The Cinderella Conspiracy

Once upon a time, fairytales had relied solely on narrative selection for their choice of princess.

This, of course, was a terrible idea.

For every noble-born, royal-raised princess, there would be found in equal measure a pig farmer’s daughter or miller-maid suddenly raised to the rank of princesshood with a serendipitous marriage, or a blue-blooded maiden locked away in a tower during her formative years and – despite her royal heritage – rather lacking in awareness of things such as palace manners. Or shoes.

You see, fairytales valued such things as purity of heart and kindness to all living things. Whereas born and bred royalty tended to prefer their princesses knew the difference between fourteen types of forks.

And so the Academy of Princess Education was created.

The Academy worked to install the kind of necessary knowledge that fairytales didn’t innately bestow upon their protagonists, like the correct time to summon fluffy wildlife to help with one’s chores, table etiquette, or how to spot a narrative plot point at twenty paces. It made sure that when a fairytale provided a budding princess, a princess is what they got.

The founder of the Academy had boasted that she could transform any girl (provided she came from the Right Sort of Background) into the perfect potential princess.

Had she met Beatrice Noble, she might have added some fine print to that statement.

“And remember, girl – believe in what you’re singing!”

Thus came the overenthusiastic cry of Miss Melody, perhaps the Academy of Princess Education’s most optimistic teacher – most recently proven by her inexhaustible, unexplainable idealism that Beatrice Noble possessed untapped musical potential. Any other teacher – in fact, most other teachers, now Bea thought about it – would have (and had) already admitted defeat by now.

“It’s not the believing part I struggle with,” Bea stated flatly. She began to shuffle her feet, wishing she was anywhere but at the front of her class right now. “I just don’t think I should sing.”

“What could possibly give you that idea?”

Wordlessly, Bea swept her gaze over her classmates. The majority of them looked ready to bolt. As things were, a few were already sliding down their chairs, only their eyes and foreheads visible above their desks. Bea looked back to Miss Melody. “Perhaps it’s the fact that you could be dealing with another complaint from the nurse if she receives yet more students from this class.”

Miss Melody, in her defence, reddened. “I’m sure you’ll have improved marvellously since then,” she reasoned, although she didn’t look as convinced as perhaps she would have liked. “Just try, please. You never know what could happen.”

“I think I do,” Bea muttered. However, she closed her eyes in reluctant surrender and began humming the first few notes, silently hoping that this time, this time, things would be different.

Futilely clinging on to that predominantly baseless mantra she started the first lines.

“I’m dreaming,

I’m dreaming of my happy ending.

I’m dreaming of my fairytale prince–”

She heard the angry buzzing before anyone else. She stopped, opening her eyes and waiting for the inevitable to happen.

“Why did you stop, Bea? You were doing fabulously!”

Bea grimaced at her teacher’s limitless optimism because, sure enough, the buzzing grew to the level where other students began to notice it too. This was accompanied by several girls dropping entirely beneath their desks. Bea closed her eyes just as angry yellow insects swarmed the room.

Uproar immediately swamped the class; most students ran for the door, several unfortunate ones remained hidden beneath their desks, while a few brave – or stupidly foolhardy – girls were attempting to herd the creatures back through the window. Bea remained where she was standing, heart sinking as she tried to ignore the hysterical cries of “Wasps!” from her fellow classmates.

She had no way of controlling the insects; she had tried before, but it seemed all she could do was summon them and somehow escape their stings. They would go when they felt like going – or when the Academy finally decided that hiring a full-time exterminator was necessary. If she kept things up, it wouldn’t be long either.

“Miss Noble, do something!”

Bea sighed. “I’ll get the nurse.”

*

“...eight girls with stings, five suffering from shock, and one poor individual hiding in the broom closet.” Madame Rosa Rouge looked up from her desk to the mute student sat before her, feathered quill tightly clasped in hand. “Staff are still trying to tempt Miss Orianne Cabello out.”

Bea was attempting to memorise the grain lines patterning the headmistress’s bureau. When it became clear that no amount of procrastination would improve the current situation, she looked to the indomitable headmistress and did her best to meet the woman’s gaze. Madame Rouge had a face that must have been beautiful once, but time had worn the softer features away into sharper, harsher lines and thinning, usually taut, lips. Or perhaps her mouth was always that tense when it considered dealing with the headache that was Beatrice Noble.

“What are we to do about you and these wasps, Miss Noble?”

“Hornets.”

“Pardon?”

“Hornets,” Bea quietly amended. “Not wasps. There’s a difference.”

The quill’s nib began to bend at a dangerous angle. “Miss Noble, the point still stands that this is the third time this term alone that the nurse has received students suffering from injuries resulting from your actions–”

“Which I had no intention of causing.”

“Which still resulted from your actions,” Madame Rouge tightly repeated. Bea decided she’d rather not debate that point again. “Miss Noble, young ladies do not interrupt their betters, nor do they slouch. Sit up, girl. You’re very lucky that the Academy accepted you in at all; had it not been for the involvement of your stepmother... Well, just remember that you’re lucky to be here.”

