The Professionals Circuit Archive - Cinderayla       Cinderayla

 

by NN West

  
 Once upon a time there dwelt in the land of Fantasia a rich merchant who
had only one son and no wife. It was whispered by the superstitious that
the boy's mother had been one of the Elven race who, tiring as such soon
will of her mortal lover, had returned to her own kindred, leaving the
half-human child to comfort his father for her loss. 

Whatever the truth of his parentage, young Ray was a delightful child who
grew into a beautiful youth without passing through the stage of gangling
adolescence that seemed to afflict his contemporaries. At 18 he had a
slender, feline grace, a riotous mop of silken curls, the clearest,
greenest eyes in the world, and an odd, haunting beauty that served to
confirm the rumours of his Elven mother. He was gentle, sweet-natured,
unspoiled--and chaste. Not one of the girls who fluttered around this
paragon like bees at a honey pot could boast of having received more than
courtesy from him. 

Shortly after Ray's 18th birthday his father took a new wife, the lovely,
predatory Alexis, a widow with two children by her first marriage, so that
Ray found himself sharing his father not only with a stepmother, but two
stepsisters, Krystal and Sue-Ellen (so-named from their mother's addiction
to soap opera of the more lurid variety.) 

All three women were as cruel and treacherous as they were beautiful.
Scarcely were they installed in the house when they began to work on the
merchant, flattering him, cajoling him, pointing out how...unfortunate it
was that a man in *his* position should be burdened with a son around whom
such speculation was woven. Not that they believe any ill of the youth,
Alexis added hastily, but it *was* said that the Elven race were lacking
proper emotional motivation...and it certainly could not be denied that
the merchant's first wife had deserted husband and child... could it? 

By the time Ray realized what was happening the damage had been done, and
his father was regarding him with suspicion; his innocent attempts to heal
a breech he could not account for were held up as proof of a devious,
scheming nature. Hurt, Ray withdrew to nurse his wounded pride, and his
reaction was instantly called proof of his sullen, stubborn refusal to
admit to his faults and mend his ways. 

Within six months of his marriage, the merchant was dead. Natural causes,
the doctors said, but there was a smile on his face and a faint weariness
in Alexis' expression that set a few tongues wagging. The general opinion
seemed to be that there were worse ways to go. 

On the day of the merchant's funeral, the will was read. Everything had
been left to Alexis and her daughters--Ray had been completely
disinherited. As 'an act of charity to my ungracious son', Alexis was
enjoined to provide food, shelter and clothing for Ray until his 21st
birthday; on that date he was to be given the clothes he stood up in, his
mother's picture, a servant's wages for a year, and was to be turned from
the house forever. 

From being a rich man's only heir, Ray had become a pauper. His friends
deserted him for--as they kindly pointed out--it would be far too
embarrassing for all concerned if Ray had to be excluded from certain
pastimes and amusements he could no longer afford. 

Alexis decreed that since she must pay him a servant's wages for a year,
he would work three years to earn it as a scullion, since he lacked
training for anything better. A servant had no need for fine clothes; she
confiscated his wardrobe, leaving him only a couple of pairs of old jeans
and some shirts, most of whose buttons had long since vanished into limbo.


He would be working long hours, and so would no longer require a suite of
rooms; they were taken from him, and he was ordered to make himself a bed
in the kitchen. The girls found this vastly amusing, and with memories of
an old nursery tale, quickly renamed their luckless stepbrother
'Cinderayla'. They took pleasure in slapping and pinching him as he went
about his duties, and often played malicious tricks on him, so that when
he thought himself finished and with time for a brief rest, he would be
summoned by a furious Alexis to re-polish a floor that the girls had just
soiled. He quickly learned never to argue, for despite her seeming
fragility Alexis had a heavy hand with a cane. The only restriction she
placed on her daughters was to forbid them to use any form of weapon on
him, for Krystal had once caught him on the cheek with a heavy ornament;
he had almost lost his sight, and Alexis did not wish it to be known that
she permitted actual harm to come to her stepson. The broken cheekbone
healed unevenly, and the woman frequently commented on how ugly the
deformity made him look, allied to his strangely non-Human face. 

