Everything was quiet, almost too quiet, but that’s the way it always was. These were the living quarters of the famed Cinderella, the knighted prince of the North Lands. His suite sprawled on endlessly, each room immaculately kept, sunlight starting to filter in through the windows illuminating the elaborate embossed wallpaper and the large oak table that hosted some of the castle’s most intense moments. Above it hung a painting of a beautiful woman, the same woman who had started it all in the moment of her death twenty years prior. She was the former queen, stoic, regal, fluent in five languages and a fierce warrior in her youth. Her line was not just one of power but of magic. There were rumors she was a powerful sorceress. So how she failed to live through a simple childbirth was hard to explain.

The infant son she bore grew strong and emboldened since then. He was tall, athletic, and had the uncannily quick reflexes of a cat. This had made him enormously popular with the people who loved to see him compete in jousting matches on his equally beloved steed Pumpkin. Fair maidens throughout the land would come to see the refined brutality of these games. They’d throw scarves and trinkets of their affection onto the fields and faint whenever he picked one up to tuck into his gleaming armor, a smile upon his face as he did so. He was the most eligible bachelor in all the kingdom but that wasn’t always a good thing for with his love came the great responsibility and risk of being a royal.

On his feet he wore the magic glass slippers that he had inherited from his fated mother. They had grown with him over the years and given him the power to change into any form at any moment. Legend says they were the shoes of a changeling, a possession so powerful and rare that they denoted his status as the heir apparent to the throne. Cinderella frequently coated them with coal to disguise their magical nature. The coal came from his vibrant smelting hobby. There had been many afternoons where he morphed into a blacksmith and lost himself in the production of a new metal called steel. It was a fantastic material for making the armor, swords, and knives which he frequently wore. It was a necessary precaution these days as his father grew closer to death by the hour.

Above the king loomed the unforgiving silhouette of his wife and Cinderella’s stepmother Queen Melissa. She had spent five intense years clashing with Cinderella and making his life as miserable as she could muster. There was a reason for her morbid presence at the king’s deathbed. It wasn’t love that bound her to his side. It was a vested interest in her three older sons Marcel, Carlos, and Leopold. She believed they should have the thrown and had spent all this time guiding them to be at the right place at the right time which was here and now.

The hair on Cinderella’s arms prickled as Leopold stepped into the room.

“Mine own condolences, dear brother, for thy king shall soon be shuffling off this mortal coil.”

Cinderella looked up and with a grim nod exchanged the pleasantries he was expected to reply. “Thy condolences art most graciously accepted in this trying hour.” His jaws clenched as he finished, looking dead into the eyes of his childhood tormenter. He knew the venom that lied beneath his kindly words. He could almost see the youngest of his stepbrothers licking his lips in anticipation. Soon the clever words that he hid behind would be laid bare for all to see their true callousness. He took a deep breath, pushed his rival aside, and quickly strode past.

The morning had broken, and it was time to make his way to the king’s side. He’d be expected there as the king’s only legitimate son but it wasn’t the usual royal business that drew him there, it was a genuine sorrow for the great man who had taught him almost everything he knew. He was a larger than life and kindly man that made sure his son had everything he could possibly need in life. Infact his childhood with just his father had been one of joy and plenty until the unfortunate arrival of Queen Melissa. What his father saw in that woman Cinderella never knew.

“Cinderella?” Came the weak words of his father as he opened his eyes. He was looking paler now than Cinderella had ever seen him. This, a man who had thrice thwarted the attempts of poisoners, and who had won many a great battle by engaging in combat himself, was now lying weak and feverish on the royal bed.

“Yes, Father?”

“Thee hath cometh for me.”

“I did wish to seeth you well.” He tried to smile, to give hope, but really a lump was growing in his throat for he knew the hopelessness of the situation.

“I’m afraid thy visit has cometh too late.” He coughed violently at the end of the sentence, unable to go on.

“Shhhh, rest now, don’t unbalance thy biles for me.”

“Tis a matter of great importance.” Came the king’s voice more determined than ever. Slowly croaking one word at a time he continued, “Mine own crown shalt be thee’s. Thou shalt make a fine king. Myself and thy mother shall beest watching from the heavens.”

“I shall giveth it mine own all. Rest now for the lord cometh.” Cinderella held back the tears he knew must be forming. Another deep breath as he stood up, looked directly ahead of him, and abruptly walked out of the room.

