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"Your Majesty, I know it's painful, but I need you to think," Sir Lampton said. "Did the Masked Man say anything to you about his plan?"
She barely heard him. Cinderella was staring down at her hands— her blackened, filthy hands. There was an itch at the back of her mind, a memory that demanded it be thought of, and it was saying "Get up, Cinderella. A lady of means never plays in the soot. What would your father think?"
She curled her fingers into her palm, picking at the dirt under one of her fingernails. She hadn't been this dirty in years. She hadn't felt this dirty in years.
It was possible she had never felt this filthy before in her life, even when she was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor and picking lentils out of the ashes in the fireplace.
"Well? Don't just sit there gawking. What would your father think?" The dustpan clattered away from her hands. Her stepmother cast a sharp, angry shadow over the fireplace.
She shook her head. "I don't know," She said.
"I don't know," Cinderella said, voice catching quietly in her throat.
There was a warm hand on her arm, settling over a tear in her sleeve. "Ella," Sir Lampton said softly. "You're not there. Alright? You're safe."
Cinderella nodded, breathing shallowly. "I'm just so—" She wanted to wipe her face, but she couldn't. Not if she wanted to keep herself presentable. And she needed to be presentable because— She could feel tears creeping to the corners of her eyes, "I don't—"
"I haven't been here in three years," The man mused. He turned to her with an awkward smile. "I suppose we're both strangers to the castle, then, Your Majesty."
"Oh, none of that. Just… call me Ella," She said. "It's sort of a nickname and I haven't heard it in years, but—"
"Ella," The man said, like he was trying it out on his tongue. It was an action that reminded her so thoroughly of her father. "You can call me Sir Lampton, though you'd do well to lose the sir. Don't tell anyone, but I'm not actually a knight."
She smiled at him, feeling a little less lonely. "Nice to meet you, Lampton."
Sir Lampton spread his arms like an invitation. "Come here."
A sob wrenched its way from her throat and she threw herself into his embrace, the exposed chest plate cold on her skin. It was easy to ignore as she let herself be tucked into the crook of his neck, curling into herself as much as she could. His arms settled around her gently, one hand slowly pulling through her hair as her shoulders shook.
"I'm filthy," She cried into the embroidery of his uniform and she felt a little like a spoiled child as she sniffled and wailed about dirt. "It's never— it's never going to come out. I can't— I don't want to go back in the attic— don't make me, please, Stepmother, I'll be good. I'll be clean. I'll— I'll be—"
Sir Lampton rubbed circles into her back. "You're safe," He murmured. "It's alright, I've got you."
"Dear, why are you crying?" Her father asked softly as she climbed into his bed, leaving sooty marks behind her on the sheets.
"I'm not pretty anymore!" She wailed, tucking herself under his arm.
Her father frowned. "Oh, Ella. Is this because you're covered in soot?"
She nodded miserably.
"Well, I'll let you in on a little secret," Her father said. "You're still pretty. You're always going to be beautiful to the right people, no matter how dirty you are."
"Really?" She looked up at him. "Do you promise?"
"On my eyes," Her father smiled.
The cold armour eventually grew warm under her face and her breathing levelled out, no longer as haggard and panicked.
She pulled away from Sir Lampton with a sniffle, resisting the urge to wipe the wetness away from under her eyes.
"I'm sorry," She said quietly but Sir Lampton just grinned at her.
"Look at that," He said, pulling at what was left of the fabric of his uniform. Soot and grime were smeared across the stark white and that awful, ugly orange Chance insisted on keeping for the Cadre and the army. "Seems it does come out."
The giggle that fell from her mouth seemed to startle them both. "I'm sorry," She said again, though this time with a smile. "I've ruined your uniform."
"I think you've done it some favours, actually," Sir Lampton told her.
Cinderella laughed, the action making her pleasantly lightheaded. "I keep telling him! But he says it's 'traditional'."
Sir Lampton snorted. "The only thing that's traditional is that Charming stubbornness." He stood abruptly, holding out a hand. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. There's a river a few minutes from here. I'll walk you."
She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. "Thank you."
Sir Lampton smiled. "Happy to help, Your Majesty."