So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  Narrowing her eyes at him, Genevieve furiously swirled her spoon in her tea, creating a miniature tempest in the cup. “You, welcome me back? I can’t imagine whose company I’d find more venomous—yours, or a viper’s.”

  “I have never understood what happened to us,” Ferdinand forged on. “We were friends once, don’t you remember?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “We might never have trusted one another, but we respected each other,” he amended. “I sense, now, that most regrettably is no longer the case.”

  “I find it hard to respect a two-faced scoundrel. If only my brother could see you as I do.”

  Ferdinand blinked. “You wound me, Genevieve.”

  “That’s ‘Your Highness’ to you.”

  “Let’s not play a game of rank now. Else I’ll remind you that it is thanks to me that you were permitted to keep your title.”

  “Thanks to you?” Genevieve scoffed. “Thanks to you, my husband died in shame. Thanks to you, my children were banished from Aurelais and robbed of their birthright.”

  “It could have been much worse,” replied Ferdinand smoothly. “Few get to spend their exile on an estate provided for by the king. And lo, now you’ve returned and most have forgotten the degree of your treachery. Even the king, it appears.”

  She was struggling to keep her composure; Ferdinand noticed how taut her cheeks had become, how the pulse in her neck thickened and throbbed. She peeled off her glove one finger at a time, her voice flat and wooden when she spoke next. “If you are trying to blackmail me, Ferdinand, go ahead. I don’t care what anyone at court thinks of me. Least of all, my brother.”

  “Not even your nephew? Your influence on young Charles is unacceptable. He doesn’t understand what a threat your beliefs are to the future of this nation.”

  To her credit, she barely flinched. “You dare to imply that I don’t care about Aurelais? My family has ruled this country for centuries. My ancestors tilled and founded this nation with their blood and tears before yours first arrived.”

  “I’m not the only one. You’ve been away from court for far too long, and yet now you frolic back to the palace and resume your position as the king’s sister? Why now, Genevieve?”

  The duchess set her teacup on its saucer with a sharp clatter. “Why don’t you ask the little spy you’ve planted in my household?”

  Ferdinand choked on his coffee. Promptly reaching for his handkerchief, he blew his nose, then faced Genevieve, his posture stiffening. “Just what do you mean?”

  “Don’t try to be coy. I know my attendant is one of your spies.”

  “That innocent-looking creature?” Ferdinand spluttered, pretending to be offended. “She looks like she’s barely spent a day out of the countryside. I wouldn’t bother.”

  “Yes, that’s precisely why you picked her. But unfortunately for you, she’s sharp enough to see you for what you are—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And she isn’t afraid of wolves.”

  He raised a thick eyebrow. “Isn’t she now? Where is the young lady, anyway?”

  “Cindergirl is at the library, fetching a new novel for me.”

  “A book?”

  “Yes, Ferdinand. Unlike you, I have hobbies other than scheming and conniving.”

  “Yes, I quite remember. Yours are more in the line of deceit and treason.”

  “Why, you!”

  She’d stepped into his net, but he needed to proceed carefully if he was going to ensnare her. He clasped his hands together and rested them on his lap. In his smoothest, most all-knowing tone, he said, “After all these years, after publicly swearing you’d never return, there must be a reason you’ve come back.”

  “I heard my nephew had come back from university. I wanted to see him.”

  He didn’t believe her, not for an instant. King George’s sister was a skilled deceiver, and her denial was too quick.

  “You and I both know that is untrue.” Ferdinand paused deliberately. “You forget it is I who have the king’s ear, and the council’s trust. I am aware His Majesty is planning to pass the throne to Charles. That’s why you’re here.”

  The barest of flinches flickered across Genevieve’s face, but Ferdinand caught it. No matter how she denied it now, he had gleaned the truth.

  She pressed her lips tight. “I am here to help Charles find a wife.”