In moments where he needed deep consolation he always found himself in the same place – in the arms of Princess Charming, a lady in waiting from the neighboring kingdom. She was living here in the countryside with an aunt and had known Cinderella for years. They were secret sweethearts since they were teenagers. She was a comely woman with an impressive pedigree, a likely contender for his future wife, but for now their affair was a quiet secretive one. Cinderella remembered all those years ago when beguiled by her brilliance he begged his godfather, a well known fixer in the courts, to engineer a meeting which he did with the same ruthless efficiency he applied to all his other tasks. It had been a grand ball and Princess Charming was mysteriously slated as Cinderella’s dance partner and fortunately for him she was equally endeared to him and their dalliances became routine.

Princess Charming came to the door impeccably dressed in the most elegant gown, her hair done up to the hilt likely by the hands of many servants. She stood in the doorway and stepped aside without saying a word to let her gentleman caller in.

“Death draws nigh and I feareth thine own father can heareth the angels singing.” Cinderella sat down as he had grown accustomed to doing on his visits, often eating meals with his lover.

Princess Charming also sat, giving a worrying look. “One cannot argue in the matter of God’s will. Thy condolences to thee, my sweet.”

“Heavy is the heart that wears the crown, but mine own grief is not what brought me hither.”

“What burdens thy soul?”

“Mine own scurrilous stepbrothers circle liketh vultures ‘round thine own father’s deathbed. His throne is coveted. I feareth every chalice is filled with poison awaiting mine own gullet.”

“Thou art safe upon mine own breast.” She hugged and soothed her weary suitor.

 Cinderella closed his eyes and for a moment his heart stilled, and the world outside ceased to exist except for this one perfect moment. But it was not safe to stay here. All eyes were on him with an impending change in power. And just like a stray cat he wandered off once again mounting his oddly orange-colored steed and galloping off into the distance to go see yet another wise old soul.

He tried to come out every day to this special place aside the riverbanks where he once found the tiny scrawling offspring of a dragon scratching at its banks. Perhaps, like him, it’d been orphaned. He’d taken pity on it then and would bring food to it as often as he could. It grew and grew and now lived in a cave behind a waterfall hidden out of sight of people.

The beast towered over him with iridescent purple scales, impossible bat-like wings, and the tiniest puff of smoke emanating from each nostril. When the dragon sensed his presence or heard him call it’d saunter out, lower its head to greet him, and let out a deep and startling purr that’d reverberate through Cinderella’s chest.

This was an unusual bond. In all his training Cinderella had never known another human to be so close to a dragon. There were lots of tales about heroes slaughtering them whenever they threatened the villages, there were even more stories about sacrificial virgins fed to dragons in the hopes they’d stay away, but no one had mentioned a domestic dragon, one that liked being around humans. He scratched the beast’s head as it nuzzled him.

He repeated all his grievances to the animal, and it sat and listened occasionally cocking its head from one side or the other, its eyes contracting into slits. It was almost like it could understand him but that was impossible. Dragons probably had their own language, but it wasn’t the one of humans.

Cinderella enjoyed the solace he found here and surrounded by nature he tried to clear his mind. There were strategies to be planned, people to talk to, places to go. And each of these things had a severe time stamp on them. The responsibility of taking care of a whole kingdom paled in comparison to the very real fear of a coup.

The most likely candidate for this would be Marcel, the oldest of his stepbrothers who was also an accomplished swordsman and skilled military strategist who likely held alliances with militia and assassins. But being the most suspected of all three brothers he was also vulnerable to the press and to any loyalists in the kingdom who may be keeping a far closer eye on him as of late. Below him was Carlos a quick-witted gent with the gift of gab. He talked to anyone and everyone and had a way with words that could sway even the staunchest of loyalists. It was an alarming talent for manipulation that crossed into Machiavellianism years ago. The least likely was the homely and youngest stepbrother Leopold. He was more petty than anything else and no one really took him seriously but at a time like this only a fool would rule him out. Behind them all was the wit and dastardly nature of their mother Queen Melissa who stood to lose everything at the death of her husband. She’d no longer be a queen, she wouldn’t even be the new king’s mother. Was there a place in the court for the king’s stepmother? The likes of this role had never been seen.

