So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  Even more so, because Charles clearly was in love with her.

  Ferdinand had to tell the king right away. But first, he needed to ensure the king would be on his side. These days, now that Charles had returned, that was increasingly unlikely. Well, Ferdinand would take drastic measures to make the king agree. Even if that required some magic of his own.

  A visit to his trusted pharmacist would do just the trick.

  At last, Duchess Genevieve retired for her afternoon nap, and Cinderella tiptoed out of the bedchamber and quietly shut the door.

  Behind her, Bruno nipped at her ankles and let out a low woof.

  “Her Highness is asleep.” She placed a finger on her lips. “Be good now. I’ll be back soon.”

  After filling Bruno’s water bowl, Cinderella tore off her wig and undid her apron. She needed to freshen up in her chambers before meeting Charles, but attending to the duchess as well as taking over Amelia’s chores had taken all morning and afternoon. It was already past four.

  After bidding goodbye to Bruno, she raced for her quarters. Well, servants weren’t exactly permitted to race across the palace, but Cinderella did her best. Her heels clicked at a brisk tempo against the wooden parquet, her steps a steady counterpoint to the unsteady beat of her heart. She hadn’t known her heart could dance, but here it was, beating in a maddening rhythm that thrummed in her chest and buzzed in her ears.

  It didn’t slow as she changed in her room, so filled was she with the idea of a fresh start. And as her mind whirled, she realized there was one person she wanted to tell—one whose life could change just as much as hers.

  “Fairy Godmother? Lenore?” Cinderella whispered as she looked into the mirror. There was no answer. Perhaps the fairy had borrowed too much magic and could not get to her. Cinderella went on, hoping her godmother could hear her from wherever she was. “All is well now—between the prince and me, but I haven’t forgotten about you. I’m going to tell Charles about the ban on magic. Once he hears more about the situation, I know he’ll confront the Grand Duke and talk to his father about reversing it.”

  Cinderella paused, gently touching the mirror with her fingertips to seal her promise. Then she made her way out of the servants’ quarters, ready to meet the prince. She did not know what the afternoon would bring, but she had more hope in her heart than she’d had in a very long time.

  She was just rounding the hallway with the portraits when she heard it—a familiar voice calling her name.

  Cinderella. Cinderella.

  Startled, Cinderella came to a stop. The gallery was empty. . . . Where was the voice coming from?

  “Lenore?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  The painting to her right shimmered. It was one she had noticed before—of Genevieve and Arthur—and the voice seemed to be coming from the volume under the Duke of Orlanne’s arm, with the obscured title, Enchantments. . . .

  “Yes,” whispered her fairy godmother. Her voice was tremulous and faint. “My child—”

  “Did you hear me earlier? I have such wonderful news. About Charles.” She blushed. “I mean, the prince. He knows it was me at the ball, and he . . . I think he cares for me. He’ll help you, I know it.”

  “Oh, my dear, I know you think you’ve solved it, but . . . perhaps you need to know more about what happened. Why magic is forbidden.”

  Cinderella drew closer. She couldn’t see Lenore, but the outline of a pearly white wand glimmered from the spine of the painted book. Her godmother was there. “I’m listening.”

  “Years ago, when the queen was born, all the high fairies of Aurelais blessed her with gifts: beauty, charm, grace, kindness, wit—and lastly, selflessness. As she grew up, she brought joy to everyone who met her, most of all to the king. But there were those who sought to take advantage of her kindness, the Grand Duke’s father being one of them.

  “One winter, a terrible fever spread across the kingdom. Out of the goodness of her heart, the queen sent all the royal physicians to look after the people. There weren’t enough doctors, so on some days, she went, too. Then things worsened, and the fever took her.”

  Cinderella drew a sharp breath. “Poor Charles.”

