The sound of Bruno barking, loudly, woke Cinderella from her dreams.
She started to rise, but the morning’s bright light made her pinch her eyes tight. The sun was usually never this harsh in her room.
“Stop following me!” someone cried in the distance, sounding more distressed than irritated.
Strange, thought Cinderella blearily, that doesn’t sound like Anastasia or Drizella.
“No, no, I can’t go that way. I’m going to be late for work if I—stop chewing on my skirt. Stop that!”
Certain she was still dreaming, Cinderella covered her eyes with her arm, cherishing every minute of sleep before she had to get up and prepare breakfast for her stepsisters again. As she stifled a yawn and stretched, her knuckles brushed against hard gravel instead of the stiff cotton over her mattress.
With a jolt, Cinderella sat up and tried to make sense of her surroundings. The sun still glared at her; all she could see was the sky, bright and cloudless, an ocean of seamless blue. Everything else was blurred, freckled by dancing white sunspots.
“Bruno?” she called out. Where had he gone? She raised her tone an anxious note. “Bruno?”
Behind her, someone let out a gasp. “Oh, my! Miss! Miss, are you all right?”
Cinderella perked up, recognizing the voice of the young woman she had heard earlier.
Bruno appeared from behind the girl’s skirts and scampered to Cinderella’s side.
“Oh, what a relief—he’s yours! I worried he was a stray, he was barking so much.” The girl knelt beside her, setting down a basket brimming with neat piles of fabric, spools of thread, and a pair of scissors. A seamstress, Cinderella deduced.
“He grabbed on to my skirt and wouldn’t let me go until I followed him. Now I see why, clever dog.” The seamstress viewed Cinderella, her hazel eyes flaring with concern. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”
Cinderella’s back ached from sleeping on the street, and her head still throbbed from hitting the side of Mr. Laverre’s carriage, but already the pain was subsiding. “Yes, I’m fine.”
The young seamstress lent Cinderella her arm, yanking her to her feet. “You’re lucky I was running late to work. Otherwise, who knows who might have found you!”
“Thank you,” said Cinderella, staggering back.
The seamstress’s eyebrows suddenly flew up, and she pulled Cinderella off the street and onto the sidewalk before a carriage rushed past, its wheels spinning alarmingly fast.
“I guess I spoke too fast,” Cinderella said, catching her breath. “I didn’t even know I was on the street.”
“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” the seamstress chided. “You could have gotten trampled!” She furrowed her brow. “What’s a girl like you doing sleeping out here anyway?”
“It’s a long story,” replied Cinderella, managing a smile. “Thank you again for your help. I don’t want to keep you if you have somewhere to go.”
The seamstress’s expression softened, and she glanced at the clock over one of the shops. “Guess I’m going to be late no matter what. Besides, you look like you need my help more than some silly lords and ladies.” She pushed a lock of auburn hair out of her face. She was tall, and a dimple emerged on the right corner of her mouth when she smiled.
“I get nervous when I’m running late, so I’m sorry if I was rude. Let’s start again. I’m Louisa.”
“Cinderella.”
“Cinderella?” Louisa’s eyebrow arched. “That’s a name I’ve never heard before, and I know about most of the girls in town.”
Cinderella pursed her lips and twisted the ends of her apron, unsure how to explain she’d been her stepmother’s servant for years and practically a prisoner in her own home.
“I don’t go out much,” was all she said.
“I was beginning to wonder,” said Louisa dryly. “You don’t seem to even know where you are.” Her hand jumped to her mouth. “That came out ruder than I meant it to. Mother always says I need to keep my thoughts to myself. Aunt Irmina does, too, but it’s hard when my thoughts are so loud.” Louisa made a face. “How’d you get a name like Cinderella?”
“My birth name is Ella, after my mother, Gabrielle. But no one’s called me that for years.”
“I like Cinderella,” Louisa declared. “I don’t understand the ‘Cinder’ in front of Ella, but it’s different, I’ll say.”