If these contenders weren’t bad enough there were also cousins and strongmen, neighboring kings and close counsel. It was a viper’s nest that Cinderella returned to that evening as his father took his last breaths. There was no time to grieve as the throne was at its most vulnerable between the crowning of new kings. And so only hours later and with hundreds of witnesses Cinderella stepped up and received this honor with the deftness and grace of someone who had been raised for the role.

There was celebration throughout the land as the people gathered around and yelled, “Long live the king!” The crowd made Cinderella nervous. There could be a hitman anywhere out here in this swarming mass of people and no one would be the wiser if one approached with a stiletto in hand, poised for one carefully positioned stab before slipping back into the faceless crowd. He watched them all, every soul that got close, with a guarded suspicion, but the celebrations ended without any tragedy and by the time the night was out Cinderella was exhausted.

He retired to his quarters and collapsed in his bed falling asleep before his head even hit the pillow. It was the darkest of slumbers, a total dreamless unconsciousness, the closest thing to death a living mortal could feel in their life. But even this did not keep him hostage for long as he awoke abruptly some time later, gasping for air and bolting upright in the bed. His chest felt as if someone was gripping his heart and squeezing ever tighter. His eyes grew wide as he scanned the dark for the source of this painful discomfort. The shadows themselves seemed to be dancing in the moonlight, each one of them possibly alive, and that’s when he saw it. It wasn’t a shadow, it was a person clad in black and carrying a dagger. He rolled off the bed and was immediately on his feet, grabbing his own dagger from under his pillow as he made this one impossibly quick movement.

“Who goes there?!” He shouted into the darkness but whoever it was didn’t reply with words, only with aggression as they stormed forward. Cinderella ducked to the floor as the blade swung towards him. The attacker had missed and now he had Cinderella to deal with who took one moment to relieve the attacker’s feet of the floor they were standing on. With a thud the intruder was felled and in another few seconds the royal guard were surrounding him. He was dragged to the dungeon without a second thought, but he refused to answer who had hired him. It was a close call.

In the morning Cinderella called upon his godfather.

“Godfather, art thou privy to thine usurper’s mind? Who hath sent him?”

“I doth not knoweth mine own lord.”

“Will there not be more? Baying for mine own blood?”

“Always Your Highness, for thou art king.”

“Gather unto me the most loyal of guards and thrice as many food tasters.”

“Mine honor is yours my King but shall you not ponder upon having an heir? For only an heir could secure your throne.”

“An heir? But I am not betrothed.”

“I can call upon the respectable Princess Charming if thy wishes.”

“Make it so.”

And that’s how before Cinderella’s father was even buried he found himself the new king and married to the blessed young woman who had stood by his side through thick and thin. Again, there was a huge ceremony as he brought her into an honorable life. She was dressed in only the most elegant and beautiful of wedding dresses, a twenty-foot embroidered train gracefully slipping behind her. And again the kingdom rejoiced.

For a while it seemed all was well. There were no more assassins and Cinderella’s stepbrothers slunk into the background and were largely forgotten. Even his even stepmother seemed quiet for the moment. The newlyweds retreated into their own little bubble and began the process of creating a new prince. They were lulled into a sense of safety but outside their doors a storm was still brewing.

Three months later they received news that Marcel had mysteriously taken ill and died within hours. No one knew what caused this mystery sickness but there were rumors he was taken out by poison. Even more rumors swirled around Cinderella who was blamed in this castle gossip as being the one ordering the poison, a scandalous piece of slander likely circulated by his younger brother Carlos.

Cinderella shrugged. He’d normally mourn the loss of someone close, but Marcel was a terrible human. As children he led his brothers in tormenting the young Cinderella. A good day was just name calling, a bad day there were traps and dangerous games that were meant to wear him down and put him in danger. They bullied any sense of worth he may have had right out of his young mind. Told him he was worthless and going to be a useless king until some little part of his soul actually believed them. But they hadn’t anticipated the heart of a good woman repairing the damage they had done and bringing the young king back into his prime.

Now he had truly come around from an introverted young man to a confident ruler and everything seemed as if it was going well. He took easily to managing everything that was put to him but there was always that lurking suspicion that something in the corner of his eye could very well kill him. He slept uneasily, even with Princess Charming at his side. His suspicions only grew when his gossipy brother Carlos suffered a hunting accident and was killed under the hooves of his own horse. The timing seemed suspicious. Now it was just himself, his stepmother, and Leopold. He’d grown so tense around them that he often called upon the magic of his glass slippers to transform him into different people to slip away when he felt danger was near. It was a great skill to have and made all those around him suspicious of each other for they never quite knew if they were talking to their comrades or the transformed chameleon that was Cinderella in disguise. This worked for him on many levels as he was his own best informant squelching three other assassination attempts before they became anything more than a conspiracy.

