So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  Unaware of her thoughts, Charles gestured at the carriage. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not.”

  He started to open the door for her, but Cinderella shook her head. “I’m sitting with you—in the driver’s seat.”

  “It’s chilly out,” he protested.

  She grabbed one of the blankets from inside the coach. “Then I’ll wear this.”

  Gathering the folds of her skirt in her hand, she climbed up to the carriage box, ignoring Charles’s extended hand.

  “It’s rather high. Are you sure you don’t—”

  Cinderella plopped onto the seat and grinned down at him. She held out her hand to him. “Do you need help getting up?”

  Returning her grin, the prince took her hand, and she helped him up to the driver’s box. It was a tight and narrow space, made for a single driver and barely large enough to fit them both without their knees grazing one another’s and their arms so close they were practically linked, but Cinderella didn’t mind. Maybe she hadn’t needed the blanket after all—the warmth of his presence next to her was enough to make her cheeks burn.

  “Where are we going?” she asked after he prodded the horses to begin moving.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Another surprise? You’re spoiling me.”

  “Once all of Aurelais knows who you are, we won’t have the luxury of going out.”

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. “But after word spread at school that I was the prince, everyone began asking me for favors for their family or avoiding me. Some of the students even hated me.”

  “Hated you? For being the prince?”

  Charles’s jaw clenched, and he nodded. “I don’t blame them. Many people think the nobility holds too much power, too much wealth. Things have changed, Cinderella, but not enough. And they won’t, not when men like Ferdinand are in charge.”

  “I thought your father was in charge.”

  “My father cares deeply for the people, and the country . . . but as he’s gotten older, I think he’s lost sight of how to rule Aurelais. Too much time with the Royal Council, listening to men who eat with golden spoons and sleep on goose-feather pillows. It was different when my mother was still alive.”

  “How so?”

  “He loved her dearly, but they didn’t always get along. Father has an explosive temper, you see, and he’s stubborn as a bull. He and my mother would argue fiercely over how to govern Aurelais. She wanted him to focus more on the people rather than on pleasing the council. I remember during one argument she called him a child for letting Ferdinand and the council influence his decisions instead of listening to his heart. I want to be a king who listens to his heart.” He sighed. “There I go, talking about politics when we should be talking about you.”

  “I want to hear it,” Cinderella said, gazing at the city below them. Thousands of lamplights glittered beneath the hill, twinkling like a constellation of stars. “Aurelais is my home, too. I’ve spent too many years trapped inside my stepmother’s home, not knowing what’s been happening around me.”

  “Then you will,” promised the prince. “But tonight is for us.”

  Along the outskirts of Valors, Charles stopped their coach before an open-air theater. “Here we are,” he said nervously, tethering the horses to a nearby tree. “It’s just a rehearsal, but I’ve heard the dancers are even better than the Royal Ballet’s. I thought you might like it.”

  “I do.” Cinderella marveled at the stage, a simple wooden platform surrounded by a crown of oak trees adorned with hundreds of candles. Half a dozen wagons and coaches were scattered across the field: other patrons who’d known about that night’s rehearsal. Closer to the stage were benches and makeshift chairs, each seat filled by someone raptly anxious for the ballet to begin. The orchestra was much smaller than the one that had played at the masquerade the night before, but its music sailed on the wind, carrying clear and true to Cinderella’s ears.

  “The ballet tonight is Dancing Princesses,” announced the conductor, before the overture began in earnest.

  “Ohh,” she breathed.

  “You know the story?”

  “You don’t?” When the prince shook his head, she smiled. “It’s about twelve princesses who sneak out to dance in a magical fairyland. Their father is so distressed about it he offers one princess’s hand in marriage to anyone who will discover where they go each night.”

  Charles raised an eyebrow. “Is anyone able to solve the mystery?”

