So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  This was true, and Ferdinand cursed his luck that the king was in a mood of reason. Regrettably, it meant Ferdinand needed to resort to his backup scheme. “Are you quite well, Your Majesty?” he asked, putting on his most concerned voice. “Perhaps you should have some tonic for your cough.”

  “Bah, tonics are useless. Pass me my sleeping draught.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Are you blind, Ferdinand? It’s behind you—on my desk. Dribble a bit into my tea. Just a pinch now, I don’t want to fall asleep immediately.”

  Surreptitiously, the Grand Duke turned his back to the king and reached into his pocket for a vial of his own: a little something he’d commissioned from a trusted pharmacist.

  It was stronger than his past requests. Far stronger. But the pharmacist hadn’t even asked what it was for. Everyone trusted Ferdinand. With good reason, too. Who had helped run Aurelais after the queen had passed, leaving King George overcome with grief? Who had attended every council meeting and kept the court together whenever the nobles quarreled?

  Forcing his shaking hand to steady, he slipped a delicate dash of his vial’s contents into the king’s draught. Then a quick splash of the sleeping draught to mask the bitterness. An invisible thread of guilt tightened around his neck, and he tugged at his collar uncomfortably.

  Sometimes a bit of unpleasantness was necessary—for the good of the kingdom.

  If this business about His Majesty abdicating soon was true, Ferdinand would have to call upon a secret assembly of his most loyal supporters to propose the amendment to the law that he’d been working on. One that would place him in power, not Prince Charles. He’d have a few days at most—he would have to work quickly.

  “Here you are, sire.”

  The king poured the mixture down his throat with a grumble. “Despicable stuff, I tell you. Couldn’t they make this taste better?”

  “Taste is insignificant if it’ll improve your health, sire.”

  “Bah. What do these doctors know? They tell me what I want to hear, that I’ll be around to see my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren!” George snorted. “Quacks, the lot of them. I’ll be lucky if I see the boy married at this point.”

  “You mustn’t talk like that, Your Majesty.”

  “I will talk however I please!” the king roared, only to fall into another coughing fit. Once he recovered, he sighed. “This kingdom could use a little magic. I could use a little magic.”

  “Your Majesty, listen to yourself,” pleaded the duke. “Magic has expressly been forbidden. That was my father’s recommendation and your law. For good reason, too! Think of how dangerous it can be when wielded by someone with evil intentions.”

  “Yes, but maybe if we hadn’t forbidden magic, we wouldn’t have to worry about war with our neighbors. Or within our own country. Charles wouldn’t even have to consider marrying a foreign princess.”

  At that, the duke hid a smile. He took out his monocle and pretended to clean it, a habit he was expressly aware he indulged in whenever he needed to deliberate before speaking.

  He pulled his chair closer to the king’s bedside, patiently waiting for his concoction to take effect.

  “I was listening during the council,” said George. “People are angry with me for not making Aurelais a fairer place for them to live. There isn’t much I can do for them now, but Charles . . . Charles will right my wrongs.”

  “And I will help him, Your Majesty.” A pause. “If he lets me.”

  The king trusted him. Depended on him. If Charles were to rise to the throne soon . . . The Grand Duke shuddered at the reality of it. He would lose years of hard work and decades of manipulating the king into depending on him for guidance on how to rule Aurelais. Ferdinand needed to strategize his next moves very carefully, and he’d begin with the secret assembly of his most trusted men.

  Prince Charles certainly wouldn’t listen to him the way his father did. At first, Ferdinand had resigned himself to the young prince going off to university. Maybe Charles would come back ready to listen to men with far more tact and experience at running a kingdom.

  But alas, when the prince returned, full of ideas and disdain for Ferdinand, it became evident that things had changed at the Royal University; it had started accepting students based on merit rather than their upbringing, and engaging professors with “ideas.” Why, he had even heard that Charles had studied under a false identity so he could experience his schooling like a commoner instead of the privileged royal that he was.

