It’s hard for me to reconcile my feelings for her. She reminds me so much of my own grandmother in some ways: her quick wit, her knowing little smile. But Amina helped Manford ascend the throne, costing the people of Mersailles their lives. And how many have been lost since the time of Cinderella? How many have had their lives ruined because of Manford? She helped him. But she is helping me now. And like she said, we cannot go back.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I’m going to be okay.”
She takes my hands in hers and sighs. Doubt creeps in. Are we all just kidding ourselves by thinking we can make this work? Amina won’t meet my gaze. Her vision in the pool revealed her own death; had she also seen this moment? Does she know how this will end?
Amina helps me tuck the sheath for the dagger between the folds of my dress and walks into the house, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak, leaving Constance and me alone. Her eyes move over me, taking in every part, and I don’t have to ask her how she thinks I look. It’s written in her eyes, in her smile.
“I don’t know what to say,” Constance says.
“That’s a first,” I say. I close the gap between us. “I’ve never seen a dress like this.” I reach down and give the gown a little tug. It looks like it is made from the moonlight itself.
“It’s nothing compared to you,” she says.
My heart breaks at the very real possibility that I might never see her again.
“Promise me something,” Constance says.
“Anything.”
“Promise that you will come back to me.” Constance wipes tears from her eyes. “If you tell me you’ll come back, I’ll believe you.”
I press my forehead against hers and close my eyes. “I promise that I’ll do everything I can to come back to you.” That’s all I can say without lying to her.
I lean forward and kiss her, wrapping my arms around her, breathing her in and hoping that this isn’t the last time.
Amina stands in the doorway. “It’s time, Sophia.”
Constance loops her arm under mine, and we walk toward the front of the house. We pass a row of windows, mostly broken fragments still hanging in their frames, and I catch a glimpse of myself. I peer into the glass and reach up to touch my hair. My natural curls hang down around my shoulders, held away from my face by tiny silver butterflies made of glass set on silver pins. My skin shines, brown and beautiful, free from rouge or powder.
“You’re stunning,” Constance says. She plants a kiss on my cheek and lets her lips linger there. Her touch sends little sparks of fire straight through me.
My ride waits for me in the front drive. Two elegant stags, black as night and fitted with red bridles, are hitched to a shimmering black carriage with a domed roof, decorated with red ribbons and matching curtains.
“Is this real?” I ask.
“It’s real in this moment,” says Amina. Suddenly, a ball of light engulfs her, and I step in front of Constance, totally unsure of what is happening. When the light fades, a squat little man in black coattails and a red bowtie stands where Amina had been.
Constance grabs her dagger and raises it up.
“Wait a damn minute!” Amina’s voice comes out of the little man. “It’s me, you fool!”
Constance’s eyes grow wide, and she holsters her dagger. “Maybe give us some warning next time?”
“Maybe don’t try to stab every man you see,” Amina shoots back.
Constance looks to me and shrugs. “It’s a habit.”
Amina climbs up to take the reins. “Let’s get moving.”
“That look suits you,” Constance calls to her.
“You like it? Then I’ll have to make sure I never look this way again,” says Amina, scowling. “Let’s go, Sophia.”
Constance puts her hands on my shoulders and kisses me gently.
“I’ll go on foot,” she says, “and approach the palace from the mausoleum. I’ll try to find another way in.”
We’ve decided that, while I walk through the front door, Constance will try to gain entry in secret and make her way to the row of cells where I’d heard a voice from behind the locked door.
I climb into the carriage and Amina snaps the reins. We lurch forward and begin our journey to the palace. As we cut a path through the freshly fallen snow, I look back only once to catch a glimpse of Constance retreating into the house.
33
The castle comes into view, much as it had before, except this time, I’m not at all impressed by the opulent show of excess. It’s a façade put up to entice the girls of Lille, and once they’re inside—Liv’s face flashes in my mind, and I can almost hear the king’s patronizing tone as he degraded her in front of everyone—they can’t escape.
We join the long line of carriages that extends up the drive to the main road. When we’re directly in front of the palace, Amina hops down and opens the door for me. We exchange glances as I step out, and she leans in to close the door behind me while whispering in my ear.
“I’ll stay as near as I can and find Constance once she’s close.”
I nod and file in with the other girls. Murmurs surround me. Some smile warmly. One young woman tells me she likes my dress and that my hair is beautiful, but the compliments are tinged with fear. I catch a snide comment about what I must have done to earn such a dress. While the insinuation stings, I let it go. I didn’t come here to care about what anyone else thinks. I have a job to do.
I hand my invitation to the guard, who studies it thoroughly before pausing. My heart gallops in my chest. Does he know the name doesn’t match the face? He looks me over slowly. After a few more moments of scrutiny, he files the invitation away and crosses off a name on his list.
“Go on,” he says.
By taking the invitation that was meant for another girl, whoever she was may be at home right now, wondering why she wasn’t invited. A stab of panic. I hadn’t thought about what position I’ve put that girl in. She is supposed to be here; the cotillion is mandatory. If she’s found at home, something terrible could happen to her and it would be my fault. I feel an even greater need to find the king and stop him.
