Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella by Jeanette Matern

demeanor dropped and her face became sullen. It was clear the mention of his father had burdened her. Leopold did not know exactly what to make of the reaction from his mother. Arabella loved her son; King William loved his son. Never once in his entire life was Leopold made to believe his parents loved each other. Could it be that he was ignorant of an affection that had blossomed in his absence or had even been present all along?
    “What is it, Mother?” he asked, taking her hands in his.
    “Oh, nothing.” she said, her face lifting slightly now that her son was there to hear her sorrows. “It is just that your father is getting worse with each day. I fear it will not be long before his soul is taken to God.”
    “And you are afraid,” he said, deliberately leaving his statement open for her to respond.
    “I am afraid of what that will mean for you and me, Son.”
    “What do you mean? You’ve been preparing me for taking Father’s place as king for as long as I can remember. You both have.”
    “Of course you will! I am simply afraid that…”
    “That what, Mother?”
    “That it will be too much for you.”
    Leopold was shocked. Where had this come from? Was his mother privy to something he had yet to learn? Did she only just then, with her husband’s impending death, realize that everything she’d dreamt for her child could come to pass?
    “Too much for me?” Leopold said, repeating her declaration in confusion.
    Arabella instantly regretted her choice of words. She had always believed in her son’s potential for greatness. And though she did not claim to fancy her husband in any romantic fashion, she had spent many hours with his Highness in the last several weeks. She felt sorry for him; he was weak, nostalgic, and in constant pain. And worse, it was he that was afraid for Leopold. It was as though the king himself knew of adversity on the horizon, but damned if he had revealed any details to his wife. Arabella had chocked it up to either her husband’s worsening dementia or his complete ignorance to matters of state since his illness befell him. Arabella didn’t know why William would fret. Thurlow was there. Thurlow was as dear to King William as his own son. Whenever William became anxious on behalf of his family and his kingdom, Arabella would remind him of Thurlow’s presence in his life and it always succeeded in calming the old man.
    “Forgive me, Son,” Arabella said, “I did not mean to imply that you are ill fitted to inherit your father’s throne. I am just worried because I am your mother. Mothers are beasts of worry.” Leopold smiled, embarrassed by her flattery but touched by her devotion. Arabella’s fearful complexion vanished as quickly as it had appeared and Leopold knew his mother’s brain was concocting something.
    “What is it now?” he asked, gearing himself for the onslaught of madness by taking a seat.
    “Must you ask? You are twenty-three years old, Son. You will be king soon.”
    Leopold shivered. He knew it would come. “I am way ahead of you, Mother,” he said, a stalwart, albeit dishonest, attempt to prevent the tempest. “I have already begun thinking about matrimony quite seriously.”
    “’Thinking’? Who do you think you are talking to, Leopold? You are like your father and it infuriates me. Do you believe all the thinking you do in your life will do you any good at the judgment seat? Hmmm? No thank you. I will save your soul in this life or the next, Son, and don’t you forget it!”
    “All right, all right!” Leopold relinquished, wishing he had indeed spent two more weeks in the trenches. “What do you want me not to think about?”
    “It is quite simple,” the queen said. “You are in search of a worthy wife and future mother to your children. Therefore we will throw a party, a royal ball if you will, for the most lovely, eligible women in all of Gwent.”
    “Whatever for?”
    “To choose your wife, Son!”
    “A ball to choose my wife?