I had to force myself to sit back until the coachman had pulled the carriage to a stop in line with the red carpet sweeping up the stairs. One squirrel-man opened the door for me, the other handed me out. As it was only early afternoon, there were no candles to illuminate the courtyard, and the sun itself painted it in a golden glow. As much as I remembered every detail about the palace, I had forgotten that feeling of first arrival when disbelief and reality converged to steal my breath away. I had come late, again, but I was glad for the lack of guests that could’ve impeded my arrival.
“Keep the carriage close,” I reminded the coachman, who grinned back reassuringly.
Marie may not have given these creatures the power of speech, but at least they had some sense.
Walking up the steps toward the palace entrance, I noticed that one thing had changed since the last time I was there: Then, no one had looked twice as I slipped in late. Now, with each step I felt the eyes of other footmen, coachmen, valets, soldiers, and servants upon me. For the first time in a long time, I was being noticed.
I hurried in, if only to get away from those curious eyes. Following a servant down a new hallway, I tried to stay in the shadows as I walked its carpeted length. Soldiers stood stiffly at attention along the way, but I felt the eyes of each glance then retreat as I passed.
Just before we stepped outside, I stopped to gather myself. What if that spark between the prince and myself wasn’t as strong in daylight? What if he wasn’t as excited to see me as I was to see him? What if he’d only been enamored with the mystery, but a week in the palace had turned his mind elsewhere? What if he didn’t notice me today and I was picked up by a duke or a baron who wanted me only because I had danced with the prince? What if this was all only in my mind?
I didn’t allow myself to think on it further. I was here, dressed in finery Father couldn’t afford to give me even if he’d wanted to. Marie had gone through the trouble of thinking up this whole charade for me and I would play it out to the end. Whether that ended in humiliation when the truth of who I was became known, or simply returning home to fade into the black soot of my life until even Iris couldn’t pick me out of the ashes, I could not guess.
The servant held open a door and bowed to me as I took my cue and stepped outside. Large stretches of green lawns rolled on and on, a perfect place for palace sports. Directly across from where I stood, colorful rows of seats had been built for spectators to enjoy the feats of strength and knighthood to be displayed in the specially constructed arena below. By then, most of the seats were filled with the glistening rainbow of guests already in attendance.
“Miss—Lady—” a deep voice rumbled hesitantly beside me.
I knew even before I finished turning that it was the voice of the captain. Meeting his soft brown gaze, my lips clamped shut, wondering if Marie’s promise that I would be unrecognizable counted for people I didn’t live with. Would the captain recognize me, the girl from the well? Would he give me away? I knew little about him, but he had a sharp intelligence that couldn’t be ignored. A keenness that warned me from assuming such a discovery beyond his abilities.
The captain was studying me closely, perhaps searching for clues of my identity beneath the tilt of my hat, so I figured it best to keep moving.
I gave him a small curtsy. “Good afternoon, Captain,” I said evenly, pleasantly, playing the part given to me with a few taps of a wand and a shower of magical sparks.
The captain returned my greeting with a short, crisp bow. “I’m under orders to bring you to the prince the moment you arrive, my lady.”
I couldn’t hide my flush of pleasure, the worries from before vanishing completely. The prince did want to see me again!
“Please lead the way,” I said amicably, taking his proffered arm.
Despite our outward pleasantness toward each other, a sudden silence fell, and I was too anxious to let it last long.
“Are you going to compete today?” I politely inquired.
The captain glanced at me, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and glanced away. “Yes,” he finally said.
“Will the prince?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said again, and I’ll admit to being excited at the prospect.
We came upon a short flight of steps that led to the large royal box, placed front and center to offer the royal family and their personal guests the best view in the arena. Having never been to an event such as this before, I wondered why they had filled the playing field with so much sand. As soon as the program began, I understood soon enough that it was comfort for the bare feet of strong men and acrobats, a giveaway for the paws of hunted animals, and a sponge for the blood of beaten men.
As the captain led me toward the royal box, a noticeable hush swept across the stands. Unlike my first time at the palace, the music kept on playing, guests continued to talk, but it seemed all with an eye on me. I yearned for the attentions of the prince, not the eyes of hundreds of nobles, men and women who would never notice me without my magical transformation.
“There seems to be a sudden increase in feathers here,” I commented, having had a chance to better survey the attendees.
“The kingfishers may migrate early because of it, my lady,” the captain replied dryly.
Thinking of the sudden clamor that must have been made over their feathers, my grip unintentionally tightened on the captain’s arm. “I did not anticipate this,” I whispered.
The captain must have heard the regret in my voice because his response was much kinder. “Those used to being unseen rarely do,” he replied softly.
His response brought me up short. Was he so quick, his vision so clear that he’d already figured out who I was? I didn’t think he’d make such a comment if he had thought me a lady or forgotten princess as everyone else seemed to. I was preparing a response to allay his suspicions when we were fortunately interrupted.
“Well done, Captain!” the prince cried merrily, detaching himself from his father’s side to intercept us before we could reach him.
