The fairy godmother had hooked us up.
Clearly, we couldn't disenchant Cinderella on our own. To do that, the fairy godmother told us we would need something of equal of greater power than the item that had been used to cast the spell on Cinderella in the first place—and the only thing we knew of that fit that category was the wand itself the stepmother currently possessed. And getting Cindy back into her usual shape was only the first step: we still had to make sure that she ended up with her prince.
That would be a bit tricky, since without a slipper of hers to leave behind on the castle steps, the prince probably wouldn't go hunting for her after the ball, and it probably wouldn't be an easy task to A) convince him to meet with some random kitchen wench in the first place, and B) then convince him she was actually the lady he had danced with at the ball, considering the fact that he didn't recognize her in the original story at all, until she put on the shoe. God, I sincerely hoped he wasn't actually as dumb as the story made him seem. Maybe he's just... incredibly unobservant.
Well, either way, we'd just have to cross that bridge when we came to it. Step one, getting the wand and changing Cindy back, was the most pressing issue at the moment, and everything else was just hypothetical until that was dealt with.
And that was where the fairy godmother came in.
A wave of her adorable little wand was all it took to whisk away that days' worth of grime and sweat that had accumulated on us. Another pinch of magic, and we were each provided with ball-worthy finery to take the place of our distinctly serf-chic clothing.
The boys stripped where they stood, much to the horror of the fairy's sensibilities. I, being someone who was not raised in a barn (actually, it was conceivably possible that Jack and Erik had, in fact, been raised in barns as a matter of course, so perhaps that wasn't the best expression to use), changed my clothes behind a small cluster of trees.
The dress the fairy had conjured from thin air (law of conservation of matter my ass) was a high waisted affair that at first made me think of Regency era dresses, a la Pride and Prejudice, but the heavy embroidered fabric and the sleeves which were slit at the elbows to allow the sleeves white under-dress to be puffed out of made me realize it was more in the 16th century style. I could have been an extra in a production of Romeo and Juliet. It was a bluish silver color, with silver embroidery, and I have to admit, I did a couple of girlish spins once I had it on, accompanied by a handful of giddy giggles. I'd never worn anything quite so fancy before, and even though the get up was a bit heavy and stiff, and I knew it was a pretty average dress given the time period I was in, I still felt like a princess.
Well, more like a little girl playing dress up, but like a little girl playing princess dress up. I had a pair of slippers to match, but they were certainly not made for hiking through graveyards, across town, and all the way to the ball, so I continued to wear my converse in place of them, at least for now.
When I reappeared from behind the trees, I found the boys fully dressed as well. They both wore, what I believe were called, doublets and hose, in a style that wasn't quite Renaissance and not quite King Henry VII, but somewhere vaguely in-between.
I burst out laughing, which I felt a little bad for, but I couldn't help it. With poofy sleeves, short capes, feather caps set at jaunty angles, tights that showed off way too much, and—I kid you not—actual codpieces, they made quite the sight. Jack looked awkward and kept fussing with his collar, while Erik just stood slightly hunched over as if he was trying to disappear into himself and glowered at me.
"What are you laughing at?" he demanded.
I managed to suppress my giggles. "Nothing, nothing. No, you guys look good. Really."
And they did, both Jack and Erik cleaned up pretty well. It wasn't their fault that this world's version of high fashion came off as a bit silly compared to the red carpet haute couture I was accustomed to.
"What about me?" I asked, giving a little spin with my arms outstretched. "Do I give off an air of 'eligible bachelorette'?"
"I'm not sure what any of those words mean," Jack replied.
Erik shrugged. "Eh."
I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. "Eh? What do you mean eh?"
"I had something nice to say, but I forgot it when you laughed at me."
"I wasn't laughing at you, I was laughing at..." I gestured vaguely to the shoulder sleeves that were bigger than his head, and I almost waved a hand to indicated his, ahem, codpiece, but then thought better of it. I just threw my hands up in the air in exasperation instead. "Never mind. You both look great, very handsome. You'll fit right in."
"I have to say," the fairy spoke up, appraising us approvingly, "this is some fine work I've done here."
"Don't you think Miss Rikki's ensemble is rather out of date?" Alfred asked, rubbing his chin with his paw critically.
The fairy shot him a dour look. "That dress is the height of fashion."
"Last season, perhaps," Alfred said, but he did so under his breath.
