by Kaylin Lee
“That's right,” he said. With a wave of his hand, he transformed my shoes into sparkling glass slippers with delicate heels. They should have felt uncomfortable, but like the dress, they fit perfectly. And they made a difference. The heels forced me to stand straighter than usual, my shoulders back.
I met Weslan’s gaze in the mirror again and gave him a small smile. “You're good at this.”
He smirked. “I know.” But a moment later, the serious, hungry expression returned. “You should go. The ball has started by now.”
I faced him, several inches taller than normal, thanks to the glass slippers. I expected him to step back, but if anything, he leaned closer to me. I bit my lip. What was he doing?
His eyes flickered down to my lips and then back up to my eyes. “Ella …” His voice was as soft as a caress. “I need to—”
“Ready?” Zel’s cold voice rang out from the doorway.
We sprang apart, and Weslan ran a hand through his hair. Zel glared at him, but she spoke to me. “Ella, I thought you were planning to be somewhere tonight.”
My face burned. What had just happened? “I was about to leave.”
Weslan helped me down the stairs.
I watched the ground in amazement as the shimmering, light-blue train lifted and flowed in response to my steps. I wouldn’t even have to hold it up.
We crossed the kitchen and stopped at the back door, Zel beside us, a grim look on her face. I peered out the door. There was nothing outside but our worn market cart, sitting forlornly in the dirty alley as the moonlight illuminated its splintery handles. What had Weslan meant by saying that he would handle transportation to the ball? In my manic obsession over the proposal, I had never pressed him for details.
Then he waved his hand at the cart, and gradually, before my very eyes, it expanded until it was the size and shape of a mage-craft fomecoach. Its hood rivaled the luxurious fomecoach that dropped Belle off at the Academy every day. Weslan waved his hand again, and the scuffed wood became sleek, polished white metal with gleaming silver adornments on the grill, wheels, and hood. Then he faltered, leaning heavily against the alley wall.
“Weslan? What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “It looks like a fomecoach, but it isn’t one. Remember that. It only has enough magic to get you to the palace and back. Put your hands on the wheel to start it, but don’t attempt to steer it. It knows the way.”
I nodded, desperate to prop him up or help him inside.
But he waved me away. “The fomecoach won’t last longer than midnight, Ella.” He looked at me fiercely, his intense expression at odds with his sagging body as it rested against the wall. “Do whatever it takes to get home by then.”
I took one step toward the fomecoach and then another, the train of my dress spilling around me as the glass slippers wobbled on the rough cobblestones of the alley. Apprehension hovered around me like a thick fog. I paused and looked back at Weslan, feeling wild with nerves and uncertainty. “I’ll see you before midnight then.”
“Don’t forget to save me a dance,” said Weslan.
I gave him a half smile, fighting against the temptation to forget the whole thing and stay in the bakery with him. “I won’t.”
I opened the driver’s side door and settled into the seat. I swept the skirt inside, closed the door, and looked uncertainly at Weslan through the window. I wanted to fling myself into his warm embrace, to stay with him for the rest of the night, and to give up on this mad scheme. But the fomecoach leapt forward the moment I placed my hands on the steering wheel, sweeping me away from him, zooming down the alley at a breakneck pace.
Chapter 18
I shivered as the wind whipped over my head. This was nothing like the trolley. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, tempted to turn the fomecoach around before we got any closer to the palace. But then I remembered Weslan had created the fomecoach to take me straight to the palace and back. Willing or not, I was going to the prince’s ball tonight.
After a harrowing drive through the dark city streets, the fake fomecoach joined the long queue of gleaming fomecoaches that stretched from the gate, down the street, and around the corner. Procus lords and ladies in glittering ensembles sauntered along the footpath toward the palace, laughing merrily as they greeted one another. I looked around for a place to leave the fomecoach. A guard waved to me and directed me over to a spot, and I tapped the steering wheel in the direction of the spot, wondering belatedly how Weslan had instructed it to handle parking. It swung wildly into the spot and jerked to a stop.
