“A pretty bauble. Our beloved queen’s, I presume? Bless her soul.”
“Give that back!” cried Cinderella.
“Not another word,” Ferdinand warned, and one of the guards immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her shouts.
The duke twirled the ring around his finger, watching the sapphire sparkle and catch the candlelight. “I think I shall include this with the message I have prepared for young Charles.”
He reached into his jacket pocket, fishing out a neatly folded note. “I had a feeling you’d decline my offer, so I went through the trouble of already preparing one.”
Alarm surged through Cinderella. “No!” she cried, but the sound was muffled. Desperately, she twisted and squirmed, trying to claw the guard’s hands away from her mouth, but he only tightened his grip.
The duke waved the note before her. “Let’s have this delivered to Prince Charles straightaway, shall we? Now I must hurry back to the ball before I am missed. Worry not, Cinderella, the prince will think of you fondly, though I regret that even he will forget you in time.”
Without missing a beat, Ferdinand deliberately dropped the ring into the envelope.
Then someone threw a sack over Cinderella’s head, and her world spiraled into darkness.
My dearest Charles,
I have had second thoughts about marrying you and becoming the princess of Aurelais. I must confess I only pretended to be in love with you to escape the dreary confines of my life with Lady Tremaine. Alas, I am overcome with guilt and cannot go on with the wedding. My mind will not be changed. Please don’t look for me.
Your Most Humble Servant,
Cinderella
Charles read the letter again and again, trying to make sense of the puzzle it presented.
There was no puzzle, really. The message was quite clear.
She didn’t love him. She didn’t want to marry him.
He was a mess of emotions. Every other time he reread the letter, he believed it.
“I have no one to blame but myself,” he murmured. He had told her, as honestly as he could, that life as the princess of Aurelais would not be easy. That if she changed her mind, he would respect it.
And yet . . . deep down, he couldn’t believe she’d left him. Couldn’t believe that this letter was from her. The words were formal and stilted, not at all like his beloved Cinderella.
But the greatest part of the puzzle was the ring. . . .
Tucked between the folds of the letter, it was the same ring he had given her the previous night. He rubbed the engraving inside the band, the one that proclaimed the love his father had had for his mother. Equal in step, equal in heart. For always.
So why did he refuse to believe it was from her?
Because if she truly left, then she isn’t at all the girl I thought she was.
Clutching the letter tight, Charles rang for Pierre.
“There’s still no word of her, Your Highness,” said his attendant, responding before Charles even asked. It was the sixth time in half an hour that he’d rung for the man. Probably the hundredth time since the ball had abruptly ended the night before.
“Check everywhere. The servants’ quarters, the stables, the coach house . . .”
“We are looking, Your Highness.” Pierre bowed his head. “The Grand Duke has sent his entire staff in search of her. Unfortunately, so far, it appears she has vanished.”
Vanished. For the third time.
Trying to sort out his thoughts, Charles clung to reason. The first time, she had fled at the stroke of midnight, fearing that the enchantment her fairy godmother had cast over her would expire. The second time, she had left the ball because she had feared an encounter with her stepmother and stepsisters.
This time?
I must confess I only pretended to be in love with you to escape the dreary confines of my life with Lady Tremaine.
Charles balled his fists at his side. He still refused to believe it.
“I should have gone after her last night,” he mumbled to himself.
It would not do for you to chase after her, Ferdinand had said. Especially with all the guests here, Your Highness, you must not appear distressed. It would only encourage rumors to spread, and given the uproar caused by Lady Tremaine’s outcry, we must contain any possibility of scandal. Stay with your father; the strain of tonight’s events is not sitting well with him. He has retired to his chambers to rest. Go to him, and allow me to search for the maiden.
He’d been so stunned by Cinderella’s disappearance and worried about his father that he had actually trusted Ferdinand.
This time, he wouldn’t sit idly by. He grabbed his cloak. “Tell my father I won’t be coming to breakfast, and please extend my apologies to my aunt.”
“Wh-wh-where are you going?” Pierre blustered.
“To find her,” replied Charles without stopping. “It’s what I should have done the first time.”
The prince cut through the gardens, headed for the hall where the seamstresses worked. Before he left the palace, there was one person he needed to see.
“Have you seen her?” he asked Louisa in lieu of a greeting. “Cinderella?”
The seamstress’s brows leapt with shock, and she bent into a hasty curtsy. “No, Your Highness. Not since yesterday at the ball. It’s not like her—she’s usually so reliable.”
Charles’s shoulders slumped. He’d thought—he’d hoped that she would have given her friend a clue of where she’d gone. Cinderella had spoken so glowingly of Louisa.
She’s the first friend I’ve had in years, aside from my dog, Bruno, and the mice in my stepmother’s house.
“Louisa, isn’t it?” he said quietly, only now becoming aware that there were dozens of seamstresses trying their hardest to pretend they weren’t listening. “Would you please let my attendant, Pierre, know immediately if you see her?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I will.” Worry etched itself in Louisa’s brow. “I didn’t realize she was missing. You should look for her dog, Bruno—your aunt adopted him, and Cinderella wouldn’t leave without him. If he’s still here, he might be able to find her.”
