13

When I approach the ballroom entrance, the herald starts to lift his trumpet, then lowers it when he recognizes me. I give him a half smile. “It’s alright,” I tell him. “Tonight, I want to be announced.”

He nods and blows an enthusiastic fanfare on his trumpet before shouting my name to the entire assembly. My stepsisters are standing together by a pillar, looking at me with a sort of eager horror. To their eyes, I’m still wrecked and ruined, injured and reeking of shit. So I’m sure it perplexes them when I grin in their direction and blow them a kiss before sailing into the room.

The crowd parts, creating a clear path between me and the Prince. But I don’t head straight for him. Instead I turn aside to the nearest gentleman and say, “Would you dance with me?”

It’s socially unacceptable for the lady to ask, but I’m the most resplendent person in the room, winged and glittering, and the young man looks so flattered I think he might faint. He manages to agree, and we begin waltzing together.

As long as I can keep dancing with other partners, I won’t be put in close proximity to the Prince. I just need to stay away from him until my Faerie godfather shows up with the spell he went to fetch. I’m not sure how he’ll let me know that I’m clear to approach the Prince, but he’ll figure out a way.

It’s considered rude to cut in on a couple until they’ve danced at least half a waltz together, which gives me a little time. When the Prince starts sidling through the crowd toward me and my partner, I switch to a different man so Brantley can’t cut in. I do this a few times, until Brantley begins to look very confused and perturbed.

But his confusion is nothing compared to that of my stepsisters. Vashli looks ravenous for my heart’s blood, and Amisa is crying, distressed by the fact that no one else seems to notice my injuries or my torn dress. She must think the entire world has gone mad.

Brantley is watching me even as he dances with one of the guests. I can tell he’s getting ready to break away from his partner and sever me from mine, so I breathe a hasty “Thank you for the dance” to the young lord holding my waist, and I spin away from him into the arms of another man.

This new partner of mine is tall and lean, dressed in a purple suit, with unruly black hair and a pair of—lavender eyes?

He grins at me, and the hand clasping my waist squeezes lightly. “You’re stunning in this light.”

“Another compliment,” I hiss. “How careless of you. Did you get the spell?”

“I did, but give me a moment to enjoy this.” The fingers of his left hand interlace with mine, and my heart does a quick palpitation in response.

“The Prince is getting agitated,” I whisper. “I should go.”

“Celinda.” He speaks my name firmly, in a tone deeper and more forceful than any I’ve yet heard from him. “Let me dance with you.”

“Fine,” I mutter, allowing him to twirl me and then pull me close again .

He sighs and smiles as my chest brushes his. “This is perfection.”

“Do you not dance with women in Faerie?” I say in an undertone.

“I do.” He looks at me keenly. “You don’t really mean ‘dance,’ do you? You want to know how many I’ve fucked.”

“Hush!” I glance around anxiously, but no one seems to have heard his whispered profanity.

“It’s fewer than you might think,” he says. “Six, to be precise. I tend to get very attached to the people I sleep with—heartstrings entangled and all that—which isn’t very much the fashion in Faerie, so I usually end up with those heartstrings torn to pieces.”

He’s still grinning, but it’s a fragile smile now. The look in his eyes goes straight to my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

He tilts his head. “You really are, aren’t you? You have sympathy for me , someone with magic and privilege far beyond anything you’ve known. I had a pleasant upbringing and I have a wonderful family who adores me, while you’ve suffered more than I can imagine. And yet you feel sorry for me , simply because I tend to give away my heart too easily and get it crushed. My darling, the things you could do with that vast well of compassion, if only you were given the chance to use it.”

He twirls me again and jerks me against him, pressing me so close to his chest that I can feel his heart beating fast. He’s breathing lightly, quickly, his face nearly touching mine.

And I want him to kiss me. My lips feel tantalized, tender, practically vibrating for the touch of his mouth.

But instead he whispers, “Feed him this. It will make anything you say seem charming to him.”

He presses something round into my hand, then whirls me around and pushes me gently into the Prince’s arms.

“There you are at last,” says Brantley. “Why have you— ”

But before he can say anything else, I hold up the item Killian gave me—a tiny ball of chocolate studded with peppermint chips—and I pop it into the Prince’s open mouth.

Two of the guards standing by the wall stride forward, probably thinking I’ve poisoned him, but the Prince gestures for them to wait. They halt a few paces away while he chews the candy.

“By Fate, that’s good,” he says. “I usually don’t enjoy sweets, but that was tasty. Not poison, I trust?”

My stepmother’s command takes over my tongue, but even as cruel words escape my mouth, I realize that I can control their volume, so I keep my voice to barely a whisper. “I wish it was, you pompous bastard.”

Did he hear me? Did the spell work? I hold my breath, biting my lip.

Then the Prince laughs, more heartily than he has since I met him. He waves the guards away, and they return to their posts.

“The origins of candy are quite fascinating,” he says.

“Wretchedly boring, you mean.” I hold my breath, but thanks to the spelled candy, he doesn’t seem to notice my rude interruption.

He dances with me for the next hour, explaining the history of sweets and the process for making various types of candy, along with a detailed description of a town to the north that is well-known for its chocolate. By my stepmother’s command, I’m forced to interject insults and curses as my side of the conversation, but thanks to my Faerie godfather’s intervention, none of it perturbs the Prince. In fact, he seems to find me more charming than ever… which is unfortunate, because the longer I monopolize his attention, the more vicious stares I receive from some of the other women at the party.