The guard smirked. I probably wasn't the only Procus here who didn’t exactly drive with the utmost caution. I accepted the guard’s assistance as I stepped from the fomecoach and blended into the Procus throngs flocking to the palace gates. Many armed guards lined the steps to the public entrance I’d used on petition day. Black-garbed trackers were sprinkled among them. The trackers and guards stood stiff and unsmiling, as still as the cold palace stones. The Procus families tripped into the palace, not sparing the guards or trackers the slightest notice.
I held my breath as I stepped over the threshold, passing a hand’s breadth from the nearest tracker. He kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring me. I supposed they were on the lookout for the Blight—scenting out traces of suffio, not illicit proposals tucked into secret pockets. Still, it took a concerted effort to breath normally as I passed through the entryway, down the hallway, and up the grand flight of stairs into the ballroom. I’d made it.
I wandered several steps further into the ballroom, gazing at my surroundings in wonder. The chamber was massive. Glowing luminous chandeliers dripped down from the ceiling and lit the room as bright as day, though it was late at night. Elegant tables piled with fruits and iced desserts dotted the edges of the ballroom, and liveried servants wove their way through the crowd, offering crystal glasses of bubbling liquid gold. Chrysos.
Wouldn’t Alba be thrilled? It felt like a lifetime ago when she had read the society column to me, back before everything fell apart.
In the center of the ballroom, Procus couples, shining with mage-craft gowns and suits, whirled in a dance I had never learned. Music from the orchestra at the edge of the room echoed off the ornately carved walls, and the spicy, floral scent of goldblossom perfume hung heavy and thick in the air.
The scents, the sounds, the graceful dancers, and the rich clothing were all too achingly beautiful, and for a moment, I couldn’t stand it. Too much beauty. Too much luxury. How could they live like this when so many in the city were surviving by choking down cold victus?
What had I been thinking? I didn’t belong here. I didn’t even know the dances. No wonder Weslan and Zel thought this was a terrible idea. Even after five years at the Royal Academy, I had never felt so out of place in my life.
Suddenly, a tight grip on my upper arm sent a shock through me.
“Ella?” A feminine voice hissed. “What are you doing here?”
~
“I don’t know what you were thinking, but tonight is not the night for a prank. Or whatever this is.” Belle Argentarius rubbed her silk-gloved hands on her upper arms as we huddled together in an alcove at the edge of the ballroom.
My former Royal Academy classmate looked stunning, every inch the golden Procus heiress. Her dress hugged her curves like mine, but unlike mine, it was practically painted onto her body like a layer of pure gold. Her eyes were magnified in stunning black kohl, and her brown skin glowed as though lit from within. Her skin was perfect, not a single wrinkle or blemish in sight. Had she been healed completely in the hospital or had her mage hidden her scars? I might be dressed as a Procus lady and share her traditional Fenra coloring, but she was far more stunning than I.
“It’s not a prank, Belle.” I pressed my lips together. Of all the terrible luck. How had she recognized me so easily?
Belle looked around the ballroom, her eyes wide and her face strangely sick. I’d never th
ought I’d see this, but the heiress to the Argentarius banking empire looked nervous. “Well, I don’t honestly care what it is. You shouldn’t be here. This is the worst possible night. You need to leave.”
I glanced around the ballroom, wondering what she was looking for, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Why? Are you worried I’ll distract Prince Estevan from choosing you?”
Belle made a rude noise and looked down her nose at me, recovering her signature arrogance for a moment. “Hardly. As if I’d ever—” She stopped. “Oh, never mind, Ella. Just leave. Now. You’ll thank me later.”
“I can’t leave, Belle. I came here to see the prince, and I will not leave until I do.”
Belle stared at me. Beneath the heavy makeup, her face was drawn, and her eyes were bloodshot. Had she fully recovered from the attack on our school? “Are you well?”
