“How did you—”
“One of my mother’s customers ate too many oysters and fell ill,” explained Louisa with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Won’t hurt anyone if you borrow her dress for a few hours.”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“Yes, you could. Mama’s already agreed to let you have it for the night. You’re not allowed to refuse.”
Touched, Cinderella pressed the gown’s soft silk to her chest. “I guess in that case . . .”
“Hurry and put it on before Aunt Irmina gets back.”
Eager to comply, Cinderella slipped behind the changing screen. The gown was still warm from having been pressed, and the ruffles tickled her collarbone as she slipped it onto her body.
“I had a feeling it’d be just your size.” Louisa surveyed Cinderella with an approving eye. “But it’s missing something. A shawl maybe, or a necklace.”
A necklace. Cinderella opened her dresser drawer for her mother’s beads. “Will this do?”
“Oh, that’s very nice,” said Louisa. “The perfect finishing touch.”
While she clasped the beads around her neck, Cinderella glanced at herself in the mirror. The pink dress was elegant and understated, its shape slim and formfitting—unlike the billowy skirts on the ball gown her fairy godmother had conjured for her. That suited her just fine. She wasn’t going to the masquerade to catch the prince’s eye.
Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. The thought slipped into her mind before she could stop it.
Cinderella took in a deep breath, trying to relax all the tension gathered in her shoulders. Her toes wriggled in her shoes. No glass slippers this time; her shoes were made of leftover scraps of satin and, for good measure, she’d added a band over the ankles so they wouldn’t fall off.
Then again, she wasn’t planning on having to dash off at midnight this time.
A touch of wistfulness came over Cinderella as she and Louisa arrived in the ballroom. It was just as magnificent as she remembered: a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, reflecting brilliantly upon the marble floor, making it seem like she was walking among the stars.
She scanned the room, searching first for the Grand Duke and then for her stepmother. No sign of Lady Tremaine and her daughters.
With a sigh of relief, Cinderella adjusted her mask, the feathers tickling her cheeks as she tied it tight behind her hair.
“Are you sure no one will recognize us?” she asked Louisa.
“I’m certain. Stop fretting!”
Cinderella fidgeted with her mask one last time and inhaled. There was no need to worry. They had taken a secret entrance into the ballroom, one used most frequently by the servants who served the king on his private balcony, so no one had seen them arrive. Not to mention the mask! There were so many people—all wearing masks—that even if her stepmother and stepsisters were present, chances were slim they’d recognize her.
She swept her fingers against the marble balustrade, her shoes sinking into the plush carpet as she and Louisa descended one of the ballroom staircases. Last time, she’d been so caught up in the moment that she barely had time to absorb and admire her surroundings.
How foolish I was, she thought. I didn’t even know he was the prince! I didn’t bother wondering why the orchestra started playing the moment we began to dance, or why there was no one else on the floor with us.
She wouldn’t be so foolish anymore.
The orchestra had begun a waltz, the violins swelling into a lilting melody, but there was to be no dancing until the duchess made her appearance.
“Why does everyone keep looking to the door?” Cinderella asked, but she knew the answer as soon as the words left her.
“Everyone is waiting to see whether the lady with the glass slipper will show up tonight. The entire household is betting on it.”
“What do you think?”
“I have fifty silver aurels on it.” Louisa’s eyes glittered behind her mask. “What about you?”
“I . . . I don’t think so.”
“Come on, some of the girls are over by the buffet. Smart idea to get some nourishment before the dancing starts!”
Cinderella had started to follow Louisa when, out of the corner of her eye, she spied the Grand Duke perched on a private balcony beside a portly elderly man, speaking in hushed tones as his companion observed the assembly with a pair of binoculars.
Could that be the king? she wondered. Given the older man’s uniform, pinned with so many medals it weighed down his shoulders, it had to be.
She touched Louisa’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go first? I want to explore a little.”
“Shall I come with you?”
“No, I won’t be long. I . . . I just want to catch a glimpse of the king.”
“Don’t take too long.” Louisa shot Cinderella a sly smile. “Our kingdom’s most eligible bachelor will make his appearance with his aunt soon. You won’t want to miss that.”
Louisa spun away and missed the deep flush that colored Cinderella’s cheeks at the mention of the prince.
Composing herself, Cinderella pursued her mission of spying on the Grand Duke and returned to the secret door through which she and Louisa had entered. Located in one of the ballroom’s many anterooms, it looked like an ordinary wall panel, marked only by an ivory knob in the center. Inside was a network of narrow tunnels that Cinderella didn’t dare explore lest she get lost. After retracing her steps, she cracked open the door a hair, just in time to hear the duke say:
“If I may say so, Your Majesty, I saw the young prince with your sister. They were riding into the city yesterday morning, and since then, he hasn’t been himself.”
“What are you trying to say?”
The duke took out his monocle and wiped it clean with a handkerchief. “As I’ve been trying to tell you, your sister’s influence on the prince concerns me. Fortunately, I have invited the Princess of Lourdes to attend—”
“I do not want to hear this, Ferdinand. Just let me have my hour’s worth of peace and quiet.”
“But you must listen, sire.” The duke lowered his voice, and Cinderella couldn’t make out his next words, but the color suddenly drained from King George’s face.
Oh, no. Cinderella swallowed hard. The duke must have discovered what Genevieve had been trying to hide from him—that the king was planning to abdicate.
Her heart hammering in her ears, she dared open the door a fraction wider.
Her suspicion was verified by the king’s next words: “Does Charles know?”
“He will not have heard it from me.”
“Do you think he should know?”
A long, deliberate pause. “No.”
Before she could hear more of their conversation, the king disappeared behind a curtained partition, and from the top of the ballroom staircase, the royal crier announced, “The Duchess Genevieve d’Orlanne, sister of His Royal Majesty, King George-Louis Philippe, honorable and beloved sovereign of Aurelais.”
Brass fanfares trumpeted across the chamber, startling Cinderella, who quickly exited the secret panel to join the rest of the guests in greeting the duchess.
The Duchess of Orlanne had donned a black mask with silver whiskers, and she descended the staircase regally, fluttering a matching fan with feathers so long they nearly brushed against the carpet. At her side was Prince Charles, wearing a white mask that covered the upper half of his face.