Bea reluctantly pulled her posture back into what could just about be categorised as ‘not slouching’ and prepared to receive the usual lecture. “I know. It’s just...” She sighed and resisted the temptation to lean forward on the desk. As things were, she merely lowered her head, rubbing the back of her neck in a noticeably uncomfortable manner. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Perhaps I’m just not cut out for being a princess.”

Madame Rouge’s expression softened, not enough to change her demeanour, but enough to shift her features slightly. “Miss Noble, every girl we admit into the Academy has the potential to be a princess.”

“Yeah, but most princesses don’t set angry hornets on their class. Sometimes it’s locusts or bees,” she added glumly, “but most times it’s hornets. Once it was a bear.”

The headmistress’s face began to twitch at the memory of the legal nightmare. While no students had (miraculously) been hurt, there was the matter of several rooms’ worth of destroyed furniture, three battered doors and one smashed magic mirror.

Madame Rouge pushed the memory aside, returning to her steely, no-nonsense manner with a stiff adjustment of her angular spectacles. “Miss Noble, you are lucky enough that Miss Melody is still content to take your singing classes, despite previous...” Madame Rouge paused, as if searching for the best word. Eventually she settled on, “...setbacks.”

“Miss Melody still wants to teach me?”

“Yes.” Madame Rouge looked like she also struggled to understand her colleague’s reasoning. “She is convinced that she can turn your rather perilous streak around. Somehow.” Madame Rouge still sounded, now more than ever, like she was wondering whether now would be a good time to do the annual check for curses and enchantments among the staff; this wouldn’t be the first time magical influence had unsettled the rationality of a teacher and she doubted it would be the last either.

“Miss, I really don’t think this is going to make much difference–”

“Whether you think that or not is irrelevant. Miss Melody is putting time and effort into helping you; you will be gracious enough to at least turn up to the lessons.”

“Yes, miss.”

The headmistress regarded her student, sighing once before dismissing her. “You may go.”

Bea scrambled to her feet, nearly upsetting the bottle of ink on the desk in the action. Madame Rouge tried not to wince. Grace, while expected to excel in boundless measures for princesses, was not one of the talents that came naturally to Beatrice Noble. “Oh, and, Miss Noble?”

Bea paused by the door, one hand already in the motion of opening it. “Yes?”

Madame Rouge gave a rueful smile. “Try not to set a bear on Miss Melody. Finding another music teacher mid-term is not how I envisioned spending the weekend.”

Bea’s returning grin was only partially humorous. “I’ll do my best.”

*

The Academy of Princess Education was a gathering of tall, white-bricked buildings accented with spiralling towers and sprawling grounds that centred the city of Gallica, attempting to match the palaces that it hoped its students would one day occupy. Its many gardens were spectacular swathes of colour, its halls were marked by the portraits of successful students, and even its bathrooms were artworks of marble.

All it did was make Bea feel very small.

As the lessons came to an end, she gratefully escaped through the grand iron wrought gates and slipped into the continuous grandeur of Gallica. Her attempt to put as much distance between herself and the Academy came to an abrupt halt as she turned a corner and promptly slammed into a couple of girls.

“Smooth, Bea. Real smooth.”

“Thanks, Taylor.”

Two pairs of hands steadied her back to her feet. The larger belonged to a girl in her sixteenth year, her hair cut to a grand length of two inches which was a shade somewhere between a light brown and dirty blonde. Despite Taylor’s slight figure, the girl’s gangly limbs and large hands gave the unshakable impression of some kind of large puppy, aided by the uncannily wide, brown eyes that, right now, were tearing up at the sides in teasing laughter.

The daintier hands belonged to Anwen Faye; an eighteen-year-old Cinderella candidate like Bea, but with significantly more potential than the latter. With an evil stepmother, two ugly stepsisters and the weight of the household chores on her shoulders, she was only one glass slipper away from meeting her prince. To her credit, Anwen was merely smiling sympathetically as she helped her friend to her feet.

“That bad a day, huh?” Anwen asked.

“Not as bad as the rest of my class,” Bea said.

“Ah. Hornets?”

“Hornets,” Bea confirmed.

“At least you didn’t summon a bear this time,” Taylor said as they started down the alley.

“Thanks, Taylor.”

“Again.”

“Thank you.”

“You would have thought the Academy would have removed the hornets’ nest by now,” Anwen said, gently shuffling the conversation along with her usual light touch.

“They did try,” Bea reminded her. “But the hornets’ nest is a partially-magical residual protection ward from a century back. So they can’t. Not without finding the sorcerer who originally cast it, but then again, they’re probably mad, bad, or dead. On the bright side,” she added, grinning humourlessly to her friends, “apparently the hornets’ stings are only lethal to evil people. Just don’t ask me how the hornets can differentiate between individuals.”

“Magic,” Anwen answered. “How did the meeting with Madame Rouge go?”

Bea shrugged. “Well, she appears to have realised that no number of detentions would improve my singing. That, or the grand hall’s floor’s been recently mopped.”

“I would go with the latter.”

“Thanks, Taylor.” Bea looked to her two closest friends, an apologetic smile teetering on the edge of her lips. “I guess I should thank you both for waiting for me.”