She waved her hand at me dismissively and went back to rubbing her arms. “Of course. Or I would be, if you would just listen to me.”
I shook my head. “You’re clearly not well, but I’ve got bigger problems. If you want me to leave, help me get my chance with the prince. One dance, or simply a conversation, and then I’m gone.”
Belle shook her head. “I never took you for a girl who’d chase after the rich and powerful.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “I thought you didn’t care why I was here. If you want me to leave, help me with the prince. It’s that simple.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out, scanning the room yet again as she angled her body as though to shield me from the ballroom. “There,” she said, nodding her head. I turned to look where she’d indicated. “He’s not wearing his crown. He never does. Tries to mingle with the guests like he’s one of us.” The disdain in her voice was tangible. “He just grabbed a fresh glass of chrysos. He’ll likely slip out on the balcony to drink it in peace before he comes back in. That’s his habit, anyway. If you follow him out, you’ll get your moment. And then you must leave and not tarry, Ella. Got it?”
“Thank you.” I left her in the alcove. I couldn’t worry about her now. This was my one chance, and I wouldn’t waste it. Belle could take care of herself.
I made my way across the room as quickly as I could without attracting notice, ducking between dancers and chattering groups, and slipped through the balcony door moments after the prince.
I hoped that no one else had noticed me follow him out.
He stood by the edge of the balcony, his hands gripping the rail as he looked out over the city.
“Your Highness,” I murmured. When he didn't turn around, I coughed to clear my throat. “Your Highness.”
“Yes?” His voice was deep and cold. He kept his back to me.
“I wanted to—”
All my ideas fled from my mind at once. I’d practiced this conversation in my room a hundred times, but now, I couldn’t recall a single word of it. What had I planned to say? How did one make conversation with a prince whose nickname was Beast? I stared at his stiff shoulders, my nerve faltering. Somehow, I had to get beyond his cold voice and intimidating demeanor. I had to see his face.
I stepped closer, the blue dress flowing around my feet, and joined him at the railing. The city spread out before us like a sleeping giant with tiny golden spots of glowing luminous lamps breaking up the darkness. The summer air was hot and oppressive even this late at night. I studied his profile. “Please forgive my forwardness, but I had to speak to you.”
He laughed humorlessly. “You call this forward?” Finally, he angled his face toward me. He looked me up and down, a little spark of interest glinting in his eyes, reminding me of Weslan’s many warnings.
I had to get this over with quickly. “You see, Your Highness, I was hoping to speak with you about something, but not about marriage.”
He gave me the slightest smirk. “Is that so? Are you proposing something besides marriage? I’m sorry to say that you wouldn't be the first tonight.”
I would have to have been an idiot to mistake his meaning. “I have information for you from … from … a concerned friend,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice even.
“Concerned friend? And does this friend have any idea what's happening tonight?” His voice was soft, but his bearing was suddenly tense. He removed his hands from the balcony railing and gripped the sword hilt at his side with one hand.
I took one step back. “I’m not sure what you mean, Your Highness. But this concerned friend has … insights … about our city. And has heard that you paint yourself a reformer.”
He laughed drily but didn't respond.
My heart pounded in my chest as I removed the small folded paper from my pocket. I reached for his free hand and pressed the proposal into his palm. I squeezed his stiff fingers once with my white-gloved hand and then let go. “This friend has asked me to pass on some information along with the friend’s sincere desire for your listening ear.” I curtsied to him as low as I could, my face nearly pressing the ground as my ankles shook and nervousness threatened to overwhelm me. Finally, I rose to go.
Then his arm shot out like a snake and grabbed me, his grip painfully tight on my arm. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” He towered over me, pulling me close, a terrifying expression on his face. “You don't belong here, do you?”
I took a deep breath. “You have nothing to fear from me, Your Highness.” I hoped my sincerity came across as clearly as I felt it. “Your friend seeks only the well-being of the city and the advancement of your reign.”
His eyes searched my face. He seemed to believe me, for he loosened his grip.