  “You’ll have to watch the ballet to find out,” Cinderella replied mischievously. “It was one of my favorite stories growing up.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “No. When I was a child, I loved pretending to be a princess in a castle, waiting for some curse to befall me and a handsome prince to break it. But as I got older, the feeling of being trapped was all too real. . . .” Her voice drifted. “After Mama and Papa died, things changed. I realized that real life isn’t a fairy tale.” She threaded her arm through his. “Sometimes, it’s for the better.”

  “It’s funny. I used to pretend to be sick so I wouldn’t have to go to the ballet. And when I did go, I’d fall asleep. My mother would laugh to see me going willingly.”

  A flood of warmth radiated inside Cinderella’s chest, and she teased, “Are you going to fall asleep tonight?”

  “I have a wild guess the company will make a difference.” He spread a blanket over their laps. Under the moonlight, their hands brushed against each other. “Besides, Father’s royal box always smelled of stale cedar and politics. Both were very conducive to falling asleep.”

  A gentle breeze tickled Cinderella’s nape, and she shivered as she inhaled the fresh air. No stale cedar here, nor the sweet undertone of perfume that usually pervaded the palace. She did catch a whiff of sugared nuts from a vendor closer to the stage, and the smell of horsehair. But she didn’t mind.

  “Politics doesn’t have a smell.”

  “Oh, it does. I could never even hear the music because someone was always trying to get Father’s ear.”

  “Someone like the Grand Duke?”

  “It was Ferdinand ninety percent of the time,” admitted the prince.

  The mention of the Grand Duke made Cinderella’s mood somber. She leaned forward, trying to relish in the music of the overture.

  “Something’s troubling you,” Charles observed. “Tell me.”

  She bit her lip, glancing at the costumed ballerinas waiting offstage. A few of them were dressed as fairies. “Can I ask something of you?”

  “You may ask anything of me.”

  “My fairy godmother told me that magic was once a part of everyday life here in Aurelais. But now she and her kind have been banished. I’d . . . I’d like to help her return.”

  “Then we shall,” Charles promised. “I’m supposed to begin attending the council meetings shortly. I will bring it up the first chance I’m able.”

  Warmed by his answer, Cinderella started to reach for his hand, then hesitated. She didn’t like the thought of keeping anything from him. “My godmother also told me that the king banished her kind because of . . . what happened with your mother.”

  The prince’s brow knit with confusion. “What happened?”

  “You don’t know?” she said softly.

  “She was sick—many in the kingdom were. She and Father sent me to the countryside that winter so I wouldn’t fall ill.”

  She swallowed. “My fairy godmother said that your mother ordered all the royal physicians to leave the palace and treat those in need. That she joined them, and when she became ill . . . it was too late. The Grand Duke blamed her death on the kindness and selflessness that the fairies blessed her with when she was born. And then . . . he convinced your father to exile all fairies from Aurelais.”

  Charles’s jaw tensed. “I never knew,” he said at last. “Every time I asked my father, he refused to speak of her. Her death
hurt him so much.”

  A couple of ladies sitting a row ahead turned to look at them.

  Cinderella touched Charles’s hand and lowered her voice. “I understand if you’ve changed your mind about wanting to help.”

  “No, I haven’t. My mother was the kindest person I ever met, and there isn’t a day that I don’t miss her.” Charles inhaled a ragged breath. “But from everything she ever told me about magic, I know that it doesn’t make your choices for you. She would never have wanted my father to banish the fairies. She would never have let him unfairly persecute hundreds based on . . . on lies.”

  The prince turned to her. “Come with me to the next council meeting. I’ll do whatever I must to convince my father to change the law. You can ask your fairy godmother to testify—”

  “No, it isn’t safe for her. Not with the Grand Duke here. He was helping his father take advantage of yours back then. Surely he wouldn’t want things to change now. But . . . I will advocate for her, if I can.”

  “Why am I not surprised that Ferdinand would have something to do with this?” Charles gritted his teeth before giving her a small smile. “Don’t worry, Cinderella, we’ll have a word with him.”

