The duke shifted the bowl closer to the king. “Let me help you with that, sire.”
“Hmm? Oh, thank you.”
Charles frowned. “You seem preoccupied, Father.”
The king cleared his throat, but his voice still came out thick and hoarse. “I’m starting to think Ferdinand might have a point.” His expression became melancholy, thick white eyebrows folding downward. “I’m not going to be here forever, my boy. I want to see you happy before I go.”
“Father, please...”
“No more looking for this girl. This afternoon, we’ll meet to discuss your betrothal to the Princess of Lourdes.”
Cinderella swallowed and focused on setting the breadbasket on the table, along with the accompanying jars of strawberry jam and orange marmalade, and dish of butter—all as quickly as she could. Her last task was to serve the tea; then she could finally leave.
Keeping her head down, she leaned forward to fetch His Majesty’s cup so she could refill it. As she bent, her green beads slipped out of her apron pocket and fell into the pot of tea on her tray with a resounding splash.
Cinderella froze. An apology tumbled out of her mouth, but the words were incomprehensible, even to her. As she regained her senses, she reached for a napkin to dry the king’s setting, but Madame Irmina—coming out of nowhere—beat her to it.
Irmina batted her away, deftly inserting herself to clean the mess Cinderella had made. “Cinderella!” she admonished, then went on, “My deepest apologies, Your Majesty. The girl is new, and rather clumsy.”
If the king replied, Cinderella couldn’t hear it. She backed behind a marble column, hoping the prince was too busy listening to the Grand Duke’s speech about the Princess of Lourdes’s “effervescent beauty and incomparable grace” to pay any attention to her.
The seconds stretched, but before long, Madame Irmina had cleared the royal table and the entire incident appeared forgotten.
“What are you gaping at?” Madame Irmina whispered harshly as she passed Cinderella on her way out of the dining room. “Get back in the kitchen.”
“The—the necklace.” Cinderella didn’t see it—or the king’s teapot—on Madame Irmina’s tray. “It was my mother’s.”
“You can get it later.” Shoving Cinderella behind her, Irmina grumbled, “Hurry now, you’re making a scene. It’s already bad enough that you’ve disrupted His Majesty’s breakfast—”
Cinderella didn’t hear the rest of what Louisa’s aunt said. The entire time, she’d told herself not to look at the prince. But in a moment of weakness on her way out, she glanced at him... to find him staring at her, his mouth agape.
She darted her eyes away, rushing out. She could only guess what he was thinking. How she wished the earth would swallow her whole.
She heaved a sigh of relief once she made it back to the kitchen. A silver platter with a steaming pot of tea and a slim vase of fresh orchids awaited her. “The duchess will take her breakfast in her chambers.”
Cinderella fetched the tray and hurried on her way. She had scarcely made it out of the kitchen when her eyes widened in shock.
There he was—Prince Charles, asking one of the serving girls where she was.
She started to turn away, but the prince was too fast. He caught the edge of her sleeve and gently touched her arm.
“Stay, Cinderella. Please, stay.”
“You know my name?”
“Madame Irmina spoke it when you dropped this”—he lifted her mother’s necklace into view, unwrapping it from an ivory napkin—“into my father’s tea.” A sheepish grin spread across his face. “I was in such a rush to catch you, I didn’t get a chance to clean it properly. It should be dry, but it might still smell like raspberries and lemons—this morning’s tisane.” He bowed slightly, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. “Cinderella.”
She blushed, drawing her hand away and retrieving her mother’s necklace. The beads were still warm from the tea, and she flinched, remembering how astonished Charles had been to see her serving him and his father at breakfast. “You should go back. They’ll be missing you.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m... I’m not a princess, Your Highness,” she blurted. “Or a lady. I’m just—”
“The girl I’ve been waiting for my entire life?” said Charles. “First, please—don’t call me Your Highness.”
“But—”
“It’s Charles. Just Charles.”
