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Cinderella’s gray service gown swooshed as she crossed the wood-planked floor of the queen’s sick chamber. Woven damask drapes lining the slim, long windows kept the room in shadows. Two iron-wrought candelabras fit with six candles cast a soft glow across the thick mattress piled high with fine linen and crafted blankets. Upon the bed, Queen Charlotte lay gaunt against a mountain of pillows. Her once-luxurious ebony hair hung limp, dampened by fever. Even with candlelight across her face, the vivid greens of square pillows and yellow bolster cushions couldn’t bring color to her sick pallor.
Cinderella paused beside the bed and allowed a trickle of pleasure to bring a smile to her face before schooling her features. She cleared her throat loud enough to rouse the sick woman struggling before her.
The Queen’s dull gray eyes blinked open and she offered a wan smile. “Cinderella? Why are you here?” Her raspy voice reached into the darkness.
Cinderella sat upon the edge of the bed and arranged her skirts. The dark cotton presented a sharp contrast to the cream-colored linen. Cinderella trailed her fingers across both materials before reaching for the queen’s hand. “I have come for the key, my lady.”
“Key?” The Queen’s eyes closed with a sigh. “Rowley is the keeper of keys.”
“Except Doorin’s Key.” Cinderella tilted her head, eager to see the Queen’s reaction. “You have been its keeper, have you not?”
The sick woman gasped as she tried to free her hand from Cinderella’s grip, but she was too weak. Cinderella kept hold of the queen’s cold flesh as she pulled the silver chain that slipped beneath the queen’s bedgown. But instead of the key, a silver heart dangled.
Anger burned within Cinderella. “Where is it?”
The Queen seemed to muster her strength. “Beyond your reach.”
She tightened her hold on the Queen, but the sight of pain twisting the queen’s mouth did not please. “Give me what I want, and the sickness will end.” She lowered her eyes, breathed patience, and forced her voice to a sweet and imploring umber. “You will be well once more.”
“That door must never be opened. Why ask it of me?”
Cinderella scowled. “You have no knowledge of Doorin’s secrets. How can you claim it should never be opened?” She paused until a thought brought a wicked smile to her face. She released the Queen’s hand and sat straight. “With your death, the key passes to your son.”
The Queen shook her head. “He is protected. The Faere Folk christened him.”
Cinderella twisted her hair into a coil and brushed it through her hands over and over. Its dark color faded with each pass of her hand, until her head gleamed with golden hair. “Only until his twenty-first birthday. I have but to wait. I will make him fall in love with me.” She grinned. The queen struggled to sit up, and Cinderella read fear in her eyes. “We will dance upon your grave.” She stood. In place of the servant clothes she’d been wearing, she fussed with the ruffles of a pale blue silken fabric embroidered with silver thread ball gown. The queen’s agitation lifted her spirits, and she giggled.
“No! He will never love you. His heart will belong to a woman of character and faith.” Queen Charlotte’s denial shuddered to silence as she fought to catch her breath.
Cinderella’s laughter filled the chamber. She twirled, catching her image in a large mirror on the far wall. She was a picture of youth and health with bouncing blonde curls and a shapely figure. “Perhaps if you had lived to nurture and guide him as he grows.” Cinderella turned from admiring herself in the mirror to gaze once more at the dying queen. She leaned over and placed her hand on the Queen’s cheek. “But no.” She rocked her head from side to side, taunting the Queen. “You have chosen death.”
Queen Charlotte twisted away from her. “Be gone, witch! Darken my chamber no more.”
Cinderella slipped into the shadows beyond the candle’s glow, but her voice carried. “I will be patient, my lady. Just a while longer. Your son will come to love me, and I will spill his blood in the doorway of Doorin’s room.”
“Will, my gown!”
King William laughed at his queen’s protest, then wrapped one arm around her waist and grabbed his son with his other arm. He growled and pulled the three of them backward into the snow. Cold embraced him, but the sound of Prince Robert’s gleeful giggles warmed his heart.
Queen Charlotte pressed her slim hand against his chest. “You’ve