So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  “Bruno. That’s enough.”

  The dog’s ears lifted at the sound of the duchess’s voice. He looked confused, his attention vacillating from Cinderella to Genevieve as if he were trying to decide who he was supposed to obey.

  “It’s all right, Bruno,” whispered Cinderella. “Go on, now.”

  Hesitantly, her dog shuffled back toward the duchess.

  Cinderella had had plenty of experience facing her stepmother when she was displeased. She’d gotten used to being punished for no good reason, and to having Lady Tremaine find fault with her work even when there was none to be had. But she had no idea what to expect from the duchess.

  The older woman gestured at the empty chair opposite her. “Sit.”

  It was a command, not a request.

  Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Cinderella obeyed.

  Genevieve reached for the teacup on her writing desk, indulging in a long, slow sip before speaking. “So.” She returned the cup to its saucer, set it down, and dabbed the corners of her lips with a napkin. “You are the mystery girl he’s been looking for all this time.”

  The swan mask Cinderella had worn rested on the table beside the duchess. Genevieve picked it up, tapping it against her shoulder as she pretended to wonder. “This was found in the gardens, and the guards said it belonged to the woman with Charles at the ball. I wonder who could have given it to her.”

  Cinderella’s shoulders tensed. “I was just about to tell you—”

  Genevieve raised a hand. “I trusted you. I treated you like one of my own. And you kept this from me.”

  Cinderella hung her head. “I know.”

  Genevieve’s hand fell to her side. “And yet, I couldn’t be more relieved.”

  Cinderella looked up, surprised to find the duchess smiling. “The two sudden disappearances from the balls certainly gave me reason for concern. I was worried that my nephew had fallen in love with some frivolous girl with an expensive dress and overdone hair—or worse, a pretty face skilled at manipulating young princes into lovelorn states.” She tapped her cheek with her fingers. “But you . . . you’ll do nicely. Or so my gut tells me.”

  “Oh, I’m—I’m so glad you think so,” Cinderella said in surprise. “I was worried you wouldn’t . . . that you might not—approve.”

  “Well, I do. And if my brother doesn’t, then I’ll make sure he knows what a fool he is.” Something screeched outside, and Genevieve winced, gesturing at the windows. “Close them for me, will you? I have important things to tell you, but who can concentrate with all that racket?”

  That “racket” turned out to be because of flowers, hundreds of them, arriving by the cartful. Roses, orchids, lilies, daffodils, irises, and a dozen other varieties that she could not name. Heavy porcelain vases were mounted all around the grand ballroom and the royal gardens, displaying the arrangements in all their grandeur. But one arrangement stood out from the rest.

  From the duchess’s window, Cinderella watched the gardeners erect a trellis studded with roses. When the palace staff wheeled out a barrow of flowers, white pearlescent roses intertwined with pink ones as flushed as the height of sunrise, she nearly gasped.

  Her parents’ favorite flowers. White and pink roses, with a touch of myrtle.

  Charles had been listening.

  “Are you paying attention to a word I’m saying?” Genevieve rapped Cinderella’s shoulder with her fan. “A princess must be engaged and focused, not prone to daydreaming.”

  Cinderella jerked her head away from the window. “I’m sorry. I was looking at the flowers.”

  “Charles’s doing, isn’t it?” Genevieve clucked her tongue at the sight. “He’s a romantic, like his father. Not all kings see the value of marrying for love, as my brother and nephew do. But sometimes love isn’t enough. It’ll take more, much more, for the court to accept you.”

  Now Genevieve had Cinderella’s full attention. “Aurelais has never had a commoner for a princess. I know.”

  “That will not be your only challenge.”

  The heaviness in Genevieve’s tone made Cinderella frown. “What do you mean?”

  The duchess put on her tiara, and her voice turned grave. “This is between you and me, Cinderella, but the king is unwell. No one knows how ill—the blasted physicians here won’t answer any of my questions directly. All they’ll say is that he has taken a turn for the worse.”