Not everyone hates me, though. A number of the women don’t seem to care whether the Prince likes them or not. They’re enjoying themselves immensely with the other eligible men present, and I’m convinced more than a few marriages will be announced in the coming months.

Unfortunately, it seems as though none of those engagements will involve my stepsisters. I have no idea how they will explain tonight’s events to Gilda, or what her reaction will be. When I see Gilda again, my Faerie godfather’s glamour should still be in place, and should still make me appear injured and ragged to her. But tomorrow that glamour will have dissipated, and I’ll look normal and whole again. No human could heal that quickly. She’ll know I’ve had access to magic.

Added to that concern is my growing dread about her words to me earlier: that she would never let me go. I always knew she might not uphold her end of our bargain, but now she has made it clear, spoken it aloud. I have no doubt she’ll carry out that threat, even if it means keeping me prisoner once she’s in full control of the Prince… if she ever achieves that goal, which is looking less and less likely, as he showed no interest in my stepsisters tonight.

After dancing a while, Brantley and I leave the ballroom and stroll through the halls together. I maintain silence as much as I can, letting him pour out all the intricate knowledge stored in his mind. The longer I listen to him, the more I admire the vastness of his brain, its capacity for preserving details. He’s truly brilliant and sincerely kind, if a bit awkward in social situations.

Though I don’t have any romantic inclination toward the Prince, I can’t help liking him and feeling a little protective over him. I’m glad he isn’t interested in my stepsisters. Now that I’ve gotten to know him better, I couldn’t bear letting him marry either Vashli or Amisa. I couldn’t live with myself if I let my stepmother bind him and control him, the way I’ve been bound and controlled .

A servant approaches from a side hallway, intercepting us with a respectful bow. “Your Highness, my apologies for interrupting, but the lady’s family is departing and would like her to join them in their carriage.”

“I can send the lady home later, in one of my carriages,” offers the Prince, with a glance at me.

I struggle not to respond, knowing whatever comes out of my mouth will be an insult—but I can’t resist the force of my stepmother’s command. “I don’t want to ride in one of your ridiculous carriages, you arrogant ass.”

The servant’s eyes widen, but the Prince only laughs. “Very well, as you wish. But I will send a carriage for you tomorrow evening. I would like you to come early, before everyone else arrives.”

“I suppose I have no choice since you’re the motherfucking Crown Prince.” I wince inwardly as the servant’s jaw drops.

“So kind of you, my lady.” The Prince bows to me, then lifts my hand and kisses it gently. He doesn’t try to kiss me on the mouth, and I realize that, despite his affinity toward me and his clear appreciation for my beauty and my gowns, he hasn’t displayed any signs of sexual attraction. Perhaps he doesn’t feel it as strongly as other men do, or he experiences it in a different way. Or perhaps he prefers men, and he’s anxious about showing such a preference since he’s expected to produce heirs.

“Have a wretched night,” I mutter to him as I turn away. The servant escorts me back toward the front of the palace in stunned silence, so I venture an explanation. “The insults are part of a little game the Prince and I were playing.”

“Oh,” says the servant. The tension eases from his shoulders, though he still looks at me like I’m very odd indeed.

My stepsisters are already in the carriage, and when I climb inside, they both wrinkle their noses. “Ugh, Cinders, you smell wretched,” complains Amisa. “How could the Prince bear it? ”

“What did you do to him?” says Vashli. “Why didn’t he throw you out of the palace?”

I adjust myself against the seat so as not to crush the lacy wings they cannot see. Instead of answering their questions, I stare out the carriage window, letting them work themselves into a frustrated frenzy until we stop in front of the grand townhouse where my stepmother has spent her evening.

She enters the coach wearing a smug smile and a fur coat I’ve never seen before. “Mother had great luck tonight, my dears,” she says, chucking Vashli’s chin and patting Amisa on the head. I’m surprised Vashli doesn’t bite her fingers right off—she looks as if she would like to.

Clearly Gilda has enjoyed more than her fair share of wine this evening. That could work in my favor, if she’s drunk enough to be happy but not so drunk as to be violent. With her, there’s a tipping point.

“Oh Mother, it’s dreadful,” Amisa wails. “Cinders looked awful at the party, but no one seemed to care! The Prince didn’t throw her out! He was supposed to be furious that she would appear in such disarray, smelling so terribly, but he never seemed to notice!”

“Didn’t notice?” Gilda frowns.

“He said nothing to us about it,” Vashli puts in. “He danced with her anyway and never asked us any questions about her mental state at all. He paid attention to no one else, just her. You promised this would work, Mother! You promised that he’d reject her! You made everything worse !”

My stepmother blinks, shaking her head as if she’s trying to clear the wine-fog from her brain. “It’s not possible. Look at her—skin chafed, dress in tatters, smelling like a barn—how could he still prefer her ? Did you insult him, Cinders? Tell the truth.”

“Many times,” I reply truthfully.

“And he danced with you anyway? ”

“Yes.”

“Well… shit.” She tugs a flask out of her reticule and sips from it. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow, darlings. Let Mother have her moment. I just won myself this coat and a month’s worth of money.”

“Can I have new ribbons?” exclaims Amisa. “And new shoes, and a new hat—”

“You’re not the only one who deserves new things,” snaps Vashli.

I lean back in the corner of the carriage, watching the girls fight while my stepmother dozes off. There might be hell to pay tomorrow, but at least for tonight, I’ve been spared.

My only regret is that I didn’t get to see the King.