So This is Love (Disney Twisted Tales) - Elizabeth Lim Page 0,29

the hall.

Slowly, as her heart sank, a terrible ache rose in her throat. She had been sure he would recognize her. Was it the wig?

Why didn’t I take it off? Why didn’t I say anything?

She inhaled, trying to ease away the sadness swelling inside her. Even with the wig, she thought he would have known her. Maybe . . . maybe it hadn’t been love, after all. Maybe he was only searching for her because his father wanted him to get married.

What does it matter? she admonished herself. This is the chance at happiness I’ve always wanted. I’m free of my stepmother, and I have a new life in the palace. It’d be silly to risk losing that new life and throw my heart away on a boy—prince or not—that I don’t even know.

I’m not going to look for him again, she decided, pushing all thoughts of Prince Charles aside. She needed her work as the duchess’s attendant more than she needed a prince. She’d pour all her energy toward her position in the palace. Then she’d make new dreams for herself—dreams like seeing more of the world, and helping others.

Like her fairy godmother.

She frowned, murmuring to herself. “The next time I see her, I’ll have to ask what she meant by her magic being forbidden here.”

But she had no idea when she’d see Lenore again; she couldn’t summon her fairy godmother while she was working in the palace . . . not after what she had said—or hadn’t said—about the ban on magic. Certainly not with the Grand Duke constantly lurking about, waiting on her for reports.

His portrait stared at Cinderella from the wall, and a wave of dread rushed over her. In her first hour serving Duchess Genevieve, she’d done nothing but help the king’s sister dress for lunch. What exactly was the duke expecting her to report to him? What her fashion tastes were? What flavor tea she liked to drink?

Cinderella hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.

Prince Charles wished he had something—or someone—to blame for being late to lunch. Under his breath, he ran through a list of excuses, each more pitiful than the last.

“Apologies, Aunt Genevieve. My horse stumbled over a fence during my morning ride. It’s my fault . . . I was distracted.

“Apologies, Aunt Genevieve. I was so engrossed in the book I’m reading, and I didn’t hear the clock strike noon. What book is it? I . . . I can’t recall the title.”

He shook his head, trying again, “Apologies, Aunt Genevieve. I wandered too far from the palace and got lost. Where was I, you say? In the gardens . . . I wanted to see whether the roses have bloomed.”

He shook his head at himself. Got lost? On the palace grounds, where you spent every free moment of your childhood exploring? Where there are at least five guards watching you at all times?

None of his excuses were true, but worse, they weren’t even good lies, and he knew it. Passing his horse’s reins to the stable hand, he returned to the palace and made for the royal dining hall, where his aunt and father awaited.

In all honesty, he’d been well aware of the time. He’d ridden out to the edge of the palace grounds, to a quiet part of the hill overlooking the city. Instead of heading back early so his valet could help him change out of his riding habit, he’d stayed out until the last minute, breathing in the fresh spring air and gazing down at the vast expanse of Valors.

Even after four years away, he still knew the bend of every path and the shape of each grove across the royal grounds. How good it had felt to be out of the palace, away from the perfumed halls and the watchful eyes of his ancestors’ towering portraits—and from the responsibility that weighed on his shoulders.

How good it felt to try to forget, even if only for a moment, that the lofty trees and clipped hedges surrounding the palace perimeter were walls designed to keep him in—and everyone else out.

Only half mindful of his whereabouts, he soon found himself a mere turn away from the royal dining room. Its cream-painted doors, adorned with gilded angels and olive branches, were slightly parted; Charles could just make out his father’s throaty voice inside. And his aunt’s . . .

He’d better hurry if he didn’t want to disappoint Aunt Genevieve.

As he quickened his pace, a young woman to his left curtsied,