Cinderella hid a smile. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good. Besides, you wouldn’t want him anyway. He’s been so melancholy over that idiotic princess with the impractical shoes. He doesn’t even know her name.”
Cinderella bit her lip and subconsciously reached out to rearrange the flowers before her. While it warmed her heart that the prince was still searching for her and had declared that he’d fallen in love with the girl he’d danced with at the ball, she couldn’t forget how he hadn’t recognized her outside the banquet hall.
Her stepmother’s words echoed in Cinderella’s head. Look at yourself—you are nothing. An orphan and a servant. Who would want you? Certainly not His Royal Highness.
“I blame my brother for young Charles’s romantic notions. George was always the sentimental sort, a believer in love at first sight. That would explain the ball.” Genevieve sighed. “Having Charles pick a bride in such a way, having all the women parade themselves about the palace. Love doesn’t happen like that. Love takes time. George used to have more sense when the queen was alive.”
“What was the queen like?” Cinderella asked.
“She was as kind as she was beautiful—far too good for my brother.” Genevieve chuckled. Then her expression darkened. “She died far too young. . . .” The duchess’s voice trailed off, and she quickly composed herself. “Anyhow, at this rate, the only way to find this mystery maiden of his would be to hold another ball!”
Cinderella pretended to study the flowers she’d arranged so she wouldn’t have to meet the duchess’s eye. “But that isn’t happening, is it?”
“Of course not.” Genevieve made a face. “Imagine, holding another ball simply so Charles can find this glass slipper maiden. What a ludicrous idea! Though now that you mention it, I’d better talk some sense into George before he comes up with such an idea. Wish me luck. If we are all to have some peace in this castle, I will need it.”
“Good luck,” Cinderella said faintly.
After the duchess left, Cinderella sank onto the plush carpet. She’d gone from “orphan” and “nobody” in her stepmother’s eyes to “this glass slipper maiden” in everyone else’s.
Who was she now? She was still a servant, albeit one for the royal family—and she received wages for her work. It was a respectable job, one many would dream of, one she was proud of, and yet . . .
“I’m not happy,” she whispered. She said it again, louder this time. “I haven’t been happy, not in a long time.”
What a strange relief it was to finally admit that to herself. After years of wearing a smile for her stepmother and stepsisters, of pretending to be content to work in their household lest Lady Tremaine kick her out onto the streets, her heart couldn’t heal itself over a mere week or two. It would take time.
Meeting the prince had made her happy, but that happiness had been fleeting. She needed something real for herself. A purpose.
Closing the duchess’s door softly behind her, she allowed herself a long exhale. She had something in mind.
Ferdinand, the Grand Duke of Malloy, straightened the scarlet sash draped over his torso and flicked a speck of dust off his sleeve. Given that this nonsensical search for the maiden with the glass slipper was all but finished, he hoped he could get the prince to listen to reason.
Doubtful. But he would certainly try his best.
The morning was slowly aging, bright white light filtering in from the palace’s arched windows.
After straightening his collar, Ferdinand turned to Charles’s attendant, whose profile bore a striking resemblance to the young prince’s. “What are you waiting for, squire? Announce me.”
The sure-footed young man marched to the side and knocked thrice on the prince’s door before opening it. Then he cried, “Your Royal Highness, the Grand Duke.”
Ferdinand was surprised to find the prince leaning against a marble pillar, his face to the sun-filled window, reading some nonsensical philosophy book. Ferdinand couldn’t make out the title occupying the royal’s attention, but before Prince Charles had left the palace for his studies at the Royal University, he had spent most of his time avoiding his tutors and playing pranks on the staff. To see him absorbed in a scholarly book so early in the morning surprised Ferdinand—and worried him.
The prince’s years away had changed him, his exposure to greater Aurelais clearly giving him ideas about how the monarchy needed to change. Ideas like welcoming commoners in the council, or rewarding merit over class, or taxing the nobles to distribute wealth among the poor. Ideas that Ferdinand knew he wouldn’t agree with.
“Ahem,” began the Grand Duke.
The prince flipped a page, absorbed in his book.
A muscle twitched in Ferdinand’s jaw. These young people are so rude these days, he thought. So easily distracted.
Still, the duke made no motion that he was irritated, and instead plastered on a smile. Heaven knew that any ambitious man who wanted the king’s ear needed to master schooling his features into an expression of placid obsequiousness. And by God, he had.
Besides, he was aware the prince was frustrated with him for failing to find the maiden who could fit the glass slipper. Indeed, after he’d declared to the king that the search was futile and over, Charles’s expression grew so lost and forlorn Ferdinand could hardly imagine the youth as a suitable sovereign. Over the past three days, the prince had become obsessed with finding the girl—so obsessed that he’d ordered the cursed shoe encased in a glass box, to be displayed outside the palace in case the girl should come riding by and see it one day.
A ludicrous idea. Ferdinand had almost laughed aloud when he heard it. The king’s money was obviously better spent building defenses or encouraging relations with the neighboring kingdoms, but upon realizing the prince was serious, Ferdinand did not dare voice his opposition. He was too wise for that.
Let the boy lose credit in the council’s eyes. Let the council see, as Ferdinand did, that Charles was completely unsuited for the throne. In the meantime, the Grand Duke would orchestrate his own schemes.
Beginning with this morning’s visit.
He swept a bow. “Your Royal Highness, thank you for agreeing to this audience with me.”
“What is it?” said the prince, his gloom-ridden eyes only briefly flitting up from his book to meet the Grand Duke’s.
“Your Highness, I understand that you are disappointed in my service.” Ferdinand’s words tasted sour, so he lifted his tone an octave lest the ill flavor seep into his voice. “I wished to apologize for failing to find the maiden with the glass slipper.”
“Apologize?” The prince’s tone was harsh. “Somehow I doubt that’s the only reason you’re here.”
“Come, Your Highness, I realize you are distraught—at me, and at this entirely harrowing episode. . . .” Ferdinand’s voice trailed off. Truth be told, it was most harrowing for him. Even now, days after his search had concluded, when he closed his eyes, all he could see were ladies’ feet. All he could hear were the strident cries: “It’s my slipper! It’s my slipper!”
Feet everywhere—it was the stuff of nightmares. Big feet, little feet, toes and heels and calluses and ankles . . .