So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  “But sire—”

  Charles frowned at both of them. “What did the physician say, Father?”

  “Only that all this party-throwing business is too much for a young man like me.” King George leaned back in his chair, exhaling then letting out a chortle. “What does he know?”

  The Grand Duke was watching them, a corner of his mouth lifted. Charles didn’t like the look.

  “Shouldn’t you be resuming your search in Valors?” he asked Ferdinand.

  “If Your Highness insists, I will certainly continue my search. But only after the council meeting. There are important laws being discussed this morning, and His Majesty greatly values my opinion.”

  Charles frowned. “Important laws? Father, I could help you—”

  “No, no, you must not be late for your luncheon with the duchess,” interrupted Ferdinand smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare my statement for today’s council.” He rolled up his scroll, tucking it under his arm, saluted the king, and bowed.

  Then the door closed, leaving the prince alone with his father.

  Charles opened his mouth to express his doubts about the Grand Duke, but his father spoke first: “Why the frown, my boy? Don’t be so hard on Ferdinand. He’s doing the best job he can.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “Why not? He’s doing you a great favor, searching the kingdom for the girl with the glass slipper.”

  Charles tried not to cringe. The last person he wanted to be indebted to was the duke.

  “Curious maiden, this young lady of yours.” The king laughed heartily. “I’ve heard of many things in my time, but not glass slippers. Cheer up, my boy. We’ll find her. How far could she have gotten on glass? And only one shoe!”

  Slowly, Charles relaxed, and he couldn’t help smiling. Hearing his father laugh reminded him of the man he’d missed while he was away at the Royal University: the vibrant and energetic father who’d bounced him on his knee when he was a boy and spent every precious free moment he had with his son. Then the king’s shoulders sagged, and his laugh became a dry, hacking cough.

  Panic seized Charles. “Father!”

  King George clutched at his chest, pounding on it with his fists. His cough spluttered into a coarse wheeze. Then he forced a laugh.

  “It’s nothing, my boy.” He waved a croissant at Charles, then picked up his teacup again. “Just choked on my good humor.”

  “That didn’t sound like you were choking—”

  “Lord knows I won’t have anything to laugh about when Genevieve’s around,” interjected the king dryly. “The last time your aunt smiled, I still had all my hair!” He patted his bald scalp. “Why else do you think I sent her away? She’s no good for my blood pressure. No good for my sleep, either!”

  But his father hadn’t sent her away. From what Charles remembered, Aunt Genevieve had chosen to leave. He didn’t know much more than that; it was always a sore subject with his father, one he had never dared to broach himself.

  “Now, are you going to keep standing there or are you going to join me for breakfast?”

  “Some other time,” said Charles. He had a feeling his father was simply trying to change the subject.

  The king harrumphed. “Very well, then. Be sure you arrive on time for lunch. The last thing I need is Genevieve haranguing me for not teaching you proper manners.”

  “I’ll be there.” Charles started to leave, then paused in his step, tensing.

  “What is it, my boy?”

  “It’s a matter of the council,” said Charles. “I’d like to join. Your daily meetings with Ferdinand, too.”

  “Ah . . .” The king’s voice drifted. He coughed into his sleeve. “Naturally, you will, Charles. In due time. Let us focus on getting you settled back in the palace—”

  “I am settled.”

  “Then let’s wait until Ferdinand finds your girl, and then we’ll talk. All right? Best for you to have a proper introduction to the council once that is sorted.” The king leaned back against his chair’s cushioned headboard. “You’ll be happier, too.”

  “Very well, Father.” The prince bowed. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

  On his way out, Charles noticed his father’s chamberlain lingering outside the door.

  Keeping his voice low, the prince said, “Sir Chamberlain, would you have the royal physician visit my father again today?”

  The older man blinked, as if surprised by the question. But, befitting the truly trained and skilled servant he was, he quickly hid his confusion and bent his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Thank you, Sir Chamberlain.” Feeling slightly better about his father’s health, Charles strode on, but he didn’t know where he was going.