  Cinderella’s hand jumped to her mouth. She couldn’t believe it. “But he seemed fine at the masquerade and at breakfast.”

  “Yes, I wasn’t even aware myself that anything was wrong with him. But I suppose now it makes sense—his wanting to abdicate and everything.”

  Does it? Cinderella couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right, but maybe it was simply her surprise. “Will he recover?”

  “I hope so, my dear. But Dr. Coste wants him to rest, and to steer clear of affairs that will strain him.” Genevieve placed a gentle hand on Cinderella’s arm. “You do realize what this means, don’t you?” she said quietly. “My brother may step down sooner than anyone anticipated, meaning Charles will become king.”

  That meant if Cinderella married him, she would become—

  She swallowed hard. Queen.

  “I’m not even ready to become a princess,” she said. “I can’t even imagine—”

  “I believe that’s part of the reason my nephew chose you. Why he loves you.” The duchess’s voice remained gentle. “Few would even have second thoughts about becoming a princess, and that you do is a great sign of wisdom. The crown can be a heavy responsibility, but most girls won’t understand that. They only see marrying the prince as an opportunity to wear pretty gowns, live in a palace, and become a member of the royal family.”

  Cinderella reflected on the duchess’s words. She remembered how eager her stepsisters had been to go to the ball, how conniving her stepmother had been for them to get the prince’s attention. She’d never stopped to consider why Lady Tremaine had been so ruthless.

  You’ve never known hardship, Cinderella, her stepmother had told her once, years ago. You had a roof over your head, food to eat at every meal. Your father spoiled you from the day you were born.

  A ragged breath caught in Cinderella’s throat. “I do not wish to marry the prince as a way to better my status.”

  “I know, my dear. But others will not understand that. In fact, if you accept my nephew’s proposal, you will face great opposition, particularly from the Grand Duke.” Genevieve grimaced. “The question is, do you love Charles?”

  “Yes,” Cinderella said without hesitation. “Of course I do.”

  “And he loves you. I have no doubt that you are the right companion for him, and the right princess for Aurelais.”

  The duchess bestowed Cinderella with a rare smile. “Ruling Aurelais will not be easy for Charles. At times, it may even feel like a terrible burden, one that he should not have to bear alone. Now that he has you, I pray the two of you will help each other, and I will do what I can to help you feel at home with the role.”

  Genevieve continued, “You have only hours until you go from palace servant to the future queen of Aurelais. Many will not take the news well, particularly not the blue-blooded young ladies who will resent the prince for rebuffing them for you.”

  Cinderella thought of her stepsisters, who’d reveled for years in tormenting her. “I can handle it.”

  When she did not elaborate, Genevieve appraised her. “When Charles declares that you are to be the princess of Aurelais, all attention will be on you. This is the first impression everyone will have of you.

  “You have natural grace, which most princesses take decades to learn, but it won’t be enough. Nothing would ever be enough, even if you had been born royal.” The duchess lifted Cinderella’s chin so their eyes were level. “In my time, we stood by the three Ps. I thought it was a bunch of hogwash, but I’ll impart it to you anyway. It was essential that a princess be poised, pleasa
nt, and—”

  “Pretty?” Cinderella guessed.

  “Presentable,” corrected the duchess. “That’s what all the wigs and powder and rouge were for. Nowadays, women are more after the natural look. Which, I suppose, isn’t a problem for you.” She hummed approvingly. “Now, what color gown should you like to wear tonight?”

  “Something blue,” replied Cinderella thoughtfully. “It was my mother’s favorite color, and I wish with all my heart she could have met Charles and seen us together.”

  “That’s a beautiful thought, Cindergirl.” She patted Cinderella’s shoulders. “Let it be one of several happy thoughts that hold you strong tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Charles and I may not care that you’re a servant in the palace, but the rest of the court will. We must give everyone as little opportunity as possible to find fault with you. The Grand Duke, especially.”

  It was the second time Genevieve had mentioned the duke. Cinderella decided it couldn’t hurt to voice a question that had been nagging at her.

