“Oh, yes, ma’am—”
“Shush. I am not finished. I should be insulted that my attendant has little experience in the palace, but I supposed it would be Ferdinand’s way to find yet more petty ways to slight me.” Duchess Genevieve glowered at her. “He sent you specifically to insult me, didn’t he? Well, I will not give him the satisfaction of sending you back.”
The duchess circled Cinderella, studying her with a frown. “You’re a rather pretty girl, aren’t you? Bright-eyed, cheery, and earnest-looking. Clearly an inexperienced member of the royal household. Don’t expect that to make me like you more. Don’t expect that to make me trust you, either. But it appears I don’t have a choice but to keep you, do I? Lunch is in an hour, and I need assistance dressing for the occasion.”
Her thin brows knit together skeptically. “You do know how to dress a lady, don’t you? Heavens, judging by your own outfit I am not sure I want to know the answer to that question.”
Cinderella hesitated. She had fitted her stepsisters into their fine clothes plenty of times, but a duchess’s gowns would be far more elegant and elaborate than anything Drizella or Anastasia ever wore.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” she replied truthfully.
“Don’t know?”
“I have never served a duchess before.”
“You don’t say,” said the king’s sister with a scoff. “You had better learn quickly. Otherwise, you will not be staying past lunch.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Unless I address you, you are a statue,” continued the duchess, taking on an instructional tone. “All servants of the palace are to be invisible. Not to be seen, heard, or even noticed. Hear me—I do not intend on being made an embarrassment of in my brother’s court.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” The duchess harrumphed again, then strode into her bedchamber to retrieve the fur stole draped over the chair. “What do you think of this?”
“That?” Cinderella stared at the stole and tried not to wrinkle her nose. She might not be knowledgeable about the latest fashions at court, but it didn’t take much of an eye to tell it was the most hideous thing she’d ever seen.
“Out with it, girl.”
“If I may be honest, Your Highness . . . it is not very flattering on you. I would suggest a simple cape—perhaps an emerald green to match the trimming on your gown—instead.”
Duchess Genevieve’s thin lips curved in surprise. “It isn’t, is it? Funny that Lady Alarna should say it suits me perfectly. Yet that’s the thing with my brother’s court. Everyone says what you want to hear.”
She tossed the stole onto her bed and cast a glance at the clock. “We’ll need an entirely new ensemble, then. If that makes me late for lunch, so be it. My brother can wait. Women are always waiting on men—let it be the other way around for a change.”
Cinderella tilted her head, surprised that the duchess should act so impertinent toward the king. But she didn’t question it. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I should have at least three girls waiting on me,” the duchess said testily as Cinderella helped her select a new outfit. “Short on staff, indeed.” She fluttered her handkerchief at the swarms of maids outside the window skittering across the royal lawn. “What do you think they’re all doing?”
Cinderella wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to answer. “They’re on their way inside, ma’am. To do the dusting, and polishing, and sweeping, and—”
“Heaven knows what else,” the duchess interrupted. “The chandeliers don’t need to be cleaned twice a day, and the windows certainly don’t need to be wiped every hour.” Her gaze swept across her chambers and she crossed her arms. “My desk could use a better dusting, though. You missed a button, girl.”
Cinderella bit her lower lip. It wasn’t like her to be so careless. After years of working under her stepmother’s careful scrutiny, she had learned to be quick yet efficient. Her nerves were failing her.
“Enough,” the duchess said. “I can finish the rest myself. Go away.”
Cinderella blinked. “Pardon?”
“What don’t you understand, girl?” the king’s sister huffed. “I’m off to lunch and I do not want some grubby young girl I’ve barely met scrounging around my chambers, so be off. And I don’t mean wandering off for the rest of the day. I can barely stand longer than an hour’s lunch with George, and I have a perfect internal clock. If you are not back before I’m finished, I will have no choice but to send you back for good.”
Relief flooded Cinderella’s chest. “I see. Yes, ma’am.”
“And if anyone asks whose attendant you are, you are not mine.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
Cinderella had no idea where to go. An hour wasn’t long enough to explore the castle with its maze of hallways, anterooms, and courts.
Deciding it was best not to wander too far, she made her way around the duchess’s wing and stopped before a long hall that housed a gallery of portraits.
To her immediate left was a portrait of the king and duchess as children. Genevieve carried her baby brother in her arms, a half smile perched on her lips as George tugged on her sleeve. In another painting, the two were slightly older, riding the same pony in front of a fountain in the royal gardens. The duchess had a mischievous glint in her eye, and a wide grin Cinderella couldn’t imagine the stern lady wearing now.
Seeing the duchess as a girl of five or six made Cinderella smile.
They looked close, the king and his sister. I wonder what changed.
With a sigh, she progressed down the hall, observing the king growing older with each painting she passed. In the middle of the gallery, a regal young woman appeared by King George’s side.
The queen.
Whoever had painted her had captured the intensity of her gaze, for it was so arresting that when Cinderella stopped to get a closer look, she almost curtsied before the portrait.
She leaned toward the painting, studying the queen. Her hair was raven black like her son, the prince’s, her eyes dark yet luminous.