  Ferdinand had suggested to George that his son return home at once when word came that riots near the university had taken place.

  “Let the boy be a boy,” the king had said. “What are they rioting about, anyway?”

  “Taxes,” Ferdinand had responded automatically.

  “Taxes?” The king frowned. “What about? Did we raise them recently?”

  “No,” the duke had lied. When, in fact, he had authorized a 20 percent increase in taxes, and during a particularly harsh winter at that. The people had been angry because there was no food. The new taxes were meant to discourage the people from rebelling against the kingdom, but they seemed to have had an opposite effect.

  So while borrowing the king’s royal seal to hide his error, the duke had sent a garrison of troops to quell the rebellion. How relieved he’d been when the entire catastrophe disappeared.

  Until months later, when the prince—newly returned home after finally completing his studies—brought it up during the council meeting.

  Charles’s conduct had been a terrible surprise, the prince unwilling to listen to reason and logic. King George had immediately asked his son to join him in listening to the day’s proceedings, but the first thing Charles did was criticize the council’s composition.

  “All of your advisers are lords,” the prince had said, lashing out.

  “They’re men I’ve vouched for,” replied the duke, keeping his temper in check. “Men who have served the council honorably since before you were born.”

  “They’re men with only their best interests at heart. Men who are willing to extort the poor until they have nothing left. I was there during the riots when the new tax was imposed. I’ll never forget them.”

  Confusion had etched itself on the king’s features. “Ferdinand, you told me we hadn’t raised taxes.”

  “Only by an insignificant amount,” the Grand Duke blustered. Thank heavens at that moment he remembered the king’s plans to throw a ball. “Perhaps we should discuss the ball tonight.”

  “The ball?” Charles asked, perplexed.

  King George’s expression brightened. “Yes, my boy. I’m throwing you a ball to celebrate your homecoming. Everyone will be talking about it for years!”

  “That isn’t necessary, Father. I’m sure I’ll be able to greet everyone at court soon enough. Besides, should we even be throwing lavish parties when there is so much suffering outside the palace? ”

  “Everyone is invited,” said the duke testily. “Not just the gentry.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Yes, everyone.”

  Every eligible maiden, that was.

  That had been enough to appease the prince. The duke had been naive to think that was the end of his troubles with Charles. That perhaps the king had been right—find a girl for the prince, and let him settle down.

  But no! Then came this calamity of the runaway princess. If only he had been able to identify her earlier so he could send her off somewhere.

  Then again, perhaps it wasn’t too late for that.

  “Ferdinand?” the king was saying. “Are you listening to me?”

  The duke’s head bobbed up. “Of course I am.”

  “I was saying,” George said, his nose twitching as he absently held his side, “perhaps we should lift the ban on magic. Perhaps that was rash, motivated by grief and an attempt to control something we could not.”

  “B-b-but, Your Majesty, don’t you remember what the fairies did? You c
annot forgive and forget—the nation will think you weak, and—”

  “You blamed the fairies, Ferdinand. You and your father. I was never convinced it was their fault. And now I wonder whether it’s time to let bygones be bygones.”

  Ferdinand struggled to conceal his shock. Lift the ban on magic in Aurelais? He couldn’t even fathom the chaos that would bring. Trying to hide his dismay, he cleared his throat again, loudly. “I’ll add it to the list of items to discuss at the next council meeting, sire.”

  “Good. I know I can trust you.” The king sniffled, grimacing at what must have been another pang in his side. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about recently—after a long while of not thinking about it.”

  “Perhaps for the best, sire.”

  “But now that Genevieve is back . . . You know, she used to talk my ears off all the time about fairies and such, how she always wanted to meet one. Her husband—”

  “Yes, I remember the Duke of Orlanne,” Ferdinand cut in. “He was always a proponent of magic.”

  “Maybe he had a point. Maybe I was too hasty banishing—”

  “Magic does not solve the problems of everyday life,” Ferdinand said sensibly.

