The Wronged Princess – book i Kae Elle Wheeler 

rev 8.20.14

Copyright Kathy L Wheeler 2012-2014

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This book is not to be copied, distributed, reprinted and shared without the

expressed consent of Kathy L Wheeler

The Wronged Princess - book i copyright © 2012 by Kathy L Wheeler 2nd edition, April 2014 All Rights Reserved  kae-elle-wheeler.com kathylwheeler.com These stories are works of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Kathy L Wheeler.  Cover Art © romancenovelcovers.com e-book formatted by Kathy L Wheeler 

Table of Contents Author bioCopyrightPrologue   Chapter 1Chapter 2   Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33   Epilogue I   Epilogue II   The Real Epilogue  

The Wronged Princess – book i

  

Kae Elle Wheeler 

Pr o l o g u e “’Tis time to set our plan in motion, Thomasine.”

“She is very young, oui?” Queen Thomasine, of Chalmers Kingdom, spoke in hushed tones to her twin sister—Cinderella’s illustrious fairy godmother. “She cannot be more than all of seventeen, I vow.” The queen was Maman to none other than Prince Edric Osmond Thorn VIII, but she’d lovingly referred to him as Prince Charming since he’d been a chattering infant. The name had attached like mortar to stone.

Thomasine ignored her sister’s comment with compressed lips and paced the small sparse chamber. She preferred not to think of a ten-year-old being forced into such a situation. What she did prefer to think of, however, was how enamored her son was over the unknown beauty seen fleeing the ballroom at the stroke of midnight a sennight prior. A lovely ball she herself had staged. “Are you certain this scheme of yours shall work? The chit managed to dislodge her glass slipper on the stair in her haste to depart. That silly boy of mine has the ridiculous notion of trying it on every maiden in the kingdom to find her. If that is not the most preposterous idea I have ever heard…”

A suspicious snort sounded from her twin. Thomasine looked up quickly. She detected nothing in her sister’s gaze, just intelligent gray eyes that mirrored her own.

Thomasine sighed. “I realize he is only nineteen, but I fear he may be following in my dear Osmond’s stead. As much as I adore my husband and king—why I vow this monarchy would have long since perished without my brains and intuitiveness.”

The smile her sister bestowed was condescending at best. “’Twill be difficult, dear, but ’tis all for the greater good, just as we’d discussed. You shall see.” Her sister’s lack of concern was most unnerving. It was all Thomasine could do, restraining the efforts to confront her son to tell him her vexations on the matter. But young men rarely listened to their mothers, no matter how wise the action.

Hands fisted at hips, Thomasine considered Faustine’s petite figure and elegantly styled coiffure, so similar to her own. “You realize a skilled formula is necessary in camouflaging Prince’s powers of recognition, non? We would not want to hamper the outcome of our little undertaking. The whole purpose is teaching him to think through his impulsive tendencies.”

“Oui, oui.” Faustine stood quickly—poised, rather—to make her unusual exit.“Not to mention our future princess has seen you. Once she sees me—I am

queen, you know—and, well, we do resemble one another, non?”“Oui, Thomasine. Now, if you’ve no more obstructions to impinge my delay?”“Attends…wait!” Thomasine said. The frothy pink gown her sister wore reminded

Thomasine of an overly sweet confection. Dotted with an egregious host of tiny diamonds—a bit much in her opinion—she thought the dress might better serve as a beacon in the eye of a storm. “What of the powers bestowed by the mysterious Monsieur Pinetti?”

“What of them?” Thomasine studied her expression carefully. Still, not a twinge of concern marred

her brow. How did she do it? “Will he consider this an abuse of power?”

“Bah, how will he find out, ma chère? Do not worry so. What can go wrong?” With a flick of the thin silver baton she held—Poof! She dissipated, leaving an air of sparkling shimmers in her wake.

“What, indeed?” Thomasine said to the now empty chamber.

Chapter 1

Cinderella could not believe it—she’d lost her shoe, and it was glass, too. “Oh,” she choked out to her friend in the corner—Marcel, her own sweet pet—a gray dormouse so generous with his company. “What will Fairy Godmother say?” She sniffed back irritating tears.

Marcel cocked his head to one side and perched on his hind legs squeaking an acquiescence.

“Thank you. I appreciate your support. But the answer is easy,” she told him, shaking her head in disagreement. “She will only chastise me on how irresponsible I’ve been.” Cinderella scowled. ’Twas a shame her nature disallowed dropping to the floor in the wake of self-pity. “There’s no way back to find the blasted thing either. That ridiculous coach undoubtedly has already morphed back into a big fat pumpkin.” ’Twas only by sheer luck she, in the interim, had not been dwarfed into a seed.

Flying back on a broomstick had been out of the question—who did she think she was, the Wicked Witch of the West?

Cinderella paced the floor from her own little corner to the cottage door. Back and forth she wore a path on gleaming worn-wood floors (by her own hand), peering through cheerful red and white gingham-checked curtains with each pass. She needed these few moments to compose herself. What if they somehow recognized her as the unknown guest at the ball? Stepmama was sure to kill her.

“Non. Non. Stepmama would not kill me,” she said aloud. At least she hoped she wouldn't. “Fairy Godmother would surely save me from a fate as dire as death.” But Cinderella was not all that convinced the entire evening was one wrought entirely from her own imagination.

The vibration of carriage wheels rattled the window panes, trundling down the isolated road in their small corner of Chalmers Kingdom. Knots of trepidation formed in her stomach. Mayhap she was not so ready for them after all.

How had she allowed herself into this predicament? Her hands twisted through her apron. She should have heeded her lessons. This was what came of believing in fairy tales.

Heartbreak and fear.With deep measured breaths, Cinderella made a concerted effort to crush her

jangled nerves. But anxiety palpitated through her veins. Each passing second the carriage drew closer, and with it, roiling queasiness. Cheeks warm with distress, she rushed to the wool-padded footstool and sat. Even that was not enough to soothe her apprehension. A place where she’d spent many a day dreaming of being a young Norwegian princess or a milkmaid.

She rose again and peered through the parted curtains. She brushed clammy, trembling hands over her drab skirts and waited for the conveyance to creak to its excruciating stop. She inhaled deeply.

Stepmama swept from the buggy with the aid of their only footman, much like a reigning queen. Ha. In Stepmama’s wildest dreams. Her nose, long and crooked, made for a less-than-attractive sight. The deep furrows in her forehead reflected blatant narrow-mindedness, and the bitter lines about her mouth aged her more than her actual years.

Papa must truly have loved her. They’d married when Cinderella was but a child of three. A feat she still struggled to comprehend. Why else would he have married her?

Anonymity provided decent cover for Cinderella’s true feelings as her eyes followed the procession of her vicious stepsisters. She cast a quick glance to Marcel. He gave her an encouraging nod.

Having suffered at their hands for many years, Cinderella knew when to speak and when to hold her tongue. Now that she and her sisters were at the marriageable ages of seventeen and eighteen, Cinderella hugged a spark of hope with the advantage of her own little secret.

Prince Charming of Chalmers Kingdom was in love with her."Marcel," she gasped, “Hide!” With a tiny mew he fled beneath the baseboard.

Cinderella backed from the window and donned her most earnest and heartfelt expression as her family barged through the door. “Was the ball just wonderful?” She gushed. Ugh. But survival remained vital in this quaint cottage. So if she must gush, then gush she would.

“Of course, Cinderella.” Amazing how Pricilla and Esmeralda could spat in unison like rusted, cringing door hinges.

“Until that mysterious princess showed up,” Pricilla bit out.Cinderella swallowed. “Mysterious princess?” It came out similar to Marcel’s

squeak. “Once she showed up, the prince ceased his search toward any other

marriageable prospects.” Esmeralda sniffed, tossing her head of copper curls. Cinderella mustered a mask of practiced blankness. Excruciating as it would be,

she must languish through the next hour if she had any hope of learning what had happened after her departure. As expected, Pricilla and Esmeralda droned on with mundane descriptions on the varying dresses and ballroom decorations. She picked up a dust cloth and swiped the already spotless bookshelves. A shame she possessed not enough skills to redirect the conversation to Prince and the monopolization of his “mysterious princess.”

She stifled the many urges to roll her eyes as they prattled on. Well, she had asked, had she not? She deserved the torture, she supposed with an inward sigh, having let curiosity get the better of her. Still, Cinderella struggled to repress the impulse to spill her secret, but experience had given her the gift of patience.

“What is with you, Cinderella?” Stepmama’s gaze narrowed with penetrating suspicion and undisguised curiosity.

Cinderella froze. “No...nothing, Stepmama.”“You seem almost—giddy,” Stepmama accused in her nasal and high pitched

grate. She leaned closer, her beaked nose almost touching Cinderella's. “Scrape those cobwebs from your hair. If I did not know better I would say glitter covered your head.” She paused as if considering such a possibility, then a loud cackle burst forth.

Again Cinderella swallowed, quashing the temptation to confess it was glitter."Oui, Stepmama.” Cinderella glanced around for something, anything to redirect

Stepmama’s attention. “Tea. May I get you tea, Madame?” Stepmama appeared to consider it for a moment, then, hissed, more like, “Non.

But my feet do desire a soaking. Fetch water for my tired and aching limbs.” Cinderella knew an escape when one presented itself.

“Oui, Stepmama. Right away.”

Stepmama dropped her massive frame into the one comfortable chair in the room and shifted her unnerving attention to Esmeralda. Shudders skittered down Cinderella’s spine. “Stop that incessant blinking at once. How am to I ever marry you off with that repulsive twitch?” Cinderella slipped through the cottage door to fetch the pail of water, Stepmama’s bellowing screech pealing against the walls.

Once beyond sight Cinderella bent and shook out her long dark hair out where, indeed, shiny particles floated like magic dust to the ground in a shimmering shower of sparkles, grinning.

*****

Prince Charming of Chalmers Kingdom reclined atop red velvet coverlets on his royal bed. Arms folded behind his head, he crossed one shiny booted ankle over the other and contemplated the disastrous results of the ball.

Candlelight flickered, casting shadows on the walls that competed with a roaring fire in the grate. His memory regenerated the surprising miracle of the ball. A ball his Maman had insisted upon to facilitate his finding of a bride.

A bride for which he’d had no desire—until now. Ten and nine was much too young for marriage. Even for an heir apparent. Modern men married much older these days. The temptation to enlighten Maman dissipated when a vision in creamy ivory silk floated before him, searing his memory.

Spellbinding beauty had appeared atop the grandiose staircase, far above the ballroom. Her path blazed with the light of a thousand candles. She’d needed no introduction. He’d been stymied from the moment he’d set eyes on her. And he hadn’t been the only one.

Stunned silence rumbled through the ballroom just before buzzing snippets rippled around as he made his way to her.

“Who is she?” They’d breathed.“Where did she come from?” They’d whispered.“Such a beauty,” they’d murmured.Star-struck gazes riveted their attention. But they focused, not on him. Non.

’Twas an unusual sensation. Mouth dry, he tried to swallow. But nothing short of death could tear his eyes from the white velvet-trimmed gown, bare shoulders accentuating a graceful neck but for the sliver of a delicate gold chain adorned by a single teardrop diamond.

The room shimmered with an iridescent glow. Her arrival held the population enthralled—and to him? The entire kingdom ceased to exist.

Prince surged forward, his path opening with the magic of the evening. Long, slender fingers slid along the massive balustrade, stealing his breath,

constricting his chest. He found himself afraid to blink lest she disappear. But step after step, folds of her graceful gown billowed over fragile glass slippers—until that moment—the moment she’d moved straight into his waiting arms.

He twirled her through the ballroom with one perfect waltz following another. Knowing he’d stepped, or danced, past the stricture of protocol, helpless against its pull. Rich mahogany locks piled high on her head, in a sophisticated twist clasped into place with a small, elegant jeweled crown. No curls to mar its thickness or beauty.

He was breathless, speechless, captivated.

Whomever this mysterious princess was, she was his now. Or soon would be. He must remember to thank Maman for her insistence on searching out his bride. He grinned at the frescoed ceiling.

Air shimmered around her like the halo of an angel, eyes of the darkest, most decadent chocolate one could only dream of, and full lips that trembled with a timid and tremulous smile.

He was caught.“Will I love you because you’re beautiful?” He said softly against her cheek. “Or

because you’re wonderful?”“I am but a dream,” she whispered. Her voice matched her—soft, enticing,

mysterious.“Perhaps,” he agreed. He did not know. He could not know. He only knew he

wanted to sing from the rooftops. A defining moment, he decreed. Because now he knew…he’d found…

Princess Charming. The evening raced past in a whirlwind of dancing where no words were needed.

They would have a lifetime to talk. Right now ’twas enough to revel in the feel of her hand in his, the scent of her hair. She floated like the whisper of a cloud, the mist of a ghost.

’Twas a lovely night. One he knew he’d never see again.The stroke of midnight sounded from the tower clock: twelve bongs.It seemed only ten minutes since he’d met her. “What’s that noise?” She’d asked. Her voice was as soft as feather down. Her

smile so disarming. He smiled back.“Just the tower clock,” he’d responded, mesmerized by those luscious, full, red

lips. “The night is young, my lady. ’Tis only midnight, the night is still young.” He could not decide if the fragranced blooms inundating his senses came from the surrounding gardens, or the flower in his arms.

“Midnight,” she breathed—then blinked. Then stilled. Right there in the midst of the dance floor. Alarm marred her lovely features, panic colored her voice. “I-I must go.”

Before he’d realized her intentions, she’d spun, and run from the garden, back through the ballroom. She flew, up the stairs and out of his life. The ballroom doors parted as if on command, allowing—non—assisting her escape.

And yet, there he’d stood, dumbstruck, bewildered. His limbs thick, heavy leads of steel, as the throng of dancers cleared the way, mindful of her haste. He jerked to the present, torn from his dream.

He should have them all beheaded.Prince bounded from the bed and paced his large, opulent chamber. He was a

man who had never wanted for anything in all his nineteen years, he reasoned. Of that, his parents had made certain. He was Royalty.

“Royalty, I say!” He yelled to the empty room.“Sire?” His annoying friend and companion, in truth, his cousin, though he’d

deny the fact if asked. Arnald poked his head through the door and Prince frowned.“Nothing, Arnald. Be off.” It confounded the mind why a young and beautiful princess would run. From

him. He could understand her running from Arnald whose manners resembled that of an ox.

Prince stopped before a luxuriously padded-chair and sunk down, chin resting on his fist. But, alas, she was gone. He tried to summon his anger. ’Twas impossible. She was too beautiful for him to be truly angry—too sweet for his outrage.

Lovestruck. That’s what he was, he thought glumly. Mayhap, really ’twas all a dream.

Restless, he stood again and gazed out at the night sky. ’Twould be dawn soon. The sun would rise and he with no idea where to find her. He’d not even learned her name.

“Why? Why had she run?”“Because you are such a child,” Arnald said.“I thought I told you to be gone,” Prince snapped.“Hah! Who else would you have to talk to?”Prince scowled at the truth of that statement. “I have much to offer. A home,

large coffers. Overflowing coffers.” Prince resumed his pacing. “Lands, clothes, servants—” He stopped.

“And?” Arnald prompted.And…Love? He dared not spout that to his cousin. He would ne’er hear the end

of such drivel. He cleared his throat, paused, before changing tactic. “Young women were known to fantasize their notions of romantic love, non?” He said slowly, carefully keeping his eyes averted from the teasing light he would surely see in Arnald’s.

“I vow that is so.”“I must marry regardless, oui?”“Oui.”“Then she is whom I must marry. Maman is determined, after all.” Justification

served to save face, and Prince leaped on the excuse, knowing he lied to Arnald all the while.

“Oui, determined,” Arnald repeated, chuckling. “Enough,” Prince barked. He needed to think. By the time Prince had realized her intentions and dashed after her…it was too

late. All he’d caught was the tail of the golden coach drawn with six white horses darting away at breakneck speed. He put his arm up in an effort to halt her flight, but could only watch in helpless despair her wave of farewell from the small rear window. He swore he'd seen anguish in those exquisite eyes.

He'd dropped his head, and gasped. There—in plain sight—on the stoop descending the ballroom doors, lay proof

that this night of heaven had not been just a dream of his bride-to-be vanishing into thin air…was a lone glass slipper.

Chapter 2

Queen Thomasine almost rued the day she’d had a son. Non, that was not quite right, for she loved her son dearly. But she’d be hard

pressed to refrain from admitting that the comfort of a daughter would be pleasant. Someone with whom she could embroider, or titter on about the failings of men. She sighed. Such bonding experiences, she thought wistfully.

Regrettably, that had not been her destiny. She shook away the fantasies and turned to the misfortune at hand. For days

now, seven to be precise, Prince had moped about the palace, hoping against hope his mysterious young woman would somehow reappear. Drop into his life the same way she’d dropped out.

Thomasine had deliberately let a full sennight of his nonsense persist before finally summoning him to set forth her twin’s and her underhanded scheme. ’Twas not without some guilt, however.

She quashed the feelings ruthlessly and addressed him. “Have you decided what it is you are to do now, mon fils? You have spent this week past doing naught but brooding and sulking about.”

His gaping shock was most telling. “Maman,” he said sharply—deeply offended.She bit back a searing retort, irritated that young men dared think a mother

could not possibly understand such dilemmas. Bah, what was it with today’s children? Did they believe their parents had sprung from the womb grown? Not experienced love and infatuations in their youth? That they hadn’t had a youth?

Thomasine pinched the bridge of her nose praying for patience. Tried to remember he was the future king. “My dear, ’tis time to move past this fixation,” she said gently. She frowned. “Frankly, I find myself amazed that this…this woman-child had the nerve to run from the ball in such a manner. To run, at all, in fact. Most unladylike.” She sniffed with disdain. “But, alas, not being in her shoes—well, so to speak, I suppose I shall withhold my judgment for the present time.”

Prince lowered himself into an opposing chair so utter in his devastation her heart could not help but soften. She squared her shoulders, stiffened her resolve, vowing to see through her Faustine's plan, no matter the difficulty. “The question is, dear, what are your plans to remedy the situation?” She spoke briskly. She had great faith in his intellect; it just needed uncovering.

His expression made her wonder if she’d grown horns. Thomasine shook her head in self-deprecation. “I vow I bear full responsibility for

this predicament, of course. Well,” she amended frowning, “except for the portion your father is responsible for.” She said in her most regal tone-to-the-masses. “As the guiding parent, however, I have come to the conclusion that I have failed miserably in teaching you to act responsibly and timely in a crisis situation.” She paced the length of the chamber. Thinking was always best when she had the versatility of movement.

She stole a glimpse in her son's direction. He looked as if he were trying to comprehend her explanation. Mayhap there was hope. But just as sure as she was that he was listening, she was just as sure he had no idea of what she was trying to convey. His glazed, blank expression revealed just how very clueless he was with every uttered word.

Thomasine had to shake off her irritation, knowing instinctively a daughter would have been much sharper on the uptake. It was as if he were from a different celestial orbit.

She eyed him carefully. Hope sparked within her as his gaze narrowed. When his eyes seemed to focus

on some divine light above her head she somehow resisted an urge to lift her head for a peek.

“Ah!” His inspirational gasp startled her, his excitement palpable, giving her hope, though somewhat cautious. “I have her slipper," he said slowly. "I shall take it to every maiden in the Kingdom. Whomever it fits, is where I shall find my bride.”

“Oh, my,” Thomasine murmured, fighting an impulse to enlighten him on just how impractical the idea was—what the consequences such an outcome could prompt. She dropped into a chair considering him with a prudent gaze. This was not quite the direction she and her sister had envisioned. But mayhap ’twas something they could work with.

Thomasine let out a slow breath trying to focus on the positive aspects. There at least appeared to be some kind of idea brewing around in that round

appendage sitting atop his shoulders. Honestly, he needed to be married. Then he could utilize his intended’s acumen. Of course, were he married there would be no use for…she tapped a finger on her chin, then swallowed a sigh, disappointed. It appeared she and her Faustine’s lesson would indeed be required. A much needed lesson, if he were to someday lead their kingdom, however small.

She let a slow smile curve her lips. “’Tis a wonderful idea, mon cher.”He blinked as if surprised.And Thomasine sent him off—with her blessing. Word spread quickly throughout

Chalmers Kingdom. Prince Charming was on the hunt for his mysterious princess. His future queen.Thomasine only hoped the young woman proved worthy of their efforts.

Chapter 3News of Prince Charming’s outrageous plan reached the cottage within days. Hours possibly, and Cinderella was outraged. The competency of communication through word of mouth was quite amazing when one evaluated its efficiency to any minute degree.

The range of emotions roaring through her started with that of stunned horror, morphing quickly to morbid, yet hidden, amusement as Stepmama and Cinderella's stepsisters danced ’round their small abode with glee. The likely prospect that her glass slipper could ever fit one of her evil stepsisters was…laughable. Well, it was vile enough to make one want to cast up her accounts, and that somehow warred with an effort to hide an unexpected yet hysterical giggle.

“Do you think he shall be here soon?” Pricilla spouted, turning cool gray eyes on Stepmama. Her blond, almost white hair, bounced bobbing curls. Ever the ultimate image of Stepmama, were it not for Stepmama’s rotund figure.

Stepmama considered Pricilla with a glance of calculated amusement. Cinderella fought to keep the shiver of trepidation from snaking up her spine. What tactic was Stepmama now hatching in that malevolent mind of hers? With bated breath, Cinderella snatched up a cloth and made a show of dusting the buffet, waiting for some brilliant insight to surge forth.

She forced herself to breathe, calming herself with the thought she would have her chance with Prince. She just had to. He was asking for all the maidens to try the slipper, non? They could not stop her. They could not, she vowed, pressing her lips together.

“We shall be prepared,” Stepmama announced. “Both of you, follow Cinderella about this house. Make certain that she has swept, scrubbed, cleaned, polished, waxed, and sanitized each and every viable surface.” Her brittle, high pitched voice grated. “Leave no corner untouched.”

And so they did. ’Twas another two days before the cottage was readied and spotless.

Unfortunately, it left her sisters floundering in restlessness. Something that bespoke trouble for Cinderella. On normal days they were annoying and underfoot. Bored, however, made them dangerous.

Cinderella fought for every ounce of control and sanity as she sat in her little corner. Mending stockings from a nearby basket, she listened in horrific silence as Esmeralda and Pricilla argued on whose foot was the most exquisite. On whom Prince would think the prettiest. On whom should be first to try the blasted slipper. On whom it would actually fit. Only once, did Cinderella’s lips tip in a secret smile, eyes averted.

“What are you snickering about, Cinderella?” Pricilla sneered. “That the shoe will fit you?” At which point both sisters cackled hysterically.

Ha! such absurdity. Let them. Cinderella would have the last laugh. “It could, you know.” The words slipped out.

Shocked silence bounded against the walls. Cinderella lifted her eyes from her task to find both sisters and Stepmama staring at her in dumbfounded stupor. Oh, no. She’d made a very large tactical error.

Pricilla was the first to recover, casting Cinderella a bleak, tight-lipped smile. Her cold gray eyes and cruel expression sent Esmeralda’s eyes fluttering with bird-

flapping intensity. Pricilla rose from her wooden chair and glided with surprising grace to Cinderella. The move was deceptively casual. Cinderella would be a fool to believe otherwise. “What has you so busy this lovely morn, Cinderella?” The dainty smile she handed Cinderella personified her evil mother to perfection.

Cinderella found she was unable to hide the tremble in her fingers. “Es-Esmeralda’s petticoat.” Fear had Cinderella’s voice trickling out husky and restrained.

Pricilla gently lifted the soft fabric from Cinderella’s lap. “Certainment. I can see.” Quick as a flash, Pricilla ripped the delicate fabric apart at the seam. Esmeralda’s gasp filled the air but Cinderella dared not shift her focus. “You are quite the seamstress, oui?” Pricilla said with a twisted curl of her lips. The scrap of fabric slipped from her fingers and floated down, landing at Cinderella’s feet. Eyes still on Pricilla, Cinderella reached for the garment with a shaking hand.

“Pricilla, my darling, you shall be the first to sport the slipper,” Stepmama announced as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. “As the eldest, ’tis only fitting.” Then howled with laughter at her silly pun, jowls shaking with mirth. The sight would provoke nightmares.

But, of course, ’twas not out of the ordinary, was it? Cinderella thought, swallowing sudden tears. She’d let her mouth get the better of her. She knew for certain the slipper would fit her. It was hers, was it not? She stabbed the needle through the petticoat, pricking her finger. A spot of blood marred the white. She blinked quickly. All she had to do was concentrate on that one detail, that the shoe belonged to her. She would be out of her personal torment soon. She had only to hang on to her dreams.

The pounding of hooves vibrated the cottage. It stayed the violence that poised the tense atmosphere.

Cinderella surprised her stepsisters by fighting for a place at the window alongside them. Something she’d never attempted before. Their anticipation of the prince’s visit was the only reason no one threw a punch.

Stepmama hissed in exasperation, “Girls! We do not hang out an open window like common…harlots. The prince shall come to us!” She raised her chin where the skin beneath hung like that of a gobbling turkey. Cinderella, so attuned to the excitement, let a giggle escape.

Stepmama turned to her and snarled, “Not you! You shall remain inside.”“B-but, Stepmama—” The crack of Stepmama’s open palm stung her cheek. She

laid her hand against her heated flesh.“You dare to spar with me, child?”Her words dashed all hope.“To the basement,” Stepmama commanded. “But…”“But nothing,” she spat, hand raised, reinforcing her threat. “Away with you.

Quickly.” Cinderella dare not disobey. She turned from the window hands clenched, swallowed choking tears, and moved to the basement door. Stepmama cast her one more glare. Cinderella ran. She slipped behind the basement door, but in a fit of rebellion perched herself on the top stair.

A knock, firm and strong, pounded the door. Cinderella peered through the crack. Esmeralda pulled it open with an unnatural and timid reserve, green eyes batting wildly.

A footman, stood ridged and formal, most distinguished in his white pantaloons with their red stripe down one side. Cinderella had ne’er seen the like, awed by his

corresponding jacket adorned with gold tassels. Stepmama’s preoccupied stupor and grandeur allowed Cinderella’s furtive peek to go unnoticed.

Without warning, the footman bellowed in clipped cultured tones, as if they were not standing within touching distance, “His Royal Highness to see the maidens of the house.” He clicked the heels of his shiny black boots and offered a sharp formal bow from the waist. A swift movement from another similarly dressed individual pulled a trumpet to his lips. The blaring sound had everyone flinching, even Stepmama. At least Cinderella had the luxury of covering her ears. She choked back a laugh at her family’s strained expressions.

Someone spoke softly. It was not Prince. Cinderella would have recognized his deep warm voice anywhere. It had been in her dreams for a week past now. “We shall conduct the business of the slipper trying-on the bench in your lovely garden, Madame.”

Stepmama flounced through the door with Esmeralda and Pricilla trailing like little ducklings. Little ugly ducklings, she amended, scowling. The door shut behind them in a resounding slam.

La! This was her chance. Cinderella darted from her post inside the basement door and peered through the curtains. It was a risk worthy of furious wrath.

Prince, her Prince, dismounted from his horse in a graceful drop to the ground. He looked just as she remembered. Hand on her throat, a dreamy sigh escaped. Hair, black as night tied at his nape with a velvet queue, firm determined jaw, strong teeth, and corded muscles. Her fingers tingled remembering how his hand swallowed hers as he’d guided her through the ballroom dance after dance.

“Mew.” She lowered her palm for Marcel, without taking her eyes from her beloved.

“Look at him, my sweet. See how wide his shoulders are? How graceful his hands?”

Marcel peeped an agreement. An entourage of six surround Prince. Another gentleman off to one side held a

wooden box. He opened it with a show of spectacular theatrics. She gasped. Her glass shoe. Cinderella blinked away sudden tears. Prince knelt on bended knee before

Pricilla. The breath rushed from Cinderella’s body. How had she never noticed the sun’s brilliance glinting off Pricilla’s silvery blond locks? A lightheaded sensation assaulted her. Her knees shook. She forced short breaths to keep from fainting in despair on the spot.

Cinderella concentrated on the dark curl that had fallen over the prince's brow. He reached for Pricilla’s foot. The effort not to scream squeezed her heart in her chest. He pulled it forward, a bit too gently in Cinderella's opinion, and slipped the shoe on—tugged, rather, shifted, wrestled. Cinderella watched his face carefully. He seemed quite determined, she thought irritably. He risked a glance up to Pricilla and a smile lit his face. A smile that sent Cinderella’s heart fluttering like Esmeralda's nervous eye-affliction.

Thankfully, no amount of manipulation could make Pricilla’s large foot slide into Cinderella’s glass shoe. Triumph surged through her as he moved to Esmeralda’s waiting foot.

Was that…relief on his face? Oui, she was certain of it. Most telling in the stiffening of Pricilla’s spine, as Cinderella’s view consisted of her sisters’ backsides, leaving her the opportunity to gaze upon Prince.

She was, however, able to observe Stepmama’s jaunty, over-exaggerated features scowl as the chance for one of her daughters to marry genuine royalty suddenly drop by a colossal fifty percent.

What if she ran out the door and demanded Prince to try the slipper on her dainty foot? She glanced down at her patched frock and slumped. He would never be convinced that she was the girl he was looking for. And Stepmama’s violent temper...it could prove a deadly, foolish mistake.

Cinderella let out a soft relieved breath and glanced toward Esmeralda. Prince began the same ritual of slipping off her one shoe replacing it with the glass one.

Awe turned to astonishment, then stunned horror, when Cinderella's glass slipper slid on with surprising ease.

Cinderella choked on a gasp and fled from her veiled place at the window.

*****

A surge of panic that began deep in Prince's abdomen roared through his veins when the slipper in his one hand glided neatly onto the foot he held with the other. He froze, unable to think coherently. He snuck a cautious glance to the face belonging to said foot. Her eyes blinked so furiously, he was almost certain she hadn't caught his glance. He stood slowly, steeling himself to meet the eyes of this new and unexpected affianced.Her bright copper curls blew in a brisk breeze that were not all that unattractive. It’s just that those locks were far from the deep rich mahogany he'd been looking for.

He pulled back his shoulders. “It appears to be a fit,” he said, not at all surprised at the composure he was able to project. He'd had nineteen years of training in self-possession, impassive expressions, and reinforced tactful negotiations. Imperative skills when one wrestled with a terror building so deep within one’s chest, one might expire on the spot.

“Well, of course it fits!” The hideous mother said, benevolently. Sainthood. After this disastrous journey, he’d surely qualify for sainthood. “Do quit batting your eyes, Esmeralda. You could stir up the soil,” her mother

snapped. Just beyond the girl's shoulder Prince caught sight of cheery red and white

curtains fluttering at the window. Amazing. Her eyes did seem to create a wind. He fixed an impassive gaze on his

new betrothed, Egeld…Este…well, her name escaped him at the moment—and contemplated the situation. The sense of dread settling over him, along with a picture of Maman’s pained expression leaped through his mind.

He was not a religious man, by any means, but divine intervention would not be amiss in this moment.

*****

Cinderella darted from the window gasping for air. She should have heeded Stepmama’s direction for the basement. How could it have not occurred to her that Esmeralda’s foot would fit her slipper? The pain in her chest threatened to shatter. Could one die of a broken heart? When Papa passed gently from this world to the next, Stepmama had confiscated all of her belongings.

Even on the rare occasion when Cinderella found herself lucky enough allowed to her own devices, did she not steal into Esmeralda’s closet to try on her shoes? Both

Esmeralda and Pricilla had lovely slippers. Esmeralda’s fit Cinderella perfectly. Her gaze swept the darkness in a terrifying panic. Who was she to turn to for help? It was not possible to confront them now. Her shoe fit Esmeralda. Deflated, she realized, there was no one.

Frustrated tears spilled forth. Should Fairy Godmother even be willing to help, why should she? Cinderella was the ninny that slipped out of the blasted shoe in the first place. She paced the dingy basement unable to stem the flowing river of tears. It was all so hopeless.

She spun from the bottom of the stairway, retraced her steps, and dashed a hand across her face. Marcel squeaked in sympathy from the corner.

“What am I to do?” she cried.He shook his head. She was touched by his forlorn compassion.She gave him a watery smile. “Merci beaucoup,” she sniffed. “It's true. One

reaps what one sows. My deceit has caught me cold. ”Seconds later a tingling whisper wafted through the shadows, bits of glitter

giving off a candlelight glow. The dark basement shimmered in a shower of sparkles that swirled upward in a slow moving motion.

A gown of the softest pastel pink chiffon shifted into focus like an artist creating from a blank page. The gentle face of an angel appeared, tapping one foot. She snapped a shiny stick toward an old black kettle in the corner, whipping it into a high-backed padded chair fit for…well, a Fairy Godmother.

“Hello, dear.” Her voice held a little sympathy. Very little.Fairy Godmother swung round, and all but plunked into the chair like a sullen

child. Her silver stick clattered to the floor. With an irritated huff, she snatched it up and brushed a small elegant hand over her skirts before meeting Cinderella’s gaze. She shook her head with a sad smile and soft sigh.

The dejected sound filled Cinderella with so much despair; she sagged to the floor. “I vow I know not how this happened. I…I suppose when the tower clock struck twelve I tempted fate one step too far. I was overly enthralled, you see,” she whispered. “But I ran as fast as I could.” All was lost. She could see it in Fairy Godmother’s eyes. Cinderella dropped her head. “I-I lost my shoe.”

“Oui, I know, dear,” Fairy Godmother said. Her voice was much gentler than Cinderella deserved. That gentle tone proved her undoing, and she burst into tears.

“It never occurred to me Esmeralda’s foot should fit my slipper.” She hiccupped. “He never saw her face. I’m his mysterious princess. What am I to do?” she wailed. Anguished tears poured down her cheeks.

