Page 5 of Disenchanted
He thanked me and said farewell. Perching his hat at a jaunty angle, he sauntered off down the walk, whistling off-key. I closed the door behind him, staring down in bemusement at the parchment in my hand. Every eligible woman in the kingdom invited to a ball that had until now been for only the wealthiest and noblest of families? The prince vowing to choose a bride from among all the maidens in attendance? I did not know what to make of this mad announcement from the palace, but I was by nature a suspicious person. When something sounded too good to be true, it generally was.
I scanned the parchment again and this time my gaze homed in on the fine print at the very bottom of the announcement, beneath the king’s seal.
Present this invitation to the royal exchequer to procure the vouchers necessary for admittance to the ball. Each household may purchase an unlimited number of tickets at the cost of—
I nearly choked as I read the staggering sum per ticket. I stiffened as I realized what this was all about, just another way for the king to rake in money. This so-called grand ball was nothing more than a lottery with exorbitantly priced tickets and marriage to the royal heir dangled as the grand prize.
It was outrageous. It was diabolical. It was… frapping brilliant!
I was torn between disgust and a grudging admiration for our wily old king. Levying another tax would have increased the rumblings of discontent among his subjects. Among the more radical quarters in Arcady, there were even rumors of a possible rebellion arising.
But how many of the king’s subjects, dazzled by the prospect of a royal ball, would even notice that once again His Majesty was successfully picking their pockets? At least for once it kept the royal treasury agents from delving into the Upton purse. As for those foolish enough to waste their money taking part in this princely lottery, good luck to them.
Shaking my head and chuckling a little over the king’s audacity, I rolled up the parchment. But as my gaze traveled down the hall toward the open parlor door, I could see my stepsisters dancing around the room, practicing the waltz. My smirk faded.
Amy and Netta were glowing with girlish hopes and dreams. They looked as though they were floating off the ground, encased in a bubble of sheer happiness. As usual, I was going to have to be the one who administered the sharp prick of reality. I headed toward the parlor, girding myself for the unpleasant scene to come.
two
Mercifully, by the time I entered the parlor, the girls had calmed down a little. They had collapsed on the settee and delved into the latest issue of Fantine’s Designs for Fashionable Young Ladies.
“We are not dressing alike for the ball, no matter what Mama says,” Amy said. “We must be firm with her this time. Agreed?”
Netta nodded vigorously.
I cleared my throat to get their attention. “Girls…”
“I am picturing myself in a pink silk while you should have mint green,” Amy continued. “And for Ella, I am thinking a soft shade of sky blue.”
“Indeed, Ella always looks well in blue. It brings out the color of her eyes.”
“Girls!”
They dragged their attention from the fashion book long enough to look up at me. Amy frowned. “Ella, you must go bathe and get rid of that soot. We have so much planning to do. The ball is only a month away.”
“We should get down to the Silk Emporium as soon as possible,” Netta said.
“Oh, yes. Every woman in Midtown will be swarming the place.”
“Girls!” I fortified myself with a deep breath. “We can’t go.”
“To the emporium? But, Ella, we must,” Amy said. “There will not be a decent scrap of fabric left.”
“I mean we can’t go to the ball.”
They stared at me blankly, as though I had started speaking in some incomprehensible language known only in the darkest regions of elf lands.
Amy was the first to recover. “Whatever do you mean, Ella? Of course, we can go. We have been invited.”
“No, what we have been invited to do is bankrupt ourselves by purchasing tickets.”
I read the passage they had overlooked in their excitement, laying particular emphasis on the sum required— twenty silver galoons.
“Twenty? Per ticket?” Netta faltered. She had a somewhat better grasp of money matters than Amy who said, “Surely that is not so very much.”
“Not so very much? It is as much as a good plowman can make in a year.”
“How very fortunate we are not plowmen.”