  “When I went to the library last week, I came across an old page in a book. It was torn off from an adventure novel. I think it might have been one of yours, from your husband. . . . There was a message: ‘We must bring magic back.’ ”

  A note of surprise touched the duchess’s features. “You found that?”

  “I was curious about magic,” Cinderella confessed at last. “You see, I have a fairy godmother, and I’m afraid she’s gotten into some trouble for helping me go to the ball. Charles has promised to take me to the council to speak in her defense, but I worry that they won’t listen to me.”

  “They won’t,” confirmed Genevieve, “not with Ferdinand there.” She pressed her lips tightly. “Arthur used to leave me notes among the library’s art books so Ferdinand wouldn’t catch us trying to save as much of magic as we could: the art and the books and the gifts from the fairies. Alas, in the end we couldn’t save the fairies themselves.”

  A cloud passed outside, darkening the duchess’s expression. “In spite of the risks, my husband dedicated himself to reinstating magic into the kingdom. He actually had a bit of fairy blood in him—nothing that would amount to any power, per se—but it was something he was proud of.

  “I believe Ferdinand saw him as a threat, as someone who might have more influence on my brother than he would like. It was looking more and more like George would turn to Arthur as his adviser instead of Ferdinand when the former Grand Duke passed. So Ferdinand accused my husband of treason for helping fairies hide in Aurelais, and for being magical—and therefore dangerous—himself. Arthur used the passageways in this very castle to get as many fairies out of Aurelais as he could. When he wouldn’t give up their locations, Ferdinand further smeared his reputation. My brother listened, desperate to find some way to channel his grief, I suspect. And lo, we were banished.”

  A hard lump formed in Cinderella’s throat, but she wasn’t surprised. “That’s . . . that’s terrible.”

  “Ferdinand is terrible,” Genevieve replied in a steely tone, “but Aurelais is the one that’s suffered most without magic. Then again, I suppose you youngsters don’t remember what it was like to have magic in the kingdom. It was like seeing sunshine on the other side of the storm or having a little extra wind beneath your feet as you ran home.”

  “I can imagine,” Cinderella said softly. “When I had no hope left at all that things would get better, my fairy godmother came. I wonder now if hope is the most powerful magic of all.”

  “Hope, and I’d add a thick skin,” said Genevieve sensibly. She touched Cinderella’s shoulder. “I should have guessed that you have a fairy godmother. The fairies come to those with the heart to change the world around them. You are certainly no exception, Cindergirl.”

  The duchess inhaled deeply. “I’ll do what I can to help her, but try not to worry about it tonight. Tonight marks a new beginning for you, and I have some words of advice: What friends you have now, you should treasure. Once you become royalty, people will only see what you can do for them. There’s an unofficial last P my mother used to tell me.”

  “What is that?”

  “A princess must know how to pretend—pretend that the jeers don’t bother you, or that the whispers aren’t about you.” A sad smile touched the duchess’s lips. “Now I’m not so sure it was the best advice.”

  Cinderella thought of how she’d sing to herself through the chores for her stepmother, wearing a smile even when she was so exhausted and so frustrated with her life that all she wanted to do was sink into her bed and dream away her troubles. “I used to pretend quite a bit during the years with my stepmother. . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I pretended I was happy, but I wasn’t. I was miserable.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

  “Then don’t,” said Genevieve. “If it were up to me, the last P should have been for punch.” The duchess chuckled. “Heaven knows I have a number of people I’d love to give a nice rap on the head. The duke being on the top of that list.

  “I have faith you will make a fine princess. Charles does, too. And so will the rest of Aurelais, once they get to know you.”

  Cinderella drew a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “I hope so.”

  “You will. It begins tonight. Tonight, Aurelais will finally meet its runaway princess, the mysterious young lady who has captured Prince Charles’s heart and the curiosity of the entire nation. Tonight, you’ll show them you’re as lovely as your name.”

