tell us where he is, instead of lead us there?"

"He thinks to trap us," Winslow ground out, through teeth clenched by anger. "He thinks that he can tell his captain he has even more hostages, one that the prince potentially cares for."

"Then he is underestimating us," Mariette said quietly, a complete opposition to Winslow's hard tone. "And we will win."

"Are you suggesting," Winslow nearly whispered, "that we go with him? Are you mad, Mariette?"

She shrugged. "We'll bring a guard-just one, so that he agrees, and the two of you will keep watch at night. I would, but it appears Nicolas's lessons have done less good than I thought."

"Smart girl," Cyrus said. "You should listen to her."

Winslow sighed and sat back from the man. "I know."

"Do we have an agreement?"

Winslow glanced back at Mariette and she nodded. He said, "We have an agreement."

"I'm not travellin' with some good for nothing bandit!" Victor bellowed.

Cyrus held tight to the bars-which Mariette and Winslow had since vacated-and smiled. He thought that he was winning. The other guards had left for dinner, leaving only Vincent, Mariette, Winslow, and a very smiley bandit.

"We'll keep watch," Winslow admonished. "Carefully," he added, eyeing a piece of lace on Mariette's bodice which still hung loose.

"I don't care who your papa is, Winslow, it simply ain't worth the risk!" Victor's eyes focused on a beer stain on his long tunic, and he drunkenly tried to rub it away (to no avail).

"Please," Mariette said, inching more toward Winslow as Cyrus's hand slipped through the bar and onto her hip. "We would owe you for a century."

Victor (apparently an old friend of Winslow's father's) eyed her. "Girly, you don't know what you're getting yourself into. Why don't you go upstairs and knit a shawl. You wouldn't last a day."

Mariette huffed and placed her hands on her hips. "Pardon me, but I feel inclined to alert you to the fact that I have been trained to defend myself."

One of Victor's thick eyebrows rose. He nodded to the loose lacing of her bodice. "You missed a few holes there, girl."

Mariette blushed.

"Regardless," Winslow interjected, "we need to find the prince. And this," he gestured to Cyrus, "is the only way to do it. No matter how much I don't like it."

Victor sighed and scratched his thinning hair. "Alright," he said, after much internal debate. "I'll help you. But only 'cause it gets me outta work." He pulled out a key and unlocked Cyrus's cellar.

The bandit sighed and sarcastically bowed at Victor. "Much obliged, kind sir. Now let's find Captain James."