Simply recalling Lady Tremaine’s awful daughters made him shudder. It’d been shameful how the two young women had thrown themselves at the glass slipper.
“Why, it’s my slipper!” they had cried at each other. “It’s my glass slipper!”
If Ferdinand heard those four words again today, he would go mad. Indeed, it wouldn’t surprise him if tomorrow he woke to find all his black hairs had gone gray.
The indignity of it all!
Sunlight streamed in through the folds of the carriage’s curtains, the bright light making the duke wince. He opened an eye, stealing a glimpse outside. They were about to pass the statue of his father in one of the city’s finer squares. It was his favorite part of Valors, and as a boy, Ferdinand could never get enough of boasting to his friends about how important his father was, to have such a dignified and heroic likeness in the center of the city.
“One day, I, too, will have a statue,” he’d declared.
So imagine his horror to see pigeons perched on his father’s head, the stone facade of which clearly hadn’t been scrubbed clean in weeks! And dogs were relieving themselves among the flower beds surrounding the statue!
If he hadn’t been on such a tight schedule, he would have barged out of his carriage, shooed away the pigeons, and demanded the utterly disrespectful commoners take their canine brutes elsewhere.
“Disgraceful,” muttered the duke with a scowl. And after all his family had done for Aurelais! He made a mental note to have the filth-ridden state of his father’s statue addressed as soon as possible.
How times had changed. When he was a child, people had respect for nobility. The sheer idea of the prince marrying a lesser noble would have sent tongues wagging. What’s more, a commoner of undistinguished background would have been unheard of!
His father, the previous grand duke, certainly would have advised the king against it, as Ferdinand had tried.
His father had overseen the rebuilding of Aurelais after the Seventeen Years’ War. This magnificent statue in Valors’s main square now honored him for facilitating the exile of all magical beings—namely fairies who’d held far too much sway in politics, what with that ridiculous tradition of blessing and cursing princes and princesses—from the kingdom. Ferdinand was not going to get any statue for finding Prince Charles’s so-called true love.
What had he done to deserve such a fate? To be volleyed around the kingdom like some common messenger boy? He’d spent all night and all morning reciting a silly proclamation about a glass slipper instead of working on critical laws and budget plans to share with the council.
Yes, Aurelais had been at peace for over half a century, but there were important treaties still to be negotiated, great minds to meet. Why, just the other day Ferdinand had read about an inventor who traveled the world on a flying balloon. And he could even take passengers in it! Other nations were chartering ships to circumnavigate the world, establishing important trade routes and discovering new lands.
But here he was, the right-hand man to the king of Aurelais, dispatched to each corner of the realm to find the owner of—a shoe.
Ferdinand stared at the glass slipper sitting on his lap, hating the very sight of it. He had half a mind to throw it out the window.
He blamed the prince.
“You frightened her,” Prince Charles had accused him late the night before. “If you hadn’t sent your men after her, she might have come back.”
The youth was delusional. And it had taken all of Ferdinand’s restraint to bite his tongue and not tell him exactly that.
The king hadn’t been much help. It’d been his idea to have every maiden in the kingdom try the slipper, an idea Ferdinand had agreed to. In fact, Ferdinand had happily penned the proclamation:
It is upon this day decreed that a quest be instituted throughout the length and breadth of our domain. The sole and express purpose of such quest is to be as follows: that every maid throughout the kingdom, without prearranged exception, shall try on her foot this slipper of glass, and should one be found upon whose foot this slipper shall properly fit, such maiden shall be acclaimed the object of this search and immediately forthwith shall be looked upon as the true love of His Royal Highness, our beloved son and heir, the noble prince.
Only Ferdinand hadn’t expected that he would have to be the one doing the questing.
King George had always been irrational when it came to matters regarding his son. It reminded Ferdinand why he was glad he’d never married or begotten any children. There were more elegant ways to leave a legacy.
He only prayed he’d find the maiden soon. Very soon.
Endeavoring to keep from falling asleep, he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to clean his monocle, but before he had a chance to use it, the driver reined the horses to a halt.
“We’ve arrived, Your Grace.”
Ferdinand grimaced. Reaching for his hat, he put on his most dignified expression, departed the carriage, and strode to the front door.
Inside the house, someone peeked through the curtains, hastily closing them when the Grand Duke noticed.
“It’s him!” he heard a young woman squeal. “The Grand Duke. With my—”
The duke pulled his hat over his ears before he heard the dreaded words.
“—glass slipper!”
It was going to be an excruciatingly long day.
The door creaked open with a soft groan, and Cinderella braced herself for her stepmother’s arrival.
I’m leaving, she practiced announcing to Lady Tremaine in her head. I won’t stay here another minute.
Only . . . where would she go? Where could she go? Dressed in these rags, no one would believe she’d been the girl at the ball with the dazzling gown and glass slippers.
I’ll . . . I’ll find the Grand Duke and show him that I have the other slipper. She inhaled, bolstered by the plan. He’ll have to believe me then.
Her stepmother’s shadow spilled through the doorway, snuffing the scant sunlight illuminating Cinderella’s room. Behind her, barricading the exit, stood her stepsisters.
Cinderella couldn’t remember the last time Anastasia and Drizella had come to the attic. From their wrinkled noses and contemptuous gazes, they must have been wondering the same.
“I forgot how small this place is,” Drizella grumbled. “We can barely fit in here.”
“It’s dirty, too,” added Anastasia. “All this dust is getting in my hair.” She tossed a red ringlet over her shoulder and fanned herself with her hands.
Seeing Lady Tremaine’s curled lip, her stepsisters’ raised chins and turned cheeks, Cinderella straightened. However they mocked her now—she wouldn’t let them hurt her.
“The Grand Duke has left,” said Lady Tremaine evenly. “He shan’t be returning.”
“I know,” replied Cinderella.
“Good. It has come to my attention that you have not been entirely truthful with us.” Cutting off Cinderella’s protest, her stepmother went on, “I have given the matter some thought, and I have a mind to report you.”
“Report me?” Cinderella frowned. This wasn’t what she had expected at all. “What have I done?”
“What have you done?” repeated Lady Tremaine. She turned to her daughters, laughing. “She pretends she hasn’t the faintest idea.”