  “It was a dark time,” Lenore continued. “The Grand Duke’s father took advantage of the king’s grief. For years, he’d been threatened by the power fairies possessed, by the influence we could have on the court. He took advantage of the growing distrust and fear already rampant in the kingdom against our kind. He blamed us for making the queen too kind, too selfless. Rallying those who were already rounding up and executing fairies, he hunted the high fairies who had blessed the queen and destroyed their wands. The king, distraught, listened, and he forbade magic in Aurelais and banished all fairies, warning that it we ever returned, not only would our wands be broken, we would be imprisoned for life.” Her voice deepened. “That is why we have been living in exile.”

  “Oh, Lenore,” Cinderella whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “I tell you this only so you are careful, my child,” said her godmother. “There are those in this castle who are very content with the way things stand—the present Grand Duke being one of them. I have heard that he has taken up his father’s causes with gusto.”

  “What about the Duke and Duchess of Orlanne?” Cinderella asked. “I found something in the library that I think they wrote to one another years ago, about trying to help.”

  Lenore smiled sadly. “The Duke of Orlanne did his best to fight the ruling, and he lost much of his support in the council doing so. He and the duchess warned many fairies when the Grand Duke would begin his hunt.”

  “The duchess is back now,” said Cinderella. “She could help. And the prince . . .” Cinderella couldn’t give up the idea that things could be different—for all of them.

  Lenore’s voice brightened slightly. “The prince’s love is what you deserve, my dear. But the duke will be suspicious of you once he learns of Charles’s affections. Even more so if you start talking about magic. Be happy, and keep yourself safe. Do not interfere.”

  “But Fairy Godmother, I—”

  The grandfather clock at the end of the hall began to chime, cutting off Cinderella’s reply. She glanced back, making sure no one else had entered the hall.

  They were still alone, but when Cinderella turned back, the painting had gone still.

  “I’m going to help you,” she promised.

  Charles was waiting for her in the glass conservatory before the garden entrance. He started when their gazes met, lurching slightly forward and nearly tripping over his shoes. Cinderella chuckled, and the prince’s eyes filled with mirth.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she began. Her voice trailed as she remembered what Lenore had said about his mother. She wanted to ask him about magic, but Lenore’s warning to be careful was fresh on her mind. She’d wait until they were outside of the palace and out of range of the duke, with his “ears” everywhere.

  “I got a little sidetracked in the gallery.”

  “And here I thought Aunt Genevieve was the one keeping you,” Charles teased.

  “She did give me a few extra chores,” said Cinderella, grateful when he didn’t ask if she had told the duchess yet that she was his intended bride. “I don’t think she’s very happy with me right now—I brought her the wrong type of tea three times.”

  She blushed sheepishly, and as his smile widened, her stomach gave a pleasant flutter. She smiled back at him. “I guess my mind was somewhere else.”

  “I’ve become quite familiar with the feeling,” confessed Charles, gesturing at his clothes. “I might have put this shirt on backward twice today.”

  “You?” she said playfully. “I assumed you had a valet who dressed you. Maybe two.”

  “Since the day I was born,” replied Charles in a serious tone.

  “Really?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I am quite capable of dressing myself. Sometimes, I worry it’s the only thing I’ll be capable of.
”

  Though he tried to hide it, a note of melancholy colored the prince’s last words.

  “You sound worried,” said Cinderella softly.

  “I am,” Charles murmured. “So much has changed. It’s funny, the thought of one’s parents getting old. When we’re children, they worry so about us. Now I feel like things have reversed, and soon I’ll be expected to take on his responsibilities. I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  Before Cinderella could reply, Charles brightened and gestured at the garden doors. “But we’ve lingered here long enough. Come, there’s so much I want to show you.”

  “Where are the guards?” asked Cinderella. She’d been nervous about coming to this part of the castle, half expecting the guards wouldn’t permit her outside. But she hadn’t come across a single one.

  “I dismissed them. As of today, anyone in the palace is welcome to enjoy the gardens.”

  Cinderella’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that?”

  “By royal decree of the crown prince.” With a flourish, Charles stepped aside, revealing a new sign he’d posted on the glass door.