Having completed his assignment, the captain turned to me and bowed again. I responded with a curtsy in kind. “Thank you, Captain.”
“I hope the lady enjoys the day.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile. “I wish you luck in the competitions, Captain.”
The captain simply nodded his head in thanks.
I turned away from him to catch the prince’s bright blue gaze lingering upon me. My heart leapt forward. My stomach flipped. If they were to continue with this behavior, then it would have been better to leave them both at home.
“May I?” the prince asked, and without waiting for a response, took my hand and tucked it into his arm. “I prayed you would come again,” he whispered, as he led me toward a quieter corner of the box.
A warmth spread through me, starting from my belly and riding my blood, from the tips of my toes to the roots of the hair on my head. His simple touch, the song of his voice was enough to make my past vanish, to heal and soothe every kick aimed my way, every nasty word meant to poison my spirit. That moment, then, was what I was there for.
“I’ve had to converse with such droll individuals,” he told me.
“I’m sorry to have kept His Highness waiting,” I murmured. “Perhaps I should try one or two droll conversations myself, not to be rude.”
“Out of the question,” the prince replied. “You’re here for me and needn’t bestow your attentions on anyone else.”
I melted, truly melted at those words. How was I to know then that the words were not sweet and romantic but possessive and demanding? What clarity can an overlooked sixteen-year-old hope to have in the face of a prince’s devotions?
The prince gently dropped his other hand over mine, acting as gallantly as I remembered him to be. This was my third time meeting him, and his charm had grown threefold. His sandy hair was perfectly combed, a few strands escaping to dip perfectly onto his forehead. Today, he wore pants of royal purple an
d a white jacket with purple stripes down the side. Two downward rows of gold buttons kept it closed and snug across his certainly strong chest.
“You’ll leave me no choice but to hold an event for which hats, masks, and feathers are forbidden,” he informed me.
“Perhaps I would not like to come to such an event, Your Highness,” I replied.
“Then I wouldn’t attend either,” he declared.
“But you are the one to have it,” I laughed.
The prince’s hand tightened on mine and he leaned in closer than was considered proper. “Don’t tease,” he pleaded, with the right touch of tragedy in his voice to melt my heart all over again.
“I won’t,” I promised, and the prince rewarded me with a smile I would have walked across the world to see.
“I’m to compete today,” he told me.
“I wish His Highness much success,” I sincerely replied.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said easily, then too quickly for me to stop him, he plucked a purple feather from my hat. He tickled me under my chin with it before fluttering it between us. “I would like this though,” he said impishly. “As a token from you.”
“The prince is welcome to it,” I answered with a shy smile.
The prince kissed the feather then took up my hand to kiss it, too, before tucking it back into his arm.
“As I will not be able to sit with you the entire afternoon,” he told me, “I have found someone suitable enough to be your companion in my stead.”
I wasn’t entirely disappointed, as I knew that when I wasn’t sitting next to the prince, I would at least be seeing him. I didn’t have much time to ponder what it meant that he was leaving me under someone else’s care though, as he promptly led me down the box and settled me into a seat next to one of the most gorgeous women I had ever seen. The small tiara tucked into her hair marked her as a princess, though not of our kingdom, as the prince had no siblings.
Her beauty was so strong it was almost palpable, her features visible even in the canopy’s shade. Her lips were red as blood, her skin white as snow, her hair black as ebony. She was dressed in a gown with significantly less layers than the rest of us in attendance, the ruby-red silk almost scandalously shaped to her body. One shoulder was shockingly bare, the rest of the material sweeping past her neck, then tumbling behind her, cinching the dress closed over the other shoulder. Despite the cut, the dress’s neckline was high, rather than immodestly low like my stepsisters’ and most other eligible women’s in attendance.
The irony was that despite the dress, her face was so riveting the rest of her was barely noticed. Her face could have been attached to the neglected bottom half of Madame’s etiquette swans and she would still be the most captivating creature in the room. When I met her gaze, a small, seemingly permanent smirk played at her lips as if she knew all this about herself and then some.
“Won’t you look after her while I prepare for my turn, Little Lyla?” the prince told more than asked the princess.
“How could I say no, dear Henri Christopher Charles Alexander?” she sneered in response.
“Snow White,” he snapped back.
They suddenly stopped, as if remembering I was still there.
“I hate my full name,” the prince explained to me apologetically.
“I think it charming, Your Highness,” I said.
The prince’s face brightened, and Princess Lyla rolled her eyes. “I won’t be long,” he promised, taking his time letting go of my arm. He shot the princess a sharp, meaningful look before turning toward the steps that led down from the box.
I was both relieved and terrified to be alone with Princess Lyla. Relieved because I knew she couldn’t possibly know who I really was, and terrified because she was so certain of herself, so confident, so sure in her place and the power it gave her. I was to learn this wasn’t always a good thing. I perched at the very edge of my velvet chair just enough to be sitting, but ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
“I never cared much for these festivals,” she confided, as we both pretended to turn our attention to the happenings below.