  You’re as lovely as your name, Cinderella echoed in her thoughts.

  It was almost like something her father had said once, when Drizella and Anastasia first made fun of her name.

  Your name is lovely, he’d chided her, just like you. Do you want me to call you Ella?

  No, Papa. I like Cinderella.

  Then ignore them. You’re stronger than that, my darling.

  “Thank you,” she told the duchess. “Truly.”

  “Feel better?”

  “Much.”

  The duchess clapped her hands. “Now let me show you the dress I’ve picked out for tonight. Oh, it’ll go beautifully with those blue eyes of yours, Cindergirl! The court will titter-tatter what it wants to about your background, but I’m not going to give them anything to carp about when it comes to your wardrobe!”

  A princess must be poised, pleasant, and presentable, Cinderella repeated to herself. When all else fails, pretending helps. Goodness, I hope I won’t have to pretend tonight. Or punch anyone.

  Trying to calm the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, she smoothed her skirts with her hands. Her gown was azure blue, its ruffles accented with strands of pearls and delicate lace that gently tickled her ankles as she glided out of the duchess’s apartments toward the Amber Room, the hall adjacent to the ballroom.

  “I saw the flowers,” she said softly, when Charles greeted her with his arm extended for her to take. “They’re beautiful.”

  He lifted her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss on her fingertips. “Now there’s a piece of your home here—one of your happier memories—to make this your home, too.”

  Cinderella placed her hand on the prince’s outstretched arm, and he guided her into an anteroom that overlooked the gardens. Outside, the arched trellis she had seen the gardeners begin to construct had been finished; now it was exquisitely braided with pink and white roses. As Cinderella gasped with delight, Charles reached for her fingers, gently pressing something into her hand.

  On her palm was a ring, with a simple band of gold, slightly burnished with age, and a pale blue sapphire in the center that glittered like a star-filled midnight sky.

  “This was my mother’s,” said Charles. “Nothing would have made her happier than for me to give it to you.”

  Cinderella was at a loss for words. “I’ve never seen anything so . . . so . . .”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I do.” She blushed. “I mean, it’s lovely.”
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br />   Chuckling, Charles slipped it onto her finger. “A bit more comfortable than glass slippers, I hope.”

  “Yes.” It was her turn to laugh. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on running away.”

  Charles gazed at her tenderly, but he never got a chance to reply. Pierre found them. “They’re waiting for you both to make the announcement.”

  Together, Cinderella and the prince stepped into the ballroom, hand in hand. No trumpets or royal heralds announced their entrance, and yet everyone in attendance turned to view them, their hushed anticipation almost palpable.

  It wasn’t the first time a thousand eyes had scrutinized Cinderella, but it was the first time she wasn’t so wrapped up in the moment of being with Charles that she actually noticed it. As if he could read her mind, Charles gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and she smiled at him. Then slowly, one step at a time, he escorted her down the staircase to the ballroom floor.

  Immediately, moving like a flock of birds, the guests gathered for a closer view of them.

  “Who is she?” their voices could be heard whispering.

  “Could it be she? The girl with the glass slipper?”

  Opera glasses and monocles flew up as the guests tried to catch a glimpse of her face, doing their best to identify her. At first, their attention unnerved Cinderella, but as she drew closer and closer to the king, it became easier to ignore the whispers and the gossip. What made her more nervous was her imminent introduction to King George.

  As the music behind her swelled and ebbed, Cinderella’s heart hammered. Seeing King George grimace at her made her anxiety multiply.

  Wait, she realized, he’s not grimacing because he doesn’t want to see me; he’s in pain.

  How different he looked from the buoyant ruler at the masquerade, peering at the guests with his binoculars from his private balcony. Now he was shrunken and pale, his figure slouched against the throne. The king coughed, then straightened as best he could. At his side, the Grand Duke tried his hardest not to smirk.

  Cinderella knew the smirk was meant for her, and yet something about the duke looking so smug beside the ailing king struck a wary chord in her. Something wasn’t right.