So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  For Cinderella, the morning was like any other, though she woke in better spirits than usual, and she hummed to herself while she prepared breakfast for her stepmother and stepsisters.

  Anastasia and Drizella weren’t awake yet, at least not when she ascended the staircase to deliver their meals. But once she reached the top, she heard her stepmother barging into her daughters’ rooms, urging them to get dressed.

  “Everyone’s talking about it,” Lady Tremaine said while Cinderella brought a breakfast tray into Anastasia’s room, where everyone had gathered. “The whole kingdom. Hurry now, he’ll be here any minute.”

  “Who will?” asked Drizella.

  “The Grand Duke. He’s been hunting all night.”

  “Hunting?” her stepsister repeated.

  “For that girl—the one who lost her slipper at the ball last night. They say he’s madly in love with her.”

  Anastasia yawned. “The duke is?”

  “No, no, no. The prince!”

  Cinderella gasped and dropped the trays. The prince?

  She couldn’t believe it. The last thing she would have guessed was that the young man she’d spent the evening with was Prince Charles himself.

  Then again, she’d never expected to see him again, much less learn the next day that the heir to the throne of Aurelais was looking for her.

  “Pick that up, you clumsy fool.”

  Obediently, Cinderella knelt, but her attention was far from the shards of broken porcelain on the floor. She clung to her stepmother’s every next word.

  “The glass slipper is their only clue,” Lady Tremaine continued. “The duke has been ordered to try it on every girl in the kingdom. And if one can be found whom the slipper fits, then, by the king’s command, that girl shall be the prince’s bride.”

  His bride.

  The word made Cinderella’s head reel. Everything blurred, and she forgot her stepmother and her stepsisters—even where she was. If the prince wanted her to be his bride—that meant he . . . he loved her. It meant she’d no longer have to work as her stepmother’s servant, or live in the attic alone. She’d be free.

  Without thinking, she began humming the song she and her companion—the prince—had danced to. An imaginary orchestra accompanied her: strings swelling with a lush harmony, a harp tinkling a luxurious sweep at the cadence, and flutes singing the dulcet countermelody. She swayed with every step as she made her way back to her room to make herself presentable for the duke’s arrival. It just would not do to see the Grand Duke with dust in her hair and crumbs all over her apron.

  She was numb with anticipation. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to feel such hope?

  Cinderella reached for the comb beside her mirror and ran it through her hair, a thrilling tingle shooting up her spine with each stroke. From the window, she could see the king’s castle gleaming in the distance, its towers and spires glittering white as pearls. Graceful as a swan, it sat on a cloud of green: a glorious garden, with endless rows of elm and spruce trees so verdant that emeralds were dull in comparison.

  Was the prince inside now, looking out from one of those tall arched windows and wondering where she was? Would he really marry her once he found out she possessed the other glass slipper? She didn’t know what would happen when they reunited, but that didn’t matter. In fact, it thrilled her. For once the future would bring more than her quotidian chores, her stepmother’s rebukes, her stepsisters’ spite. Her life was going to change. Finally.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, she studied herself, wishing she had something nicer than her work dress to wear.

  Setting down her comb, she glanced out the window reflected on her mirror. No sign of the Grand Duke yet. How she hoped he would arrive soon; she didn’t know how much longer she could wait. She hugged herself, feeling her anticipation building inside.

  So deep in a daze was she that she didn’t realize Lady Tremaine had followed her up the winding stairway to her tiny garret room in the attic, not until it was too late.

  “No,” she whispered, finally seeing her stepmother appear behind her, her dark silhouette filling the mirror. Her horror grew as Lady Tremaine’s fingers slid across the wooden door. Cinderella turned, but her stepmother seized the key and slammed the door shut.

  “No!” Cinderella raced across the room and pounded her fists against the door. “You can’t keep me in here! Please! You can’t. You just can’t.”

  But Lady Tremaine’s footsteps were already fading, quickly descending from the tower. Cinderella crumpled against the door.