"I'm certainly not complaining," I laughed. "I'm not here to catch the eye of the prince, I just need to get in the doors."
"Let me add one final touch," the fairy suggested, beckoning me over to her. She pulled out her wand once more and gave it a wave over my head. I felt my hair begin to rise as if it had suddenly come alive, and it began to twist and turn around my head with a life of its own. The boys and Alfred watched with raised eyebrows as my 'do did itself, and in less than a minute, my hair had settled into a slightly uncomfortable up-do of some sort. I reached up to gently feel it, and got the sense that it was some kind of braided chignon. It must have looked pretty good judging by the satisfied smile on the fairy's face, but my normally very curly hair had been pulled so tight, I knew I would end up with one heck of a headache by the end of the night. Ah well, if that was my biggest concern by the end of the ball, then the quest we were about to embark on will have been an success.
Those who are particularly observant will have noticed that Alfred did not receive the make-over treatment. He had wanted to come with us, but I pointed out that all the capes and jaunty hats in the world wouldn't keep people from noticing that he was a wolf, and that it was unlikely that a wolf, even a well dressed on, would be permitted to attend the ball. He had seemed put out at the prospect of being left behind, but I promised to donate to his B.B.W.L.F or whatever it was if I ever came into any money, and that seemed to cheer him up a little.
We let him know he didn't have to stick around in the graveyard if he didn't want to, but he insisted that it was like he had anywhere else to go, and he wasn't opposed to killing a couple of hours by waiting for us to return.
"Besides," he'd said, "You may find yourselves needing my particular brand of aid upon your return." And he had flashed that toothy grin of his.
I sincerely hoped that wouldn't be the case, but I was grateful to know that the offer was on hand in case things didn't go quite according to plan. We left most of our stuff with him, including our old clothes, our packs, Erik's bow and quiver, and the Book. We'd look out of place carrying dirty, dusty bags with us, and I highly doubted Erik would be needing his bow at the party. I would just have to hope that I wouldn't be needing the services of the Book.
With that, the sun was well on its way to setting, and we were ready to head to the ball.
It took a bit longer to make our return to the town square than it had to get from there to the cemetery, since we had to take care to keep our clothes—specifically my trailing dress—from getting filthy during the long walk on streets that were occasionally unpaved dirt, and often splattered with piles of horse crap. And once back at the town square, we still had to head to ball itself.
That part was easy enough, as we weren't the only people in town headed that way. In fact, everyone in town seemed to be headed to the ball, and the streets were crowded with women dressed in their finest—ranging from elegant ladies in gowns made of silk and embroidered with real gold, to milk maids wearing their cleanest aprons and freshly polished wooden shoes—all jostling with each other in their hurry to make it to the castle by the time the doors opened. The wealthiest cut through the crowd in carriages, but herds of less well-off women made their way on foot, and it was easy to attach ourselves to the back of the crowd.
There were of course men in attendance as well, but they were vastly outnumbered by ladies. I'd wager that most young, single fellows didn't fancy their chances attending a ball where the aim of every single woman there was to catch the eye of an actual real-life prince, and had decided not to go through the trouble of attending.
We followed the walking crowd through the city streets, and just as the sun began to dip out of sight, the tips of the tallest turrets of the castle appeared over the roofs of the buildings that lined the streets.
My heart started to pound a little harder, a little faster as I stared up at them. This was it. Our second quest was well and truly underway. From this point on, our job was to find the stepmother, get the wand, and release Cinderella from her curse.
I stumbled over a raised cobblestone while I was gaping up at the sky and nearly face planted, but Erik's arm flew out just in time to catch me.
"Watch out," he said. "You won't be able to rescue any princesses if you crack your head open."
"Thanks. And I'm not going to crack my head open. And she's technically not a princess. Not yet, at least."
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Just watch where you're walking, instead of gaping up at the sky with your mouth hanging open like that. A bird's going to fly inside and build a nest."
I rolled my eyes, and after another moment, he let go of my elbow.
I didn't take his advice, however. I continued to stare open-mouthed as the castle gradually appeared before us, until we came out on the street directly in front of it.
"...Holy cow," I finally managed to say, staring wide eyed at the magnificent monstrosity before us. Erik reached out, placed a hand on my chin, and closed my hanging jaw for me. I shook him off. "How are you not impressed by that?" I demanded of him.
"I've seen castles before," he replied.
"How many?"
He pretended to count on his fingers. "Uh... two."