“Back from your morning ride, Your Highness?”
Cinderella threw a glance behind her, and her heart nearly stopped. At the other end of the hall—was the prince!
A deep frown beset his face as he strode down the hall, looking harried. His attendant practically had to run to keep up with him.
Do I bow? she wondered frantically. She needed to make a decision before he passed her.
Hastily, she bent into a curtsy. She knew she was not to peek up and glance at him, not to say a single word unless addressed or spoken to. But she couldn’t help it.
She looked up.
Seeing him again, a wash of memories overwhelmed her. How wonderful it had been to dance—for the first time in years! When she closed her eyes she could still remember the smell of the ballroom: a potpourri of perfumes from the hundreds of guests, with the faintest hint of lemon from the shining floors. She could feel the soft ruby carpet under her heels, and hear the lush waltz music echoing up to the high ceilings of the ballroom.
And how kind he had been to her. Not a trace of the arrogance she would’ve expected from the royal heir to the kingdom—she supposed that was why she hadn’t even known he was the prince.
And their kiss.
Simply remembering it made Cinderella’s face warm.
Your Highness— she almost said, but she stopped herself. Your Highness, what? Your Highness, I’m the runaway princess. Only, I’m not really a princess. I’m just Cinderella.
She bit her tongue. She couldn’t do it.
Why not?
She stared after him as he passed her, not sure if she knew the answer.
The prince wasn’t dressed in formal attire, but in a navy suit with a thin cord of silver trimming the sleeves and collar. No medals adorned his jacket, and no epaulets sat on his shoulders. Yet Cinderella found she liked him even more like this, with a smudge of dirt on the cuff of his sleeve and a stray piece
of hay clinging to the side of his pants.
How much he looked simply like a young man she might have met in town. She could almost have forgotten he was a prince.
Almost.
Prince Charles was nearly at the end of the corridor when he suddenly stopped. He turned and retraced his steps until he stood in front of her, and Cinderella held her breath, her pulse hammering in her ears.
He smiled at her, and something flickered across his dark eyes—a spark of recognition.
Cinderella’s heart lifted.
“You,” he said quietly. He gestured at her lavender sash. “You must be Aunt Genevieve’s new attendant.”
Cinderella blinked, sure she had misheard, but the prince kept speaking.
“Welcome. My aunt is very dear to me, and I would be most grateful if you saw to it that she is comfortable here.”
Cinderella’s lips parted with disappointment. Struggling to find the words, she curtsied again. Before she could utter anything at all, Prince Charles wished her well and was gone.
“Yes, Your Highness,” she whispered, watching him disappear down the hall.
Slowly, as her heart sank, a terrible ache rose in her throat. She had been sure he would recognize her. Was it the wig?
Why didn’t I take it off? Why didn’t I say anything?
She inhaled, trying to ease away the sadness swelling inside her. Even with the wig, she thought he would have known her. Maybe . . . maybe it hadn’t been love, after all. Maybe he was only searching for her because his father wanted him to get married.
What does it matter? she admonished herself. This is the chance at happiness I’ve always wanted. I’m free of my stepmother, and I have a new life in the palace. It’d be silly to risk losing that new life and throw my heart away on a boy—prince or not—that I don’t even know.
I’m not going to look for him again, she decided, pushing all thoughts of Prince Charles aside. She needed her work as the duchess’s attendant more than she needed a prince. She’d pour all her energy toward her position in the palace. Then she’d make new dreams for herself—dreams like seeing more of the world, and helping others.
Like her fairy godmother.
She frowned, murmuring to herself. “The next time I see her, I’ll have to ask what she meant by her magic being forbidden here.”
But she had no idea when she’d see Lenore again; she couldn’t summon her fairy godmother while she was working in the palace . . . not after what she had said—or hadn’t said—about the ban on magic. Certainly not with the Grand Duke constantly lurking about, waiting on her for reports.
His portrait stared at Cinderella from the wall, and a wave of dread rushed over her. In her first hour serving Duchess Genevieve, she’d done nothing but help the king’s sister dress for lunch. What exactly was the duke expecting her to report to him? What her fashion tastes were? What flavor tea she liked to drink?
Cinderella hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.
Prince Charles wished he had something—or someone—to blame for being late to lunch. Under his breath, he ran through a list of excuses, each more pitiful than the last.
“Apologies, Aunt Genevieve. My horse stumbled over a fence during my morning ride. It’s my fault . . . I was distracted.
“Apologies, Aunt Genevieve. I was so engrossed in the book I’m reading, and I didn’t hear the clock strike noon. What book is it? I . . . I can’t recall the title.”
He shook his head, trying again, “Apologies, Aunt Genevieve. I wandered too far from the palace and got lost. Where was I, you say? In the gardens . . . I wanted to see whether the roses have bloomed.”
He shook his head at himself. Got lost? On the palace grounds, where you spent every free moment of your childhood exploring? Where there are at least five guards watching you at all times?
None of his excuses were true, but worse, they weren’t even good lies, and he knew it. Passing his horse’s reins to the stable hand, he returned to the palace and made for the royal dining hall, where his aunt and father awaited.
