Cinderella Spell - Laurie Lee Page 0,1

ruined us.” But the laughter in her voice belied her severity.

“Pull us up, Son,” King William said. But the six-year-old pounced on his chest with ferocious growls.

“Now look, you’ve turned our boy into a bear,” Queen Charlotte laughed as Prince Robert snapped at her fingers.

“I’ll save you, my precious,” King William wrapped both hands around his son and lifted him above them.

“No, you can’t save her.” A shadow lurked in his periphery. Though he chuckled at the dangling arms grasping cold air, the shadow moved closer, spreading across the snow. He got up and twirled. Prince Robert squealed and wrapped arms around his neck. Queen Charlotte clung to his side, her feet gliding above the snow. The shadow spun faster, wrapping around them like a snake. The joy of his family warred against the hiss of shadow.

King William lurched from his bed as the dream turned sour. Sweat clung to his skin even though the room was cool. “Charlotte,” he muttered her name as he stretched his arm across the other side of the bed. She wasn’t there. Hadn’t been since she’d taken ill a day after their romp in the snow. “I must go to her.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Bartholomew,” he hollered.

The tall, thin, silver-haired man entered from the servant’s cove. “Sire, how may I assist you?”

King William gripped a post of the bed. “I must go to the queen.”

He bowed. “Of course, Sire. Shall I have a bath drawn for you?”

“No, no. A dressing gown will do. I want to go now.” He held his arms out, unmindful of the woolen weave of the fabric being wrapped onto him. Bartholomew buttoned the closure and tied the belt around his waist. He slipped his feet into leather slippers.

Torchmen waited in the hallway to lead the way to the queen’s sick chamber. The palace remained quiet as they walked the halls. Something inside him twisted with pain as they reached Charlotte’s room.

He blinked against the sting of incense permeating the air as he entered Charlotte’s bed chamber. Pain moved to his chest, clutching at the sight of her, pale and wan against the covers. Her dark hair shone with sweat, mirroring the shadows beneath her closed eyes.

How could this be? A week prior, she’d laughed, holding a hand toward him from her seat in the snow. His throat ached, catching what little breath he managed.

“My life, Lord,” he prayed. “My life for hers.” But his whispered words hit the ceiling and would go no further.

Her chest rose and fell. Mrs. Turney, Robert’s old nurse, wrung a towel in a bowl of water and placed the towel across Charlotte’s forehead. Her lips parted. William strode to her side. He dipped a smaller cloth in water and put it to her mouth. Precious drops wet her tongue, and the furrow between her brows calmed for a time.

“I am sorry, Majesty.” Mrs. Turney’s wrinkled face bore testament to her sorrow.

He managed a glimmer of a smile before looking down at his beloved wife. Her eyes shifted. The gray color that had held his attention since they first met at a dignitary’s banquet had darkened. He wiped a stray hair from her face. The heat of her skin beneath his fingers put an ache in his belly. “How long are you letting this fever hold you?” He teased as her eyes met his.

She sighed. “Not much longer now.”

He choked and turned to the nurse. “A fresh towel.”

Charlotte tossed restlessly as her fever-ravished body refused to give up its heat. William pressed the new towel against her forehead, laying another on her chest. She did not calm. Her hand moved, and he took it in his own. She squeezed her fingers around his.

“What do you need?” William kept the tears at bay by sheer will. It was all he could do. Nothing seemed to work against the devilish fever claiming Charlotte’s life.

“Promise me,” she struggled to speak, but a familiar glint sparked in her gray eyes.

“Anything.”

“Take a wife when I am gone.”

William leaned closer. “Do not ask it of me.”

“You must. For Robert.” Her breath rasped between words. “You must. Protect him.”

Her pallor turned ashen, and William noticed a drop on her cheek. His tear. Another dampened her face. Helplessness tore at his chest. He shook his head, refusing her request yet again.

Her thin hand brushed against his cheek. He dropped his head to her neck, overwhelmed in his sorrow.

“I am sorry, my love.” Her voice managed a whisper, and then