“I used to curl up by the fire in the kitchen waiting for my papa to come home from his travels,” Cinderella explained. “Sometimes I’d fall asleep and have soot all over my clothes. One time he cleaned it off, and ever since he called me Cinderella.”
“Cinderella” had been her father’s term of endearment for her. Only after he died did her stepmother and stepsisters use her name as a way of mocking her.
“Is he traveling now?” Louisa asked. “He must be worried about you.”
“No.” Cinderella’s voice faltered. “He’s not traveling, he’s . . . he passed away. Years ago.”
Louisa smacked her mouth. “I’m sorry. There I go, saying the wrong things again.”
“It was a long time ago. You couldn’t have known.”
“Do you at least have a place to go? Any home or family?”
Cinderella was silent. What could she say? That she’d been trapped in her father’s house for the past decade, forced to wait on a cruel stepmother and two stepsisters?
Even if she wanted to go back to her father’s house, she couldn’t. Not after what had happened the night before.
“No,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry about me. You should get to work. I’ve kept you long enough.”
Louisa eyed her face, gesturing at her forehead. “You have a bruise.”
“It’s nothing. Just from last night. I hit my head on a carriage.”
“A carriage?” Louisa repeated, alarmed. “What were you—”
In the background, a clock chimed, cutting over Louisa’s question. She shot up, picking up her basket so quickly it swung in her arms. “Heavens, it’s seven o’clock already!”
They were the same bells from the palace watchtower that used to rouse Cinderella every morning. “Old Killjoy,” she used to call the clock. But for the first time, she wasn’t hearing it ring in bed; she wasn’t in her tiny room in the attic, watching the city come alive. She was in the heart of Valors.
Something about that realization made a lump rise in her throat; she’d missed being in the city. She just hadn’t expected this—being forced out of her home and sold by Lady Tremaine—to be the way she found herself there.
“Go on,” Cinderella said over the clock’s chimes. She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll be fine. I have Bruno with me.”
“I hate to leave you, but I really—oh, no!” Louisa suddenly exclaimed. Bruno was gnawing on a scrap of fabric from her dress. “My uniform!”
“Bruno,” Cinderella scolded. She tsked at him, then turned to Louisa. “It’s torn in the back. I’m so sorry. But I can help you mend it if you have a needle and thread handy.”
“It’s all right,” said Louisa, already trying to assess the damage. “He was trying to get my attention so I could find you. I can manage. I wasn’t raised a dressmaker’s daughter for nothing!”
“Even a dressmaker’s daughter would have to have eyes in the back of her head to mend that rip,” Cinderella pointed out, laughing. “Can you even see it, behind you?”
Louisa craned her neck to look. “You’re right.” The seamstress made a worried face. “I’ll be sent home if I show up at the palace with a tear in my skirt.”
The comment startled Cinderella. “The palace?”
“I work there.”
Cinderella’s heart skipped a beat. Quickly looking down at Louisa’s skirt to hide her emotions, she took the needle and thread her new friend offered. “You must be very skilled.”
“Hah.” Louisa held up her skirt so Cinderella could begin working. “My mother owns a small dress shop in the Garment District.
I’ve been sewing for her since I was little, but I’m still the slowest in the palace.”
Cinderella didn’t speak until she was nearly done mending Louisa’s skirt. “Is this good enough?”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. You’re a fine seamstress yourself.”
I used to sew for my stepsisters, Cinderella almost said, but she stopped herself. The memory of Mr. Laverre and her stepmother trying to indenture her as a servant were too fresh. Best not to speak of them, not only because she was worried they might find her, but also because her stepmother’s cruelty still stung.
“Very neat,” Louisa said admiringly. Then she hesitated before observing, “Your hands are shaking.”
“Are they?” Cinderella stuffed them into her pockets. “Just a little chilly, I guess.”
“Goodness, you don’t even have a coat?” Louisa frowned, then took one of the sheaths of cloth from her basket and wrapped it around Cinderella’s shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me how you ended up on the street, but . . . tell me the truth. You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?”
