Cinderella

Melancholy

When a couple of hours later the prince came back to the residence, he heard from the maid that the young lady had asked her to inform the tutors that she would not use their services that day. Then, she requested her personal maid to help her get ready for bed, even though it was not so late in the afternoon.

"According to me, my dear lord," said a servant quietly, "something bad must've happened. The young lady must've fallen ill."

Gerard did not listen to the last words. He pushed his hat and cane into her hands, and then as quickly as his stiff leg would allow him, he rushed towards his fiancée's chambers. He ignored every servant on his way, even though they kept bowing in front of him, as though he could not see them.

Until now, Deirdre had been learning with so much joy. Perhaps the circumstances in which she had begun her study was not the most pleasant one, however, she had truly seemed to be glad that she could get to know something now. Otherwise, she would not have found learning so easily. And yet, all the tutors had been praising her... She was truly bright, even though she had come from such a low social stratum; more than one noble lady could be jealous of such a mind. And she truly seemed to find so much happiness in the fact that she could now pride herself not only in intelligence but also in knowledge worthy of a candidate for a princess.

Therefore, he did not believe that such a woman could have, on her own accord, skip any classes whatsoever. He might have thought that if Deirdre had been avoiding her lessons sooner – or if he had known that she had been learning only for his sake. But since she had been doing it all just for herself... something bad must have happened if she had done such a thing.

Moreover, that she had decided to lay down so early... Well, such a season sometimes did induce melancholy. Late in the afternoon, darkness descended, and the lack of sunlight could be found quite tiresome, yet until now, he had never spotted his betrothed in any way inclined to resting more often.

This time, he did not even knock. Although Deirdre's personal maid did try to stop him from entering ("the young lady is not well"), he pushed her aside, threatening that if she tried that once again, he would flog her like he would a dog. The girl only bowed deeply, then retreated, allowing the prince to open the door and pass the threshold.

Deirdre did, in fact, lie in her bed, but he could not see her face. Her back was facing him and she was curled up, as though she was truly in great pain, her duvet pulled up to her chin. At that moment, she really looked as though she was sick.

"My dearest," he addressed her but she did not answer. And truth be told, this time his concern obscured all of his usual annoyance. He could not be angry at her, seeing her in such a state.

He approached her, wincing ever so slightly. He should not have been scurrying so much... the pain in his leg once again throbbed more than ever. But how could he not have been scurrying having heard right after having come back home that something bad had happened to his beloved?

"I shall call a medic," he promised, limping slightly closer, then, he sat down on the very edge of her bed and reached his hand to pet her hair. She tried to lean away from him but did not succeed. He could not understand her behaviour; just this very morning she had been bidding him adieu with a smile on her face. What had happened throughout those hours?

He closed his eyes. Whether he wanted it or not, even though much weaker, his fury at last, like a lurking dragon had begun to raise its head. He wished to know why the woman who had already begun to look like she had offered him at least the tiniest rudiment of affection was once again trying to avoid him. Such things could not happen without any merit. And what could have happened in a manor as calm as this one? She could not have met anyone but the servants and tutors...