So This is Love (Disney Twisted Tales) - Elizabeth Lim Page 0,69
head, distracted by the sound. Voices—in the near distance—rose above the ripple of fountain water in strident tones. “There she is! Anastasia, Drizella—follow me.”
Cinderella immediately lurched, untangling herself from Charles’s embrace. Her vision reeled; the moon became watery, the hedges a haze of green.
Panicking, she twisted away from the prince, but his fingers were laced with hers, so gently she could have pulled hers away . . . but she didn’t just yet.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”
What’s the matter? The familiar words echoed inside her. It was the question he had asked before she’d fled from the last ball.
She faltered, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to explain.
Charles bent to retrieve her mask, which she must have dropped when he kissed her. He held it out to her in both hands, but when still she wavered, confusion knit itself in the prince’s brows. Confusion—and hurt.
“Hurry, girls!” Lady Tremaine’s voice cut through the garden.
Remorse burned in her throat. The thought of hurting him again tore at her. But she couldn’t risk an encounter with her stepmother. She wanted to tell him who she was—she’d meant to, but she’d thought they would have more time. Now she recognized her error, and it was too late.
“I’m sorry, but I—I . . . I have to go.”
“Wait, please.” Charles held out the mask to her. “I . . . I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Cin—”
“Your Highness!”
At the sound of her stepsister’s shrill call, Cinderella panicked and drew away her hand from the prince. The mask slid from her fingers, falling into the pond beneath the bridge.
And, for the second time, before he could stop her, she rushed down the stairs.
Her heart thundering in her ears, Cinderella dashed across the royal gardens, making for the servants’ quarters. Even when Drizella’s and Anastasia’s shouts had faded, she didn’t stop.
Follow the clock tower north, Louisa had instructed her, then make a left at the purple tulips.
Cinderella trained her eyes up at the clock, its iron hands ticking minutes past midnight. By the time she reached the purple tulips, she was out of breath, her lungs tight with exhaustion. The entrance to Blooms and Looms was just ahead, the sentries she’d encountered when she first arrived still standing guard.
“Look, it’s the new girl. Trying to get back before Madame Irmina does her curfew check?”
“Y-yes . . .”
He chuckled. “You’re a bit late for that, I think. Luckily, you’re not the only one who sneaked out—”
Cinderella’s eyes widened. “Did Louisa . . . ?”
“Got off with a warning from Irmina hours ago. She’s gone home already.”
“Oh.” Relief swept over her.
“Don’t worry,” said the guard kindly. “Irmina won’t discharge you for going to the ball. If she did that, she’d have not a soul left working for her. But I would expect a stiff talking-to in the morning.”
Cinderella offered him a faint smile.
Shuffling into her room, she took off her borrowed dress and flung it over her chair. Then, burying her face in her hands, she collapsed onto her bed.
The moment she’d heard her stepsisters, her first instinct had been to run away. But should she have stayed? She could have explained things to him before dashing off. Or at least told him her name.
It doesn’t matter. It’s best he doesn’t find out who I am . . . a maid in his own home.
And why not? she countered herself. Am I afraid he’d never want to see me again?
Cinderella shook her head, hardly able to believe that she was wrestling against her own feelings. No, I’m not. Because he isn’t like that.
She clenched her fists, remembering how he hadn’t recognized her when she’d worn her palace uniform. A cord of bitterness knotted in her throat.
Sooner or later, he would find out who she was. For all she knew, her stepsisters had recognized her and told him already.
Would Charles have her dismissed from the palace if he knew the truth? Would he ever want to see her again?
Lady Tremaine’s words rang in her head over and over. An orphan and a servant. Who would want you?
She gritted her teeth at the memory. Knowing her stepmother, she’d tell the prince that Cinderella was a thief and a liar, a troublemaker who deserved to be sent away for good.
No one’s come for me, she reasoned, curling up against the wall tiredly. Her hands went up to her neck, clutching her mother’s beads. They didn’t see me. They only saw the prince.