With deft stitches, the seamstress made acceptable repairs to Rilla’s gown, and even dabbed off the mud so Rilla wouldn’t look so bedraggled for the rest of the evening. The women made her sit on a stool, so they could re-pin her hair, and Rilla stared at her reflection in the ornate, gold mirror. The young woman who stared back had haunted, green eyes. She gulped, hoping she wouldn’t humiliate herself in front of the nobles at the ball.
Once they deemed Rilla presentable, the two women escorted her out of the powder room, where Price Armin waited in the hallway. His entire expression brightened, and Rilla felt a tiny flutter in her stomach. With his face cleaned up and his hair and clothing tidied, he looked every inch the handsome prince.
“Much better.” He held out the crook of his arm. “Shall we?”
Rilla offered a nervous smile and placed her hand on his elbow. Together, they walked through the hallway, the strains of the orchestra growing louder. When they reached a set of white double doors, two servants bowed and let them enter.
“His Highness, the Crown Prince Armin and guest,” said the steward.
Gasping at the ballroom, with its ornate, gold-etched walls and the sophisticated couples waltzing on the dance floor, Rilla barely noticed the onlookers swarming them like bees circling a honeysuckle. Soon, the orchestra stopped, and more and more people gathered around them, and soon, Rilla became separated from the Prince. The guests buzzed with questions and concerns, wondering what had happened to him. Many fussed over the bruise on his face.
The crowd grew, with each person jostling for attention. Rilla found herself shoved farther to the back, the distance between her and the Prince lengthening as people pushed their way forward. One old gentleman looked her up and down with a wrinkled nose. His companion, an elegant woman in burgundy waved her handkerchief as if Rilla’s very person were odorous.
Any confidence Rilla had in her appearance shattered. Standing at the back of the crowd, she felt she would always be nothing but a homely servant, even if draped in a gown Lord Florian had commissioned for her, and something well above her station. Nobility was a learned skill, but it was far too late for her to begin those lessons.
A male servant set his hand on her arm. His painted and powdered face looked much like Long Don Cipriano. Rilla shrunk into herself. Even the palace servants here outranked her. She squinted. There was something familiar about this man. This was the servant she’d met at the tavern who had rejected her for a job at the palace the day before. “Wilfred? Is that you?”
Wilfred sneered. “You aren’t supposed to be here. Come with me at once.”
For a moment, Rilla wondered if being kicked out and disappearing into obscurity meant she wouldn’t end up in the Academy where someone might discover her powers. But her momentary relief was interrupted.
“Lady Cendrilla is not going anywhere with you,” another man’s voice cut in. Rilla relaxed as Lord Florian emerged from the frantic crowd and stood beside her. “She is here as my guest.”
Wilfred’s face stiffened into a neutral expression. He bowed, giving a dip of his head, and left.
Rilla suppressed a scowl. Wilfred had overheard Lord Florian inviting her to the ball. He was probably outraged someone he’d rejected as a palace servant ended up an honored guest at the palace.
“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Prince Armin shouted at the growing crowd. “Listen, everyone. That young woman, Lady Cendrilla Perrault of Serotin, rescued me from a band of trolls.” He gestured to Rilla.
Rilla’s heart jumped at having such an important man refer to her as a Lady, but when all eyes turned to her, she squirmed within her tight bodice, cheeks aflame.
“Furthermore,” Lord Florian boomed, “you may all recall talk of a warrior woman defeating Long Don Cipriano and his bandits.” He pulled his scowling wife forward. “My wife and daughters were accosted by the villains, and it was Lady Cendrilla here who defeated them!”
There were gasps. Lady Florian pursed her lips as tight as a citrus toad and looked away. Her daughters blushed and kept their gazes on the marble floor.
Rilla fumed. These ungrateful wretches couldn’t even make eye contact. She would love to have confronted them in front of everyone about their ill-treatment of her on the Clement Road, but kept quiet. The people surrounding her seemed to be cut from the same silk cloth as Lady Florian and her unappreciative daughters.