Slowly, Cinderella shook her head. Hunger sharpened in her gut, and her stomach growled before she could stop it.
“I knew it! Why don’t you come with me? I’ll make sure the cooks get you a nice bowl of soup. I think it’s onion soup today, and that’s one of my favorites.” Louisa paused, glancing at Cinderella’s dirty dress and the apron over it. “Maybe we can even find a job for you.”
“In the palace?”
“No, the tanneries. Of course, the palace!” Louisa giggled at Cinderella’s wide eyes, misreading her startled expression for one of awe. “It’s less grand when you’re the one cleaning it. But given the urgent search for the missing princess, no one in the palace is paying close attention to us servants. I’m sure I could convince Aunt Irmina to give you a few days’ work at the very least.”
Cinderella swallowed. The palace was where Prince Charles lived, but she wasn’t a fool. She knew that the chances of running into him would be slim. And yet . . . maybe—just maybe, if he saw her again, even dressed as a member of the palace staff, he might recognize her.
She shook the possibility away. What am I thinking, clinging to some silly fantasy about a silly prince I’ve only met once? She inhaled, trying to reason away her feelings for the prince. A job in the palace is more than I could have hoped for. It’s work that will pay, and it’s a life away from my stepmother. It’s the new start I’ve been waiting for.
“Well?” Louisa asked. “What do you say?”
Cinderella almost agreed, but then she remembered Bruno, who was staring morosely at the two girls. “What about Bruno?”
Louisa eyed the bloodhound nervously. “I can try to sneak him into the servants’ quarters, but we’ll have to keep him hidden. Aunt Irmina is not fond of animals.”
So it was settled, and Cinderella followed her new friend, Louisa, to the last place she’d thought she would see again.
The palace.
“Announcing the Crown Prince Charles Maximilian Alexander, son of King George-Louis Philippe III, noble prince and beloved heir to the throne of Aurelais—”
Charles usually would have waited for the royal crier to finish declaring his entrance, but this morning he barely even heard the man.
He stormed into the royal dining chamber. Inside, he found his father calmly breaking his fast with a plate of almond cakes, freshly baked pastries, and raspberry jam, and the Grand Duke reading aloud from a scroll.
“That is one hundred and twenty-three households, sire,” declared Ferdinand. “None of the maidens came close to fitting the slipper. At this rate, I suspect the search is futile and that the missing young lady will not be foun—” The duke lowered his scroll, noticing Charles. “Why, good morning, Your Highness.”
A flurry of servants trailed Charles. Any other day, he might have felt horrible about causing a ruckus with his unexpected appearance at breakfast. But not today.
King George brightened at the sight of his son. “Good morning, my boy. Sit down, sit down.”
“Good morning, Father,” replied the prince, managing an awkward bow. A servant hastily pulled out a chair for him, but he did not sit. Instead, he directed his gaze to the Grand Duke. “I thought I made it clear that I wished to be present for every report regarding the glass slipper.”
“It is half past seven, Your Highness,” replied the duke smoothly. “We waited as long as we could.”
As always, Ferdinand had an excuse for everything, but Charles detected an undertone of fatigue behind his usual unflappable charm. Dark circles hooded the Grand Duke’s eyes, and his uniform, typically pressed to perfection, was wrinkled at the hems. Evidently, he had not slept well.
Charles had not, either. In truth, he hadn’t slept at all.
How could he? The last thing he had wanted was for Ferdinand to find his intended bride. Charles had wanted to search for her himself. Unfortunately, his father had insisted on appointing the Grand Duke for the job.
Ferdinand is the most capable man in the kingdom. He will find her, he’d said.
Her.
Charles hated that he didn’t even know her name. Everyone was calling her “the mysterious maiden” or “the runaway princess” or simply “the girl with the glass slippers.”
To him, she’d been more. The girl who had captured his heart. His true love, perhaps. Until he saw her again, he couldn’t be sure.
“Did you find her?” he asked.
