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“Cendrillon,” I thought I heard a voice say, floating like a phantom on the air, and at the sound of it, I started.

“Who is it? Who is there?” I called.

In answer to my question, a figure below me stepped into a patch of light, I had not noticed him before, for he was dressed in clothing almost the same shade as the shadows which surrounded him. He tilted his face up. At the sight of it, I caught my breath.

It was Prince Pascal.

“Your highness,” I said, as I began to sink into a curtsy

“Oh, don’t,” he said, bringing my motion to a halt. “Please. It’s just us. I wonder—I would like to speak with you, if I might. Will you come down?”

I opened my mouth to say I couldn’t, then changed my mind. There was something in the sound, the timbre of his voice, that I had heard before. Raoul had always sounded just like this, when he was asking for something he wished for very much, so much he was almost afraid to ask in case the answer would be
no.

“Of course I will come down, if that is what you wish,” I said.

“It is,” the prince replied. Slowly, carefully, I descended the stairs, my skirts whispering around me as if telling secrets. I reached the bottom and the prince materialized at my side. He extended an arm, bent at the elbow. I placed my own upon it and stepped off the stair, onto the ballroom floor.

“Thank you,” he said simply. Then, as if suddenly realizing he wasn’t sure quite what to do now that he had convinced me to join him, he began to lead me around the ballroom, for all the world as if we were taking an afternoon stroll in the park.

“You knew me,” Prince Pascal said after a moment. “You did not mistake me for . . .” His voice faltered for a fraction of a second before it went on. “My brother”

“Of course not,” I said at once. “Surely no one who truly knew either of you could mistake one for the other”

“And you believe you know him truly?” the prince inquired.

“I believe I know him as well as anyone else does,” I answered. We reached a junction of the ballroom walls. Pascal put a hand to my waist, and gently guided me out into the middle of the room. “I’ve known him since he was two weeks old.”

“The age he was when your father brought him to your estate,” the prince filled in, and now I heard the temper of steel in his voice. Young though he was, he would not be a good man to cross, I thought. And I remembered suddenly what Niccolo had said: That Pascal was loved wherever he traveled, that the people found him fair and just.

I nodded, “That is so.”

“What of the future?” the prince asked.

I frowned. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t understand what you are asking”

“You and Raoul,” Pascal said. “What do you hope for now? You must be childhood sweethearts, with a story like that.”

I gave a quick peal of laughter before I could stop myself. “Whatever gave you that idea?” I inquired.
“Raoul is in love with my stepsister, Anastasia, to tell you the truth. A somewhat complicated and unhappy state of affairs until tonight’s . . .” I paused, searching for the right word. “Surprise.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” Prince Pascal said at once. “When you moved so quickly to protect him, I naturally thought . . .”

“I am not in the least offended,” I answered. “I am also not the least bit in love with Raoul.”

“I see,” Pascal said. We walked in silence for a moment. “I saw you and your stepsisters whispering together as you approached the front of the line,” he said. “You were the only girls all evening who showed any sort of real expression at all. Everyone else just looked incredibly hopeful or completely terrified.

“It made me wonder about you before I even knew who you were. It certainly made me wonder what you were talking about.”

“Oh,” I said, coming to a dead stop as I suddenly remembered what our topic of conversation had been. “Oh, dear. Oh, no. Please don’t ask me to tell you.”

The prince laughed, the sound surprised, as if laughing was a thing he didn’t do very often. “It can’t be all that bad. I can command you to tell me, you know.”

“That’s what I call unfair,” I said, at which he laughed once more.

“That’s twice you’ve made me laugh,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.”

I shook my head. “Oh, very well. Since you must know, I remarked that the line of eligible maidens seemed so long, I wondered if you were wishing your father ruled a smaller kingdom.”

Prince Pascal’s lips twitched. “Indeed, I did wish that,” he said. “What else?”

“Then Anastasia claimed there was a special book in which the names of all the eligible maidens were being written down. A special mark would be placed by a girl’s name if you so much as smiled. And Amelie claimed that, if you asked one to dance, it would be almost as good as a marriage proposal. That’s when my stepmother told us to hush.”

Prince Pascal stopped walking. “wonder,” he said, in a tone I could not quite interpret, “if you would care to dance with me now.”

“Your Highnes.” I faltered, then wondered how I had managed to speak at all when my heart had leaped straight into my throat.

“I could insist again.” he said. “But I think that I will not. Instead, I will say please. Will you please do me the honor of dancing with me, Cendrillon? Will you do me the honor of saying my name? For I find that I would like you to do both, very much.”

He stepped back and sketched a quick bow, his face tilted downward so that his expression was in shadow. Then he straightened up and held out a hand. I placed trembling fingers within it.

“It would be my pleasure to dance with you, Pascal,” I said. And I stepped forward, into his arms.

Here, oh, here,
I thought, as we began to move in small, then great, sweeping circles, my skirts flying out, the brilliants catching the moonlight as Pascal and I danced across the ballroom floor.

This was the feeling, the certainty, that I had not found in Raoul’s arms—the deep and absolute belief that here, at last, was where I belonged. I was filled with the sudden knowledge that I had been searching my whole life for just this moment, just this feeling, and all without realizing I had been searching at all.