Ray bore his changed circumstances with resigned patience. It was not the
work he minded, nor the loss of his fine clothes and easy life; he even
accepted the spite and ill-treatment from his stepmother and stepsisters.
What hurt was the knowledge that his father had disowned him so easily.
Perhaps, he reasoned, the stories of Elven blood were true; perhaps a
birth such as he *was* something to be ashamed of. Certainly he must have
done something very terrible to merit this treatment. Gradually he began
to accept what he was so often told for the truth; he *was* ugly, stupid,
lazy... he was to be treated as an outcast... for surely they couldn't
*all* be wrong? 

So quietly, patiently, he endured, carefully performing his menial duties,
accepting the petty, spiteful punishments, the lack of sleep, the scanty
poor food, the endless, repetitive toil, as his due lot in life. Soon he
had almost forgotten that he had ever lived any other way... 

******

A year passed. Ray was nineteen. There was great excitement in the land,
for the Crown Prince had returned from his adventuring in foreign parts to
celebrate his 21st birthday, and also, it was whispered, to bow to the
king's increasingly impatient demand that he take a wife. 

King George the 346th was known to his subjects as Old King Cowley, (as
the chroniclers of his reign remarked, how else were you supposed to keep
track of 346 kings all with the same name unless you gave them *some* sort
of distinguishing nickname?) and was surprisingly popular. He had been
born and brought up in the northern (and most civilised) part of the
kingdom, and had succeeded to the throne unexpectedly on the death of his
third cousin. In turn his heir was the son of his sister, formally known
as His Serene Highness The Crown Prince William Andrew Philip Bodie; Old
King Cowley frequently remarked that the title was wholly unsuitable,
since Prince Bodie was rarely serene, but he supposed custom had to be
followed. As a matter of fact, Prince Bodie was remarkably sensible on the
subject of names; the younger and more romantic members of his court
sometimes referred to him as 'Prince Charming', although not within his
hearing--on the only occasion some daring spirit had done so, the rash
youth departed for his family estates on permanent exile minus his front
teeth. 'Prince Bodie' was the most the determined young man would permit,
and even then his closest companions, such as his bodyguard and cousin
Murphy Count Dandini, were urged to call him simply 'Bodie'. 

In one particular Prince Bodie was an especial trial to his royal
uncle--despite the best efforts of every diplomat in the Foreign Office,
the opinionated young prince had succeeded in alienating the father of
every eligible princess within a year's travel. Phrases such as
'blackguard', 'young ruffian', 'scoundrel', and 'thoroughly unreliable'
were repeated over and over again in the replies to Old King Cowley's
formal proposals of a marriage alliance. (It was remarked, however, that
when the opinions of the *princesses* in question were sought, no such
complaints were forthcoming. 

Be that as it may, with the prospect of a foreign alliance seeming more
and more unlikely, Old King Cowley determined to have his unpredictable
nephew respectably married in the shortest possible order; decreed that
during the year of the prince's 21st birthday entertainment and parties
would be given at which he would have the opportunity of meeting every
even remotely eligible young woman in the kingdom; if, at the end of the
year, he could not produce a fiancee of his own choosing, the king would
select a wife for him. 

Alexis was delighted when she heard the proclamation. Although regrettably
a little too advanced in years herself to be eligible, she had not one but
two delightful daughters--*and* she was in a position to bring them to the
notice of the prince. Royal Mother-in-Law! Why, the position was as good
as hers already! 

Events proceeded better than she had dared hope. Within weeks bookmakers
were taking bets on whether Sue-Ellen or Krystal would be the bride of the
prince. All that marred her contentment was the increasing enmity between
the sisters as first one, then the other seemed to be higher in favour. It
would, she thought, be worth enduring the sulks of the loser to have the
matter settled, but it appeared that the prince had no intention of naming
his preference quite yet. 

It would have astounded all three women to know that in fact Prince Bodie
*had* no preference. Becoming bored with the endless debate over his
marriage prospects, he had determined one morning to choose the first
eligible girl he set eyes on that day; but, knowing that his uncle would
insist on the marriage taking place as soon as he announced his choice, he
intended to make the most of his last year of bachelorhood by postponing
the announcement until the last possible moment. 

