Cinderella

Confessions

Blood sprayed from Cyrus's nose in a vibrant red arc, painting the ground as he fell to it.

"Where is she?" Winslow bellowed, wrapping a fist in his shirt and jerking him upright.

Cyrus's head lolled to the side. "Can't tell you," he panted. "Don't..."

Winslow hit him again, splitting his knuckles open as they connected harshly with his cheekbone. Again, Cyrus dropped to the ground, and again Winslow hauled him back up.

"Answer me!" He dragged Cyrus's face until it was but an inch from his and hissed, "I promise you, your captain cannot punish you any more than I will."

Eyes full of fear, Cyrus screamed, "I don't know! They never told me anything! I'm not even one of them!"

Winslow froze. "What?"

Cyrus flinched, though it was the first quiet word Winslow had said. "They paid me in gold-a fat lot of it, too! I was to pretend to be one of them, so that the demands could be spoken. The captain wouldn't dare risk one of his own men, or the chance that someone who knew their location would be in the hands of the king."

Winslow ground his teeth together. "Then just where were you leading us? And how did we manage to fall into their hands?!"

Cyrus tugged away, but Winslow held tight. "I was taking you into the deep woods. I have a place where I could stay for a few days there. I planned to escape you. It was simply bad luck that we actually stumbled upon them."

For a moment, a hot white fire of anger rose furious in Winslow and he thought he might kill Cyrus, if anything by accident, but then it disintegrated, crumbling to nothing but ash. He had no hope, no hope of saving her. There was nothing he could do. He would travel to the deepest pits of Hell for her, but in this he was helpless.

His fingers uncurled limply from Cyrus's shirt as he felt his knees give out from under him. Dropping to the ground, he put his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Cinders," he whispered.

The crunch of heavy steps on the forest floor alerted him to Victor's return and he heard the man's gruff voice. "Really did ye in, didn't he, Cyrus?"

"I deserved it," Cyrus said quietly, in a tone almost like regret. "I let my greed cloud my judgment. I apologize, Winslow."

Sneering, Winslow raised his face. "Do you expect me to forgive you? You're sorry, so we can become great friends? I have not forgotten that you attempted to rape my fiancée, once. Or that you condemned her to those people."

Cyrus sat beside him on the ground, staring at his feet. "Your fiancée is a very beautiful woman, and, as we've discussed, my moral value isn't exactly up to par. But I never meant to give her over to them. I am not that cruel."

"You suggested it!" Winslow said venomously. "Your words are probably what prodded her to give herself to them."

Quietly, Cyrus said, "I was playing a part."

Victor belched loudly and patted his stomach, then he sat. "I rather like that girl. She's got spirit in her. What do you say we track 'em down, those good for nothing whore's bastards? We could probably find them."

Cyrus snorted. "And how are we to fight off an entire band of criminals? Our only fighter is a drunk, Winslow's too heartsick to think straight, and I'm a coward."

Curiously, Winslow looked him over. "We?"

Shrugging, Cyrus scraped some dirt off his boots. "I got you into this mess, didn't I? Least I could do is try to get you out of it. Not that it'd ever work. There are not nearly enough of us."

Winslow sighed and ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "You know, we are a lot smarter than them, for the most part. We could always just...sneak in."

Cyrus frowned. "How do you plan to do that?"

Winslow smiled. "I think I have the perfect plan."

...

Mariette sat back on her heels. "How long have you known?"

"Always, I think," he said quietly, though his voice had risen slightly out of its whisper. "Never really sure. Not until I dreamt of you and her-and you were the same."

She looked down into her lap and whispered, "Are you angry that I didn't tell you?"

"Little," he murmured. "If you had, we'd be married by now."

Surprised at the completeness of the statement, Mariette glanced up and gasped. His eyes were open and, while foggy, were looking at her. "I am so sorry," she told him. "I condemned you to Lenora, didn't I?"

His mouth moved slightly into what was almost a smile. "And that is what I will have trouble forgiving. I apologize, Mariette, but your stepsister is horrid."

Mariette laughed. "And you haven't even seen her before her morning wash! I don't believe I've ever seen a worse sight!"

"Would you have married me?" he asked quietly, sobering. "If I hadn't said what I did, the last we spoke? If, instead of trying to hide you as if I were ashamed, I had begged for your hand as I wanted to?"

"Yes," she whispered, because it was the truth. "But now...it isn't possible."

His eyes fell and brokenly he stated, "You love him. I always knew you did, I think. That's why I was always so furious at him. I felt that you cared for me, but with him you always seemed...more. Even that first day, when I found the two of you laughing in the corridor like children, I was so very jealous. I've thought about that day many times."

She simply repeated, "I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I love you, too. I have since the day you asked me to ride with you."

"I've loved you since you thanked the servant for holding the door," he murmured.

Mariette sighed. "Whatever are we going to do with ourselves?"

"I remember," Alex said quietly, and Mariette noted that she was calling him by his name again, at least in her mind, "where I am. I know you wanted to keep it from me, Mariette, but I remembered almost as soon as the tent came into focus." He took a large gulp of air and closed his eyes. He whispered, "I am afraid."

She squeezed his hand tightly. "As am I."