Page 273 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 30

As the King’s carriage races through the countryside, we huddle next to each other in silence. Even Marcella doesn’t say a word. I manage to smother my loathing for Midas by keeping my gaze focused on Gallant. His anxious eyes never leave mine.

Within minutes, the blaze is visible. Colossal puffs of orange smoke light up the night sky. As we get nearer, I see flames shooting out of the palace. Everywhere!

Upon entering the palace gates, the flames and turmoil freak out the horses, and we are forced to come to a halt. The Prince, the first to jump out, whips each of us out of the carriage. The smoke is intense; embers are flying everywhere. My eyes sting, and I cannot stop coughing. Calla, too, is choking. I drape her head with my shawl to protect her.

Chaos surrounds us. Servants and villagers run back and forth, armed with hoses and buckets of water to quell the flames. Some lead spooked animals away from the palace while others carry the royal couple’s salvaged treasures to safety.

“Brother!” chokes a voice in the near distance. It must be Prince Charming.

Gallant runs over to him. For a second, I think I’m seeing double. Except for his cropped hair, Charming is the spitting image of Gallant. They must be identical twins.

“Where is Cinderella?” asks Gallant.

“She’s still in the palace.” Charming winces as a villager wraps gauze around his raw, blistered hands. “I’m going back in to find her.” Coughing, he breaks away from his attendant.

Gallant holds him back. “Brother, you can’t in your condition. Let me go.”

“No!” roars The Queen. She blocks Gallant with her boulder-like body, but The King pulls her away.

“Gallant must do what he needs to do,” says Midas solemnly. He places his large hands on The Prince’s shoulders. “May God be with you, my son.”

Gallant embraces his father and takes off. As he sprints toward the blazing palace, he becomes a silhouette in the clouds of smoke.

“Papa, come back!” cries Calla, bursting into tears.

I lift her in my arms and hold her close to me.

“He’ll be okay, my sweet girl,” I say, smoothing her hair. The tongues of flames licking the sky tell me something else. The truth. The Prince may die! My heart almost stops as I squeeze back tears of my own.

Marcella marches up to me, shielding her face with her forearm. To be honest, I forgot about her.

“Where the hell is Gallant?” she hisses.

“Inside the palace, searching for Cinderella.”

“Stupid idiot!”

Is she outraged because Gallant may die or because he may rescue the future Queen? It doesn’t matter. She makes me sick. I need to get away from her. Still carrying Calla, I make my way through the bedlam over to The King and Queen. Standing close to Charming, they hold hands in silence, awaiting Gallant’s return. Worry is etched deep into their faces.

Suddenly, Midas bolts into action to help a villager fill up a bucket with water from the nearby well. Rolling up his sleeves, he immediately gets to work.

The King looks our way as he fills up yet another bucket. With a sincerity that moves me, he says, “We must help these kind, brave people put out the fire.”

“I want to help Grandpa,” says Calla, wriggling out of my arms. The Queen joins the courageous little girl, and putting my hatred of Midas on hold, so do I. Charming, too, pitches in despite his burnt hands. We’ve formed an assembly line. The King catches Marcella slinking by us and tosses her a bucket. “I can’t believe I’m doing a peasant’s job!” I hear her mutter.

The laborious work gets my mind off the fate of Gallant and Cinderella. I don’t stop, not even to wipe the sweat and soot off my face. And then, an enormous explosion almost knocks me off my feet. A fireworks-like display of embers shoots into the sky. Oh no! The main tower of the castle has collapsed!

“Cinderella’s private quarters!” cries Charming.

“Papa’s dead!” sobs Calla. I cradle her in my arms, but nothing I do or say can comfort her. An unbearable sadness swells inside me.

“We must call for a clergyman,” says The Queen, her eyes brimming with tears. The King, near tears himself, draws her in close. Grief, as mighty as love, has united them.

Something moving slowly toward us catches my eye. A disoriented beast? Blinded by the dense smoke, I can’t make it out. It gets closer, and finally, I can tell it’s a person…a man…and he’s carrying something…or someone…in his arms. Oh God! Please! Can it be…?

“Look!” I shout out, pointing in their direction.

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