It so chanced that on the morning in question, Prince Bodie had seen
Krystal and Sue-Ellen at precisely the same moment. Finding nothing to
choose between them (he considered them both vain, empty-headed baggages
who stood in greater need of a sound education than husband) he shrugged
his shoulders, paid both an equal amount of attention, and privately
confided to Murphy that when it came to the bit he would base his final
selection on the toss of a coin. Perhaps, he added casually, his cousin
might care to wed the reject--then at least the two friends could be
miserable together. 

Knowing nothing of this, Alexis was delighted to entertain her daughters'
royal suitor on her deceased husband's country estates. Such influx of
visitors necessitated a great deal of work, with all available staff being
pressed into service--among them an almost-forgotten scullion who scarcely
remembered himself that he had once been heir to the estate, and that it
should be him who had the right to welcome the prince. 

The staff worked day and night to prepare for the royal visit. There was
so much to do that the procession was already in sight far down the
country road when the last of the cleaning materials were hurried out of
sight. Ray, who had as usual been given the dirtiest jobs, judged that he
just had time for a quick wash under the stable pump; he was just pulling
on his ragged clothes when the clatter of hoofs on the cobbles announced
the first arrivals--the prince and Murphy had grown weary of the slow
movement of the procession, and had raced ahead. 

Aware of the punishment he would face if Alexis learned he had been seen
by the royal visitor, Ray dived into the shelter of a huge pile of hay. He
pulled it around him so that he was well-hidden, but being naturally
curious he peered out, anxious for his first glimpse of the prince. 

He was utterly unprepared for what he saw. Quite simply, as he peered up
from his hiding place, Ray fell in love. He had no mother to tell him that
this was not allowed, that one man shouldn't fall in love with another.
His Elven heritage was to the fore, dominating his mind and that which he
desired. Ah, but it was cruel! A year ago and he could have approached the
prince, won him as a friend, perhaps even... but no. He would soon be
driven from his former home. What could such as *he* ever offer the
dark-haired, blue-eyed prince who rode into the stable yard... and into
the heart of the half-Elven exile? 

But... a cat may look at a king, as the old saying went, and certainly a
despised scullion could dream of his enchanting prince. Taking care not to
be seen Ray took every opportunity to watch his idol, storing up memories
and images in his lonely heart. He could not even feel jealous of
Sue-Ellen and Krystal as each in turn promenaded on Prince Bodie's arm,
his beloved was as far above him as the stars of heaven, and it was
enough--almost--just to watch...and wonder how it would be if *he* were
the one Prince Bodie swept into the rhythm of the dance in the candle-lit
hall [word missing] an evening... 

It was Ray's patient, careful observation of the prince that brought him
at last to the realisation that he was not the only one to watch so
closely. Besotted as he was, he could not but be aware that the two
rough-looking individuals who lurked in the shadow of the next bush one
morning had some nefarious purpose in mind--it was certain that *they*
were not there simply to admire the beauty of his beloved. Anxiously, Ray
remained concealed as Bodie and Murphy left the garden to depart for their
morning canter across the heath, and the two suspicious characters in turn
emerged from their hiding place. 

To his horror, Ray learned from their conversion that the two men were
part of a devilish plot to assassinate the prince. The attempt was to take
place that very morning--indeed, the murderers were already in position. 

There was no way to warn Bodie. As the conspirators hurried off Ray paced
up and down the garden anxiously. How could he summon help? Looking as he
did--he glanced down disparagingly at his torn and patched clothes--who
would believe him? Even if Alexis was willing to act on his information,
he could not reach her--she had long since given orders that her stepson
was to be kept out of her sight. As for Bodie's men, who [word missing]
Murphy could be trusted? And the loyal aide was marked for death with his
master. 

The only chance, small though it was, lay in whether he, Ray, could reach
the site of the ambush in time to shout a warning. From the conversation
of the conspirators he knew where it was, but he was on foot while the
prince and Murphy were mounted on fast horses. Still, he had to try... 

As he drew breath to run, Ray stopped suddenly as a shimmer in the air
beside him solidified suddenly into the shape of a tall, solidly-built,
fair-haired man with a dangerous expression on his world-weary face. 

"That's right--rush off half-cocked and ruin everything," the stranger
snorted disgustedly. "That's the trouble with your half-bloods; no
patience to speak of." 