“Cinderella, my sweeting, this is more than just about you.” Fairy Godmother said this kindly.

Cinderella blinked, puzzled. “Pardonnez-moi, I don't understand?”“Hmm. How shall I say this?” Cinderella flinched under her piercing gaze, one that sent tingles racing up her

spine. “Well, dear. I have been chatting with the queen.” Confusion wrapped Cinderella in a thick cocoon. Fairy Godmother continued a

matter-of-fact…tirade. “Frankly, my dear, she is thoroughly appalled by her son’s lack of imagination in pursuit of his…ahem…mysterious princess.”

“But…but, he does not have to be,” Cinderella assured her quickly, rising on her knees, poking herself in the chest with her thumb. “I am her. I am his mysterious princess.” Hope filled her.

“I know you are, ma chère.”

“So, all will be well?” Relief assailed her, and Cinderella bestowed Fairy Godmother with her brightest smile. But Fairy Godmother appeared to have not heard or seen her.

Fairy Godmother pressed on. “Honestly, I can certainly understand the queen’s disconcertment. What had he hoped to expect when he took that slipper to try on every maiden in the kingdom, hmm?” Dark premonition stole over Cinderella.

Fairy Godmother’s exasperation surprised Cinderella into silence. She couldn't have spoken a coherent word if she'd wanted. Fear mingled with something she could not define. Dread, it was dread.

Fairy Godmother rambled on. Bizarre ramblings, speaking more to herself. “Did he truthfully believe only one person in all the land should fit a shoe in that

size?” Irritation colored Fairy Godmother’s features, her impatience now reigning full force. “The human race would not survive long if one led with such lack-witted intelligence. It is quite beyond my comprehension.”

Cinderella’s mouth gaped. She was too stunned to speak.Fairy Godmother pinned her with a sharp gaze. “The queen would like my, um,

cooperation,” she said.“I…I beg your…your pardon?” Fear had her words choking out on a whisper.“As much as it pains me to put you through this, dear, I do believe the larger

picture takes precedence.” Fairy Godmother stood, and a certain panic soared through Cinderella. “And I’ve offered my assistance.” She lifted Cinderella’s chin with an index finger, nodded sharply once, then dissipated along with her chair, leaving the black kettle in its wake. Dust and all. The stick clattered to the floor once more in her hasty departure. It rolled to a complete stop at Cinderella’s feet. She stared at it somewhat stunned.

“Fairy Godmother, arrêtez. Wait. Don’t go,” Cinderella called out, any pretense of control deserting her. To her immense relief sparkles filled the air and Fairy Godmother reappeared. "Oh, thank goodness. I knew you wouldn't desert me."

But after a quick, sad smile, she snatched up her silver baton. "This thing! ’Tis nothing but a nuisance, I vow," she muttered then melted away.

“But…but...” Cinderella’s voice trailed away though she longed to scream out her frustration. Fairy Godmother would not be returning, she knew it in her heart. Tears filled her eyes as she cast a forlorn gaze about the room. Free of shimmers or glitters, or any other sign any one other than Cinderella had been there. Despair crushed her chest. She scanned the room for any evidence, landing on Marcel perched in the corner. At least he’d been spared.

Cinderella sniffed back more tears and mustered up a weak smile at his encouraging peep. What would become of her now?

*****

Almost forgetting the matron of the little group, Prince spun around. He clicked his heels together and bowed over the swollen appendage of his future mother-in-law’s hand in a grand gesture that only a charming prince could maneuver. At the very least he knew his strengths.

“Please make ready by the end of a fortnight, Madame. A carriage shall be conveyed to transport your family at that time.”

She inclined her head and he turned and snatched his newly betrothed’s hand, kissing the air above, slightly in awe of the breeze that touched his brow. “Until later, my lady.”

Odd, how those eyes flurried in anticipation, or could it be apprehension? How had this happened? Is this what his life was to become? Married to a…a woman who…

He pulled himself together. There must be a way around this development. No matter that he was the culprit that set the entire disaster in motion. He was his own worst enemy.

Prince mounted his horse, a great brute of a stallion, something a man could take pride in.

The frightening mother cast her daughter a final exasperated look and rolled her eyes. She dipped a deep curtsy, prodding her daughters to do the same. Prince managed to hold back a groan and raised a hand in farewell.

Somehow he and Arnald would claw their way from this scrape. They always had before. Surely, they could once more.

With a quick nod, he signaled the royal party to follow. Once they’d made distance he shook his head, numbed by the turn of events.

A sharp gust of wind burst out of nowhere. Unable to resist he cast one last glance behind. The mother’s robust figure disappeared into the cottage, followed by the blonde with the over-large feet. Even from this reach he could see her stiff back, and fuming with resentment.

The stunning outcome of the events had him on the verge of hysterical laughter. He bit it back. He didn't want to terrify his party. Bewildered, Prince shifted in his seat to the entourage, and cited calmly—because that is how one’s leader was expected to carry oneself, “Well, I believe we have accomplished our search.” He would never know how he managed not to strangulate on the words.

He motioned to the footmen and trumpet player to lead on, but narrowed his eyes on Arnald, swiping a suspicious smirk from his face, not quickly enough, however. “Do you find something amusing, Cousin?” Prince demanded softly.

“Oh, oui, Cousin. I believe I find thought of the next few weeks highly entertaining.”

He scowled at the cur. Mayhap, he would seek help elsewhere.

*****

What a completely hopeless situation. Prince guided his men through to the courtyard stables, slid from his horse and pitched the reins to a waiting groom.

It wasn’t her. Where was his mysterious princess? He’d searched everywhere. ’Twas as if she’d vanished into thin air. And what was he to do now? He could not conceivably marry Elspeth. Non, non, that was not right. Erasma.

And, those eyes. Mon…Dieu! Determining the color? Impossible when they hammered like a thousand horses in an Indian desert in the midst of a dry spell. Nor could he remember the color of her hair, her dress. They were quite the distraction. Another hysterical urge to laugh almost escaped. It was an obvious sore point with her mother. He shook his head to clear the picture of Erlinda, and growled in frustration.

He’d been so focused on his goal that when the petite and surprisingly elegant foot slid right into that blasted tiny slipper—well, it was clear he had not thought the idea through with any sort of clarity. He needed advice and he needed it now. From anyone but his blasted cousin.

Papa? Possibly, he thought frowning. But even at his best, Papa was somewhat simple-minded. Abruptly dismissing the footmen, he stormed the castle and aimed a determined stride for the library.

A roaring fire blazed in the enormous hearth that gave the room warmth despite the high-reaching, frescoed ceiling and large windows. Heavy mahogany bookcases overflowed with books that covered two walls from top to bottom. Freshly waxed wood scented the chamber. Prince had loved this room as a child, partially due to the heat it provided in this monstrosity of a castle.

He spied his father slumped in an overstuffed gilded chair, feet propped on a matching ottoman. Reading spectacles sat askew on his large nose with one hand palmed on his chest. The picture was completed by the massive book that lay open across his lap. A loud snore ruffled the pages.

Always a jolly fellow, Papa had a zeal for laughter that would explode through the castle walls when the slightest humor took his fancy. “Sir?”

Nothing. This truly was not in the realm of Papa’s strengths. Prince considered the sight of his slumberous father, and pushed a hand through his wind-ruffed hair. As life would have it, age carried Papa along. His mind tended to wander about sometimes with an absent-minded childlike excitement, endearing in its way. The decision was plain. He must seek assistance elsewhere.

Maman. Yes, she, a paragon of virtue. A very wise woman, indeed. She would counsel

him; she was quite clever in her way. In most times, wanted or not, she was a fountain of advice. Oui. Now that Prince had a clear direction, a reasonable tranquility settled through him. The blood in his veins slowed to a more acceptable level. The panic subsided. He let out a steady breath.

“Have you seen Maman?” Prince thundered, causing his snoozing father a violent start to attention. Prince winced. It was a very childish act, and he mumbled a hasty “Sorry, Papa.”

“Ahhhhh,” Papa stammered. His booming voice filled the room even in the throes of half sleep, drawing a tender smile from Prince. “Non, non, son. As you can see I chose to pass the time reading.”

“Certainment, Papa,” he agreed, unable to disguise a twitch of sudden amusement. His problem with…ah…he struggled for a moment, Efrata, took temporary leave as he studied his father’s rumpled shirt and relaxed position.

“Papa?”“Yes, well.” Papa cleared his throat noisily, readjusted his glasses and said, “She

is out.”Prince let out a resigned sigh at the less than rewarding exchange and made his

excuses for escape.

Chapter 4

Thomasine’s repetitive steps were designed to stem an impatience that would stun the masses. Reigning queens did not pace in deserted chambers that were designed to stay young brides from escaping binding marriage contracts they’d had no say in. Hence, the strategically placed windows near the top of the walls edging an unreachable ceiling. One could only imagine the spectacular view hearing the harsh waters crash against jagged cliffs. The only way out was to fly, if one could squeeze through the small opening.

Stone walls and hard floors echoed with her steps against the cold surfaces, even in her light slippers. This portion of the castle had been uninhabited for years. It created the ideal location to meet Faustine, her twin. Her son could not possibly think to find her here. At times, that boy seemed as clueless as his father, she scowled. It had taken clever maneuvering to find a locale where some overly helpful servant or maid did not lurk, ready to announce her whereabouts.

On her fifteenth or twentieth turn about the room, a ringlet of shining ripples wafted from the floors, revealing the presence of the angel in pink. Angel, her foot.

“I’m worried for him,” Thomasine declared.“Ma chére,” Her sister tsk-tsked, “you said yourself this task should be carried to

fruition, otherwise, the dear boy should never learn to concoct a reasonable thought of his own. I would remind you that this entire scheme lies directly at your feet.”

“Oh, what difference would it make, Faustine?” Thomasine sniffed disgusted with herself. “Let him find a woman who is able think for him as I have for Osmond all these years,” she said. “You can see from my own example it has not hurt a thing.”

“Please refrain from calling me that obscene name. You know how I detest it,” Faustine chastised.

“Well, ’tis your given name, is it not, sister? It means the highest of luck. And what I need now is luck.”

Faustine scrutinized her twin. They had the same dark curling hair, flashing blue eyes, and upturned noses. The only difference in the moment was Thomasine’s defensive posture, stern expression, and clenched fists. And, well, Thomasine’s magnificent dress compared to her own frothy pink tulle gown. But diamonds sewn throughout the pink were an especially nice touch. “Well, of course, it doesn’t hurt anything,” she agreed. “But what of your determination that Prince take pride in a decision he himself could or should make?” Faustine spoke gently. Thomasine was most defensive when it came to Prince. “You have always wanted more for him. You have said so yourself.”

“Your point.” Thomasine demanded, tapping one foot. Thomasine’s irritation hid her true fear. Fear her only son would fall victim to the

same weakness of mind that ravaged their own father. Thomasine’s fears were real enough, Faustine allowed. As she harbored those same fears for her own son.

"My dear, you've nothing to worry over. You know most of Papa's traits were in direct relation to a lack of self-discipline, self-worth, and strong values."

But Thomasine’s resolve was weakening and Faustine did her duty in setting things back on their righted path. She drew herself up and met Thomasine, nose to nose. "I would like the same. He is my nephew after all.” She waved her wand threateningly.

Thomasine’s body sagged; she dropped her face in her palms. “What if this scheme goes too far and he actually marries the wrong one?”

“Trust, my dear, trust.”“Oui, oui. I suppose you are right.” Thomasine lifted her head, her eyes filled

with renewed determination. Relief filled Faustine. She was right, Thomasine just needed reassurance they

were following the set course for their future leadership of king and country. “And put that stick away. You are going to poke someone’s eye out with it.”

Thomasine spun on her heel and quit the chamber in a streak of dust, ever the regal queen.

Chapter 5The unwelcome fortnight passed with the same haste the tower clock had struck midnight two weeks past. And now, here Cinderella sat imprisoned with her evil stepmother and two vicious sisters, in a cramped, albeit, plush cage. She fixed her gaze on the dark paneled wall and lovely sconces. Brocaded silk draped the interior for added insulation. She huddled deep in her thin wool pelisse, using a tight fist in place of missing buttons. Her other hand was sunk deep into the pocket of her apron seeking Marcel. Her smuggled companion warmed her more than the heated bricks used to offset cool fall air.

He nudged her calloused fingers as if offering his reassurance.Cinderella swallowed. She could only pray she did not cast up her accounts in

the confines of the luxuriant royal contraption—that or cry. She focused on the heavy curtains trimmed with thick gold tatting and concentrated on the bounce of perfect matching horses as they trotted closer to Chalmers Castle.

Cinderella had yet to sleep one night without the plaguing nightmare of Esmeralda marrying Prince Charming. Her Prince. She bit back the bitter tears clogging her throat and looked out the carriage window.

“My daughter, the Princess of Chalmers.” Stepmama’s elation in the words chilled Cinderella to her bones. She prayed, yet again, for a miracle. At the very least, sustaining stomach. The sustaining stomach shouldn’t prove too difficult since she’d not had much in the way of sustenance. She tugged her gaze from the passing landscape of bright colored foliage risking a glance to her arch enemy, Esmeralda. The effort to keep her face bland was excruciating.

“Maman, s’il vous plait,” Esmeralda breathed. Esmeralda did seem rather terrified, but Cinderella knew it was just an act. She’d

seen it time and time again through the years; from both Pricilla and Esmeralda. Consummate actresses—both of them. Cinderella’s resentments ran too deep to harbor much in the way of sympathy.

Esmeralda’s downcast eyes beat as rapid as the wings of a…a…flying monkey! Cinderella bit back a derisive snort that would have more than likely earned her being bodily tossed from the carriage. She could just make out a pale strain of white around Esmeralda’s mouth. Esmeralda certainly had no trouble playing up the fear.

Across, Stepmama reclined on the leather upholstered bench her focus on Esmeralda. Unfortunately for Esmeralda, Stepmama did not care for Esmeralda's batting eyes one bit. Poor little Essie. If she had not taken to snatching Prince from Cinderella's grasp, she might have been inclined to feel more empathy towards Esmeralda. Cinderella knew all too well the detriment of her stepsister's position. In any event, Stepmama had never treated her own daughters with anything less than pampered favor.

“Please what, Essie?” Pricilla hissed. Cinderella flinched at the animosity spewing from Pricilla, pressing herself

deeper into the space of her own little corner, clenching the fabric deep inside her pocket. A mewed sound reached her ears and she loosened her hand quickly. The bench she shared with Pricilla vibrated with Pricilla’s fury. Cinderella was just grateful Pricilla’s anger was not directed at her. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and Cinderella let loose a breath. No one had heard Marcel’s cry.

Her relief quickly turned to irritation. Pricilla wasn’t even the one who was wronged. Resentment burned through Cinderella but she shifted her gaze back to the mountainous view to hide it. The rising majestic splendor against the afternoon sky had little calming effect. Nor did the lush trees or stalks of soft pink heather lining the hillsides. It was all a façade, just like her bland demeanor.

“You know that shoe was not mine, Maman.” Esmeralda’s voice was soft, determined.

A quick whiplash of a resounding crack crashed through the interior of the carriage. Cinderella whirled in her seat. A stark imprint of Stepmama’s hand was already forming on Esmeralda’s bloodless cheek. Cinderella bit the inside of her mouth to keep from gasping. Even Pricilla cowered deeper into the folds. Shock filled the enclosure from Cinderella and her stepsisters. Stepmama had never once in Cinderella’s memory raised her hand to Esmeralda or Pricilla.

“Never speak those words aloud henceforth, child.” Stepmama snarled. Her eyes burned with a maniacal fierceness over each occupant in the confined space that shrunk with each passing kilometer. She tugged a kerchief from her reticule. “Am I quite clear?” She asked with a sudden calm.

Pricilla nodded sharply, then Cinderella. She dropped her eyes. She could remain unscathed if she remained invisible. It was a matter of survival.

Cinderella glanced at Esmeralda, and in an twist her heart reached out to her. How could it not? Just as quickly Cinderella shoved away the sentiment. Her sisters had spent years tormenting her, and only more heartache lay in that direction.

“We seem to be slowing,” Stepmama announced with a feral smile.

*****

Prince stood rooted in the Grand Hall awaiting the sound of coach wheels that would propel his nightmare into broad daylight of reality.

In the past fortnight he’d suffered dreams of a ticking clock that pounded in deafening fervor. Streams of white satin whipped in violent gusts behind a vanishing specter he chased, following a trail of glittering jewels that stopped cold before an empty glass shoe. The velvet brown eyes that squeezed the strings of his heart fluttered in a vehement frenzy, before mere seconds passed, fleeing for her very life, a cyclone in her wake.

The dream, so brilliant and vivid, would startled him to full awareness, heart pounding and body drenched in sweat. He'd fought his way to an open window, gulping the cold night air.

The hopelessness of the situation weighed on him heavily night after night. She was the wrong girl. Prince wanted to bellow to the heavens at the injustice. He would willingly reap the consequences, come what may, when he made his deal with his devil. A deal to set himself free to find her, his midnight ghost.

Inhaling deeply, he pulled his mind to the present and glanced toward his father. In regal magnificence, his hands clasped at his lower back, an absent expression on his worn and cheerful face. No need to wonder what he was thinking. The book he’d been so engrossed came to mind.

Prince flinched at the ungracious thoughts. This whole situation was a ridiculous dilemma of his own making, he admitted, not without disgust. No one but himself to blame. Still, it bode disaster for his future.

“Where’s Arnald?” He asked, shifting his gaze to Maman. He should not have to suffer this insanity alone. He studied her carefully from hooded eyes. Something about her expression—or rather, lack of one, caught his attention.

Stately, noble. True, she was the queen. Her stature required composure in any situation however awkward. And this one certainly qualified. He hid a grimace and studied her cool dignified poise.

“Hmm?” Unruffled and utterly calm. Strange for a mother on the brink of meeting the future bride of her only son. His

gaze dropped to hands gently clasped in her lap as she too awaited his betrothed's. The son-to-mother discourse he’d strived for had never come to pass. For his

every approach had met with some untimely crisis demanding her attention. “Sir Arnald? Your nephew?”Prince leaned in eyes narrowing. Was that a fraction of tension about her mouth?

Her composure was perfect, of course, hands stoic and relaxed. Her eyes lifted to pierce his, unwavering. He tossed out an uncaring smirk. The

one he’d used as a lad of no more than four and ten. A handy little thing that had kept him out of myriad scrapes. An faint blush tinged her cheeks. Without fail, something was amiss. She had not been able to fool him for years now.

Clipped footsteps coincided with the sound of reining hooves jolted his attention to the forefront. Arnald appeared just beyond Papa’s shoulder.

Prince tried inhaling but it stuck in his throat, almost strangling him. Maman rose and smoothed graceful hands down her rich cerulean blue silken skirts. There would be no help from those quarters. Her expression, while mild, held an undercurrent of smugness. Most puzzling.

He tried another deep, careful breath and squared his shoulders. Chin raised, he set out to meet his uncertain future.

The sun shined in an overly bright sky though the wind speed had not increased upon the footman’s release of the carriage door.

Commotion seemed to ensue as to whom should step forward first. Mystery solved as curling, copper tresses reflected the sun’s beams, but for the

saints he could not grasp the color of her eyes in all their rapid flurry. His future bride.

It happened in an instant. Fatigue and a lack of appetite these two weeks past took their toll. The

unstoppable fiasco of ‘the shoe fitting someone other than his intended,’ the constant analyses and scrutiny of dissecting this egregious scenario…well, was it any wonder he felt such an irregular tingle in the air? A clutch in his chest? A weakness in his knees?

The officious wind, the blinding sun, the horror of an impending marriage he'd inflicted upon himself—for the rest of his life—had him gasping for air. Odd, when great gusting gales surged about him.

The shimmering atmosphere took on a quality similar to wavering heat waves rising over an open flame. A scintillating radiance. And without warning the perfect escape rose up to meet him, in his scandalous surrender to the flagstones.

In a dead faint.

Chapter 6

The interminable minutes that dragged by before the carriage drew to its final agonizing stop were enough to send a girl mad, even one accustomed to long bouts of silence. ‘Twas not the wheels moaning or anything else so undignified that had Cinderella unnerved. Just the long and trying drive entrapped with a maniacal stepmother and two stepsisters subject to cruelty.

Rustling skirts sounded beyond the door, then the shift of weight indicating the driver’s movements ascending the carriage causing it to rock softly. Excited murmurs and other indistinguishable noises created nervous flutters deep in Cinderella's abdoment. A scrape for the steps and the door finally swung open, flooding the inside with sudden light. Cinderella squinted. And plucked her foot from harm's way in Stepmama’s haste to alight.

An eerie inclination swept through Cinderella that if she remained behind, her absence would go unnoticed for hours, days even. She knew she was much too much of a coward to carry off such a daring scheme. Resolved, she forced herself to follow Stepmama’s bulky form, thus affirming Cinderella’s invisibility.

A collective gasp sounded upon Cinderella’s descent. She did not believe for an inkling that the group was cheering Stepmama.

A slow building hum that resembled something toward alarm filled the air. And, truly, if the crowd was alarmed by Stepmama’s presence, it said something for the intelligence of the population. Cinderella swallowed a giggle. Her stepsisters’ cruel humor must be rubbing off. Cinderella leaned to one side and peered around Stepmama where a cloistered group hovered.

Her patience ebbed trying to see what the crowd was all agog over. But a gradual trepidation settled low in her belly as she descended the step. The coolness of the flagstones seeped through the thin soles of her shoes and stockings. Something was wrong. Her gaze locked on black shiny boots, reflecting the sun in their high polish. She followed the line of the massive form lying on the ground. Her hand covered a convulsive choke as she followed the line of the dark breeches stretched over strong muscled limbs, arms flung out. He was dead?

And she knew. Those arms had enveloped her in a grasp that defied gravity having guided her through a crowded ballroom that parted with their presence. Had her floating on air when he’d murmured his “How do you do?” When she never thought she’d come down to earth again.

Snatches of rumbling conversations poked at her like the pricks of a thousand needles. But they made no sense.

“…was too much…”“…dropped like an anchor in the sea…”“…the poor dear…”“…has not been the same since…”“…a shame…”“…such weak constitution…”A weak constitution? More inappropriate giggles threatened. Those imbeciles!

They could not be speaking of her prince. Cinderella fell to her knees. Unmindful of sharp gasps surrounding her, the outraged squawks of her stepsisters and Stepmama.

With tentative fingers she touched his hand. Warm fingers curled round hers. She could not see his face, the curve of his lips, or shock of dark hair. But there was no mistaking the crackle of awareness over her skin. The prick of cupid’s arrow had already pierced her heart as stark as a bolt of lightning streaking across a blackened sky. Prince.

“Cinderella!” Stepmama snapped. Had she said his name aloud? “Prince, Prince, please wake, my darling,” she prayed under her breath. “Stop that incessant muttering!” Pain wrenched through her jerked arm as she

found herself hauled from her knees. Cold infused her hand without his touch. She resisted an urge to struggle, knowing the futility of resistance.

“Give the man some air,” someone called out.Tears blurred Cinderella’s vision as she found herself jostled aside. Farther and

farther she was shoved outside the ensuing circle that surrounded her love’s lifeless body.

*****

Prince could only imagine how he appeared, sprawled on the flagstones like a bird shot from the sky. Horrified at what could not have possibly happened, yet what must have happened. Not a muscle flinched by sheer power of will, daring only to breathe shallow intakes of the mid-autumn air.

A gentle breeze rustled falling leaves and the cool stones seeped through the coat on his back. The chaos of shocked voices stayed him. There would be no facing down Maman after this disastrous debacle. She’d won the round, hands down, whatever her odd game.

A strange, appealing warmth caressed his fingers with a touch of familiarity. Every cell in his body ached to grasp that hold, secure it and run. A touch full of comfort, whispering he’d found where he belonged. Even flat on his back. An odd notion that made no sense.

The crass, brittle sound of his betrothed’s mother chased away any remaining warmth—a sound he heartily wished to eradicate from recent memory.

“Cinderella,” she snapped. It was too much to hope no one had noticed his precarious position. Prince

peeked through the barely raised lid of one eye. The sun still shined through fluffy white clouds. Yet brisk wind gusted that seemed to mock his very soul. What a perfectly wretched situation.

How could a man of nineteen years succumb to such a state? This had to be some dreadful dream. His mother barked an order to Arnald in a low commanding tone that could have raised France from the depths of despair over the years. Prince clamped his eyes shut, allowing his cousin to hoist him over one shoulder like a sack of turnips.

Divine intervention flashed through him like the pain of a dull carving knife. He should never have set about Chalmers to find a woman whose foot fit in a blasted slipper. He could see that now. He just wished someone had mentioned the fact.

The mysterious princess must have been a dream. He’d imagined the entire episode. That, or he’d fallen under the spell of wood nymphs and faeries. He let out a sigh. It had all seemed so real. He could still see her as she’d been that night. Silken skirts billowing out with each turn he’d guided her through the lighted ballroom. Candlelight enhancing auburn highlights in mahogany upswept hair.

“Ten minutes ago I met you,” he’d murmured.

“You looked up when I came through the door,” she smiled softly.“I wanted to sing, fling out my arms, ring bells…”Prince groaned. Mayhap he’d lost all of his faculties. It could happen. Oui, he decided, it was too unreal. He’d been brainwashed. Age did not slow with

time, the pressure of duty to marry and the guilt from his parent had hurled him into a fevered imagination. Besotted and helpless held by dreams that had taken over his sanity. He’d reached for the skies and…what a fool.

It explained everything, he reasoned. Even ported over his cousin’s shoulder everything made perfect sense.

Well, except for her exceptional beauty, the breath of her laughter, the softness of her cheek, her fit in his arms. And…what of the slipper he’d found abandoned on the stair?

Mon Dieu, he was mad. ’Twas not possible she was a figment of his imagination. The slipper was real. He had it in his possession, oui? So why hadn't he found her?

“Mayhap I should marry Egberta and be done with the entire business, oui, Arnald? Please, Maman. Do my duty. Hadn't that been the sole purpose of that silly ball?”

“What are you mumbling about?”“The wood nymphs cast a spell on me. ’Tis the only answer.” Though no sound

emanated from his cousin, the vibration of laughter was unmistakable.Never had Prince's chambers seemed so far away. He suffered through the

humiliation hauled over Arnald’s shoulders. If anything, the servants would be entertained.

When Arnald finally reached Prince’s quarters and dumped him on the bed, it was with unceremonious hilarity. Not aloud, Prince observed, at least not yet. Such restraint had to be admired.

Prince began a mental count to ten. Arnald's laughter burst through the room. The count had only reached four. There weren't many who could get away with laughing at Prince. But for their close age and kinship, well, Arnald was the closest thing to a brother he had. Mayhap that would change.

Appalled by the turn of events, Prince lay on the massive bed like a frozen corpse. He wanted to groan but the sound wouldn't pass his constricted throat. Mayhap he was dazed by a lump on his head. He placed fingertips to his temples. There was no lump. Oui, the wood nymphs. He would have them imprisoned.

Familiar surroundings with doses of deep even breaths helped calm him. He’d heard tales of midwives using similar techniques for childbearing. He bit back the bark of hysteria, too absurd for words. There must be a lump on his head—pressing in, if he recalled talk of not only childbearing, but midwives. Nineteen! He should have no inkling what a midwife was.

He sat slowly, testing the back of his head, shifting his gaze about the chamber. He started with the heavy armoire, then moved to the comfortable sitting area, the dressing table that held his grooming tools, shaving apparatus.

A manly chamber. A chamber he would never swoon in.A chamber that exuded viral masculinity…save for the portrait of his parents

from a much younger time. Prince rested his gaze on that painting. The one residing proudly over the bed. His bed.

The artist's skill captured Maman’s soft knowing smile slighted to Papa, Papa’s oblivion, even then. They sat in a field surrounded by vivid purple, orange, and yellow perennials. The knowing quirk in Maman's eye seemed penned on Prince.

He should rethink the painting over the bed.Disgusted, he glanced at Arnald. His smirk was remarkably similar to Maman’s.

With his arms folded across his chest, Arnald held the haughty down-the-nose stare to an art.

“Would you care to explain?” Arnald asked.Prince’s temper snapped. “Go ahead, bellow to your heart’s content. You know

you want to, but at least bar the door beforehand.” His temper faded just as quickly as it had appeared. The abhorrence of what happened settled over him, leaving him queasy. He groaned. “How unfavorable, would you say?”

Arnald shook his head, managing to restrain the laughter once more. He’d better. One did not laugh at the prince.

“The future king just fainted. How unfavorable would you say?”

Chapter 7

Thomasine stepped forward and offered a comely welcome to her new houseguests, with all the grace a queen summoned after her strong winsome son dropped like a pile of rocks on the ground, before God and country. Of course, she’d hidden her inclination to do the same. What a brilliant escape.

Rather than stalking away, which was her next tempting option, she assessed the two young women before her. The two were lovely with their shiny hair and creamy complexions, but sullen expressions detracted from their true beauty. Their mother, Lady Hildeguard Roche was awed, yet watchful.

A many-times-mended-over kerchief in a drab faded brown covered the long dark, dull locks of hair that hung down the back of a very pretty servant girl. Her apron had certainly seen better days. Thomasine narrowed her eyes. Was it her imagination or had something in the girl’s pocket just moved? Non, impossible. With a self-conscious move the child slid her chapped hand in that same pocket, clearly ashamed.

Lovely brown eyes looked lost in a face dotted with…was that ash on her pale cheeks? Cleaned up, the chit would be quite breathtaking. Thomasine wished she could reassure the child. At first glance, her son’s choice was questionable. She pushed aside her doubts. She would make a fine princess.

If this stratagem did not somehow manage to go awry, she and Faustine might achieve success in guiding Prince’s efforts toward maturity. The thought was enough to send a shiver skittering down her spine.

Resisting an urge to close her eyes, Thomasine silently allowed Faustine’s last words to float over her. “Trust, my dear, trust.” There was no choice at this juncture.

With practiced cordiality, Thomasine clucked, “You must be weary from your travels. A long ride, non?” No one answered, but she had not expected them to.

Amusement touched her as they looked around, clearly in awe. Lady Hilda nodded, which sent her triple chin into a horrifying jiggle. It seemed the woman could find nothing coherent to say. Thomasine had seen this before, of course. Royalty could be unnerving to the Lessors.

“Beatrix, please conduct our guests to their quarters so they may freshen for supper,” the queen murmured. In a regal sweep she addressed Lady Hilda. Thank the heavens Royalty had their practiced finesse, as it would take that and more to pull off this mad plot she and her sister devised. “We dine at eight, my dear. We shall gather in the family parlor for a pre-dinner sherry before hand. A servant will avail themselves to you for your direction,” Thomasine informed her. She inclined her head, as refinement and culture demanded. As expected, the four women bestowed deep curtsies.

Thomasine spared no haste making her way to the meeting chamber she and Faustine had designated for their outrageous machinations. Diabolical yet subtle, she would be lucky if Prince did not launch a campaign for her demise when he stepped up to the throne. She let out a sigh. Ah, well, a mother had a duty to her child. She pressed her lips together. Especially an only child.

A few seconds edged by before the outbreak of sparkles appeared, thus bringing Faustine into full view.

“What think you? Impossible?” Thomasine asked, brows furrowed.“It’s possible,” Faustine responded, tapping her chin in contemplation. Her tiny

wand slipped to the floor, rolled precariously toward the door.“Odd how that one young lady’s eyes blink so rapidly, is it not?” Thomasine

reflected. Promptly dismissing the thought, she added, “Well, never mind, ’tis time to see our plan through. Too late for naught else, I fear.”

“Oui.”“You best hang on to that silly contraption, Faustine. We can ill afford it to fall in

the wrong hands.”“Pray, quit calling me that,” Faustine scowled.“Whyever not, ma chére? ’Tis your name, non?” Thomasine said absently,

darting for the door. “We shall speak later. Adieu.”

Chapter 8

Cinderella watched tormented as Prince’s large masculine form was hauled over his manservant’s shoulder and whisked away. Her fixed-stare followed the retreating figures up a flight of stone steps then disappearing through the elaborate entrance of the castle.

One blink brought her attention to the monstrosity of the structure in the brilliant light of the late afternoon. Much different than crashing the Royal Ball in the throes of a dark night.

A lovely night, she sighed. A finer night she knew she’d never see again in this lifetime.

Rich green ivy hugged the stones on both sides of the entrance. Windows in mortared stacks of four reached an endless sky and rounded columns towered above a flat roof. Cinderella swallowed past the obstruction blocking her throat.

Perhaps it would not be such a trial to see Esmeralda married to Prince. But the vision of his slumped form over the servant’s shoulder tugged at her heart. She was the one who should be there when he opened his eyes. The one to kiss away his hurt, shower him with love, affection, children.

She pressed her lips together. Non. There was no way she could allow Esmeralda to marry her true love. But how to prevent it? She dropped her head. Her eyes landed on her patched frock. Despair filled her, seeing what everyone else saw. Stepmama had everyone believing her a servant.

“Mademoiselle?” A shy voice broke through her careening thoughts. Her head shot up. “Oui?”“This way, Mademoiselle.”Cinderella peered about. No one seemed to hear the timid maid but her. A young

miss with a flouncing white mob cap and starched white apron. Her elf-like features, whimsical eyes, and pert nose sparked a mischievous adventure. A sense of déjà vu touched her. Fairy Godmother?

Impossible. Cinderella shook her head. The opportunity to escape her ill-gotten family was

not one she was prepared to miss. Stepmama could hardly call her out before the queen.

