Sinful Cinderella

The carriage stops before the palace. The driver surprises me by hopping down and holding the door.

“Oh. Thank you.” I step down without looking at him. “Um... find a place to park. Then meet me here again at-” I groan “-quarter to midnight.” I tried to regain my excitement during the drive. But knowing you have less than two hours to get a marriage proposal from a prince you haven’t met or be doomed forever to mediocrity can be something of a downer.

The driver climbs back to his seat and flicks the reins. I’m glad he doesn’t speak – he’s creepy enough.

Oh my.... I’ve never been this close to the palace before. It’s impressive. Soaring walls of cream-colored stone. Lots of towers, some blunt and bulging, others slender and sky high. One of the central towers displays a massive clock with a dark face and shining gold hands. Twenty past ten. Oh dear....

I’m standing at the bottom of a huge, round staircase with steps that ripple down to me like rings in a pond. At the top, a massive set of double doors stands open, a cave of golden light. The swift, lifting notes of a waltz beckon to me from within.

I pinch my skirt and climb the stairs. No one stops me from walking right in. Two palace guards stand on either side of the doors but they just look at me. Or rather, at my dress. I suppress a smug smile. I knew black would be good.

A bright hallway stretches before me, leading to another pair of open doors. That must be the ballroom. My heart begins to float with the music I hear inside. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe it.

My whole body quivers as I creep into the ballroom. Ohhh! This must be heaven. Because no man could create a place of such majestic wonder.

I’m at the top of another staircase, looking out over the ballroom. I never knew one room could be so enormous. Hundreds of couples bobbing and swirling, like leaves twirled by the wind. A white marble floor so glossy it reflects the people upside-down in a kind of milky mirror. A vaulted ceiling, impossibly high, and painted all over with clouds and angels and rays of celestial light. Dark windows tall as trees, and chandeliers that dangle teardrops of crystal, dripping rainbows around the room. I do like crystal.

Resting my hand on the golden railing, I descend the staircase gently, not wanting to crack or break my fragile shoes. My dress slips down each step behind me, black over white. I catch several people staring up at me and I wear the expression I planned in the carriage: serene and slightly cold. I want to look mysterious.

My foot has barely touched the floor when I find no less than four men surrounding me. Three young men and one older, all smiling. “Good evening, my lady,” says a man in the middle. “Would you care to dance?”

“No, allow me, my lady, I can introduce you-”

“Hey, I saw her first!” a third man cries.

Ugh. The allurement enhancement. I should have been more specific, said it was for the prince only. This means a lot of men are going to give me trouble.

“Excuse me,” I say firmly and skirt around them.

I’ve taken only a few more steps when something grabs my attention more than the grandeur surrounding me. A smell. Faint but distinct, the aroma of roasted chicken.

Oh my goodness. I’m starving!

When did I eat last? I remember grabbing a hunk of dry bread before I ran out to fetch my stepsisters’ dancing shoes. In the past three days I’ve had almost as little food as sleep. But now that I remember food exists, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t get some right now.

But – I look for a clock and don’t see one – I don’t have time to eat. I have to find the prince.

Still, the smell leads me onward, around the dancers and along the wall, where clumps of hopeful mothers watch from the sidelines. I’ll just have a little something. A quick bite. It’ll give me a minute to make my plans and then I’ll get to work.

I pass a mirror that sprawls across a large section of wall and I turn my head for a quick glance.

And stop cold.

I look dazzling! The black dress blooming out around me, the high, feathery collar behind my neck. And my hair! Piled up on my head, a bit loose and chaotic, rather like Godnutter’s. But it works with this dress. And I’ve got a tiara I didn’t even know about. A silver tiara with sharp, flashing points. I look like a queen already. An evil queen, the best kind.

I almost forgive Godnutter for the curfew. Almost.

Toward the back of the ballroom I find a collection of small round tables. Most of them are empty now. A few couples are sitting and talking over thick slices of pie. But I don’t want pie. I want chicken.