"Including this one?"
He glowered.
"Look, Jack's in awe too!" I pointed at afore-mentioned Jack, who was doing a pretty good me-impression with his mouth hanging open as he stared up, up at the towering castle that loomed above us.
"This isn't anything like the castle back in Rothwall," he said.
And it wasn't. The castle where we'd met the Miller's Daughter had been a military affair. Isolated from the heart of the city, grey and square and imposing, mostly high walls and unadorned turrets. What few windows there were had been little more than slits, wide enough to let fly an archer's arrows, but not wide enough to let the arrows of an enemy in.
The castle before us now would have looked more at home at Disneyland. White marble gleamed everywhere, brightly colored flags waved from the peaks of spindly towers, and a thousand gilded windows glittered in the flickering light of a thousand torches that lined the street, lighting the way all the way up the steps of the palace. This was a castle built to show off wealth and status, not military might. I could probably start writing up a pretty decent dissertation on the differences in the historical development of Rothwall and Lorcastle based on the physical properties of their royal architecture, but this wasn't the time for such things.
We were towards the rear of the huge crowd that was gathered in front of the palace doors, and it was bound to be a while before we finally made our way inside. There was a lot of pushing and shoving as overly eager women tried to force their way closer to the front of the crowd, so I quickly linked arms with Erik and Jack so as not to get separated from them.
"You guys ready?" I asked.
"No," said Erik.
"Uh..." was Jack's reply. "What's the plan, exactly?"
"We've been over this: find the stepmother, get the wand, get out of here."
"Yeah, I got that part. But Rikki, how exactly are we going to do that? We don't even know what the stepmother looks like."
I glanced around. The crowd teemed with hundred of women, some barely in their teens, others old enough to be my grandmother. None of them stood out to me in any meaningful way, and there were still so many more that I couldn't see at all. You hide a tree in a forest.
"Uh... let's worry about that once we get inside. Right now, I'm more worried about avoiding being trampled by this mob."
Any further conversation we might have made was prevented by the sudden trumpeting of a dozen horns. A hush fell over the chattering crowd with amazing swiftness, and the huge doors at the top of the palace steps were thrown open by the guards flanking them. More guards in bejeweled uniforms marched out to stand in straight rows on either side of the palace steps, followed by more trumpeters, a few smartly dressed servants, and one man with a long bob of dark hair and the self-important air of a courtier who must have been some kind of royal announcer, for he cleared his throat and said loudly enough for even those of us at the back to hear:
"NOW BEGINS THE THIRD AND FINAL NIGHT OF THE PRINCE'S BALL! PLEASE ENTER THE PALACE IN A CALM AND ORDERLY FASHION. YOU MAY CHECK YOUR COATS WITH THE SERVANT IN THE RECEPTION HALL. I HAVE BEEN ASKED TO REMIND THE LADIES IN ATTENDANCE THAT ANYONE CAUGHT WITH A LOVE POTION ON THEIR PERSON WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE PREMISES AT ONCE, AND PLACED IN THE STOCKS FOR A MINIMUM OF THREE DAYS. AND FINALLY, ATTENTION TO THE OWNER OF A POWDER BLUE CARRIAGE PULLED BY TWO DAPPLED GRAYS—I REPEAT, A POWDER BLUE CARRIAGE PULLED BY TWO DAPPLED GRAYS. YOUR CARRIAGE IS PARKED IN A SPOT RESERVED FOR COURTIERS AND NOBLES ONLY, PLEASE HAVE YOUR COACHMAN PULL THE CARRIAGE AROUND THE REAR OF THE PALACE. THANK YOU."
The man stepped to the side, and waved a hand at one of the guards. He in turn made a beckoning motion at the crowd, and it surged forwards in a rush as women scurried up the palace steps.
"Here we go," I muttered.
The crowd bottle-necked at the castle doors, with the guards and servants forcing the over-eager party-goers to enter the palace in an orderly single-file line. It took damn near twenty minutes just to get up the steps, but we somehow made it in one piece.
The interior of the palace was equally as impressive as its exterior. More marble, more gilded relief work, vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers glittering with countless candles, tapestries in every color of the rainbow that were dozens of feet long hanging from the walls, mahogany everything... it was like being in a dream.