So Cinderella followed her. They made haste in quick short steps that lead straight away from Stepmama, Pricilla, and Esmeralda. This, in and of itself, was a dream come true...but…

Away from the front of the castle?Alarm prickled her skin when they reached the corner. Cinderella glanced over

her shoulder where Pricilla’s vicious smirk and piercing eyes reached her. Cinderella flinched at the venom, but squared her shoulders. Nothing could dampen her life any more than the situation had thus far, and Cinderella hustled through a hidden wooded door after the darting servant.

The instant she stepped inside, a wretched dread hit her. The servants’ entrance? She’d followed the blasted girl through to the servants’ entrance? Visions of hopeless abandon played out in her mind where Prince had married Esmeralda, and Cinderella’s life became lost in serving the Uppers from the bowels of the palace, never to be seen or heard from again.

She dashed burning tears from her cheeks and scurried after the maid before she lost complete sight of her. Curiosity mingled with fear as they twisted through a maze of darkened hallways and winding staircases. Never seeing another soul in their pursuit of…of what?

Ten minutes passed before they burst out onto a wide corridor. No other souls graced the hall. The maid pushed open the door to a spacious and richly furnished bedchamber.

“Oh, my,” Cinderella breathed, spinning slowly. A much-too-large bed with humongous four-posters with a canopy of sheer gauze occupied a good portion of the space in shades of green and cream that reminded her of a brilliant spring day. Waking in such luxury would feel she lay in a field of grass filled with wild flowers. A barrage of pillows in a multitude of shapes and sizes would serve a brilliant hiding place. A giggle escaped though rusty and hoarse from lack of use.

There was a sideboard with a pitcher of fresh water and basin bowl for washing. A vast armoire stood in one corner, and wood floors waxed to such a lustrous shine one could use as a looking glass. The sun beamed through sheer linings framed by green velvet drapes threaded with gold. Someone had left a warm and toasty fire burning in the grate.

That same someone had obviously ushered her to the wrong chamber. This was much too extravagant for the likes of her. Cinderella spun to apprise the maid of her fallacy, but said maid had vanished as whimsically as she’d appeared.

Cinderella dropped into a brocaded, gilded chair, mouth agape. She never dreamed such luxury existed. Mayhap getting lost in the bowels of the castle would not be such a horrific thing after all. Mayhap she would never happen to venture across Prince or Esmeralda. She pulled her hand from her pocket where Marcel beamed her with a cheeky smile.

“Mayhap, I could hide here—forever,” she choked out on a whispered laugh. He nodded. He would, of course, if they had cheese.

*****

“I don’t suppose it’s possible my mother will gain me leave of supper,” Prince said. Arnald answered with a raised bushy brow and held out an open waistcoat.

Prince shrugged into it and mumbled, “What good is a servant who has naught of substance to say?” He turned away from Arnald’s irritating smirk.

“No good, Sire,” Arnald chuckled, “when said servant is also your older cousin.” Arnald’s intonation of ‘sire’ was a sore point.

“Six months out of the year? I think not.” Older, indeed. They were both nineteen for at least another four months. Another thought occurred to him, and he pierced Arnald with a scathing glance. “You are not holding bets from the servants on the outcome of my upcoming nuptials, are you?”

Arnald lifted one nonchalant shoulder. Prince clenched a fist, resisting an urge to plant it in his cousin’s sardonic expression. Alas, Maman would likely lock them in the dungeon if either one of them appeared at supper with a bloodied nose or blackened eye. She’d not show favoritism in any such instance.

Supper at Chalmers Castle was an immensely formal affair. On more occasions than not, foreign dignitaries or visiting prime ministers from other unions were found gracing the royal table. Tonight, however, there was only his future eye-batting bride, her angry sister, and their stout, overbearing maman for distraction.

An oppressive thought. Prince felt as if he had not a single moment with his own maman since the night

of the ball. In fact, he was quite certain it was so. With sudden insight usually reserved for witchcraft and womenfolk, he realized she’d been avoiding him…like the plague. Along the lines of the Black Death not seen since the early days of the fourteenth century. Impressive, actually.

The usual pre-dinner sherry party on most eves was found in the formal parlor. Tonight’s affair, however, had been shifted to the family library. The last minute change was curious. Upon his entrance, a slight breeze ruffled his hair, prompting a quick glance in Esperanza’s direction. Such freakishly strong eyelids? Oui, ’twas palpitating as steady as a rapid heartbeat to create such an updraft indoors. Phenomenal.

“Ah, here he is. Son!” Papa bellowed “You are here.” Typically amused by this father’s booming voice, Prince hid an unusual annoyance that almost choked him.

He inclined his head. “Papa.”Papa cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Your maman, son, she has been asking after

you,” he blustered. “Your ordeal, you know.” Prince had not realized how unnaturally loud his father truly was until this moment, and felt the heat creeping up his neck.

“It is ten until eight on the clock, Papa.” Prince informed him blandly, angling his head to the timepiece on the mantle. He then turned toward his fugacious mother with a smile only she would recognize as deviant. Understandable, of course, as he’d inherited it from her.

A becoming blush tinged her cheeks. Ah, things were looking up. His dark mood lightened at once.

“Darling, I trust you are feeling better after your mishap?” Her face showed concern, but her voice held unmistakable amusement. Her blush rescinded.

“Oui.” Prince cleared his throat. “I am unsure what ailment assailed me, but I appear to be quite sound now.” An unexpected urge came over him to laugh, the tension in his chest suddenly abating. Quite enchanting, Maman. She knew exactly what she was about.

Another slight cough interrupted their light banter, startling him momentarily. He swallowed a groan. How could he have forgotten?

With the calm resolve of nobility, he turned his attention to the woman he could hardly put from his mind—Ersilia’s mother. A face worthy of nightmares. Her features could only be described as robust, topped with an undercurrent of permanent dull flush, her body, broad and intimidating. Prince pulled himself to his full height of over six feet and bestowed his most congenial, princely, smile.

“Madame,” he murmured, lifting her clammy hand to his lips. He moved off swiftly to the two younger women. They were not near as frightening. But for the life of him, only Elverdine’s name sprang to mind, so unlike him. His mother taking a pity on him, said, “You remember Pricilla, dear?”

The young woman before him had flaxen hair, almost white in its blond, piled high in elegant curls atop her head. Her evening gown, a pastel yellow billowed over full petticoats, was trimmed in white lace. Full and fashionable. Her manner appeared quite direct; gray eyes…almost…accusatory, met his full on.

Her lips stretched into a thin smile, giving her a surly appearance. Once again, the word angry popped in his head.

“Ah, yes, of course. Pricilla.” He bowed over her outstretched hand. There was a reason he was called Prince Charming—and gave her a full, smile, drawing an

audible gasp and deep blush to her cheeks. He was very happy the shoe had not fit her.

“And, Esmeralda, darling.”“Ah, Esmeralda,” he whispered, committing the name to memory. Lowering his

lips to a hand that visibly trembled, and eyes batting so furiously he feared she would take off in flight. The current in the air was amazing.

“Dinner is served.” The perfectly-timed announcement resounded.

*****

Outrageous. Cinderella stomped her foot in frustration. How could Stepmama pass her off as

a servant! Because she was the evil stepmother, and this was a blasted fairy tale, she fumed.

Her ugly brown skirt whipped around, vicious in its attack to any unlikely cobwebs as she maneuvered about her elaborate chamber. She wanted to scream. Despite the spaciousness, Cinderella felt as if the walls were closing in. She felt lost in a jungle, all alone and unarmed. She spun, stubbing her toe through thinly made, and worn slippers on the leg of an overstuffed chair.

In an unusual fit of violence, hopping on one foot, Cinderella flung open the door where it bounced against the wall behind. She winced, appalled at her lack of manners. She strived for calm through deep breaths then crept forward and peered out.

The hallway loomed large and airy. Daunting. Beeswax candles in sconces were perched along both sides of the corridor in precisely placed. A soft pleasant scent of linseed oil teased her senses.

Cinderella glanced to toward the end of the hallway and saw a window as large as it was tall. Dusk had fallen quickly. The moon would be bright in another hour. To the right the hallway wound into the depths of darkness, the silence, ominous.

She felt—forgotten. Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away. The solitude offered a reprieve from Stepmama, Pricilla, and Esmeralda. How often had she wished for that very thing? Most times she could count on being summoned by way of a screech or slap.

She shook away the gloom. “Leastways, I can always depend on you, oui, Marcel?” Cinderella smiled at her friend, who peeped his undying loyalty. “Come,” she said. “Let us explore.”

She would revel in this opportunity. ’Twas too great to pass up. Raising her chin, she stepped from the safety of her chamber and tread softly toward the window.

Feeling much like a thief in the night, she glanced over her shoulder. Her slippers sunk into a deep rug that did not quite stretch the width of the hall. She couldn’t detect a speck of dust. Of course there wouldn’t be any dust, it was the home of the Royal Family. Marcel squeaked in the eerie hush. Cinderella smiled but faded just as quickly.

What would become of her when Esmeralda married Prince? She swallowed a pained cry. She would find a way. She would. The tall window turned out to be door. With another glance over her shoulder making certain no one snuck up on her, she braved to test it. It opened with nary a sound, but the cool night air had her pulling it quickly closed. She settle for gazing out at a full moon.

“Oh, Papa,” she whispered. “How different life would have been had you not succumbed to that dreadful infirmity all those years ago.” But it had not. Papa had

remarried for love. There was a time she and her sisters were like sisters. She thought of how angry her sisters were. The memories were so distant, perhaps she was mistaken. But Stepmama had seemed cordial enough at the time. Oh, it was all so long ago.

“I tried, Papa. I did.” This was her lot in life, for good or ill, and Cinderella tried to see the good.

For one moment in time, Cinderella managed to dance the night away, allowing hope to fill her heart. She would carry her secret to her dying day, she vowed. Leastways, no one could steal her memories. She was almost certain Esmeralda and Pricilla did not have a fairy godmother. She clung to the knowledge with satisfactory glee. Mayhap, she could reach Fairy Godmother.

Chewing her bottom lip, she glanced about for any sign of life. What if Fairy Godmother came searching for her and couldn’t find her? Cinderella had left so suddenly. Non, non. She was a fairy godmother, she had powers. How else could she have turned a drab servant girl into a magnificent, mysterious princess?

Cinderella cleared her throat with a delicate cough. “Fairy Godmother?” she called, softly. “Please. S’il vous plait. I am in desperate need of your assistance, Ma’am.” Cinderella paused. Only the ominous silence loomed in the airy corridor.

Fairy Godmother must truly be angry. If Cinderella could find a way to reimburse her for the lost shoe… How much would a glass slipper cost? Cinderella frowned. More than she had, which was nothing.

Oh, how she wished she were a strong heroine—a heroine who prevailed in the face of defeat. Rise above the ashes to…to smile as a saint. Be of a giving nature. Be one to offer an evil sister her blessed union with the prince. Show him—them—she was, above all, a true princess.

Cinderella’s shoulders slumped. How could she when she loved Prince? She did not wish to be a saint. Her timid nature fell more in favor of survival tactics rather than heroic efforts. Too many years of Stepmama’s methods of discipline in harsh words and heavy hands.

More tears blurred her sight. It seemed to be a recurring fault of late. “Peep.” Cinderella looked down. Marcel was perched on the toe of her shoe. She

leaned down and offered him an open palm, smiling through a watery vision.“Prince deserves someone strong and beautiful, you know,” she told him. “A real

princess.” Marcel let out an annoyed squeak. “Of course.” She agreed. A quick surge of anger fused through the tears. “He

especially does not deserve someone as mean and spiteful as Esmeralda.”Pushing away the useless tears, Cinderella focused on the grounds outside the

large glass. Bright moonlight provided a crystal clear view of perfect gardens as immaculate as the hallway baseboards, leastways from the moonlit sky. Dirt would not be allowed out there either, she sniffed.

A small grin escaped as the last of her anger faded. It was a lovely palace. “Look,” she told Marcel, pointing. They peered through the night over the manicured gardens. Waves rippled across a small pond glittering in the streaming moon’s light. She squinted trying to make out what she thought might be a statue in its center. “It looks like one of the Greek gods,” she said, drawing another sense of melancholy over her. “If I am not mistaken, it’s Eros, the god of love in that small pond. See the stringed bow and arrow?” It had to be, she thought. The sinewy arms set him distinctly apart from other ancient myth figures.

A sense of nostalgia settled over her. All her readings portrayed a potent power. Granted, her imagination could soar with the legends, but Eros’ role in the myths

was brilliantly legendary. Magnificent. Even in modern times the masses celebrated him as the darling of poets and artists. The centuries had been very kind to him. She giggled.

Marcel responded in kind, obviously happy she’d decided to revel in her new found, most likely, short-lived independence.

Somehow this particular statue at this particular moment seemed most apropos. Perhaps she would sneak out early on the morrow. Just for a quick and closer look. She shrugged. Who would miss her?

Mayhap something would inspire her imagination in snagging Prince’s attention. Fairy tales had happy endings after all. In the meantime, she would revel in this unexpected gift of solitude while she could. Alone there was no one to lash out with anger, criticism, or physical violence.

A sense of silly giddiness stole over her body as she stepped from the window and spun around. She’d truly happened upon a rare freedom.

Chapter 9

Would dinner never end? An excellent meal of cold cucumber soup, herb-crusted lamb served with roasted potatoes was wasted where tension so intense had Thomasine almost rescinding her rule of “family must attend” suppers. By the end of the fifth course she was questioning her sanity.

Small talk that included the royal gardens, architecture of the castle, and previous royal occupants and visitors flowed fairly well. She was undeniable in her skill. But with Osmond things became a bit more unpredictable.

Thankfully, Prince was as adept as she in guiding conversations toward more neutral topics. It seemed Lady Hilda harbored talents as well.

“The weather is simply fabulous this time of year, Your Majesty,” Lady Roche said to Osmond swiftly. “Did you perchance order it yourself, Sir?”

Covered giggles erupted from the young ladies, Pricilla and Esmeralda. Unfortunately, their mother silenced them with a stern look halting the outburst abruptly. Thomasine hid a sigh behind her serviette. A shame, really as the young women’s reaction lent them normalcy, an innocent sweetness.

Thomasine shared a curious look with Prince. She could see by his expression he’d thought the same—begging the need to remind her son royalty did not wear open miens. Sympathy for the girls filled her. Life must less agreeable with such an overbearing mother.

An awkward silence hovered over the party as Osmond seemed most perplexed by her question. Thomasine leaned forward and laid her hand over his. “It was a witticism, dear,” Thomasine informed him, mildly.

“Ah!” Osmond laughed, loud and booming. The roar was out of place to all but him. “Certainment, Madame. I ordered it.”

Oui. Supper would never end. Osmond turned to the young ladies, spearing the two young women with a sharp

gaze Thomasine had not seen in years. “Which of you did the shoe fit, eh?” Pricilla covered an angry flash. Thomasine was sure no one noticed excepting

herself. His piercing look settled on Esmeralda and he leaned forward. Thomasine would

have been thrilled under other circumstances. “Is there something wrong with your eyes, Girl?” He thundered. He seemed to remember the fork in his hand and stabbed it through a piece of lamb, oblivious to sudden hostility in the air.

Silence stretched across a taut atmosphere. How Thomasine kept from groaning aloud and dropping her head in her hands was beyond her. Royalty showed no emotion.

Which was not the case for their guests. Esmeralda’s already pale face drained of color. She bound from her chair so

quickly it toppled but for a quick footed servant.Gasping for breath the girl bolted from the room. Lady Roche’s face flushed an

even deeper shade of red than normal, and looked—well…murderous. Thomasine wished she felt justified in ordering her to the dungeon on facial expression alone. Alas, she could not. The woman was right to be angry for her child.

Thomasine could have happily killed Osmond in that moment, but instead indicated to the servants that supper had concluded. “Shall we adjourn to the library?” she managed.

Her husband rose from his chair and assisted her as was his usual custom, ignorant to the tenseness which rolled over the room like a thick fog. She truly did love him.

Prince donned ingrained and impeccable manners by bowing and offering an arm to Lady Roche. “Madame, shall we?” he prompted, leaving an angry Pricilla to follow.

There was no need to remind him of maintaining a blank façade, she thought proudly, following the parade from the dining chamber.

Chapter 10

The sound of running footsteps startled Cinderella. She whipped about and ran for her chamber, terrified. She hadn’t permission to leave. Would they put her in the dungeon? She reached her chamber, panting, the exact moment Esmeralda emerged into the corridor, tears streaming down a face flushed and contorted with anger.

Not an attractive sight by any means. Cinderella peered around her red-headed sister, but she was alone. Defiance crept over Cinderella and she drew herself up, squared her shoulders. Storming to her room and slamming the door in Esmeralda’s face warred with curiosity as to what could possibly have warrant this unexpected visit.

After a moment Cinderella realized that Esmeralda’s distress was so complete she had not realized she must have gotten herself lost.

Cinderella assessed Esmeralda in a silent cool countenance, something she would never have braved in the past.

“What are you doing here?” Esmeralda snapped. Her haughty effect was ruined by an unfeminine sniff.

Keeping her expression carefully neutral, a wicked pleasure stole over Cinderella while she basked in Esmeralda’s flushed appearance. The impulse to retort back, however, subsided as long habits of passiveness prevailed.

A lengthy pause ensued before Cinderella’s shoulders dropped and she let out a long, tired sigh. Cinderella surprised herself by asking, “Why do you cry so?”

“What do you care? You should take thrill in my misery.” Her distress so absolute and out of character, Cinderella could not help but feel some pity, especially in light of Stepmama’s recent lashing out from their recent journey.

She took Esmeralda by the shoulders and guided her inside the bedchamber, pushing her none too gently into the overstuffed chair. She even went so far as to dampen a cloth from the sideboard. With an unhurried stroll back to Esmeralda, she handed it over. “Here, cool your face. Your suffering is quite obvious.”

Esmeralda’s glance remained suspicious but she complied without comment, breath ragged, eyes watchful. Cinderella perched on the end of the bed, and crossed one leg over the other. She studied Esmeralda with an unnatural boldness.

Her sister’s heart-shaped face and straight nose turned up at the end weren’t so unattractive, Cinderella decided. Even the full mouth appeared generous when not in its constant scowl. Rich copper locks fell, disarrayed across her smooth complexion.

“You know, Essie, you are quite pretty when your manner is not so scornful.”“Scornful!” Esmeralda’s face puffed up as she flashed her eyes at Cinderella.Cinderella curled her fingers appearing to study her chipped nails, yet in reality,

dared not take her attention from Esmeralda “Mais oui. Wicked. Unrestrained. Morally decrepit. Though, I speak in regards of human decency toward others.”

“How dare—” she lashed out. Remarkably, Esmeralda’s anger overrode her natural spastic inclination to blink. The result presented spectacular and brilliant green eyes most would never deign to see. But then her temper deflated like a fallen soufflé.

Cinderella’s matter of fact tone seemed to penetrate her wounded pride and she slumped over. Tears shimmered firing the brilliant green of her eyes. The effect quite took Cinderella by surprise and her heart softened.

Maintaining a relaxed posture, Cinderella bent an elbow, leaning forward on her knee, chin propped in an open palm, curious to see how Esmeralda would respond. Cinderella dangled her leg in a gentle swing back and forth. She dare not let down her guard. A calm demeanor hid long-honed fears from too many years at her stepfamily’s mercy. She hoped the hypnotic motion would help forestall scathing remarks. She remained acutely aware of how isolated her chamber was. A small tingle seemed to hover in the air, lending Cinderella an unusual confidence.

Esmeralda dragged in a shaky breath and regarded Cinderella blatantly. “You realize Maman would be livid if she heard us speaking, non? In peaceful tones, no less.” Again, that unfeminine sniff.

Cinderella shrugged her shoulders, ignoring the unexpected acquiescence. Esmeralda was right, of course, and Cinderella had nothing to add. She pulled a kerchief from her pocket and held it out. An olive branch of sorts. Something stirred in the vicinity of her heart.

Esmeralda snatched it from her fingers, and burying her nose, gave a hearty unladylike blow.

The unreality of the situation struck Cinderella and she giggled. Her giggles gave way to loud guffaws. And suddenly she could not stop.

Then the most surprising thing happened. Esmeralda giggled, too. For the first time since they were young children, the tension dissipated, leaving the two facing one another.

Not as adversaries but as young women, sisters. They were the same age after all, seventeen and marriageable.

Esmeralda’s glance broke first and swept the room. She eye the ridiculously large bed, then patted the overstuffed chair. Her eyes moved to the sideboard.

It was all quite elegant to Cinderella, seeing it through Esmeralda’s eyes. After all, Cinderella slept on a straw mattress on a dirt floor in the confinement of the basement.

“’Tis very nice,” Esmeralda said.“Of course it’s nice. It’s the Royal Palace,” Cinderella said. Silence prevailed once

more.“I have to share a chamber with Cill,” Esmeralda informed her. “She still hates

the dark. And she snores.”“Oh.” Cinderella did not know what to say to that. “Je suis désolée. I’m sorry.”Another moment passed before Esmeralda spoke again, dropping her eyes. “I’m

in a terrible mess, you know.” Was she confessing? “What do you mean?” Cinderella donned her customary

blank expression uncertain where Esmeralda was going with this line of conversation.

“The prince; getting married; Maman. The usual things.” Esmeralda threw out an impatient hand.

“The usual things? You mean you don’t wish to marry the prince?” Cinderella squeaked. Disbelief roiled through her. Her voice did not sound like her own. “How…how could you not want to marry Prince Charming? He’s so handsome, dances divinely, smart.” Oh, no.

“How would you know he danced divinely?” Esmeralda asked, eyes narrowing, instantly glittering with distrust.

“Of course, I…I don’t know…I…only just…suppose.” Cinderella dropped her feet to the floor and began to pace. “I…I supposed you’d go into the ballroom. You know? Where the room itself is floating in the air.” Cinderella sighed, her dreams carrying her away. She spun in a circle reliving the prince’s arms about her. “If you’re suddenly confronted with his Highness, you are frozen,” she whispered, “you know? Like a…a statue on the stair.”

“Oui,” Esmeralda whispered. “’Tis exactly how it was. Oh, not for me, but I imagine it was for that mysterious princess.”

“Was she pretty?” Cinderella asked softly.“Beautiful,” Esmeralda breathed. Then her brows drew together in sudden

irritation and she cackled much like Stepmama, Cinderella was forced to admit. “But, I would not call him so smart.”

“In that we agree,” Cinderella snapped under her breath. It stung that Prince would dare to offer her slipper to every maiden in the land. Save her!

Esmeralda hadn’t seemed to have heard Cinderella. “After all, he went through a kingdom of marriageable young maidens. The idea of using a glass shoe that could fit most anyone. How smart could that be?”

“Oui,” Cinderella agreed frowning. ’Twas not smart at all.“He does not love me, you know. All I do when he is ’round, is blink. ’Tis a

nervous habit,” she said unnecessarily. “Besides, I believe I made him swoon!”“He did swoon,” Cinderella concurred. After a thoughtful pause, she asked,

“What will you do?”Defeat showed in the weight of Esmeralda’s shrugging shoulders. “Marry him, I

suppose. Maman would otherwise kill me.”Cinderella mulled over that statement before replying, both knowing the futility

of denying it. “Oui, I suppose she would.” Cinderella sighed, and each immersed in her own thoughts. Then Cinderella said, “You’d best return before they realize you’ve gone

missing.” Esmeralda nodded and stood. Cinderella watched Esmeralda drag herself from

the chair and tug open the door. She paused for a second before meeting Cinderella’s eyes. Again, the brilliance of a green emerald gaze stunned her.

“Merci. Thank you.” Esmeralda’s voice was soft—and something else. Forgiving? Regretful?

Did it matter?

*****

The next morning sunshine streaked through a crease in the heavy brocade drapes, piercing Cinderella in the eyes. The nattering of Marcel penetrated and with a luxurious stretch she angled out of the direct light, keenly aware of the soft mattress. She glanced at him.

“Sheer heaven, this is. Do you not agree?” Heaven, she realized, to which it would not take much to become accustomed.

Marcel jumped up and down, presumably agreeing.The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread teased her and she peeked about

through squinting eyes. Steam rose from fresh baked bread on the sideboard. She also spotted a tray of cheese, fruit, and water for tea. Cinderella’s empty stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry, my little friend?”

She threw back the covers and bounded from the bed, hardly believing her good fortune. Someone had obviously mistaken her chamber for Stepmama’s. At the very least, Esmeralda and Pricilla’s.

How had she not wakened? Did the servants have servants in the Royal Palace? This could become a habit, she thought cheerfully.

Cinderella broke off a portion of the bread, unable to resist the crusty shell and warm middle, and handed a tiny piece to Marcel. Guilt at such comfort was difficult to avoid after years of Stepmama’s cultivated discipline. Surely, someone would realize they’d brought the tray to the wrong chamber.

She shoved a larger piece in her mouth and chewed soundly, then darted to the door and nudged it ajar. Cinderella poked her head out looking left then right.

Still deserted. The quiet unnerved her. Such solitude was a luxury from the constant demands

of her stepsisters. But, alas, it was really quiet.She pushed the door to and wandered to the windows. She moved the heavy

drapes aside and peered out. The only light in her basement was from the fire she kept in the grate.

The sun edged up from the horizon in a ball of orange fire, shooting the sky with brilliant shades of pink and purple. La! The statue. Cinderella threw off her tattered night rail and donned her one serviceable brown frock.

No one would miss her if she snuck out for a short walk, well, Stepmama, but she was not here, was she! Cinderella glanced at the fresh fruit beckoning her. They’d have to feed her, she deemed. Or not, she thought, snatching a handful of plump berries. Once Stepmama started demanding her attendance, there would likely be no other opportunities to see if the statue she’d spied was indeed Eros.

She tapped Marcel’s tiny pink nose affectionately. “I shall return shortly.” He nodded. “Stay out of sight.”

Cinderella grabbed her aged pelisse from the wardrobe, wincing at how shabby it looked in her new chamber. She sighed. Besides what choice had she? ’Twas not like Fairy Godmother left her with an array of gowns to choose from.

With a brisk walk to the large glass door she’d discovered the evening before, Cinderella contemplated her situation. No one seemed to remember her at all. Esmeralda had only stumbled upon her in error. How oppressive. Did the prince even wonder about her? Perhaps he just believed her a figment of his imagination.

Non, she reasoned, he’d set out to find her by trying her shoe on the maidens in the kingdom no matter how ridiculous the idea. That action in and of itself showed he had some regard for her. She pushed away the silly meanderings and concentrated on her private adventure, slippers sinking into the thick rug.

Excitement heated her blood. She was to see a real statue when all she’d managed to date were drawings in books, and that was years ago. Stepmama thought most books pure nonsense.

Esmeralda and Pricilla, surprisingly, had rebelled against Stepmama in that regard, having stashed a mountain of book in their closets. Something the three of them had had in common since before Papa had passed.

The glass door opened with nary a whisper and Cinderella crossed the threshold. Bless these royal persons and their order of well-oiled hinges.

Early morning dew dampened the ground beneath her feet. The air was crisp and fresh. Sneaking from the castle under no supervision was both exhilarating and terrifying. She breathed deep, choosing exhilaration over terror. She shaded her

brows with one hand and searched out her target. She spotted the Eros in the middle of a large pond and picked up her pace.

Memories assaulted her and she grinned until her cheeks hurt and tears stung her eyes. Papa traveled much, but upon each return she would sit on his lap, her head on his shoulder while the resonant timbre of his voice would vibrate through her as he rattled off tale after tale. He turned stories of the Greek gods’ antics into their own fairytales. Hours later, though he was tired, he would tease her incessantly, then toss her to the sky, catching her with marked strength. He would sit by her bedside until she slept.

Cinderella veered off a well-marked path, walking faster until she could define details of Eros winged sculpted figure. She pulled up before him, short of tumbling into the pond. His figure was perfection; sculpted just as she’d always imagined. Long, wavy hair and slender fingers caressed his infamous bow and arrow. Seeing a statue was too exciting for words. Unbidden, her father’s gravelly voice reciting Eros as the most eligible bachelor in the universe, ripped through her.

Laughter boomed from Papa.“What’s so funny?” Cinderella demanded.“Well,” Papa said, touching her nose with a forefinger. Eros found himself

married to the goddess, Pysche after pricking himself accidentally with one of his own arrows.”

“Oh.” Cinderella hadn’t understood. Her father had shaken his head after reading her the story, and said, “Silly man

never had a chance.” A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “I’m sure your blessed maman did quite the same to me.”

Both tears and a soft giggle escaped her. She longed to run her fingers over the molded figure. The temptation to wade through the pond to do just that was overwhelming.

Instead, she dashed away the tears. Rarely had she allowed the memories to saturate her as they did now. But for once she indulged in their warmth and comfort.

“His arrows came in two types, you know: One, golden with dove feathers which aroused love. The other had leaden arrows and owl feathers. Instilled indifference.” The deep voice from behind caught her by surprise. As strong and deep as a bass instrument, just as she’d remembered.

She spun surprised but turned quickly away. To see him dressed as she was, a lowly servant. An odd tingle in the atmosphere surrounding them. She hardly dared to breathe.

Her heart pounded. Did he recognize her in this ugly gown? La! And, with the ashes on her cheeks. Avoiding his eyes, she maintained a steadfast gaze on Eros. In a rebellious pique, she threw caution to the winds. “Certainment. He was described as ‘bittersweet’ and ‘cruel’ to his victims; but was also known as unscrupulous, mischievous, and—” her voice dropped, “—best of all, charismatic.” She saw the text in her mind’s eye. Silence filled the air and she let out a dramatic sigh. Mayhap, her stepsisters were not the only consummate actresses.

*****

Prince had sauntered from his hidden shelter in the trees, fascinated by the odd duckling whose gaze appeared thunderstruck by a statue. He’d always thought Eros somewhat silly. After all, how had a god erringly stabbed himself with an arrow?

But Prince could not deny his curiosity with the chit who seemed oblivious to her surroundings but for the frivolous stonework before her.

Matching her drama, the merriment of the moment chased away thoughts of his unfortunate predicament. “The personification of love in all its manifestations. It included physical passion at its strongest.” He grinned at her sudden pink cheeks, then dropped his voice, as she had. “Tender, romantic love. And playful, sportive love.” Her quick gasp delighted him.

Despite the pink cheeks, her soft laugh burst through. ’Tis then he’d seen her tears. To his delight, however, she continued in the spirit of the moment though her voice raised not much above a whisper. “His is believed one the oldest of the gods. Born from Chaos, representing creative power and harmony.”

Laughter rumbled from Prince. Before he could stop himself he put his hands on slender shoulders and spun this dust-covered gem to face him. “What is this? Tears, my fair lady?” He reached up and brushed one away. When she froze in shock, he took her hand gently in his, and gave a short gallant bow. “I believe I have not had the pleasure.” He knew he should let go, but found himself quite unable lest she panic and bolt in fear.

Something akin to irritation flared in her eyes, before she dropped them and answered. “Cinderella, my lord.” A voice of velvet softness, husky and low prickled over his skin.

She dipped a nervous curtsy, then stepping back. She couldn’t go far, he still held her hand captive.

Her name…it struck a chord of familiarity. He lowered his lips, brushing a roughed hand. A servant, then. “Cinderella? I’ve heard your name spoken before, have I not?” A shift in the air tingled about. He would not faint again, he vowed. The very idea, set him on edge.

The warmth of her hand surprised him and he forced a calming breath. He could not seem to let go. She wielded some strange power over him. Held him enthralled; it was both disturbing and compelling. Prince leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. He should be appalled at his behavior. But somehow he could not. ’Twas just a whisper of a kiss, really. A sense of an unfulfilled promise.

Slender fingers trembled beneath his, and he stood back to look at her. Relief touched her eyes.

“My lord,” she whispered. “I—”A shout sounded from the path interrupted her. Panic replaced her relief.

Cinderella stiffened, her head whipped head around and she tried to snatch her hand from his. His gaze followed. The batty-eyed Edwina was racing toward them in a breathless unladylike pace. He was charmed in spite of himself even with disappointment coursing through him.

Retreat was the only option. With a sigh of reluctance, and a short squeeze of her fingers he let her hand slide from his. “Until later,” he promised, and melted back into the trees.

From his vantage point at the edge of the forest, Prince observed drama unfold between the two young women with interest. Cinderella’s gray cloak and drab brown skirt were covered in patches that spelled a history of mending. Waist-length hair fell down her back, in a rich mass of dark brown, and unfashionably straight. The top of her head was covered by a frayed scarf fastened at the nape of her neck. She had a lovely profile, he allowed. What had she been about to say?

An odd infusion of light lit the morn, dispelling the notion.

He studied Cinderella’s large, dark eyes that could only be described as doe-like. How haunted they looked. The light laugh she’d been unable to hide held him transfixed. Her words spoke of an intellect, warmth and loyalty that radiated from her.

Something else he could not define unfurled through him, stirring the sudden ache to find his mysterious princess. He was desperate, indeed, if his emotions were swayed by the likes of a servant stirring him so. Which, of course, called to mind the looming disaster ahead.

Eyes narrowed, he considered Elvina, dressed this morn in a muslin day gown of muted green. Her full skirt, complete with petticoats, was fashionable by all accounts. He was too far away to determine the color of her eyes. That would no doubt forever remain a mystery due to the nervous flapping that seemed to possess her whenever he drew near.

He was male enough to admit surprise seeing her tresses of soft copper, natural curls that topped her head. She was quite attractive when her eyes were not stirring the soil as her mother so ungenerously pointed out—in an understated sort of way, of course. Nothing like his lost princess.

Prince edged as close as possible, trying to hear what they said, but his position from the trees made it impossible. That the two knew each other well was clear. Concern on Ester’s face was telling and she conveyed herself with admirable animation. She dropped her arms to her sides and they stood staring at one another, seeming at a loss. Of what, Prince could not imagine. A second later the conspirators dashed toward the castle without so much as a fleeting glance his way. He grinned at their retreat. It was not often Prince Charming found himself forgotten.