  It was no use; her stepmother wasn’t coming back. She was trapped.

  Below, the gates outside creaked open. Horses nickered, and the heavy wheels of a carriage trundled onto the driveway.

  The Grand Duke had arrived.

  A burst of hope swelled in her chest. Picking herself up, she rushed to the window, frantically trying to get the duke’s attention.

  “Your Grace!” she shouted, waving. “Over here! Please, help me!”

  Below, the footman helped the Grand Duke out of the carriage. He cast an odd shadow, thin but for the paunch at his belly, with an egg-shaped head. A tall blue hat capped his black hair, its bright red feather matching the sash around his torso. As Lady Tremaine greeted him outside, he walked briskly to the door, giving what seemed like only the most obligatory of greetings.

  “Your Grace!” Cinderella tried again. Louder, this time.

  But the duke disappeared into the house.

  He hadn’t heard her. No one had, and no one would. After all, she was locked up in the chateau’s tower, so high she was peering down at the tops of the trees. It was no use shouting.

  Anger bubbled at the back of Cinderella’s throat, but she pushed it away. She never used to question her stepmother’s cruelty. Over the years, she’d toughened her heart, forgiving Lady Tremaine and her daughters every night for the unkindness they seemed to enjoy meting out to her.

  But today, her stepmother had taken a dream Cinderella had only just begun to have faith might actually come true—and shattered it. And Cinderella was more trapped than ever.

  Mice scurried out of their hiding places inside the walls and nibbled at the hem of her skirts. Another day, seeing them might have made her smile, but blinking back tears, Cinderella turned away from them.

  “I just want to be alone,” she told them softly.

  Not understanding, the mice circled her, their little paws tapping against the wooden floor.

  For so long the mice had been her only company, besides Bruno. They were certainly preferable to the company of her stepsisters. Until the previous night, she hadn’t spoken with anyone outside her father’s house in weeks, likely even months.

  An ache stirred in her heart as she remembered her easy conversation—with Charles, the prince. If only she’d known.

  What would it have changed? I would still have run off at midnight, wouldn’t I?

  Unsure of the answer, she sighed and watched the mice finally scurry off, disappearing back into the wall. She wished she could escape her room as easily, but no one was coming to save her, least of all the mice.

  She inhaled a ragged breath and steadied herself. She used to spend hours every night wondering what she’d done to make her stepmother hate her so much. Her attempts to swallow her pride and obey Lady Tremaine so she might feel some affection for her seemed to only infuriate her stepmother more. As Cinderella grew older, she gave up and simply focused on making each day as bearable as possible.

  Time crawled forward. Cinderella didn’t know how long she sat there, drying her tears and trying to convince herself that everything would turn out all right. After what seemed a very long time, the gates outside closed once more.

  She rose and went to the window, leaning against the wooden sill as she watched the Grand Duke’s carriage curve out of her father’s manor and disappear beyond the oak trees lining the road. Her stepmother did not see the duke out, which could only mean th
at neither Anastasia nor Drizella had fit the glass slipper.

  No surprise there, yet Cinderella felt no satisfaction. Only relief.

  Maybe now everything will go back to the way it was.

  She pursed her lips; only a fool would believe that was true.

  Things couldn’t go back to the way they were. Besides, now that she’d tasted the possibility of a new life—for the first time since her father’s death—could she fathom returning to being her stepmother and stepsisters’ servant?

  Stifling a sigh, she bunched up the folds of her apron in her fist, squeezing tight.

  Not everything is lost, she reasoned. I still have the other glass slipper.

  But what good would that do her here? Storm clouds brewed in the distance, a bitter breeze gusting into her room. Cinderella shut the window, but her hand lingered on the pane.

  Her father’s chateau had been her home ever since she was born. It had been beautiful, once. Towering oak trees had surrounded the estate, ivy crawling over the gray-painted bricks; Cinderella’s favorite part had been the garden, where she’d spent countless hours with her mother on a swing richly covered with flowers.