"Who are you?" Ray gasped. 

"Name's Macklin. I'm your fairy godbrother. And no smart cracks, either,
petal. I didn't ask for this assignment, you know." 

"What assignment?" Ray was thoroughly bewildered. 

"Taking care of you, of course. Your mum just remembered all about
you--decided she really ought to make sure you're properly settled in
life. I drew the short straw. None of this three wishes rubbish for you,
flower--you get the whole 'happily ever after' bit. Just tell me what you
want, and I see that you get it." 

"You mean, you can grant me anything I want?" Ray asked hopefully. 

"Just said that, didn't I? Told you, I'm your fairy godbrother. You tell
me what you want, I sort it out for you. Let's see... usual priority is a
fair-haired damsel..." 

"There's no time for all that now," Ray interrupted impatiently. "If you
really can make things right, help me save Prince Bodie." 

"Prince Bodie, huh? If *that's* your first request, looks like I can
forget about the damsel. Okay, I get the picture. I know just what's
wanted." Macklin glanced around. "Fetch that wheelbarrow over here, will
you?" 

Ray did as he was told, and watched in amazement as with a few cabbalistic
words Macklin changed the rusty container into a gleaming silver chariot. 

"A Capri, that," his fairy godbrother announced with satisfaction. "Mind
you, that really comes into another fiction plane, but still... beggars
can't be choosers, can they? You'll find you know how to drive the thing
all right. Passenger seat has all the weapons you'll need--and you'll know
how to use them, too. Oh, one last thing." 

Macklin waved a careless hand. Ray looked down at himself, and gasped in
delight. His torn rags had vanished, and he was clad in the sleekest
skin-tight jeans, a T-shirt that clung lovingly to every contour of his
chest, and a leather jacket that shone with an expensive patina that
bespoke wealth. 

"Very tasty," Macklin muttered, eyeing him up and down. "Okay, petal, go
rescue the boyfriend." 

Ray felt the colour stain his cheeks. "He's not my boyfriend," he murmured
as he turned away. 

Macklin smiled cryptically. "If even half of what I've heard about Prince
Bodie is true, you'll sing a different song five minutes after he catches
sight of you," he promises under his breath. For a moment a frown creased
his forehead as he studied Ray's retreating form, then with an evil grin
he waved his hand--and tightened the jeans another size and a half. 

"One thing," he called. "Come back here when you've finished--we have a
few things to settle." 

******

The arrival of Ray in the silver Capri routed the assassins totally and
Bodie and Murphy, who had been resisting bravely, sallied from their
refuge, and within a very short space of time all the prisoners had been
rounded up and were on their way back to the castle in charge of Murphy
and a squad of the royal bodyguard. Not until they had all departed did
Prince Bodie turn to his rescuer. 

"Looks like I owe you one, sunshine," he said warmly, his gaze roaming
appreciatively over the attractive stranger. 

"Oh, it was nothing," Ray shrugged modestly, deliciously aware of the eyes
that lingered on the tight jeans. He backed away, slipping into the
driving seat of the Capri. "I really must be going now..." 

"But I'll see you again, surely?" Bodie asked anxiously. "You'll be at the
ball tonight?" 

Ray looked up, drowning in the pleading blue eyes. "I'll be near you," he
promised, "and if everything works out, then maybe..." 

*Ray, time to get back. * Macklin's voice echoed in his mind. 

"Wait a minute--at least tell me your name," Bodie pleaded. 

"I can't just yet. Call me what you like." 

"Okay--Sunshine. Don't forget, or I'll come looking for you." Bodie
stepped back as the Capri pulled away. He glanced up as Count Dandini
returned, having seen the prisoners safely locked up. "You know, Murphy, I
may have just solved my problem," he remarked thoughtfully. 

******

Macklin was waiting when Ray braked to a halt in the garden. He smiled
knowingly as Ray slid out of the driving seat and patted the bonnet
happily. "Nice line in magic chariots you've got," the young man observed.


"Nothing but the best," Macklin agreed. "Sorry about this," he continued,
waving his hands over both Ray and the car, "but union rules are rules.
We're supposed to reach an agreement before I do anything for you. Only
reason you got this much on account was due to your mother's influence."
As he spoke the car seemed to collapse in on itself to become once more
the rusty wheelbarrow, and Ray stood there shivering in his tattered rags.


