Page 2 of Charmless
Mrs. Biddlesworth loathed my untidy garden and suspected me of practicing some dark, illegal magic. I often amused myself by squinting and muttering made-up incantations when I knew Mrs. B. was spying on me. But when it came to allowing Frank to get out of control, I had carried one of my jests too far. The weed’s roots were imbedded deep in the earth by now. I was going to have a dreadful time getting rid of the ugly plant, but it proved useful, hiding me as I joined my neighbors, all heads turned toward the cavalcade approaching down the lane.
By now, I could see a contingent of royal guards, decked out in their old-fashioned blue tabards, blowing triumphant clarions, and beating drums. Beyond them, I caught a glimpse of an impressive equipage pulled by a team of snowy white horses. It was the king’s golden carriage, only brought out on the most important state occasions.
King August never came to Midtown these days, not even to deliver his annual speech. What could be the reason for this unexpected appearance? Whatever it was, I assured myself it could not possibly have anything to do with me.
All the same, I felt nervous enough to retreat to the side of the house. I peeked around the corner and was relieved to seethis mysterious parade heading toward the heart of Midtown. As the guards marched past, I noticed one lone sentry bringing up the rear. It was Sergeant Ned Wharton, the tall and handsome young guard that my stepsister Netta had become infatuated with at the ball last night.
Unlike the other soldiers, Sergeant Wharton was not beating a drum, but walking one of those huge hairless aura cats, the creature straining at the leash. In honor of the occasion, (whatever that was) someone had affixed a bright blue bow to the huge cat’s collar. It looked rather ridiculous upon such a fearsome beast. The poor creature appeared to think so, too. It let out a ferocious growl and sank down upon its haunches, refusing to budge.
For one dreadful moment, I thought that both cat and sergeant would be run down by the approaching carriage. But the royal coach lumbered along at such a sedate pace, the driver easily reined in the horses in time.
The entire parade came to an abrupt halt. Sergeant Wharton ceased struggling with the cat and looked expectantly toward the carriage. I could hear murmurs circulating through the crowd, everyone as puzzled by this turn of events as I was.
One of the bewigged footmen leapt down from his post at the rear. There was a hush of anticipation from the crowd as the carriage door opened and the steps were let down. Sighs of disappointment followed when the only person to appear was the king’s majordomo.
Clad in his nondescript gray uniform, the balding little man hurried toward Sergeant Wharton. The majordomo carried something. My jaw dropped when I realized what it was— a square pillow trimmed with a golden fringe. Nestled upon the center of the purple silk was my beat-up old dancing slipper.
Numb with horror, I watched as the majordomo bent down, presenting my shoe to the aura beast. The cat stared at it,then rolled its head toward my front gate, and emitted an ear-splitting roar.
No! This was not possible. Everyone in our kingdom had to have their aura collected in the mysterious Aura Chamber in the Quad Towers. But my father had managed to defy this edict and thus my aura remained unregistered. There was no way that cat should have been able to connect that shoe to me. My pulse pounding, I flattened myself against the side of the house, but I had to see what would happen next.
The majordomo had returned to the carriage. Looking up at the open coach door, he conferred with someone inside. My heart sank when Prince Florian emerged to loud applause and the usual squeals of feminine delight.
The prince acknowledged his adorers with a toss of his long blond hair and his blinding smile. His broad shoulders strained beneath a royal blue frock coat, a snowy cravat knotted about this throat. His thighs were encased in a pair of breeches so tight it left not nearly enough to the imagination.
According to Mal, the prince should have been back at the palace recovering from his pixie dust binge, not striding toward my front gate with that determined look on his face. I was certain that Florian’s infatuation had been inspired by snorting that silvery powder. Surely, he could not still be intent upon marrying me. I was not waiting around to find out.
Stealthily backing away, I scrambled toward the rear of the house. My first panicked impulse was to scale the backyard fence and flee toward town. I could burst into the Midtown garrison, beg Horatio to hide me. Yet of the two men in my life, Mal was the one more likely to know how to conceal a fugitive. But Mal’s herbal shop in Misty Bottoms was even further away and what was I thinking?
What if I was wrong about the prince’s intentions? I would seem like a complete lunatic, rushing through the streets in my bare feet, clad in nothing but my nightgown and wrapper.
I raced for the house instead and tore up the stairs. I blundered into Em coming from my younger sister Amy’s room. My stepmother was already dressed, a becoming lace cap perched atop her dark curls.
I must have looked as though I was being pursued by a horde of hobgoblins because Em drew back from me in alarm. “Ella, what is all that commotion outside? What is going on?”
“I don’t know, but we have to pretend we are not at home.”
When she started to protest, I gripped both of her arms. “You must trust me on this, Em. Don’t answer the door. And whatever you do, don’t lethiminside.”
Em looked bewildered but nodded her head in frightened agreement. I darted past her and into my room, trying to get my frantic thoughts under control. Maybe I was alarmed for nothing. Maybe the prince had sought me out to— to do what? A scornful voice inside my head demanded. Return your shoe?
I tiptoed over to my window and stole a cautious look into the front yard. The prince had breached the gate and was heading up the garden path, preceded by the majordomo bearing the pillow with my shoe. The rest of his entourage milled about in the lane, while the majordomo knocked at the door.
The prince shifted restively, leaning to one side. I thought he was trying to peer into the front library window to see why no one hastened to answer the door. When he shook back his golden mane of hair and smoothed his hand through it, I realized he was checking his reflection in the glass. His tongue snaked out to moisten his lips.
I shuddered. This could not be happening. I would never have imagined that the king would allow his heir to marry anyone less than a wealthy princess. Yet Florian had arrived inthe royal coach. Did that imply that he had his father’s blessing to wed some Midtown girl? I could not believe it. What would the king’s response be, especially when he realized that girl wasme?The king had reacted oddly last night when he had been reminded that I was Julius Upton’s daughter. Was Florian aware there was some strange past connection between his father and my parents? My head swam with all these troubling questions.
The majordomo knocked again, louder.
“Open in the name of the most valiant Prince Florian, heir to the kingdom of Arcady!” The servant had a booming voice for such a little man.
The prince made an impatient gesture to his men crowding around the gate. For one wild moment, I feared he had commanded someone to fetch a battering ram. But he had only signaled the royal trumpeters. They let forth another blast.
As the last note died, I heard Em rushing down the stairs. I should have known my stepmother would never be able to ignore such a summons. I tore out of my room to stop her, but I was too late.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Em had flung the door open. She curtsied, gushing out a greeting to the prince, welcoming him inside. I whirled and fled back to my room.
Leaning up against my bedroom door, I wished I could sink through the floor or turn invisible. The thought reminded me of those strange glass slippers Mal had given me to wear to the ball. They were designed to help me steal the orb by making me invisible, but like most of Mal’s attempts at enchantment, the glass shoes had not worked and had proved to be highly uncomfortable. I had opted to don my old dancing slippers instead. Mal had been rather vexed when he discovered I had left his gift buried in my wardrobe. He had insisted that the glass shoes did work, that I simply had not used them properly. Ofcourse, Mal was also the one who had assured me I would never be troubled by Prince Florian again.