He leaned one shoulder against the tree, ankles crossed, fingering a blade of grass. Cinderella certainly resembled the servant he thought her to be. But then why would Endina show Cinderella so much concern if that were the case?

He frowned and his thoughts centered on his future mother-in-law. A shudder touched his spine. What a beastly woman. She was enough to scare away any potential suitor. A sudden overwhelming sympathy to Eimear and her sister, Pricilla, touched him. Not to mention the poor servant.

The rising sun glinted off the glass door as it closed behind the two mysterious young women. He cast one last quick look toward the statue in the pond, dropped the blade of grass, and smiled.

Cinderella displayed an interesting base of knowledge regarding Eros. Did she know as much about Eros’ mother Aphrodite, the goddess of love? Something odd filled him thinking of such a conversation. He looked forward to the possibility. His lips throbbed with the thought of a deeper, more satisfying kiss.

Truly? With a servant? He shook off the silly thoughts, mounted his horse and made for the open countryside. There was much to do.

Chapter 11

In her customary high-backed, nicely-padded chair, conjured up from an old abandoned chamber pot, Faustine, aka Fairy Godmother, sat quietly observing Thomasine. Her lips were pressed in a tight line.

“You know,” Thomasine drawled. “Lady Roche is quite ambitious for Esmeralda and Pricilla.” She drummed her fingers on a serviceable wood table, in an annoying steady beat. “It’s appalling how she treats her stepdaughter.” Astonishment colored her tone. “She is quite attractive, non? My son certainly has excellent taste! And I am wont to admit, I am somewhat relieved.”

“Oui, he does,” Faustine agreed. “I caught a quick glimpse of two of them in the gardens this morning. He did not recognize her.” She shot her sister a smug grin. “My little atmosphere enhancing spells are working admirably.”

“My goodness,” Thomasine gasped, startled. “This morning?”“Well, with a little help,” she chuckled. “Ironically, they were standing in front of

that ridiculous statue of Eros discussing…” She dropped into a dramatic mimicry of Prince, “…the personification of love in all its manifestations’ or some such dribble.”

Thomasine’s eyebrows lifted at that.“It occurs to me,” Thomasine murmured, “our efforts are indeed veering in the

right direction. “Now...we must somehow maneuver the situation further where ‘our mysterious princess’ is included in these farcical activities. But in a way that does not give away our scheme to the ambitious Lady Roche.” She frowned adding, “Not to mention the poor child who is expecting to actually marry my son.”

“That does appear to be a dilemma,” Faustine conceded.

Chapter 12

Breathless and acutely aware that young ladies did not go dashing about the countryside in such an unladylike manner, Cinderella pulled up at Esmeralda’s tug on her arm, slowing the two to a fast walk.

“I believe the prince may have a tendre for you, Cinderella,” Esmeralda blurted.“W-what?” Cinderella waited for her stepsister to pinch her arm, berate her in

fury, or gouge her eyes out.“Was that not a kiss he touched upon your lips?” She asked, softly.Cinderella stopped and faced her, determined to brave the consequences of her

unladylike comportment. “Oui,” she confessed, closing her eyes bracing for the sting upon her cheek.

“Was it so very nice?”Cinderella blinked surprised, and met Esmeralda’s gaze. She was stunned by

what she saw: genuine curiosity. Cinderella nodded. “Oui,” she whispered.“I’m somewhat terrified of the circumstance in which I find myself.” Esmeralda’s

admission surprised her.Guilt clogged Cinderella’s throat. “Je suis désolée, Esmeralda. I took liberties—”A lengthy silence ensued before Esmeralda professed, “You took no liberties that

I witnessed. He kissed you.” Esmeralda grabbed her hand. “Come. We must make haste.” They slipped into the castle by way of Cinderella’s previous escape route.

The door closed as quietly. Just as they lifted their skirts for a quick dash to Cinderella’s chamber, she froze.

Stepmama barged into the hallway, clearly having just alighted from Cinderella’s bedchamber, followed by her miniature replica. Pricilla.

The same scowls marred their mouths. Lips pressed, brows drawn, and eyes flashing. It was quite remarkable. Comical, in fact. Had Cinderella not been at the mercy of their wrath for so many years, she would have laughed at the picture. She wanted to draw herself up in bold defiance. She’d almost told Prince who she was, but for Esmeralda’s interruption.

And she dare not take the chance now, Stepmama was quite cruel. Her cruelty mostly consisted of words. But early on, Cinderella quickly learned Stepmama never hesitated in driving her point home with physical action. Warranted or not.

Fear rooted her into place. Esmeralda’s shrewd glance fed Cinderella courage. She took a deep breath and

stepped forward with determined resolve. “Stepmama, you were looking for me?” She fought against her trembles but was unable to mask all of her fear. A stir in the air indicated Esmeralda’s nervousness. Her eyes fluttered.

Tension emanated throughout the wide corridor.“Oui, oui, ma chère,” Stepmama said.Cinderella was taken aback by her pleasant tone, but had already identified the

malice in her expression. Stepmama advanced like a large cat preparing for attack. She was here to thrash Cinderella, but good. The ‘why’ would not matter.

But, by the grace of God, and miracle of all miracles, a commotion commenced just beyond Stepmama’s broad shoulders. Relief assaulted Cinderella almost felling her to her knees. Both Stepmama and her clone whipped about sharply.

They dropped into deep curtsies as Queen Thomasine made her way toward their small entourage. Cinderella and Esmeralda quickly followed suit.

With a wave of her hand, Queen Thomasine said, “Rise, rise, s’il vous plait.” To Stepmama, “My dear, Lady Roche, it has occurred to me you and your daughters might enjoy an informal tour of the Royal Portrait Gallery. It has been some time since I myself have toured that wing of the castle, and would very much enjoy conducting you through the gallery, as you will become family soon enough.”

Cinderella tried to hold back her gasp. The queen was offering a tour to Stepmama and her stepsisters, personally. The sight of Esmeralda’s open mouth had Cinderella snapping hers shut. She shrank back. This would not include her, of course. The candlelight in the sconces flickered wildly.

Stepmama drew herself up to an unprecedented height, the skin beneath her chin wriggling like a small animal. “That…that would be lovely, Your Majesty. Pricilla? Esmeralda?” Stepmama’s gaze swept to each.

They both nodded assents, eyes wide, no words spilling forth. Stepmama’s gaze raked over Cinderella in acute displeasure. An expression Cinderella knew the queen could not see from her vantage point. Cinderella flinched at the silent assault.

The awkwardness became palpable. An infraction she would pay for later. An infraction inferred only by her presence. Because, although Stepmama had never actually admitted that Cinderella was her stepdaughter, ’twould be nothing but social ruin were the queen to learn Stepmama had blatantly slighted one under her own care. Cinderella had a feeling Queen Thomasine’s vehement approval would be for naught. An unforgiveable faux pas. However, one never knew where Royalty stood on these smaller domestic matters.

Then Esmeralda rose to her graceful height and stepped forward. Her chin tilted slightly in a most…defiant manner. An intense charge simmered. Cinderella felt lightheaded as a twirl of stars begam to swim above her head.

“This is our oth…other sister, Cinderella,” Esmeralda stuttered to the queen. Oh non. Non. non. non. Cinderella shook her head back and forth in denial,

taking short quick steps away. She would not be invisible with that statement and neither would Esmeralda. It was brave, but not so brilliant stance. Stepmama would kill her. If not Esmeralda, then most certainly Cinderella.

“Our st-st-stepsister,” Esmeralda corrected, when Stepmama’s direct gaze seared her.

“Ah, excellent,” Queen Thomasine responded without surprise. Her genial smile on graced Esmeralda.

Cinderella gained a bit of courage watching Queen Thomasine closely. A small curled her lips. The queen turned her piercing glimpse to Cinderella.

“Of course, my dear. You shall join us as well.” Cinderella’s face flamed as the queen took in her patched and worn clothing. “I am certain you will want to change clothes from your walk in the gardens this morning.”

Cinderella swallowed with an audible gulp. How had she known about that? Had she seen him kiss her? Oh, saints! The prince kissed her.

Then reality gripped her insides with rising panic. She had no clothes to change in to!

But Queen Thomasine had already shifted her attention to Stepmama, smiling benignly. “Shall we meet in the Grand Hall, Madame? Twenty minutes, say?” She did not wait for an answer. With a sweep of her full skirts, she made a magnificent exit. The swirl of stars lingered in the air.

As Queen Thomasine disappeared from view and earshot, Stepmama turned on Esmeralda. Venom spewed, accented with sprayed spittle, terrifying Cinderella for Esmeralda’s very life.

“Ple…please, Stepmama,” Cinderella stammered. “Es...Es…Esmeralda, she meant no…no…harm…” her voice trailed in a begged whisper.

“Enough. Cinderella,” she hissed, her furious gaze still on Esmeralda. “There will be plenty of time to deal with you later,” she spat. “At the moment, we’ve no choice.” Her voice took on the cold, vicious tone with which Cinderella was more familiar. Hands fisted at her large hips, foot tapping the heavy carpet. “What do you propose we do for clothes for her, my daughter?” She demanded of Esmeralda.

“I shall find her something suitable, Maman,” she stammered.“Certainment, Darling,” she snarled. “You will be sharing your wardrobe, since

you are the one who saw fit to arrange this idiocy!” She spun on her heel and stormed away, muttering. “Is it not enough that I have to contend your other afflictions? Now this?” Her tirade ended on a shriek.

Cinderella met Esmeralda’s fast blinking eyes. Something important and quite remarkable had just occurred between them.

Esmeralda snatched Cinderella’s hand and led a wide birth around Stepmama and a shocked Pricilla whose dropped jaw had not yet closed.

They were careful not to run.

*****

Cinderella gazed around awed as Queen Thomasine guided their small assembly down a corridor much wider than even the one her bedchamber was located. Luxurious Oriental rugs in deep rich reds and greens topped shiny waxed wood floors. Heavy velvet draperies lined large beveled windows arching to the ceiling that reached the very sky.

“The Royal Portrait Gallery is located in the most eastern wing of the castle,” Queen Thomasine told them, as they exited left the Grand Hall behind.

Twice, Cinderella had to run to keep up. Such brilliant landscapes had her wanting to leap in the painting, surround herself in the fantasy. The still-life works portray food so detailed, it begged on to pick up the fruit and take a bite. The paintings lined the hall between symmetrically spaced windows on both walls.

Some showed angelic cherubs wings that hovered over tall trees, or floated atop sheer realistic painted waterfalls. Her fingers itch to don a brush. She possessed not even the slightest talent for sketching. Soon they entered a vast room adorned with life-sized portraits. Natural light filled the chamber. The windows bore no coverings, and of course remained free of dust.

Queen Thomasine entertained them with spectacular tales of the King’s rise to power in their tiny kingdom of Chalmers, hidden in the depths of the Pyrenees Mountains. Pride rang through her melodic voice in speaking of her heritage.

Spellbound, the queen informed them of His Majesty’s tragedy when he’d been in line for a small dominion within the Portuguese borders.

Cinderella forgot herself and whispered, “What happened?”“It is a sad tale, indeed,” she said softly.“Cinderella,” Stepmama snapped. “How dare you address the queen with such

impertinence.”

“’Tis quite alright, Lady Roche.” She turned stark vivid blue eyes on Cinderella. Eyes that still reflected long ago pain. “War had broken out and the empire was seized by the Spaniards.”

Esmeralda and Pricilla’s gasps united with Cinderella’s.The queen cleared her throat delicately. “We prevailed, of course. His Majesty

was a young child when it took place.” She shook her head, sadly. “Close family friends hid him away in France at the age of two.”

“Two!” All three girls sounded together. “Oui. Until his sixth year when his Grand-mère was safely able to reclaim him.

Unfortunately, his parents had perished in the Siege.”Enthralled, Cinderella could not imagine his fear, being stripped from the bosom

of one’s family, too young to understand the dynamics surrounding him. She dashed a tear from her cheek, embarrassed by her show of emotion.

At once Stepmama’s piercing scowl leveled on her and she fell back a step, carefully pasting on her usual blank expression.

“It was at that time our marriage was contracted.”“Contracted?” Esmeralda said weakly.“Oui. A condition not so uncommon,” she smiled. “As you can see, it has not

been an unhappy life. Ours was the family who sequestered him, you see.”Despite Stepmama’s impending presence, Cinderella found herself captivated by

Queen Thomasine’s rendition of the King’s poignant past, moving on to describing each portrait in detail. Who was whom and how each member was related to the royal family tree.

Cinderella made a wide skirt around Esmeralda, maintaining a reasonable distance. Stepmama was already suspicious of their newfound, albeit tentative, relationship. Cinderella was encouraged, however, by their managed occasional eye contact, even catching an amused twitch of Esmeralda’s lips now and again. Her eyes never fluttered once.

Stepmama shot a glare in Esmeralda’s direction. Having included Cinderella as a sister did not serve in Stepmama’s grand scheme of things, and Cinderella was terrified in how Esmeralda would pay for the efforts on Cinderella’s behalf.

She paused before the last picture. The artist had portrayed Prince somewhere in the vicinity of his fourteenth year, having cleverly captured the mischievous glint about the mouth and eyes. Not unlike what she’d witnessed earlier that morning. The unruly black hair hung over his brow in its current familiar fashion.

Unlike the other portraits in the gallery where subjects were featured in straight-backed chairs and a dark background, this painting presented her prince outdoors with a dog dutiful hound at his feet. She smiled. His grace and nobility were evident, even at that young age.

Smiling, her hand drifted over her chest. She felt he could see right into her heart. Silence filled the room before, she registered Esmeralda’s puzzled gaze from the corner of her eye, then met Stepmama’s calculating one. Cinderella dropped her hand abruptly and meandered among the other portraits. The burn of Pricilla’s ice cold ire prickled her skin. She would not sleep tonight.

Queen Thomasine talked on. She smiled fondly at Prince’s portrait. “Once my son marries, a new portrait shall be commissioned, of course, to hang in this gallery. And one of his new bride.” Her gaze fell on Esmeralda, whose eyes began their wild flicker. The small updraft in the high-ceilinged chamber was unmistakable. Poor Esmeralda.

The queen shifted her attention to Cinderella. “I am overjoyed to see you feeling better, my dear. You shall join us for supper tonight then.” It was not a request.

The gallery was suffused by Stepmama’s anger. ’Twas a wonder the mythical gods did not erupt in a violent blast of red heat fueled by the brisk gust of Esmeralda’s eyes. “If you are certain you are amiable, Darling?” Menace poured from her.

Cinderella opened her mouth to reply but the queen stepped forward forestalling any response.

“Of course you are, dear.” She patted Cinderella’s shoulder. “Now, I refuse to hear another word about it. My dinners are a family requirement.”

Cinderella closed her mouth feeling oddly protected by Queen Thomasine’s manner. She’d never be able to repay the queen’s kindness.

No matter what the future held.

Chapter 13

Merciful heavens, Thomasine had no idea what had possessed her to invite Lady Roche to her private sitting room. The sacrifices one made for one’s children.

Through lowered lashes she observed the beastly woman. How she took in the rich comforting opulence. How she must itch to take her supposed rightful place in the household once her hopes of Esmeralda snagging Prince came to fruition. Hah. Not bloody likely.

But Thomasine sat quietly, courteously sipping her tea. Smiling politely in the appropriate places as Lady Roche prattled on. Esmeralda’s love red locks compared to Pricilla’s beautiful pale blond. Did the woman ever take a breath?

“Oui, Madame, they are beautiful young women,” Thomasine agreed. Or could be with a slight attitude adjustment, she amended. Though, in retrospect, Esmeralda had certainly stepped up. If Prince had not fallen so hard for his mysterious princess, Thomasine would actually have admitted a preference for fluttering-eyed Esmeralda. ’Twas an unfortunate affliction she had to bear, however.

“My daughters have many, accomplishments, Your Majesty. Why, Esmeralda is a supreme embroiderer, has a wonderful singing voice, plays the pianoforte with astounding accomplishment. And, well, Pricilla is, accomplished…” she coughed, her face turning a blotchy red.

“Oui, Pricilla?” Thomasine prompted.“Pricilla. Well, she…she is quite the, um, manager,” Lady Roche finished weakly.Thomasine reveled only a moment in Lady Roche’s discomfort. “Manager?”

Intriguing. Thomasine hadn’t considered how intelligent the young women were. “Are you speaking of her intelligence?” she asked.

Lady Roche blustered, scrambling to avoid further discussion in that vein. Curious. Thomasine was sensitive on the matter of society’s ignorance on a woman’s wisdom. She managed to not shake her head, disgusted. What a ridiculous notion that women did not have the brain of a pea.

It appeared Lady Roche persisted in that medieval thought process. Thomasine took pity and let Lady Roche off the hook. “What of their father?”

“He was a very attractive man,” Lady Roche said darkly.“I see. Would this be the same sire as Cinderella’s?” “W...we…well,” she sputtered, turning a dull red. “Alas, Olivier, Lord Roche was

their stepfather.” For a moment, something oddly human crossed Hilda Lady Roche’s expression. Unreadable. After an abrupt pause her face cleared and she went on, her voice soft. The change startled Thomasine. “Gustaf Simmon, my daughters’ father, expired just beyond Esmeralda’s third year. I remarried straight away.”

Thomasine found herself at a loss for words.Then Lady Roche threw out her hand. “But Olivier was most kind to my…my

girls.” Again she stopped. Thomasine glimpsed something like pain. But it was gone quickly.

Lady Roche picked up her tirade with determination. Not one kind word passed her lips for her stepdaughter, scarcely a mention even.

Thomasine’s mind drifted through the endless droning. What dreadful life had the poor child had been forced to endure after Lord Roche’s death? She knew Cinderella’s father had been a brilliant man thanks to Faustine’s inquiries. He was a

scholar, his specialty on cartography. Though he showed an interest in Greek Mythology. Thomasine made a mental note to check the library for some of his writings.

From the corner of her eye she caught a familiar glimmer of sparkles and resisted the urge to smile. Faustine’s wispy communications were quite amusing at times.

Also reassuring, as her presence ensured the carriage ride Thomasine had insisted the girls take must be going well.

Thomasine held back a sigh. Her task to occupy Lady Roche was proving extremely tedious. Someday she would be holding this over her son’s noble head.

The thought lightened her mood.

Chapter 14

Cinderella could not believe her good fortune. Her tenuous relationship with Esmeralda pleased her beyond her wildest imagination. It triggered memories of their early childhood before Papa died.

True, they maintained a care in their casual conversation. Only guilt of Prince Charming’s fleeting kiss tarnished Cinderella’s complete joy.

With Pricilla in tow, Cinderella was compelled to keep hers and Esmeralda’s relationship between the two of them for the time being. Her heart swelled finding she even could make small jests that weren’t ridiculed at every turn. Leastways, where Esmeralda, Essie as she now thought her, was concerned.

A light breeze teased the loose tendrils of Cinderella’s hair as she gazed about. Just as she knew they would be, the grounds were immaculate, the carriage ride perfect. But for Pricilla’s constant antagonistic commentary. Two perfectly-matched whites pulled their light open cabriolet. Cinderella eyed the mammals. They very nearly resembled the ones Fairy Godmother had conjured up out of two fat rats.

She narrowed her gaze. Impossible. It could not be so, could it? She looked quickly to the groom. He did not appear familiar. She drifted back to that odd night.

“Who are you?” Cinderella asked.“Why, I am your fairy godmother, child.”“Fairy Godmother,” Cinderella scoffed. “Impossible.”“Bah, nothing is impossible. I am made of all your hopes and dreams and

wishes.” This vision in the frothiest pink stood before her spouting the silliest nonsense. If only she could believe...

“I’ve only one wish tonight,” she whispered.“You’ve only to ask, my dear.”“There’s a ball…” her voice trailed off. ’Twas an impossible wish, as was the

apparition standing before her. For it would all disappear were she to blink—such was the way with dreams.

A rut in the road jarred Cinderella back to the present. The sun warmed the air on an unnaturally bright fall day. Cinderella could feel

excitement lending a tingle to the atmosphere. She turned her sights on the manicured trees sheared uniformly where not a single branch or leaf protruded from its designated position. And if she managed to tune out Pricilla, she found she was most happy indeed.

Cinderella tried containing her exhilaration. The groom steered them through magnificent squared and colorful gardens. How she would love to wander paths on foot. See some of the other ponds with mythological statues, but one covert glance to her present company rendered asking such a thing would end in disaster. Pricilla and Esmeralda’s relationship was deteriorating with rapid vigor.

From the moment Prince had slipped Cinderella’s slipper onto Esmeralda’s foot, Pricilla’s scowl had taken on a permanent etch in a pinched expression. Most of her anger, quite unrestrained, was aimed at Esmeralda. Cinderella ceased to exist as the object of scorn.

While spared of Pricilla’s sharp and vicious tongue was a relief, Cinderella could not let Pricilla berate Essie. Cinderella had been the object of too many of those horrendous jabs in the past. But how might she aid preventing Pricilla’s verbal abuse. With each passing kilometer the ride became more contemptuous.

After one particularly scathing remark, Essie whipped about, eyes flashing. “Really, Pricilla, you go too far! What exactly is the nature of the problem here? You have been nothing short of monstrous since our arrival. I suggest if you have nothing nice to say then you say nothing at all!”

Cinderella bit the inside of her mouth to keep from gaping.A violent flush rose up Pricilla’s neck. Pricilla’s hand flew toward Essie but a

swift, strong gust of wind stirred. Cinderella shot a quick glance to Essie. Her eyes were slotted toward Pricilla. Not a single blink registered. Odd.

As sudden as the burst appeared, it disappeared.But a speck of dirt diving through the air had met its mark. Pricilla let out a

hysterical shriek and covered her tearing eye with a gloved hand. Frankly, Cinderella was surprised dirt had levitated and darted as such without proper consent. She tugged a lace handkerchief from a hidden pocket in her skirt and pressed it into Pricilla’s hand. It was much nicer than the dingy gray to which Cinderella was accustomed.

“Wh…what happened? Oh, this is all so unfair,” Pricilla wailed. Her voice was muffled by the lace hankie, trying to blink the foreign substance from her eye.

“What do you find unfair, Cill?” Essie sighed. The dramatics were almost comical.“Everything,” Pricilla cried. “You have dainty feet. You are engaged to Prince

Charming. Even Cinderella’s chamber is bloody nicer than ours—”Cinderella gasped at her profanity.“—and now my eyes will swell, turn red and watery.”“My chamber?” Cinderella’s calm façade snapped in an unprecedented instant.

“What can possibly bother you regarding my chamber? ’Tis the Royal Palace, for heaven’s sake. Of course, it is nice.”

“Oh, quit being so dramatic, Cill. I do not even wish to marry the prince. I certainly have no choice in the matter.”

“What!”“I thought I did…” she said, softly. “But—”“What do you mean you do not wish to marry the prince?” Pricilla interrupted.

She turned to Cinderella. “Would you marry the prince?”Shocked by the question, Cinderella stuttered an answer. “Of…of course. He…he

is the prince, is he not?” Her cheeks flamed. If they only knew.Pricilla spun back to Essie. “Even Cinderella would marry him.”Cinderella had no idea how to comment to a statement such as that and let it

go, swallowing a groan.“I’m just a blast of nerves,” Essie defended. The self-disgust in her tone was

rivaled by the apparent anger at circumstances beyond her control. “The instant the prince is anywhere about you’d think a storm had blown off the Mediterranean Sea. My eyes bat like I’m about to take flight…I…I start to stutter.” Her embarrassment tugged at Cinderella. “Can you imagine a union where your husband wondered if the crops blew away simply because he walked up and asked you some mundane, perfectly ordinary question? Like ‘how was your day, dear’?” The throb pulsing in Essie’s neck was testament to her inner torment.

Pricilla stared at her sister astonished. “B-but you have dainty feet!”Cinderella let out a gurgle of laughter, drawing Pricilla’s attention. “What are you

snickering at?”Cinderella shrugged. “I have dainty feet, too,” she sniffed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” It was plain Pricilla’s patience had worn through and her temper grew threatening. Yet, Cinderella fought the urge to shrink away.

Impatient, Essie spouted, “Oh, think about it, Cill. How many maidens throughout Chalmers must have dainty feet? For surely, I cannot be the only one in all the land. I venture not, as the shoe clearly did not belong to me.” Then musing, more to herself Cinderella thought, Essie said, “His Highness did not quite think that one out, non?”

Cinderella’s laughter could not be contained, bursting forth. The contagion took hold, because Essie’s unfettered laughs soon followed suit.

Pricilla stared at the both of them as if they actually held their laughing heads in their hands. Pricilla narrowed her eyes on them. “I fail to understand the hilarity of the matter.”

Cinderella patted tears from her eyes with the back of a gloved hand and met Essie’s. She lifted her chin. “Esmeralda and I have come to a truce of sorts.”

Pricilla looked at her sister, her eyes swinging back to Cinderella, disbelief clear. Essie’s eyes never broke with her own, nodded.“We have, Cill. ’Tis much more pleasant than being mean all the time.” Her full

mouth softened into a wide smile. Cinderella thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

Cinderella spared Pricilla a glance, almost bursting out in laughter again at Pricilla’s flabbergasted surprise. Her mouth gaped; opened and closed like a fish spouting bubbles.

“But…but Maman will be furious!” Pricilla stuttered.For a moment, Cinderella studied her stepsisters, contemplating this new

tribulation, each daring a glance at one another. True! Stepmama hated Cinderella with an unnatural passion. Cinderella

shuddered at what punishment she might bring over Cinderella’s head when she learned of this current evolvement. Cinderella blew a strewn strand of hair from her face through pursed lips.

Then Pricilla’s spilled laughter cracked at the incongruity of the situation. The same thought must have occurred to Essie because her small giggle escaped. Cinderella looked from one to the other and felt an involuntary twitch of her own lips.

Was it possible they could become friends? And what would happen if they learned she was the mysterious princess? She peered into Essie’s laughing, brilliant green eyes. Prince might even prefer this new Essie…

The dilemma subdued her joy to a weak smile.

*****

Prince guided his large gray toward the stables with Arnald fast on his heels. The morning had been a long but fruitful one of guiding repairs on a crumbling wall along the western perimeter of the castle grounds. Flocks of sheep grazed undisturbed by their presence, which never ceased to amaze him.

Prince loved this portion of his life, working alongside the men who labored the land to feed their families, keeping Chalmers Kingdom safe. He vowed there was no greater purpose in life than these men. He felt humbled and honored by their service to his family, to this land.

His unpretentious and proud people had educated and protected him as a small child through all the years he’d ridden the land next to his father. Now as an adult, his duty remained unequivocal. Keeping the land safe, productive, orderly. A position he took with great solemnity.

He and Arnald set toward home. All he envisioned was a long soak in a hot bath. Arnald pulled up beside him when an outburst of delighted laughter exploded through the air. Not the shrilly, artificial kind females were taught to use in the presence of their male counterparts and betters. But the genuine, humorous kind when one believed no one would hear. They slowed their horses in perfect unison.

Prince raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright afternoon sun and spotted an open carriage on the path toward the pond with Demeter, the natural goddess of the harvest. Colorful parasols curtailed his view but the uninhibited amusement was just too curious to pass by.

Prince met Arnald’s eyes with raised brows. Then, testament to the true friends they were—or mayhap the blood of the relation—without a word spoken between the two, they turned in simultaneous redirection. No questions followed hearing such irresistible sounds.

By the time Prince and Arnald had approached the rear of the carriage the laughter had dissolved into fits of girlish giggles, indicating their arrival had indeed gone unnoticed. To Prince’s surprise, it was Espelina, Pricilla, and Cinderella. Unrestrained laughter made the trio look happy, carefree. He hesitated, knowing the relaxed atmosphere would shift once his presence was revealed.

But alas, an honorable gentleman did not eavesdrop. With great reluctance he cleared his throat and inclined his head. “Ladies, a lovely afternoon, is it not?” As expected, silence erupted in an abrupt halt. Hands flew to their mouths. Whatever they’d found so humorous must have been exceptionally so. It took desperate effort to constrain their grins.

“Your Highness.” This from Eptelinda. Pricilla and Cinderella inclined their heads politely as well, amusement clearly

still lighting their faces. Something was different. Prince narrowed his gaze. Erstella seemed different. Though she had managed to escape Maman’s supper the evening before.

“You are enjoying your ride?” He asked.“Immensely, merci,” she said. An unflinching gaze, almost defiant, head held

high, had brilliant eyes boring into him as sharp as cut emeralds.Prince frowned, feeling as if someone had leveled a punch in his midsection. The

air surrounding them was a natural breeze of the lightest wisps. And for some reason, his betrothed did not appear so unnerved as usual. Her eyes were direct, not batting with uncontrollable flurry. They were framed by dark lashes tilted up at the ends. Quite beautiful, in fact.

The thought disturbed and…well, annoyed him. Prince felt as if he’d lost personal power, somehow. It was a blessing his royal nature ran too deep in his blood to appear less than poised and self-confident, however.

“The grounds are breathtaking, Sir.” Pricilla added. Her boldness glittered through eyes in what he’d previously believed plain gray. He was wrong. Confidence had turned them to a striking silver. The change was downright astonishing.

His gaze move to Cinderella’s brown eyes. The soft familiar warmth from their early morning encounter reassured him. Fathomless depths he could easily drown. With her hair drawn up he could see she had less natural curl than the other girls. It was much less fashionable, and yet perfect on her. The air around him glowed with

an unusual iridescence. The fickleness of his senses caught him unawares. Could he now be falling for the almost servant?

“Lovely, Sir.” The object of his thoughts chimed in, startling his attention. He willed back the heat creeping up his neck. Her assurance came across more reserved but he reveled in its sweetness. Glow-like sparkles dangled in the atmosphere just out of reach. She dropped her eyes to the fingers clasped in her lap.

Pricilla’s obvious delight in their shared secret did draw a quirk of a smile. It was nice to see Cinderella in a cheerful honey colored frock. A far cry from the drab brown patched gown and apron she’d donned earlier. The air bristled with mischievous caper. Either that, or he was about to faint again. Not faint. Men did not faint. Royalty did not faint.

Prince glanced at Arnald, his oldest and dearest friend in the world. His cousin. His one close blood relation. His demeanor was poised. A man who posed a nonchalant air. Sitting atop his horse pulling off maturity and ease. That odd tingle sent a ripple over his skin, and a small awkward silence ensued.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we shall be on our way then. Ladies, enjoy the remainder of your afternoon.” He tipped a short bow in the direction of the trio. Prince signaled to Arnald, and they resumed their journey toward the stables in silence. Uncontained giggles burst out following their departure.

“What do you suppose that was about, Arnald?” Prince asked perplexed. Arnald shook his head. “Women are extremely pleasurable to look upon, but

cease asking me to explain them. Most especially, the fair ones.” Then, with a sly look added, “Your Highness.”

“You are not above the dungeons,” he muttered.

*****

“Essie, I don’t know how you think us to pull this jest with no one the wiser.” Cinderella’s nerves were pressing her tone to an unnaturally shrill curtness.

“Of course it will work,” Essie assured her. “Queen Thomasine has already included you. We are just ensuring no one forgets. That is all.”

“Mayhap I would not mind so much if they forgot,” she muttered under her breath.

“Do not be ridiculous. Cill is already coming around. Lift your hair so I can manage these tiny buttons.”

Cinderella complied.“Manette should be here any moment to dress your hair. ‘Tis a shame you have

no natural curl. It’s as straight as a sword. But a lovely color, nonetheless. I vow there are streaks of auburn throughout.”

“Merci.”“Esmeralda, are you soon ready—” Pricilla’s head appeared around the corner.

“What on earth are you about, Essie?” she hissed.“Is Manette finished with your hair, Cill? Send her in.” Essie’s ability in ignoring

danger was impressive. Cinderella marveled at her composure.“Maman will perish of an apoplexy. We shall be orphans—” Pricilla paused at this

slip. “One moment, I’ll retrieve her.” She disappeared behind the door.Esmeralda guided Cinderella to a chair before the vanity. Hand to her shoulder,

she pressed her down, none too gently. Cinderella feared Stepmama would murder the three of them, even if Pricilla acted an unwilling participant.

Cinderella swallowed past the apple-sized lump in her throat, and glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. Her eyes appeared much too large in her face, mouth too wide, fear evident. A young maid appeared behind her.

“Mademoiselle? Vos cheveux sont beaux.“Merci.” Cinderella could hardly speak.“See? Manette thinks your hair is beautiful too,” Essie said.“Comment devrions-nous la coiffer?”Cinderella had no answer on how to dress her hair. But the matter appeared

unnecessary as Essie put a finger to her bottom lip contemplating the dilemma for her. Pricilla poked her head round the door. “Tis, Maman. She is coming.”

“Do something, Cill,” Essie bit out.“Essie, don’t put yourself to trouble for me,” Cinderella said, horrified. They were

as good as dead.“Children, children? Are you ready? Do not dally so.” Stepmama sounded

dangerously close. Cinderella gripped the edge of the vanity, panic choking her, ready to bolt. She glanced about the chamber for a hiding place. The wardrobe. Non, too impractical. Space would be limited with both Essie and Pricilla’s abundance of gowns. Beneath the bed. She jumped up.

“Very nearly, Maman,” Pricilla answered, slipping from the room. The door latched. “Is that what you presume to wear, Maman? The green frock is so much more becoming…” Pricilla’s voice faded from beyond.

A tense moment ensued before they realized Pricilla had successfully distracted Stepmama. Essie’s fingers dug into Cinderella’s shoulder and she pushed her back onto the chair. Cinderella forced her fingers to loosen from the vanity and met Essie’s eyes in the glass. Essie released a pent up breath. There was no mistaking the tremble of Essie’s fingers.