“Her?” the old man who had glared earlier exclaimed. “Your Highness, are you quite sure?”
“Yes,” added another courtier. “It wasn’t someone more… more suitable?”
Half the ballroom scrutinized Rilla. She felt her temperature rise with each harried breath. No matter what the people said about her, she would keep her dignity.
She tried to tell herself it was ridiculous to feel so belittled. With her enchanted staff, she was capable of defeating magical foes, many at once, in physical combat. For reasons unbeknown to Rilla, social combat was a monster she’d never conquered. She blinked hard to prevent tears of humiliation from forming in the corners of her eyes.
“Are you questioning whether or not I know who rescued me?” Prince Armin said, his voice turning as cold as the Frozen Sea. “It was not my guard who managed the feat. It was this young woman, Lady Cendrilla.”
Many of the onlookers glanced away, presumably out of embarrassment for having displeased the Prince. Rilla didn’t care why. As long as they stopped scrutinising her, she was happy.
The Prince waved his arm, and the orchestra started a Serotin waltz. Rilla smiled, hoping the musicians had chosen the piece in honor of her origins. The onlookers stop gaping at her and went to dance. They formed pairs and swirled in sync as though they had practiced for years. She sighed, envious of the ladies in their fine, silk gowns, whirling around the dance floor, full skirts flying.
Prince Armin bowed before her, raising his eyes in a smile.
Flushing, Rilla stepped back. “I’ve never danced. And I’m still sore from the fight with the trolls.”
He took her hand and kissed it, eliciting gasps from those who had stayed to gawk. “Then I will dance with my mother.” He turned to Lord Florian. “Please take care of Lady Rilla.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Lord Florian bowed.
Rilla watched the Prince retreat towards the throned couple on the dais. The King looked like an older, paler version of his son, while the Queen had the dark brown skin and long, black braids associated with people of the Pharaoh Islands. A pang of regret shot through her heart, and she wished Mother had allowed her to attend her stepsisters’ dance classes.
“It seems to me that Miss Perrault is at the center of more trouble than she’s worth,” Lady Florian sidled up to Rilla and her husband.
Lord Florian scowled at his wife. “Is there not someone waiting on your dance card, dear?”
Lady Florian ignored her husband and made as though to walk past him and Rilla. When she reached Rilla, she leaned over and hissed, “Be careful, girl. Servants here in Clement who dare to venture above their station get buried so deep, they never dare to rise again.”
Rilla’s face drained. Her hands trembled. It sounded like a threat, and she was appalled at how cold and cruel these people were. She hadn’t asked for any of this.
“Will she be joining the Army, then?” a guest asked Lord Florian.
Rilla bristled. These people were talking about her as if she were incapable of answering for herself.
“Of course. The Academy always has space for young talent such as Lady Cendrilla’s,” replied Lord Florian.
“Why is she not assigned as a foot soldier?” asked a shrill woman. Her companions shared enthusiastic nods.
Rilla gritted her teeth but kept her silence. They seemed so eager to be rid of her. How they could be so defiant toward their superior’s decision, she couldn’t fathom.
“She saved the life of your Crown Prince!” Lord Florian roared over the music. “You wish to reward her thusly? Thrusting her into the front
lines, with minimum training, where even the finest warriors meet their end?”
Most of the onlookers had the grace to avert their eyes. Some still glared at Rilla, but she ignored them. She caught Lord Florian’s eye, and he inclined his head at her. She dared to give him a small, grateful smile. Her conscription would be delayed by her attendance of this Academy he spoke of. It seemed the best anyone could do for her.
Another song started: a popular Clementine waltz. The people who had surrounded Lord Florian now crowded the dance floor. Lady Florian pranced about with a man in military uniform. Her daughters stood to the side, giggling behind their fans, surrounded by young suitors.
Lord Florian led her around the ballroom. He introduced her to guests who were inclined to be polite, even kind, to her. Her spirits lifted. It was generous of Lord Florian to continue his charity to her as her prospects as a lady’s maid seemed now permanently off the table.
