Together, Cinderella and the prince stepped into the ballroom, hand in hand. No trumpets or royal heralds announced their entrance, and yet everyone in attendance turned to view them, their hushed anticipation almost palpable.
It wasn’t the first time a thousand eyes had scrutinized Cinderella, but it was the first time she wasn’t so wrapped up in the moment of being with Charles that she actually noticed it. As if he could read her mind, Charles gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and she smiled at him. Then slowly, one step at a time, he escorted her down the staircase to the ballroom floor.
Immediately, moving like a flock of birds, the guests gathered for a closer view of them.
“Who is she?” their voices could be heard whispering.
“Could it be she? The girl with the glass slipper?”
Opera glasses and monocles flew up as the guests tried to catch a glimpse of her face, doing their best to identify her. At first, their attention unnerved Cinderella, but as she drew closer and closer to the king, it became easier to ignore the whispers and the gossip. What made her more nervous was her imminent introduction to King George.
As the music behind her swelled and ebbed, Cinderella’s heart hammered. Seeing King George grimace at her made her anxiety multiply.
Wait,she realized,he’s not grimacing because he doesn’t want to see me; he’s in pain.
How different he looked from the buoyant ruler at the masquerade, peering at the guests with his binoculars from his private balcony. Now he was shrunken and pale, his figure slouched against the throne. The king coughed, then straightened as best he could. At his side, the Grand Duke tried his hardest not to smirk.
Cinderella knew the smirk was meant for her, and yet something about the duke looking so smug beside the ailing king struck a wary chord in her. Something wasn’t right.
She was barely listening to Charles’s speech until she heard the words:
“This is the woman I have chosen to marry, Father.”
At that, she perked up. A merry smile replaced the king’s grim expression, and the prince held up the glass slipper she had left behind for all to see. It sparkled, catching the lights of the chandeliers, and Pierre brought a cushioned stool for Cinderella to sit on so that she could try the slipper before all the guests. But before she could sit, a woman’s voice, low and malicious, rang out from the assembly:
“The prince cannot marry her!”
The music stopped abruptly, punctuated by the screech of a violin bow careening off the strings.
Cinderella felt her back go rigid. Even without turning to look over her shoulder, she knew who had spoken. A hush came over the crowd, whispers buzzing.
“Guards, restrain her!” ordered one of the king’s ministers.
At her side, Charles tensed, but the prince prodded Cinderella forward, urging her not to glance behind them and to continue walking toward his father. But she couldn’t. Her legs were wooden, the blood in her veins ice. Besides, she didn’t need to turn around. She knew exactly who had spoken, and it was time she faced her.
Turning on her heel, Cinderella rushed back into the ballroom to confront her stepmother.
“The prince cannot marry her!” Lady Tremaine repeated vehemently. She bowed low before the king. “Please, Your Majesty, listen to what I have to say.”
“This is an outrage!” exclaimed the king. “My lady, you do us all a disservice with this spectacle. I will not hear any more. Guards, take this woman away.”
“Sire,” the Grand Duke spoke, “perhaps we should give the lady a chance to explain herself.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Lady Tremaine. “Cinderella was under my care for many years.”
Ferdinand frowned. “So she is your daughter?”
“No, she’s a servant. A nobody.”
“I’m not a nobody,” Cinderella said firmly. If her stepmother thought she would remain meek and silent as she had while under her care, she was wrong. Cinderella had changed, and she refused to let this woman ruin her dreams once again.
A sneer touched Lady Tremaine’s mouth. “That is true—you’re not a nobody. You’re a thief.” Without warning, she snatched Cinderella’s necklace. “Ask her where she got these beads. They’re my daughter’s.”
“No! They’re—”
“And the glass slipper, and the dress. They were stolen. A girl like her could never have afforded such fine clothes. Why else did I dismiss her from my home? She’s a thief and a liar!”
“No!” Cinderella exclaimed. “That isn’t true.”