  “ ‘By royal command,’ ” Cinderella read, “ ‘every person in the palace, whether a member of the royal household, a guest of His Majesty the King, or a retainer of the crown, hereby shall be permitted access to the royal gardens.’ ” She clasped her hands, mustering her enthusiasm. “It’s very nice.”

  But something was still missing, and it showed on her face.

  “What is it?” asked the prince.

  “Every person in the palace,” she repeated. “Why not anyone in Aurelais—or anyone at all?”

  “Surely not anyone can walk into the palace,” said Charles, confused.

  “Valors doesn’t have a public garden,” Cinderella explained, “and the palace . . . one of the reasons I dreamed of going to the ball was because I spent all my life staring up at it. Opening the gardens would give everyone a glimpse of the palace—of their ruler. Even if it was just part of the garden.”

  “You have a point. I’ll bring it up with my father—how is that?”

  Her smile widened, and that was all the response he needed.

  Taking the prince’s outstretched arm, Cinderella stepped through the double doors into the gardens. It was nearly sundown, and a soft glow bathed the flowers.

  “This way,” Charles said, gesturing at a wooden bridge over a pond. “When do you have to be back?”

  “To the duchess?” Cinderella repeated. “I hope she doesn’t mind my telling you her naps are usually an hour long.”

  “Then that’s just enough time.”

  “For?”

  “A surprise,” replied the prince, guiding her through a garden of fluted lilies. Across the lilies was a pond, its waters a vibrant green from reflecting the trees around it. In the center of the pond swam two elegant white birds, their long necks curved toward one another.

  “Swans!” Cinderella breathed. She leaned against the bridge’s rail and gazed at the pair of swans gliding across the pond.

  At her side, Charles rested his elbows on the bridge. “They’re here every evening before sundown. Sometimes, during sunset, you can see the light dapple their feathers. Look.”

  Rays of golden light stroked the swans’ wings, which shimmered against the still waters.

  “I used to come here whenever I could to watch them,” said Prince Charles. “I’m certain it’s been the very same pair of swans for years. When I saw them, I’d feel a little less lonely.”

  “How happy they look,” mused Cinderella, watching as the swans took flight, their feet skidding across the pond before they soared into the sky. “Free to come and go as they please.”

  She watched them weave through the clouds until they finally disappeared.

  “What are you thinking about?” asked the prince.

  “Once they fall in love, they stay in love forever,” Cinderella murmured, repeating what he’d told her at the masquerade. “My parents had a love like that. Always laughing together, telling each other stories, and dancing with me in the middle. My mother was the one who taught me how to waltz. And to sing.”

  Cinderella started for one of the trees on the other side of the bridge. “There used to be a swing in the family garden, one hanging from a sturdy oak tree—just like this one. Mama would sit on it and sing about the sweet nightingale perching on the branches above her. Sometimes, she’d put me on her lap and my papa would push the two of us toward the sky. When I got older, birds used to sit outside my window, too. The same ones every day. I’d listen to them before starting my chores.”

  “Your chores?”

  Cinderella faltered. She hadn’t meant to bring up that aspect of her past, but she trusted him enough to tell him the truth. “Yes . . . after my father passed away, my stepmother dismissed the household staff to help make ends meet. Her stepdaughters took my bedroom and my clothes, and I . . . I became their servant.” She placed her hand on his, anticipating his reaction. “It’s in the past now. I’m happy, and I’m definitely not lonely anymore. I have Louisa—she’s the first friend I’ve had in years, aside from my dog, Bruno, and the mice in my stepmother’s house. And now I have you.”

  Charles entwined his fingers with hers. “My parents didn’t have any other children,” he mused, “and Father was always busy in meetings with the council. I didn’t have many friends, but I encountered a few wise professors, and I learned to love my studies—I spent hours every day in the library. Books became my friends because I didn’t have real ones.”