Bruno! Charles started. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
He touched Louisa’s shoulder, thanking her before he hastily left. “That’s a brilliant idea. Thank you. Thank you, truly.”
But when he reached the duchess’s chamber, there was no sign of Bruno.
“Charles,” Aunt Genevieve greeted him, looking grave. “I was about to send Pierre to look for you. Your father wishes to see you.” She paused. “It’s urgent.”
It appeared Charles wasn’t the only one who had received the king’s summons. Armed with a fountain pen and a scroll, the Grand Duke was already present in King George’s bedchamber. As usual, he looked like he was up to no good.
“In the event that the prince does not make a suitable match,” said Ferdinand, “then I, Grand Duke Ferdinand de Malloy, esteemed protector of Aurelais and trusted adviser to King George, will assume the duties of safeguarding the kingdom. By whatever means necessary.”
“By whatever means necessary,” echoed the king weakly.
“Thank you, sire,” said the duke, taking a pen from the king’s hand. An expression of smug glee grew on Ferdinand’s face, one that Charles did not like at all.
“Stop!” cried Prince Charles. “Father, what are you doing?”
At the sound of his voice, the king’s mouth bent into a feeble smile. “Charles, my boy. Is that you?”
The prince rushed to his father’s bedside and tried to seize the scroll from the Grand Duke. “Father, did you sign—”
“Best not to upset your father,” interrupted Ferdinand.
Charles glared at the Grand Duke. In his iciest tone, he said, “Get out.”
Ferdinand blinked, pretending to look bewildered. “Your Highness, your manner is most uncouth, and certainly not befitting of—”
“Get out,” repeated Charles. “I will not
say it again. And give me that scroll.”
The duke’s smirk returned. “I’m afraid you do not have the privilege, Your Highness,” he said calmly, tying the scroll with a green ribbon. “As your father’s adviser, it is my duty to bring this to the council. Rest assured, I am merely trying to preserve the sanctity of this nation and protect—”
“You are trying to protect your own interests.”
“He . . . he is not,” wheezed the king. “Listen to what he has to say, Charles.”
Startled, the prince knelt beside his father. “Aunt Genevieve said you called for me. That it was urgent.”
“Your father is unwell.” Ferdinand straightened his collar. “He has appointed me to discuss with you the kingdom’s future. Your future.”
Charles struggled to remain calm. He did not like the sound of this.
“It appears that the young maiden named Cinderella was seen leaving the palace yesterday evening, renouncing Your Royal Highness’s admirable intention to marry her and publicly humiliating our noble prince before the entire court—”
“I don’t need you to recount last night’s events,” said Charles through his teeth. “What is your point?”
“The point is, the lack of a bride also leaves in question Aurelais’s line of succession,” said Ferdinand. “His Majesty and I both agree that, as a matter of principle, Your Highness must consider an alliance with a princess from a neighboring kingdom.”
“I have already made my choice.”
“And your choice has abandoned you,” rejoined the duke smoothly. “For the third time.”
“I have kept an open mind regarding your choice of a bride, Charles,” said the king. “But the girl . . . Cinderella is not suitable.”
“Father . . .”
“Perhaps you should take your leave now, Ferdinand,” said the king. “I’ll continue this discussion alone with my son.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” said Ferdinand, hiding a smug smile.
When the door closed, Charles sat at the king’s bedside. He couldn’t believe how weak his father looked. His skin was sallow and his eyes bloodshot and sunken. Just yesterday, the king had seemed fine. What had happened?
“My boy, I know your heart was set on Cinderella. I wanted her to be the one for you. I wanted to live to see you two married, to bounce your child on my knee.” The king’s voice trembled. He sank deeper into his blankets, the bed’s massive headboard dwarfing his shrunken frame.
“Unfortunately, given last night’s events, I do not think she is right for you.”
“Father, I know it looks like she fled the ball—”
“Not just one time, but three. The girl fled three times, and vanished three times.” The king shook his head. “If she loved you, she wouldn’t have left.”
The words thudded in Charles’s ears, and he swallowed, not wanting to believe them.
Please don’t look for me, her note had ended.
No goodbye, no apology, no hint at all of where she was going or why she had suddenly changed her mind. That stung.
He’d seen how uncomfortable she’d looked being the center of attention. His aunt had told him how, when she’d asked Cinderella what she wished to wear for the ball, she’d replied, “Something blue. It was my mother’s favorite color, and I wish with all my heart she could have met Charles and seen us together.”
Other young women in the kingdom would have asked for a gown fit for a princess, for satin gloves rimmed with crystals, a tiara studded with rubies. Cinderella had asked for none of these things.
That was why he loved her. For the earnest way she thought of her words before she spoke, or how her eyebrows danced when she smiled, or how her voice became singsong when she teased him.
That was why he missed her.
His father reached for his hand. “I’m not well, my boy.”
The prince’s attention snapped to his father. “You will be. Dr. Coste will—”
“Dr. Coste can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how much time I have, and there’s no point in beating around the bush. I need you to promise me something.”
