Page 19 of Disenchanted
“Why?” I asked. “Why would you want me to go to this wretched ball?”
“Because I think it would be good for you,” he mumbled around another mouthful of gingerbread.
“Good for me! To display myself before that dolt Prince Florian, like some heifer brought to market—”
“You don’t need to worry about the prince,” Mal interrupted. “If I thought you were likely to be troubled by him, I would never send you to the ball. But there is not the least chance Florian would ever choose you for his bride.”
I had no desire to wed the prince, but Mal’s remark nettled me all the same. “Truly? Am I so repulsive then? And after you just assured me how beautiful I am.”
“You are beautiful. Dazzlingly so. The problem would come when you opened your mouth.”
“Oh? There is something wrong with my voice then?” I huffed.
“Not your voice, Ella. It’s your tongue. It’s sharper than my shaving razor.”
“I suppose you are still miffed with me because of those remarks I made about your hair. I have already said I am sorry.”
“It’s nothing to do with my hair,” Mal said, raking his hand back through his pompadour and then looking in disgust at the strands that came loose. He brushed them off on his breeches as he continued, “You have a habit of making sarcastic quips, sometimes downright caustic. You never used to be that way. When you were younger, you were so sweet… well, you were never exactly sweet. But you were much softer, less cynical, and more hopeful. You still believed in magic, dreams, and romance, or so I thought. Have you never even considered the possibility of falling in love?”
I did not answer immediately. Mal was my closest friend. But I had never told him about my trysts with Harper. Mal had been away that bittersweet summer I had fallen so desperately in love with my bard. By the time Mal had returned, it was all over, and I was finished weeping into my pillow. My memories were still far too raw and painful to share, even with Mal.
Something, either in my hesitation or my face alerted Mal. He leaned forward in his chair and said half-teasingly, “You have been entertaining thoughts of romance. Who is it? Never tell me you are harboring tender feelings for the Crusher?”
“No! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“For whom then?”
“For no one,” I snapped.
An odd smile played about Mal’s mouth. If he sensed I was keeping any sort of a secret, he could be worse than a ferret shredding the lawn digging for rabbits. I made haste to change the subject.
“Back to the matter of this royal ball, I still do not understand why you are so eager for me to attend an event that I despise asmuch as you do. It would be dreadful of me to sally off to the ball when my poor Amy and Netta are positively breaking their hearts to do so. I could not be so cruel as to go without them.” I paused, eyeing Mal speculatively. “Unless you might also afford to include them—”
“I could, but I won’t,” Mal said. “The ugly stepsisters must simply learn to accept their disappointment.”
“Don’t call them that! Amy and Netta are darling, lovely girls.”
“They are spoiled brats, and your wicked stepmother is even more selfish. Do you know why your father even married her? My gran always said it was because he saw Imelda in the park, cooing over her girls and got this fool notion she would make you a good mother.”
“And do you know why Imelda married my father? She saw him as a knight in shining armor coming to carry her off to his castle where she would live happily ever after. So, they were both doomed to unhappiness and—” I heard my voice starting to rise and checked it.
Mal had nothing but contempt for Imelda and my stepsisters. It was one of the few things we ever quarreled about, and I had no wish to do so again.
An uncomfortable silence fell between us. Mal finally said, “I am sorry, Ella, but the problem is if your stepsisters accompany you to the ball, they might get in your way.”
“In the way of my what?”
“Of you doing what I need you to do,” Mal replied vaguely. The way he avoided meeting my eyes roused all my former suspicions that he was keeping something back.
“Enough, Mal, what is the real reason you want me to attend the ball? This is supposed to be your birthday favor, something that will benefit you. So, what is it?”
Mal pulled a rueful face. “I would have had to tell you eventually. But perhaps we should have some more tea first.”
“No more tea,” I said, moving the pot out of his reach. “Quit stalling, Mal, and just tell me.”
“Oh, very well. It has been brought to my attention recently— never mind how or by whom,” he added hastily. “That’s not important, but someone has informed me that the king has a crystal orb that he keeps locked up in his treasure chamber. That orb belonged to my grandfather, and I want it back.”
“I still don’t understand what that has to do with me attending…” My words trailed off as comprehension smacked me over the head. “Oh, no, no, no!” I said, vigorously shaking my head.