I walk into the main entryway, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead. There are fewer oohs and ahhs than there had been in October. These girls are being forced back to the palace because of me, and I see the fear in their faces everywhere I turn.
I have a plan, and I try to keep that foremost in my head as we move toward the main ballroom. I make a note of where all the doors in the main hall are located and tally up the number of guards. There are more of them this time around.
The guards herd us into the ballroom, where the doors clang shut as the trumpets blare. My palms sweat as we form a line. I run my hands down the front of my dress and gently touch the hilt of my dagger.
The trumpet blasts again, and I look up to see men flood into the ballroom. The Viscount of Chione is back, and so are many of the land barons. I watch the procession in confusion. Will there be another choosing ceremony? Most of the girls in attendance have probably already been selected. The royal anthem plays as the king comes in and takes up his place atop the platform.
“I am honored by your presence,” he says. His eyes are wide. He scans the room with a frenzied sort of haste. He looks unnerved. “I am sure many of you are wondering why I’ve called you to this event, and the answer is quite simple. There are people in this kingdom who think that the rules don’t apply to them. I’ve brought you here as a reminder that every man, woman, and child in Mersailles is beholden to me. For your lives, the food you eat, the clothes you wear. You can have those things because I allow it, and I am very disappointed that you are not more grateful.” He shakes his head. “Henceforth, in addition to attending the annual ball, you will also be required to attend the winter cotillion. Anyone not chosen will immediately be considered a forfeit.”
Shock befalls the room, and I hear a whimper. Someone starts to cry. The viscount shifts uncomfortably from one f
oot to the other. Even he seems shaken by the king’s proclamation.
“If you were chosen at the annual ball, form a line to your right,” orders the king in a monotone voice. As I suspected, most of the girls rush off and stand against the far wall. Several dozen of us stay in line. “All of you who were chosen will be escorted back to your carriages. You have served your king well, and I expect that you will serve your husbands unquestioningly. The rest of you will have an opportunity to be chosen tonight.”
The girls are escorted out by the guards, while those who are left stand quietly in line. “As we gather this evening, I’d encourage you all to remember the reason you’re here. Cinderella wanted every girl in her kingdom to be the bride of a deserving man, to have her own fairy-tale ending.” I stifle the urge to throw up as he continues to lie to us. “You are all worthy of that honor. I hope you have studied Cinderella’s story. I hope that you have let it show you the way.”
The king smiles wide as laughter rises up among the suitors. A man who looks like an older version of Luke’s schoolmate Morris stands on the tier closest to the king. It must be his father, and I wonder if his latest wife has had some accident or has been given up as forfeit. I wonder if my face conveys every bit of rage I feel. I hope so.
The king gazes down the line of girls and stops when he comes to me. Something animalistic flashes across his face. He quickly looks from side to side to see if anyone has noticed. He claps his hands twice to signal the band. The remaining girls scatter while the men on the platform come down and start to mingle.
I fight to keep calm. No one will be permitted to leave. He’ll make these young women pay for the choice I made to abandon the ball. Just then, a man appears in front of me, and it takes me a half second to register who it is.
King Manford.
From his smell, a mixture of wine and smoke, to the predatory look in his eyes, everything about him repels me. I have a feeling that if we weren’t in a room full of people, he’d show his true nature immediately. I watch the corners of his mouth twitch as he struggles with something inside himself. I stare up at him, and he smiles. “It is customary to bow or curtsy when in the presence of royalty.”
I don’t move.
He narrows his eyes, which are a shade of such deep brown as to be almost black. His angular jaw is set hard, and his mouth is a straight line. “You are not what I expected.”
I can feel the eyes of everyone else in the room on us as he hovers over me.
“A waltz!” he shouts, startling me. The band plays a melody, and he takes my arm, dragging me to the center of the ballroom. He slips his hand behind my back and pulls me into the dance. “You’re very beautiful,” he says. He spins in a circle, practically lifting me off the ground. “What’s your name?”
“You already know the answer.”
“Clever girl,” he says. “I didn’t think you would return. I thought I would have to hunt you to the ends of the earth. You are either very brave or very stupid. Tell me, which is it?”
“I’m here so no one else has to suffer for what I did. I left the ball. You can take that up with me. Leave everyone else out of it.” The weight of my dagger presses against my leg. He has a vise grip on my hand, and I can’t reach for it. He holds me close as we spin. I look up at the portraits of our former kings, and while each of them differ, I realize now that the eyes are the same.
They are all Manford.
Did he put up the paintings to taunt us? The truth has been in plain sight this entire time, but no one understands what it means. I lean in and put my mouth close to his ear. “I know what you are.”
He stops as the music carries on, and couples around us continue their dance. He crushes me to him, and I wince. People are watching us, whispering among themselves. His jaw clenches and then goes lax several times in a row. He steps away from me. I judge the distance to his neck. He bows slightly and turns on his heel, leaving me alone in the middle of the floor.
Something is wrong.