“See? No problem.” Essie’s confidence was astounding, but Cinderella heard the alarm she tried to mask. “But we must hurry,” she said. She turned to Manette, “Nous devons nous dépêcher.”

“Oui, mademoiselle,” Manette responded, snatching the brush off the table.

*****

Supper remained the same formal affair with its full five customary courses as the evening wore on. The wine, thankfully, flowed freely. Prince hid his surprise well, he thought, when Cinderella entered the fray of the family library before dinner. He wondered briefly at the sudden turn of events. He had not thought Ersalia’s maman that generous in nature.

Prince studied Cinderella’s attire from a peripheral view. He could not deny his attraction for her understated beauty. The soft lilac frock she wore suited her coloring, admirably. With her olive skin, dark hair, and slightly exotic eyes, she appeared quite the vision. Her hair was more simply dressed compared to Egrecia and Pricilla’s elaborate twists and draping curls but it suited her.

Her quiet demeanor made him hungry for answers. More so, when he would swear a portion of the bread she’d been nibbling on disappeared beneath the table. He found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Mayhap she would venture to the gardens for another walk in the crisp morn. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but he could not place its origin.

Maman muttered something under her breath, drawing his attention and the air seemed to come alive.

“What is that, my dear?” Papa said. “Dimmer, say you?”Two red spots appeared on Maman’s cheeks, but disappeared quickly. She

cleared her throat delicately. “Non, my dear,” she murmured.Prince decidedly detected a crafty glint about her eyes. She, of course, handled

the supper conversation with her customary aplomb, tactfulness, diplomacy, and grace, no trace of that momentary blush. An excitement radiated from her that had him wondering what more she could have up her little magician-istic sleeve. Ha. ’Twas quite suspicious.

She tapped her wine glass with a spoon, and a feeling of dread stole over him. The delicate tinkle obtained everyone’s attention, his included, though he kept a wary eye. After all, he’d known her the whole of his life.

“With great pleasure, I should like to announce in lieu of Prince finding his mysterious princess, ’tis time to host the betrothal ball,” she said. She smiled brightly smile on Prince and his gut tightened with anger. “ ’Tis our duty to introduce your bride-to-be.” Maman turned her captivating smile on Esperneldi, who swallowed visibly, sending her eyes fluttering in cyclonic proportions.

Well, that certainly explained Maman’s excitement. What was the huge hurry? A swift wind breezed through the dining chamber and sympathy rippled through him for his betrothed, almost matching the amount he felt for himself.

He stole a look at her. She did not look happy. In fact, she looked as if the idea made her uncomfortable. That set him aback, and he glanced around registering responses from the others. An odd glimpse passed between Pricilla and Cinderella, though Cinderella looked as though she might fall ill. While Lady Roche fought to constrain her joy. Her robust face threatened to explode with the news.

Maman appeared impassive. He watched her closely. She appeared strangely—satisfied by the various reactions. She was definitely up to no good. It was time to discern her plans, Prince decided. In no possible way could he concede marriage to Elphaba. He shook his head and looked at her again…if she was so distraught over the idea of marrying him, mayhap he could engage her assistance in handling the matter. He risked a glance to Lady Roche. She beamed a smile on him so bright he felt the heat creeping up his neck. Mayhap not.

That peculiar tingle shimmered in the air again, and he prayed for the umpteenth time he would not subject to keeling over from the…stress. Though who could blame him? Non. This matter needed dealing with posthaste. Else, he could end up tied to the chit for all of eternity, and then where would he be?

An indulgent smile passed from his father to his mother. “Oui, oui. A splendid notion, my dear.” Prince had the distinct impression this was the first Papa had any inkling of the impromptu betrothal ball. He’d bet his last gold piece on it.

The gentle smile Maman bestowed on Papa tightened something in his chest. Maman addressed the other members of the supper party. “This short notice shall serve to set the events in motion. It was decided the haste was best for all concerned. A fortnight should provide sufficient time.”

Prince’s suspicion metamorphosed to certainty when she turned an innocent gaze on him with an indulgent smile he’d not seen since a young child in short pants. “It’s time Chalmers met your intended. Do you not agree, mon cheer?”

Prince turned narrowed eyes on her and mulled this over. He could play this game, match wits with the master. He was almost twenty, after all. He shot Elderinda a grin so full of devilish amusement he thought she would take flight. His gaze swung back to his mother. “Of course, Maman,” he agreed. He added a

measure of eager enthusiasm, careful not to overdo it. Surprise flickered in her eyes and he leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

The game was on.

Chapter 15

Hilda thought her heart would burst from her chest, it pounded so violently. Her daughter. Dear, dear Esmeralda, soon to be introduced to all of Chalmers as the future queen. Why, she could hardly maintain her seat.

And now, a ball in her honor. Esmeralda’s honor, of course. It was a dream come true. Soon, Hilda—would be mother of a princess, a future queen.

Hilda cast a covert glance to Pricilla. With her lovely blond locks she presented breathtaking sight in her soft rose gown and drawn up curls. The prince would have made a better match with her, but for the unfortunate size of her large feet.

One would think Royalty had much better vision. Ah, but it had not been vision, had it? But the size of a foot. Asinine, if one could say. But one would be a fool to call the prince an ass, wouldn’t one? Pricilla was certainly the more attractive of her two daughters. Her gray eyes set off a brilliance one could not help but notice. Hilda hid a frown behind her wine. An opportunity to marry Pricilla off advantageously could not be ignored.

She had only one pressing issue to take deal with hereto. Hilda sipped slowly, conscious of the fragile glass she held, heart still thumping wildly. She set a thoughtful gaze on Cinderella, hiding her disgust at the light purple dress. Why, that color would appear better on one of her vermin field mouse friends than Cinderella. And where had it come from, pray tell?

It appeared time for one of their heart-to-heart assemblies. It would have to be discreet, of course. The queen seemed to have taken an unnatural interest in her stepchild. She worried not, however. An opportunity would present itself. She inhaled the fragrance of the dark red wine. It always had before.

With half an ear, Hilda listened to the hum of conversation surrounding her while her mind drifted back to Her Majesty’s sitting room. Tea service trimmed in genuine gold. She struggled to hold back her glee. Such luxury and comfort of the palace left her lightheaded. Soon she would have a suite of her own. Possibly a wing of her own. Only natural as the mother of the future queen.

“…tour throughout the gardens?” the queen asked. Deep shades of green and gold velvet covered armchairs of carved, gilded wood.

Shimmering draperies hung to the floor in swathes of silk. Hilda smiled. She had an eye for these things.

“It was lovely. I am especially fond of stories surrounding the Greek gods…” Cinderella’s soft voice snapped her attention back with a vengeance. With a bland eye, Hilda took special care not to let her disgust show.

“Those things cost a fortune to maintain,” the king boomed, shoveling away a large portion of his venison.

Hilda shifted her attention to Queen Thomasine whose expression held a blank mask.

“The girls did seem to be enjoying themselves quite contentedly,” Prince said smoothly. Hilda caught the queen’s grateful flash, but it disappeared quickly.

“That’s wonderful,” Hilda murmured, wondering what spell her daughters had fallen under. She’d always leaned toward the possibility that Cinderella was some kind of white witch. Evidenced by her propensity to keep company with the vermin in the basement of their previous dwelling. Why, the wretch came away with nary a

bite. Hilda let out a frustrated sigh. One small case of rat-bite fever—was that too much to ask?

She directed another covert glance toward Cinderella. Oui, clearly it was past time for their little rendezvous.

She took another sip of her wine and smiled.

Chapter 16

A terrible premonition rocked Cinderella. Fleeing to her room, however, did not prove to be an option at the moment. Queen Thomasine’s invitation for the women’s adjournment to the library did little to dispel the impending sense of danger. Cinderella followed the others as the men lingered behind doing whatever it was men did when women were not in attendance.

Something to do with port, whatever that symbolized. Cinderella shrunk behind Pricilla and Essie hoping to escape Stepmama’s notice. But Queen Thomasine tugged Cinderella’s arm through hers, gifting her with a most benevolent smile.

“Come along, Cinderella, ma chère.” She followed somewhat awestruck. One did not ignore the queen. No matter how

frightened one was. “How many fountains did you manage to see today?” the queen asked.“We counted four, Your Majesty.”“Ah, then you will have to see more in the next few days. Weather permitting, of

course. Tell me, dear, which of the four did you like best?”“Apollo was spectacular,” Cinderella said softly. The queen was so warm and

sincere, a moment of tranquility settled over Cinderella. She reveled in the touch of an absent mother she’d never known. The silence drew out and her cheeks heated. She wondered if the queen read her private thoughts. “Um, the, uh, depiction with his golden lyre is brilliant.” Cinderella answered breathlessly.

“But?” Queen Thomasine’s patience seeped in and Cinderella let her guard slacken.

“And Zeus. He is so strong and fierce. I wonder at the artist’s ability to carve such vivid thunderbolts about him…” She trailed off, shaking her head still awed by the intricate detail she still could picture. She lowered her voice. “But I suppose of the four, I could not help but be most singularly impressed by Poseidon. How did they create all those elaborate sea creatures encircling him?”

Queen Thomasine’s laugh burst forth, drawing Stepmama’s sudden attention. Venom spewed from her and Cinderella flinched under the silent assault.

“I am pleased you like him, my dear. He happens to be one of my favorites, as well. As I said, you shall see more tomorrow.” The queen moved forward indicating the women to sit. Cinderella moved to the outset of the circle, well beyond Stepmama’s reach.

Small talk from Pricilla and Esmeralda and their view of the gardens and grounds ensued until the king and Prince joined them a short time later followed by Prince’s manservant. The man seemed to be everywhere. Cinderella only noticed because Pricilla’s cheeks pinkened prettily at his arrival.

“Ah, Sir Arnald, my nephew. How nice you could join us, mon cher,” Queen Thomasine said. There was a twist to her lips that Cinderella might have described as acerbic. It did not comport with her earlier demeanor.

From there it was all torture. Sheer torture. Cinderella felt like a bug under a large magnifier. Not just by Stepmama. She

caught several covert glances from Prince, which only flooded her cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth. He could not know who she was, could he? Non, non. Impossible.

There were also worried perusals from Essie.

“It was the strangest thing, it flew out of the air like….like magic,” Pricilla demurred with a soft laugh, reveling in the sudden attention.

Cinderella listened to Pricilla’s less-than-animated version of the afternoon’s wind; however, the smug glance Pricilla shot Essie was not at all nice. Pricilla clearly laid blame of the wind on Essie’s unfortunate affliction. Cinderella pressed her lips together, irritated with Pricilla’s self-satisfied complacency.

The wrath of Athena. Well, it took time for some things to change.“I’m sorry, dear?” Queen Thomasine inquired.Oh, no. She’d said it aloud? There was no hiding the fire in her cheeks with

everyone’s eyes bearing down on her.“Who’s Athena?” Essie asked quickly, plainly grateful for Cinderella’s untimely

words. Pricilla, on the other end of the spectrum, gnashed her teeth.“The Greek goddess of wisdom, Lady Esmeralda,” the queen told her. The

awkward moment passed. “You’ll find her pond on the most southern area of the gardens. Another of my preferences.”

“One of Zeus’s favorite daughters,” Cinderella squeaked. “Ah, certainment. The embodiment of strategy and justice.” Prince intervened. It

drew the attention away from Essie, and for that Cinderella thanked the heavens. She let out a slow breath and gave him a shy smile of thanks.

Pricilla shook her head, light blond curls brushing her cheek. It gave off a decided feminine delicacy any man in his right mind would be hard-pressed to resist. A slight smile touched Pricilla’s lips making her appear, quite…irritatingly so…beautiful. Cinderella stifled a groan. She didn’t want Pricilla to be beautiful, too. She would never stand a chance against the both of her stepsisters.

But Pricilla marched on, recounting how the air shimmered with sparkles. The full sharpness of her wit sunk Cinderella. The more Pricilla talked, the lower Cinderella fell. Fortunately, nothing was said regarding their uncontrollable, unladylike giggles that had them sounding like a gaggle of geese. Small mercy, that, under Stepmama’s fierce perusal.

The king bellowed. “And you, Son? How did you and Arnald spend your day?” His voice startled Cinderella in its blast. The library was just not large enough for a sound such as his. Apparently, he knew only one volume.

From the corner of her eye, both Essie and Pricilla were struggling to contain sudden grins. Surely they would not burst into another fit of giggles now.

“Arnald and I supervised repairs on the western perimeter wall,” Prince answered. When it became apparent that Prince and his cousin struggled in their efforts to hide grins too, Cinderella sat very still, fighting to remain invisible.

“Tomorrow, my dears, we shall host a picnic on the northern reaches of the estate. There is a small lake, a lovely area,” She said. “Prince shall be accompanying the entourage as well. New guests arrived from Torino, Italy, this afternoon. Conte de Marco Lecce and his sons, Alessandro and Niccòlo will also join the outing.”

“Conte de Lecce is here? In Chalmers?” Prince’s tone turned sharp.“I regret they were unable to attend supper this evening due to the length of

their journey. Suffice to say, they should be as good as new on the morrow.” The queen smiled.

Cinderella detected a slight tightening around the prince’s mouth, though he managed his signature smile. Stepmama practically twittered in her seat at the mention of an Italian Conte. Stepmama would now be hoping for a fine match for

Pricilla since Prince was thus betrothed to Essie, Cinderella thought glumly. The situation became more unbearable by the moment.

Stepmama stood suddenly. “With such vigorous activity planned over the next few days, I believe these young women need their beauty sleep.” Prickles chilled Cinderella’s skin.

“If you’ll excuse us, Your Majesties?” Stepmama said.Prince, Arnald and the king rose, bowing their acceptance. “Come along girls. Do not dawdle so, Cinderella.” The sweetness of Stepmama’s

tone might have well been poison.Her stomach dropped. Cinderella had no recourse. What else was she to do but follow? A palace such as

this had eyes everywhere, she assured herself. Stepmama would not dare convey her displeasure with physical force where someone might see. It was far too risky. Surely.

Cinderella lagged behind Essie and Pricilla into the foyer with just the sound of their rustling skirts echoing though the great hallway. Stepmama moved with a purposeful stride toward the west wing. At the fork they would separate. Only a few steps more to safety. Head down, Cinderella dare not draw the slightest amount of attention, dare not make a sound.

They rounded the corner and Stepmama whipped about, fury writhing from her. The gray eyes that were so similar to Pricilla’s, glittered with something maniacal, dangerous.

Cinderella stilled, terrified at her revulsion. The path between them parted. Cinderella stepped back, fear threatening to buckle her knees. If she collapsed, all was lost. Stepmama would stomp her into oblivion. She must keep her head…literally.

Fleeting thoughts as the dream day of a lifetime, possibly her last, filled her mind. Her heart pounded furiously. Panic had her wanting to grasp an escape, but looking away was tantamount to collapsing to the floor in a faint.

Cinderella summoned reached for an elusive calm and lifted her chin. Let Stepmama turn this into a nightmare. She could not steal what was in Cinderella’s heart.

“Maman,” Pricilla smiled and stepped between them. “We did not tell you how the prince happened by our carriage this afternoon. It was really quite exciting,” she gushed. Pricilla did not gush.

Stepmama looked at Pricilla as if surprised to see her. Cinderella imagined her own expression matched. “It was?” Stepmama asked. Confusion tinted her voice.

Pricilla encircled Stepmama’s arm, sashaying her expertly down the great hall. Cinderella, too terrified to move, felt faint.

Essie darted over and nudged her into motion. “Breathe, Cinde,” she hissed. “Breathe.”

Cinderella licked dry lips. If she was not mistaken, Pricilla had just saved her a very violent thrashing.

*****

Prince watched the foursome disappear through the door with narrowed eyes. He did not have a good feeling regarding the situation. His future mother-in-law struck him as a ruthless monster. ’Twas obvious she cared naught for Cinderella. He

directed a gaze to his mother who met his eyes. He could see at once her thoughts mirrored his. It was there in the worried frown drawn across her brow.

“Maman, Papa. If you will excuse me for the evening?”“Of course, mon cher.” The spark of relief in her expression confirmed his

suspicions. “By the by, Maman, thank you for the invitation to the lake.” He could not resist

the jab. And by her pained expression, it met its mark. He nodded to an efficient servant who managed to beat him to the door and slipped through. Arnald followed fast on his heels.

“Do you foresee a problem?” Arnald asked, softly.“I am not certain.” Prince stopped in the large hallway and cocked an ear but all

he heard were soft murmurings from around the corner. On stealthy steps they made their way to the turn.

His worry must have been for naught for all he could make out was Pricilla’s amusing rendition of Arnald’s and his untimely intrusion from the late afternoon. He peered in time to see Eutilla loop her arm through Cinderella’s. In time to catch a wary glance pass between them. Her clasp on Cinderella’s arm suggested one of protection.

A flurry of shimmers hung in the air. His eyes followed Cinderella’s slender form down the corridor. Apparently, he was not the only one whose protective bone showed itself when she was about. Something lessened the restriction in his chest. He hoped someday he and Elsela….er…Esmeralda could be friends. While his feelings regarding their upcoming nuptials remained unchanged, he appreciated that streak of kindness.

Prince smiled, fancying himself as Cinderella’s shield. He shook the rambling thoughts from his head. Were there not enough problems

with this impending marriage? And now his mother planning a betrothal ball to introduce Eutullie to all of Chalmers?

Now, a picnic with Alessandro de Lecce bore the proof. He smelled a rat. A very clever rat. He needed a plan. Too bad all his mind could draw was a huge resounding blank.

Chapter 17“What a wicked, wicked woman. She is a disgrace to the gender.” Thomasine shuddered. “Regardless…”

“Sit down, Thomasine. You are making me as jittery as a pot of crabs readied for their drop into the boiling pot.”

Thomasine dropped into a wooden chair sending a puffed cloud of dust airborne at the sudden onslaught.

“The Conte de Lecce has arrived?” Faustine demanded.“Oui, oui. Marco de Lecce and his sons arrived late this afternoon. They

requested supper in their chambers to rest after their long journey.”“Ah, very good, then. What have you planned for tomorrow?”“We shall begin with a luncheon picnic.” Unable to remain still, Thomasine rose

and stalked the room with an impatience to stay her fraying nerves. “This had better work, Faustine. So help me…”“Of course it will work,” she snapped. “And quit calling me that infernal name.” “I am deeply concerned for Cinderella. Did you see that monster’s reaction when

I mentioned the Conte’s son? She is a dreadful woman. Keep your eye on her, Faustine. I mean it. She has nefarious plans for her stepdaughter, I can feel it.”

Faustine glared at her sister. It was a rare occasion when the two sisters were at odds. And they were not at odds now, not really. How could Thomasine doubt they were on the same side? It made things all the more frustrating. “Or you will what, may I ask?”

“I…I will speak to…to…Chevalier Joseph Pinetti,” Thomasine stuttered.“You would not!” Faustine lifted her hand, waving her wand in a more than

precarious manner.Thomasine stopped; one hand planted on her hip, one finger perilously close her

sister’s nose. “Do not attempt to threaten me, Faustine. We both know your lively theatrics do not work on me. Chevalier Pinetti saw to that, I wager.”

Faustine plopped down in her conjured-up padded chair and dropped her wand on the table. Thomasine was right, blast it. When Joseph had selected her for his Fairy Godmother experiment he’d also limited her powers for just such a tantrum.

Her wand rolled to the edge of the table and clattered to the floor. “We are on the same side, Thomasine. Pray, remember that,” she said. Faustine leaned down, snatched up her wand and whisked herself away in a fit of temper.

Chapter 18

“Where did all of these people come from?” Essie whispered. Essie only just beat Cinderella’s same question as she followed her down stone

steps where some twenty carriages were being loaded with young women in a rainbow of pastel hues, attended by a myriad of gentlemen all dressed in their finest coats. Pricilla, whose usual quick tongue, seemed stuck to the top of her mouth. An unexpected mystification.

Prince met them at the bottom of the steps, with an elegant bow. “Ladies, an excellent afternoon, non?” He looked so regal and noble, Cinderella wondered how she would ever make it through the day without spilling her secrets. A black ribbon held his dark hair in a fashionable queue and firm lips curved in a small smile. “May I present Signore Alessandro de Lecce, Conte de Lecce’s eldest son? The family arrived from Torino just yesterday.”

“Il piacere é tutti miniera. The pleasure is all mine.” The heels of his boots clicked smartly together coinciding with a gallant incline.

Cinderella hadn’t noticed him before he spoke. He was younger than Prince, though not by much she guessed. Signore de Lecce had not bothered with a queue. Black silken hair hung loose, touching his collar. The signore expressed all that was gracious and courtly. His lips touched Essie’s hand. She clamped her eyes shut, head down, murmuring, “Sir,” sketching a curtsy.

Pricilla smiled widely with her deep curtsy. When he moved to Cinderella, the heat flooded her cheeks. Would she never

become accustomed to such attention? He was very dashing.“You are very lovely, Signorina,” he said in a deep, resonant tone. Embarrassed, she tugged at her hand but the signore’s hold tightened. She

coveted a glance beneath her lashes, certain no one had heard, but Prince frowned. Panic had her grasping for an escape, but none presented itself with any sort of grace. A tightening about Pricilla’s mouth worried her, but much of that might have been attributed to Prince placing Essie’s hand on his arm in that same instant.

Cinderella lifted her face to an unmistakable shift in the wind, and met Pricilla’s eyes. What amounted to profound camaraderie manifested in a twitch of Pricilla’s lips. Cinderella was trapped, however, with no other option but to allow Signore de Lecce’s guide into the open carriage behind Pricilla then Essie. Her fears fell away when Pricilla looped an arm through hers.

Pricilla, her champion?

*****

Biting back an oath, Prince offered his arm to Erzsebet…Es.mer.al.da and escorted her to the carriage. What choice had he when Alessandro claimed Cinderella? A band of iron constricted his lungs. He wanted no one touching her. And why were the de Lecce's invited anyway? There was no need. Between Prince and Arnald...oh, all right. So it evened things out with the young ladies, but Prince didn't like it one bit.

He handed Elethia into the carriage, then assisted Pricilla. See? He could handle both. And where the hell was Arnald?

Alessandro released Cinderella’s hand with an too-teethy smile. The sight set Prince's own teeth on edge. Prince refused to move, forcing de Lecce to step away. He took Cinderella's gloved hand. Warmth seeped through like a soothing balm to his frustration. Falling into her dark eyes gave him the notion that everything would find its way. The atmosphere filled with shimmering particles ready to burst into luminous sparks. The world beyond his peripheral vision ceased to exist. Only he and she.

“…how will we all fit…” Edlynne’s voiced crashed through his consciousness. Her eyes blinked in series of expeditious flutters. Prince realized he still gripped Cinderella’s fingers. He snatched his hand away and stepped back.

“Alessandro and I shall accompany the party on horseback,” he said gruffly. He glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed his faux pas.

Mon Dieu, he wanted to grab her hand and never let go. He squeezed his hand into a fist so as not to tug his collar from his neck, no matter how tight and hot it seemed. He sketched a brief bow to Alessandro. “If that meets with your approval, Signore?” The question was rhetorical, Alessandro had no choice but to agree.

Prince led Alessandro north in a piqued fit. Envy did not sit well with Prince, but he couldn't seem to help himself. de Lecce's sultry foreign tongue was impossible to compete with.

The trail moved into fields of open rolling hills until Prince spotted the large striped tents in the distance. The lake was shaded by tall trees. All very picturesque. The first of the guests disembarked thirty minutes hence.

Chapter 19

Fury roared through Hilda. Seeing that young Italian’s hand on Cinderella’s arm while Pricilla was relegated to Cinderella’s other arm was enough to reaffirm Hilda's efforts in confronting her stepdaughter.

Hilda whirled on her heel determined to set things to right. She flailed forward, tripping over baskets lining the path. Hundreds of them. But for a nearby servant she would have landed on her nose.

She jerked her arm from him. “Unhand me,” she snapped, straightening her skirts. No servant would ever get the better of her. Soon she would have hundreds of her own. Such power allowed her a gracious turn. She awarded the servant a small turn of her lips. “Where did these baskets appear from? They were not here a moment ago.”

“They are for the picnic, Madame.”“Of course, they are for the picnic, you insolent fool. That was not the question.

What are they obscuring the path?” Hilda peered around him in time to see the girls seated in an open carriage already set in motion. The prince and the Conte’s son alighted their horses and cantered ahead.

Hilda narrowed her eyes at the scene. Odd, she had yet to spend a single moment with her children in the time they’d been at the castle. Something she intended to remedy very soon.

“Hilda, dear? Is something amiss?” Hilda started. She plastered a gracious smile on her face before turning to the

queen.“All is well, Your Majesty. I was hoping for an audience with my daughters before

the outing. No matter, however. I shall speak with them later.” she smiled.“Come. You shall ride with me. Our carriage awaits.” Hilda followed since she had little choice, but she would have her little talk with

Cinderella.

Chapter 20

“Conte de Lecce’s son, Alessandro, is quite attractive, is he not?” Essie murmured to Cinderella.

Cinderella glanced over her shoulder to Alessandro. He and Pricilla were looking at an odd flower stalk that’s white petals opened in an upside down shape of a “V.” Cinderella turned back to Essie. Her jaw tensed and her eyes were narrowed on Pricilla. “Surely you are not jealous?” Cinderella said. “You’ve certainly no reason.”

“Because Conte de Lecco's son is…is flirting with Pricilla?” She huffed. “I should say not. Five minutes in her company and he’ll run screaming. She hates botany. And dirt!”

That was true enough as Cinderella well knew. She’d cleaned up after Pricilla for years. Her gaze strayed to Prince who hovered nearby grinning at something two younger girls were saying. She frowned. Did he not remember professing undying admiration for her as their feet flew through the air hardly touching the floor, heads in the clouds? Mayhap it was just her head in the clouds.

“What is bothering you, Cinde?” Essie asked. Cinderella turned her back to the prince and studied Essie’s earnest expression.

She should confess—tell Essie the mysterious princess’s true identity. A more perfect opportunity would not present itself. Her stomach flipped. It was only honorable way. She straightened her spine, grabbed Essie’s hand. “Essie, there is something I—”

Essie stopped her. “Non. You must not worry, Cinde. I shall keep you safe from Maman,” she said. Her eyes darted back to Pricilla and the Conte’s son.

Her words touched Cinderella. She had to confess before she lost her courage “It’s not that,” Cinderella said softly. “Please, we must talk.”

Cinderella’s words finally reached Essie. Essie turned to her. “Cinde, I promise. Nothing is so dire as—”

“Cinderella, Essie,” Pricilla called out urgently. Essie jolted, spinning to Pricilla, and the moment whisked away like dust in the

wind."“You go, Cinde. “I’d like nothing more than to revel in the quiet for a moment.” “But, Essie…” “Non.” Essie squeezed her hand. “Allez. Go.”With a small smile Cinderella hugged Essie, relieved and aggravated at her

cowardice. What possible good would come from confessing anyway? Essie would marry Prince, and Pricilla would secure an advantageous match…and Cinderella?

La! She’d likely end up in the depths of the castle, and Stepmama would love nothing more than guiding Cinderella there personally. Preferably leaving her to a life of emptying chamber pots for the duration.

Cinderella choked out a laugh and hurried down the path towards Pricilla. The path was lined with flowers of every imaginable hue, the fragrances heady and indistinguishable. She felt every pebble through her thin slippers. She did her best to keep her gaze from Prince. Unable to help herself, she glance over.

His stare left her feeling as if her frock had come untied. Her face flamed, and her heart fluttered. Cinderella met his gaze. Her steps slowed, then stopped. She

couldn’t look away. Deep blue eyes pulled her, his honor, his soul. The world dimmed around her.

“Devil take it!” Pricilla hissed. Cinderella jerked and just managed to move in time to avoid being run through.

She spun. Her gaze followed Pricilla’s fleeing form from the path. Stepmama, looking none too pleased, was headed for Essie.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, and darted after Pricilla.

Chapter 21

“Good lord, in merciful heavens,” Faustine let loose. “That woman will be the very death of all our carefully laid plans.” She waved her magic wand sending a crash of thunder bellowing over the meadow. It did nothing to deter Lady Roche, hell-bent in pursuit of Lady Esmeralda. The woman’s uncanny knack in creating havoc between those girls must be stopped.

Faustine hesitated to send up a blast of wind to follow the thunder. And rain was absolutely out of the question. The servants had worked too hard to prepare the picnic event. If that blasted woman succeeded in ruining everything, Faustine would personally lock her away. What she needed was needed inspiration, and soon, noting Lady Roche’s robust body barreling down the path where Esmeralda sat the corner of a large blanket. The poor child hadn’t caught sight her mother yet.

A slight diversion should suffice, but what? Ye gads, Pricilla and Cinderella were bent on their own path. Their confrontation would have every tongue in the kingdom wagging. Those particular fireworks were better left for another time.

“Ah, I see just the thing.” Faustine smiled and flicked her wrist.“Signora? Qual è la vostra fretta—how do you say—why do you hurry so?”Startled, Lady Roche had no choice but to stop. “Signore de Lecce.” Faustine snickered under her breath. The beastly woman would have a hard time

snubbing him.“I…I would have words with my daughter…” her voice faded.“Perhaps you would care to take a turn about the lake, no?”’Twas difficult turning down such an eloquent request, Faustine congratulated

herself. “Thomasine had better appreciate this interference,” she grumbled, watching Conte de Lecce sketch a perfect bow. He grasped Lady Roche’s meaty arm and routed her expertly for a stroll around the lake.

Chapter 22

Blast. Lady Roche was barreling down the lane towards Edwerdina. She sat on a picnic blanket, bright day muslin skirts spread in a pool of orange spice that should have clashed with her red hair like a violent storm, oblivious to the drama hurtling in her direction. Prince wasn’t certain he could head her mother off in time to avert disaster, and lunged in her direction. But help stepped in from an unlikely source.

Conte de Lecce’s body, straight as a lance, shifted in toward Lady Roche, blocking her ambush. Prince slowed, chuckling. The Conte was either daft or a saint. No one with any sense would willingly place themselves in Lady Roche's path.

Well, Prince was not one to kick a gift horse in the mouth and swung his gaze to Cinderella and Pricilla. Their pace could certainly not be defined as dignified, in fact bordered on scandal. They’d not seen yet realized the Conte had thwarted Lady Roche's plans. Prince bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and ambled towards them.

“You shouldn’t run,” Evangeline chastised. “You’ll secrete unsightly moisture.”The dynamics between the two sisters and Cinderella begged his curiosity. One

moment Lady Pricilla’s dour features boasted good natured humor, and the next anger turning her eyes from gray to narrowed chips of glacial ice and lips pressed. In this instant, however, she rolled her eyes. “Secrete unsightly moisture, Essie? You could not say sweat?”

Cinderella clapped a hand over her mouth, thus cutting off a burst of laughter. Prince just grinned. How enlightening these three were when they believed no one about.

Alessandro strolled over and assisted Cinderella to the ground next to Eglantine, effectively snuffing out any amusement. I am not jealous. Perhaps if he told himself enough, his heart might believe it.

Then the cur shifted the picnic basket to the center of the palate. His ruse was clear. That manipulator! He wanted closer to Cinderella. Something violent jarred in Prince's chest.

High color singed Cinderella's cheeks. Prince bolted to the group. “Pardonnez-moi,” he said, squeezing between de Lecce and Cinderella. The move forced de Lecce next Ellaralda, who also, curiously, sported high spots of red on her face. Prince had the notion Erwanda could take care of herself. Cinderella was the one needing protection. Erlyse managed to disguise her discomfort. She began pulling contents from the basket.

Minutes later a plate was thrust into his hands loaded down with a leg of chicken, some cheese, and bits of fruit. Prince ate slowly, glancing around the circle of the company. Three young maidens to protect from one over-zealous Italian in line for his own title, who clearly thought himself the king of seduction.

Perhaps teaching the girls a few defense tactics was in order. One never knew when such a weapon would be required. It was a forward thinking idea. Papa would likely have balked at such a notion when he was in his right mine. But Prince could not be with them every moment. He glanced at Cinderella. A shame where she's concerned.

A fierce sense of protectiveness stole over him. She needed him more than most, he decided. He blew out a sharp breath.

“Are you well, Sire?” Cinderella asked. She looked lovely in her bright yellow day gown. With her olive complexion and dark locks...he could almost imagine…non!

A sliver of cheese caught in his throat and he began to choke. Heat rose up his neck. Cinderella held out a glass. He snatched it from her fingers and downed the contents. Someone pounded on his back. He turned his head and met the mischievous eyes of Lady Pricilla.

Could the ground just not swallow him up?“Do not pound so hard, Pricilla,” Cinderella snapped. Surprise lit the features of the sisters. These odd feelings around Cinderella were uncomfortable—made him feel guilty.

He needed to find his mysterious princess. Then Maman would have to cease her infernal wedding plans. How appalling to realize he’d given up on the search since the invasion of their current guests. He felt almost dizzy with the simplicity of it all. The air around suddenly vibrated with scintillating sparkles.

He gathered his control. “I’m…I’m fine,” he assured them. Prince smiled, his most charming smile. He had a sudden itch to jump on his

horse and dash away. He knew now what he had to do, and was most anxious to proceed.

Chapter 23

One Week Later

“How do I find her, Arnald? Was she just a dream? Just one lovely night in the moonlight?” Prince stood before the pond of Eros, drawn by some inexplicable pull. How was it that a piece of marble could issue such a smug and irritating smirk?

For a week past, he trod dusty roads, endured cold rain and brisk winds as late fall set in. He traveled the countryside led by the strings of his heart, only to come up short and frustrated. Where did one navigate from here?

Once he found himself before the cottage where the slipper had slid so effortlessly onto Efterpi's foot, it was time to head home. He had nothing. No one could tell him a thing. It was if she hadn't existed before or after the ball.