  “He needs to marry a princess,” said Ferdinand. “Preferably a princess of one of Aurelais’s neighboring kingdoms—such as Lourdes. King George has ruled for forty years. No matter what kind of sovereign Charles turns out to be, the transition between reigns will be difficult. We must strengthen our position by allying ourselves with Lourdes so that our enemies do not pounce on any perceived weakness.”

  “Aurelais has been at peace for nearly half a century,” Genevieve said calmly. “What makes you think all of a sudden we have enemies that are eyeing our territories?”

  “We have been at peace because my father was vigilant, and I have carried on his task of safeguarding this kingdom from the likes of men such as your husband, who would open our gates to evils such as magic and . . . and . . .”

  “A more powerful middle class?” said Genevieve snidely. “You seem rather sore, Ferdinand. The people are gaining more power, with or without magic.”

  “The riots will be contained. They are but a trifle compared to the chaos and instability magic would have brought. Fairies consider themselves above the law, what with their unnatural abilities and bringing aid to those they deem good and worthy.”

  “Yes, but if the fairies happen to bless princes and dukes, that’s all right.”

  “A hierarchy of rank brings about order. Peasants don’t deserve fairy guardians waving their problems away with magic wands.”

  “I think you had better leave.”

  The Grand Duke pretended not to hear her. “You and your late husband might as well have cursed Aurelais’s future when you put the idea in the king’s head to send the prince to university.”

  Genevieve hissed at the Grand Duke. “Cursed Aurelais’s future? What century do you think you live in? Times are changing.”

  “Yes, which is exactly why we must remain vigilant. Mark my words, Charles is young and idealistic, and these ideas he’s picked up—of ‘strengthening the country from within’ and ‘empowering the people’—will bring ruin to Aurelais. Just as your husband nearly brought ruin to this monarchy.”

  Genevieve clenched her teeth. Her narrow face had grown tight with anger. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, Ferdinand. Your coffee is cold.”

  “Quite so. Quite so.” In his most cordial tone, he said, “I look forward to the party tomorrow night, Your Highness. Good day.”

  He bowed, but she refused to acknowledge him.

  Just as well. She would be so angry for the rest of the day she’d want to do nothing but avoid him. While Genevieve was deciding on napkin colors and music selections for the masquerade tomorrow, he would make a few arrangements of his own.

  Arrangements that would ensure the future of this kingdom, and most important, his position in it.

  Cinderella had to squeeze her way into the servants’ quarters. So many girls had gathered, excitedly chattering, that she could hardly make out Louisa waving to her from the other side of the hall.

  “Another ball! Can you believe it?”

  “That only means more work for us. There’s no chance Madame will let us attend. She wouldn’t even let us go to the first one—”

  Cinderella moved faster, threading through the crowd toward Louisa and wishing she could shut her ears. She would have loved to drown in her daydreams. Every snippet of conversation she caught was about the prince:

  “I hear he’s looking for a new bride.”

  “So he’s given up on the girl with the glass slipper?”

  Darting away before she could hear an answer, Cinderella instantly berated herself. What do I care if the prince is looking for a new bride? I don’t have any claim on him.<
br />
  “Attention!” rang Madame Irmina’s voice. “I have an announcement.”

  All rumbling amongst the servants ceased. The women quieted, lining themselves against the walls to hear what their mistress had to say, and Cinderella hurried to Louisa’s side.

  “Many of you may have heard already, so this will merely be a confirmation.” Irmina drew a deep, dramatic breath. “There is to be another ball. Tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night?” many of the girls repeated, unable to believe it. “But we just—”

  “No buts. By the king’s command, it is to be even grander than the one before it. Unfortunately, you know what that means.”

  “It means we’ll be staying all night at the palace,” someone protested. “Polishing the silver and mopping the floors.”

  “Your duty is to the crown,” said Irmina harshly. “Anyone who objects will see themselves with a double shift and half pay for the rest of the month.” She scanned the girls, one thin eyebrow raised as if daring anyone else to complain. Then she let out a breath. “Now I know this is unexpected and will mean extra obligations for all, but if it is any consolation, the ball will be in honor of Her Highness, the Duchess Genevieve d’Orlanne—and it is to be . . . a masquerade.”

