Strike at Midnight(3)

I lived in Lower City. Worst of the worst. If I wore a gown like this as my daily attire down there, it would have been ripped off me and sold to another party within five minutes. But tonight I had needed to blend in, and I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I had dressed in my regular uniform of tunics and breeches. It was a lot less hassle this way.

My usual pale pink hair was nothing but a memory, as blonde tresses were now tucked into a beautifully neat coiffure. The pink locks I usually preferred were the result of a more permanent DIY job, so I’d had to rely on Martha Magenta’s Magical Hair Dye Potion to turn my hair back to its original color for the night. It was a temporary fix to make me more passable as a lady, and it was a potion I could only purchase in Lower City. Witches hadn’t been part of the banishment, most likely because they could pass as “normal” people, but all magic was still regulated by the MLO (Magical Licensing Operation). Potions and simple spells were legal—provided they stayed within regulation—so my hair had been returned to its more conventional color for a few hours. By morning, my pink color would return, so now I just had to try and act the part.

The reclusive Duke of York had come back on the scene recently, and this is what had made Sir Raymond risk hiring me. He was concerned that something was either very wrong with the duke or that it wasn’t the duke at all. The duke’s behavior had changed in such a way upon his return to the social sphere that it had made Sir Raymond suspicious enough to do something about it.

Questioning the duke’s peers was going to be difficult to do without raising the duke’s suspicions, so the plan was to get close to the duke to see if he had a birthmark on his right hand. Easy, right? Not when I had a corset squeezing my insides like a lovestruck cobra, it wasn’t.

Finding the man at his usual haunts had proved to be a dead end. The Tamed Wolf, the Shooting Gallery, and the Stables Gala had all been unsuccessful, but the gossip vine had been rife with rumors that the duke would make a show this evening.

He hadn’t arrived yet, but when he did, I needed to get close enough and see if he bore the birthmark. If he did, all good—I could skip off into the sunset with my reward. If he didn’t, then I needed to take his ass down to the local jailhouse for questioning. All in a night’s work, and I was ready for either outcome…if this dress would just behave itself for two freaking minutes.

A waiter was headed in my direction, and I eagerly readied myself to sample some of the sparkling wine they were handing around. Before my gloved hand could even think about wrapping around the stem of the goblet, a face popped into view right in front of me.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” a man said, a large grin stretching across his face.

My lips clamped together to hide my frustration. I had been so close to acquiring the alcohol.

“I don’t believe we have,” I said, holding my hand out for him to shake or kiss, or whatever the hell he wanted to do within reason.

“Oh, please,” he said, taking my hand and placing a light kiss on my silk-covered knuckles. “Let me introduce myself. I am Pri—”

He never got to finish his introduction because I caught a shove from behind. An adventurous couple had veered slightly off the dance floor and decided I was to be collateral damage. Thankfully, the man in front of me managed to stop me from falling flat on my face.

“Oh dear,” he said, handling me as if I were delicate china. “Are you well?”

“Well enough,” I said, shooting a death glare at the backs of the couple who needed to calm themselves down just a little bit.

“Please, let me help you,” he said as he led me off into one of the alcoves at the edge of the large ballroom. “They get a bit carried away on occasion, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t we all,” I said, trying to make light of the situation, but bright and breezy over here had led me away from the perfect viewpoint I had of the entrance.

He smiled at me again and I couldn’t help but do a double-take at the man now standing in front of me. He was handsome—I had to give him that—but that wasn’t what made me look twice. I had seen enough good-looking men in my time to appreciate the view, but this one’s eyes shone with a sweet innocence that I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes. It was a look I hadn’t seen on anyone for a very long time.

“You must tell me your name,” he insisted as I turned to go back to my original spot. He was irritating the hell out of me, but then I caught the expression of genuine interest on his face. There was no being mean to this guy. It would have been akin to kicking a puppy, and even I wasn’t that mean.

“I’m Cinderella,” I said with reluctance. “You can call me Cinderella.”

It was a name my mother had lovingly given me once upon a time, but that had been a long time ago.

“Cinderella,” he said, giving me another gleaming smile. He looked genuinely happy that I had given it to him.

“That’s my name,” I replied, with a bit of fake laughter on the end. It was my way of making an effort.

“It is lovely to meet such a beautiful woman, with such a beautiful name. Would you care to dance?”

“Oh, no,” I said, the air stifling between us as I waved my hand in front of my face. “I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can,” he said, taking my hand and lifting it up in the air. “It’s a ball.”