  “Yes, yes, I know. But sometimes wonder brings happiness. I’d like to witness something wonderful before I go.” He closed his eyes, his head sinking into his pillow.

  He looks paler, and his eyes are sunken in, Ferdinand thought.

  “Your Majesty, are you quite well?”

  “Well? Of course I’m well.” The king adjusted his sleeping cap to prevent it from falling off his head. “I would have been better if you hadn’t interrupted my sleep.”

  The moonlight cast a ghostly light upon George’s wan skin, and for a moment, seeing the king look so ill, Ferdinand felt a prickle of guilt. A tiny prickle.

  The duke shrugged it away. Ruling a kingdom required a firm hand; guilt and regret were for the weak. “I thought the news of Charles’s runaway princess would be important to you.”

  “Ha, backtracking already, aren’t we? You used to be a better liar, Ferdinand.”

  Ferdinand did not reply. It was true; he had been a better liar. Now he was simply better at hiding his thoughts. A useful skill cultivated over many years, and one King George had never suspected.

  “Fetch . . . a decree for me . . . Ferdinand.”

  “Which decree, Your Majesty?” The Grand Duke tapped the king’s shoulder. “Your Majesty?”

  George’s hooded eyes blinked open. “It’s inside my desk. Third drawer on the right. You’ll see it right away.”

  The duke did as he was told.

  A crisp piece of parchment slid out of the drawer. Ferdinand caught sight of the first line, and it was all he needed to see: By royal decree, all magical persons are no longer expelled from Aurelais.

  “It’s already been signed,” continued George from the other side of the room. “I want you to give it to Charles before the next meeting with the council.”

  “Won’t you be there?”

  “I’ll be in the back taking a nap.” Another cough. “Let it be the first one he presides over.”

  Shouldn’t I be the one to preside over the council in your absence? Ferdinand wanted to ask. It’d been he who had headed the council meetings for the past twenty years. The prince had only attended a handful, and maybe only one or two when he was actually old enough to understand what was going on.

  But Ferdinand, again, wisely did not voice his thoughts. He crossed his hands behind his back. “I thought I should inform you, sire, your son is planning to hold a third ball this week, with the intent of proposing to the sorceress.”

  The king’s eyelids drooped, and he began to snore.

  “Did you hear me, sire?”

  “What was that? Ah, yes. Another ball? Excellent.” George wagged a warning finger at the duke. “If you do anything to ruin his chances with the girl, well . . . you know what will happen.” He crossed his arms and tucked himself deeper into his sheets. “Now go away. It’s the middle of the night and I need my rest.”

  The duke bowed, carefully maintaining his composure. “Then I take my leave, Your Majesty. Good night.”

  The king was already snoring. Ferdinand closed his eyes, envisioning what would happen the next morning. Dr. Coste would arrive just before breakfast, and His Majesty would learn that his illness had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. Ferdinand would be there to comfort him. His Majesty would reason that he should abdicate earlier than expected, and Ferdinand would smoothly convince him that he would aid the prince in ruling Aurelais. He’d even have the king put it down in writing. . . .

  Such thoughts soothed his anxious mind as he exited the king’s apartments. If things did not go as planned it could end up disastrous. First, King George didn’t seem at all displeased that Charles was planning to wed a servant. And now he wanted to welcome magic back into Aurelais!

  Indeed, something had to be done, and Ferdinand had an idea just where to begin. He crumpled the king’s decree into his pocket.

  Then he turned toward the south wing, headed for the servants’ quarters.

  Should there be any threat to the future of Aurelais, eliminate it immediately, his father had taught him. Before it grows.

  He knew the root of his problem well enough, but eliminating it would be tricky.

  Very tricky.

  Ferdinand sniffed. Fortunately, he was up to the challenge.

  He would find a way to get rid of Cinderella if it was the last thing he did.

  It was barely dawn when someone rapped on Cinderella’s door, so loudly she shot up from her bed.