“Mayhap she's hidden right beneath your nose, cousin.”Of course, that made no sense, and he shot Arnald a disgusted look. “Perhaps,”

Prince said slowly, “we should find you a bride.”“Ah, no thank you. I require no such effort,” he shot back, palms out, backing

away.Arnald’s panic and alarmed expression drew a quick smile. It faded quickly.

“Leave me be, Arnald. I will meet you in time to change for supper.”“As you wish.” As if unmarried debutants were fast on his heels, Arnald almost

tripped in his haste to get away. Prince pushed his fingers through his hair and studied Eros. His curls, almost

feminine, were etched in the marble sculpted hair. Had it only been a week since he'd stood in this very spot having that ridiculous conversation on the "personification of love" nonsense?

Cinderella’s deep brown eyes, and not those of his mysterious princess, tugged at him and he shifted, uneasy. This whole situation with Ermaline, the fast-approaching wedding...they played havoc with his sense of normality. Prince lifted his eyes to puffy white clouds filling the sky. A cool breeze nipped the air. He strolled over to the stone garden bench and sat down.

He had not yet seen Maman, Papa, Eve...Est...he would never remember her name. He doubted he’d been missed this week past. The impending sense of doom pressed hard against his chest.

Prince leaned forward, elbows on thighs and dropped his face in his hands. What was it she’d quoted that day? That Eros was described as “bittersweet” and “cruel“ to his victims. Oui, that was it. The irony of cut deep.

"Also known as unscrupulous..." Her voice echoed in his head. He let out a groan. Now, he was a victim, or worse, unscrupulous?

Could anything be worse? “Your Highness?” Ah, well…apparently, it could. But the serene calm of Cinderella’s voice seeped

through to his weary bones. After a week’s disappointing journey how could he not help reveling in sweetness so tempting.

A large sudden wind shear marked the air.And then there was the other matter. Holding back a sigh, Prince lifted his head

and stood.

*****

“Your Highness? May we assist you somehow?” The sight Prince’s bedraggled appearance had Cinderella ready to abandon all propriety and smother him with attention. Or perhaps tear off screaming in the opposite direction. His hair was in desperate need of a comb, his chin a shave. “Are you ill, Sir?” She marveled at how calm she sounded.

“Ill?” he choked out.“Essie, my arm,” Cinderella whispered, attempting to pry Essie’s whitened

knuckles from their vice-like grip. But Essie held tight.Cinderella glanced at her face. Essie’s confused, then surprised expression

teetered on seeing the very thing Cinderella desperately wanted to hide—that Cinderella loved Prince. Once Essie's batting lashes slowed to a normal pace, Cinderella had no illusions that that was exactly what she would see.

She swung back to Prince. Stilled the tremor in her voice. “You…look…” The words stuck in her throat. “Je suis désolée. I am sorry.” She was appalled by her forthrightness.

“Ill? Fatigued? Frustrated?” he muttered.He was jesting, of course, though, he did look extremely fatigued. Not at all

princely. The edge to his voice was raspy, bleak, hopeless. Her heart ached for him.“Cinde! We must go,” Essie hissed in her ear.Cinderella ignored her never taking her eyes from Prince.“Do not worry for me, ladies,” he said. He bowed. “Shall I see you at supper

then?”“Oui, oui,” Essie stammered.Cinderella’s only opportunity to further her acquaintance with Prince slipped

from her grasp. He mounted his horse before she could utter another word.They watched him set off in a cantor.“Are you mad?” Essie scolded her.“Obviously,” Cinderella said under her breath irritated. One must gather one’s

wits when one adopts a new sister, she supposed.

*****Preparations for the betrothal ball were in full bloom, forcing Prince to maneuver carefully on the way to his chamber. Rolled up rugs had been were carried out and beaten and were in the process of being rolled back onto the dark wood floors. It seemed he couldn't traipse anywhere without running into some frenzy of readying. He’d never seen the like.

Mayhap he should consult a physician for the ailments plaguing him. This near fainting was not natural for a man of his healthy aptitude. It was ludicrous, he smirked. He should be bled.

On the one hand, if he perished ’twould save him an appearance at a life sentence of his own making. The shoe. Trying it on every maiden in the kingdom had been a terrible idea. There must be another way to find her. He needed to speak with Maman, urgently. Beg her to reconsider this mad plan of a betrothal ball.

He lifted his eyes, and who should appear but the object of his thoughts? Striding in another direction. The fates might be with him but he was taking no chances in losing her. Her skirts swished stirring up the dust with her brisk stride.

Prince hurried after her but fell back when she angled toward a less inhabited passage of the castle.

Why on earth would she come to this deserted area?The longer he followed the more confused he became. This portion of the castle

had been uninhabited for years. Eyes adjusting to the dimness, he followed her trail by the disturbed dust created by the brush of her skirts. Not the cobwebs, however. He had a feeling this wasn’t her first venture into this forgotten territory. Why, she was a danger to herself.

His mother’s step seemed almost fervent. He swore he could hear the shuffling of tiny vermin scattering.

He held back until he heard the scrape of a door creaking. He hastened ahead on stealthy steps. He rounded the corner, and jumped back. The door stood ajar where he caught the shadow of a candle flickering wildly.

Maman’s voice rang clear. “—ended where?” she asked. He had no idea whom she spoke to.

“The cottage. Poor thing is quite beside himself.” The other voice laughed.Cottage? Were they speaking of Lady Roche's home?“I must declare, Faustine, you are a genius. This little plan of yours seems to be

working, gloriously.”What the devil was going on? “Oui, it was quite clever, non? I had no desire to ruin the picnic, of course, after

all that effort and work…” She clucked her tongue then chuckled. “He stepped in quite nicely, too.”

Who stepped in? Ruining the picnic? What was Maman up to? And… this Faustine—Aunt Faustine, Maman’s dead sister? The temptation to step forward and demand answers nearly killed him but patience would serve him better, he reminded himself.

“What have you next for the social agenda, dear?” The genius Faustine asked. “There is still the matter of the remaining ponds and statues, of course,” Maman

said. “Tedious, but it affords time and opportunities. Alas, we’ve only ten days outstanding, you know.”

Ten days? For his farce of a wedding? That must be their ultimate goal. Oh, how he’d love nothing more than to expose the two connivers little scheme whatever it proved to be. He should call off this entire wedding debacle.

Such an act would put Maman in her place, right where she belonged. Let her explain why his nuptials fell through. Let her explain to that harridan, Lady Roche.

The instant the thought formed he knew he could not place Egeria in a situation as such. Non. There had to be another way. And what of Cinderella’s good graces, to see him turn into such a rakehell rotter? There was just something about her that drew him. She, no doubt, would be the one who paid for such folly. Shocking him further was the thought that even Lady Pricilla’s opinion mattered to a degree.

Non, he needed a scheme of his own. “—oui, well the weather should not concern our—”Prince did not wait to hear more. He had his own designs to administer, and time

appeared more critical than he’d anticipated.

*****

“Is there not something I can do to slow this stampede of wild horses threatening to trounce my very living breath?” Essie’s bemoan was most theatrical. Cinderella was

tempted to grin but for the fact her future happiness was too entwined in the outcome.

All three girls had managed to avoid Stepmama by hiding in Cinderella’s out-of-the-way chamber. ’Twas not completely secure, but Maman had no reason to suspect Essie and Pricilla’s forged friendship. Cinderella sat cross-legged on the bed while Essie lay stretched on her stomach, chin resting on her fists.

Pricilla, primly situated in the overstuffed chair, tapped a thoughtful finger against her cheek. The chair was strategically set before the door in the event someone, and by someone, meaning Stepmama, barging in unannounced. It wasn't a perfect plan but would allow sufficient time to react. A precautionary measure Cinderella was more than happy to accommodate.

“We just need a contingent strategy,” Pricilla said.“’Twill to be too late,” Essie wailed.Cinderella’s head spun with their constant bantering. Another hazard of the

sister-ship, she decided. A sudden smile soared through her.“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Essie. Your constant whining does not facilitate the

progress of pre-planning.” Cinderella agreed, silently. Her relationship with her sisters felt too fragile to risk

to just blurt things out as they did.“But what if it goes too far?” Essie was in full whining mode.Dejection seeped all the way to Cinderella’s bones. “They are already in full

preparation as we speak,” she said glumly. “Just yesterday I saw footmen dispatching satchels burdened with invitations.”

“Burdened is an interesting choice of words, Cinde,” Pricilla said. Cinderella looked up quickly to find Pricilla’s eyes boring into her. “What have you against Essie marrying the prince?”

Cinderella peeked at Essie who had flipped to her back and was studying the celling of the canopy bed.

“Oh, why should she care?” Essie cried. “I just know I’m not ready for marriage. I know we are considered of marriageable age, but I do not want…uh… anyone. I do not wish to be queen. I do not wish to live in a gilded cage.” She gave a delicate shudder. “I prefer the study of meteorology.”

“Of course you do. And it is surely an appropriate subject matter for your natural curiosity and affliction,” Pricilla smirked.

Essie shot her a lethal glance. “And, I can certainly understand your sentiment on marriage,” she said under

her breath, which Cinderella found odd, considering Pricilla’s reaction to the shoe fitting Essie.

“What medieval marauder decided women should be attached before their twentieth year, pray tell?” Essie demanded.

“Hah, Sister dear, we should count ourselves blessed. We could have been sold off at the age of three and ten.”

Cinderella considered that little tidbit. She should confide in the two of them, and now seemed as good a time as any. Summoning up her courage, she said, “There is some—”

The door bounded against the back of the chair, startling the three of them.“Quick, Cinderella! Under the bed,” Pricilla hissed.“Non. My dress, I cannot go under the bed,” Cinderella gasped, horrified. “The

window?”“No time, Cinde, just do it,” Essie snapped. “Vite!”

Cinderella dropped to her knees and scooted. Wait, ’twas the Royal Palace, dirt was not allowed. Funny how they’d been at the palace for such a short time and already she’d grown accustomed to such luxury. Already distanced from her old life just weeks past. The door thrashed against the chair repeatedly. She flinched.

“Open this door.” Stepmama shrilled."One minute, Maman," Pricilla called out. "Essie, help me drag this chair away.

Vite!" Among their rustling skirts, Cinderella could hear the two grunting with their efforts. The shadow of the chair edged closer to the bed. More rustling then light footsteps dashing across the floor.

The chamber door slammed against the wall."What is the meaning of this!" Stepmama's fury filled the chamber.The door to the armoire creaked open. That was Essie’s part—Cinderella held her

breath.Pricilla skirts gave away her location near the door, a dramatic gasp sounded

from her. Mayhap the three of them should consider an affixation to an acting troupe once they were banished from the castle grounds.

“Maman! What are you doing here? You will have us caught,” Pricilla whispered loudly. Light seeped beneath the bed as she moved. The door closed softly.

“What the devil are the two of you up to?” Stepmama demanded.“Maman, your language! Keep your voice down.” Cinderella grinned at Essie’s

superb inflection of conspiracy.“Where is Cinderella, I…I need her to press my…my gloves.” Stepmama’s tone

was accusatory but, she was buying into their dramatics and lowered her voice. Now, if they could keep her from peering beneath the bed.

“She is in the gardens—we believe. She is enamored by those silly statues.”Cinderella frowned. Silly?“This is what comes from too much unhealthy exposure to books, my lovelies.

Mind what I tell you. Intelligence in a woman is an undesirable trait.” Heavy steps shuffled by.

“Oui, Maman. I was just admiring her shoes,” Essie said. “Look. Why can I not have shoes like these…” she wailed. “Why should she have so many?”

“Just take those,” Stepmama snapped. “Cinderella has no need for slippers threaded with gold.”

“Truly? Should I?” she gushed. Cinderella stifled a giggle. She imagined Pricilla rolling her eyes.

“Something odd is going on,” Stepmama said. She sounded reasonable enough.“What do you mean, Maman?” Pricilla was as good an actress as Essie.

Cinderella covered her mouth. Laughing would ruin everything.“Why does the queen insist on including Cinderella, do you suppose? I vow she

has taken an unusual interest in her.” Bitterness bounded from the walls. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

Alarm tingled over Cinderella.“My dear, Esmeralda, I cannot forget that it was you, my darling…”“Shush,” Pricilla interrupted, with a melodramatic beat. “We must leave. If you

are correct in your assumptions regarding the queen…” she trailed off.“Oui. Oui, of course,” Stepmama said quickly. “I shall take care of her later.

Right now we've a betrothal ball to prepare for.”The breath rushed from Cinderella’s body, their voices fading from the chamber.

She hesitated a few moments more, then crawled from beneath the bed.

An effervescent glow blinked from the room and slowly dissipated. She had the strangest feeling…“Fairy Godmother?” she called, softly. Nothing.

The door stood slightly ajar. Cinderella shook out her skirts and willed her pounding heart to a normal rhythm. She might never feel normal again.

She spun slowly, worried. Each day the challenge to confess her true identity became more and more difficult. Her secret would devastate their relationship. Once more she'd allowed the opportunity to pass. Such a coward she was. Tears filled her eyes.

Essie and Pricilla would forever hate her.

Chapter 24

“Hurry along, Cinde,” Essie prodded. “There's carriage waiting.”“I trying, but all my slippers have vanished.”“What! What did you do with your shoes?” Essie’s exasperation was as annoying as the fact that all of her shoes had, in

fact, disappeared. Weren't the three of them just the day before using her shoes as a diversion for Stepmama?

Cinderella backed from the inside of the armoire. Essie paced the chamber on the far side of the large bed then dropped to peer beneath. Pricilla stood before the door, arms folded across her chest, leather shod-foot tapping impatiently. Neither struck her as the guilty party.

“Well, I…I cannot go without my slippers,” Cinderella said, hands fisted at her hips. A small bile of panic rose in her throat.

“You can borrow a pair of mine,” Pricilla said.Oh, now that was rich, Cinderella wanted to shout. Pricilla’s foot was too large to

fit Cinderella's glass shoe, but raising that little fact might land her with a knot on her head.

Unfortunately, Essie could, and shot Pricilla a look of pure disdain. “You have forgotten how large your feet are, Cill.” Sparks lit Pricilla’s eyes and Cinderella suddenly feared repercussions with dread. Recollections of the past turning present.

“Merci, Pricilla. We…we could try,” Cinderella squeaked. Anything to dispel the sudden tension.

Pricilla turned on her heel and strode from the room. Cinderella darted after her, careful not to engage in the unladylike act of running, leaving Essie to follow. How utterly appalling to scurry along in the wide halls in her stocking feet.

Praying they encountered no one, she glanced over her shoulder. Essie had less care for decorum, racing forward to catch them.

“You cannot possibly wear her shoes, Cinde. They will be much too large for you,” she hissed.

“Perhaps, but it was quite ungracious for you to point out the fact in that manner,” Cinderella retorted. “Now she is furious and one of us will surely pay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I shall handle the matter.”“Like you just did? Sorry to disappoint you, but if I must flop round in shoes too

large, I shall do so.” She took a deep breath. “It's just that we’ve come so far. I will do nothing to upset that.”

Essie's expression softened. "You must learn to trust us, ma chére." She turned to Pricilla. “Where is Maman, Cill? We best not let her discover the three of us interacting so graciously.”

Her statement brought Pricilla up so abruptly, Cinderella plowed into her backside. Pricilla seemed not to notice. “Oui. Oui, of course.”

“What do you propose we do now?” Essie said, bumping into Cinderella.Odd, how she and Essie depended on Pricilla’s pragmatism in such moments.

Her natural leadership was infinitely clear.“I suggest one of us go ahead, and ensure she is nowhere around,” Pricilla said,

her voice low.“I shall go,” Essie said. “Wait here.” She shot forward, disappearing quickly.

Pricilla turned to her with a contemplative air and a sense of foreboding snaked down Cinderella’s spine. Cinderella waited, wary and watchful.

“I seem to recall something you said in passing a few days past,” Pricilla said.Cinderella clutched her skirt in tight fisted fingers, prepared for a scathing set

down. “What statement would that be?” Pricilla tapped her chin with the tip of her forefinger. “That you had dainty feet,

too.”Heat flooded Cinderella. She managed a nervous swallow and waited.“What, pray tell, should foster such a statement? I believe the comment soared

straight over Essie’s good senses.” Pricilla seemed to have said this more to herself.She swallowed another lump, not quite sure how to express her words. But

Pricilla just stared, so she had to say something. “Oui…well, when Papa married Stepmama and….and you and Essie…” She took a deep breath. “When Papa passed on…she…Stepmama took possession of all my…my shoes…” Cinderella’s voice trailed. She shut her eyes because there was nothing more she could say. She raised her head, braced for the crack of Pricilla’s hand across her cheek. But after a long stretched silence when nothing happened she opened her eyes. Pricilla was staring at her oddly.

“Oui, that is so. We were quite young. I vow, it makes no sense.” Under Pricilla’s shrewd gaze Cinderella opened her mouth to stumble out a confession but Essie hurried back round the corner.

“Come quickly,” she panted. “Maman was summoned by Queen Thomasine so we must finish before she returns. There's not much time.”

Unladylike dashing ensued.Another lost moment, or a granted reprieve? The agony was killing her, but she

would feel better after she cleared her conscience. At least until her sisters decided to end her misery. If they didn't, there was always her stepmother. She sucked in breath to still her nerves.

They made it to Essie and Pricilla’s chamber without incident. Pricilla darted to the wardrobe and brought out a pair of leather half boots.

Cinderella blinked at the size, but slipped them over her stocking-feet without a word. They were huge.

Cinderella met Essie’s eyes, begging her silently, to let it go, but Essie compressed her lips. “Cill, we could float the Mediterranean in those things. You cannot possibly expect Cinde to wear them. Why, she might as well join the court jesters for our evening entertainment.”

Pricilla gasped.Cinderella winced."Essie—" Could Essie stop there? Non. She had to grab Cinderella’s foot and lift it

in the air. And without a single care for Cinderella’s lack of acrobatic flexibility. Essie pressed the toe of one shoe, indicating just how much space lay between

her toe and the end of the shoe. Heat flooded her face when Essie’s whole palm flattened it.

“Let her try mine, Cill,” Essie said gently, dropping her hold. Cinderella's foot clapped to the floor. The emotions played across each of her sisters’ faces, but she not daring to intrude. Something else was obviously at play here.

Pricilla finally nodded, sending Essie rushing to the wardrobe. Cinderella gave Pricilla a weak smile. Pricilla’s unnerving focus remained on Cinderella. ’Twas as blatant as a comet searing across a clear night sky.

*****

“Buongiorno, Signorinas.” Never in the world of all saints would Prince have guessed he possessed the

petty demeanor of…of jealousy. Yet, there was a fist at his side to keep from smashing it into Alessandro’s regal and perfect nose. Cinderella’s gloved hand was still in the bounders, even though she already sat the open conveyance. Even Estella's lips had twisted into a fierce scowl.

Prince eyed Estellarina. Did she suffered the same complaint as he? How curious. Pasting on a bland smile, he stepped forward. “Good morning, Lady Pricilla,” he said, taking her arm. Rather than blushing as he’d expected, an air of something more insightful covered her expression. Something more sagacious.

“Sire,” she murmured. Her tone was respectful enough, but her guarded perception unnerved him.

Frustrated, he struggled not to throw his arms up. Apparently, he'd lost all his ability to charm. He was Prince Charming, for the sake of heaven. Surely someone considered his charms still preeminent? His gift to enthrall? His capacity to captivate throughout this region? He wanted to growl.

A flurry of twinkling sparks radiated. He glanced up quickly. His gaze locked with Cinderella’s. Time and voices faded. If he never found his mysterious princess…

Not an option. He shook his head breaking the odd connection. He had to find her. Emeranda's glance was fastened on Alessandro and Cinderella. Mayhap the sparks kindling the air were from her eyes?

Non. No waves of wind breezed the air. It was more a wave of heat, he decided. Most unseasonable.

A slow smile tilted his lips. Perhaps, Euthralla was the key.

*****

Though gray clouds threatened an outbreak, an unusual heat stream filled the fall as, Cinderella toured more of the gardens with her sisters. Their carriage ride took them northeast, not so far from their visit to the lake. The driver steered the carriage down a slightly rocky path where the grass was less manicured. The gravel road was sheltered by trees that did not seem fit to grow according to the majestic standards of uniform precision.

Other carriages followed. The periodic stops along the way allowed them to disembark and wander the many trails. Prince and Alessandro had been waylaid by other guests. Frankly, Cinderella relished the reprieve. She'd spied them on their horses toward the front of the queue.

She, Essie and Pricilla decided to walk for a bit. Bright varied foliage of hibiscus, crocus, sage, and edelweiss filled the air with an indescribable fragrance. Cinderella breathed deep. This particular path hosted the largest pond Cinderella had yet seen. Hestia, the Virgin Goddess was molded in fine detail. Cinderella was awed by the intricate chiseled wraps she wore.

"What has you so fascinated by this figure, Cinde?” Essie asked. "Not just this one, I suppose, but they seem to all capture your attention in a way that I have never seen.” She waved out a hand.

Cinderella smiled. Essie was speaking of two smaller ponds they'd already seen. One with Demeter, the natural goddess of the Harvest; the other Hermes, the cunning god of the Trade.

“Well,” she said slowly. “I suppose ’tis not what I see, but what I feel. Don't you remember when Papa would pull us in his lap and regale us with stories? I suppose once my bed was relegated to—" She stopped, mortified by her words. "I just loved the their mythical nature," she finished weakly.

"I remember a little," Essie said slowly. "When he read to us his chest would vibrate deep with laughter.”

Pricilla frowned. “Well, I don't remember." She sounded angry. "Who is this? And why does she hold a tree in her hand?”

Cinderella cocked her head toward Pricilla whose gaze was riveted on Hestia. Someday, Cinderella supposed, perhaps she might cease worrying of their ridicule. She turned and considered the statue in question for a moment. “Hestia,” she said. “She’s the goddess Hestia. She was the eldest daughter of Cronus and Rhea.” She grinned at their blank expressions. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. Hestia personified the ‘fire hat.’ It burned in the hearth of every home. The hearth fire was only allowed to be extinguished by ritual.”

Essie and Pricilla laughed.Cinderella turned back to the statue. It appeared golden even with the gray

clouds hovering. “Hestia was worshiped in every temple. She loved because of her kind, forgiving soul.”

“How apropos,” Pricilla whispered softly. She didn’t sound sarcastic.Cinderella wasn’t so certain, so she ignored her and went on. “Oui. She never

participated in any war or disputes.” Pricilla spun, reaching out. Cinderella flinched before realizing Pricilla only

grasped her hand. “I-I hope you will someday find it in your heart to forgive us…me…” she said, then looked at Essie. “I have been a frightful sister, I vow.” She turned back to Cinderella, squeezed her hand. “Frightful, and I am profoundly sorry.”

Shock rendered Cinderella speechless. Tears gathered in her eyes. She shook her head. “You’ve no need to apologize, Pricilla. I vow, this past fortnight has more than made up for our differences. Someday, you may find it is I who shall be asking for forgiveness.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cinde. You are by far the Hestia of the three of us,” Essie scolded.

“Oh, oui, bashful and always portrayed as sitting. The perfect portrait,” Cinderella muttered under her breath disgusted.

“What god do you suppose I might represent, Cinde?” The question from Pricilla surprised her, as did the arm slipping through her own.

“Well.” Cinderella hedged. “At the risk of offending your delicate sensibilities, Pricilla, I think you remind me of Zeus. He was the ruler of all mankind. A leader, if you will.”

“Ah, oui. I believe I may count that as a compliment.” Pricilla smiled, her eyes still on Hestia.

“Of the highest kind, I assure you.” She meant it too.“Enough of this somber moodiness,” Essie said brightly, darting to the open

carriage. “Let us be on our way. I believe there is an archery event scheduled to

begin in less than an hour. I have every intention of placing my wager on Pricilla. She is a crack shot. Hurry, the other carriages are moving out.”

*****

At the perimeter of the west lawn, Prince observed the afternoon’s entertainments. He had yet to locate Cinderella and the other two. He’d grown accustomed to searching them out. Their carriage had yet to return from the garden outing. He, Arnald, and Alessandro had made their way back long before the others.

Prince’s reasons included limiting de Lecce’s access to Cinderella.The servants were busy arranging targets for the upcoming archery bout and

guests were beginning to meander their way in that direction. de Lecce emerged from the west doors followed his younger brother, Niccòlo.

The resemblance between the brothers was striking. Niccòlo’s tall frame, dark hair, and eyes would prove sound competition in the not so far future. Prince found himself very happy Niccòlo was much too young at ten and seven right now. He pushed away thoughts either de Lecce could pose a threat to the Prince of Chalmers. What an absurd notion.

Another ten minutes crept past before he spotted his quarries. All three of them. Prince set off down the path to meet their carriage, a quick smile touching his lips. The gray skies parted, teasing him with a sliver of blue sky.

The vision of Cinderella in a frock of soft cream trimmed with shimmering bronze ribbons had the heavens parting. If she was his bride he’d never allow her to wear brown again. No matter how rich the hue. She deserved rainbows, with the pot of gold at the base. He hauled himself up on the path stunned by such inappropriate thoughts.

These were dangerous, traitorous, but by God, they brandished him inside out. He spun, unable to face the girls suddenly. Truly, an act of cowardice. His attempt to withdraw fell short. He was too close to the carriage to retreat gracefully.

His eyes fell on Cinderella’s warmth. Her presence struck a subtle, yet elusive, chord that had his heart thumping wildly against his chest. Her lips tilted at the sight of him. She would not be such a hardship to marry.

“Sire.” Lady Pricilla startled him out of his reverie.“Lady Pricilla, may I be of assistance?” Prince offered his arm. “Lady Esper—.”

He hid a grimace, bowing low. “Did you mean me?” Lady Es…Lady Es. She narrowed her gaze on him.Heat surged up his neck. “Lady Cinderella.” His voice dropped a fraction. The air

came alive with an unexplained brilliance. His fingers tingled with sensations he had difficulty identifying; not unsimilar to ones he’d experienced the day they’d arrived.

He swung back quickly to Pricilla, clearing his throat. “I trust your outing was pleasant.” Maintaining a façade was decidedly awkward, something he’d never thought he’d have to do.

Clasping his hands at his lower back he escorted the trio toward the west lawn. From the corner of his eye he spied de Lecce’s determined gait bearing down on them, Niccòlo fast on his heels. Prince suppressed a grin at the picture of a not-so-far-in-the-future more mature Niccòlo giving de Lecce a legitimate run when it came to paying attendance to the ladies.

“We did indeed,” Lady Pricilla answered. She glanced over at the others. “It was most enlightening.” She was quite a picture when she held her head like that.

Finding her an advantageous match should not be so difficult, he thought graciously.

There was a change in the three, some secret they seemed to share. Yet, he did not sense the urge of unrestrained laughter. More like an affable affection. No trace of their prior hostility lingered. Prince found himself charmed by their unexpected amiability. “How do you ladies fare at archery?”

“Fair, sir,” Lady Pricilla said. Her tone almost warm.A snort resonated from the direction the others. And since he was almost certain

Cinderella would never resort to such inarticulate sonority, it stood to reason the sound bounded from Esmeralda. He took a moment to savor the thrill in getting her name right, even if ’twas only in his thoughts.

“Buon pomeriggio, onorevoli. May I present my fratello, Niccòlo?” Alessandro said with a tilt of his head. He was slightly out of breath.

Prince bit back a burst of laughter as Niccòlo clicked his heels together loudly, bowed. Oh, the very young.

“Charmed.” Esperalda beamed him a bright smile and short curtsy.Please, Prince wanted to shout but managed to restrain. Nor did he roll his eyes.Cinderella and Pricilla curtsied as well. Alessandro grasped Cinderella’s hand and

placed it on his arm. Niccòlo followed suit with Pricilla leaving Prince no other option but to escort Emalia. A less than gentle breeze kicked up the air.

Perfect.

Chapter 25

“Faustine, what the devil are you about?” Thomasine hissed. “I do not remember an agreement to stirring up the wind.”

“Such language, dear,” she sniffed. “And the wind is not my doing.”“Of course, it is. Who else could it be?”Thomasine glanced about for curious ears. She sat in a chair elevated on a

platform, observing the festivities before swinging her gaze back to Faustine. Faustine was postured through a break in the trees tapping her foot impatiently.

One hand was fisted at her hip, the other waving in a precarious position. Her expression gave Thomasine pause. “Well, then…who…?” Thomasine’s question trailed as her eyes landed on the source and light dawned. “Ah, my apologies, Sister Dear. I, ah, see the problem. Alessandro has Cinderella’s hand yet again. Hmmm. It’s clear our Esmeralda harbors a longing for the Conte’s elder son.”

Faustine’s grunt sounded through the branches. “Where is the hag, dear?”Thomasine’s gaze spanned the grounds, locating Lady Roche cornered by the

Conte near the refreshment tent. “Being nicely detained at the moment. Your handiwork?”

“Well, I had my doubts it would work a second time, ma chère. I can only offer the suggestion by way of…” she waggled her hand. “I cannot force love. Hmmm. Somehow, I’ve misplaced by wand.”

“A shame that. Sweeping her from Chalmers—” A rousing cheer roared through the crowd.

“What is it, Thomasine?”Thomasine cocked her head toward the archery targets. “It seems Esmeralda

just scored a bull’s-eye on the archery target.”“Esmeralda?” Faustine asked, clearly stunned. “I thought Pricilla was the expert

with a deadly weapon.”

Chapter 26

The next morning

Pressure bore down on Prince’s chest equivalent to that of an African elephant crushing his breast bone. The betrothal ball was but a mere sennight off and he was no closer to a solution than the moment the glass slipper slipped on Elma’s dainty foot. That name was just wrong.

He moved to the open window and placed a palm over his face, frustration miring panic. What if he couldn’t find a way out and really wound up married to a human advection motion detector? He lifted his head and stared out. Despite the sun rising over the horizon for what promised to be a beautiful day, his breakfast remained on a tray, cold and untouched.

A day of mending walls and tending tenant matters would go far in clearing his head. Deciding how to divert an impending wedding doomed for disaster without hurting an innocent young woman was difficult. The usual solution in these matters was the female crying off.

Prince was not fool enough to believe Lady Roche would allow either of her daughters any such thing. And, what of Cinderella? He was still unclear of her role in that strange little family. Mayhap he could ask Maman, if she could spare an audience. ’Twas looking less and less of a possibility. Still, if it saved a wedding with the wrong woman…

He let out a sigh. Non, Lady Roche’s consuming hatred of Cinderella stifled any union of that sort. And, short of sudden death he foresaw no graceful way from the situation.

Two hours later, Prince pounded his vexation on a fencing post, making great strides in his effort. “What am I to do about this betrothal ball?” Prince asked Arnald. He slammed the hammer on the post sending it deeper into the ground. Each whack sealed the debacle in which he found himself. He could feel moisture glistening off his body, his muscles rippling with each swing. He welcomed the unseasonably brutal sun.

“You could stage your own siege,” Arnald suggested. He hammered away at another post several feet over.

“’Tis obvious I cannot marry the chit,” Prince went on. The misery of a future with Earline threatened to unman him—a disaster of his own doing.

“Or your own kidnapping.”“She is not so bad, I suppose. And her blinking does seem to have lost some of

its velocity.” But to marry her when I love another? He couldn’t do it. There must be another solution. Ideally, he would have found his mysterious princess by this time, but each hour that passed pushed hope further from reach.

His lips tingled with an image of touching them to Cinderella’s hand. The unbidden thought was so unexpected he missed the post altogether with his next propulsion. He stumbled forward like a clumsy oxen. He swiped the sweat from his brow with a forearm.

“That is because you do not make her nervous any longer,” Arnald pointed out ruthlessly. “What about fainting again? That appeared to work well.”

Prince looked over his shoulder to Arnald. “Did you say something?”

*****

Hours moved swiftly into days, and Cinderella was amazed to find how natural her relationship with Pricilla and Essie progressed. To her astonishment, if her opinion differed from one of the others, then a word battle ensued before they were laughing it off. Her meek behavior, though not completely absolved, was moving to a thing of the past.

It was not perfect, of course. She was the first to realize there was much of the past to be forgiven, but for the first time since Papa’s death she felt a connection, as if the three of them became truly sisters. Most importantly, she was not destined to the isolated existence prevalent just days before. At least until Essie and Pricilla realized that she was the mysterious princess. She grimaced. Then they would hate her for sure.

And Prince? Would he resent her, as well, for deceiving him? Would his family?She swallowed tears. ’Twas not the time to blubber like a fool.Arm linked in Essie’s, Cinderella dragged Essie down the path toward the Eros

pond. It might seem silly, but Cinderella found comfort in the statue’s presence, and she couldn’t traipse about along. The sun beat down on her new fashionable bonnet and droplets of perspiration gathered at her nape. They meandered along the path, awaiting Pricilla. “What is taking her so long?” Cinderella said

“What on earth?” Essie sputtered at the same time, spinning. Pricilla’s footsteps pounded down the path. “You sound like a herd of horses, Cill.”

Pricilla’s breath came in short stilted gasps as she pulled up, grabbing Essie’s arm, bent at the waist.

“You’d best take care, Pricilla, before you cause Stepmama an apoplectic seizure. Or yourself. What is that contraption you’re holding? And where in heaven’s name did you find it?”

It was a silver baton and Cinderella had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.“’Tis a stick, see?” She rose slowly, and held it out, turning it at various angles.