"I mean," Macklin continued chattily, "no point you saying Prince Charming
there is the love of your life if he's been splattered all over the
landscape, is there? Makes me look such a fool, an' all, not to be able to
deliver the goods. You...er... *do* want him, don't you?" he asked
anxiously. 

"Ooh yes! Who wouldn't?" Ray's eyes shown at the thought. 

"Hmph." Macklin's sceptical tone might have answered the question, but Ray
was too besotted to notice. 

"I mean, did you see his eyes?" the lovelorn youth continued longingly.
"And his mouth. And that..." 

"Quite. However, unless you want to waste my time here just talking about
him, we'd better get to work. I do have other customers, you know."
Macklin produced a clipboard and pen. "I presume you want the
happily-ever-ever, forsaking-all-others, as-long-as-you-both-shall-live
bit?" 

"Of course." 

"Just checking." Macklin made some notes. "What's next... Protection
against bewitchment of offspring... I think we can forget about that. Oh
yes, I almost forgot. What about the wicked stepmother? I do a very nice
line in warts and boils." 

"I don't think so," Ray shuddered. 

"Toads and lizards falling from her lips each time she speaks?" 

"Er...no." 

"Your stepsisters are included in the deal, of course," Macklin urged.
"Just think of the possibilities." 

"If it's all the same to you, I'd really much rather forget all about
them," Ray said quickly. "Just as long as they don't bother me." 

"Right. One non-interference clause coming up." Macklin ticked another
column on his form. "I think that covers everything." 

"Is that all there is to it? Do I get him now?" Ray asked eagerly. 

"Lord no!" Macklin said wearily. "All I've done is draw up the contract
for you to sign on completion. It's just a safeguard, so that I know
exactly what you want, and you know what to expect at the end of the day.
Here, read that over and initial it." 

"That seems to cover everything," Ray murmured after a few moments,
returning the form. 

"Fine. Next step is the ball tonight at the palace. Just stay out of sight
until everyone has left, then meet me in the stable and you'll see what
you will see." 

"But..." Ray was talking to empty air. Macklin had vanished. 

******

The interminable day grew to an end at last and Ray watched thankfully as
the coach bearing Alexis, Krystal and Sue-Ellen pulled out of the
courtyard. With fast-beating heart he hurried to the stable, half afraid
that it had all been a dream, but Macklin was there, lovingly polishing
the bonnet of the gleaming silver Capri. 

"Your magic chariot awaits," his fairy godbrother announced with a
flourish. "Oops--can't go like that, can you?" He muttered a few magic
words, then beckoned Ray forward to gaze into the mirror that had suddenly
appeared on the stable door. 

For several minutes the younger man was incapable of speech. The clothes
he had worn that afternoon had transformed him, but *these*... 

Trousers of the finest, softest suede in pure white, fitting like a second
skin; on the rounded swell of a buttock the rich curve of flesh was
enhanced by a decorative patch that caught and held the eye. ("Sorry, but
T'Lan's kinky for patches," Macklin muttered obscurely.) 

The shirt was a gleaming emerald silk that matched his eyes; abandoning
all pretence at buttons it lay open to the waist, exposing the seductive
trail of hair and the tiny dormant nipples. 

The outer garment was a full length white cloak, with a hood that framed
his oddly beautiful face, emphasising the slanting green eyes; from
beneath the hood a riot of silken curls flowed down his neck. On his feet
were boots of white leather, so soft and supple that he could almost think
himself barefoot. 

"Very nice," Macklin nodded. "Well, off you go and have a good time. Just
remember one thing--you must leave the palace before midnight. When the
clock strikes twelve, all your finery will vanish." 

Ray looked puzzled. "Why?" he asked. 

Macklin shrugged. "Who knows? This is a fairy tale, not the great novel of
our time. Just remember what I told you." 

"I will," Ray called as he climbed into the Capri. "And thank you, fairy
godbrother." 

"Not so much of the 'fairy', if you don't mind," Macklin growled. 