And that was only the reception chamber. Jack, Erik and I let ourselves be swept along by the tide of people into the ballroom, and that was more spectacular still. It was enormous, the size of a concert hall with ceilings so high that I could hardly make out the glittering chandeliers, and a polished marble floor so shiny I could practically see right up my dress in the reflection. Servants crossed the floor carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of wine—I realized that this was the first time I'd seen a glass cup in this world, they must be luxury items, probably hand blown—and the ballroom floor was full of women in dresses that ranged from simple to impractically lavish milling about, all looking around as if their heads were on swivels, probably searching for a glimpse of the infamous prince. More people still lined the walls of the room, mostly men who looked as though they were feeling distinctly neglected, and a few of the more shy ladies who clung to the safety of inconspicuous corners.
There was an orchestra near the head of the room who were tuning their instruments—violins, cellos, flutes, a harpsichord—and despite the vast size of the room and the chatter of a few hundred voices filling it, the acoustics were good enough that I could make out the discordant notes of the musicians warming up.
I could also make out the sound of the trumpet that cut through the chatter a minute later, and my gaze, along with everyone else's, turned to the head of the room, where a man in a robe and crown who was undoubtedly the king stood on a raised platform which held two golden thrones. To his right and just slightly behind him stood a young man who I could only assume was the prince himself. He was tall, blonde, exceedingly handsome, dressed in gold and royal purple, and looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else in the entire world than here at this ball.
The trumpeter rang out his shrill note again, a hush fell over the room, and the king, a white haired, mustached, slightly rotund, kindly looking man, cleared his throat.
"Welcome one and all to the final night of the Prince's Ball. As you all are aware, the intention of these festivities is to allow my son, the prince, to claim a suitable bride out of all the eligible women in the land."
Not-so-hushed whispers ran through the crowd, punctuated by loud giggles. The king held up his hand, and silence fell again.
"By the end of this night, a bride shall be chosen. At the stroke of midnight, Prince Fredrick will announce the name of the woman of his choosing, who will take his hand in marriage and become Princess of Lorcastle!"
A cheer rose up, loud and boisterous, though I couldn't help but notice it was made by only about half the gathered women. The rest carried expressions that ranged from gloomy, to downright venomous, and I presumed they must not have had much luck catching the prince's attention thus far, and didn't hold much hold for their chances tonight either. As I scanned those faces nearest me, I wondered if any of them belonged to the stepmother of her daughters.
"Rikki, did you hear that?" Erik whispered in my ear.
"What?" I said, starting a little and looking over at him.
"Midnight—the prince has to choose his bride by midnight!"
"Yeah, I heard, I—oh. Oh, shit." I'd heard all right, but I had been so busy worrying about finding the stepmother among this huge crowd that the consequences of the king's words hadn't really registered.
Jack looked at me, his eyes wide and troubled. "So... we have to find the stepmother, get the wand, get it back to the graveyard, un-curse Cinderella, get her all the way back here, and set her up with the Prince by midnight?"
I bit my lip. "Okay, okay, so it's going to be a little more tricky than we thought." Crap, why was this happening? In the original story, the prince isn't forced to chose his bride on the third night of the ball, he just finds the shoe and then goes hunting for Cinderella. "It's fine, we still have plenty of time," I said to the boys, trying to reassure myself as much as them. "It's still four hours to midnight. We have plenty of time."
"It's a forty-five minute walk to the graveyard from here," Erik reminded me. "And then we'll have to walk the forty-five minutes back with Cinderella. That's an hour and a half, you have to take that into account."
I hissed a breath through my teeth. "I guess we'd better get looking then."
"Because that's going to be the easy part," Erik said with a liberal dose of sarcasm, looking out over the heads of a few hundred women, and one of whom could be the one in particular we were looking for.
Meanwhile...
The ball had started out as a splendid success.
The prince, while clearly not strictly excited about his father's over-enthusiastic plan to find him a bride, had at least shown up roughly on time and was performing his princely duties without vigor, but passably.
All of the eligible young women in the entire kingdom had shown up as requested, and quite a few who were neither eligible nor young could be found in attendance as well. There were a mew men present as well, about one for every ten ladies, and most of them had come only to sulkily watch the girl they fancied attempting to catch the attention of the prince.
Everyone was dressed in his or her finest, the entire ballroom aglitter with the glint of pearls and jewels at women's throats, the sheen of soft silks and the rustling of taffeta. The chandelier over head sparkled with a hundred candles shining through the crystal droplets, throwing sparkles of light across the gold-gilded room like twinkling stars. The King and Queen sat in their thrones at the head of the room, surveying the progression of the ball with benevolent gazes.
