Cinderella Is Dead(73)
I walk into the main entryway, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead. There are fewer oohs and ahhs than there had been in October. These girls are being forced back to the palace because of me, and I see the fear in their faces everywhere I turn.
I have a plan, and I try to keep that foremost in my head as we move toward the main ballroom. I make a note of where all the doors in the main hall are located and tally up the number of guards. There are more of them this time around.
The guards herd us into the ballroom, where the doors clang shut as the trumpets blare. My palms sweat as we form a line. I run my hands down the front of my dress and gently touch the hilt of my dagger.
The trumpet blasts again, and I look up to see men flood into the ballroom. The Viscount of Chione is back, and so are many of the land barons. I watch the procession in confusion. Will there be another choosing ceremony? Most of the girls in attendance have probably already been selected. The royal anthem plays as the king comes in and takes up his place atop the platform.
“I am honored by your presence,” he says. His eyes are wide. He scans the room with a frenzied sort of haste. He looks unnerved. “I am sure many of you are wondering why I’ve called you to this event, and the answer is quite simple. There are people in this kingdom who think that the rules don’t apply to them. I’ve brought you here as a reminder that every man, woman, and child in Mersailles is beholden to me. For your lives, the food you eat, the clothes you wear. You can have those things because I allow it, and I am very disappointed that you are not more grateful.” He shakes his head. “Henceforth, in addition to attending the annual ball, you will also be required to attend the winter cotillion. Anyone not chosen will immediately be considered a forfeit.”
Shock befalls the room, and I hear a whimper. Someone starts to cry. The viscount shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Even he seems shaken by the king’s proclamation.
“If you were chosen at the annual ball, form a line to your right,” orders the king in a monotone voice. As I suspected, most of the girls rush off and stand against the far wall. Several dozen of us stay in line. “All of you who were chosen will be escorted back to your carriages. You have served your king well, and I expect that you will serve your husbands unquestioningly. The rest of you will have an opportunity to be chosen tonight.”
The girls are escorted out by the guards, while those who are left stand quietly in line. “As we gather this evening, I’d encourage you all to remember the reason you’re here. Cinderella wanted every girl in her kingdom to be the bride of a deserving man, to have her own fairy-tale ending.” I stifle the urge to throw up as he continues to lie to us. “You are all worthy of that honor. I hope you have studied Cinderella’s story. I hope that you have let it show you the way.”
The king smiles wide as laughter rises up among the suitors. A man who looks like an older version of Luke’s schoolmate Morris stands on the tier closest to the king. It must be his father, and I wonder if his latest wife has had some accident or has been given up as forfeit. I wonder if my face conveys every bit of rage I feel. I hope so.
The king gazes down the line of girls and stops when he comes to me. Something animalistic flashes across his face. He quickly looks from side to side to see if anyone has noticed. He claps his hands twice to signal the band. The remaining girls scatter while the men on the platform come down and start to mingle.
I fight to keep calm. No one will be permitted to leave. He’ll make these young women pay for the choice I made to abandon the ball. Just then, a man appears in front of me, and it takes me a half second to register who it is.
King Manford.
From his smell, a mixture of wine and smoke, to the predatory look in his eyes, everything about him repels me. I have a feeling that if we weren’t in a room full of people, he’d show his true nature immediately. I watch the corners of his mouth twitch as he struggles with something inside himself. I stare up at him, and he smiles. “It is customary to bow or curtsy when in the presence of royalty.”
I don’t move.
He narrows his eyes, which are a shade of such deep brown as to be almost black. His angular jaw is set hard, and his mouth is a straight line. “You are not what I expected.”
I can feel the eyes of everyone else in the room on us as he hovers over me.
“A waltz!” he shouts, startling me. The band plays a melody, and he takes my arm, dragging me to the center of the ballroom. He slips his hand behind my back and pulls me into the dance. “You’re very beautiful,” he says. He spins in a circle, practically lifting me off the ground. “What’s your name?”
“You already know the answer.”
“Clever girl,” he says. “I didn’t think you would return. I thought I would have to hunt you to the ends of the earth. You are either very brave or very stupid. Tell me, which is it?”
“I’m here so no one else has to suffer for what I did. I left the ball. You can take that up with me. Leave everyone else out of it.” The weight of my dagger presses against my leg. He has a vise grip on my hand, and I can’t reach for it. He holds me close as we spin. I look up at the portraits of our former kings, and while each of them differ, I realize now that the eyes are the same.
They are all Manford.
Did he put up the paintings to taunt us? The truth has been in plain sight this entire time, but no one understands what it means. I lean in and put my mouth close to his ear. “I know what you are.”