“I regret not, Your Highness.” Ferdinand blew his nose into his handkerchief and waved a hand at the servants to disperse.
Charles knew the gesture. These are matters of state, meant only for the sovereign’s ears.
Which meant there was bad news to come.
The duke straightened as the staff retreated outside. “I’ve searched everywhere. The maiden has vanished.”
It was as Charles had feared. “Continue your report, please.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” Ferdinand returned to reading his scroll. “From dawn to dusk, one hundred and twenty-three households were searched yesterday in the first and second precincts of Valors. None were residence to the maiden with the glass slipper. I regret I must conclude my search—”
“After only one day?” interrupted Charles.
“Yes. I made a thorough inquiry of the first and second precincts—”
“There are nine precincts in Valors, and more than a hundred and twenty-three households.”
“There are only one hundred and twenty-three noble households.”
“I thought I’d made myself clear,” Charles said through his teeth. “Every house. Noble and common.”
The duke frowned. “B-b-but, Your Highness—if the girl’s a commoner—”
“Every eligible maiden was invited to attend, wasn’t she?” Charles said, quoting the invitation. “Then the girl could be anyone. A countess, a farmer, a scullery maid. Search everyone.”
“I am afraid that will be impossible,” said the duke. “There is a council meeting this morning regarding urgent matters of state. My presence is not to be missed. Sire, don’t you agree?”
“Hmm?” said the king, who was more focused on his plate of eggs than on the conversation at hand. “Ah. Yes. Urgent matters of state. Everyone’s been searched.”
He seems distracted this morning, Charles thought, observing his father. “No, I said to search everyone. If I could go myself to look for her—”
“That’s out of the question,” interrupted Ferdinand. “Your Highness, it would be neither appropriate, nor safe, for you to venture into Valors on such a quest—”
“I was addressing my father, not you.”
“Ferdinand’s right,” said the king, finally snapping to attention. “A prince does not go out on a manhunt, knocking on doors in search of runaway princesses!”
“It’s not a—”
“Besides, your aunt Genevieve arrived this morning and expects you to accompany her to lunc
h.”
The prince started. The name was one he hadn’t heard in years. “Aunt Genevieve is here?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
A muscle twitched in Charles’s jaw. Now he understood why his father looked so preoccupied. His aunt, the Duchess of Orlanne, hadn’t visited in nearly a decade; in fact, the last time she’d been there, she’d sworn never to return to the palace. She and his father famously did not get along—and Charles didn’t understand why, given he thought the world of her.
“Where is she now?” Charles asked.
“Still sleeping, I should hope.” King George shoveled the rest of his pastry into his mouth. He began to cough violently as he chewed, the color draining from his face.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the Grand Duke, springing to action. He tapped the king’s back with his scroll, but it only made the coughing worse. By now, the king’s face had turned an alarming shade of purple.
Charles rounded on his father, hoisting him out of his chair and pumping his chest as the duke rang the nearest bell.
“Come help His Majesty! He’s choking!”
Just as the servants began clamoring inside, the pastry shot out of his mouth onto the table.
“Breathe, Father, breathe.”
The king tugged at his collar, recovering his breath.
“Sire,” said the duke, “that’s the third time this week. Are you—”
King George grunted, a signal for the duke to be quiet. “Nothing’s the matter with me. Drank my tea too fast, that’s all. Pass me the sugar, will you?”
“Father, are you sure that’s a good idea? You just choked.”
The duke complied before Charles could argue further, scooping a heaping spoonful for the king. George leaned back in his chair, a contented smile cheering his expression.
“Perhaps you ought to sit out on meeting with the council this morning, Your Majesty,” Ferdinand said, once Charles’s father took another long sip. The duke had taken the tone Charles detested most; it was far too nice, far too suggestive that he was angling for something. But what?
“Sit out the meeting?”
“Yes. The physician said—”
The king shot the Grand Duke a deadly look. “I can handle a council meeting, thank you very much.”
So This is Love Page 5