******

Prince Bodie was quietly driving his cousin Count Dandini into a nervous
breakdown. Forced as he was to remain enthroned beside his uncle as the
guests were announced, he was unable to keep watch himself for the one
guest in whom he had any interest. A dozen times he sent Murphy scurrying
to the gate to see if there was any sign of the magic chariot or its
enchanting driver. 

'He's got to come', the Prince thought desperately. 'I can't find him and
lose him all on the same day! But if he doesn't come, how will I ever find
him? I don't even know his name!' 

For careless, cynical, arrogant Prince Bodie had tumbled head over elegant
heels in love within two seconds of gazing into the bewitching green eyes
of his nameless rescuer. That was the mate he would choose, no other. Old
King Cowley wouldn't like it, of course, but it was his own fault; when he
had sent his nephew to serve as a mercenary under an assumed name in
foreign armies in order to learn of their ways and customs, he clearly
hadn't given quite enough thought to just *what* customs he might adopt.
Well, it was just too bad... 

Murphy came forward to whisper something in his ear. Bodie listened, then
with a delighted grin he turned to his royal uncle. 

"Sire, I beg you to excuse me. If all goes well, I will announce my
betrothal before the ball ends tonight." Without waiting for an answer he
left the throne and hurried across the ballroom to the white-draped figure
Murphy had indicated by the door. 

Old King Cowley strained his eyes to follow his nephew's progress. (He
really did need glasses, but so far had not been able to bring himself to
wear them in public.) He grunted with satisfaction as he saw his nephew
pause beside a figure dressed all in white, linger for a few seconds in
conversation, then with typical impetuosity he swept his partner into the
dance. 

With a grunt he leaned back, wishing as always that the throne was a
little more comfortable. So the young scapegrace was beginning to take
things seriously at last! If the lassie was even halfway suitable he'd
agree to the wedding in short order. Pity he couldn't see her face... He
could send for them, he supposed, but it seemed a pity to interrupt
Bodie's...er...train of thought. 

At the other end of the ballroom Bodie smiled down into his companion's
flushed face as they circled the floor. He had not given Ray the
opportunity to remove his cloak, and so far it had not dawned on any of
the avidly watching guests that it was a young man who blushed and
trembled so adoringly in the prince's arms. Delighted at the response to
his touch, Bodie tightened his grip. 

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come," he murmured. 

"I couldn't stay away," Ray confessed. "I had to see you again." 

"Just as well, Sunshine, because if you hadn't come, I'd have had the
palace guard out scouring the kingdom. Look, we can't talk here. Will you
come with me?" 

"Anywhere," Ray breathed, gazing up into the blue eyes so close to his,
feeling as though he was drowning in their intense gaze. And those
lashes... What would it be like to feel them brush against his lips? 

"Let's go, then." They had reached a door guarded by two footmen. As they
came abreast of it Bodie called out an order, the door was opened. He
whirled a breathless Ray through it, and it was slammed and locked behind
them. 

"My private quarters," grinned Bodie. "Now we can *really* get down to
business." 

******

It was much later that night. Two figures lay entwined in an embrace on a
couch before a flickering fire in Prince Bodie's room. Two sets of elegant
clothing strewn haphazardly across the floor were mute testimony to the
urgency with which they had reached the haven. 

Ray sighed happily as Bodie's lips nuzzles his ear. Deprived of maternal
guidance, the wretched youth had never received the benefit of the usual
warnings. 

'Lie back and think of Fantasia.' 

'It's not a sin if you don't enjoy it.' 

'Only a slut *moves*, dear.' 

'Not until you've got the ring on your finger.' 

Never having benefitted from such sage advice, he had responded happily,
enthusiastically, and above all *loudly* to Bodie's lovemaking. Replete,
he sighed contentedly. 

"Happy?" Bodie asked with a smile, winding one of the silken curls around
his finger. 

"Blissfully. What more could I want?" 

"There is more, Sunshine. I'm not going to risk losing you now. Lover,
will you marry me?" 

Ray snuggled deeper into the strong arms, smiling broadly as he listened.
Everything he had wanted was being offered to him... It was working out as
Macklin had promised... 

Suddenly Ray stiffened and looked up at the face bending over him. The
blue eyes were glazed with passion, blind to everything but need. Oh yes,
Bodie wanted him, more than the throne, more than his position, more than
life itself. 

