Non! She had to confess all. Cinderella flexed her fingers and forced a final deep breath. "These have been the best days in my life since my father passed,” she said in a rush. Tears blurred her eyes, clogged her throat. Manette circled behind and tripped the hooks with a blast of irritating speed and proficiency. The beautiful green silk slid down and Kira stepped over clasping her hand, to help her out of a sea of emerald folds.
Essie ran over and threw her arms around Cinderella. "Oh, Cinde, I'll wear the white if it stresses you so. Please. Please do not cry. There have been enough tears, non?"
Cinderella returned her hug with a fierce intensity. "’T not that," she muffled against her shoulder. She straightened and set herself apart, nodded her assent to Manette.
The rich green silks cascaded over Essie's slim body. Cinderella watched Essie's reflection in the mirror with a sad smile. Yet, a sudden sense of thrill rumbled through Cinderella. Essie would look her most stunning when they entered the ballroom.
Oui, it was time.
While Essie’s attention remained absorbed in donning the green dress, Kira wasted no time sliding the glorious white masses over Cinderella’s head before she could utter any sort of protest. Tingling, shimmering particles touched the atmosphere in a surreal, wavering quandary, turning the moment into magic.
As her head came through the wide neck, she caught Pricilla’s narrowed gaze of suspicion, then astonishment as the final transformation ascended over Cinderella. The heap of cream white fabric in the softest Chinese silk settled round her slight body. And as each fastener, stay by stay, molded her form, she wished for…for what?
The air was suddenly fraught with a phosphorescence glow that could only be described as magical. Cinderella’s body prickled with chill bumps making her feel both light-headed and dizzy. She glanced about the chamber for—for …..the crack in the floor.
Pricilla’s quick sharp gasp brought Essie’s head round sharply. Her gaze shot straight to Pricilla’s focus. Silence deafened Cinderella’s ears, well, except for the blood pounding furiously through. Heat flaming her cheeks, Cinderella searched out the mirror in a slow thick motion. She met Pricilla's accusing and Essie's confused gazes in the glass.
“Je suis désolé. I’m sorry, I-I could not find a way—this must appear. Non. I-I should have told you.” The tears streamed down her cheeks in rivulets.
But a sudden moment of resilience gripped her. Cinderella threw her shoulders back, tilted her head up, spun to challenge Essie directly in the eye. “I love him, you know. Me.”
“But…but how?” Essie whispered. “How did you do it? You were at the ball. You are the mysterious princess.”
Cinderella slid to the floor on knees that no longer supported her. She covered her mouth with trembling fingers and closed her eyes against the hate and ridicule she knew she would see in their expressions. A deathlike hush settled over the chamber. No longer able to stand it, she lifted her eyes to face their wrath.
It was not anger that met her, however. Essie's mouth hung open from near shock, and Pricilla studied her with such intense contemplation, it once again had Cinderella wishing for the floors to open.
How to say it? Yet, there was no help for it. They were liable to stash her in bedlam. But the time for deceit had passed. “I h-had a fairy godmother,” she stammered. “She did it to me.”
“A fairy godmother?” Pricilla echoed in disbelief.
“She did not do everything. You look—beautiful,” Essie choked out. “They are going to know. The minute we walk into that ballroom, they are all going to know. We cannot hide it!” Essie was stunned. But then a light came into her steady unblinking eyes. “That’s right; they are all going to know! How could I possibly marry Prince now?” Her relief would have been comical any other moment.
“Essie, quick. Help her up. She’ll muss the dress. Though, I must say with that crown on her head and those hoops surrounding her. She appears like a castle in the center of her own fortress poking out of puffy white clouds.”
“I want a crown,” Essie muttered rushing over.
“Crown?” Cinderella squeaked. Her fingers snaked up to her hair which had miraculously righted itself high above her head. Indeed a jeweled band wrapped her hair.
Pricilla tugged one arm, Essie the other, pulling Cinderella unceremoniously from the floor. The reprieve flooding her was severe enough to cause the lightheaded sensations that surely created more sparkles in the air. She hoped she would not faint, ’twas no time for such theatrics.
