Cinderella

Riding Carabelle

Before the king inherited his crown-when he was but a child with only one sister and no brothers-he had been thin and nimble, the fastest runner in the kingdom. This was probably due in part to that the other boys were to afraid to win a race against the prince, but still, he had been limber.

This was long since true. Years had added to his bulk, now he was positively enormous. His eyebrows drooped over his head, white with age, and his hair had almost disappeared entirely. He was also extremely disagreeable.

"Let me try to understand you," he ground out from his place on the throne. "You want me to allow you to leave here with a convicted prisoner and a member of my guard, to try to find my son, who, discerned by days and days of searching done by my guards is impossible to find."

Carefully, Winslow said, "Yes, your highness. He is a great friend to me and my fiancée. It will be of no cost to you; if you trust your guard such we should be safe in the bandit's presence. And if not," he sighed regretfully, "you will only have lost a lazy servant and a girl you could care less about."

The king sat back in his chair. "And, of course, our hostage. Our only lead as to where they are hiding my son, the heir to the throne. The only leverage we have against those criminals."

"Your highness," Mariette spoke up. "If I may?" He seemed startled but he gestured for her to speak. "There are two options here," she continued. "One," she held out a hand, palm up, "you allow us to save your son. I know that this is a slim chance, but it's the only chance at this point, since you probably are not willing to pay the ransom. Two," she held out the other hand the same way, "you allow your son to die." When he grunted and began to speak, she continued quickly, "As you have so eloquently put, these are criminals, your highness. Even if you do pay the ransom-which, I assure you, is ridiculously high, even for a prince-they will undoubtedly kill him. Their entire goal is chaos; with the prince gone, the throne would be vulnerable."

The king seemed started; this had apparently not occurred to him. "You're sure of this, girl?"

Mariette nodded timidly. "Unfortunately."

He sat back into his throne, one hand tugging at his white beard. "Then," he said with a loud sigh, "I suppose I have no choice. Go."

Winslow exhaled. "Thank you, your highness. But there is one more thing we must ask of you."

Again, the old king grunted. It seemed to be his most expressive form of speech.

"We need horses," Winslow said quickly. "And food, and blankets. We are only servants; we have not the money to supply them ourselves."

The king waved a hand. "Fine, fine. Take what you need. But do not put that...creature...on a horse by himself."

"Of course not, your highness," Winslow said, bowing. They stood for a few moments more, awkwardly.

"What are you waiting for?" the king demanded. "Go!"

Mariette was riding Clarabelle again. The stable hand had told them to choose whichever horses they'd like, since the prince was the only one who enjoyed riding them anyway. Cyrus was riding with Victor, and neither of them were all too happy with the arrangement. She was also happily dressed in riding garb.

"Cinders," Winslow said, slowing his horse until they were riding side by side. "You do not, by chance, have an actual plan to save the prince, do you?"

"Oh," Mariette said, shifting in her saddle. "Well, not exactly..." When Winslow sighed, she quickly said, "But how hard can it be? We enter the camp, tell this Captain James that he have one of his bandits, trade him for the prince and we go."