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ALISTAIR

“Not this again,” my father groans.

“She’s real. I’ll have her for my wife.”

“Son,” he wheezes. “I am dying. There is no time for distraction. Pick one of the girls who came to your ball last night. Or I will do it for you.”

“I have chosen one of the girls who attended the ball you arranged. According to your own rules, I am within my rights to select any worthy lady.”

“You don’t even know who she is!” He falls into a rough coughing spell before speaking again.

“I can make your life a misery long after my death, Alistair. I will do it. I can curtail your power by enacting laws on my deathbed designed to thwart you. I will entail everything upon my grandson. You would rule in name only. Is that what you want?”

Another fit of coughing seizes him. Blood spatters the white square of cambric in his hand for just this purpose.

I do not want to rule as regent to a child who doesn’t yet exist, but I’m not above using the prospect of a baby to get what I want. Elsie. In my bed. At my side. Forever.

“She could be pregnant.” It’s the slimmest of possibilities. I wish for it with every fiber of my being. “Your grandchild could be growing in her right now. I must find her.”

“Pah.” He flicks the handkerchief at me. “Every sovereign has by-blows. Considering the way you and Sir Ironheart carried on for years, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve left dozens scattered around the countryside.”

I didn’t. I refused to let myself be trapped by a scheming wench, whether highborn or low, and I diligently took precautions not to father a child.

I wasn’t careful with Elsie. I wish I had been gentler with her. Had I not given in to temptation, I know in my bones that she would be here now, preparing to marry. I crave her sunshine the way dragons crave gold. My princess deserved better from me, and she shall have it—as soon as I find her.

“Elsie meets your criteria. You said I could choose, and I have chosen.”

“Who is her father?” He gestures feebly. “Her mother? What is her last name? Where does she live? You do not know, do you?” The king spits a glob of bloody saliva at my feet. “You know nothing.”

He pushes up, straining with the effort, signaling that the discussion is over.

“Give me every soldier in Belterre and three days to find her. If I can’t do it, then I will accept your choice.”

“I am of a mind to saddle you with the worst woman in Belterre as a punishment. Lady Drucilla Tremaine, perhaps?”

I swallow hard. The name crashes into a memory from the evening before.

Reeking of cheap magic like a bad perfume, and built like a barren tree.

No curves but what excessive padding could provide.

She was nearly as tall as I am, which might have been forgivable if not for the permanently sour twist of her mouth.

I stuck Othmar with the task of dancing with her.

“Or her sister, Lady Anastacia?” says my father.

A second shudder rocks me. A vague recollection of dancing with the shorter Tremaine sister last Midwinter surfaces. She was slightly more tolerable, but she would not shut up. Not a single substantive thought in her skull. She, too, stank of bad magic.

“I will find Elsie. Give me the manpower I need to hunt her to the ends of the earth, if that’s what it takes.”

“Fine. Send out your orders. Your first day starts now. If you fail, you will choose between the Tremaine sisters so that I can finally die.” My father waves me off.

Dawn creeps through the window. The air feels bright and electric as though there’s a storm brewing on the horizon. I’m tired but too fired up to sleep. There is no time for rest. I have a princess to find.

* * *

Elinor

Once I was certain no one was chasing me, I crawled out from beneath the hedgerow in my shredded rag of a dress.

Gone was the beautiful blue confection conjured by Maxine’s magic.

The shoe I clutched in my hand returned to its original form, a simple glass charm.

I assume the same thing happened to the other shoe as happened to my beautiful dress—disintegration into nothingness.

Opening my hand now, I stare at the tiny slipper. With its magical sparkle gone, it’s nothing but a trinket, but I shall treasure it always. I tuck it back into my pocket for safekeeping.

“You wouldn’t understand, Tom.” I stroke the cat’s fur. He settles into a low purr. “It was like a dream. A wonderful dream.”

One I made happen all by myself. Well, I had help from Maxine. Without her magic, last night wouldn’t have been possible. I owe her.

A yawn steals over me.

Today will be hard, but it’s worth pushing through a night without sleep. A faint twinge in my core reminds me of how far I took things with Alex last night. He gave me precisely what I asked for. I don’t believe he even finished, the poor man.

With the chickens fed and the slop bucket dumped in the pigs’ trough, I wash the muck off and change into gardening clothes. Chompers goes off to his station in Tremaine’s study, while Tom heads off to terrorize the avian population. Poor birds.