When she had her legs, and was almost certain they would hold, Cinderella met Essie’s eyes. The stark relief from Essie sparked a glint of mischief, and they both turned to Pricilla.
“What should we do?” they demanded.
*****
"Are you trying to choke me?" Prince snapped at Arnald.
"It is unfortunate this cravat will not cooperate."
"Good lord, you act more nervous than I."
"Only because if you are not happy, I shall be the one to pay," Arnald retorted. "What of your mamán? Have you had your audience with her?"
Prince scowled. "Non. Her efforts to avoid me at every turn have certainly succeeded. What of you? Have you managed to gainsay yours?"
"Non. I fear we may be stuck."
Prince glanced over his shoulder to the ormolu clock hanging above the hearth as a thought occurred to him. "How is it that I did not know my dear mamán was a twin, do you suppose?” Prince turned on his cousin with narrowed eyes. “How is it that you did not know? After all, surely you knew your mamán to be alive and well all these years.”
Arnald scowled back. "Yes, well. That is quite the feat they accomplished, is it not?” With a last flick of his wrist, Arnald stepped back. "That is the best knot I can wield."
"I’m not sure it is your best,” Prince muttered. Arnald could have strangled him, after all. He supposed he should be thankful. “This is not over, cousin.” He paused before adding, “I don't suppose you arranged for my kidnapping?"
"Hardly. Securing your confirmation was difficult, if you recall."
An odd flutter of air fanned across Prince’s lips startling him in its intensity, of what he did not know. Eyes closed, he tried to grasp the swift flash, but alas, it escaped. Instead, he moved his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. Once Ezbeth strode through those ballroom doors, there would be naught they could do to elude the noose round their necks. Their fates would be sealed. Funny, how he came to think of her as an accomplice in these efforts in circumventing the looming connubial prison.
He prayed he would not be required to call her by name, he thought wincing. No one would remiss him for a glass of brandy. In fact, mayhap he should have two.
"Here," Arnald barked, snapping him out of his doldrums. In his hand he held two small glasses filled with rich gold liquid.
"Perfect," Prince praised under his breath. He was sunk.
*****
Escorted by the timid Manette, Cinderella awaited with barely suppressed panic alongside Pricilla and Essie just beyond closed doors of the ballroom trying to ignore the footmen’s curious gazes. Dual shiny brass handles separated insanity from unreality. Pricilla’s brutal honesty spelled practicality, she reminded herself. ’Twas their only hope.
"Breathe," Pricilla hissed. "Whatever you do, hold your head high. ’Twill be our saving grace if we are to carry off this bout of lunacy.” She pierced Essie and Cinderella with a stern scowl.
Cinderella nodded and tried to absorb Pricilla’s fierce confidence. She lifted her head. Do or die, the time had come. Her wildest dream or starkest nightmare was about to unfold. She could only admire the tenacity Pricilla snapped to after her own dreadful confession. One of them, leastways.
“I said breathe, blast it. Both of you,” Pricilla commanded. “We’ll get through this. What are they going to do, put us in the dungeon?” She frowned at that.
A hysterical laugh bubbled through Cinderella, knowing it was a probability in som
e monarchs. The perfect ending to a horrific fairy tale.
Strings, horns, wind instruments and percussion pounded sounds of Mozart through the walls indicating a ball in full swing, interrupting her self-inflicted sarcasm.
“Follow my lead,” Pricilla instructed. “We shall do things just as planned.” Cinderella marveled at Pricilla’s calm demeanor, shaking her head with the wonder.
Esmeralda nodded in eager agreement. The lump in Cinderella’s throat constricted any sound forthcoming. Their confidence in this debacle was astounding. She felt like one of the statues in the gardens – Thanatos, Greek god of death, she decided, as an odd remote detachment took hold of her body. Her silence, taken as concurrence, had Pricilla inclining her head—not unlike Queen Thomasine—to the waiting footmen.
The doors to the ballroom swung wide. The music tapered off to a slow death. There was naught for it now. Cinderella prayed her shaking knees would not succumb to the overwhelming fear gripping her.