“It’s the strangest thing.”Deep foreboding spread through Cinderella. “What do you mean?” she

whispered.“It sort of quivers when I tilt it just so.” Pricilla demonstrated by grasping the

slightly widened end. “Mayhap it just looks like it quivers due to its sparkled and shiny exterior.” Essie

scoffed.But Cinderella eyed it warily. Sure enough, a small, yet discernible tremor

emanated from the skinny stick jiggling in Pricilla’s fingertips.“Quivers!” Essie snatched it from Pricilla's hand. “Oh, my,” Essie breathed. An odd shiver of apprehension snaked over Cinderella’s skin. “Where did it come

from?”“It sort of just rolled in front of me.” Pricilla shrugged. She shot a mischievous

grin in their direction, and plucked it back from Essie. “It feels almost…alive.” “Rolled in front of you where? “ Essie demanded.“In the castle, silly,” she said rolling her eyes. Essie's gaze was a fierce scrutiny

and Pricilla huffed. Cinderella thought it a brilliant tactic. “Fine. I found it in a wing that may not be so inhabited,” Pricilla hedged.

“Not inhabited?” Cinderella squeaked. She could feel the panic closing her throat.

“Cill, you know we’re not supposed to explore that area!”

“Oh, please, Essie, who will know?” Pricilla narrowed her eyes on Essie. “Unless you take it upon yourself to say something, that is.”

Oh, no. They verged on the edge of blows—again. “For the sake of heaven, both of you!” Cinderella snapped. “Do you hear yourselves? This constant bickering is…is embarrassing, not to mention annoying.” Two gaped expressions turned on Cinderella that had heat flooding her face. Eyes squeezed tight, she place both palms to her cheeks. “Oh…oh, I’m sorry.”

Silence filled the air, when finally Essie barked out a sharp laugh and threw her arms about her. “Oh, Cinde. We truly are sisters, now.”

Tears burned the back of her throat. Cinderella opened her eyes and caught Pricilla’s sheepish grin.

“Oui.” Pricilla was concurring? “When one takes comfort in raising one’s voice to another, as you have, Cinde, it does appear the relationship has truly evolved.” To Cinderella’s complete and utter astonishment, Pricilla reached out and hugged her too, poking her in the side with the shiny stick.

“Umph,” Cinderella grunted. “Um, Pricilla, your new stick is poking me.”“Oh, je suis désolée, sorry,” she said, standing back. “Interesting little thing, is it

not?” She swished it through the air creating a soft whistle. Blooms sprouted in a rainbow of colors. From the tips of the tree limbs,

throughout the fields as far as the eye could see. The air fairly choked with the convergence of overbearing sickly fragrances.

That sick feeling of dread Cinderella experienced over her skin spread to a chill down her spine as she circled slowly circle gaping. Essie collapsed in a heap on the stone bench facing Eros, hand covering her open mouth.

Cinderella glanced over at Pricilla.Her mouth hung open too, but her gaze was stuck on the silver baton in her

hand. “What the—”“Cill!” Essie snapped, coming to her senses. Cinderella could not take it in.

Periwinkles, thistles, daisies, goldenrods, orange jewelweed. They sprouted everywhere with no end in sight. Kept sprouting, in fact. “Make it stop, Cill.”

“I…I don't know how.” Cinderella had never heard Pricilla panic—and she was the sensible one.“Wave the blasted thing,” Essie commanded.“Oh, of course.” She did. The flowers faded away, leaving behind the scented

atmosphere, which appeared somewhat bland in the aftermath. Pricilla stood immobile appearing as stunned as Cinderella felt.

“What…what happened?” Pricilla’s voice trembled.Cinderella had yet to find her own voice. She swallowed hard and could not seem

to keep her eyes from the stick in Pricilla’s fingers. The thing positively exuded a shimmering effervescent glow.

“I do believe you stick is magic,” Essie said, awed. Pricilla dropped down on the bench beside her. “I do believe you are right.”Essie's curiosity spilled forth. “How does it work?” There would be no stopping her sisters now, Cinderella realized, and a certain

terror gripped her.“How the devil should I know?” Pricilla said softly. She was clearly still in shock.

Bewilderment touching her tone.“Try something else,” Essie said. Her shock had blazed past, straight through to

excitement.“I have no idea what I did in the first place.”

“We surely need to take it back,” Cinderella squeaked out.“Do be serious, Cinde. Surely, you are not averse to a little fun?” Essie said, eyes

riveted on the object. The blasted thing had her mesmerized. Someone had to do something, Cinderella thought, panic rising. Oh, this was a

nightmare. What if the stick belonged to—“What did you do that for?” Essie cried. “Ow! My shoe is getting too snug.”“Oh, Ess, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I just had a fleeting thought that if your feet were

the same size as mine and pointed the stick…Oh, Essie—” Pricilla gasped.Cinderella felt almost sorry for Pricilla. Her horrified expression made clear her

intention was not to make Essie’s foot less dainty. But, heavens, the size of her foot changed! That stick could only belong to one person, and they needed to return it. Without delay.

“Pricilla!” Cinderella said sternly. “Come. Now.” She spun on her heel without waiting for either of them. Newly embraced or not, she strode up the path, praying they’d have sense enough to follow; they had to return that stick.

“I will not return it. Not just yet,” Pricilla called after Cinderella. “If this thing can adjust the size of one’s foot, just imagine the other possibilities.”

Cinderella froze in her tracks. She’d never be able to stand up to the both of them. She would just have to confiscate the thing in secret and return it herself. If Fairy Godmother got wind of this…well, it was bad enough she’d lost her shoe, but to have stolen her magic stick? ’Twas inconceivable.

She could only hope reigning terror did not befall them all in the interim. Streaks of silver and gold glitter fell gracefully from the sky.

Chapter 27

“What do you mean you’ve misplaced your wand, Faustine? If this is another one of your little practical jokes, I’ll have you know, my sensibility level is knee-high, at best,” Thomasine ranted.

“Good heavens, Thomasine. What on earth could make you believe I would jest about such a thing? Why, the very idea of my wand in the wrong hands leaves me alarmed beyond comprehension.” She shuddered. “And, because the blasted thing has gone missing, I am stuck in this dust, rat-infested hole until we locate it.”

“What a horrid thing to say. My castle is not rat-infested.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “But that is neither here nor there. You are right. It does not bear thinking of what consequences should emerge if the wrong person were to possess it. I best return, before someone wonders what has become of me. Give me a sign of some sort once you have located it.”

Thomasine swept from the room, leaving behind a flustered, frustrated Faustine. Disgust filled her. What more could go wrong?

Muted screams reached Faustine’s ears. “Well, that did not take long,” she muttered, darting for the door. One should not tempt fate in the manner of such a question, she chastised, hastily quitting the chamber.

Chapter 28

Cinderella snatched one arm and Essie the other as they dragged Pricilla into the first unlocked chamber they could find. Lucky for them, Pricilla’s amusement was so great it lessened her resistance.

“What?” Pricilla choked out, laughing so hard she bent at the waist. “I am just having a bit of fun.”

“You terrified that poor chambermaid out of her wits,” Essie accused.“We shall never survive the aftermath,” Cinderella muttered. Her heart pounded

furiously against her chest. She had to get that stick out of Pricilla’s hands, and soon, before she set the entire castle afire or turned everyone into chirping crickets.

“Where are we?” Pricilla asked, swiping tears from her eyes. Once she’d finally calmed enough to pose the question.

“Some poor unfortunate’s sitting room from the looks of it,” Essie said.“Well, poor they are not, I would venture.” Cinderella cast a nervous glance

round. Heavy brocaded drapes blocked out a good portion of the daylight but for a parted sliver. Heated coals smoldered in the hearth, and an empty brandy glass sat on a nearby table.

Cinderella had trouble believing Pricilla bore a single stint of remorse for her theft of the magic stick. In retrospect, it had mattered naught for Pricilla to steal the bread from Cinderella’s plate. She supposed that could not compare to a powerful silver baton.

Why, the two carried on as if Pricilla had not just whipped up a flock of butterflies scurrying round the palace, worthy of Essie’s batting eyes. Thousands of them: monarchs, tiger swallowtails, gossamers of every shape, size and color, all flitting about, covering every conceivable surface. Sending the servants into a horrific frenzy, with the betrothal ball just days away.

Cinderella had to admit, the situation would be outrageously comical, but for the consequences of their shenanigans. She, apparently, harbored enough terror for the three of them. “Do not touch a thing,” Cinderella hissed as Essie picked up the empty brandy glass and brought it to her nose.

Unfortunately, Cinderella’s stark command managed to trigger the opposite effect. Startled, the glass slipped from Essie’s finders. Thankfully, the elaborate rug padded the fall, and the glass rolled to a slow stop.

Cinderella stilled, breath stuck in her throat. Her pulse flailed wildly against the open palm she laid across her neck. Pricilla and Essie froze too. Not for long, however.

“Watch this,” Pricilla whispered, grinning. She extended the silver bar towards the glass, now laying on its side.

Cinderella watched, enthralled, in spite of her misgivings. The glass levitated from the floor and floated to mid-air, swaying precariously under Pricilla’s concentration.

Under her carefully guided journey, the glass was near complete to the table, a spectacular sight—until an adjoining door to the chamber burst open.

Pricilla and Essie’s gasps drowned Cinderella’s. Pricilla snatched her hand behind her back and the glass crashed against the edge. No graceful set down this time as it shattered in pieces when it hit the floor.

“Good afternoon, ladies. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Prince smirked from the doorjamb his arms folded across his chest.

Cinderella could not have moved had someone set her feet afire. He moved to the windows and whipped the drapes aside, flooding his features with late afternoon sun. The effect accentuated chiseled cheek bones and streaks of dirt over shirt open at the neck. His hair was plastered against his head in an unsightly, quite un-princely manner. He reeked of rich soil and fresh air. He was the most beautiful sight she’d ever laid eyes on. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Please tell me you had nothing to do with the mayhem thundering the halls?” Amusement colored his tone.

Heat that flamed Cinderella’s cheeks. Dear heavens, they were sunk. If Pricilla was able to keep the silver baton hidden, mayhap they could escape any real dire consequences. It took every ounce of restraint Cinderella could muster to not drop to her knees and beg for mercy.

She snuck a peek at Pricilla. But before Cinderella could screech out a warning, Pricilla whipped the cursed stick from behind and it slanted to the prince.

Her Prince. How could she!Rendered immobile, Cinderella’s life flashed before her eyes in a series of dark

stone dungeons equipped with a stretching rack, or worse—The Wheel. Administered by an evil, mustached-man armed with a leather strap to snap across her bare back. Essie’s cries would bounce off the dank walls she’d be manacled to. Rodents and other vile critters would pick over their broken bones. The pictured, so vivid, had her gasping for air.

Riveted and unmoving, except for a furious blinking that had the drapes fluttering with the shift in current, showed Essie suffered a similar vision.

Pricilla, however, was not to be deterred. Arm raised, she wore a vague smile on her lips. “My apologies, Sire,” she said softly. She flicked her wrist.

Prince—her wonderful, beloved, Prince—slumped to the floor like a lump of coal. “How dare you…how dare you…” the words choked from Cinderella in a chant, even as the shocking scene before her unfolded. Cinderella couldn’t seem to move. She wished herself dead.

Pricilla did not appear finished, She motioned the silver baton upward…lifting Prince in the process. Slowly, she guided his leaden body to the settee, arm shaking with her efforts. He dropped in an unceremonious heap on the settee.

“Don't just stand there gaping like fish,” she hissed, startling Cinderella. Cinderella jerked forward and wrapped her arms about his broad shoulders. Even

deep breaths from Prince sent a surge of relief through her. She struggled to lay his back against the pillow while Essie struggled in shifting his booted legs over the arm rest at the other end.

“You’ve done it this time, Cill,” Essie accused, wheezing with exhaustion. Cinderella barely registered Essie’s words when she found her cheek brushing

his. The intimacy of the position shook her to her core. Heated breath from his parted lips on her skin created a brilliant charge in the air. She felt dizzy from the unexpected contact. Her fingers drifted to the hair felled over his brow.

If she dropped dead in this moment she would surely die a happy woman.“Do hurry, Cinderella. We have no idea how long these efforts can be contained.

This stick is unpredictable, at best.”

Cinderella snapped to, managing to arrange Prince as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. She resisted the urge to brush back a curling lock of hair from his forehead, and distanced herself at once.

“They are sure to hang us from the gallows,” Essie said, gulping for air.Cinderella couldn’t have agreed more.“There is the strangest current in the air,” Pricilla said. “I vow I did not do a

thing.”“Not much, you didn’t,” Essie muttered. “Quick, I believe he may be stirring.” A statement that effectively sent them scrambling for the door.

*****

“I believe I have now seen it all,” Arnald jeered.Prince groaned before opening one eye. Arnald stood over him, hands at his

hips. The smirk on his lips had Prince clenching a fist. “Is your hovering absolutely necessary?”

“Ha!” Arnald held out his hand, warding off any explanation Prince may have had inclined to offer. Which he did not. “Do not tell me. An attack of the vapors? Another swoon?”

Neither had occurred to Prince, and he stifled a surge of panic. “I should banish you to the dungeons. Feed you rations of molded bread and tepid water for the rest of your natural life.”

Arnald shot him a quick grin and stepped toward the table near his head. “Non. You know your blessed maman would never allow anything of the sort for her sister’s only child.”

That much was true. Arnald was difficult enough without encouragement from that quarter.

He sat up slowly. “I cannot seem to remember much of anything.” Well, nothing he was prepared to mention. Startling three attractive young women in his private sitting chamber did not bear mentioning. And how had they managed to get him to the settee? He was much too heavy. Mayhap they used the wind from Ernalda’s freakishly strong lashes.

“If I may be so bold—” “Are you ever anything else?” he interrupted.“—did you perhaps imbibe one too many, Cousin.”“Imbibe?” Prince was ready to throttle him.Arnald knelt down on one knee. “Your brandy snifter—” he said, picking up the

base of the glass. He held it out in an open palm. “Broken.”Dumbfounded, Prince repeated, “Broken?” He contemplated the smashed glass

for a moment. His head did not seem to be pounding from the inside out. In fact, the last liquor he remembered feasting on was the small bit just before bed the night before. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Something odd was going on. Instinct, whispered that his mother and her mysterious friend, Faustine, were, if not the entire cause, then certainly had some inkling behind the strange goings-on. He was sure of it. But what? “Call someone to clear up this mess. We have information to uncover. And I believe I know just where to begin.”

“Should we not be strategizing your kidnapping? The betrothal ball is but a few days, hence.”

He responded to Arnald’s sarcasm with a touch of his own. “Or mayhap a lynching,” he muttered.

Chapter 29

“We must return it,” Cinderella insisted. “Someone is bound to discover its disappearance.”

“I don’t want to return it. Not yet.” Cinderella was surprised Pricilla did not stomp her foot like an errant child. The

shiny stick had not so much as loosened from her tightly fisted fingers.The three girls had hurried to Cinderella’s chamber with, as far as Cinderella

could tell, no one the wiser. Their luck could not hold out much longer.“Well, I want my turn with it,” Essie said.At this rate, Fairy Godmother would never get her silver stick back. “Someone is coming,” Pricilla hissed. She thrust the stick in Cinderella’s hand

just as the door to the chamber burst open. Cinderella dropped her arms to her side and managed to disguise the thin baton

within the plush folds of her skirts.“There you are, children.” Stepmama strode in, ignoring Cinderella. “I have

begged an audience with Conte de Lecce and his son. We shall meet him within the hour.”

Pricilla scowled and Essie gasped, simultaneously. Unnerving, Cinderella thought.Stepmama’s narrowed eyes on Essie held a dangerous glint. “What is this,

Esmeralda?”“No…nothing, Maman,” Essie stammered.“I did not think so.” Her smile appeared more a sneer with her jowls shaking so.

It sent a terror of tingles over Cinderella’s skin. She grazed Cinderella with a maliciousness that had her shrinking away. How

quickly things had changed with Essie and Pricilla. Yet, not so with Stepmama, reminding Cinderella how tenuous her place. How was she to escape such hatred? This was the woman Papa had promised himself to for all eternity. What was it Cinderella did that so dismayed her? If she could but fix it, she would. She blinked back sudden tears.

“I suppose we have no choice but to include you.” Stepmama turned to Pricilla. “You must look your best.” She threw her arms wide. “I have grand plans for you, my darling."

“Oui, Maman.” The contrite tone Pricilla offered Stepmama was in complete contrast to the sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

“Come along, then. You too, Esmeralda. The prince will be in attendance as well. We have much work to do.” She swung on her heel and bounded from the room like a large hound.

Pushing away the dampness, Cinderella’s sympathies followed Pricilla and Essie from the chamber as they had no choice but to trot after Stepmama like pedigreed puppies, leaving the door ajar in their wake.

Cinderella unclutched her skirts and glanced down. All sympathy flew out the window. She still held the baton Pricilla had thrust at her. Mayhap her luck had changed. The little stick pulsated with life. This was her only chance to return it. Nervous exhilaration pounded through her veins. She may not be what one could refer to as a free spirit, whether too prim and proper or timid like a mouse, she

thought—not without disgust—but she was one to follow through, however dangerous the undertaking. She moved to the door and peeked down the hall.

All clear.Now, if she only knew where to find the deserted wing. She contemplated the

baton in her hand for a moment then wrapped both hands tightly about the base. She closed her eyes and held it out.

Nothing happened for a moment—then her slippered feet set out on a path of their own volition. A strange sensation, indeed, when one’s mind was not in sync with one’s feet. She breathed deeply and maintained a vigil watch.

The little baton guided her through winding turns of cold dark passageways lit only by the glow emanating from the magical little stick. Short, oblong windows as perfectly spaced apart as the candled sconces in her own hallway had no coverings to protect the dank walls from the weather. A cool breeze passed through creating an eerie whistle effect that sent chills up her spine. Cobwebs danced like eerie ghosts in the dimness.

Cinderella’s feet showed no signs of slowing as the stick guided her on. Dust kicked up from her swishing skirts teasing her nostrils with a sneeze. Several long moments later dancing shadows of a flickering taper sent relief surging through her.

But the sound of deep voices froze her in her tracks.

*****

“I must protest this avenue of your investigation,” Arnald complained.“If you are frightened, by all means, I will meet up with you later.” Prince was

vastly amused by Arnald’s discomfort, and he took great delight in letting him see so.

“I am not afraid,” he growled.But Arnald hesitated at the door of the chamber where Prince heard his mother

conspiring with the mysterious Faustine. Prince sauntered in, using the taper he held to light two of the four sconces on the wall. “Much better,” he said, glancing around.

The chamber was not large by any means. A chair with worn fabric in one corner and beside it a heavy square table. There were no candles or other objects to identify the recent occupants but for the unsettled grime. Only the damning evidence of Maman’s voice in his head from the prior day.

Waves crashing below sounded through a window that was much too high to peer from.

“What are you looking for, Cousin?” Arnald’s barely concealed sarcasm rebounded.

“Ah, I see you recovered from your weak constitution” Prince said, dryly.“Weak constitution.” Arnald’s indignation had Prince unable to hold back a burst

of laughter. Arnald’s eyes focused on something behind Prince, standing the hair at his nape on end. “Bonjour, Madame,” Arnald smiled.

Prince spun quickly shocked to see his mother.“Oh, dear,” she muttered softly. “Maman?”She cleared her throat with a delicate cough. “It appears your maman failed to

mention a twin, I see.”“Twin?” he choked out. “But—” Of course, she was a twin. At first glance, they

looked exactly the same but for the elaborately fashioned hair built high on her

stately head. They had the same dark eyes and upturned noses and slight builds. He would hazard the only discernible difference, upon closer examination, was a tiny mole on his aunt’s left cheek. Though his mother would not have been caught dead in a frock of such frilly, pink nonsense. He leaned closer. “Are those diamonds, threaded throughout your gown, Madame?”

“Ahem…” She inclined her head, identically to his mother. “Mais oui, mon cher. I must say,” she said. “You are the spitting image of your papa. I am quite proud of you.”

“Proud?”“Are you unwell, dear?” She furrowed her brows. “You keep repeating me. It

could be a sickness of the mind, you know.”Prince could hardly comprehend the thread of conversation at the sight of an

aunt long thought dead. It was no secret Arnald was his cousin, but how could Maman keep a twin sister a secret. And why? Oh, were they past time for a chat.

“Maman, I believe you have left my cousin thoroughly speechless. A remarkable feat, actually.” Arnald’s humor had bounded back in full force.

Prince recovered himself with an effort and narrowed his eyes on the tiny woman before him. “Does my maman know you are about, Tante?”

“Oui,” she responded with a wave of her hand. “We are quite close, you know.”Close? He strived for a measured breath. It was obvious he needed to keep his

wits about him. This, of course, had to be the mysterious Faustine. His mother’s sister. His aunt.

“So you and my darling, conniving, Maman have been manipulating the recent events of my life,” he said. The more he considered “recent” events, the more perfect sense it made, and the more incensed he became. He struggled for composure, however. “I wonder what conclusions you have come to, Tante. I would be most curious to hear.”

“Oh, my. I do believe you are angry, oui?” she twittered.“Angry, Madame?”“Now, my dear, you would not dare to threaten such a dainty creature? A

woman this small in stature, mind, could not hope to create so much as a bustle of concern.” Arnald laughed. He stood with folded arms across his chest and shoulder against the doorframe. His lofty wit was annoying and did not help in restoring Prince’s usually collected attitude.

“Humph. You are telling me, because she is so small, she could not cause havoc?” Prince dare not take his eyes from the woman before him who begun a pace about the room. He had the distinct feeling she might evaporate into thin air. A handy trick these women were able to execute at the snap of a finger.

“That is neither here nor there, Nephew.”Prince drew his fiercest scowl. “You dare to taunt me, Madame? I am the future

king.”“And I am your elder, you shall address me with respect.” She actually snapped

at him. “Now, dear, you must let your confidence guide you.”Confidence? Guide him? “I feel the most sudden urge to meet with my own

maman,” he muttered.“Oui, oui. I suppose you must.” She plopped down in the one chair, planted an

elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm.Arnald moved to her and went down on bended knee. He clasped her small hand

in his. “What is it, Maman? You are distressed, non?”

“Dear boy.” A tender touch to his head had Prince compelled to look away. “Naught that with which you could help.” She pulled her hand away. “Be gone, both of you. We shall speak soon enough.”

*****

Cinderella hid in the shadows of the darkened corridor, praying her light colored frock would not draw the attention of Prince and his cousin.

But, alas, luck was not with her. At least not good luck. Prince strode from the chamber, Sir Arnald fast on his heels. Surprise lit Prince’s eyes when they landed on her. His slow smile ignited a pulsating fire through her veins.

The stick in her hand began vibrating with a thrumming energy, reverberating up her arm, making its way through her entire body. Before coherent thought rationed her brain, she held it out—freezing the two men quite immobile. Horrified and shocked by her actions she looked at the stick, dumbfounded, uncertain what she’d accomplished or why? Could she make them forget they’d seen her?

She raked a hungry gaze over Prince and a positively evil thought took hold. She could test the theory. She wished to touch him. Just once. Before the inevitability of his and Essie's nuptials. Would he remember? Mortification, humiliation would dog her to her death and beyond. Not to mention the end of an untarnished reputation or the love-turn-hate of a sister.

Hadn’t Cinderella and her sisters already stacked enough bad deeds against them? Oui! Enough to have them drawn and quartered several times over. But somehow in that moment she could not seem to care.

Was that so terrible?Oui, it was, the prim, practical, timid voice in her head screamed even as she

stepped toward him. But one kiss, who would know besides she? Roaring silence filled the

passageway. One more step found her in touching distance. Spicy soap assailed her senses, and before she could stop herself, Cinderella closed her eyes, tipped up on her toes and touched the corner of his mouth with her lips. Floating on air had nothing on such a daring adventure, touch of his lips. Heart pounding furiously, she lowered her heels, opened her eyes, and stepped back. There was a lovely firmness that contrasted with such velvet. She brought her fingers to her mouth.

Time suspended, holding her prisoner. She’d never acted so indecently. She stared at him as if he were Eros, come to life, yet he remained still as the statue, itself.

“Nicely handled, my dear.”Startled, Cinderella jumped back, the stick clattering to the floor.“Ah, there it is. I wondered where I’d misplaced it.”Shamed burned through her. Her deplorable behavior fastened her in place. “Oh, Fairy Godmother. I-I am, I—” Cinderella took another step back. The distinct crack of wood had her gasping for air. Oh, no. No, no, no. She’d

broken the magic stick. This could not be happening. Hands flew to her flamed cheeks. She waited for Prince to snap out of his frozen reverie. Denounce her very life. But not so much as a flicker of his eyelash fluttered. She dare not move. “Oh. I…I…” Her voice croaked in horror.

Fairy Godmother’s dainty palm came up to halt Cinderella mid-sentence. “Did you break it, do you think? My wand, dear? Thank the heavens you found the

blasted thing. ’Twould not do for it to fall into nefarious hands.” She dipped forward and swiped two distinct pieces from the ground.

“Oh, my,” Cinderella whispered. She had definitely broken it. She was too stunned to cry. “I shall—shall—” An audible gulp was impossible to mask. Resigned, she squared her shoulders. ’Twas time to pay the piper. “I shall turn myself in, of course. ’Tis only fitting I should be locked up. The dungeon would be preferable to the gallows, however. Is it possible…you could recommend…I would be most grateful…I…I imagine there are friends in the dungeon. Or, mayhap, Marcel…I am friendly with mice, you see. They are not so terrible, you know. He…is not…so…"

“Cease your prattling, dear child. It is not as dire as all that. Worry naught. I shall handle matters from here. Do you think you can manage your way back?”

Cinderella did not think so, but she could not seem to form a coherent sentence to convey the fact.

“Run along, dear.”“But, I need to tell Essie. He…she…they…” Cinderella flung out her hand unable

to put sound to the word ‘betrothed.’ “Let us not mention this little incident further, hmm?”“But—” She choked at Fairy Godmother’s stern gaze. “No…no, of course not.”

She stammered while heat burned her face. She swung on her heel. Then stopped, and asked over her shoulder, “Prince? Sir Arnald?”

“Not to worry, child. These spells never last long. You handled things magnificently, if I must say.”

Pressing her luck was not an option. She ran for the cover of darkness—never mind the lack of ladylike etiquette, or the fact that she had no inclination, whatsoever, on how to find her way back. Or the many questions she’d had for her elusive Fairy Godmother, once she’d set eyes on her again.

Perhaps another time, she promised herself, and fled for safety.

Chapter 30

Something very strange was going on, Hilda decided. She could not quite put her finger on the what, but ’twas there all the same. Her first inklings were prior to the picnic. She trailed the three girls to the parlor, studying Pricilla in particular. She was quite pleased with Pricilla’s soft rose gown. The maid had dressed her hair in fabulously high curls leaving wispy tendrils to frame her face. Hilda had to restrain from clapping her hands in glee.

Conte Alessandro de Lecce would be fighting for her favors this evening, and Hilda looked forward to guiding his efforts. With Esmeralda all but married off, ’twas downright miraculous the opportunity afforded for Pricilla. And Hilda had every intention of grappling the advantage. A mother had a duty to her children’s future, after all. Not to mention the side effect of securing one’s own. Olivier Roche had left her and her daughters destitute. She would not be so again.

Hilda pondered Cinderella through narrowed eyes. That child remained every bit the nuisance she had since the day Hilda had been forced to marry her murderous papa. Somehow, the chit managed to manipulate her way into the queen’s generous affections, no matter how erroneous. Short of death, there wasn’t much Hilda could do to alter that state.

Hmm, death. ’Twas a dilemma. But if Cinderella should somehow manage to get herself locked up somewhere with no one the wiser…well, that would be most convenient, would it not?

Hilda ushered her daughters through the door snagging Cinderella’s arm before she slipped by. One small squeeze to remind the child who was in charge. After all, she did seem to have difficulty remembering her place in the family hierarchy. Fear in Cinderella’s widened eyes assured Hilda’s point had been well and truly received.

The opportunity to back her threat with words was circumvented by Queen Thomasine’s pointed address.

“Lady Roche, would you care for sherry or claret this evening?” Queen Thomasine’s tone was mild, her gaze innocent.

Slowly, Hilda released her grip, clearing her throat. “Claret would make a divine diversion, Your Highness.” Hilda nudged Cinderella aside, preceding her into the drawing room. The child may have escaped censure this time but the night was young. Other opportunities would emerge.

Her eyes followed Cinderella’s gait to a settee before the windows where she lowered herself with an anomalous air. The frock she wore in a misty moss was downright infuriating. Hilda was not fooled in the least. The soft green should have made her appear washed out, but somehow managed the reverse. The soft tone enhanced her olive complexion, upstaging Esmeralda’s pale skin and flickering eyes.

If they were not more cautious, Prince might see fit to retract his promise to Esmeralda and take up with that hoyden. Non, he would dare no such a thing. The scandal would make him a laughingstock. He would lose all respect. Regardless, Hilda refused to any chances. She trusted no one.

“Merci,” Hilda said, accepting her claret from the servant’s tray. Her eyes narrowed on the Conte’s eldest son, maneuvering his way toward her errant stepchild. He lowered himself next to her—shamefully close. Why, the little vagrant was out to cull Pricilla’s prize. Heated rage roiled through her.

Her heart stepped into an erratic rhythm that had her wanting to clutch her chest, breaths coming short and rapid. With concerted effort Hilda calmed her agitated facilities with a steady inhale. Enough was enough. She vowed adamantly to achieve that one-on-one tête-à-tête this very eve.

She sauntered her way to the settee. The noble Conte de Lecce’s son stood quickly offering his place, heels clicking with his formal bow. “Ah, merci, young man.” With a pat of her hand, Hilda gave Cinderella a bright smile. Hilda’s pleasure grew tenfold at Cinderella’s undisguised blanch. “Cinderella, my dear, you look absolutely stunning,” she said.

Cinderella dropped her eyes to her lap with a soft, almost indistinguishable reply. “Merci, Stepmama.”

“Your daughter, she is lovely, no, Signora?” Alessandro smiled.“Oui, your compliments are well received, Sir.” The erratic tempo soared once

more through Hilda, leaving her almost faint.Hilda glanced up quickly and caught a silent communiqué between Pricilla and

Esmeralda. Mayhap she would have a word with Pricilla as well. As the favorite of her two girls, Pricilla could always be depended upon to further the family’s edicts. It would have to wait, however. The risk was too great to forestall Cinderella’s attendance with Alessandro de Lecce so close at hand with his unpredictable infatuation.

Chapter 31

Cinderella tried her best. She sank deeper in the coverlets pulled to her chin. It did little to dispel the chill in her grand chamber, though she was so tired. Sleep felt hours away.

’Twas a miracle she’d managed supper. The little bites of food she’d barely wielded on her fork somehow made it past her lips. But the fear of choking, or worse, was too great to struggle much more than one or two attempts at best. Even though she hadn’t really seen her, she knew Stepmama had kept a very close eye on her. Suddenly, Cinderella wanted nothing more than to be ensconced in her own little corner, in her own little chair, back in the cottage where her imagination let her be whatever she wanted. Invisible.

Enduring the painful supper had seemed infinitely preferable than what waited her beyond. Stepmama had plans, of that she was certain. Cinderella could not manage even one more swallow had Stepmama not been seated within her sights.

And when Pricilla leaned over, she thought she would die. “What did you do with the magic stick?” Pricilla demanded.

A nervous start jerked Cinderella. She caught Essie’s frown from across the massive table. It was obvious Essie did not comprehend their low tones.

“Well?” Pricilla whispered.“I-it broke,” Cinderella whispered back, stammering.“Broke!” Pricilla’s high pitched muffled squeal had Cinderella wincing and

several heads shifting in their direction. The one bright spot were the flags of red spotting Pricilla’s cheeks.

Cinderella’s burned too. Pricilla shoveled a mouthful of food to hide her embarrassment, while Cinderella knew trying to eat would only draw more attention once she started to asphyxiate. She settled for a sip of water instead.

Pricilla lifted a glass to her lips to hide her mouth. “You knew I did not want to return that stick yet.”

Stubborn resolve set Cinderella’s jaw. “There was no choice. It wasn’t ours,” she snapped behind her own glass.

“How did you know who it belonged to?” Cinderella had no answer for that, but found herself saved by Essie. “Pssst.”Cinderella’s head came up quickly. Essie cocked her head indicating the end of

the table.“Maman is watching,” Pricilla hissed. “We’ll speak later.”The knots in Cinderella’s stomach clinched as new waves of qualms flummoxed

her, bringing her back to the present. Perhaps she should just find the dungeons on her own, lock herself away in their depths. Or mayhap Pricilla and Essie would lend their assistance by stashing her there and throw away the key.

Non. She sighed and tugged the covers to her chin. She would be on her own this night, Stepmama had ensured that. In earlier days, hope might have lain with an appearance by Fairy Godmother but Cinderella’s fate had been sealed once she’d stepped on that silver baton.

Despair settled over her like the heavy blanket weighing her down. Essie would marry Prince. She blinked back weary tears. He would never know his mysterious

princess stood feet away watching every sordid detail, she thought glumly. The thought made her so very tired.

Perhaps, she just needed to see things from a different perspective. Luck had been with her after supper. For now, here she laid, snuggled deep in her bed with nary a word from Stepmama, just a few side glances Cinderella had meekly endured. Of course, things had been tense and uncomfortable, but Cinderella was certain she'd been successful in hiding her anxiety.

’Twas a blessing, at least, Stepmama had not demanded a solitary audience with her. Cinderella would never have come out ahead in that clash. Squashed like a bug, she’d be.

She closed her eyes and focused on the silence in the chamber. The sheer hush would unnerve even the bravest of souls. She shuddered beneath the heavy covers. Everyone knew she was the least brave person in all the land. ’Twas her last thought as draining fatigue finally claimed her.

*****

A prick in her arm from Marcel’s teeny claws and frantic mew startled Cinderella to a sitting potion. Disoriented and out of sorts she fought to still her pounding heart when she heard the creak of the door. “Essie?”

