Cinderella Is Dead(21)

Liv.

“Your—Your Majesty,” she sputters. She curtsies and then stands, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.

Erin’s breathing becomes frantic, and I take a half step forward.

“I see so many beautiful gowns, beautiful faces. And then I see you.” The king glares at her. “Were you not aware that this is a formal event?”

The men on the platform laugh, and so do many of the other girls. Luke is silent, staring ahead. My heart races as I take another step forward. The king’s lips curl into a hideous smile.

“My—my parents, they couldn’t afford—” Liv starts.

“Excuses are for the weak,” the king says. “The ball was obviously not a priority.” He takes stock of her again, his face twisting into a mask of disgust. “Do your parents care that now, looking as you do, you will not be picked by one of these fine gentlemen?”

Liv sobs. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I’d hoped a fairy godmother would see fit to visit me.”

The king descends the steps to stand in front of her. Just behind my shoulder a hulking guard looms over me.

“Get back in your place,” he says, just above a whisper. I hesitate. He doesn’t look at me as he speaks and seems much more concerned with what the king is doing. I slowly step back into line.

“You are indeed sorry,” says the king. “You didn’t earn a visit from a fairy godmother. Didn’t you consult the book? Didn’t you do as Cinderella would have done?” His tone is taunting, sarcastic, cruel.

No one makes a sound. Even the men on the platform quiet themselves.

“I did, Your Highness,” Liv says, her voice choked with what I can only imagine is some combination of fear and dread. “I study the book every day. I have worked my fingers to the bone in service to my father, to my king—”

“And here you are,” says King Manford. “Disgracing us both.” He walks around Liv like an animal circling its prey. My stomach turns over. He touches the fabric of her dress, running his hand over the seams of her sleeve. He stands in front of her again. “Did you make this dress yourself, or did you find it in the gutter somewhere?”

Nervous laughter erupts from the men on the platform. None of the girls laugh this time. It could easily have been any one of us standing up there.

“I made it,” says Liv. “I—I didn’t have a choice.”

“There are always choices. They may not be ones you like, but there are always choices. You could have worked harder, couldn’t you? Your parents could have sold something. You could have gone out to work in Hanover. They are always on the lookout for talented young women like yourself.”

Girls who voluntarily go to Hanover instead of attending a second or third ball must get a pass from the king himself, and many of them never return.

“Alas,” the king sighs. “You chose to wear this abomination to my ball. A terrible choice. But …” He leans in so his face is almost touching Liv’s. “Now that I look a bit closer, I can see that you are quite lovely.” He reaches out to pull her hair through his fingers, sighs, and gazes past her. “While your beauty surpasses some of the other faces here, I simply cannot allow you to come dressed like that. What will people say? They’ll think I’ve lowered my standards, and that, my dear, simply will not do.” The king nods to a nearby guard, who steps forward and loops his arm under Liv’s.

“Wait!” she screams as the guard drags her toward the side door. “Please—I’m sorry!”

The king claps his hands twice as he ascends to his throne. A barrage of men in white coats and matching toques blanches come in, pushing carts with silver platters piled high with succulent hors d’oeuvres. The band starts to play a chipper melody.

“Let the festivities begin!” says the king.

The crowd disperses as the men descend from their platform to mingle with the girls. I’m frozen. I can’t breathe. I pull at the corset, but it won’t budge. Looking across the room, I gauge the distance to the door to see if I can make a run for it, but there are too many guards.

I watch the king surveying the room as he sits atop his golden chair. He runs his long, thin fingers over his chin. Suddenly he stands and his servants scramble behind him as he descends the platform and disappears through the door where the guards had taken Liv.

I grab Erin by the wrist and duck away, weaving through the crowd until we end up beside an elaborately decorated table with a gleaming glass bowl filled to the top with bloodred liquid.

“What will they do with her?” Erin asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t know where they took her.” I look toward the door again.

“They probably put her out. Oh, Sophia, this is terrible. What will she do now? This is already her second ball. I don’t know anyone who’s actually gone to a third. She’ll be a forfeit.”

“Don’t say that. Maybe we can find a way to get to her and then leave.”

“We can’t. They haven’t even started the selection ceremony yet.” Erin dabs at her eyes.

“No. I mean I want to leave Lille. I want to leave Mersailles. I want to get as far away from here as possible.” We have to run. Fear envelops me as I take Erin by the arm.

“Shh!” Erin looks around to see if anyone heard me. “You can’t say things like that. People are listening.”