Pricilla paused at the top of the grandiose staircase just behind the herald. Cinderella could make out the drop of the red flags as trumpets that framed each side of the doors were lowered after a resounding blast.
“Lady Pricilla.” The herald’s bellow filled the hushed hall. A grim determination filled Pricilla’s eyes and she stepped through the doors and out of sight. If Cinderella could manage not to cast up her accounts, she knew she would ever believe Pricilla the bravest soul.
Cinderella heard her sharp gasp. They were done for now. She closed her eyes waiting for the blast of accusations. They’d somehow been found out. She knew it was too good to be so, she thought, breath held. But non, that did not make sense, she reasoned. She and Essie were the ones who’d traded gowns…and no one had seen them as yet. Cinderella opened her eyes to see Pricilla’s back. She was surprised by a series of muted oohs and ahs.
Cinderella’s attention snapped to with the staid footman’s return. One last look of encouragement met her from Essie before Essie handed him the note per Pricilla instructions. Brows beetled, he read. His stoic expression moved from her Essie. Cinderella’s battle to stave off the fluttering apprehension was slowly losing ground. They could surely not pull off this feat.
The scene took on a peculiar ménage. She caught a barely perceptual shrug before he delivered their message to the herald with nary a word or glance back. Cinderella tightened her hold on Essie’s hand and met her furiously blinking eyes. The slight updraft was unmistakable.
“Lady Esmeralda.” The herald’s bellow thundered throughout the hall, bounding off the wooden surfaces.
The breath rushing from Essie simultaneously matched her own. They’d made it through one more obstacle. Essie’s reassuring squeeze missed its mark before she disappeared into oblivion leaving Cinderella standing alone with her fears.
And hope.
*****
“Darling, you are pacing like a nervous cat. Whatever could be troubling you?”
As if his dear mamán did not know. Prince was ready to howl at the moon. Her regal and calm manner did not help. In fact, it only served to annoy him further.
“Come dear, the formal announcement shall be made soon and all will be well.” She patted his hand as if he were a toddler of two. His gaze flitted round the ballroom, the panic threatening to consume him.
He’d like to know how she managed to remain so composed. How anyone could remain so unruffled. He supposed it was too late to toss himself onto the jagged rocks off the cliff from her hidden alcove. Alas, the window was too high, regardless.
The usual pleasure he took in the strains of Mozart pulverized his reserve into the taut strings of a pianoforte. He’d already suffered through several dances. Every effort it took Prince to maintain his placid mask. The wish for sudden silence overwhelmed him.
And then—it did.
The music grinded to a halt, the bow screeched across a single violin string, screaming its last agonizing note in perfect accord with his stilled breath.
Prince found himself cursing that wish he’d been so suddenly granted. For with the silence came the end of the pursuit of his true love and the beginning of a new life with Ethelina…a life without his mysterious and beautiful princess. The room took on a curious opiate view. Where he saw ten candles now appeared at twenty. ’Twas not one pair of eyes each patron sported but quadrupled that. By all that was divine, could the grounds not open up to save him?
Alas, non. As the future king, his fate was sealed.
He drew himself up and moved to his place beside Mamán, Papá and the monstrous Hilda, as was his expected due. What else could he do but prepare for the inevitable?
There would be no turning back now. The ballroom’s dreamlike facet became reality, his destiny, even as the champagne he’d sipped furled in his belly. Flames in the hundreds of candles stretched into sharp points, the whispers poignant following the sudden hush.
The atmosphere leaden with heavy fragrance threatened to suffocate him. But like their guests, his eyes moved to the doors at the top of the stairs, dread constricting his chest of breathable air. The doors swung open; the herald stepped forward.
“Lady Pricilla,” he bellowed.
Prince swallowed a large lump, the reprieve minimal. It was only a matter of time, non? He watched as Pricilla pushed forward, head held high, prepared for battle. His eyes narrowed. In his short time with these sisters, he’d learned something from them. And something was amiss. He would stake his life on it. Her transformation was breathtaking, he was forced to admit.
