Cinderella waited there, knees shaking, teeth chattering, the whole time fearing that Mr. Laverre would discover she had escaped. But when several minutes had passed and his carriage did not return, she finally stirred.
One muscle at a time, she picked herself up. Everything hurt. Her ribs, her back, her hands. Cuts and scrapes nicked her knees, and her fingers were bleeding. But she was free.
Suddenly, she heard a familiar whimper, and a wet, furry creature brushed against her calves.
“Bruno!”
Cinderella had never been so glad to see him. “You followed me all the way from home! You brave, brave dog.”
She hugged him, taking comfort in his familiar face. Together they rose and wandered the neighborhood in hopes of finding a kind soul who might take pity on them. But the streets were empty, and no wonder—no sane person would be out during a rainstorm like this. The rain had snuffed the lamps, and darkness wreathed every inch of the road ahead.
Each house was gated, every shop locked. There was no hope of finding help at this hour, not in this weather. The rain was relentless; they’d have to wait until the storm passed, or until dawn . . . whichever came first.
They found shelter under the awning of a closed storefront. Cinderella tried knocking several times, but no one came to the door. Through the glass was a marvelous display of layered cakes decorated with pink rosettes and candied fruits, chocolate-laced cookies, and buttery pastries dotted with jam.
“Come on, Bruno,” she said, wincing as her stomach growled with hunger. She leaned against the store’s brick wall and gathered her dog under the awning. “Let’s sleep here tonight.”
She hugged him close, listening to his pulse thump steadily against her racing heart. Gradually her temples stopped throbbing, and the pain in her side dulled.
“Oh, Bruno, I’m sorry.”
Her dog looked at her as if he didn’t understand why she was apologizing to him.
“You could be home with a hot meal and a warm bed right now.” She stroked his ear playfully. “You could be drinking a nice warm bowl of milk, or chasing Lucifer out of the kitchen.” She drew him close, burying her face in his warm fur. “But I’m glad you’re here, loyal as always. Thank you, Bruno.”
Her terror subsided, but fear lingered. New fears. Practical ones, brought on by the unyielding rumble in her stomach, the rain sinking into her skin, and the chill moving into her bones that her threadbare shirt could not prevent.
What would tomorrow bring? Cinderella wondered as she shivered. She had no money, no family, no place to go. Without her glass slipper, she was sure the palace guards would turn her away at the front gates. In her rags, with the bruise on her head and scratches on her arms, who would believe that she had danced with the prince at the ball? That she was the maiden the whole kingdom was looking for?
One thing was for certain: if she didn’t find food and shelter, she and Bruno wouldn’t last long on their own.
It was what she’d always feared. Any time she’d secretly fantasized about leaving her stepmother’s house, this was the reality that had chased the dream away.
“The world is a cruel, cruel place, Cinderella,” her stepmother used to tell her when she was a child. “You should be grateful to me for giving you a roof over your head. How do you think you’d fare out in the world? You, without any worldly experience—an orphan, unwanted and alone?”
Those words haunted her. They were awful, but true; she was alone, and she had no experience being out in the world. How would she make a life for herself?
It’s better than being stuck with Mr. Laverre, she reminded herself. Anything is better than that.
She glanced up, taking in the moon, still luminous even as the storm unfolded. Shielding her eyes from the rain, she craned her head north. There, at the edge of the city, sat the king’s palace.
Her father had once told her that one could see the king’s palace from any point in the city. Her view now was different from the one she’d had at home, but the palace was no less resplendent. How many hours had she spent staring at it, dreaming about how grand it would be to go inside, how wonderful it would be to dance within its marble halls?
Well, now she had.
She felt no regret about how eagerly she’d wanted to go to the ball. What she regretted was how naive she’d been, and that flicker of longing that had sprung up inside her when she realized the Grand Duke’s quest was to find her. For an instant, she’d fooled herself into thinking reuniting with the prince was the ticket to happiness and a better life for herself.
But no longer.
So where did she go from here?
Despair gnawed at her. She could try to call for her fairy godmother again, but . . . Lenore had said her magic was forbidden. Cinderella wouldn’t put her fairy godmother in danger.
I’ll figure this out on my own, Cinderella thought grimly. I cannot always depend on someone to save me.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered aloud, stroking Bruno’s head. “Beginning tomorrow, I’m never going to feel this helpless again. Once the storm ends, we make a new life. You and me.”
With that promise heavy in her heart, she hugged Bruno close, shifting them both deeper under the awning and away from the cold, relentless rain.
It was a long time before she finally fell asleep.
The sound of Bruno barking, loudly, woke Cinderella from her dreams.
She started to rise, but the morning’s bright light made her pinch her eyes tight. The sun was usually never this harsh in her room.
“Stop following me!” someone cried in the distance, sounding more distressed than irritated.
Strange, thought Cinderella blearily, that doesn’t sound like Anastasia or Drizella.
“No, no, I can’t go that way. I’m going to be late for work if I—stop chewing on my skirt. Stop that!”
Certain she was still dreaming, Cinderella covered her eyes with her arm, cherishing every minute of sleep before she had to get up and prepare breakfast for her stepsisters again. As she stifled a yawn and stretched, her knuckles brushed against hard gravel instead of the stiff cotton over her mattress.
With a jolt, Cinderella sat up and tried to make sense of her surroundings. The sun still glared at her; all she could see was the sky, bright and cloudless, an ocean of seamless blue. Everything else was blurred, freckled by dancing white sunspots.
“Bruno?” she called out. Where had he gone? She raised her tone an anxious note. “Bruno?”
Behind her, someone let out a gasp. “Oh, my! Miss! Miss, are you all right?”
Cinderella perked up, recognizing the voice of the young woman she had heard earlier.
Bruno appeared from behind the girl’s skirts and scampered to Cinderella’s side.
“Oh, what a relief—he’s yours! I worried he was a stray, he was barking so much.” The girl knelt beside her, setting down a basket brimming with neat piles of fabric, spools of thread, and a pair of scissors. A seamstress, Cinderella deduced.
“He grabbed on to my skirt and wouldn’t let me go until I followed him. Now I see why, clever dog.” The seamstress viewed Cinderella, her hazel eyes flaring with concern. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”
Cinderella’s back ached from sleeping on the street, and her head still throbbed from hitting the side of Mr. Laverre’s carriage, but already the pain was subsiding. “Yes, I’m fine.”