“Hey, we’re friends, right?” Taylor draped her arms around the older girls, using her gangly length of limb to her advantage. “Anyway, Dottie said that she didn’t want me walking back by myself...”

“You’re sixteen,” Bea pointed out. “I think the ground rules Dottie set down when you first started at the Academy can be stretched a little.”

“I thought you were trying to thank us?” Taylor released Anwen and Bea, skipping out in front of the two with a grin on her face. “You’re doing a pretty poor job of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, add gratitude to the list of lessons I’m failing at.”

“You’re doing fine in cookery,” Anwen pointed out kindly. “And cleaning.”

“That’s because it’s part of my job at Dottie’s. It doesn’t compensate the various singing, grace, etiquette or dancing lessons that I’m currently failing. And, setting hornets on my classmates does count as failing, I’m afraid,” Bea said sternly before Anwen could dispute that particular assertion. She vented a frustrated noise between clenched teeth and hurried her progress along. “Bah, I wish I was a Mulan candidate. At least that way I wouldn’t have to sing.”

“You would have to learn how to wield a sword though,” Anwen reminded Bea quietly. “Does that sound much safer?”

“At least there would be a nurse on standby.”

“I would rather be chased by angry, magical hornets than be your partner in weaponry lessons,” Taylor contributed after a dubious moment.

“You haven’t been chased by hornets then,” Bea replied flatly. The alley gave way to the outskirts of the city, the exterior of the settlement marked by the unmistakable rustle of enchanted forest and fairytale beasties. Along the edge of the city were several expansive mansions housing various wealthy families, the Faye family included. Anwen separated from the group, heading to one of the mansions where she disappeared through a discreet side entrance.

Bea and Taylor continued forward into the enchanted forest, walking in silence for several minutes before the younger girl spoke up again.

“You know what I think?”

“No. And, given the fact that the previous turn of conversation has been angry hornets verses me with a sword, I don’t think I want to know.”

“I think you should apply for a fairy godmother permit...”

“That would be fabulous, if only I had magic–”

“...or get cursed,” Taylor continued. “Cursed could be fun.”

“What? And spend the next ten years as a Beast?” Bea laughed and continued down the forest path. “Thanks, but no thanks. Anyway, those curses are mostly gender biased.”

“You could have an Odette curse.”

“Swan at day, human at night? I would still have to attend the Academy. I would just have to take the night classes.” She shrugged indifferently. “I doubt enchanted hornets will care what time it is.”

“I still think the curse idea is a viable option,” Taylor maintained. She skipped ahead, laughing as she pivoted on her toes to look to Bea. “Anyway, everyone knows that if you get cursed, you’re guaranteed a prince.”

Bea only rolled her eyes and continued the trek deeper into the enchanted forest. The path was uneven and roughened by the twisted, distorted layering of roots, making it a minor miracle that Taylor was skipping backwards without mishap. The trees incessantly moved, rustling in a breeze that wasn’t always there and the sun filtered slowly through the canopy of emerald green. Further out was the sound of creatures – lions and wolves and bears – but rarely did they come so close to human habitation. And if they did happen to come across someone (more often than not a young girl, and usually one wearing a red cloak) there was normally a kindly huntsman or prince on hand to help out.

Eventually the two travellers reached their destination. Said destination was a tall, round tower with no door in sight and a notice pinned to the stone wall telling the milkman to leave the bottles on the doormat. Unperturbed by the apparent lack of entrance, Bea walked up to the spot where the note resided (now closer, it was clear it had been forcefully hammered into the stonework) and knocked against the unmistakably solid wall. “Hey, Dottie! It’s Taylor and Bea! Can we come in?”

For several seconds the wall remained as impassive as ever, but suddenly a crack appeared in the stone. It paused, jammed at the bottom, and then raced up, making an abrupt turn two metres up and tracing a door-shaped outline in the stonework. Another second passed and the crack burrowed into the wall; it shivered for a moment and shook the dust away. It opened to reveal the interior.

A small, wizened woman stood in the entrance, grey hair tied up in a loose bun and thin mouth stretching out into a smile. “Well, I don’t know what time you call this, but I was beginning to worry you’d stumbled into wolves. Or bears. Or dwarves mistaking you for a Snow White. That happened once, you know,” she added as she disappeared back into the tower’s interior. “Took the dwarves an entire week before they realised she was a Cinderella candidate.”

Bea and Taylor exchanged smiles as they followed the woman inside.

“Sorry, Dottie. It’s my fault; Taylor was only late because she waited up for me.”

The elderly woman turned back around to Bea with more energy than her age probably permitted. “And why were you late?” She irritably tapped Bea with the blunt end of her walking stick, but the girl under attack only restrained a grin at Dottie’s indomitable nature. “I have a witch training evening to get going to; I don’t have all day to wait for you. And you,” Dottie said, glancing to Taylor, who was on the verge of laughter, “can stop giggling, my girl. If you want to come along, you’ll need to eat quickly. There’s rampion salad in your room.”

Bea raised an eyebrow as Taylor vanished upstairs. “I wasn’t aware Rapunzels were allowed to witch training evenings.”