  Cinderella squeezed his hand. “Together.”

  “Together.” Charles clasped her hand over his. The ballet was about to begin. “Now I want to tell you something. I promised to show you the world, but I can’t promise we’ll have many nights like this, with just the two of us.”

  “No royal guards watching and listening to everything we say and do?” she joked, but Charles’s face was still sober.

  “I thought about what you said—that Aurelais has never had a commoner for a princess.” Charles squeezed her hand. “You will be the first.”

  Cinderella exhaled. This had also been weighing on her heavily. “I don’t know the first thing about being a princess. How to walk or talk or—”

  “Protocol and etiquette are overrated,” Charles interrupted, trying to reassure her. “Who cares what fork should be used for asparagus or olives or oysters? Or how one addresses a baroness versus a countess? But if that’s what worries you—all the rules can be learned. What can’t be learned is the happiness your laugh brings to those around you or the way your eyes dance when you smile.

  “It’s no small thing I ask of you,” he continued. “And I would understand if you changed your mind. Or if you need more time.”

  Trying to untangle the emotions and thoughts inside her, Cinderella fell quiet. All this time, what had kept her from readily accepting Charles’s proposal? Fear that she wouldn’t be accepted, fear that he had fallen in love with the idea of the girl at the ball, not her. Fear that she wasn’t ready to make such a life-altering decision, not so soon after finally escaping her stepmother.

  But perhaps she was ready. If she listened to the strongest emotions bubbling around her heart, they urged her to be happy. Wasn’t that what Lenore had taught her? Wasn’t that the point of it all? There were so many things they had no control over—the pride and machinations of others, disease, death. Shouldn’t they hold on to happiness when they had it? Already in these past few days, she’d been happier with Charles than she had in years. The answer was simple.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering as soon as the words left her.

  Charles looked at her, the light in his eyes wavering. “Then—”

  “Yes,” she spoke over him. “I accept.”

  He drew her close, holding both her hands and bringing them to his lips.

  Wishing this moment could last forever, she leaned against the prince’s shoulder. At last, she knew.

  So this was love.

  To his dismay, Ferdinand was not invited to dinner. He blamed Genevieve.

  Brimming with the information that magic had returned to Aurelais, he waited for the king to return to his chambers. But when the opportunity finally arrived, the guards at the door stopped him from entering.

  “The king is asleep, Your Grace. He is not to be disturbed.”

  The duke sniffed. “I have important—urgent—news for His Majesty.”

  “We were given specific orders, Your Grace. I’m afraid I cannot let you pass—”

  “This is important!” Ferdinand wedged himself between the guards, ignoring their protests and attempts to stop him, and barged through into the king’s bedchambers.

  “Your Majesty, Your Majesty,” he cried, drawing the long velvet curtains that bathed the king’s bedroom in darkness. He shook George’s arm, hovering over him as the king stirred. “Sire, I have urgent news.”

  King George rolled over in his bed, then threw a pillow over his head. “Ferdinand? Confounded man, I asked not to be disturbed! Go away. That’s an order!”

  “But Your Majesty, the prince has found the mysterious maiden.”

  At the news, the king shot up on his bed. “This is cause for celebration. Quick, quick, the—”

  “You’d best listen to my report, first,” interrupted the Grand Duke, lighting the candle at the king’s bedside.

  “What is it? I don’t have all day.”

  “It’s the girl,” said Ferdinand curtly. “It appears that your son, the prince, has uncovered her identity, and . . .” He paused for effect.

  “And?” repeated the king. “From your tone, I’ll take it you aren’t pleased. Let me guess, she’s a baroness. No, a merchant’s daughter. A mysterious heiress?”

  “She’s a servant,” Ferdinand said flatly.

  “A servant.” George leaned back, stroking his chin. A dry hacking sound escaped him, and Ferdinand couldn’t tell whether it was a laugh or a cough. “Now that is unexpected.”

