must you do this?”
Cinderella spoke to the mirror. “Reveal Doorin’s key.”
The mirror’s reflection altered again, a haze rising and filling the space. Cinderella dragged her finger across the mirror. “The key will not come to view until I have wed the prince. Then, just as it took blood to seal the guard, his blood must be spilled to allow the key to unlock Doorin’s rooms.”
She turned to him and rested a hand against his cheek. “I will need you, need your help. Others will oppose us. You are my eyes and ears.”
“I have vowed my life to you.”
“Your loyalty will be repaid, my love. Now leave me. I must prepare the spell that will enchant our prince.”
When she stood alone, she faced the mirror again. “What must I do?”
The reflection of the room returned. Beside her were a pair of clear shoes. Light sparkled from them, caught up in facets of glass. The shoes were not on the floor, they were in the mirror. Cinderella crouched and reached her hands for them. The mirror became shifting sands. Pain scratched across her flesh and she tried to pull away. She was pulled deeper instead. The cut of sand seared through her arms and hands as though she were being flayed. Screams echoed in the air around her. Her fingers curled and she somehow managed to grip the shoes. The pull of the sands shifted, and she fell back.
Pain washed through her and she expected to see her hands had been torn apart. She scurried away, holding the shoes against her chest. She swallowed against the heave of her stomach. Pain waned. She gulped, willing her breath to calm to normal. Tightening her grip on the shoes, she pushed herself to her feet. The mirror revealed a woman with pale features and fear-skimmed eyes. She blinked then looked at the glass slippers in her arms.
Light from the sconces caused shimmers of jewels to appear in the glass. The edges were smooth. Cinderella ran her fingers across the arch of the slipper. The glass felt soft. Moving to a wooden chair, she placed the shoes on the ground and steadied herself as she slipped one foot and then the other into the delicate shoes. Her feet warmed, glass molding to her shape. The fit was perfect.
Three steps towards the door and Cinderella wanted to keep the shoes forever. Nothing had ever felt as comfortable. With one hand against the door jam, she turned back to look at the mirror. “How will these help with the prince?”
The image shifted to the prince holding a glass slipper. But then the slipper turned into a spider crouched in his hands, webs draping around the prince. Yes, she could feel it. Threads of a web already starting to spread. Her chest throbbed. Not with fear, but with hunger. Prince Robert would not be able to resist her. Everything she desired, she was to have.
10
The view from the hidden room did not convey the elegant transformation of the ballroom. Marissa weaved through a throng of lords and ladies, Sereh hurrying to stay by her side. They slipped through the opening to the ballroom, side-swiping the bellowing caller at the top of the stairs. The mutterings of those in attendance made it almost impossible to hear him. Marissa found an opening where she and Sereh could glance through the gathering crowds.
With both hands gripping Marissa’s arm, Sereh peered in one direction and then another. Disappointment settled across her face. “Where is Robert? If he hopes to announce an engagement by midnight, he at least must dance with some of the ladies,” she gushed, drifting her gaze with longing across the crowd of nobles, their daughters, and the sea of servants moving silently among them.
Marissa was aware of the attraction of jewel tones and sparkling garnish adorning the elegant contestants for Robert, Prince Regent of Camden. She glanced at her own gown of silk taffeta with pearl-edged double sleeves. Though the unusual golden color suited her, its flounces in silk and ivory lace tickled her arms. She returned her attention to Sereh. She lowered her voice and raised her brows. “What if he does not wish to announce an engagement?”
Sereh widened her eyes with concern. “No engagement?”
Marissa forced a feigned look of dread on her face. “Perhaps not. Stepfather gave him little choice in the matter, but …”
Her friend gasped. “Only you would refer to the king in a cavalier fashion.”
Marissa shook her head, laughing at her friend. “King he