  The gardens, perhaps. He had spent almost all of the day before there, trying to retrace the steps he’d taken with her, to see if he could remember anything that might help him find her. He hadn’t, but maybe today would be different.

  It was better than waiting for Ferdinand to come back with news.

  Three corridors down, Charles passed the physician hurrying to the king’s chamber.

  “That was quick,” he murmured. “Dr. Coste! Are you on your way to see my father?”

  “Why yes, Your Highness.” The physician shuffled backward, and a flash of parchment peeked out from under his arm, stamped with Ferdinand’s seal.

  Curious. What did Ferdinand want with the royal physician?

  “I am concerned about his health. Was he ill much while I was away?”

  “His Majesty the king is in excellent health!” Dr. Coste replied, a little too brightly. “His appetite is vigorous, and his energy boundless. I have recommended that he exercise more, perhaps a daily morning walk about the gardens, but His Majesty has been so excited for Your Highness’s return from the Royal University this month that he has not yet implemented my suggestion. Even still, there is nothing to be concerned about.”

  “You are certain? His cough sounded worrisome.”

  “It’s happened before,” the physician assured him. “Likely, His Majesty is simply growing more sensitive to things like dust—not unusual for a man of his age. That, and his blood pressure is slightly elevated . . . but it’s nothing a good week of rest can’t fix. Think nothing of it.”

  “I see,” Charles replied. That was what his father had said. “Well, if there’s anything you can do . . .”

  Dr. Coste stroked his beard. “I know the Grand Duke enjoys visiting His Majesty after the evening council meetings, but I would suggest that your father not take any tea after dinner. A better night’s rest should relieve his coughing fits. I’ll propose a sleeping draught instead.”

  That eased some of Charles’s concern. “Thank you, Dr. Coste. Carry on.”

  Unclenching his fists, the prince headed to the stables. He might not be allowed to leave the palace to help search for the girl of his dreams, but a brisk ride through the royal grounds would help clear his mind.

  Even if just for a few hours.

  At precisely seven thirty in the morning, the city of Valors came alive. One by one, the shopkeepers opened their doors, sweeping the floors and throwing buckets of water onto the streets to clean their storefronts. Bright yellow and purple awnings hovered over the tiled roofs, and aromas of bread, oranges, and fish wafted into the crisp air. Carriages darted out of narrow side streets and rumbled onto the roads, and the fountains in the town squares gurgled to life.

  As Cinderella followed Louisa deeper into the city, she marveled at the scene. Everywhere she looked there were people. Children clinging to their mothers’ hands, young couples on a morning stroll, and elderly women lining up at the market for the day’s first pick of fruits and vegetables. Years of loneliness, so deeply carved into Cinderella’s heart, were slowly whittled away.

  This was what she had missed during her years with Lady Tremaine. Going out to the market with the servants, meeting strangers and chatting with other girls her age, wandering the s
treets of the city with her papa until she got lost. Having dreams of what she could do . . . She allowed herself a moment of hopeful thinking. Maybe she could open a flower shop one day, like the one she’d just passed, and have her own garden of roses like the ones her mother had grown.

  “Come on,” said Louisa, helping her navigate the growing crowds. “Once we’re out of the square there’s a shortcut we can take to the palace.”

  Cinderella’s nerves fluttered as she glanced up at the king’s residence. It crowned the top of a nearby hill, and was so close she could make out the lions embroidered on the tower flags and the pink roses lining the roads up to the main gates.

  Soon she’d be there again.

  “Isn’t it marvelous?” Louisa asked, catching her staring. “It’s even grander inside. You’ll see.”

  Cinderella had seen, but she simply nodded. After all, what could she say? That she’d ridden an enchanted pumpkin-turned-coach up the winding starlit path just two nights ago?

  From her window, it’d been like a painting out of a fairy tale, not an actual place people lived in. She still remembered how intensely her heart had raced, how she’d listened to the horses’ hooves beating against the pavement, steadily bringing her closer to the castle.

