"Merci. Thank you." Esmeralda's voice was soft-and something else. Forgiving? Regretful?
Did it matter?
*****
The next morning sunshine streaked through a crease in the heavy brocade drapes, piercing Cinderella in the eyes. The nattering of Marcel penetrated and with a luxurious stretch she angled out of the direct light, keenly aware of the soft mattress. She glanced at him.
"Sheer heaven, this is. Do you not agree?" Heaven, she realized, to which it would not take much to become accustomed.
Marcel jumped up and down, presumably agreeing.
The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread teased her and she peeked about through squinting eyes. Steam rose from fresh baked bread on the sideboard. She also spotted a tray of cheese, fruit, and water for tea. Cinderella's empty stomach rumbled.
"Are you hungry, my little friend?"
She threw back the covers and bounded from the bed, hardly believing her good fortune. Someone had obviously mistaken her chamber for Stepmama's. At the very least, Esmeralda and Pricilla's.
How had she not wakened? Did the servants have servants in the Royal Palace? This could become a habit, she thought cheerfully.
Cinderella broke off a portion of the bread, unable to resist the crusty shell and warm middle, and handed a tiny piece to Marcel. Guilt at such comfort was difficult to avoid after years of Stepmama's cultivated discipline. Surely, someone would realize they'd brought the tray to the wrong chamber.
She shoved a larger piece in her mouth and chewed soundly, then darted to the door and nudged it ajar. Cinderella poked her head out looking left then right.
Still deserted.
The quiet unnerved her. Such solitude was a luxury from the constant demands of her stepsisters. But, alas, it was really quiet.
She pushed the door to and wandered to the windows. She moved the heavy drapes aside and peered out. The only light in her basement was from the fire she kept in the grate.
The sun edged up from the horizon in a ball of orange fire, shooting the sky with brilliant shades of pink and purple. La! The statue. Cinderella threw off her tattered night rail and donned her one serviceable brown frock.
No one would miss her if she snuck out for a short walk, well, Stepmama, but she was not here, was she! Cinderella glanced at the fresh fruit beckoning her. They'd have to feed her, she deemed. Or not, she thought, snatching a handful of plump berries. Once Stepmama started demanding her attendance, there would likely be no other opportunities to see if the statue she'd spied was indeed Eros.
She tapped Marcel's tiny pink nose affectionately. "I shall return shortly." He nodded. "Stay out of sight."