  A masquerade in honor of the duchess? Cinderella’s attention reeled.

  Had Duchess Genevieve changed her mind about suggesting a second ball to the king? She hadn’t said anything about a ball welcoming her to Aurelais—certainly not at such short notice. Then again, the king’s sister had been irritable and curt ever since the night before. Cinderella wondered what could have upset her.

  “You look like you just ate a piece of bad cheese,” Louisa said, elbowing Cinderella in the side.

  “I do?” Cinderella asked faintly.

  “You ought to be relieved. As the duchess’s attendant, you don’t have to help with the cleaning, or the sewing, or the cooking. Only dressing your mistress to the nines, obliging her every whim and fancy, and helping her scour Valors for the perfect mask to go with her hair.”

  It took Cinderella a moment to realize her friend was joking.

  Louisa touched her shoulder. “I’ve heard the duchess can be difficult. Let me know if you need any help with anything.”

  “She isn’t so bad,” Cinderella replied. When Louisa gave her an incredulous look, she insisted, “Really.”

  “Before any of you get any ideas,” continued Madame Irmina, “understand that anyone who is found sneaking off into the ball will be discharged immediately.” Her gaze swept across the room. “I will not be as forgiving as I was the last time.”

  “Aunt Spoilsport,” Louisa muttered. She turned to Cinderella, whispering, “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to go.”

  “I don’t plan on going.”

  “What?”

  Before Cinderella could reply, Irmina announced, “You are all dismissed.” Then she spun to face the two girls. “Except you, Cinderella. A word.”

  Cinderella blinked, unsure of what she could possibly want.

  “Ahem,” said Irmina, looking pointedly at Cinderella until she glanced down and realized her sash was crooked. Irmina waited until it was fixed before continuing, “You’ve lasted longer than I expected, and it appears Her Highness actually finds you a competent royal attendant. I have determined that you may stay—at least for the duration of Her Highness’s visit.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Cinderella clasped her hands together and nearly hugged Louisa’s aunt. It wasn’t a permanent position, but it was a start. She’d continue to earn wages, and if she saved wisely, she might even be able to open a shop one day, like Louisa’s mother.

  “Don’t thank me.” Madame Irmina didn’t smile, but she didn’t frown, either. That was a start, Cinderella supposed. “You do your job, and you don’t cause any mischief. Eyes to the ground and ears tuned to the bells, understood?”

  As if on cue, the duchess’s call bell tolled, clattering loudly against the wall.

  “Now, off with you. Make the duchess happy so she doesn’t give my girls any extra work before the masquerade.”

  “I’ll try,” Cinderella promised, buoyed by Madame Irmina’s newfound trust in her.

  Unfortunately, when Cinderella returned to the royal apartments it appeared the duchess was not in a better mood.

  “There you are,” huffed Genevieve. “I thought I’d have to send a search party to get you.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Madame Irmina called us for a staff meeting.”

  “I didn’t ask for an explanation. Only that you be prompt.”

  Cinderella’s shoulders fell. Whatever rapport she had established with the Duchess of Orlanne seemed long forgotten; for whatever reason, the king’s sister was preoccupied by something that greatly vexed her.

  “It’s getting late, and there is much for you to do before tomorrow.”

  “Will you need a gown fitted, ma’am?” Cinderella asked as she tidied up the spread of teacups and empty plates scattered around Genevieve’s sitting room.

  “A gown? Whatever for?”

  “For the ball tomorrow night. Madame Irmina told us it was to be in your honor, so I thought you might want to try on your gown in advance—”

  “Not now, Cindergirl. I will tell you when I need a gown fitted. You do not decide.”

  Thinking it would be wise to change topics, Cinderella said, “Did you have an enjoyable ride out into town yesterday?”

  She almost added “with the prince,” but she bit her tongue.

  Genevieve powdered her nose, then snapped the compact shut. “What did you do during your morning off, Cindergirl?”