  Even the air there had been sweet, with the scent of lilies and roses and flowers she could not name. Of freshly watered bushes, of pebbled stones, of horsehair and gaslight. It had smelled heavenly.

  The streets of Valors did not smell heavenly. Smashed oranges, rotten vegetables, and broken carriage wheels splattered with mud littered the roads. While Louisa chattered away, her conversation vacillating between worrying about being late for work and instructing Cinderella on how to behave in the palace, Cinderella focused on avoiding a series of suspiciously colored puddles, piles of horse manure, and broken wine bottles.

  Before she knew it, she’d followed Louisa up the hill toward the castle.

  “If you ever get lost,” said Louisa, pointing at the clock tower, the same one that had struck midnight during the ball, “head to the clock tower. The palace is a bona fide maze, and it’s the tallest building you’ll see from any point. Turn left at the purple tulips and follow the hedges. The servants’ quarters are right past the iron gate.”

  “Purple tulips,” repeated Cinderella, brushing her fingers across the leafy walls, “down to the iron gate. That’s easy enough.”

  At her side, Bruno let out a growl; he’d spotted a stray cat scampering out of a bush.

  “That reminds me,” added Louisa. “We’ll have to keep your dog here for now.” She gestured at the hedges, whose branches were loose enough that Bruno could easily crawl inside to hide. “I’ll sneak him inside during lunch.”

  As Cinderella nodded, Louisa tilted her head to the side, studying her. “Just a minute. Aunt Irmina’s a stickler for appearances.” Removing a few pins from her own hair, she wrapped Cinderella’s ponytail into a neat bun. “There. That’ll help a little.”

  She motioned at the gate ahead, guarded by four sentries. Hooking her arm under Cinderella’s, Louisa whispered, “Don’t say anything. Stay a step behind me, smile, and follow my lead.”

  Cinderella’s new friend strode up to the guards, greeting them with a winsome smile. “Francis, Theodore, Jules, Jean, good morning.”

  One by one, they returned Louisa’s infectious smile. “Morning, Louisa. Late again?”

  Louisa raised a finger to her mouth, pretending to shush them. “Hoping Aunt Irmina is too busy to notice I’m a few minutes behind.”

  “You’re in luck, as always.”

  “The palace still in an uproar?” Louisa exhaled with relief. “I thought so.”

  “You better hurry before those few minutes become half an hour. It’s nearly eight.”

  They parted to let Louisa through, but at the last minute, the fourth guard intercepted Cinderella.

  “Papers, miss?”

  “She’s a new maid,” cut in Louisa. “No papers yet.”

  “New maid?”

  “Yes, for . . . for the new princess.”

  At the words, Cinderella flinched, the blood rushing to her head. Luckily, no one was paying attention to her.

  “Weren’t you paying attention to the morning announcement?” Louisa was saying. “About His Royal Highness searching for the love of his life?”

  The guard narrowed his eyes. “You know we don’t listen to the servants’ morning announcement, and I don’t recall anything about His Grace hiring a new maid.”

  “We’re about to have a new princess, aren’t we?” Louisa huffed. “Then obviously the palace needs a new maid. Come on, let her in. I’m already late as it is, and you know how Aunt Irmina is. . . .” She clasped her hands together in entreaty.

  “Go on, hurry before we change our minds.”

  Once they were out of the guards’ earshot, Louisa squeezed Cinderella’s hand and let out a little squeal. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now for the tricky part . . . Aunt Irmina. Madame Irmina to you.”

  “Is she in charge?”

  “Yes, of the Blooms and Looms,” Louisa explained breezily.

  “Blooms and Looms?”

  “That’s what we call the quarters for all the maids and the seamstresses. We change into our uniforms, report to duty, and eat there. Some of the girls even live there, depending on their posts.” She gestured left at the fork in the hallway. “That way leads to the Cooks and Looks wing. Quarters for all the butlers, valets, chefs, and so on.”