  Ferdinand struggled to conceal his frustration. The king was beginning to sound increasingly like his sister. “My question to you, sire, is what do we do about it? The prince is intent on marrying her, but as you know, this cannot be. She’s not only a servant, but also an orphan.”

  “Why should that matter?”

  Ferdinand threw up his arms. “Because the prince plans to ask for your permission to marry her.”

  “He has it.”

  Ferdinand’s jaw went slack. That was wholly unexpected. “B-b-b-but . . .”

  “Enough, Ferdinand. You wrote the proclamation yourself, didn’t you?” King George shoved a copy of it in the duke’s face.

  “Said noble prince will, upon bended knee, beg, request, or if need be, implore said maiden that he be granted her hand in marriage. Whereupon should the aforementioned maiden look with favor upon his suit, then shall the happy couple pledge their troth . . .”

  “ ‘And in due course,’ ” finished Ferdinand, “ ‘upon the inevitable demise of His Most Gracious and August Majesty, the King, succeed to the throne, there to rule over all the land, as king and queen of our beloved kingdom.’ ”

  The inevitable demise.

  Ferdinand’s thoughts lingered on the phrase, and he recalled how he’d ignored it. It was a standard line, one that normally concluded decrees of such nature. Besides, reports from Dr. Coste always stated that though George’s health was weaker than before, it was in no perilous state. Nothing was amiss. That had been as Ferdinand had wanted it.

  But ever since that blasted ball . . . Now the wording snagged Ferdinand’s attention.

  It was he, the Grand Duke, who should rule Aurelais upon George’s passing, not the prince and his scullery maid.

  It would have been fine if Charles had the decency to marry one of the foreign princesses Ferdinand had selected, but a maid? And one with a fairy godmother?

  As always, Ferdinand would have to take matters into his own hands. The king wouldn’t understand how dangerous the girl was. He’d have to exaggerate her story, fabricate a background for her. A sorceress . . . yes, he would tell King George that the maid practiced dark magic. That, if anything, would get His Majesty’s attention.

  When the king wasn’t looking, Ferdinand patted one of the side pockets in his trousers, making sur
e that what he’d tucked inside was still there. Something would be amiss, and soon.

  “A son of mine can’t renege on his promises,” went on King George. “Besides, the ballroom’s already decorated for a party—we’ll have the wedding tomorrow! No, today!”

  The king’s inattention grated on Ferdinand.

  Patience, he reminded himself. Eliminate the root of the threat.

  “But I haven’t finished,” he said, waiting to reveal his trump card.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If only you’d listened to reason, sire,” he lamented. “I knew the prince had fallen in love unnaturally quickly.” Ferdinand leaned closer to the king’s bedside. “The mystery maiden enchanted him, and that is why the poor young man hasn’t been able to think straight since he met her. She cast a spell on him!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ferdinand. This has gone on long enough.” King George suppressed a cough. “I know you dislike the idea of Charles marrying a commoner, but these are modern times. This is hardly enough reason to wake me from my rest.”

  “It’s true, Your Majesty. I heard it from the girl’s lips myself.” Ferdinand seized a nearby chair and shifted it close to the king’s bed. He lowered his voice. “She admitted to having magic. That was why she left the ball so suddenly.”

  The king wasn’t listening anymore. “Come, help me get dressed. Is she in the palace? Have someone fetch her.”

  “Listen to me, Your Majesty, you haven’t even met the girl. She could be a—”

  “A sorceress?” The king let out a shallow laugh. “If she’s cast a spell over my son, then so be it. She can have him!”

  “Sire!”

  “Don’t keep ‘sire’-ing me.” King George let out another cough and cleared his throat, looking aggravated.

  “She could be practicing dark magic.”

  “If she were, you wouldn’t bother telling me. She would be in the dungeon by now.”