Cinderella

A Promise

She looked exactly the way he had been imagining her. Truth be told, he had already begun to think that Deirdre had never existed; that she was only some strange spectre inside his head; that some sickness lay over his mind. Although, his obsession could be called sickness. For there were no doubts that what that girl had induced inside his heart was a true obsession. The madness which he could not control.

Deirdre was now paler and thinner than when he had seen her for the last time, yet it did not take her charm away; quite the opposite – she had gained some peculiar ethereality which she had been lacking before. Her fair, wavy hair was brought up into a small bun at the back of her head. Against the prevailing fashion, she had not put any maquillage onto her face; she also wore no jewels, even though she had been presented with so many earrings and necklaces of every sort. She had only a simple, white dress on, and a pair of shoes of soft leather.

She was truly sublime. Gerard once again realised why she was the one he had chosen from among all those crude girls he had met on his way. Those girls had been perhaps better educated, maybe they did know more about the world, and yet, none of them could ever be compared to the one standing right in front of him.

However, she was not the same as she had been when he had first met her. She held herself in a completely different way, probably due to the posture exercises perused by the tutor of dancing and propriety. Her gaze, too, was different than the one he knew so well: although her eyes had been intelligent back then, now, she was looking at him with exceptional brightness, but also with some kind of stubbornness hidden behind her timidity, maybe fear.

"Will you not greet me?" he asked in a gentle tone, reaching both his hands towards her. She did not come any closer. "Deirdre."

She stood modestly, holding both of her hands folded in front of her. Once again, she looked like a doll, silent and motionless, and Gerard could not get rid of the thought of what he would need to do to smash her. Break her.

"Your Highness," she spoke after a while, her tone as hollow as the one he remembered from before all those weeks.

"Why will you not greet me?" he asked, now with certain firmness in his voice.

"I beg your pardon, Your Highness," she answered, then curtseyed elegantly in an undeniably royal style.

However, it only ignited the prince once again. She was acting so insolently. As though she truly hated him, and it was certainly not possible. She must have got to miss him after all this time she had spent here in absolute solitude. She must have yearned to see him, even if just for a moment, just like he had yearned to see her...

For a split second, he wanted to cause her pain, to hurt her, hear her cry, see her tears. But he quickly contained himself and approached her, the expression on his face rather grim. She twitched slightly but did not move back. Neither did she raise her eyes.

"Deirdre," he spoke again, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently tilting it up. "You are to look me in the eye when I speak to you."

It looked like she was truly trying to find a way to avoid this duty of hers, but understanding that she had no choice, she took a deep breath and blinked fast before she once again curtseyed.

"Of course, Your Highness."

He loathed the tone of voice she used. It was devoid of any emotion. Perhaps he would prefer it if she yelled at him if she tried to show him even the most negative of her emotions than denying him any insight in her heart.

"From today, you are to be present at all the meals. Moreover, you will spend two hours every day with me during which we will be talking or spending time in any other way," he demanded in a voice he normally used when addressing the servants. "Whenever I come to see you, you should open the door, unless you wish me to deprive you of it at all. When you do that, I wish you to greet me. I also expect you, from today on, to call me by my name. Do you understand me?"