But it was an *artificial* need, Ray realised dully, born of his own
longing and Macklin's magic. Bodie was a Prince of the Blood Royal, held
to the throne of Fantasia; what was *he* but a penniless beggar, unwanted
by his mother, disowned by his father, his Elven blood making him an
object of contempt. He *could not* tie the man he loved to such a wretched
creature. 

Slowly Ray sat up, and forced a smile to his lips. "Yes, I'll marry you,
love," he lied. 

He accepted the kiss he received without guilt, for he knew it was the
only farewell he would bid his lover. "How about some champagne to toast
our betrothal?" he suggested. 

"Of course. Won't be a minute." Bodie rose, slipped on a robe, and left
the room, calling for Murphy as he went. 

As soon as he was out of sight, Ray rose and grabbed his cloak. He didn't
dare take time to dress, and his boots were nowhere to be seen. Wrapping
himself in the heavy folds he went out onto the balcony from which he saw
that he could easily reach the ground; across the gardens, he told
himself, through the stables, and out of the palace by the servant's
entrance. No one would question anyone leaving the palace. He returned to
scribble a brief message which he left on the couch. Then, knowing that if
he lingered he would not have the strength to leave at all, he returned to
the balcony and swung himself to the ground. 

******

Midnight was striking when one of the guards on duty on the south wall
leaned forward, studying the figure that stumbled along the moonlit road.
Dead drunk, to judge from his unsteady gait, and obviously a beggar, for
bare legs gleamed in the moonlight below a ragged piece of sacking that
wrapped the huddled figure. Really, it was terrible the state some people
let themselves get into. Still, whatever went on outside the palace walls
was no concern of his... 

******

"Sunshine? Sunshine, where are you?" Bodie glanced frantically round the
room. He'd only been gone a few minutes, for heaven's sake... He noticed
the sheet of paper on the couch and picked it up. 

*I'm sorry. I can't go through with it. I'd only hurt you. But I love
you.* 

So his loved had gone out of his own free will. But why? Dazedly Bodie
looked around the room, hoping for some clue. He frowned as his gaze fell
on the pile of clothes on the floor, and he picked them up. They were
lying where Sunshine's had been, but these torn and patched jeans were
certainly not the expensive garments his lover had worn... 

Wait! Hidden by the jeans was something he *did* recognise, a pair of soft
white leather boots. He picked them up, an idea already forming in his
mind. 

******

The following morning a proclamation was issued the length and breadth of
the kingdom. Old King Cowley announced that his nephew and heir was
distracted by the mysterious disappearance of the one he was to wed.
However, the fair unknown had left an item of clothing behind, namely a
pair of white leather boots. Whosoever in the kingdom fitted the
boots--*and could speak the name the prince had given his
betrothed*--would be given Prince Bodie's hand in marriage. 

Alexis was furious. From having an excellent chance of seeing one of her
daughters on the throne, she now had no more than anyone else. The boots
might very well fit one or both of the girls, but each had only one chance
to guess the love-name. If she ever got her hands on that interfering
hussy... Besides, what sort of woman wore boots to a ball? 

The search progressed slowly, for Bodie and Murphy accompanied the heralds
each day. They were the only ones to know that it was in fact a man they
sought; the heralds considered that their strict interpretation of the
'whosoever' in the proclamation was sheer pedantry. 

At long last the procession reached Alexis' estate. She watched with bated
breath as first Krystal then Sue-Ellen tried on the boots. They fitted
Sue-Ellen, but alas, she could not give the name the prince waited to
hear. 

Putting as good a face on it as she could, Alexis waited for the royal
party to leave. Instead, the herald coughed. 

"Is there anyone else on the estate, Madame, who is eligible to try the
boots?" he asked. 

"Only the servants, and they are all too old." 

"You're forgetting Cinderayla," Krystal giggled. 

"Oh yes, Cinderayla." Sue-Ellen chuckled. "Perhaps *he's* the prince's
betrothedhed!" 

"Who is this Cinderayla?" the herald enquired. 

"Merely the scullion," Alexis answered quickly. "He certainly cannot be
the one. My daughters are simply being foolish." 

"Nevertheless, the decree is that all must try. Summon Cinderayla." 