I’m standing there, not sure what to do, when a little servant girl appears and asks if I’d like to eat something. I tell her chicken, and vegetables, and bread, and wine. Then I find a table and wait, my toes twitching inside my rock-hard shoes. I can’t say they’re terribly comfortable.

A stout young man looms up to my table. “Sitting alone, fair lady?” He asks with a heavy smile.

“Yes!” I snap and the man backs off. Oh brother. Why are the men here anyway? I guess the ladies needed escorts but the men must know the truth. This is all a colossal headhunt for the prince. His Royal Highness may think he’s selecting a bride but it’s the other way around. He is the rabbit. And we are the wolves.

I haven’t seen the prince yet. Or anyone else I know, the faces gliding past me are strangers. I amuse myself by watching the women, they’re all beautiful. Well not all, but a great many. Their gowns are lavish, their hair curled and braided and jeweled. A few of them wear tiaras but none as fancy as mine.

The little servant girl brings me a steaming plate and I’m so hungry I want to tear into it with my fingers. But I force myself to eat decorously. The chicken is wonderful, moist and smoky, unlike the bland cuts of wood Cook serves to us at home.

I’m starting to like this palace.

I don’t stop watching for the prince. I peer into the crowd, check the room from side to side. As I’m turning my head I notice the person sitting at the table next to mine and almost jump.

It’s Moody. Sitting alone and looking right at me.

I’ve got a mouthful of chicken so I can’t speak. Moody simply looks at me, mildly curious, then lets her lifeless eyes drift back to the ballroom. I continue to stare at her. That was odd. The way she looked at me.... Almost as if... she didn’t recognize me?

Gracious, I don’t look that different! My face is the same, I just saw it in the mirror. Is she really that dense?

“Hello,” I say, just to test it.

She looks back. “Good evening.” She says it so politely I know she doesn’t recognize me. That’s so bizarre.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” I ask.

“Not a bit,” she says. “You?”

I laugh. “I just got here. Awfully late, I’m afraid.”

“You haven’t missed much,” Moody says dryly. “Eating and dancing, dancing and eating. A long, boring speech from King Stephen. That’s all.”

“Did you dance with the prince?”

Moody shakes her head. “Don’t want to. I’ve been sitting here alone all night. Wish my sister was here.”

“Your sister?” Loony? She has to be here somewhere. Probably swimming around the prince with the rest of the sharks.

“Yes, she stayed at home. My mother wouldn’t let her come to the ball.”

Is she talking about... me? And referring to me as a sister, not a step. “Why do you want her here?” I have to ask.

Moody shrugs. “She would enjoy this. And if she didn’t, at least I’d have someone to talk to. Mother’s being stupid. Cindy has a better chance for the prince than anyone. She’s pretty. And unlike Lunilla, she’s smart.”

A hard, frozen section of my heart begins to thaw. Moody likes me. Or at least doesn’t hate me. I remember when we played together, that first year before Papa died. We would braid each other’s hair before bed. I could even make her laugh sometimes. Then, when Stepmother began to segregate me, Moody turned cold, probably afraid of defying her mother. But sometimes, when I came to make her bed in the morning, she would speak to me, a few flat sentences that I thought meant nothing. But she never got nasty, like Loony did. Maybe in her dull, emotionless way she felt sorry for me. Just didn’t know how to show it.

Well. That’s something.

Moody lifts a lazy finger. “That’s my other sister, Lunilla.”

I look up. Two people have spiraled onto the outer edge of dancers. One is Loony, her ruddy face even ruddier with exertion. And she’s dancing with-

The prince!

There he is! And he looks fabulous. Dressed in a slim white suit, edged in gold. Lunilla is running her mouth, of course, and he listens with a polite smile. I grab the napkin beside my plate and wipe the grease off my fingers. I’ve sighted my quarry.

It’s time to join the hunt.