  The swing was no more, long since taken down. Aside from her memories, this place was all she had left of her mother and father—Lady Tremaine had sold most of her parents’ belongings years ago: their portraits and paintings, their books, their furniture, their clothes. And their letters, she had burned.

  For so long, Cinderella had ignored the tug in her heart to leave. How could she go when this place was all she knew—when it was all she had left of her loving parents? How did she know that life out there would be any better than the one she suffered here? Not to mention the fact that she had nowhere to go, no plan for how to support herself. There weren’t a lot of options for a penniless orphan.

  Besides, Lady Tremaine and her daughters were the only family she had left. So whatever bitterness she felt toward them for making her a servant in her own home, she swallowed. Papa would have wanted me to help take care of them, she would tell herself.

  But for the first time, she was beginning to question whether that was true.

  For the first time, she saw that Lady Tremaine would never want what was best for her, that any time Cinderella came close to feeling a spark of happiness, she would try to smother it.

  As though she’d summoned her, Cinderella heard her stepmother’s footsteps again, steadily ascending the tower’s stairwell. Except this time, Lady Tremaine would not visit alone.

  “Can you believe the nerve of that man?” Anastasia huffed. “That was clearly my slipper. My slipper!”

  “Your slipper?” said Drizella. “That’s rich.”

  Their mother rebuked them. “Girls! Some dignity.”

  Cinderella’s stepsisters quieted, but not for long.

  Anastasia was the first to complain again. Slightly breathless, she said, “Why do we have to go all the way up here? It’s so dusty.”

  “I thought I heard a mouse,” Drizella added. “Mother, can’t we just have her come down? Why are we going to her? That’s so—”

  “Quiet, you two,” Lady Tremaine said sharply. “Enough complaining.”

  Cinderella steeled herself. From the sound of it, her stepmother was not in a good mood. But Cinderella wasn’t afraid—what more could she do to her? The Grand Duke had already left, and he wasn’t coming back. He was off to find another girl who’d fit the glass slipper and who would marry the prince—a girl who wasn’t her.

  The footsteps were getting closer. “It’s time you saw her true colors,” Lady Tremaine said. “She expressly disobeyed my orders and stole her way to the ball.”

  Cinderella froze. How did her stepmother know she had gone to the ball?

  She’d gotten home well before they had, and in the morning everything had seemed normal enough, at least until she’d heard the news and—

  The song she’d been humming—it was from the waltz at the ball. A chill twisted down Cinderella’s spine. Could her stepmother have heard her?

  If so, Lady Tremaine would know that Cinderella was the girl with the glass slipper—the girl the prince was searching for.

  Following her up to her room and locking her in the attic without any explanation—suddenly it made sense. But the Grand Duke had gone, so what would happen to her now?

  I will not apologize, Cinderella told herself staunchly, not for going to the ball.

  As the key clicked into the lock and the doorknob began to turn, Cinderella took a deep breath, gathering her nerves—

  —and fearing that she was just as trapped as ever.

  What a debacle!

  Ferdinand, the Grand Duke of Malloy, leaned back against the carriage’s plush velvet cushion, wishing he were anywhere but there.

  Unfortunately, according to the rolled-up list by his side, its pages slightly crumpled at the bottom corners, he still had nearly a hundred households to visit.

  He closed his eyes, knowing that the moment he fell asleep they would arrive at the next house on the list. All he could hope was the next family wouldn’t be as dreadful as the last.

  Simply recalling Lady Tremaine’s awful daughters made him shudder. It’d been shameful how the two young women had thrown themselves at the glass slipper.

  “Why, it’s my slipper!” they had cried at each other. “It’s my glass slipper!”

  If Ferdinand heard those four words again today, he would go mad. Indeed, it wouldn’t surprise him if tomorrow he woke to find all his black hairs had gone gray.