  Cinderella chuckled. “Who came up with these names?”

  “I don’t know. They were around long before I even got here.” Louisa guided her down a long corridor wallpapered in cream-colored brocade. She was talking so fast now that Cinderella could barely understand her. “But they’re not official, mind you, not like all the names for the rooms upstairs. The Amber State Room, the Hall of Westerly Mirrors, the Emerald Lounging Room. The Royal Apartments. Only the servants use Blooms and Looms, and Cooks and Looks. When you’re stationed up there, and the nobles start talking about downstairs—this is where they mean.”

  Upstairs. Downstairs. It all made sense to Cinderella. Upstairs was where the masters and mistresses lived—like her stepmother’s and stepsisters’ quarters. Downstairs was the kitchen, the pantry, the chicken coop, the stables—all the places where Cinderella had spent her days working.

  She may have returned to the palace, but being downstairs here felt just as far away from the prince as her old attic.

  The main chamber came into view. This part of the palace didn’t look anything like what Cinderella had seen at the ball. In fact, it reminded her of home: checkered floors, wooden walls coated with burgundy wallpaper, and silver tables with slim vases of tulips. There was even an impressive line of bronze call bells lining one side of the wall.

  “Records,” Louisa said hurriedly, gesturing at a long piece of paper tacked against the wall, “for keeping track of our chores and hours. Write your name every morning when you come in for breakfast. That is, unless you end up as a personal attendant. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All the royals have regular attendants—those positions aren’t open. But visitors are a different story. They usually bring their own retinue: ladies-in-waiting and butlers and maids—even though it is hospitality for the king to offer his own staff. Father says the tradition was meant to prevent conspiracies back in the old days.” She shrugged. “The point is, personal attendants are at their master’s beck and call.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” said Cinderella.

  “You have no idea what you’re in for.” Louisa shuddered. “They say the last time the Duchess was here, she wouldn’t drink the palace water—only water brought to her from the streams of Mount Bonclare. Her attendant had to write letters to every lord in Valors to get her some. She likes her tea scalding hot and throws it back at you if the temperature is wrong, and once she made her attendant bring a caged
lark to wake her in the morning, because she said that the girl’s voice was too shrill! Lucky for you, we had to draw straws yesterday to see who’d have to serve her . . . but—”

  Before Louisa got a chance to finish, a low voice interrupted them.

  “Late again, I see.”

  From the way Louisa instantly straightened, Cinderella deduced the woman who’d spoken had to be Madame Irmina.

  “Stay here,” Louisa whispered, waving Cinderella back into the hallway.

  Dipping into the shadows, Cinderella pressed her back against the wall and peeked out. Madame Irmina was shorter than she’d imagined, given how tall her niece was, but she stood as though she towered over Louisa, her back stiff as an ironing board. Everything about her was precise: her hair was meticulously arranged into a neat, round bun with not a gray tendril out of place, and her apron was the whitest, most spotless swath of fabric Cinderella had ever seen.

  Not a woman to be crossed.

  “That’s the third time this month, Louisa.”

  “Yes, I know. I was up late last night helping my mother, and—”

  “No excuses. You know the rules.”

  Louisa quieted. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Don’t think because you’re my niece you have the privilege of flouting the rules. I warned you last time that—”

  “Have a heart, Aunt Irmina,” Louisa interrupted. “Papa’s—”

  “Save the speech. I’ve heard it all before. Your papa’s been here ever since you were born—and it’s always been your dream to work here with him.” Irmina huffed. “If it really is your dream, try being on time.”

  “My ma’s shop needed extra help last night. I’ll do double my tasks—”

  “How can you? You’re the slowest seamstress in the entire palace—”

  “Yes, but that’s because my stitches are the neatest.”

  “And your mouth is certainly the rudest.” Irmina glared at her. “Rules are rules. All I ask is that you be on time, and I will not make an exception for you because we’re family.”