  “Good morning, Madame Ir—”

  “Get up and get dressed,” Irmina said, cutting her off. Stray curls dangled over her face; for the first time, the mistress of the household’s hair was not impeccably arranged.

  “What’s—”

  “There’s to be another ball tonight, and we need every pair of hands working. Don’t stand there gaping—that includes you, Cinderella!”

  Another ball!

  Charles had been true to his word. He would announce his intention to marry her—tonight!

  Cinderella dressed, her fingers shaking with excitement as she loosened her braids, pinned on her wig, and wrapped her lavender sash around her waist. A twinge of nervousness made her stomach flutter. After that night’s ball, she would be . . . a princess.

  I need to tell Louisa—before she hears it from someone else.

  A distressed Madame Irmina surveyed the long line of young women under her supervision. Cinderella hurried to her place at the end, but not before waving to Louisa, who’d made it to the roll call just in time.

  “Another party,” Irmina grumbled. “Why do we even bother to take down the decorations?” She spun to face the girls. “When you have received your assignments, get to work immediately.”

  One by one, the girls received their duties. When it was Cinderella’s turn, Madame Irmina crossed her arms.

  “Why the smile? Are you actually happy that we all have to scrub the palace floors again, or are you simpering like a fool because you think you won’t have to do your share of the cleaning?”

  “N-n-no, ma’am,” Cinderella stuttered.

  “Then?”

  “Nothing.” Cinderella struggled to wipe the joy from her face. Failing miserably, her expression only brightened. “It’s just a beautiful day outside, isn’t it? A wonderful day for dancing.”

  “All that perfumed air upstairs is addling your wits.” Irmina narrowed her eyes. “The duchess asked me to give you the morning off, but it seems you need to learn your place. Your duty isn’t only to the duchess—it’s to me, too. Report to the kitchens. The maids need help with the dishes.”

  At the dismissal, Cinderella let out a great exhale, then hurried to change her uniform.

  “Where were you last night?” Louisa asked, joining her by the cabinet. “I came by to pick up the gown, but you weren’t in your room.”
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  Cinderella swallowed. Where did she even begin? “I . . . I . . .”

  Misreading her reaction, Louisa grinned. “Ah, you were with that boy from the masquerade, weren’t you? I want to hear everything about it. Everything. But first, I have news.”

  “News?”

  “I heard the prince has found the mystery princess,” she said, lowering her voice as the two girls shuttled from the servants’ quarters to their posts. “Everyone says he’s going to propose to her at the ball. Figured the romantic in you might enjoy that.”

  Cinderella’s heart thudded in her ears. “Where did you hear that?”

  “For one, the glass slipper is not in its case outside the palace anymore. And”—Louisa waved an envelope in front of her face—“this! Didn’t you get one of these?”

  “No, what is that?”

  “A letter from the prince himself! Everyone’s to get an increase in wages after the ball, and a holiday. The royals don’t just declare a holiday for no reason . . . it must be because there’s going to be a royal wedding. Oh, you must have gotten one. Check your room.”

  But Cinderella was certain she hadn’t gotten one, and it was time she told her friend why. “Louisa,” she began.

  She didn’t get a chance to say more. Madame Irmina called for her in her strident voice, and Louisa’s aunt inserted herself between the two girls.

  “The duchess wishes to see you, Cinderella,” she said, her brows furrowed with confusion. “She asks that you not wear your palace uniform, and that you meet her in her salon at once.”

  Dressed in the only clothes she owned—the shirt and skirt she had worn when she’d escaped her stepmother’s home—Cinderella approached the duchess’s chambers with trepidation. If Genevieve had given Cinderella the morning off, why would she summon her back to her room?

  Well, in any case, this would be the perfect time to tell the duchess that she was the runaway girl from the ball and had accepted Prince Charles’s proposal of marriage. She gathered her courage, rehearsing the words in her head.

  Once the doors opened, an overjoyed Bruno barked, racing to greet Cinderella. Forgetting her restraint, she was bending down to massage his ears when a stern voice spoke over them.