  “I loved reading, too,” said Cinderella wistfully. “My parents used to have a beautiful library.” She omitted the fact that her stepmother had sold off many of the books. “There’d be stories about the countries around us. I’d forgotten most of them until now. It’s easy to forget how vast the world is, and how little of it I’ve seen. I’ve . . . I’ve never even been outside the capital.”

  “Then I’ll bring you,” Charles promised. “I’ll take you all around the world. We’ll tour all the neighboring kingdoms. Together. But I have to warn you, traveling as royalty isn’t as grand as it looks.”

  “You mean, it’s not thirty courses at every meal and servants waiting on you hand and foot?” Cinderella teased.

  “Not always. Everything is always planned out for you. You don’t get to choose where you want to go or what you want to do. But you do get to learn more about the world, and see lots of operas and ballets.”

  Cinderella covered her mouth, hiding a laugh. “To anyone else, that would sound wonderful. Especially the ballet. I haven’t been to see one since I was a little girl, but I can easily do without the thirty-course meal and the servants.”

  Prince Charles grimaced. “I’m sounding spoiled, aren’t I?”

  “You grew up being told how to act. What to wear, what to say, where to go, and what to eat. I understand that. . . . It wasn’t so different for me.”

  He took her hand. “It is silly feeling sorry for a prince. But up until now, I never had a choice in anything. Before I left for school, the only time I left the palace was when I was out with my father on official business. Even when I did go out, I saw only a sliver of Aurelais. I should have gotten to know my country. I’ll have to rule Aurelais one day, and everything I do will be scrutinized by my council and my people. If there’s one freedom I’m determined to have, it’s to choose who I love and marry.”

  The warmth in his words made Cinderella’s stomach flip. Strange, they’d only been together for a few hours at most, yet how familiar he was becoming to her.

  She looked into his eyes, suddenly feeling bold. “I want to go everywhere with you. Whether we get to choose where we go, or not.” She brightened, an idea hitting her. “Louisa and I sneaked away to go to the masquerade—we could dress up as merchants when everyone’s sleeping and slip out.” She grinned. “See the real Aurelais, as you say.”

  “You mean it?” Charles asked. When she nodded, he clasped her hands, bringin
g them to his chest. “Let’s start tonight. I’ll try to get Aunt Genevieve to dismiss you early for the evening. Meet me by the coach house? I have someplace I want to bring you.”

  The coach house wasn’t far from the stables, which Cinderella often passed on her morning walks with Bruno after she’d brought the duchess breakfast. She hadn’t paid much attention to it before; it was where the royal carriages were kept. There had to be over a dozen carriages, each with gilded trimmings along the doors, fine velvet upholstery, and thick blue flags.

  She didn’t see the prince anywhere, or any attendants.

  “Charles?” she called out.

  No answer.

  The coach house was empty.

  Cinderella walked toward the stables, wondering where the prince could be. He’d told her to wait outside the coach house on the path, but—

  There, at the very end of the road, was a carriage that had none of the royal finishes. It was plain, with faded white paint peeling along the edges, and open windows instead of glass panes or curtains. In the driver’s seat was a shadowy figure she couldn’t make out in the dim lamplight. The wheels grumbled against the gravel path and the horses nickered.

  The carriage stopped, and Cinderella gasped.

  The driver was Charles!

  Setting down the reins and climbing down from his seat, he looked at her sheepishly, the slightest pink tinge coloring his cheeks. A driver’s cap covered most of his black hair, and he wore a twill coat that was ever so slightly too boxy and large. But for his face, he was almost unrecognizable.

  “I encouraged everyone to take the evening off,” he explained, even though she hadn’t asked for an explanation. He seemed nervous, which was oddly comforting.

  She was nervous, too.

  Don’t be silly, she tried to reason with herself. There was nothing to worry about, and he knew who she was—a commoner, a former servant in her stepmother’s house—and he didn’t care in the least. So why was her heart racing?

  Because she was finally spending time with him—as herself instead of as the maiden with the glass slippers or the princess with the mask. And also because she still needed to ask him about her fairy godmother, and whether he could help her return to Aurelais.