EDIT 11-14-2016: Not sure how it happened, but apparently the wrong file got uploaded for this story to begin with. I've corrected it now, but yeah. That was weird. What had been uploaded was a chapter from my fic Warmth. I'm so sorry for the mix-up. It was 3:30am when I posted this so that may have been part of the problem. -_- Again, sorry for the confusion and thanks to Sunny Lighter for bringing that error to my attention!

A/N: I really shouldn't be doing this. It is 3:15am my time and I'm starting yet another story while still working on my Warmth fic. *facepalm* Why?

Anyway, this is a Cinderella story. No glass slipper, but there are shapeshifting fae.

Full story summary: Cinderella with a twist.

A twisted oath bound siblings Lance and Allura to the power hungry Galra family who want nothing more than to see the kingdoms of Eorthe and Altea fall. Over the years, they had slowly lost hope of ever being free again. However, a chance meeting between the siblings and two Humans of Eorthe rekindles the flame of hope.

Shiro is struggling to balance the precarious position his country is in, his mother's desperate attempts to set him up with someone, as trying to figure out who that beautiful woman he met was. Lucky for him, Keith is in the same position. When Shiro's mother throws a ball to help with the peace talks between Eorthe and Altea, Shiro and Keith are stunned to see the same two people who stole their hearts.

Maybe this time, they get their names.

Chapter summary: In which Lance and Allura are losing hope and Shiro gets bad news.

1: Beginnings

Lance shrugged the thin coat higher up his shoulders when the biting wind stung his throat. He was usually better at withstanding the cold, but today was particularly chilly. There wasn't a cloud in the sky except for the far eastern horizon behind which the sun would soon set. Reluctantly, he lifted the axe once more and slammed it down on the chunk of wood below, splitting it cleanly in two. That should be enough.

He replaced the axe against the wall inside the shed before stepping back into the cold to gather up the wood. His fingers were stiff and refused to move easily. Reluctantly, Lance dropped the wood and breathed on his fingers, willing the feeling back into them. After rubbing his hands together, Lance knelt and gathered as much wood as he could carry into his arms and began the trek back to the main house.

The lord of the house had demanded a fire with new wood, nevermind the fact they all knew there was plenty of wood to last them through the week. Naturally it was Lance's duty to chop the new wood and build the fire while Allura began preparing the evening meal. Sometimes, Lance wondered why his sister didn't just poison the bastards and be done with it, but he never said that out loud. They all knew why she didn't.

Still, the desire remained.

Shivering violently, Lance trudged through the snow to the house. Honestly, he preferred the rain. Rain was clean and turned the dirt into messy mud that got everywhere. If Lance came in muddy, Zarkon would demand he wash up before doing the in-house chores. That meant an hour or so to himself. Snow just stuck to him and froze his skin solid. Snow was just miserable.

There was nothing for it. Lance heaved a sigh and pushed the servant's door open with his shoulder, kicking it shut behind him. The slightly warmer air inside was a welcome embrace. At least he couldn't see his breath anymore. That was something at least.

"Lance."

He looked up and nodded to his sister who was rushing over to help him with his load. He didn't answer verbally. He was simply to cold. Allura helped him set the pile of fresh wood on the table before all but yanking him over to her cooking fire. The moment he felt the heat, Lance dropped to his knees and held his hands out as close to the flames as he dared. It was so warm, it burned. Stuffing his now aching hands in his armpits, he stood and moved back to the pile of wood.

"Can't keep them waiting," he muttered. "I'll be back."

Allura watched her brother leave the kitchen wishing she could go with him. But if she didn't have the evening meal prepared and set out on time, she would expect another beating and she wasn't eager for that again. It would be unpleasant for both her and Lance. There were just some things that couldn't be helped. This was one of those things.

She tucked a strand of snowy white hair behind her pointed ear and returned her attention to the meal. It was hardly anything to ride home about, but it was edible and the young master enjoyed it. She shook her head at the odd taste of her masters. It was nothing like her home, long lost to her and her brother. Every time she felt even the slightest bit tempted to defy her masters and return home with her brother, she felt a warning prickle under her skin.

However easy it would be to just run outside to the nearest battlefield and scream for her father, she couldn't do. She never could. She never would again. Neither could Lance. It was despicable. She pounded the dough harder than she needed to but it made her feel better. How else was she supposed to release he pent up fury?

She looked out the window at the snow. It was early this year. It was probably brought on by her father in an attempt to subdue to Humans. It brought a faint smile to her face. Then she remembered the early winter would make the little room she and her brother shared in the attic of the manor would be much colder than usual. Maybe this would be the year they froze to death in their sleep.

It was something to hope for. If they couldn't go home and escape this slavery, then maybe death was the only option left for them. She knew Lance considered it. She could see it in his eyes whenever he gazed out the barred window in their attic room. She would be lying if she didn't admit she considered it too sometimes. Too bad suicide wasn't something they could allow themselves to do.

