Page 45 of Disenchanted
Cynic that I was, I suspected the king had ordered the prince to do so just in case there was anybody still balking at the cost of the ball. Each appearance by Florian resulted in more disgruntled fathers trudging into Exchequer Tower to purchase tickets.
A blare of trumpets sounded as the prince drew nearer. Even that combined with the clatter of horses’ hooves was not enough to drown out the sound of sighs from all the women.
During the past week, my sisters had emerged from their seclusion of misery. Now that they were going to the ball, Amy and Netta enjoyed the company of their friends again, subjecting me to an overabundance of excited feminine chatter. My sisters and these other girls rattled on and on about how many handsome, eligible men would attend the ball. They declared that they would be quite content if they could but win the heart of a knight, a lord, a duke or perhaps one of the prince’s four younger brothers.
They were all lying, of course. I could tell that from all the rapt expressions as they waited for Florian to pass by. Every young woman in Midtown (except for me) wantedthatprince.
As he rode into our midst, Florian slowed his horse to a walk, obliging his entourage to do the same. Mounted on a snowy-white steed, the prince stood out from his two equerries, riding their sorrel mares. But his magnificent horse was not the only reason that all eyes were drawn to the prince.
Grudgingly, I had to admit he was handsome enough, with his fine chiseled features and flowing mane of white-gold hair. The scarlet cape he wore emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. As the crowd erupted into cheers, he acknowledgedtheir adulation with a gracious wave of one gauntleted hand, flashing his teeth in a blinding smile.
All around me, ladies dropped curtsies and fluttered their handkerchiefs to attract the prince’s attention. I was the only one who stood, arms folded, wearing my not-impressed face. I doubt the prince noticed because in their eagerness, my sisters pushed in front of me.
One of our neighbors from across the lane, the eldest Miss Hanson, rushed out into the road, tossing rose petals. In her enthusiasm, the foolish chit strayed directly into the path of the prince’s steed. Florian quickly drew rein, raising one hand to halt his entourage. Myrtle Hanson gazed adoringly up at him before swooning and collapsing in the street.
Her younger sister, Ivy, shrieked and rushed to Miss Hanson’s aide, but the prince got there first. With a swirl of his cape, Florian leapt from his horse. Kneeling, he gathered the stricken girl into his arms.
“Oh!” All the other girls cooed, their cries echoing along the lane.
The younger Miss Hanson stumbled toward the prince. Her knees buckled and she likewise sank down into a faint. To my astonishment, Florian managed to catch her with his other arm, breaking her fall. One did have to admire his dexterity.
As though a contagion had spread, soon other young ladies collapsed into graceful faints until our street began to resemble a satirical canvas by the fey artist Peccano, a painting that could have been titled The Massacre of the Maidens.
Amy moaned. “Oh, I am feeling a little weak myself.” She started to sag, but I prevented her by catching her around the waist. I administered a sharp pinch, growling in her ear, “Don’t you dare!”
Amy rubbed her arm and looked at me reproachfully, but she made no further effort to join in this ridiculous display.
His arms already full of the Misses Hanson, Prince Florian regarded the other fallen young women with a look of such comical dismay, I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it— even though my chortles drew outraged stares from those in the crowd still standing.
“Ella!” Both my sisters rebuked me in horrified whispers.
Fortunately, the prince’s equerries dismounted and came to his rescue. They relieved Florian of his swooning burdens and the prince backed away toward his horse. Drawn by the sound of my chuckles, his head turned in my direction, his eyes meeting mine. I doubted that our prince was the sort of man to tolerate being laughed at. I clapped my hand to my mouth to stifle my mirth.
He stared at me for a moment. He slowly smiled and then… Did I imagine it or had His Highness winked at me? With another twirl of his cape, he leapt back onto his steed and wheeled the horse about in the direction he had come. It was usually his custom to continue his ride through the center of town, but today he preferred to gallop back to the safety of his castle walls.
As the prince vanished from view, it was as though a sleeping curse had been broken. The Misses Hanson straightened, indignantly thrusting away the prince’s servants, leaving them free to remount and follow their master. The other swooning girls struggled to their feet, looking disappointed as they dusted off their skirts.
With the excitement over, I shepherded my sisters back toward the house. As I closed the garden gate, I was dismayed to notice Amy’s eyes shimmering with tears.
“What is the matter, Amy?” I asked. “I hope I did not hurt your feelings when I prevented you from swooning. Truly, my dear, you would not want to attract the prince’s attention in sucha foolish way. All those other girls did was make themselves appear ridiculous.”
“I will never be able to attract the attention of the prince or any man so magnificent.” Tears trickled down my sister’s cheeks. “Because I am so fat!”
“Amy,” I groaned.
Netta also began to cry. “At least you can work on becoming slimmer. There is nothing I can do about my height. I am as tall as Ella’s wretched weed.”
“I can’t get any slimmer,” Amy wailed. “I have tried so h-hard, but— but I like food too much.”
“And I can never shrink,” Netta sobbed.
“Oh, my dears.” I spread my arms wide and gathered them to me. With a sister weeping on each shoulder, I understood how the prince must have felt when he had been beleaguered by the swooning Misses Hanson.
Imelda was a loving mother, but in her zeal for the success of her daughters, she had no idea how damaging her criticisms could be. I wracked my brain for words of wisdom and comfort.
“No girl is ever satisfied with her reflection when she regards herself in the mirror,” I said. “I believe it is a failing of our sex that we always search for flaws and are sure to find them because no woman is perfect.”
“You are, Ella,” Netta sniffed.