Seething, promising herself that the luckless youth should have a good
beating when the royal party left, Alexis had no choice but to send to the
kitchen for Ray. 

As it happened, Ray had not heard of the proclamation--no-one wasted time
telling him news that could not possibly concern him. It came as a shock,
therefore, when the first thing he saw on entering his stepmother's
presence was his pair of white boots reposing on a velvet cushion, and the
second, Prince Bodie himself. Colouring, he hung his head, hoping that he
would not be recognized. 

His hope was doomed to failure. Bodie's heart pounded as he caught sight
of his beloved, and something else throbbed in response to the sight of
the sweet flesh revealed by the torn garments. He forced himself to stand
silent until the formality of trying on the boots was completed, then he
moved forward and cupped Ray's chin, tilting the downbent face towards his
own. 

"My love, will you deny me?" he asked sadly. "Speak the name I gave you." 

"I can't," Ray whispered painfully. "It was magic...you didn't have any
choice. My fairy godbrother arranged it. I love you too much to take you
with a trick." 

Bodie smiled in relief. "Is *that* all?" he asked. "Look, love, I have a
few charms of my own. Among them is one that says I can't be bewitched." 

"Really?" 

"I swear it," Bodie said solemnly. 

"Then..." Ray swallowed nervously. "You call me... Sunshine." 

"Correct!" the herald announced triumphantly. 

Neither Ray nor Prince Bodie heard him, being locked in a passionate
embrace. Neither did they hear Murphy's tactful whistling... nor the
gnashing of Alexis' teeth. 

******

Old King Cowley was not pleased. That disreputable nephew of his had
turned up at last with his intended in tow, only to reveal without a blush
that the baggage in question was a man--a very good-looking one to be
sure, but a man nevertheless. Objections had to be raised--and were. 

"He's a scullion," he said with distaste. "Do you really want dishpan
hands at your bed and board?" 

"If they're his, I do," Bodie said defiantly. 

"And he isn't really a scullion," broke in an unexpected voice; Krystal
had decided to cut her losses in the hope of earning Ray's or the prince's
gratitude. "He's my stepfather's real heir, only my mother and sister
persuaded him to change his will." 

"See?" Bodie demanded triumphantly. 

"That's all very well, but what about his... er... his mother's side of
the family?" Old King Cowley asked delicately. "They might not be
quite...quite." 

"Oh yes they are!" There was another interruption as Macklin appeared in a
puff of smoke. "I'm his fairy godbrother, and I'm here to tell you that
his mother is the daughter of the King of the Elves. There's royal blood
in that lad, and don't you forget it, George, unless you want war on your
hands." 

"Harrumph." Old King Cowley emitted the sound that only a true-born Scot
can achieve, and then only after years of practice. Things were not going
too well. "He's... he's a man!" he declared at last. 

"You noticed, huh?" Bodie said fatuously, gazing adoringly at the object
of his affections. 

"I could scarcely avoid it--those garments are barely decent. However, I
was referring to the succession." 

"What about good old Murph?" Bodie suggested with an air of inspiration.
"He's eligible--and I'll even adopt him. Say, 'Thank you, Daddy', Murphy."


"Thank you, Daddy," Murphy replied demurely. 

"Any more objections?" Bodie enquired. 

A look of victory lit the craggy face. "Yes. His dowry. What about his
dowry. His weight in gold, as I recall." 

Ray looked crestfallen, but Macklin grinned reassuringly. "Your Mum'll
take care of that," he promised, as he began to utter another spell. 

Cowley's eyes widened as the gold began to appear, a mountain of it,
gleaming in crystal containers, far more than Ray's weight. He licked his
lips in delight. 

"Glenfiddich. Glen Grant. The Macallan. Glenmorangie. Glen... Ach, take
him with my blessing, laddie. I willna lose *this* dowry. But just where
do you think you're going in such a hurry?" he asked as Bodie began to
pull Ray away from the throne. 

The blue eyes widened innocently. "I'm just following up your observation,
Sire. Those clothes *are* indecent...so I think the best thing I can do is
get him out of them as quickly as possible...don't you?" 

And--Bodie being Bodie in any universe--that's *exactly* what he did. 

-- THE END --

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