Page 3 of Slippers and Thorns
“I won’t let them see me cry,” she huffed to herself. “No matter how much they flaunt his mistake in marrying a commoner, Iwon’tlet them see me cry!”
Taking several deep breaths, she waited for the pressure behind her eyes to subside before stepping out of the drapes and dropping into her chair.
“Everything was perfect at the ball.” Ella slouched in her seat, propping her chin up on one hand. “I wish I understood what went wrong.”
Her eyes lost focus as she recalled the precious memory. He’d told her that his name was Mike as he bowed over her hand and requested a dance from the most beautiful girl in the room. She thought he was a terrible flatterer at first, if a good-looking one, with his silky black hair and fine clothing. As she’d twirled through the ballroom in his arms, though, she’d decided that she didn’t care if one of her stepsisters managed to catch the prince. As long as she could have Mike, everything would be all right.
Ella slowly pushed herself out of her chair and wandered towards the mantel. The dancing slippers that she’d worn that night now sat on top of it, neatly arranged on a cushion.
The dancing slippers. Such a simple thing, yet so important in the end. She’d lost track of the time, so when the clock struck twelve, she’d left Mike behind with no explanation. The kind neighbor who had helped her attend had told her that he could leave no later than midnight, and the dress she had worn was borrowed. She couldn’t afford for her stepmother to learn that she’d been there, nor could she have let her neighbor get into trouble for her sake, so she ran.
In her hurry, she’d tripped on the stairs, abandoning the slipper that flew from her foot. The whole time, tears had run down her face, because she knew Mike was lost to her. No one would ever look for a finely-dressed woman in a servant.
Or so she had thought.
The last thing she had expected to see two days later was a bevy of royal servants on her stepmother’s porch. Seeking the owner ofhermissing slipper to marry Crown Prince Michael.
Or Mike, as she knew him.
Trailing a hand along the soft suede of one of the treasured slippers, she tried to keep her lips from dipping below horizontal. In the two years since their fairytale wedding, Ella and Mike had gradually drifted apart. Now, they felt more like Arabella and Michael, or worse, Princess Arabella and Crown Prince Michael.
“Love at first sight,” she said bitterly. “What a joke.” Another tear threatened to roll down her cheek, but she wiped it away. “I thought you were my best friend, Mike. Why did you leave me?”
A gentle knocking startled her out of her thoughts. Quickly wiping her eyes, she cleared her throat. “Yes?”
“It’s me, Your Highness,” her maid called.
Striding to the door, Ella took a deep breath before pulling it open. “Hello, Jackie.”
The black-haired young woman dipped in a quick curtsy. “Did you have need of me this afternoon?”
Ella mentally skimmed through her list of possible activities again. “No…no, I don’t believe so.”
“You won’t be riding Shadow?”
She shook her head. “Not today. But thank you, Jackie.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” After one more curtsy, her maid strolled back down the hall.
Once she was out of sight, Ella headed to the kitchen.
She needed something to distract herself from the thoughts plaguing her. She could embroider, but that would only busy her hands, not her mind. Nor could it cheer her up; not when her needlework couldn’t compare to that of the fine ladies of the court.
She slipped past several doors where she could hear courtiers discussing everything from the weather to King Phillip’s latest declaration. The princess-y move would have been to pop in, float around graciously for a few minutes, offer polite compliments and observations, and then proceed to the next room to repeat the performance.
Ella had never been good at that, though; the courtiers looked down on her for her humble origins, and she was easily intimidated by their glowers. Managing the disapproving crowd had been possible when Mike was atherside, but that was the problem. Mike had disappeared, and Michael was too busy being the crown prince.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
Ella held back a sigh and kept her sweet smile in place. “Sarah, I know I asked you to call me Ella.”
The maid shook her auburn head as she twisted her feather duster between her hands. “That would also be inappropriate, Princess Arabella.”
Ella did sigh this time. Drat the royals and the court and their dratted precious formality. She would push, but at least one servant had been reprimanded for referring to her as Ella. Another caught an earful for simply calling her Arabella, without the title. She wished they would at least address her as such when no one else was around, but apparently, they had decided the risk of someone overhearing was too great.
“Can’t I at least borrow one of your rags? I’ll just swish it around lightly without really cleaning anything.” Ella knew she was verging on absurdity, but she couldn’t help it. “You can’t get in trouble if I’m just holding it, can you?”
Sarah gave her a small smile. “I don’t think His Majesty would approve, Your Highness.”