Rilla glanced toward the dais and seated upon the thrones were the King and Queen. Prince Armin leaned over in deep conversation with his parents. And all three looked at her with curiosity and gratitude. She flushed and dipped into a small curtsey to acknowledge their gazes, happy not to have been called over to explain her rescue of the prince. Remaining by Lord Florian’s side felt uncomfortable enough.
She was, however, introduced to other royalty that night. There was Princess Gwynter of Hibern, a region of the United Kingdom of Seven that suffered perpetual winter. She was a slender blonde woman with a cool demeanor. Her silver and white gown sparkled with small diamonds sewn in delicate patterns. She appeared to Rilla as an ice queen, untouchable by mere mortals and frigid of heart. She was cordial enough, but Rilla didn’t care much for her haughty demeanor.
Lord Florian also introduced Rilla to Princess Freida of Vern, a region that experienced eternal springtime. Her chestnut hair was braided with small, fragrant flowers, and her teal gown was one of the most beautiful Rilla had ever seen. Princess Freida herself would have been lovely if she didn’t wrinkle her nose like a ruffled hare. She made a point of tilting her head back to look at Rilla down her nose. It was difficult to find it insulting as it was just such a comical sight.
“I’m sorry for her rudeness,” whispered Lord Florian as they walked away. “I’m amazed that she’s still so arrogant. Princess Freida only received an invitation because she attends the Academy. Otherwise she’d be back in Vern where she belongs. You would think rejecting the Crown Prince of Clement would force her to be more placating.”
Rilla gasped. “She refused to marry Prince Armin?”
The Chancellor paused in his steps and then chuckled.
“Oh, no, My Lady. I apologize. I forgot that you’re not from Clement. Prince Armin is only now the Crown Prince, but he is the second-born son of the King and Queen. Their eldest, Prince Alec, was betrothed to Princess Freida. Unfortunately, an enchantress transformed him into a frog. A kiss from his true love can change him back, but Freida refused to touch her lips to such a creature.”
Rilla turned to take a second look at the cruel-hearted princess. Princess Freida sneered back.
“Foolish, heartless girl.” Lord Florian shook his head. “It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway, I don’t think someone so arrogant is capable of love.”
Judging by Lady Florian’s personality, Rilla expected Lord Florian knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Anyway, Armin is now the Crown Prince, and it’s been a challenge for everyone. Prince Alec was groomed for the throne since he was an infant, and so Prince Armin is getting a rather hastened version of preparation.”
After an awkward silence, she asked, “Do I have to go to the Academy?”
“Yes, it seems so,” replied Lord Florian. “Princess Gwynter is also a student, and though she’s cold and carries herself highly, she’s worlds better than Freida.”
“I gathered that.” Rilla smiled.
“My wife is the Vice Chancellor there as well.”
Rilla’s stomach sank. It was no wonder Lady Florian appeared so mortified to have been rescued by a civilian. As a high-ranking official of the Academy, she should have been able to defend herself against ordinary bandits. Having her life saved by an untrained girl was a humiliation rather than a kindness.
The evening progressed, and Rilla met more and more nobles associated with the Academy. She soon found herself preferring the idea of joining the front lines after all. At least there, she would not have to endure the social humiliation of being a former servant that everyone resented.
After meeting a seemingly bored Prince Marcassin of ‘none of your business,’ who seemed more interested in eating vol-au-vents than in making conversation, Rilla cleared her throat. “I must confess, Lord Florian, I don’t think the Academy is right for me.”
“I noticed your discomfort, My Lady,” he replied. “No matter what others here may think of you, you have found favour with the Royal family. The King might come up with a solution that would make all parties happy. You saved their only remaining heir. This gives you leverage beyond your comprehension.”
She let out a relieved breath. “I do hope you’re right.”
When the ball came to a close, Lord Florian gave Rilla a shallow bow and polite kiss on the back of her hand. This action shocked several courtiers and made Lady Florian fume. Rilla stood to the side, watching her new benefactor leave with his arms around his daughters. She wondered whether her own father had been as kind as Lord Florian.
