After the "Happily Ever After"

Inspired by the Cinderella story and any other fairty tale that ends with "And they lived happily ever after" I came up with an idea that asks the question: Do they really live happily ever after?  Anyone who has been married or is married knows that the fairy tale of dating doesn't always last well after the honeymoon.  In this case I've taken my own twist based on Cinderella and started a story about life in the castle after the royal wedding.  And fyi, I've changed the names of the characters.  Enjoy!

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Those damn trumpets are sounding off again!  If I have to listen to them toot their horns in the morning one more time I swear I am going to command them to their death!  I don't think I've slept a wink ever since Prince Kieran and I have gotten married.  I swear I have had more sleep in my -sister's house than here.

 "Tell me why we have to be woken up by trumpets again," I say to him at breakfast.  More like shout to him.

He barely acknowledges my question and shrugs it off and says, "Why not?"

 We sit at the that's quite possibly a mile long.  The Prince sits at his end, hunched over his food, digging into it as if he hasn't eaten in years with his handkerchief dangling from his shirt. The table is cluttered with pounds of food, meant just for us.  The servants stand aside and watch silently.  All except for my round-bodied maid, Elma, who is always hissing in my ear like a snake.

 "Sit up straight!"  She snarls.  "Don't eat your food all at once."  She's always reminding me how to behave like a princess.

"He's eating his food all at once," I gesture to my husband.

 "You're a princess.  Princesses don't devour their food like an animal."

"Just princes," I mumble as I delicately eat my food.

 I regally sit up straight and stick out my chest.  As if the dress hasn't stuck my chest out far enough.  My bosom is practically a whole new size since I've been married.  I had breasts I didn't even know existed before.

 "I'm going hunting," my husband says.

He carelessly drops his fork and knife on his plate and darts from the table, not even walking over to give me a kiss good bye.

"What shall I do with the left overs," The cook asks.  He's standing by in his cook's hat, his belly round and his persona jolly.

 "Toss it.  Give it to the pigs."

 Immediately I step in.

 "Darling," I say. "Don't you think this would benefit those less fortunate than us.  Shouldn’t we give this to the hungry?"

 "Why should I give a damn about those peasants?  They don't pay their taxes."

 "I give a damn," I say.

 He chuckles, throwing his head back, his raven black hair bouncing back with him.

 "Why?"

 "Because I used to be one of them, remember?"

"Right," He's emotionless.  Not a hint of sympathy or sincerity comes from his response.  He just stands there, glancing around the room at his servants.

"Like I said," he says quickly. "I'm going hunting."  He jabs a finger callously at the cook and commands him to toss it.

"You mustn't question his highnesses commands, you know that."

Elma is kneeled beside me, speaking nervously.

My husband certainly wasn't the way he is when we first met.  He was charming, polite, a good conversationalist.  It has only been a few months since we've been married and just within a short amount of time I've noticed he's changed quite a lot.

After the excitement from the royal wedding and everything finally started to calm down, I notice a sudden change in him.   He gave me my own separate quarters, we no longer sleep in the same bed unless it's warranted by him.  He doesn't allow me to attend public events unless it's a ball or anything to do with his parents.  On top of all that, I have been unable to produce an heir for him.  He expected me to get pregnant immediately, but so far I haven't shown any signs of a child in our near future.

My husband doesn’t get back to much later in the evening.  During that time I spend most of the day trying on expensive gowns and modeling jewels in front of the mirror, while Elma criticizes and continues to teach me how to be poised and regal like a princess. 

“You want people to respect you,” she says. “They don’t need to see that you were once a peasant girl.”

I shake my head as the only attempt to protest the way she handles.  I sometimes feel like a show horse wearing all these gowns, going to these balls and not having any kind of opinion about anything my husband decides to do or say when he’s with the people.  There have been so many times that I’ve wanted to scream, it’s frustrating to keep quiet.  I’ve been quiet for too long. 

“Stand up straight, always nod your head, never curtsy.  They curtsy and bow to you.  Make sure your dress is as prim and perfect as your smile.  They need to look to you and know that things are perfect.”

Elma goes on and on with her do’s and don’ts list.  It’s beginning to drive me crazier and crazier the more she continues.  I’m finding myself in a daze, tuning her voice out and hearing nothing but the echoes of her same lectures over and over again for the next twenty years or so. 

I couldn’t take it anymore.  Elma drapes a heavy piece of diamond necklace around my neck and before she could fasten it around my neck as she goes on, I jerk her hand away from me, forcing her to drop the necklace.

“You fool!  Do you know how much this cost?”

“Don’t touch me!” I cry out.  “Just get out!”

“Your highness, you’re tired.  Perhaps it is time you took your nap.”

My stern voice surprises me.

“Stop treating me like I'm a damn child!  I’m not taking a nap.”

“You must.  A good princess needs her-“

“If you don’t get out of my room than I will.”

I storm off the platform, pulling my enormous gown up off the floor and dragging it behind me towards the dressing room.  Another younger maid named, Ilta, helps me unfasten my dress and loosens it up.  I rummage through my closet, looking for the least formal thing I could find.  Dresses are all that hang in my closet. 

I pull on my silk robe and I storm out of my room, pushing aside Elma. 

“Your highness, you mustn’t leave your room!”

I brush off her annoying voice, heading straight for the west wing where my husband’s room is.  Standing by his door, a guard stops me.

“I command that you let me pass,” I say.

“You shouldn’t be out, my highness.  You must return to your room.”

“Move aside!” I bark.

The guard shakes nervously and allows me to pass. I breeze through my husband’s empty chamber and head straight for his closet, and slip into one of his most rugged pants and shirt.  In his bureau I reach for a harness with a dagger strapped inside and strap it around my waist.  I wasn’t about to head out without being armed.

I let my auburn-colored hair free from the tight bun and twist it up in a braid that drapes over my right shoulder, tucking it under one of my husband’s hats.   

A horse is all I need right now to get away from this prison!  I spot my horse, Dash; I brought over from my step-mother’s house and saddle him up quickly, smoothing out his black fur.

“Hey, you can’t ride that horse!”

The care taker of the stables is unaware of who he is yelling at when I turn around.

“Forgive me your highness; I did not realize it was you.”

“It’s an honest mistake,” I shrug.

I reach into my husband’s pocket for a piece of gold he always has stashed away and hand it to the caretaker.

“You didn’t see me,” I bribe him.

I mount Dash and take off towards town.

“Idola, please come back here!” Elma calls out for me.

I don’t turn back.