  The indignity of it all!

  Sunlight streamed in through the folds of the carriage’s curtains, the bright light making the duke wince. He opened an eye, stealing a glimpse outside. They were about to pass the statue of his father in one of the city’s finer squares. It was his favorite part of Valors, and as a boy, Ferdinand could never get enough of boasting to his friends about how important his father was, to have such a dignified and heroic likeness in the center of the city.

  “One day, I, too, will have a statue,” he’d declared.

  So imagine his horror to see pigeons perched on his father’s head, the stone facade of which clearly hadn’t been scrubbed clean in weeks! And dogs were relieving themselves among the flower beds surrounding the statue!

  If he hadn’t been on such a tight schedule, he would have barged out of his carriage, shooed away the pigeons, and demanded the utterly disrespectful commoners take their canine brutes elsewhere.

  “Disgraceful,” muttered the duke with a scowl. And after all his family had done for Aurelais! He made a mental note to have the filth-ridden state of his father’s statue addressed as soon as possible.

  How times had changed. When he was a child, people had respect for nobility. The sheer idea of the prince marrying a lesser noble would have sent tongues wagging. What’s more, a commoner of undistinguished background would have been unheard of!

  His father, the previous grand duke, certainly would have advised the king against it, as Ferdinand had tried.

  His father had overseen the rebuilding of Aurelais after the Seventeen Years’ War. This magnificent statue in Valors’s main square now honored him for facilitating the exile of all magical beings—namely fairies who’d held far too much sway in politics, what with that ridiculous tradition of blessing and cursing princes and princesses—from the kingdom. Ferdinand was not going to get any statue for finding Prince Charles’s so-called true love.

  What had he done to deserve such a fate? To be volleyed around the kingdom like some common messenger boy? He’d spent all night and all morning reciting a silly proclamation about a glass slipper instead of working on critical laws and budget plans to share with the council.

  Yes, Aurelais had been at peace for over half a century, but there were important treaties still to be negotiated, great minds to meet. Why, just the other day Ferdinand had read about an inventor who traveled the world on a flying balloon. And he could even take passengers in it! Ot
her nations were chartering ships to circumnavigate the world, establishing important trade routes and discovering new lands.

  But here he was, the right-hand man to the king of Aurelais, dispatched to each corner of the realm to find the owner of—a shoe.

  Ferdinand stared at the glass slipper sitting on his lap, hating the very sight of it. He had half a mind to throw it out the window.

  He blamed the prince.

  “You frightened her,” Prince Charles had accused him late the night before. “If you hadn’t sent your men after her, she might have come back.”

  The youth was delusional. And it had taken all of Ferdinand’s restraint to bite his tongue and not tell him exactly that.

  The king hadn’t been much help. It’d been his idea to have every maiden in the kingdom try the slipper, an idea Ferdinand had agreed to. In fact, Ferdinand had happily penned the proclamation:

  It is upon this day decreed that a quest be instituted throughout the length and breadth of our domain. The sole and express purpose of such quest is to be as follows: that every maid throughout the kingdom, without prearranged exception, shall try on her foot this slipper of glass, and should one be found upon whose foot this slipper shall properly fit, such maiden shall be acclaimed the object of this search and immediately forthwith shall be looked upon as the true love of His Royal Highness, our beloved son and heir, the noble prince.

  Only Ferdinand hadn’t expected that he would have to be the one doing the questing.

  King George had always been irrational when it came to matters regarding his son. It reminded Ferdinand why he was glad he’d never married or begotten any children. There were more elegant ways to leave a legacy.

  He only prayed he’d find the maiden soon. Very soon.

  Endeavoring to keep from falling asleep, he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to clean his monocle, but before he had a chance to use it, the driver reined the horses to a halt.

  “We’ve arrived, Your Grace.”

  Ferdinand grimaced. Reaching for his hat, he put on his most dignified expression, departed the carriage, and strode to the front door.