I jerked my arm free and ran. I exited through the balcony door and melted into the crowd. It had grown thicker since I’d been gone.
I’d made it several steps into the crowd when I heard a man shout, followed by a gut-wrenching cry of pain. I whirled around.
Guards in red jackets rushed toward the balcony door where it looked as though someone had collapsed on the ground. Was it the prince? What had happened? I strained my neck to look but could see nothing. I dared not turn back to learn more.
I dodged through the crowd, avoiding the guests as they rushed toward the prince, trying to make myself look as unhurried and innocent as possible. In a crowd of so many, surely I was another faceless girl, another pretty gown. He wouldn’t remember me. No one would remember me. I walked with mincing steps toward the door, wishing I had footwear other than the elegant glass slippers Weslan had given me.
Panicked screaming from the guests rose in pitch behind me, and then a guard shouted, “There—in the blue dress! Get her!”
Chapter 19
I had to move faster. I had to get away, or everything would be lost. I bent down and slipped my feet from the delicate glass slippers, and then I clutched them to my chest as I raced barefoot down the hallway and out of the palace.
The guards at the entrance only gave me a passing glance.
Thank you, Weslan, for creating such a convincing disguise.
I found my white fomecoach and threw myself inside. It jumped beneath my touch, shooting out of the parking spot and speeding away from the palace.
As I reached the corner, I heard the guards at the entrance shout. The word about the girl in the blue dress had spread.
Too late. But there was no triumph in the thought. I kept the steering wheel in a stranglehold. The fomecoach swung around first one corner and then the next, putting ever greater distance between me and the palace. I checked over my shoulder, but no one pursued me. Perhaps they hadn’t seen where I’d turned after I left the main street to the palace.
Weslan must have anticipated a scenario like this one. The fomecoach took a circuitous route, sticking to narrow alleys and small side streets. I huddled in the seat as the vehicle raced through the city, hoping desperately that I would make it back to the bakery before the fomecoach ran out of magic.
The coach slowed when it reached the alley behind the bakery. My nerves were shot by the time it
puttered to a halt by the back door.
I leapt from the fomecoach, and as my feet touched the ground, I felt a cold wave behind me. When I whirled around, the coach had become the shabby-looking hand cart once more. If anything, it looked even shabbier now, as though it had worn itself out during the trip to the palace and back.
Weslan flung open the bakery door. “Did you do it? What happened?” He strode into the alley, looked left and right, and then put a hand on my back to hustle me into the bakery.
I was inside before I realized the dress had returned it its original black, shapeless form. “Everything’s fine, I think. Something happened after I spoke with the prince, but I’m not sure what. And no one followed me here.” I paused.
He was staring at my hand with a look of horror on his face.
I followed his gaze to the single glass slipper I held in a white-knuckled grip. No doubt my expression mirrored his. “Oh, no.” The other slipper was gone. “Oh, Weslan … I took them off to run out of the palace, and I must have dropped one in the—”
“FEMALE CITIZENS. ASSEMBLE.” A magically amplified voice echoed in the street. Time slowed down.
I crept through the kitchen and into the front room. Toward the voice. It was like wading through deep water. I was dimly aware of Weslan following me and Zel reaching the bottom of the stairs as I entered the front room.
“CITIZENS,” the voice said, “You are harboring a fugitive suspected of attempting to assassinate the crown prince. Assemble in the street now. All female citizens aged thirteen to twenty-one will be taken in for questioning now.”
I pressed a hand to my churning stomach. “Assassinate? I don’t understand—”
“CITIZENS. All female citizens aged thirteen to twenty-one, assemble now, or we will enter and bring you out.”
I heard a pattering of footsteps. Bri and Alba descended the stairs with tousled hair.
“Mom?” Bri rubbed her eyes sleepily. “What’s going on?”
Zel stood, transfixed, staring through the window at the glittering lights of the tracker fomecoach in the street. For once, she was speechless.
