were clouds hovering in the distance. I thought perhaps we could play a game in the library.”
“That would be pleasing.” Cinderella leaned back as a servant removed her dish and replaced it with the lunch plate. She placed her hand on Robert’s shoulder. “But you wouldn’t want to stay cooped up inside, would you dear?”
His smile seemed real enough. “What would you suggest?”
“How many days did you sit inside the hired carriage? Your horse has returned. Wouldn’t you like to take a ride?”
Marissa protested, “But the rain, you could catch a chill.”
King William pointed with his spoon, dripping thick yellow drops onto the white tablecloth. “Your friend makes a good point, Cinderella dear. Wouldn’t want you uncomforted with the wedding so close.”
“What do you mean, her friend? I’m your daughter.” She gulped. “Stepdaughter.”
He didn’t hear her. Her mother looked, a frown bringing wrinkles between her brows.
Marissa could feel Cinderella’s pleasure like waves of heat pouring across the table. She faced the witch. “Why have you done this?”
“Would have been better for you to stay in the world beyond the palace, but you are here now.” Cinderella gave a satisfied grin. “Witness to all that is to be, come tomorrow night when the wedding bells shall peel. So, no, I don’t believe we will join you in the library for games. I think it best Robert keep from your company, until it is too late for you to do anything but weep.”
The remainder of the meal passed in silence. Marissa managed a few bits of tenderloin. Cinderella and Robert would be gone for several hours, enough time to search for the real slipper.
Marissa excused herself to her suite. She slammed the door behind her. “Vile, evil woman.”
Mrs. Boyde crossed the room and engulfed her in a hug. “I’m sorry for what you have to endure.”
Marissa used the warmth of the embrace to bolster her courage. Through the window, she watched as Cinderella and Robert walked their horses toward the woods. She pulled away from Mrs. Boyde. “They are leaving. I must find the slipper.”
Marissa stepped into the hallway and came face to face with Abigail. Marissa pulled back. “What are you doing here?”
“Cinderella asked me to remain with you. I am to see to your every need.”
“I am capable of making my way through the palace. I do not need you.”
Abigail stepped closer. “My duty is to follow Cinderella’s orders.”
Mrs. Boyde stepped around Marissa. “Indeed? Following Cinderella’s orders?”
Abigail’s face darkened when she saw Mrs. Boyde. Before Abigail could react, the Guardian blew a silvery powder over her. Marissa backed away as Abigail twisted with pain.
Mrs. Boyde grabbed hold of Abigail’s hands. “She holds you with fear. Let it go.”
“I can’t, you don’t understand what she can do.”
“Child, the way of Light holds more power than darkness ever can. Be free of Cinderella.”
Abigail fell to the floor, crying, her body shaking. Mrs. Boyde stayed with her, looking up at Marissa. “Go,” she whispered.
Marissa fled. She went to Robert’s suite first. There was little challenge in finding the glass slipper. The deep blue dressing room had a slender table draped with a soft yellow cover that went to the floor. A pedestal in pewter sat upon the table, and the glass slipper rested upon the pedestal. Marissa had no desire to touch the original slipper. She pulled a hanging shirt and used it to place the slipper inside the bag. She retrieved the false slipper and placed it on the pedestal. The false slipper did not gleam as the original, but with so short a time, it couldn’t matter much.
She returned to her bedroom. Neither Mrs. Boyde nor Abigail were there. Marissa dropped the bagged shoe inside a corner closet. Unease struck her. Cinderella had worn two shoes. Could the other be in the palace as well? “Should we destroy them both?” There was no one else in the room to offer guidance. She walked to the windows, but there was no view of Robert or Cinderella. A little time remained to see what she could find. Marissa made up her mind and strode from her bedroom.
She used the hidden passageway to cut through to the guest wing on the other side of the portrait gallery. The ivy knocker looked the same, but standing in front of Cinderella’s room made her sick. Her stomach broiled, and it took all her concentration to keep from bringing up what little she’d consumed at lunch. She pushed into the room.
She expected to find dark and dreary,