When I return to the house hours later, my family is awake.

“Where is Ellie?” Cilla’s harridan screech yanks me out of a blissful dream in which Alex was twirling me on a dance floor. I was happy with him.

Why didn’t I stay?

None of it was real, I remind myself. He doesn’t know my real name. For all I know, he’s…

Married.

Oh, no.

Cold shame slices through me. I never thought to inquire.

Yet he seemed quite serious about marrying me. He wouldn’t have made such an offer if he had a wife waiting at home for him. There was no ring on his left hand, either, although not every husband chooses to wear one.

“ELLIE!” shrieks Cilla, startling me out of my thoughts. “GET YOUR LAZY ARSE DOWN HERE, MOUSE.”

“Up here,” I mutter, correcting her. “I’m already downstairs.

Working. Unlike you.” I know I’m tired, for I usually don’t mind their demands so much.

Today, after having had a taste of better treatment, I find myself put out by their sheer laziness.

It’s not their fault, of course. They’ve been raised to expect to be waited on hand and foot.

Stacia chimes in, literally, by yanking so hard on the bell that it detaches from its ribbon and goes rolling across the uneven floorboards.

“Coming,” I call out, pinning up my hair as I slip my feet into the worn leather slippers. I don’t regret wearing heels last night, but my feet ache today. I won’t miss them.

“How was the ball?” I ask evenly, suppressing any hint of tone that might indicate how angry I still am for the way they treated me yesterday.

“Horrible!” Cilla snaps. Her glamour has worn off, leaving a grayish cast to her overlarge features. The perpetually downward twist to her thin lips cuts deep ruts at either side of her mouth. “Get me out of this blasted gown before I suffocate!”

Obediently, I move to her back and begin unfastening the tiny buttons trailing down her spine.

They remind me of the puzzle that was Alex’s clothing—some pieces were exquisitely crafted, while the jacket was ill-fitting and showed signs of economizing.

I suppose my stepsisters must look the same.

We spend money on tiny details like carved buttons while pairing expensive silk with cheaper quality linen wherever it won’t be seen.

Yet Alex’s was the opposite. Cheap where it would be seen and expensive clothing concealed beneath other layers. My hands still. I remember myself and continue unbuttoning.

“What was horrible about the evening?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, I had a splendid time .

For the first time, I realize how hard it will be not to share my secret.

I must sneak off to find Maxine at the first opportunity.

She will want to hear everything, and I am bursting to share the experience with someone.

“The prince didn’t choose me!” Cilla wails. “The stupid man clearly has no taste. He went after a mystery girl.”

I turn to stone. The placket of her gown flops open over my frozen fingers.

“Hurry up, Mouse. I am fatigued from the ordeal.”

“Mystery girl?” I repeat, feeling faint. I force myself to slip more buttons free. Cilla steps out of the dress and throws it in my face.

“Clean that.”

To what purpose? She’ll never wear it again.

“Who was the mystery girl?” Dread prickles down my forearms.

“If anyone knew, she wouldn’t be a mystery, now would she?”

“I was so sure Prince Alistair would pick me,” sobs Stacia. Her glamour has worn off, too. In addition to the inevitable post-magic haggardness, her face is red from crying. “Pink is my color. Everyone says so.”

No one says so except Cilla. Stacia is too dim to figure out that her sister envies her curves and wants her to wear the most unflattering gowns possible. She wouldn’t listen if I tried to tell her the truth, so I don’t bother.

Alistair.

My heart races. Alex is the kind of false name a man named Alistair might concoct on the spot, the same way I called myself Elsie instead of Elinor. Close enough that he would respond to it, without giving away his identity. A shiver rolls down my spine.

It can’t be. The prince was busy dancing with ladies all night. I peeked in while the herald was announcing his next partner and saw him in a…

White…

Jacket…

Exactly like the one Alex was wearing when he almost caught me on the steps. One that perfectly matched the quality of his waistcoat and fit his shoulders precisely.

Oh, gods.

“Ellie, get this off me,” wails Stacia.

“What is wrong with her?” Cilla snaps. She smacks my cheek. “Lazy cow. Get to work. The prince is searching the entire kingdom looking for his lost lady. We need this place to look spotless when he comes.”

Mute with shock, I unlace Stacia’s gown and loosen her corset strings. She sighs deeply. “Next time, don’t tie it so tight,” she whines, apparently forgetting how she demanded I pull the ribbons hard enough to break her ribs.