The Wronged Princess - Book I - Page 130/133

A grim determination squared Pricilla's shoulders and she stepped through the doors to the top rung. Pricilla was the bravest soul Cinderella would ever know. Ever. Pricilla gasped and glanced over her shoulder. Surprise and fear filled her eyes.

Cinderella closed her eyes waiting for the barrage of accusations. Had they somehow been found out? Non. non, that did not make sense. She and Essie were the ones who'd traded gowns…and no one had seen them yet. Cinderella opened her eyes. Pricilla was moving down the stairs.

Muted oohs and ahs reached her with the staid footman's return. Essie shot her one last look of encouragement then handed the footman their note per Pricilla instructions. Brows beetled, he read. He looked from her to Essie. Cinderella's battle to stave off her apprehension was quickly losing ground. They could not pull off this feat.

The scene took on a peculiar milieu, a strange ambience. She caught a small shrug before he delivered their message to the herald with nary a word or glance back. Cinderella tightened her hold on Essie's hand and met her furiously blinking eyes. The slight updraft, unmistakable.

"Lady Esmeralda." The herald's bellow thundered throughout the hall, bounding off the wooden surfaces, seeming even louder.

The breath rushing from Essie matched her own. They'd made it through one more obstacle. Essie squeezed her hand then disappeared into oblivion leaving Cinderella standing alone with her fears.

And hope.

*****

"Darling, you are pacing like a nervous cat. Whatever could be troubling you?"

As if Maman did not know. Prince was ready to howl at the moon. Her regal and calm manner only served to annoy him further.

"Come dear, the formal announcement shall be made soon and all will be well." She patted his hand as if he were a toddler of two. His gaze flitted around the ballroom, the panic threatening to consume him.

He'd like to know how she managed to remain so composed. How anyone could remain so unruffled. He supposed it was too late to toss himself onto the jagged rocks off the cliff seen from her hidden alcove. Alas, the window was too high, regardless.

The usual pleasure Prince took in the strains of Mozart pulverized his reserve into the taut strings of a pianoforte. He'd suffered through several dances. Every effort it took Prince to maintain his placid mask. He wanted to see Cinderella. There was something about her that soothed him. The wish for silence overwhelmed him.

The music ground to a halt, a bow screeched across a single violin string, screaming its last agonizing note in perfect accord with his stilled breath.