Hi, sports fans! I made this for you!

I've wanted to try this kind of story for some time, and I have plenty of "Ella" ideas rolling around in my head, many of them to do with Char and his family. Hopefully this serves as an outlet for some of them.

I'm sure the "what happens next" story has been done a zillion times. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy my take on the future. If you have ideas, I'd love to hear them! Just leave a comment. :)

(Side note: after titling and re-titling this story about fifty times, I have determined that the word "happy" is one of those words that start to sound very strange after you've said them too many times.)

(Side side note: the formatting of this was bugging me, so I changed it. The first few paragraphs of the story—i.e. the part you recognize—are directly quoted from the end of the book and belong exclusively to GCL the Great and Powerful.)

Happy

I had been able to break the curse myself. I'd had to have reason enough, love enough to do it, to find the will and the strength. My safety from the ogres hadn't been enough; zhulpH's rescue hadn't been enough, especially not with guards about; my slavery to Mum Olga hadn't been enough. Kyrria was enough. Char was enough.

Now it was over. Ended forever. I was made anew. Ella. Just Ella. Not Ella, the slave. Not a scullery maid. Not Lela. Not Eleanor. Ella. Myself unto myself. One. Me.

I tore off the rag that covered my hair. Then I curtsied to Char.

"When you asked for my hand a few minutes ago, I was still too young to marry." I looked up at him and saw a smile start. "I'm older now, so much older that not only can I marry, but I can beg you to marry me." I knelt and took his hand.

He didn't let me kneel before him. He pulled me up and kissed me again. I took that to signify his consent.

Behind me, Dame Olga was whispering something sharp and frantic to one of her servants. Char frowned over my shoulder, looking at Dame Olga as though seeing her for the first time. "You run this household, Madam?"

Dame Olga swept an improbably graceful curtsy. "I do, Your Highness. I am Dame Olg—"

"I know who you are." Char's countenance was dark, and I realized I had never seen him angry before. "Are you responsible for the way this lass has been treated in her own home?"

I remembered his story about the languages tutor who had abused his sister. I wondered whether Dame Olga was about to receive the same fiery retribution.

Dame Olga hesitated. "Your Highness will forgive me, but this is not the lass's home."

"You are her father's wife, are you not?"

Her face flashed with something like fury, which melted quickly into a sort of twisted heartsickness. "My darling Sir Peter," she crooned. "Of course. But you see, my husband, beloved and immaculate as he is, has played a most cruel trick on me. As a suitor, he charmed me, but once our wedding bells chimed, Highness, he revealed his bereavement to me. Not a penny to his name, and I, the hapless maiden who had fallen victim to his wiles.

"Suddenly, my household funds had to stretch to accommodate two more members, and what does my beloved do? He leaves me—on business, of course, but can a housewife help but imagine the lovely young girls a man may meet on his travels? Oh, I know Sir P would never betray me." She wrung her hands as though wounded. Then she cast me a look of utter loathing. "But to thrust upon me this child of his, this ungrateful wench who takes greedily and offers nothing in return, who wastes no opportunity to humiliate my precious daughters and who is better suited to the life of a street hawker than a dignified young lady . . . well, Highness, I implore your forgiveness, but what could piteous I do in such a position? I ought to have turned her out straightaway, but out of the goodness of my heart, I allowed her a position here in my household."

I was fascinated by the spin Dame Olga had managed to put on the story. It sounded almost plausible. But Char was not swayed. "This ungrateful wench is your future queen," he said in a dangerous voice. "I advise you to bear that in mind."

Dame Olga swept another curtsy. "Yes, of course, Highness. A thousand apologies, Highness."

Char turned to me. "What would you like done with these women?"

Hattie made a noise like a cornered mouse, and I raised my eyebrows. "I?"

"They have dishonored you in an unforgiveable manner," said Char. "Anything you ask shall be done."

I studied my deplorable step-family. Dame Olga was watching me with wide, frightened eyes, and Hattie was clutching her mouth in abject terror. Olive looked gently puzzled.

"I don't know," I said finally. "Anything too terrible would upset my father. I think I'd like to hear his opinion."

This earned me an eye-roll from Mandy and an uncertain look from Char. "There is nothing you desire from them?"

"Only my things back," I said. "And I'd like to return to my mother's house. With Mandy and the rest of my household."

"Of course, dearest, of course," Dame Olga gushed. "It's all yours, rightfully, of course. You must take anything you like. You must think of me as your mother, I've always said, call me Mum Olga, you remember, don't you, sweetest?"

It was remarkable how she molded to the situation. Her demeanor changed with the flexibility of a chameleon. I wondered how far Dame Olga had gotten in her life through sheer manipulation, and I considered for the first time that she might not be such a terrible match for Father, after all.