“Essie, indeed,” Stepmama cackled. Terror ripped through Cinderella, rendering her immobile. Alas, it would seem

her audience with Stepmama was inevitable.Within the solemnity of the corridor, Stepmama hadn’t even bothered to lower

her voice. Light from the flickering candle she held gave her robust face an eerie mask-like quality straight out of a horrifying medieval epic tale.

Stepmama edged closer to Cinderella’s frozen form until she towered above her. “You think you have managed quite a feat, have you not, my pretty? Turning Esmeralda from the bosom of her family.”

Cinderella’s response was an audible swallow. “I...I could never do that, Stepmama. Essie would never allow it.” If she could not save herself, mayhap she could prevent Essie from some hazardous misfortune.

“Essie!” she spat. “How I despise that shortened version of her name. But ’tis not the reason I seek to speak with you, my dear.” Stepmama set the candle on the bedside table.

Terror stuck in her throat, muting any response.“I see how you have lured the affections of the Conte de Lecce’s son."The venom in her accusation tripped Cinderella into subtle action. “Non. Non.

’Tis not like that at all…” She shook her head sidling to the edge of the bed. But Stepmama would not be mollified.

“You little twit! You have never ceased to amaze me with your vile manipulative skills. You have turned my own daughter from me and you shall pay.” To Cinderella’s surprise, Stepmama sauntered away, her aim toward the dying fire in the hearth. “There is no one to save you now, is there, sweet?”

Oh, non. There wasn’t. Ceasing the opportunity, Cinderella slid down the side of the bed her feet hitting the ice cold floor. Mayhap, she could make it to the door.

’Twas too late. Stepmama whipped around. Cinderella chose her only other recourse and

dropped to her knees, diving beneath the bed.

“Auck!” she screamed. “You little sorcerer. Out with you, do you dare to disobey me?”

Cinderella thanked the heavens and the queen for her massive bed. Stepmama raised the bed skirt. Cinderella could not make out Stepmama’s features for the darkness, but they were etched in her mind. That fierce anger in bulging eyes, quivering chin and flush cheeks, veins protruding from pulsing temples. All forever ingrained.

“Come out, child.” Her voice took on a cajoling timbre, but Cinderella would be a fool to trust her. Freezing to death fared better than the alternative. “I only wish to talk, oui?”

The bed skirt dropped and complete darkness surrounded her, both comforting and disconcerting. She could not even make out the flickering light of the candle, only the rustling of Stepmama’s night rail touched her ears. Cinderella followed the noise about the chamber, praying Stepmama would give up and leave her be. Something scraped against the grate. Marcel’s nervous twitter did nothing to calm her. But at least she had his presence.

“Stay clear, my sweet.”A scrape of metal tapped the hearth, and a foreboding of horrifying magnitude

surged through her Cinderella. Before she had time to consider how deep Stepmama’s depraved malevolence went, the skirt on the bed flew up from the opposite side. Cinderella scurried across the floor barely missing the stroke of the fireplace poker. It snagged the edge of her nightgown, ripping the delicate fabric.

Stepmama brandished the poker beneath the bed like a broom. Marcel darted forward and nipped Stepmama’s forearm. She did not seem to notice.

“Come out, child. I am waiting.”“Stepmama, non. Please,” she begged.“There is no one to hear, my dear. You know ’tis worse if you fail to obey, non?”

Another swipe of the poker missed her arm by mere inches.If she came out now, Stepmama would likely kill her. “Why?” she sobbed. “Why

do you hate me so?”“Maman?” Pricilla’s voice echoed through the chamber, clearly startling

Stepmama, the poker clattered to the floor. “What are you doing? Is there a mouse beneath the bed?”

“Oui, oui. Une souris!” Stepmama stood and let the bed skirt drop leaving Cinderella shrouded in gloom once more.

Cinderella stuffed a fist in her mouth to stifle her cries. Marcel’s tiny body moved close.

“I’ve come to check on Cinderella. But, alas, she is nowhere to be found, the ungrateful child.”

“Maman. You know you will catch your death if you are not careful.” Cinderella heard Pricilla’s tongue cluck as if she were the mother and not the other way around. “You know how sickly you can become. Let us worry not about her. We must get you back to your chamber, post haste.”

Cinderella drew Marcel in the palm of her hand. Comforting him; or was it he who comforted her? She listened as Pricilla helped Stepmama to her feet, cognizant of the shift in movement. Seconds later the door closed softly behind them. An ominous silence descended over the chamber.

Massive quakes racked her body, making it difficult to crawl from beneath the large bed. She set Marcel aside and with fingers frozen and stiff from the cold, she reached for the poker. A deep mar of streaked ash had it slipping from her hand,

clanging to the floor as reality set in. Great waves of hiccupping sobs roared through her. “What did I do? Why does she hate me so?” she cried. “Oh, Papa. Would that you were here…”

“Cinde? Cinde.” Essie’s arms suddenly wrapped her shoulders. She hadn’t heard her come in. “Come, dear. You are freezing.”

She let Essie guide her to the bed and tuck the covers about her. The touch of a damp cloth smoothed her tears away. She was barely aware of Essie climbing in alongside her murmuring nonsensical words of comfort while chills of fear racked her body.

“Oh, Essie. I don’t understand,” she whispered, quivering beneath the covers. “Why does she hate me so? Why?”

There was no answer in the silence that followed, when she finally succumbed to a fitful slumber.

Chapter 32

“Maman, what were you thinking? The queen could have you thrown in the gallows.”

“Oh, my dear, Pricilla.” Pricilla would have been prone to laughter were the outcome not so alarming. “That child shall be the death of me,” she spat. “Of us. All of my carefully laid

plans.” Pricilla watched her mother fan her face with the exaggerated dramatics of the

jesters hired for a lavish evening designed for entertainment. She led Maman down the quiet corridor, still working to slow the pounding of her heart. It threatened to land on the imported rugs they walked upon. A bloody mess it would be, too.

Lord, if she had not awakened and…Why, it was almost as if she’d possessed some sort of insightful magical powers that had her checking Maman’s bed. When she’d discovered her missing—well, that did not take magical powers. It only took living with Maman for the last eighteen years. ’Twas only a matter of moments before Pricilla directed her through the door of a plush chamber. She led Maman to the bed and lowered herself into a nearby chair on wobbly legs.

Pricilla looked over at her mother. Maman was illuminated by silver moonlight streaming through sheer linings. She was a problem. Something dire was bound to happen if they did not find some way to stop her first. But how on earth could she and Essie keep watch on Maman’s day in and day out? And on the heels of the betrothal ball, ’twould be a miracle someone did not end up dead or worse.

Pricilla should have never shoved that silver baton in Cinderella’s hands, she thought morosely. She could have taken care of things quite nicely with that little stick. She propped her chin on a fist. Nothing or no one else came to mind. They were on their own.

“That despicable child led me astray,” Maman hissed. “Shush, Maman, someone will hear,” Pricilla whispered desperately. She jumped

up and adjusted the pillows before Maman could work herself into a frenzy. Pricilla stayed Maman with an arm as she attempted to rouse from the bed. It took strenuous effort.

“She is out to destroy me. Moi.” She flounced her large frame.Pricilla flinched at the viciousness in her tone. Had Maman always been so

monstrous? Pricilla pushed the question from mind, knowing answers in the reflection glass of herself would not glean such a pretty picture.

“Mayhap, you have one of your megrims, Maman. Where is your potion?” Pricilla used the moonbeam through the window to search the vanity.

An odd flicker tinged the atmosphere but it was gone in a flash. A quick glance through sheer drapes showed clear skies, the moon full. Strange.

Moving to the bedside table, Pricilla spotted the potion and a small glass. Funny, she thought she’d looked there. In a fit of sheer madness, it dawned on Pricilla what she must do. With shaking fingers she uncorked the potion. “Maman?” Pricilla asked softly.

“Oui, dearest. My potion. I-I do seem to be having one of my megrims.”

Pricilla poured a measure into the glass. Then, lest she stop herself, poured another, then another… She placed the glass to Maman’s lips.

Maman drank hungrily. “Sleep, Maman. Soon you’ll feel much better,” Pricilla said, softly. She pressed

Maman back against the pillows, then brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “Merci, darling.” Maman patted her cheek. “I have always favored you, you

know, ma chère?” She whispered, a smile on her lips. Her eyes drifted shut.“Je suis desolée, Maman,” Pricilla choked out. Her voice sounded rough and

raspy to her own ears. “The betrothal ball is on the morrow. You need your sleep, you know.” Pricilla grasped Maman’s hand and lowered herself onto the mattress, shocked and dry-eyed, appalled by her actions. “I love you.”

Maman would not be giving anyone trouble much longer. Pricilla sat there for a long while.

Chapter 33

They were almost out of time.The evening of the betrothal ball had finally descended despite Essie’s

determination to keep it at bay. Cinderella felt her pain. Her feelings grew worse when she considered her own deception. Correction: deceptions. Not only was she Prince’s “mysterious princess” but she had done the unthinkable in setting her lips against his. Without his consent.

She laid her fingers against her mouth as the memory surged through her. Then moved her shaking fingers moved to her temples. How was she to survive the culpability of such egregious action? How could she ever face Essie again? Or Prince?

The seamstress stood off to one side waiting to administer a final fitting for their gowns.

“Where is Stepmama?” Cinderella asked with a nervous quiet. “I’ve yet to see her today.”

“Neither have I,” Essie snapped. “I hope you are not complaining of the fact.” Essie spun to the timid Manette and flung her hands out to her perfectly coiffed hair. “Do something with this…this unmanageable mane.”

’Twould seem Cinderella was not the only one on edge. She eyed Essie warily. This was an Essie of old, barking at the shy girl. Manette fumbled forward spilling the contents from her hands onto the floor.

“Now, see what you have done, you little imbécile.” Essie’s eyes had every lit taper in the chamber flickering with fury.

“That's enough, Essie,” Cinderella said. Her voice was soft, but strong, bringing Essie’s head up quickly. Cinderella dipped forward to help the poor girl gather the scattered pins.

“Pardonnez-moi, s'il vous plaît, Manette.” Tears filled Essie’s eyes, wiping away the edge of Cinderella’s pique. She bent down to help as well.

Pricilla’s unusual docile manner during the entire exchange drew Cinderella’s attention. Manette poured a dress over Pricilla’s head of soft powder blue silk and trimmed scallops of embroidered silver. Tiny bows edged the trim. The effect was compelling, turning her gray eyes rich with color. It was her jittery fingers brushing over the soft silk that finally sunk in.

“What is it, Pricilla?” Cinderella knew Pricilla heard her, but did not acknowledge the question right away.

“No…nothing.”’Twas nothing, all right. Cinderella rose and went to her, clasped her hand and

squeezed. Pricilla’s eyes lifted, meeting Cinderella’s in the mirror. Nothing could have prepared Cinderella for the sight that met her. Troubled stormy depths reached out.

“Whatever troubles you, do not worry so.”“Cill?” Essie appeared on her other side, took up her hand, and waited.The sight of the three of them before the mirror was momentous. Somber,

though the tone.“I killed her.”A chill of dread rippled up Cinderella’s spine. Striking like a coiled snake.

“Killed who, Cill?” Essie asked. Concern did not color Essie’s pitch.“No! Don’t say it,” Cinderella hissed.But Pricilla would not be reprieved. “Maman,” she whispered.“Of course, you didn’t kill her.” Essie patted her hand. “We just want to kill her.”

Essie dropped Cill’s hand. “Come. We must finish dressing for this outrageous farce.” A frown marred her brow, obviously remembering her current dilemma. She strode toward Manette, who held out an ivory cream silk, edged with the softest whispering of white velvet.

Cinderella did not move. She met Pricilla’s eyes in the glass and knew Pricilla spoke the truth.

Cinderella drew herself up and proclaimed in a soft yet fierce determination, “She killed herself. Do you understand me? She. Killed. Herself,” Cinderella did not know who she tried to convince, Pricilla or herself.

The grip she had on Pricilla was returned tenfold. A tense silence stretched between them.

“Oui. She killed herself,” Pricilla whispered, nodding.Cinderella watched her a moment longer willing her to remain calm. Pricilla’s

words pounded through her with glimmer of hope that would have her baking in the depths of Hades. Could Stepmama truly be gone? What a horrid, morbid thing to think? But the relief was staggering.

Convinced by Pricilla’s slow calm intakes, Cinderella released her hand and moved off slowly toward Manette who now struggling to keep the wrinkles from a breathtaking emerald green silk. Cinderella glanced back over her shoulder to Pricilla. She still stood before the looking glass, her winsome spirit dampened. Guilt filled Cinderella. It should have been her coming to terms with such nefarious deeds. She owed Pricilla more than she could say.

Pricilla’s distress only added to her beauty. Her translucent skin and shimmering light blond hair made her appear so fragile. Then she seemed to pull herself up in one fell swoop, fussed over her appearance in the reflection glass a moment or two longer, before turning a pragmatic direct gaze on Essie.

Cinderella let out a long held breath.Pricilla was back, for the moment, leastways. Though her confrontational blaze

did not bode well. Stomach pinched in apprehension, Cinderella found herself trying to edge her

way out of Pricilla’s peripheral sight.“Something is wrong,” Pricilla said, staring at Essie. “The white makes you look…

I don’t know… Ess. Wan…pallid, colorless, sallow.” Pricilla flung her hand out as more adjectives escaped her. “That dress is all wrong for you.”

Cinderella flinched. “Um, Pricilla, I vow she gets your meaning.” Cinderella resisted brushing damp palms over her lovely green silk skirts. Oh, this was not good at all. Almost all traces of Pricilla’s apprehension had vanquished.

Essie’s pent up vexation, however, had met its end. “What is that supposed to mean?” she shrieked, “We have been trying these dresses a week past and you vow to say something, now?”

To Pricilla’s credit, she did appear chagrined. Cinderella rushed over and grasped Essie’s hand, darted Pricilla her harshest glare. Not that it could help Essie. The white did make her appear ashen and bloodless, but mayhap it had more to do with wrought nerves.

Pricilla ignored Essie’s angry outburst and Cinderella’s meanest stare. Ha, ’twas the biggest jest around, besides. “I cannot be sure; but it’s just occurred to me, rationally speaking of course.”

“Of course,” Essie retorted.Pricilla paid her no mind. “The white would look much better on Cinde with her

dark coloring. And the green would work fabulously on you—match your eyes to perfection.”

Essie cast a critical gaze over Cinderella, Cinderella cringed. Essie’s nerves were not the only ones wrought. If the floor could swallow Cinderella up, she would be most grateful. She sent up a silent prayer to Fairy Godmother. As if anything could unbreak her magic stick. It was hopeless.

“I do so love that color,” Essie professed. “Mayhap I would not be so nervous if I did not feel so much like the sacrificial lamb on its way to the slaughter?”

An apt analogy, Cinderella professed inwardly.Oui, they were right. But Cinderella—lips pressed tightly together—refused to

comment, opting for another silent prayer of an open floor. She was small. All she needed was a minute crack to swallow her whole. She would never complain. The white dress was stunning and it did make Esmeralda’s pale skin look chalky. If Essie donned that green dress she had no doubt Prince would take one look at her and fall heedlessly in love.

Cinderella deserved this. Did she not steal a kiss from her sister’s betrothed without his knowing? Would this not serve as restitution for all time?

She gazed longingly at the ivory dress. It was hers. She wanted to slide it over her head one last time before being hauled away as the fraud she was. Fear had her trembling to the point of swooning.

Oh, what was she so afraid of? Stepmama was all but dead, she chided herself. Pricilla had confessed to her murder, though it was strange that the horns had not yet sounded. Mayhap she was not the only one thrilled about such a scenario and the poor wretched soul who happened upon her cold dead body had decided to keep mum.

Panic surged through Cinderella. Perhaps it was time. Non. It was past time. They deserved to know the truth, come what may. The opportunity had come to confess. She was the mysterious princess. Oh, blast it. Once she donned that white dress there would be no need to tell them anything. Everyone in the chamber would know the second it floated over her head, because she should be wearing it.

Perhaps, if she fainted.Oh, she was the worst of cowards. No question.But she wasn’t ready. Since Papa’s death, she’d been alienated, detested,

disliked, and mistreated by both Essie and Pricilla. And now they had formed a … a sisterhood. The three of them. As likely a scenario one might never happen upon a second time.

Wasn’t that the perfect fairy tale? But happy endings of this sort just were not possible. Stepsisters in any tale

were the bane of the heroine’s very existence. But this new unspoken harmony ruined the story for that scenario. How could she bear to relinquish this new kinship? She actually liked…mayhap even loved them. They were true sisters no matter what Stepmama or the fairy tales of old would have one believe.

Even with Pricilla’s wary, critical, and somewhat outspoken characteristics they cared for one another—like real sisters. Certainly, the first barrier had been difficult, but now it felt solid and right. Pricilla would never have put herself between

Stepmama and Cinderella, otherwise. The thought of hurting either of them pierced her heart like a flaming arrow.

“Well?” Essie asked. “Cinde?” Essie’s tentative tone indicated askance awaiting an answer.

Cinderella hesitated, opened her mouth to say—say what? But, Pricilla, with her typical impatience and matter-of-fact, no-nonsense, calm straightforwardness took care of the matter by plowing over any consideration either she or Essie might have. “Well, I do not see the problem.” She snapped her fingers at Kira, Manette’s assistant. “Vous, vite!”

The poor thing tripped over her own feet, jumping to Pricilla’s command.“The white shall be quite striking on you, Cinde, with your dark hair and eyes.

Why do you hesitate? Quick, we are out of time.” Essie said, bustling to Pricilla’s commands as well. With a vengeance, Cinderella thought with a scowl. The stays down the back of Essie’s dress fell quickly apart.

Cinderella spun about, faced both of them. “I-I want you both to know—” she stopped. Her breath came rapidly. Her head swam with the rush of oxygen. She gulped for air. Her control teetered on a glass edge, ready to shatter. “These…past few days…have been…”

“Cinde, you are blabbering like a fool. Unhook her dress,” Essie told Manette.Oh, heavens, she was hyperventilating. The chamber air swirled over them in a

thick fog. She fanned her cheeks with her hands. It was too gauche to ask Essie for a bit of breeze, she supposed. Manette circled behind and tripped the hooks with a blast of irritating speed and proficiency.

Non! She must confess. Cinderella flexed her fingers and forced another deep breath. “These have been the best days in my life since Papa died,” she said in a rush. Tears blurred her eyes, clogged her throat. The green silk slid down and Kira clasped her hand, helping her over the sea of emerald folds.

Essie ran over and threw her arms around Cinderella. “Oh, Cinde, I'll wear the white if it distresses you so. Please. Please do not cry. There have been enough tears, non?”

Cinderella returned her hug with a fierce intensity. “It’s not that,” she muffled against her shoulder. She straightened and set herself apart, and nodded to Manette.

The rich green silks cascaded over Essie’s body. Cinderella watched Essie’s reflection in the mirror with a sad smile. Yet, a sudden thrill rumbled through Cinderella. Essie would look her most stunning when they entered the ballroom.

Oui, it was time. While Essie’s attention was absorbed in donning the green dress, Kira slid the

glorious white masses over Cinderella’s head before. Tingling, shimmering particles touched the atmosphere.

As her head came through the wide neck, she caught Pricilla’s suspicious narrowed gaze, sweeping in to astonishment as the final transformation settled around Cinderella. The heap of cream fabric in the softest Chinese silk fell around her slight body. And as each fastener, stay by stay, molded her form, she wished for…for what?

The shimmers in the air morphed to 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. Panicked. She glanced about the chamber for a crack in the floor.

Pricilla’s quick sharp gasp brought Essie’s head around sharply. Her gaze shot straight to Pricilla’s focus—Cinderella. Silence deafened her, well, except for the blood pounding furiously through. Heat flaming her cheeks, Cinderella turned to the mirror in a slow thick motion. She met Pricilla’s accusing and Essie’s confused gazes in the glass.

“Je suis désolée. I’m sorry, I-I could not find a way—this must appear. Non. I-I should have told you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. But a sudden moment of resilience gripped her. Cinderella threw her shoulders back, tilted her head up, spun and looked at Essie. “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 would see in their expressions. A deathlike hush settled over the chamber. She gathered her courage and lifted her eyes to face their wrath.

But it wasn’t anger that met her. Essie’s mouth hung open, and Pricilla studied her with an intense practicality.

“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 lit 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 certain they would hold, Cinderella met Essie’s eyes. Stark relief from Essie sparked with 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.” “You act more nervous than I.” Prince would have laughed if he hadn’t thought

he might swoon.“Only because if you are not happy, I shall be the one to pay,” Arnald retorted.

“What of your maman? 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 over the hearth as a

thought occurred to him. “How is it that I did not know my dear maman 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 maman 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. Eyes

closed, he tried to grasp the swift flash, but alas, it escaped. Instead, he pinched 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 the effort to circumventing their 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, she tried 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.

“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?” A second later she frowned.

A hysterical laugh bubbled through Cinderella, knowing it was a probability in some monarchies. The perfect ending to a horrific fairy tale.

“You don’t think—” Essie started.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ess. The prince is more in love with Cinderella than his mysterious princess. He’ll be groveling on bended knee before you and me.”

“What?” Cinderella said. “What do you mean Prince is—”Strings, horns, wind instruments, and percussion pounded sounds of Mozart

through the walls indicating a ball in full swing, cutting her off. “Follow my lead,” Pricilla instructed. “Just remember what we planned.” Pricilla’s

calm demeanor was amazing.Esmeralda nodded. A lump constricted Cinderella’s throat. She had nothing. She

felt like one of the statues in the gardens—Thanatos, Greek god of death, she decided as an odd detachment took hold of her. Her silence was taken as concurrence. Pricilla inclined her head—not unlike Queen Thomasine—to the waiting footmen.

The doors to the ballroom swung wide and the music tapered off to a slow death. There was naught for it now. Cinderella sent up a silent pray. Her shaking knees would likely send her barreling to the bottom of the grandiose staircase in a heap.

Pricilla stepped forward and paused. Red flags dropped signaling for attention. The two footmen framing the doors lowered their trumpets. The blast shushed the crowd and the herald bellowed. “Lady Pricilla.”

A grim determination squared Pricilla’s shoulders and she stepped through the doors to the top rung. Pricilla was the bravest soul Cinderella would ever know. Ever. Pricilla gasped and glanced over her shoulder. Surprise and fear filled her eyes.

Cinderella closed her eyes waiting for the barrage of accusations. Had they somehow been found out? Non. non, that did not make sense. She and Essie were the ones who’d traded gowns…and no one had seen them yet. Cinderella opened her eyes. Pricilla was moving down the stairs.

Muted oohs and ahs reached her with the staid footman’s return. Essie shot her one last look of encouragement then handed the footman their note per Pricilla instructions. Brows beetled, he read. He looked from her to Essie. Cinderella’s battle to stave off her apprehension was quickly losing ground. They could not pull off this feat.

The scene took on a peculiar milieu, a strange ambience. She caught a small 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, unmistakable.

“Lady Esmeralda.” The herald’s bellow thundered throughout the hall, bounding off the wooden surfaces, seeming even louder.

The breath rushing from Essie matched her own. They’d made it through one more obstacle. Essie squeezed her hand then 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 Maman did not know. Prince was ready to howl at the moon. Her regal and

calm manner 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 around 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 seen from her hidden alcove. Alas, the window was too high, regardless.

The usual pleasure Prince took in the strains of Mozart pulverized his reserve into the taut strings of a pianoforte. He’d suffered through several dances. Every effort it took Prince to maintain his placid mask. He wanted to see Cinderella. There was something about her that soothed him. The wish for silence overwhelmed him.

The music ground to a halt, a bow screeched across a single violin string, screaming its last agonizing note in perfect accord with his stilled breath.

Prince cursed the 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 quadruple that. By all that was divine, could the grounds not open up to save him?

Alas, non. As future king, his fate was sealed.He drew himself up and moved to his place beside Maman, Papa and the

monstrous Lady Roche, as was expected. What else could he do but prepare for the inevitable?

There was 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 that 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, his reprieve minimal. It was only a matter of

time, non? He watched Pricilla push forward, head held high, prepared for battle. His eyes narrowed. In his short time with these sisters, he’d learned something from the three of 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 was surprised by his presence—yet—on closer inspection her gaze went past him to her mother.

Odd. She descended, adopting a facade of detachment. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched. His lips brushed her fingers, and for once he was grateful for de Lecce’s attendance as he stepped forward and escorted her aside.

From his peripheral vision he caught Lady Roche frantically fanning herself, dabbing a proud tear. His own maman, wore a small frown.

In hindsight, he should have confirmed the kidnapping, or leastways, the choking from his cravat. Arnald’s remark may have been said in jest, but the trepidation Prince experienced was coming to culmination.

Cinderella was next. She would give him a smile of courage. Her soft dark eyes would offer consolation

Sparkles colored the air as they so often did when she was about. His lips tipped slightly, thinking of her thick dark hair that refused to hold a fashionable curl. Her

theatrical delivery on the Eros and his personification of love when she wore the rags of a servant girl. He stuffed the hysterics that threatened to burst through. His thoughts were…traitorous. Why hadn’t he thought to try the glass shoe on Cinderella? His affection for her rivaled that of his mysterious princess. A mysterious princess who disappeared without a trace. Dark brown eyes filled his inner vision, merging with that of…non, non. ’Twas impossible.

Prince braced though fear clenched his insides and walls closed in. Rather than convincing himself of wedded bliss, he tried to focus on how entertaining the changing weather could be when or if his bride might have some hand in the phenomenon.

Before his thoughts ran to more worrisome matters, his future bride waltzed through the doors, head also high, eyes unblinking. The sense of something awry barely pervaded him. She looked lovely ensconced in scores of deep emerald silks, threaded with shimmering gold. The green enhanced the brilliance of her copper locks, coiled in an elaborate coiffure. She 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 Lady Esmeralda’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. The odd tingle in the air that Prince now referred 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 himself was ensnared just as sure and as fervent as the mass of onlookers. The ballroom took on a sharpness Prince had not experienced since the night he’d danced in the arms of one beloved mysterious princess. The air fairly cackled in 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 and the crowd waited in anticipation of the last 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 Lady Roche. 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 and the sense of swimming through molasses blasted him full force. He looked up.

Were his eyes playing tricks? It was her. His mysterious princess. But the herald said Lady Cinderella? Glitter filled the air.

Rich dark hair, just as he remembered, amassed in artistic magnificence encircled by a tiara of blinking diamonds sat atop her head. Mounds of full ivory

skirts and petticoats fanned soft silk behind her in an elaborate train as she made the slowest foray down the highest of grand balustrades known to man.

Fear met his eyes as she began her descent, but he recognized something new. Steeled determination registered in the tilt of her chin, in the glint of her focus. Shimmering sparkles that saturated the air, dissipated, as if a veil were slowly being lifted. For weeks he’d been seeing through a fog-filled vision.

Elation swept through him. He’d found his love. Satin gloves covered her arms left a small portion of exposed skin. His fingers

itched with the want of touch. He stepped forth, and a slight change altered her demeanor from fear to uncertainty.

His eyes feasted on the solitary teardrop diamond resting at the base of her throat. Her pulse beat in an irregular rhythm—the only sign of her terror. The swim through molasses fell away shifting his gait into a predatory glide. He dare not take his eyes from her. She would surely disappear. His gaze drifted down to her feet. She raised her dress so as not to trip with each methodical step in dainty glass slippers.

How could he not have known Cinderella was his lost love? The last of the Arnald’s words seeped in the consciousness of his mind: Mayhap she’s hidden right beneath your nose, Cousin. His gaze moved to the beauty of her face. The only thing missing in her appearance were the cinders on her cheeks. A tremulous smile tilted her lips. He lunged into a run.

No one would disappear this eve. Not this time, he vowed. He met her eyes and saw relief. Her smile turned knowing. She was on a mission and he was her goal.

He stepped up as she stepped down, one blissful step at a time until he had her wrapped in his arms, never to escape again. Let the gossips say what they will.

He’d found his mysterious princess. Prince touched his lips to hers in a fated seal. But not before she whispered with

sound confidence, “What were you thinking, my prince—trying my slipper on every maiden in the kingdom?”

Epilogue ICinderella caught the eye of her new husband and gave him a secret smile and a quick wink. He winked back. Happiness soared through her. She would never tire of looking at this charming man. He held her heart in the strongest of spells.

Her fairy tale had come true.Bits and pieces of conversation seeped into Cinderella’s spinning head. She

listened absently as Essie and Cill bickered over George Berkley’s An Essay Toward A New Theory Of Vision. Apparently, it questioned the objectivity of perception. She shook her head, smiling, as they hotly debated how the perception by sight and distance, magnitude and situation of objects of—well, she was not quite certain. She tried to follow, as their voices escalated into an argument that considered the differences between sight and touch, and anything common between the two. ’Twas confusing at best.

Their closeness brought her nothing but joy.Cinderella tossed two sugars into a cup of tea, no cream, for Essie, and handed it

to her. Then poured Pricilla’s who drank hers black. Then deftly snuck one cube to Marcel in her pocket. He nipped her finger in appreciation.

How different her life might have turned out had Essie not had such a dainty foot. She marveled in silence at such a miracle. How lucky to find such two extraordinary sisters that may never have otherwise materialized.

Not to mention, the expanded-shoe wardrobe. Things really did happen for a reason.

Epilogue IIPrince gazed lovingly at his new bride while she laughed affectionately at Esmeralda and Pricilla. Her velvety brown eyes were full of mischief and happiness. The change in her was nothing short of miraculous, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief, though curious in slipping a lump of sugar in her pocket. But they had the rest of their lives for answers.

How marriage plans with Lady Esmeralda had gotten as far as they had, could only be described as astonishing. Trying the slipper on every maiden in the countryside had not been one of his better ideas, he conceded. In retrospect, however, he’d not only gained a warm and loving wife, but an exceptional Land Manager in Lady Pricilla with her pragmatic manner and skills. Her dry wit worked wonders in handling the diverse and multifarious tenants throughout Chalmers. Who could have known?

The havoc she wreaked over Arnald was just added benefit.Lady Esmeralda proved a brilliant accountant, invaluable with her mathematics

wizardry. Not to mention her weather changing abilities, should the need ever arise. A snort of laughter escaped him, drawing all three sisters, Arnald’s, and Alessandro de Lecce’s quick attention. Prince smothered his laugh behind a quick cough and offered a small apology.

In his travels and single-minded way, it had never occurred to him the glass slipper could or would fit someone other than his “mysterious princess.” He made a mental point to take the time think to through solutions more thoroughly in the future. The idea was preposterous that a shoe should only be made to measure one person in an entire kingdom.

After all, it was not like some transcendental fairy godmother had swooped in to swing her magic wand to make the shoe fit only one foot!

Ludicrous.

The Real EpilogueThree months later

“I must confess,” Thomasine said. “’Twas a call too close for my comfort. I thought my son was to perish right before my eyes.”

“Nonsense,” Faustine said. “I assure you, I had control of the situation entirely.” “Mmm.” Thomasine turned to Arnald. “Dear boy, what a blessing you are to your

sweet maman,” she said, accepting the fluted glass of champagne from her nephew. She dropped into a second chair Faustine had so generously conjured.

“Oui, quite the dear,” Faustine agreed, pinching his cheek before snagging her own glass. Thomasine noticed her sister did not bother rising from her chair at all since he’d so conveniently leaned forward.

“Yes, quite,” Arnald agreed jerking his head. “However, I have a feeling my shortened life span is under consideration as we speak.”

“Nonsense,” Thomasine said. “He is curious how the two of you managed to keep the fact that you are twins

such a secret,” Arnald told them.“And how, pray tell, did you manage that one, Darling?”“I’m afraid he is not quite finished with the conversation as of yet. I shall have to

avoid him for a time.”“A not so difficult feat, I should think, with a new wife and all.” Thomasine sipped

her wine, thoughtfully, eyes reflecting the sparkling bubbles. “Just think! Soon I shall have grandchildren. Oh, the thought.”

Faustine frowned, jealousy marring her delicate brow, before lifting narrowed eyes to Arnald.

“I suspect I should be going…uh…before I am…uh… missed,” he said quickly, backing to the door.

“Oui. Perhaps you should,” Faustine said. Thomasine smiled as Faustine’s eyes remained focused on his hasty exit. “Who do you suppose I should set him up with, darling?”

“You know your powers do not allow you to force love, Sister dear.”“Alas, I do know,” Faustine snapped. “But I can certainly entertain the possibility

by throwing irresistible women in his path.” A petulant pout touched her lips.“Did not Cinderella break your little magic stick by stepping on it?”“Oui. I managed an adhesive to piece it back together,” she said absently. “It

works almost perfectly.”“Almost?" Thomasine squeaked, appalled. “Mayhap, we should leave the young

ones to find their own way, Faustine.”“Perhaps,” she murmured. “More champagne, dear?”“S'il vous plait.” Thomasine held out her glass.With a quick flick of her repaired wand, the bubbly spilled over the tops of their

flutes, along with their soft giggles.About the Author

Kae Elle Wheeler was born in Presque Isle, Maine. How she ended up in Texas, Colorado then Oklahoma is as much a mystery to her as anyone. She graduated from the University of Central Oklahoma with a BA in Management Information Systems and a minor in Vocal Music.

In the big picture, she has not been writing near as long as some of her writing cohorts, but has already completed a number of manuscripts. An avid traveler, she’s been to Europe, Mexico, Canada and roams the country from one RWA conference to another, nationwide. She’s served several positions in the Oklahoma RWA Chapter, is a member of The Beau Monde and DARA chapters.

Kae Elle lives with her musically talented husband in Edmond, Oklahoma, has one grown daughter and one bossy cat!

http://www.klwheeler.comhttp://www.kae-elle-wheeler.comhttp://facebook.com/@KaeElleWheeler