I saw Pascal’s face change then, saw something kindle deep within his storm-tossed eyes. A thing so bright and pure it let me see my own gaze reflected in it, and instantly, I knew the truth: I was gazing into the face of joy. This was what my mother had seen within my father’s face, the look that I had been able only to imagine until now. The sheer surprise, unbridled wonder, and exquisite joy of unexpected love. Love at first sight.

“Cendrillon,” Pascal said. “I . . .”

My footsteps faltered then, as one of my glass slippers encountered something smooth and slick, spent flower petals that had fallen to the ballroom floor. I felt my ankle twist, my foot slip from the shoe, just as Pascal lifted me up, leaving the shoe behind. And then I stopped caring about shoes and feet, stopped thinking of anything at all. For Pascal’s arms around me were both gentle and tight, and then his lips found mine.

Sweet, so very sweet,
I thought. Sweet and firm and
strong. I kissed him back, kissed him as I had dreamed of being kissed, but had never quite believed I might be.
It is all decided now,
I thought. I had wondered who would be the one to worry over what was in Prince Pascal’s heart, and now I knew the truth: It was me.

Slowly, slowly, Pascal set me on my feet. But before either of us could say a word, there came another voice, one I thought I recognized.

“My apologies for interrupting you, Your Highness,” said my father’s voice, and once again, I was reminded of the blade of a knife. “But your lady mother is asking for you.”

All trace of what he was feeling vanished from Pascal’s face. It went completely blank, as if he had drawn a curtain across whatever might be inside. I felt a sudden pang of loneliness seize my heart. I
have only just found you,
I thought.
Don’t go yet. Don’t go.

“Thank you for your care, my lord de Brabant,” the prince said. “Please be so good as to inform my mother I will be with her in a moment.”

“With your permission, I would be happy to escort my daughter back to her rooms,” offered my father. “She is a stranger to the palace and might lose her way otherwise.”

At this, finally, Pascal stepped back. “As always, your suggestions are most reasonable, my lord. Thank you for your care.” He bowed over my hand, the faintest brush of his lips across the backs of my
knuckles. “I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Cendrillon.”

He turned and left without another word. My father stepped forward. For several humming moments, the two of us regarded each other.

“It would seem that you are to be congratulated,” Etienne de Brabant said at last. “I doubt that the prince will so much as look at anyone else now.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

My father made a curt, dismissive gesture. “Do not play the fool with me,” he said, his voice not quite so smooth and polished now. “Surely you cannot be so naive, even if you are country-bred. You have made a conquest, and you should be proud of it. But neither of you is sitting on a throne quite yet. If I were you, I wouldn’t count on it.”

He moved then, before I realized what he intended, giving me no time to step back. He caught me by the shoulders, leaning close to study my face, then released me and stepped back.

“You are not quite what I expected you might be,” he pronounced at last. “And Pascal’s attraction to you is certainly unexpected. Perhaps we may be of some use to each other yet before all this is done.”

I stood perfectly still, staring at him. “Why should I wish to be of any use to you?” I inquired in a tone like ice. “I have seen my mother’s face, seen the portrait in her room, and so I know how much she loved you. If she could look upon you now, I wonder if she would recognize the man you have become. If someone
painted her face tonight, what expression would it show, I Wonder?”

I brushed past him, moving up the stairs, doing my best to keep my back straight and my head held high. An affect that was almost spoiled by the fact that I was wearing only one shoe, a fact my father’s presence had nearly driven from my mind.
I will not go back for it,
I thought. I
will not go back at all.

“You may not speak so to me,” Etienne de Brabant said as I reached the top of the stairs, and now his voice was fierce and hard, as if everything he had felt for the last sixteen years, all the things he had denied, were clenched tight as a fist inside him, and now the fist was pounding, demanding to be let out. “I am your father.”

“And I am your daughter,” I replied, as I turned back after all. “The one you never wanted. You have blamed me for an act not of my making, not of my desire, every single day of my life. Aside from courtesy, my lord, what is it that you think I owe you? I will not be made a pawn in your games. I will find my own way back. Good night.”

I turned, and left him standing in the ballroom.

When I got back to my room, Raoul was there, hovering like a ghost outside the door.

“Cendrillon,” he said when he saw me, and I heard the way his voice broke, whether in joy or sorrow I could not tell.

“Raoul,” I said, as I caught him to me. For a moment, we clung together. “How are you?” I asked at last. “Are you well?”

“Well enough,” he said. He gave a shaky laugh as he let me go, “In fact, I . . .”

He broke off with a glance over his shoulder and only then did I realize that a guard such as the ones I had seen in the ballroom stood several paces down the hall.

“Come inside,” I said. “You can do that, cant you?”

“I’m a prince now,” Raoul said, though I could tell by his voice that he did not quite believe it, even now. “Within reason, I can do whatever I want.”

“Then come in,” I said. “Let’s stop skulking in the hall.”

I opened the door to our rooms, ushered him inside, then closed the door behind us. The large common room was empty, my stepmother and stepsisters having gone to bed. Candles still burned
on several low tables, and in the window enclosure. Raoul moved restlessly around the room, finally coming to a halt before the window, gazing out at the city below.