Cinders

It was the first of the three Royal Balls. The prince, it was said, sought a wife, and so all the ladies of society were in attendance, wishing to enchant, or at least seduce, the young royal. Indeed, he was young, uninterested in rich women with lands and titles. But young men of a certain station have certain duties, and when he looked around the ballroom, it was duty that clouded his vision.

And then. Amongst the gaudy yellows and greens and reds and blues, she wore a gown of silver silk. Her hair was the color of rye at harvest, her face as round and welcoming as a full moon. She moved through the crowd as if she knew he was watching.

It was not love at first sight, nor first touch, nor first tentative greeting. It was slow, like the thaw heralding the spring. He knew, at first, only that they must dance, and so he took her hand and they walked out into the middle of the room.

Step, step, turn, step, step, turn. Her fingers entwined with his. The light glowing in her face. Step, step, turn, step, step, turn. He asked for her name, and she asked what he might think to call her. Step, step, turn, step, step, turn. He told her she was beautiful, and she said that was not a name. Step, step, turn. He told her she was a mystery, and she said that was not a name. Step, step, turn. He thought, then, considered her deeply, step, step, turn, the way she held herself, the way light bent itself around her, step, step, turn, and he told her he did not yet know her name.

Good, she said, and she smiled. They danced a while longer, and talked, and then, sliding her hand from his, she smiled one last time, said goodnight, and turning, disappeared into the crowd. He shivered, like a man basking in the summer sun when it suddenly goes behind a cloud.

On the second night, he wandered around the ballroom, trying to find her, until he saw a flash of silver through a window. He made his way outside and found her sitting on a bench in the gardens.

Silver clearly suited her, he said, nodding at the gown.

He might not have recognized her without it, she said.

He sat on a bench across from her. Wasn’t she cold?

She shook her head. They talked about little things, and then she asked if he had learned her name yet.

He said he loved her, and she said that was not a name. He said he had a knot inside that only she could untie, and she said that was not a name. He thought about the way her voice rippled the air, the way the flowers seemed to turn towards her, and he said he did not yet know her name, and again she said, Good, and she smiled, and they talked a while longer, and then she left, and he did not follow. He went inside and stood beside the fireplace, staring into the fire as the women circled him and the flames dwindled.

On the third and final night, he looked for her again, and this time could not find her. All evening he scanned the crowd. Finally, as he was about give up hope, he felt a touch on his arm, and turned to find her. He asked her if she wanted to dance, and once again they walked out to the center of room.

Step, step, turn, and he asked her if she loved him, and she said yes. Step, step, turn, and he asked her to marry him, and she asked him if he knew her name yet. Step, step, turn, he closed his eyes, step, step, turn, and held all he knew of her in his mind, step, step, turn, and he saw a bright blue spark, a quiet and beckoning heat, step, step, and then he leant forward and whispered in her ear.

And then he held nothing. Through a part in the crowd he saw her running, dressed now in rags, barefoot, hair flowing wild. This time he tried to follow, but the crowd pressed back together, as if afraid of losing him to her, and by the time he fought his way through, she was gone.

His father refused to start a search for her, reminded him of his station and his duty, and so the prince waited until just before dawn and then rode out alone. He saw many women in many towns, and many had yellow hair, and many had round faces, but he knew none of them, and no one seemed to know of her. He rode and rode, and then, as he watched the sky turn to a deepening blue, he remembered when they talked in the garden, and she had spoken of the sea as of an elder sister. He turned toward the coast, and as twilight turned to night, he found her standing on the shore, contemplating the black, starry water.

She was already burning. It was as if the sun had set into her, and the glow radiated through the sand, each grain now an ember. He felt the heat spread through him as he walked towards her, and he was afraid and he was hopeful, and he kept walking until he stood beside her, and eventually, as is the way with fire, he was consumed.