But he wasn’t the only one playing games of intrigue. Princess Charming was also making her rounds and gaining leverage for whatever positions she wished to take, all without so much as a whiff of suspicion. It was her that Cinderella turned to when to his horror one of his glass slippers went missing. She vowed to find it and bade him safe in the meantime as he went about his daily business.

 Although his life had changed some things in it remained the same. The contention between him and his stepmother was still palpable as was the paranoia that surrounded the remaining stepbrother Leopold. And the dragon in which he fed by the river remained there, waiting for the few moments he could sneak out to be with her. Life was complicated and messy but all and all he seemed to be doing a great job. There were no coups, no peasant uprisings, no wars with neighboring kingdoms. It was a time of peace and prosperity, the perfect beginning to a long reign. This made finding his missing slipper all the more important but no matter how hard he searched it seemed to be just gone. He’d think it was stolen but why would someone only steal one of a pair? It made no sense and he told the dragon such as it looked on and grumbled, eventually falling asleep at his feet as if nothing in the world troubled it.

Cinderella returned to the castle not long after despite having told everyone he was going to be gone on a bureaucratic mission for a few days. It was another one of his little tricks, although this time he didn’t have the aid of his shoes to turn into someone else for this duration. He’d have to sneak around for a bit as himself hoping not to be seen. That’s how he ended up slinking through Leopold’s quarters where to his horror he found her curled up with Queen Charming.

“Charming!” He could not stop himself from yelling.

“Cinderella?! Why art thou not travelling?!”

“Why art thou in mine enemy’s bed?!”

She looked at Leopold and holding a bedcover to her breast she got up. “Because mine own heart has always been his.”

The betrayal cut through Cinderella with the precision of a dagger’s blade. “But it is to me you have been betrothed.”

“To get close to thee, yes. How else could I disarm thee?”

“The slipper… but why?!”

“Thy death will only bring me closer to power through mine dearest Leopold.”

“Thy treason shall be known!” Cinderella reeled before realizing Leopold was blocking the door and holding a large hunting knife. There’s no time to tango like the present. Now everyone thought he was out of town this was the perfect time for his murder. No one would suspect a thing. He looked everywhere for an escape but there was only a window with a four story drop below it. He’d never survive. The only way he was going to survive this was in a tussle. He charged Leopold and tackled him as he swung the blade wildly. Cinderella still managed to slam him into a wall and get by him out of the room suffering a bloody but survivable wound as he ran off to find the royal guard, but they all seemed to be on leave. He had left himself vulnerable and was paying for it. Where was he to run? And then it occurred to him he could gain a small measure of safety by keeping the company of a dragon. Plus, the river might be a good place to wash his wounds.

“Where art thee dragon?” He called when he came to the mouth of the cave. The dragon came bounding out, its eyes twinkling.

He took a seat on the riverbank as the giant reptile peered down at him. As he had done on so many other afternoons, he let the beast in on all his woes as he washed the gash in his side. And then a strange thing happened. Its purrs became a gentle laughter. Cinderella looked up quizzically.

“The present day ends thy troubles oh tiny human king.” Words dropped from its beak.

“Thee speaketh with human tongue?!”

“I could speaketh yesterday but thee wasn’t listening.” She chuckled. Cinderella now knew the beast spoke with a deep and feminine tone.

“Art thee the endeth of mine own troubles?”

“Thy human troubles.. Doth thy know thou art a fairy?”

“A fairy? I am not…”

“Ah, thou art a changeling. Has thy never looked upon thy feet?”

“Thine own feet are imperfect, tis true.” He looked down quietly. It’d been a secret since his birth that he was born with twisted toes. Could the dragon be telling the truth that this was the sign of a changeling? He couldn’t be. He would have known if he were a fairy raised among humans.

“Thou art still a king, a king of fairy kind.” The dragon smiled and began to walk away beckoning him to follow. And there behind the waterfall was not a cave but a whole world filled with lush greenery and there at its center he could see a little village filled with fairy kind, all sitting there waiting for his return.