Char looked about to interject, but I held out a hand and said, "Hattie, I'd like my necklace back, please."

Hattie was pale in the face and fairly trembling where she stood, clearly afraid her head was about to be removed from her shoulders. Despite the situation, she mustered the most spiteful glare she had ever directed at me.

Dame Olga nudged her. "Come, Hattie," she said. "Give your sister what she wants."

With jerking fingers, Hattie removed the necklace as slowly as if it weighed a hundred pounds. She handed it out, and I resisted the urge to command, Put it around my neck. I took it graciously.

"Sir Stephen," said Char. "Help Lady Ella gather her things. We will be transporting her back to her home."

I was surprised. "Right now?"

"Why not? I have three carriages outside, all practically empty. We can transport your staff and your belongings all at once. Besides," he added, and the sharp glint came back into his eye, "I confess I can't stand the thought of leaving you in this wretched house any longer than strictly necessary."

"I don't want to burden your men."

Sir Stephen spoke up. "Milady, I would feel most comfortable if you were to return to your mother's home as quickly as possible. The thought of you in this miserable place would be more burden on us than one brief journey." The other men with him nodded fervently.

I smiled. They were all as kind as Char. The thought that I might see Sir Stephen any day I liked was indescribably cheering.

Mandy stepped forward. "Come, Lady," she said. "We'll start with your mother's wardrobe."

Hattie, Olive, and Dame Olga stood by as my staff made their rounds through the house. Mother's things had been scattered everywhere, but Nancy and the others were surprisingly efficient in unearthing jewels, trinkets, and furnishings. They retrieved things I hadn't even realized were mine. Then again, who better than the servants to remember what had been dusted and polished every day in their old home? Mandy and I cleaned out the kitchen quickly enough, after all, relieving it of every last insignificant earthen nut bowl we'd come to know and cherish.

On one pass upstairs, Bertha recovered a beautiful pendant—a garnet stone, so pure it appeared liquid, hung on a heavy gold chain. I had seen it frequently around Dame Olga's neck. I didn't know it belonged to Mother, but Bertha walked it straight up to me, holding it chin-high like a trophy, and the vindictive look she shot at Dame Olga erased any doubt from my mind.

Bertha placed the pendant in my hands. "It was a wedding gift," she said. "From Lady Eleanor's father. Meant the world to her after he died."

Dame Olga seethed as the treasure passed hands, but she was powerless to stop it. I was almost sorry for taking so much pleasure from her helplessness, but I couldn't help feeling triumphant. There would be time later for pity.

Mandy insisted on bathing me and dressing me in a proper gown. When we returned downstairs, I stepped into the presence of my step-family, cinder-free for the first time in months. I felt as tall as a mountain. I could leave them. I could do anything I liked.

Char caught my hands, and he finally grinned, the silly expression of a boy. "Your carriage awaits, my lady."

I could go with him. I stood on my toes and kissed him, and then I led him over Dame Olga's hateful doorstep for the last time, feeling happy enough to sing and free enough to fly.

The manor was a welcome sight, even in its unnaturally still and silent state. I had half-imagined coming back to a dilapidated pile of stone, but it stood tall and proud as it ever had, nestled into the trees at the end of a short, curving driveway.

The servants piled out of their carriages, and my things were quickly unloaded. Char hung by the carriage, uncertain of the appropriate action. "I'm afraid I oughtn't stay," he said. "My parents will think I've come to harm."

"Until tomorrow, then," I said.

He smiled, but it faltered. "Are you sure you'll be all right here alone?"

"I'm not alone. I have Mandy and everyone."

"How long will your father be gone?"

"Until he's tripled his wallet," I said. "So he told me, one time. Never before. But I'm accustomed to his absence."

Char tightened his lips. He gave the manor a disapproving look.

"I'd like to settle back in," I said. "I shall see you tomorrow. Come over as early as you like. Mandy and I will bake you scones."

"I couldn't let you cook for me," he said, but he looked cheered by the prospect.

"There's no 'letting' involved," I said. "I shall bake scones, and whether you eat one or not will be entirely your decision." I hugged him, and we kissed. "I love you," I said. "And it feels glorious to say it."

"I love you, too," said Char. "Always." He pried himself away with a monumental effort and said, "Until tomorrow, then, Ella."

"Until tomorrow, Char."

He climbed into the carriage and pulled away. I ached, by instinct, to see him go. Mandy caught my look and touched my arm.

"Don't fret, sweet," she said. "There's no reason to, anymore. You'll see him in the morning. And the morning after that. And every morning forever."

I smiled.

"Now," said Mandly brusquely. "It's far too late for young ladies to be up and about. Let's get you to bed. When you awaken, your mother's things will be in their proper places, and your love will be here to greet you."

It was a wonderfully pleasant thought.