In the middle of the dance floor, the Prince waltzed rather listlessly with a lovely young woman whose chocolate-colored hair cascaded elegantly over her bare shoulders. She was beaming up at him through her lashes, hardly able to contain her excitement. His gaze wandered, his eyes slightly glazed over.
All around them, the few men in attendance who had managed to convince a girl to dance were trying valiantly to lead their partners, but every female eye was fixed on the Prince's every move. Those girls who weren't dancing stood along the walls in clusters, trying to look becoming while simultaneously glaring daggers at the lucky girl who the Prince was currently twirling around the marble floor.
Set slightly apart from the others, standing by the open doors that led out into the moonlit courtyard, were three women. Two were young, and while not the most beautiful girls in attendance, still lovely enough that they had been approached numerous times by young men seeking a dance.
Each time however, the men had been turned away—though not by the girls themselves.
The third woman was twice their age, the fine lines of age etched into her still handsome face, and grey streaked her glossy black hair. She was the girls' mother, and the stepmother of a young woman, by the name of Cinderella, who for rather unusual reasons couldn't be present at the ball on this particular night.
The woman peered coldly out across the sea of heads, her piercing black eyes fixed on the Prince.
"Mother!" the eldest girl whined, stomping her slippered foot impatiently. "You said I could dance with the Prince tonight! He hasn't even looked at us! How is he supposed to dance with me if he doesn't even know I'm here?"
"And what about me, mother?" the younger daughter pouted, grabbing her mother's flowing silver sleeve. "I want to dance with the Prince too!"
"You'll both have your chance," the woman snapped sharply, shaking her daughter off. "I will take care of it. Just keep quiet, else you'll send the Prince running the moment you open your spoilt mouths. Look pretty, but keep your inane whining to yourselves!"
The girls fell silent, their expressions sour. Their mother narrowed her eyes at them warningly before turning back to fix her gaze upon the Prince once more. He was, of course, exceedingly handsome. He had waved of thick blonde hair that spilled occasionally into bright blue eyes. He was tall and stately, with his broad shoulders thrown back and an effortless elegance in his every movement. His countenance was noble, his jaw strong, his eyes quick and appraising. He would be quite the king one day, no doubt.
As the woman watched him dancing, the dark-haired woman in his arms suddenly melted away, replaced by a golden haired beauty, her face alight beneath the glow of the Prince's gaze, her dress floating about her dainty feet as if it were as light as moonlight. The mother snarled, and the vision vanished. Once again, the Prince was holding the brunette, his expression bored and aloof.
It was all too easy to imagine that little ash-girl at his side. He had been so taken with her the past two nights, and the stepmother could see why. The girl had been transformed, from a lowly, homely kitchen wench into a princess. The change had been so drastic that the stepmother hadn't even recognized her stepdaughter the first night.
But she had begun to suspect the truth, and then, when she caught her step-daughter in the graveyard... The woman shuddered. No. It had been an accident. There had been magic in the air, what had happened to the girl wasn't her fault. She felt no guilt. The woman shook the memories off, and stood up straighter. The long, thin stick of wood was tucked in to the waist of her skirts, and it dug into her ribs. She hadn't known what it was. She hadn't known what would happen.
But... now that it had, now that the deed was done...
Well. It wasn't such a terrible thing, was it? The stepchild had been overstepping her boundaries for far too long. This was better for her own daughters. This was better for her.
The song ended, and the Prince was disentangling himself from the brunette's clinging grasp. It was time to make their move. "Oh, Your Highness!" the woman called loudly, slapping a charming smile onto her face and grabbing her daughters by the arms, leading them like lambs into the center of the dance floor. "Over here, Your Highness!"
Yikes, late again. Sorry, this chapter was a pain to rewrite, since I'm changing a pretty major chunk of the plot for this part. Good news though, once I finished it, I was on such a writing roll, I just kept going, and wrote the entire next chapter (a 5000 word chapter!) in one sitting! So the next chapter is ready to go and will be updated on schedule! Yaaaay!
In other news, do you like retold fairy tales? I assume you do if you're reading this story. If so, I highly recommend "Second Hand Curses" by Drew Hayes. I just started it, and it's pretty entertaining. A tiny bit on the dark side, but not excessively so. Monsters and witches and bounty hunters, oh my. It's fun, check it out!