In all honesty, he’d been well aware of the time. He’d ridden out to the edge of the palace grounds, to a quiet part of the hill overlooking the city. Instead of heading back early so his valet could help him change out of his riding habit, he’d stayed out until the last minute, breathing in the fresh spring air and gazing down at the vast expanse of Valors.
Even after four years away, he still knew the bend of every path and the shape of each grove across the royal grounds. How good it had felt to be out of the palace, away from the perfumed halls and the watchful eyes of his ancestors’ towering portraits—and from the responsibility that weighed on his shoulders.
How good it felt to try to forget, even if only for a moment, that the lofty trees and clipped hedges surrounding the palace perimeter were walls designed to keep him in—and everyone else out.
Only half mindful of his whereabouts, he soon found himself a mere turn away from the royal dining room. Its cream-painted doors, adorned with gilded angels and olive branches, were slightly parted; Charles could just make out his father’s throaty voice inside. And his aunt’s . . .
He’d better hurry if he didn’t want to disappoint Aunt Genevieve.
As he quickened his pace, a young woman to his left curtsied, a servant he’d never seen. She wore a lavender sash, with a wig slightly too large for her head. Her eyes were the clearest shade of blue he’d ever seen.
He stopped to greet her—he always made an effort to welcome the newer staff, but his words were hasty and rushed; he didn’t want to keep Aunt Genevieve waiting.
Yet as soon as he continued on his way, he regretted not having spoken longer to the new girl.
There was something about her . . . the blueness of her eyes had arrested him in his place. A hint of sadness had touched them when he’d spoken, and he wondered why. Part of him wished he could go back to her and make her smile.
A mad possibility entered his mind. It made no sense at all, yet he couldn’t get it out of his head. She’d looked so familiar. . . .
No, it couldn’t be her.
It had to be the sash, he reasoned. He hadn’t seen any of the servants wear lavender, his aunt’s color, in a long time. Yes, that was it.
His mind made up, he made for the hidden panel in the wall where the servants entered and exited the royal dining room. The first person he encountered was just the one he was looking for.
“Madame Irmina, I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“But of course, Your Highness.” She beamed.
“Thank you.” Charles cleared his throat. “The new girl serving my aunt,” he began, not at all sure what he was trying to get out of the conversation but unable to stop himself from asking. “What’s her name?”
“The new girl?” Madame Irmina tilted her head. “I do not know who you mean, Your Highness.”
“She . . . she reminds me of someone.” The prince shook his head. “Never mind, it’s—”
“Oh, you must mean Louisa’s street urchin. Yes, she was assigned to your aunt this morning.”
“Ah.” Hearing his voice brighten, he cleared his throat self-consciously. “I believe so. But what do you mean, street urchin?”
Madame Irmina’s composure wavered, and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “A slip of the tongue, Your Highness. My niece brought the girl in this morning. She had nowhere else to go.”
“This morning,” Charles repeated. “So she only just arrived.”
“Yes. Just. Sounds like she’s an orphan, poor thing.”
He sighed. An orphan with nowhere else to go. His father and the duke were convinced his mystery maiden was of noble birth, but her guilelessness and the earnest way she’d spoken to him weren’t anything like the ladies at court he’d met. Still, common sense dictated that no penniless orphan could be the young lady he’d danced with, a girl with glass slippers and a pale blue gown that shone like moonlight.
But thos
e eyes . . . he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen them somewhere before.
“Thank you for your help.”
Madame Irmina curtsied. “It is my pleasure, Your Highness. I haven’t had a chance to tell you this personally until now, but everyone in the household is so happy to have you home from your studies.”
“And I have looked forward to returning,” replied Charles. He gave a slight, grateful bow of his head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. He had been looking forward to returning to the palace and seeing his father. But was he happy to be back? Of that, he wasn’t quite so sure.
Four years at the Royal University of Aurelais had changed him. He’d lived in a dormitory instead of a palace, and his professors had called him by his name instead of his title. His classmates whispered behind his back, turning up their noses at him for sending away his valet and for staying in the university dormitory instead of at one of his father’s nearby estates, but he’d never minded. He relished not being reminded of his royal status at every turn.
The girl at the ball was the first person he had ever met who seemed to want to get to know him for him, not because he was the crown prince of Aurelais. She’d had no idea he was the prince, and Charles could not forget how refreshing that was, how wonderful it’d been to simply talk to her.
She hadn’t cared about his title, and he wouldn’t care about hers. Whatever—whoever she was, he was utterly smitten all the same.
But she had vanished, and with each passing day, Charles despaired that he would never see her again.
“The young lady has left without a trace,” the Grand Duke had reported on the night of the ball, after sending his men to chase after her coach. Then, after a snide pause—in which he had taken undisguised pleasure—he had added, “Don’t you suppose that if she had wanted to marry His Royal Highness, she would have stayed?”
Charles couldn’t get Ferdinand’s words out of his head. What if they were true? He wanted to believe she had fled the ball because it had been midnight, as she’d said—but what if she had left because of him?
So This is Love Page 8