The music stops, and Manford’s voice calls out again. “If you would, please move to the rear courtyard.” The room clears out almost immediately, but even that isn’t fast enough for him. “Hurry!” he barks.
People trip over themselves in their haste. As the last of the guests file out, a tall young man with sandy-blond hair and kind eyes stops to stand next to me.
“Will you be joining us outside?” he asks. “Your dress is lovely. Can I get you something to drink?”
As I turn, a guard sweeps in and strikes him on the top of the head with the hilt of his sword. The man collapses in a heap. Before I can speak, the king appears, scowling down at the man like it’s his own fault he’s just been knocked out cold.
“Get him out of here,” the king orders. The guards drag the man away, and the king turns to me as if nothing has happened. “You’d like to see the rest of the castle, wouldn’t you?”
He extends his hand to me. Everything in me screams to run, but I can’t. He reaches out and takes my arm, tucking it tightly under his. From the ballroom, we proceed down a long hallway lined with mirrors and more paintings of the king. A chill emanates from him, his arm is stiff, and his grip iron tight. No warmth. I wonder if his heart still beats in his chest.
“You’re very fond of your own image, aren’t you?” I can’t contain my resentment.
“I have every reason to be, don’t you think?” he asks, holding his chin up and sneering.
I let my gaze sweep over him. I think about flattering him, playing to his vanity, but I cannot bring myself to do it. I stay quiet.
He stops abruptly and opens one of the many doors that dot the hall. I peer inside and see that the walls are lined with shelves filled with books. A fireplace big enough for a person to stand up in sits at the back of the room.
“Do you like to read?” he asks.
“I do,” I say, which sounds like an act of defiance.
“And you’ve read Cinderella’s tale, as all girls are required to do?”
“I have, though I’m not a fan of such outrageous works of fiction.”
He pulls the door shut harder than necessary and looks down at me. “You have a very free way of speaking. It may get you into trouble.” He leans over me, and I take a step back, even as he holds tight to my arm.
“It’s not in my nature to lie.”
He wrestles with something inside himself again, readjusting his jacket and taking long, slow breaths. “You think I am disingenuous?”
“I know you are. You claim to be some benevolent leader, but your treachery shines through. You can’t hide it.”
“Is that so?”
“You think any of the girls who come here for the ball are happy about it? You think they look forward to it?” I wonder if maybe, after all these years, he’s begun to believe his own lies.
He looks thoughtful for a moment and then turns to me. “I don’t care if they do or not. They come because I tell them to. I hold this annual ball because I can, because I want to. It’s not nearly as complicated as you’re making it out to be.”
“I didn’t think you could be any more of a—”
He tightens his grip on my arm. “A what?” He glares at me. There is an unnatural echo in the timbre of his voice.
I stare up at him. His face is completely blank, devoid of any emotion. Even the twitching at the corners of his mouth has ceased.
“A—a monster.”
“There it is again. That fire. It will be stomped out completely when I’m done with you.” He stops to rein in his emotions yet again. He still grips my arm as we continue down the hallway. “I used to know someone very much like you.”
“I doubt that,” I say.
He digs his fingertips into my arm. It hurts, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much. I bite the inside of my cheek instead.
“Do you know where she is now, the woman you remind me of?” He puts his face so close to mine that I can smell his sour breath. “Dead.” A shi
ver runs through me. Realizing he’s rattled me, he laughs softly. “She loved me deeply. But not once she found out—” He stops short. He could be speaking of no one other than Cinderella.
“Found out what you really are?” I ask. I imagine what must have gone through her head when she saw him as I am seeing him, with the fairy-tale exterior chipped away, with the reality of his monstrous deeds laid bare.
He clears his throat and looks away from me. “The rules I have set forth are meant to keep troublemakers like yourself out of the way. A girl like you is simply too disruptive to the natural order of things.”
“A girl like me? And yet you’ve taken me aside, planned this grand event to lure me in. You can barely control yourself in my presence, so really, who has power over whom?”
His face changes into a mask of pure amusement. He raises an eyebrow. “Do you have no fear of death? Are you that stupid?”
“You’ve brought me here to bully me? You’re pathetic.” Anger wells up like water behind a dam. He’s repellent, and I can’t stand to be so near to him. He angles himself in front of me, my back to the wall.
“You say you know what I am and yet …” He leans in close, staring me in the eye. “I think you have no idea.”
I push away the fear that has crept in, and I stare back at him, which seems to catch him off guard. He blinks repeatedly as if I’ve startled him. He’s probably never had someone detest him as openly as I do.
“Cinderella didn’t love you the way you wanted her to,” I say. “She rejected you, and you’ve spent all this time punishing every woman who reminds you of her? How very pathetic.”
He leers at me and leans forward, pressing his forehead into mine so forcefully it hurts. His jaw clenches up as he balls his fists. He hisses air between his teeth and then relaxes, leaning back. “I am going to hold you up as a shining example of how no one should ever think they can disobey me without consequence. Your name will be scrawled in the history books as the girl who tried to defy me and was destroyed.”
Cinderella Is Dead Page 22