The prince held his breath. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever his father was about to ask him, and yet he heard himself say, “Yes, Father. Anything.”
“You are the future of Aurelais, Charles. Consider the duke’s proposal and meet with the princesses. Secure peace for our country by choosing one to marry.”
Softly, Charles replied, “What about love, Father? Didn’t you say it was your love for my mother that made you a better ruler?”
A shadow fell over the king’s face, and he grimaced. “Perhaps I was wrong,” he said tightly. “Perhaps times were simpler then.” He inhaled. “At least consider it, my son. For the good of the country.”
Charles warmed his father’s hand with his own. A hard lump formed in his throat, and each word crawled out of his chest, hurting more than the last. “Yes, Father.”
Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Charles slowly rose and kissed his father’s forehead. “Rest well, Papa. I will come see you again soon.”
George pulled on Charles’s collar, drawing him close. He reached behind his pillow, pushing a scroll into Charles’s arms. “You are king now,” he rasped.
“What?”
His father coughed, his hands trembling as he let go of Charles. “I wanted to wait until you were married, but it was always the plan for you to take over. I’d only hoped I would live longer.”
Charles wouldn’t hear it. “You are not dying.”
His father leaned back. “I certainly feel like it.” His voice drifted. “You’re young, Charles, but not as young as I was when I assumed the throne. You will be a good king. Ferdinand . . . Ferdinand will help you.”
“Father?”
A soft wheeze escaped his father’s lips, settling into a snore. After confirming that his father had fallen asleep, Charles sighed. He would try again later.
“Be well, Father,” he said softly before exiting the king’s bedchamber.
“Your Highness, are you . . . are you all right?” asked the royal chamberlain outside the door.
The prince drew a deep breath. What could he say to that? His father’s health was rapidly deteriorating, and the only person he wanted to talk to about it—the only person left in the world whom he loved and who could possibly have made him feel better—had vanished without so much as a goodbye.
How could he be all right?
Yet he mustered the barest of nods. “Yes, thank you for your concern, Sir Chamberlain. Please see to it that I am not disturbed for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, Your Highness . . . I mean, Your Majesty.”
The words Your Majesty rang in Charles’s ears. Without another word, he turned on his heel, feeling more lost and alone than he could remember ever feeling.
Heavy strokes of pink brushed the dawn. Pink, like the ballet slippers worn by the dancers Charles had taken her to see only two evenings ago. A lifetime ago.
Chimes from the clock tower rattled Cinderella’s nerves. Six o’clock. Just yesterday, she’d been in the duchess’s chamber, preparing for her first introduction to the king and his court. Funny how much could change in half a day.
The clock tower went silent, and she wondered if that had been the last time she would ever hear its bells. Whether it would be the last time she ever saw Aurelais again.
She pressed her cheek against her cell’s lone window, staring at the palace. How near it was, so near she could make out the colors of the curtains drawn against each window, but so far no one would hear her if she shouted for help.
“After I escaped Mr. Laverre, I’d promised I’d never feel so helpless again.” Her fists clenched. “But what can I do?”
She’d tried everything: pleading with the guards outside, pulling at the bars on her window, kicking at the door—all to no avail. Her fairy godmother couldn’t help her escape a locked cell, and calling for her would only incr
iminate Cinderella further. The only person who could do anything was Charles, but if he’d gotten the duke’s falsified letter from her and believed it . . .
No. He wouldn’t believe it. Cinderella clung to the hope that he was looking for her. He had to be.
But would he find her before the Grand Duke sent her away?
All night she’d dreaded the duke’s return, feared being sent so far from Aurelais that Charles would never find her. Unable to sleep, she’d curled against the wall, squeezing the bars of her window as she waited for the outside world to wake. It was an ordinary day to everyone else.
Everyone but her.
Finally, she released the bars, her fingers so stiff it hurt to move them.
Three mice nipped at the frayed remains of a rope snaking across her cell. She knelt beside them, taking solace in their company. In the weeks since she’d fled her stepmother’s house, Cinderella had tried to forget her past life, but she suddenly missed the little friends she’d left behind.
A faint but familiar pang of loneliness touched her heart, and Cinderella pulled her legs to her chest, hugging herself close. It was cold in her cell, the gossamer sleeves of her gown clinging to the goose bumps that’d risen on her arms.
Just as she closed her eyes, trying to summon a happy thought that might relieve the heaviness in her chest, the sound of a key turning in the prison door made her lurch.
She shot to her feet. Dared she hope it was Charles? Or the duchess, perhaps—
Alas, it was the duke. His tall, wiry figure emerged from behind the prison door, a frigid breeze accompanying him and jostling the blue tassels hanging from his shoulders.
“Get!” He stomped on the floor, trying to scare the mice away. When they disappeared into the holes of the walls, he exhaled with relief and finally greeted her.
“I thought you’d like to know that preparations are being made for your departure.”
“I am not a sorceress,” she said defiantly, “and you know it.”
“I am quite aware of that. If you were, you would not still be in your prison cell, obviously, and we would have taken no chances with your punishment, which would have been far more severe.”
So This is Love Page 25
