Three corridors down, Charles passed the physician hurrying to the king’s chamber.
“That was quick,” he murmured. “Dr. Coste! Are you on your way to see my father?”
“Why yes, Your Highness.” The physician shuffled backward, and a flash of parchment peeked out from under his arm, stamped with Ferdinand’s seal.
Curious. What did Ferdinand want with the royal physician?
“I am concerned about his health. Was he ill much while I was away?”
“His Majesty the king is in excellent health!” Dr. Coste replied, a little too brightly. “His appetite is vigorous, and his energy boundless. I have recommended that he exercise more, perhaps a daily morning walk about the gardens, but His Majesty has been so excited for Your Highness’s return from the Royal University this month that he has not yet implemented my suggestion. Even still, there is nothing to be concerned about.”
“You are certain? His cough sounded worrisome.”
“It’s happened before,” the physician assured him. “Likely, His Majesty is simply growing more sensitive to things like dust—not unusual for a man of his age. That, and his blood pressure is slightly elevated . . . but it’s nothing a good week of rest can’t fix. Think nothing of it.”
“I see,” Charles replied. That was what his father had said. “Well, if there’s anything you can do . . .”
Dr. Coste stroked his beard. “I know the Grand Duke enjoys visiting His Majesty after the evening council meetings, but I would suggest that your father not take any tea after dinner. A better night’s rest should relieve his coughing fits. I’ll propose a sleeping draught instead.”
That eased some of Charles’s concern. “Thank you, Dr. Coste. Carry on.”
Unclenching his fists, the prince headed to the stables. He might not be allowed to leave the palace to help search for the girl of his dreams, but a brisk ride through the royal grounds would help clear his mind.
Even if just for a few hours.
At precisely seven thirty in the morning, the city of Valors came alive. One by one, the shopkeepers opened their doors, sweeping the floors and throwing buckets of water onto the streets to clean their storefronts. Bright yellow and purple awnings hovered over the tiled roofs, and aromas of bread, oranges, and fish wafted into the crisp air. Carriages darted out of narrow side streets and rumbled onto the roads, and the fountains in the town squares gurgled to life.
As Cinderella followed Louisa deeper into the city, she marveled at the scene. Everywhere she looked there were people. Children clinging to their mothers’ hands, young couples on a morning stroll, and elderly women lining up at the market for the day’s first pick of fruits and vegetables. Years of loneliness, so deeply carved into Cinderella’s heart, were slowly whittled away.
This was what she had missed during her years with Lady Tremaine. Going out to the market with the servants, meeting strangers and chatting with other girls her age, wandering the streets of the city with her papa until she got lost. Having dreams of what she could do . . . She allowed herself a moment of hopeful thinking. Maybe she could open a flower shop one day, like the one she’d just passed, and have her own garden of roses like the ones her mother had grown.
“Come on,” said Louisa, helping her navigate the growing crowds. “Once we’re out of the square there’s a shortcut we can take to the palace.”
Cinderella’s nerves fluttered as she glanced up at the king’s residence. It crowned the top of a nearby hill, and was so close she could make out the lions embroidered on the tower flags and the pink roses lining the roads up to the main gates.
Soon she’d be there again.
“Isn’t it marvelous?” Louisa asked, catching her staring. “It’s even grander inside. You’ll see.”
Cinderella had seen, but she simply nodded. After all, what could she say? That she’d ridden an enchanted pumpkin-turned-coach up the winding starlit path just two nights ago?
From her window, it’d been like a painting out of a fairy tale, not an actual place people lived in. She still remembered how intensely her heart had raced, how she’d listened to the horses’ hooves beating against the pavement, steadily bringing her closer to the castle.
Even the air there had been sweet, with the scent of lilies and roses and flowers she could not name. Of freshly watered bushes, of pebbled stones, of horsehair and gaslight. It had smelled heavenly.
The streets of Valors did not smell heavenly. Smashed oranges, rotten vegetables, and broken carriage wheels splattered with mud littered the roads. While Louisa chattered away, her conversation vacillating between worrying about being late for work and instructing Cinderella on how to behave in the palace, Cinderella focused on avoiding a series of suspiciously colored puddles, piles of horse manure, and broken wine bottles.
Before she knew it, she’d followed Louisa up the hill toward the castle.
“If you ever get lost,” said Louisa, pointing at the clock tower, the same one that had struck midnight during the ball, “head to the clock tower. The palace is a bona fide maze, and it’s the tallest building you’ll see from any point. Turn left at the purple tulips and follow the hedges. The servants’ quarters are right past the iron gate.”
“Purple tulips,” repeated Cinderella, brushing her fingers across the leafy walls, “down to the iron gate. That’s easy enough.”
At her side, Bruno let out a growl; he’d spotted a stray cat scampering out of a bush.
“That reminds me,” added Louisa. “We’ll have to keep your dog here for now.” She gestured at the hedges, whose branches were loose enough that Bruno could easily crawl inside to hide. “I’ll sneak him inside during lunch.”
As Cinderella nodded, Louisa tilted her head to the side, studying her. “Just a minute. Aunt Irmina’s a stickler for appearances.” Removing a few pins from her own hair, she wrapped Cinderella’s ponytail into a neat bun. “There. That’ll help a little.”
She motioned at the gate ahead, guarded by four sentries. Hooking her arm under Cinderella’s, Louisa whispered, “Don’t say anything. Stay a step behind me, smile, and follow my lead.”
Cinderella’s new friend strode up to the guards, greeting them with a winsome smile. “Francis, Theodore, Jules, Jean, good morning.”
One by one, they returned Louisa’s infectious smile. “Morning, Louisa. Late again?”
Louisa raised a finger to her mouth, pretending to shush them. “Hoping Aunt Irmina is too busy to notice I’m a few minutes behind.”
“You’re in luck, as always.”
“The palace still in an uproar?” Louisa exhaled with relief. “I thought so.”
“You better hurry before those few minutes become half an hour. It’s nearly eight.”
They parted to let Louisa through, but at the last minute, the fourth guard intercepted Cinderella.
“Papers, miss?”
“She’s a new maid,” cut in Louisa. “No papers yet.”
“New maid?”
“Yes, for . . . for the new princess.”
At the words, Cinderella flinched, the blood rushing to her head. Luckily, no one was paying attention to her.