Cinderella Is Dead(18)
The carriage bounces along over a ridge. Erin shifts in her seat, and a gasp escapes her lips. The palace comes into view outside the window, and it looks like something out of a painting. On any given day, the palace is extravagant, a beacon of wealth, power, and privilege. The sprawling ivory fa?ade can be seen from miles away, but when the ball is held, it looks like something out of a dream. I wonder how he manages to do that, to make something so terrible seem so inviting. This isn’t a dream; it is a nightmare made real, and there is no waking up.
8
Lamps line the drive; their low, undulating light gives the entire area an ethereal glow. Every window is dressed with red-and-blue sashes. Lights hang along the covered parapet walks, and the ramparts are decorated with gonfalons displaying the royal crest: the body of a lion with the talons of an eagle and the head of a hawk. The golden mantling is set against a crimson background, with the royal motto emblazoned across the bottom: A Deo Rex; A Rege Lex, which my father told me means “From God, the king; from the king, law.”
The palace guards, dressed in colors matching the crest, line the length of the footpath just outside the main entryway, their gleaming swords holstered at their sides, their faces stoic and unchanging. A wave of panic washes over me. I dread going inside.
The queue of carriages extends behind us almost all the way out to the main road. We inch along, waiting for our turn to exit.
“This is more than I could have ever imagined,” Erin says, staring up at the castle.
“That something could look so beautiful and still be a nightmare is terrifying,” I say as I look at her.
“You don’t know that it will be a nightmare.”
“I wasn’t talking about the palace.”
She shoots me a frustrated glance as she climbs out of the carriage. I follow her, my heart galloping in my chest, my nerves getting the better of me with each passing moment. There are sideways glances, hushed whispers, and more than one catty laugh. I’ve never felt so exposed. I look through the crowd, and for every judgmental face I see, another is drawn tight with fear and apprehension.
I struggle to keep my balance atop my heels as I approach the guard and hand him my invitation, my fingers trembling. He checks it and crosses my name off a list. Erin does the same, and we push through the crowd of young women that has flooded into the main entry hall of the palace.
Gilded cherubs line the walls on either side of the long hallway. A portrait of Cinderella hangs over a set of enormous double doors overlaid with gold lilies and the royal family crest. In the painting, she is seated with her hands delicately clasped in her lap. She looks serene, smiling gently. Her golden hair falls around her shoulders in tight ringlets. Wearing her iconic blue dress, she gazes at us, her shining hazel eyes reflecting the candlelight. She is watching us.
A pair of guards pull open the gold-framed double doors at the end of the long entryway. The rush of girls spills into the grand ballroom, but Erin stays by my side even though the tension between us remains.
The ballroom is as large as a field. Dozens of crystal chandeliers hang over the space, their light washing us in a warm glow. I can see my reflection in the ice-like surface of the polished marble floor. The smell of fresh-cut flowers permeates the room. An entire orchestra sits readying their instruments, and random notes float through the air as they prepare to play.
I can hear Erin sucking in quick gulps of air beside me. I want to comfort her even though she’d all but ripped my heart out. “Try to take a deep breath,” I say, quickly glancing at her.
She nods, slows her breathing, and readjusts her wig. The girls break off into groups, and I scan the room for Liv but can’t find her among the sea of ruffled dresses. I hope she’s been able to get to the palace on time. More girls than I was anticipating crowd the room, and each of them seems to be stunned by our lavish surroundings.
Just then, I am struck hard on the shoulder by someone walking past. I turn to see a girl glaring at me. I don’t recognize her, and I think for a moment that she is looking past me at someone else.
“Who do you think you are, wearing a dress like that?” she hisses.
“Excuse me?” I ask, bewildered at the hatred dripping from her voice.
“Cinderella’s dress? More like a cheap knockoff. You look ridiculous, but you probably couldn’t afford anything better,” she says, her breath shallow and eyes wide. Fear lingers just below the surface.
“Do I know you?” I’m growing angrier by the second.
She rolls her eyes. “No. But that’s because I don’t run in the same circles as peasants trying to steal the spotlight from the rest of us. Pathetic.”
I figured there would be men who might have something rude to say and that I would be required to keep my retorts to myself. I didn’t think that the harshest words would come from another girl.
“Sophia,” says Erin as she takes hold of my arm. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“Yes she does,” I say, shrugging off Erin’s hand and squaring up with the other girl. “Does it make you feel better about yourself to put me down?”
Her face flushes crimson. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re no competition.”
“Then why say anything at all?” I walk toward her and look her dead in the eye. “You’re just as afraid as the rest of us, so don’t take it out on me.”