As the majority of the guests left, Wilfred, the powdered servant from earlier, approached, his snub nose in the air. “You will follow me to the servants’ quarters.”
Rilla bristled.
Prince Armin appeared at her side. To the servant, he said, “You are impertinent beyond tolerance. Lady Rilla is an honored guest of my family, and she will have proper accommodations. Be gone with you!”
Wilfred left in a huff, and Prince Armin waved over a young maid to escort Rilla to her chambers.
“I hope you had a pleasant time.” The Prince looked into her eyes and smiled.
She felt her cheeks warm, but took deep breaths to prevent herself from turning crimson. Her feet throbbed, her bodice dug into her ribs, and her hair felt too tight for her scalp. “It was a very different experience for me.”
“Hopefully better times are ahead,” he replied with a nod, seeming to have read her true feelings through her words.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she smiled.
The maid led her down a maze of corridors to her accommodations, and she was in awe of the splendor of the suite. It was as opulent as her chambers at Lord Bluebeard’s manor. Unable to help herself, she grinned and collapsed onto the feathered bed, a luxury only Mother and her sisters enjoyed. Desperate for rest, she got back up to pull off her gown and change into a fresh sleeping chemise. The first rays of sunshine peeped through a gap in the curtains, and Rilla imagined that everyone would be sleeping well toward midday.
She nestled into the bed, marveling at its softness, but soon felt a lump pushing up into her back. She tried ignoring it, but the pressure of the lump grew over time. She checked the smoothness of her chemise, of the sheets, thinking bunched up fabric must be the culprit. When this failed, she tried turning from side to side, rolling to different parts of the bed, but nothing worked. The lump persisted.
Rilla growled and threw herself out of bed. She lifted the mattress, but found nothing hard underneath. Rubbing her itching eyes, she yawned. She would have to cope with the mysterious discomfort. She’d slept on her uncomfortable servant’s bed her entire life.
Before succumbing to sleep, Rilla thought she saw the inquisitive face and shiny black eyes of a bluebird peeping in through the gap in her curtain.
The Visitor
Somehow, Rilla managed to sleep, despite the lump in her bed. She awoke around midday and checked that her staff still remained under her pillow. Her curtains were already opened, and sounds of bustling servants became audible
through the walls of her chambers. She buried her head further into her pillow, feeling lazy for the first time she could remember. It was as if all her years adhering to a strict servant’s schedule, followed by the last fortnight’s exhausting adventure had caught up with her. She was, after all, a mere human, and her body was tired.
Rilla allowed herself to doze, relaxed in the thought that she didn’t need to get up to scrub floors or navigate through strange forests. When she finally got up, she would ask Prince Armin to speak to the King about getting her out of the Academy.
A knock at her door forced her to open her eyes, and she wrapped herself in a robe getting up to answer. Wilfred, the powdered servant, stood at her door. Rilla’s nostrils twitched at the overwhelming flowery scent of the man, and his pompous expression made her ball her fists.
She summoned an imperious tone. “Yes?”
“You have a visitor in the green room,” he replied.
“I need a few moments.” She closed the door in his face. She found a pretty, blue dress laid out on the chaise, along with the bags she’d left at the inn. The dress actually fit her tall frame, and Rilla wondered whether someone had taken her measurements from the ballgown and made up an outfit suitable for a royal guest.
Rilla changed into the dress, trying to guess the identity of her visitor. It seemed strange that anyone would come to see her when nobody knew she’d stayed overnight at the palace. She paused at the mirror, ran her hands through her long, blonde curls, and braided the front off her face. Any minor bruises from the night before had already faded, leaving her complexion as creamy and rosy as ever. When she was satisfied with her reflection, Rilla emerged from her chambers. She smirked on the inside to see Wilfred’s face twist in irritation. He turned on his heel, leading her down the corridor.
“Who is my visitor?” asked Rilla.
“He did not give me his name, I’m afraid,” the servant replied.
The Academy (Perrault Chronicles Book 2) Page 2