Her visible flinch had Prince wondering if she’d been suddenly burdened by Ershelda’s fluttering eye affliction, but she recovered quickly enough. But he would swear she appeared surprised by his presence—yet—on closer inspection her gaze went past him to her own mother.
Truly, odd. Other issues crowded his thoughts. Concerns of more import at the moment that had nausea roiling through him. The sensation of swooning hovered.
He watched her descent, adopting a facade of detachment. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched. His lips brushed her fingers, and for once he was grateful for Alessandro’s attendance as he escorted her aside.
From his peripheral vision he caught Hilda frantically fanning herself, dabbing a proud tear. His own mamán, wore a small frown.
In hindsight, he should have confirmed the kidnapping, or leastways, the choking from his cravat. Mayhap, Arnald’s remark was said in jest, but the trepidation he was experiencing was coming to culmination as the moment of the formal announcement loomed. Not unlike the eye of a hurricane. He squelched a wince from such an apropos correlation.
Cinderella would be next. There was comfort in the thought of courage he would find in her soft dark eyes. A sorry consolation, but consolation, nonetheless. Sparkles colored the air as they so often did when she was about. His lips tipped slightly, thinking of thick dark hair that refused to hold a fashionable curl. The theatrical delivery on the Eros and his personification of love, she’d handed him when she wore the rags of a servant girl. He stuffed the hysterics that threatened to burst through. The thoughts were…traitorous. Why could he not have considered Cinderella? His affection for her rivaled that of his mysterious princess. A mysterious princess who seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Dark brown eyes filled his inner vision, merging with that of…non, non. ’Twas impossible.
Prince braced himself in rigid readiness, though fear clenched his insides as walls closed in. Rather than convincing himself of wedded bliss, he focused on how entertaining the changing weather could be when and if his bride might have some hand in the phenomenon.
Before his thoughts could run to more worrisome matters, his future bride had waltzed through the doors, head also held high, eyes unblinking. The sense of something awry barely pervaded him. She looked beautiful ensconced in scores of deep emerald silks, threaded with shimmering gold. The enhanced brilliance of her copper locks, coiled in an elaborate coiffure, was stunning. She trained her gaze on him as
if daring him to shake her composure, meeting his eyes in belligerent splendor. A soft knowing smile touched her lips on her slow descent.
Prince froze, locked in place, confusion rippling through him.
Where was Cinderella? Had they said her name? He scanned the perimeter of the crowd. Arnald cast him a disgusted glance and stepped up to take his intended’s arm. The grateful look she gave Arnald should have infuriated Prince. Instead, he found himself vaguely aware of a noise resembling the snorting huff of a bull, sounding somewhere behind—one that had seen the red cape and was not so amused. The only thing missing was the stomp of its front hoof prior to its deadly gorge.
Silence filled the great hall. The herald emerged, snagging his abrupt attention. That odd tingle in the air that Prince had to seen fit to refer to as the “fainting possibility tingle” hovered in the ambiance.
Staunch horns blared in the marked stillness. A wave of expectant drama swept the room. Prince found himself caught up as sure and as fervent as the mass of onlookers. The ballroom took on a visionary sharpness Prince had not experienced since the night he’d danced in the arms of one beloved mysterious princess. The air fairly cackled in suppressed tension. Candlelight bounced from wood waxed and shined to a radiant brilliance. Not even a rustling of skirts sounded. The trumpets pealed in call of royal splendor, the crowd waited in eager anticipation of his pronouncement.
The herald shuffled to the forefront. He clicked his heels and fell into a deep respectful bow. “Lady Cinderella,” he declared. Prince thought his heart had bound from his torso to hit the wood floor.
Startled by the reverberation, his hand flew to his chest. Non. The thud was there—erratic, beating fiercely. He spun, and was surprised to find a bevy of servants scurrying over to assist Hilda. She lay flat on her round and full-bodied face. He pushed away the twinge of guilt, and relief, that it was not he who had succumbed to the dead drop swoon.
A vibrating hush fell over the room. His ears rung in the silence. The sense of moving through molasses blasted him full force.
The Wronged Princess - Book I Page 18