  “Me?” she stammered. “I . . . I went to the library.”

  “What for? I didn’t ask for any books.”

  “For myself, ma’am.” Cinderella bit her tongue. Much as she liked the duchess, she didn’t dare tell her she’d been trying to learn more about magic to help her fairy godmother. “Now that I’m working in the palace, I wanted to learn more about Aurelais’s history, and about the people in the portraits I’ve seen in all the halls.”

  “Bah. My family is hardly worth reading about.”

  “Is that what’s been bothering you, ma’am?”

  “What’s bothering me is my own business. Let me be. No, wait.” A sigh. “I’m not rankled at you.”

  Is it the Grand Duke? Cinderella wondered. But she didn’t dare ask.

  “I would have thought that after ten years the palace would have changed. Honestly, had I known that everyone here was still churlish and narrow-minded, I would never have come. Even George . . . oh, he’s been cordial enough to me and I to him, but we’ve been dancing around our past, as if it never happened.”

  “Maybe you should talk to him about it.”

  “I should.” She gave a morose smile. “But pride has always been my strong suit, you see, and George’s, too. I don’t even remember who started the argument, not that it matters. Thankfully, Charles is more like his mother. He will make a fine husband and father one day.”

  Cinderella’s heart quickened a beat, but she said nothing.

  “One day soon,” added the duchess. “George is eager to have his son wed. Maybe tonight Charles will meet someone.”

  Cinderella looked up at the duchess. Summoning her courage, she asked, “Do you think the girl with the glass slipper will return? Do you think she . . . should return?”

  The duchess wrinkled her nose. “If you ask me, it’d be best if my nephew never saw that girl again.”

  The words stung Cinderella. Yet how could she blame the duchess? To her—to everyone—the identity of the elusive young lady dressed in a moonlight-blue gown and glass slippers, who had riveted the entire ball and captured the heart of the prince, was a mystery. And the greater puzzle was why she—Cinderella—had vanished, leaving the prince heartbroken.

  Even Louisa was fascinated by the runaway princess. Fascinated, and also incredulous.

  “She must be very ric
h and very powerful,” she’d said one evening while Cinderella was helping her finish some mending in the servants’ quarters. “Who else would run away from a chance to marry the prince of Aurelais?”

  “Maybe she isn’t either of those things,” Cinderella reasoned. “Maybe she was just a regular girl—like you or me—who stumbled upon the chance of a lifetime to go to a royal ball.”

  “Regular girls like you or me don’t have a gown so fine, especially not one that fits so perfectly,” said Louisa sensibly, taking a seamstress’s point of view.

  “Someone could have given it to her.”

  “Ha!” Then Louisa tilted her head, considering. “Let’s imagine you’re right. Let’s say she’s a common girl like us. Maybe she fled because she was afraid.”

  “Afraid?”

  “It’d be the only reasonable explanation. Say the prince fell in love with me . . . I’d be thrilled beyond all measure, but well, I’m not so naive as to think it would amount to anything. A prince marries a princess, not some palace seamstress.”

  Cinderella couldn’t think of a response, so she’d simply nodded, her neck wooden as her head bobbed up and down.

  Only she knew the truth. She’d fled because of what her fairy godmother had told her: that magic only lasted so long and her magnificent clothes and carriage would become rags and a pumpkin upon the stroke of midnight.

  Then again, more than once she’d wondered what would have happened if she had stayed past midnight. Would Charles have accepted her, or would the sight of her in rags have mortified him?

  Maybe Louisa was right and she had been afraid. Maybe she didn’t want to know the answer. It was better this way, keeping the prince as a cherished memory. She needed to protect herself; she’d experienced enough heartache to last a lifetime.

  She returned her attention to the duchess, who had dipped into her armoire, flipping through the many fine garments she had brought to the palace.

  “Everyone is inordinately obsessed with this girl,” said Genevieve, unaware of the thoughts spooling in Cinderella’s mind. “Another reason to hold a second ball. Charles needs to move on and forget this spineless glass slipper lady.”