Damn the oath. Damn their luck. Damn Zarkon. Damn Lotor. Damn this life. Damn everything. She would be free. One day she and her brother would be free. If that meant death, then so be it.

"What's the count?" Shiro asked, stepping into the tent.

"One hundred thirty-seven," Keith answered, never lifting his eyes from the map spread out on the table.

"So many?" Shiro breathed in shock. He sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead and lifted up a silent prayer for the lives lost. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "Why now? What changed?"

"According to the rumor," Pidge said from her place by Keith's side, "the king has decided to forego the talks and settle this the old-fashioned way."

"But why?" Shiro said, setting his black helmet on the table. "The negotiations were going well, I thought."

"So did we," Hunk said, stepping in behind Shiro holding a plate of food. "Here," he said, holding the plate out for his friends. "Thought you guys would need it."

"Thanks Hunk," Keith said, grabbing a piece of bread and nibbling it absently.

Shiro planted his hands on the table and stared hard at the map, begging it to give him the answers he needed. Instead, all he saw were the boundaries of his kingdom of Eorthe and the Fae kingdom of Altea in the north. Traditionally, their two kingdoms had gotten along fairly well. But then, a dozen or so years ago, the Fae abruptly cut all connections to the Eorthe with no explanation. A year or so later, the king of Altea had begun making demands that were unacceptable for the previous king of Eorthe and were still unacceptable now.

It made no sense. King Alfor had always been an agreeable man from what Shiro could remember from his childhood. Now, it seemed like the aging king had lost his mind. By killing 137 of Eorthe's people, Altea had officially escalated this conflict from a diplomatic issue to a military one.

Shiro hung his head with a heavy sigh. It had finally come to this. As of yesterday, Altea had committed an act of war against Eorthe. He never could have imagined this would happen. Altea and Eorthe had always been peaceful. Neither kingdom had known war for at least a century. For them both to suddenly face off against each other was something Shiro simply could not get his head around.

"What's the latest news from Coran?" Shiro asked.

Coran was Altea's ambassador to Eorthe and often advised Shiro and his parents. But, although Coran, got along amiably with Shiro and his three fellow Paladins, he was still Fae by nature, even if his mother had been a Human. Coran had been the one to help Shiro keep the peace for as long as it had lasted. If anything happened to the ambassador, then that could explain the sudden escalation.

"I've sent a message to him using one of my fastest birds," Pidge said. "Nothing yet."

"Maybe if they actually, you know, told us what they wanted instead of always dancing around the issue," Hunk grumbled, "maybe we wouldn't be in this mess."

Keith grimaced. "I doubt it's that simple," he said.

"It's politics," Hunk said. "Politics are never simple, but at least I know who to trust there."

Keith nodded. "I'll give you that," he mumbled.

"Look," Pidge said, pushing off from the table. "All of this wondering is doing nothing for our sanity. I suggest we wait for Coran's response before jumping to any conclusions. We still don't know the circumstances of the killings. Maybe there's something we missed."

"We went over the documents three times, Pidge," Keith said, glaring at the youngest of their circle of friends. "I doubt we missed anything."

"But we don't know their side of things," Pidge argued. "We only know what happened to our people, not theirs."

"Who cares what happened to their people," Keith said. "If they killed ours-"

"But do we know they killed our people?" Hunk said, setting his plate down. "Pidge is right," he said when Keith gave his a betrayed look. "We don't know enough yet to jump to any conclusions."

"We know 137 innocent lives were lost near the border," Keith said, facing off against Hunk. "We know no enemy bodies were recovered but that the wounds were from wild cats. You and I both know the Alteans can shapeshift. Based on all of that evidence, don't you think its obvious what happened?"

"Almost too obvious," Shiro murmured.

"What?" Keith groused. "Shiro, you-"

"Hunk and Pidge are right," the young kind said, standing straight. "None of this makes sense. It's too sudden. If the Alteans were behind this, then why would they not inform Coran?"

"Unless they did and we didn't know about it," Keith argued.

"That doesn't change the fact that we don't know, Keith," Shiro said, turning to his friend. "I don't have enough concrete evidence to officially declare war on Altea. If we receive a formal declaration, then we'll know. Until then, we keep our troops on guard, but we will not strike back. Is that understood?"

Keith grumbled but nodded in respect. He may not agree, but Shiro was still his leader and best friend. He wouldn't disobey Shiro's command.

"Hunk, Pidge, stay here and keep me apprised of the situation as it develops," Shiro commanded. "Keith, we'll head back to the castle and deal with my parents."

The Paladin paled and held up his hands. "I'll pass," he said.

Shiro glowered at him. "I wasn't giving you the option," he said, snagging Keith's wrist and dragging him out of the tent after him. "There is no way I'm going to deal with my mother alone."

Keith wilted. He never was good with women, that included the queen.