In the arena, servants were raking the sand after the horses had kicked it up during the jousting, smoothing it over for feats of hand-to-hand combat. When they were done, a well-muscled knight, now stripped of his armor and wearing soft leather breeches, was led in to polite applause. After a dramatic enough pause, the prince entered, wearing only pants as well, his admirable torso highlighted by the sun. His skin was taut over his sculpted frame, and from the royal box I was just able to make out a few thin scars, tiny white lines cutting through his sun-kissed skin. I thought then that they were only leftover marks from the wars he’d fought defending our borders, but I would learn soon enough that, like most anyone, he had scars that ran much deeper as well.
The crowd rose to its feet in thunderous appreciation of His Highness, who rewarded all with a dazzling smile. He bowed to his father then looked to where I sat with the beautiful princess, raised the feather he had taken from me to his lips then slipped it into his pocket. From the heat on my face, I’m sure my blush was crimson.
“You like him,” Princess Lyla said more than asked.
My blush turned the color of fire. “He-He’s my prince,” I stammered.
“You’re infatuated,” she continued. “It’s all over your face.”
Involuntarily, my hand flew to my cheeks and the princess chuckled.
“It’s not a bad thing,” she said easily. “Though it’ll wear off soon enough. Nothing is really as perfect as it may first seem.”
I glanced quickly to her when she said it, but her eyes were turned away from me, watching the prince gain the upper hand over his foe below. She said it so simply, I couldn’t decide if she was merely speaking or giving me fair warning. A few weeks before, I would have thought her words over more carefully. Then, I had given myself over to the dream, losing myself in it more and more as it slowly replaced reality.
“We’re cousins, you know, of a sort,” she said next. “The prince and I,” she added, probably in response to my blank stare.
“Of a sort?” I questioned.
“His mother and my stepmother were sisters,” she elaborated.
The blood chilled in my veins. I had heard stories about her stepmother, how she had been jealous of her stepdaughter’s beauty and sent a huntsman to cut out her heart and liver. I always wondered how true the story could be, but meeting Princess Lyla now, experiencing her beauty for myself, I believed every word of it.
“I have a stepmother,” I let slip.
This caught the princess’s attention. “Do you?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice on the subject of Madame. At least, she’d never tried to kill me. Not like that anyway.
“Do you like her?”
I emphatically shook my head no. “She hates me,” I confessed. “She was never a mother to me.”
A short, harsh laugh escaped the princess. “We have something in common,” she said. She studied me a bit closer, sizing up tiny little me, deciding something. “He wants me to find out more about you, that’s why you’re here with me,” she revealed.
I tried to lean away from her, but there was really nowhere for me to go.
“You needn’t be afraid.” Princess Lyla’s smile suddenly turned malicious, she grabbed my hand and at the same time, whipped out a mirror from some hidden pocket in her dress. “Mirror, Mirror, from the wall,” she began chanting before I could stop her, before I could pull away, “who does Prince Alex think fairest of all?”
The face of the mirror swirled, the silver backing melting in spirals before reforming into my face, my face without any mask. My cinder–streaked skin, my rag-clothed body, my guarded eyes. Princess Lyla frowned at the image.
“Is this you?” she asked pointedly.
I nodded confirmation. That blasted mirror would probably tell her everything anyhow.
“Your father?”
&n
bsp; “A merchant.”
“Your stepmother?”
“A baroness.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
“No.”
Princess Lyla pursed her lips at the image in the mirror. “Did she do this to you?”
“She calls me Cinderwench,” I said, as if that was explanation enough.
Princess Lyla studied me and my image again. “Faery?” was all she finally asked.
“No,” I replied, shaking my head for good measure. “Just the dress.”
She went back to studying magic me and then the real me. It grew too quiet. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Please don’t tell him, Princess,” I begged her. “Please don’t tell a soul. The crier said anyone with an invitation could come,” I added desperately.
Princess Lyla pursed her lips. “The prince is not fond of magic.”
I frowned at her careful choice of words, neither adequate to hide the overly controlled timbre of her voice when she said them.
“Why ever not?” I asked.
“He thinks it ruined his father,” she replied shortly. “Mine, too.”
That didn’t make sense to me. I may not have known about everything that happened in the kingdom, but surely I would have heard if our king had been destroyed by magic.
“I-I did not mean to overstep,” I managed to squeeze out.
The princess shrugged. “We’re not all magic-obsessed like King Rainn over in Farthington,” she said. “Besides, everyone has a line, right? Just make sure he doesn’t find out.”
“And you-Your Highness won’t tell him?” I asked meekly.
She shook her head and I quietly exhaled a sigh of relief. She hadn’t told me much, but from the tone of her voice and the look on her face, I could tell that the prince was a little more than “not fond” of magic. A lot more. I would never want to find out.
At the same time, despite the dream I was living, I never really thought that my secret would ever be something I’d have to worry about past that day. Surely, the prince would never find a magically dressed Cinderwench to be the most favorable maiden of all. Right?
A Cinderella Retelling Page 7