Despite all that, what a wonderful time she’d had. To finally see the palace, with its glistening chandeliers, and all the beautiful gowns and the gardens. To drink in the ball’s romantic music.
In the shadows, a glass slipper shimmered on her foot. She bent to pick it up.
Strange, that everything should disappear except her glass slipper.
She hugged it to her chest. Before this night, she hadn’t thought magic would ever touch her life. None of this would have been possible without her fairy godmother.
She gazed at the stars twinkling above her. Somehow, she knew her godmother was listening. “Thank you so much . . . for everything.”
Carefully, she tucked her glass slipper into her pocket. At least she would have it to remind her of what a beautiful night it had been.
Her fairy godmother’s spell had been broken. Tomorrow, everything would go back to the way it was before. Her stepmother would go back to ordering her around the chateau, her stepsisters, Anastasia and Drizella, to tormenting her over every one of their needs, but she’d caught a glimpse of happiness, something she hadn’t felt in many years.
Her eyes had opened to the possibility of leaving home, of dreaming dreams that might actually come true. But she wasn’t brave enough to chase them—not yet. Not so soon, anyway, after such a magnificent night.
What she didn’t realize was—she might not have a choice.
Threads of dawn embossed the sky, rays of pinkish light stretching over the opalescent clouds to brighten the city beneath it.
Many of the young ladies who had traveled from afar to attend the ball were only now arriving home, their feet swollen from dancing all night and their spirits deflated from failing to catch even a single glance from Prince Charles.
For Cinderella, the morning was like any other, though she woke in better spirits than usual, and she hummed to herself while she prepared breakfast for her stepmother and stepsisters.
Anastasia and Drizella weren’t awake yet, at least not when she ascended the staircase to deliver their meals. But once she reached the top, she heard her stepmother barging into her daughters’ rooms, urging them to get dressed.
“Everyone’s talking about it,” Lady Tremaine said while Cinderella brought a breakfast tray into Anastasia’s room, where everyone had gathered. “The whole kingdom. Hurry now, he’ll be here any minute.”
“Who will?” asked Drizella.
“The Grand Duke. He’s been hunting all night.”
“Hunting?” her stepsister repeated.
“For that girl—the one who lost her slipper at the ball last night. They say he’s madly in love with her.”
Anastasia yawned. “The duke is?”
“No, no, no. The prince!”
Cinderella gasped and dropped the trays. The prince?
She couldn’t believe it. The last thing she would have guessed was that the young man she’d spent the evening with was Prince Charles himself.
Then again, she’d never expected to see him again, much less learn the next day that the heir to the throne of Aurelais was looking for her.
“Pick that up, you clumsy fool.”
Obediently, Cinderella knelt, but her attention was far from the shards of broken porcelain on the floor. She clung to her stepmother’s every next word.
“The glass slipper is their only clue,” Lady Tremaine continued. “The duke has been ordered to try it on every girl in the kingdom. And if one can be found whom the slipper fits, then, by the king’s command, that girl shall be the prince’s bride.”
His bride.
The word made Cinderella’s head reel. Everything blurred, and she forgot her stepmother and her stepsisters—even where she was. If the prince wanted her to be his bride—that meant he . . . he loved her. It meant she’d no longer have to work as her stepmother’s servant, or live in the attic alone. She’d be free.
Without thinking, she began humming the song she and her companion—the prince—had danced to. An imaginary orchestra accompanied her: strings swelling with a lush harmony, a harp tinkling a luxurious sweep at the cadence, and flutes singing the dulcet countermelody. She swayed with every step as she made her way back to her room to make herself presentable for the duke’s arrival. It just would not do to see the Grand Duke with dust in her hair and crumbs all over her apron.
She was numb with anticipation. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to feel such hope?
Cinderella reached for the comb beside her mirror and ran it through her hair, a thrilling tingle shooting up her spine with each stroke. From the window, she could see the king’s castle gleaming in the distance, its towers and spires glittering white as pearls. Graceful as a swan, it sat on a cloud of green: a glorious garden, with endless rows of elm and spruce trees so verdant that emeralds were dull in comparison.
Was the prince inside now, looking out from one of those tall arched windows and wondering where she was? Would he really marry her once he found out she possessed the other glass slipper? She didn’t know what would happen when they reunited, but that didn’t matter. In fact, it thrilled her. For once the future would bring more than her quotidian chores, her stepmother’s rebukes, her stepsisters’ spite. Her life was going to change. Finally.
Leaning closer to the mirror, she studied herself, wishing she had something nicer than her work dress to wear.
Setting down her comb, she glanced out the window reflected on her mirror. No sign of the Grand Duke yet. How she hoped he would arrive soon; she didn’t know how much longer she could wait. She hugged herself, feeling her anticipation building inside.
So deep in a daze was she that she didn’t realize Lady Tremaine had followed her up the winding stairway to her tiny garret room in the attic, not until it was too late.
“No,” she whispered, finally seeing her stepmother appear behind her, her dark silhouette filling the mirror. Her horror grew as Lady Tremaine’s fingers slid across the wooden door. Cinderella turned, but her stepmother seized the key and slammed the door shut.
“No!” Cinderella raced across the room and pounded her fists against the door. “You can’t keep me in here! Please! You can’t. You just can’t.”
But Lady Tremaine’s footsteps were already fading, quickly descending from the tower. Cinderella crumpled against the door.
It was no use; her stepmother wasn’t coming back. She was trapped.
Below, the gates outside creaked open. Horses nickered, and the heavy wheels of a carriage trundled onto the driveway.
The Grand Duke had arrived.
A burst of hope swelled in her chest. Picking herself up, she rushed to the window, frantically trying to get the duke’s attention.
“Your Grace!” she shouted, waving. “Over here! Please, help me!”
Below, the footman helped the Grand Duke out of the carriage. He cast an odd shadow, thin but for the paunch at his belly, with an egg-shaped head. A tall blue hat capped his black hair, its bright red feather matching the sash around his torso. As Lady Tremaine greeted him outside, he walked briskly to the door, giving what seemed like only the most obligatory of greetings.
“Your Grace!” Cinderella tried again. Louder, this time.
But the duke disappeared into the house.
He hadn’t heard her. No one had, and no one would. After all, she was locked up in the chateau’s tower, so high she was peering down at the tops of the trees. It was no use shouting.