finally closed her eyes, drifting along the edges of her dreams until sleep finally claimed her.
“Get up, get up!” cried Madame Irmina, rapping on her door.
Cinderella sprang up from her bed. The green beads rattled over her chest, and she quickly stuffed them into her pocket before greeting Louisa’s aunt.
Irmina scowled at her. “Amelia has taken ill, so we need an extra serving girl at breakfast this morning. That means you, Cinderella.”
Cinderella’s gaze flew up. “Me? Serve the royal family breakfast? I couldn’t. I—the duchess is waiting for me—”
“Well, you’ll have to deal with two shifts, won’t you?” Irmina said, crossing her arms. “And, for not being in bed by curfew, I’ve a list of extra tasks for you after breakfast. Now hurry up and change. I expect you in the main hall in five minutes.”
Five minutes later, harried footsteps pattered outside her door, followed by another knock.
“I’m the worst friend,” Louisa cried. “One of the valets last night told us Madame Irmina was about to do her curfew check. I couldn’t find you.”
Cinderella swallowed. This wasn’t the time or place to tell her about the prince. Already her head was throbbing with panic over what she’d do when she had to serve him breakfast.
I’ll keep my head down, she said, inhaling. And I’ll hide behind the other girls if I have to. He won’t see me.
“Cinderella?” said Louisa. “Are you listening?”
“It’s all right,” she assured her friend quickly. “I can handle the extra work.”
Together, they assembled in the main hall, along with a dozen other girls who’d stolen out to the ball.
One by one, Madame Irmina doled out their punishments. When at last she reached Cinderella, her mouth thinned into a tight, disappointed line. “When I set rules, I expect them to be followed. That goes especially for new hires such as yourself. Here I was starting to think there might be some hope for you.”
Cinderella felt heat rush to her cheeks.
The bells chimed for the serving maids to get to work, and Madame Irmina threw an apron and Amelia’s orange sash at her, then pushed a tray into Cinderella’s arms. “Once you finish serving breakfast, report here immediately for the rest of your extra tasks.”
“The dress is in my room,” whispered Cinderella to Louisa as she tied on the orange sash. “I’ll bring it to you after I’m finished with the breakfast service.”
“Follow me.” Madame Irmina grabbed her by the sleeve, dragging her toward the kitchen. She motioned at a large tray sitting on one of the shelves, heavy with jams, a porcelain teapot, teacups, pastries, and silverware, all meticulously arranged.
“Bring that into the royal hall,” said Irmina. “And for the love of God, don’t drop it!”
Cinderella was more than up to that task, at least. Years of balancing trays—one in each hand for her stepsisters, and one on her head for her stepmother—made short work of one platter.
She picked it up easily and wove into the line of servants carrying breakfast into the royal dining hall.
Keep your eyes down, she warned herself, but it was impossible to follow her own advice. The first thing she did when she entered the dining room was search for the prince.
Her eyes picked him out easily; he sat to his father’s right, his fingers clutching the thin handle of his teacup. Though he wasn’t drinking.
Seeing him, her stomach flipped. She couldn’t face him again, not so soon after the masquerade the night before. What would she tell him? How would she explain her running away—for the second time? Worse yet, how would he react upon learning that she was a servant in the palace? In front of his father . . .
And the Grand Duke.
Fighting the urge to duck behind a column, she fell slightly out of sync with the other servants processing into the hall. She hurried forward to catch up, and her mother’s beads clattered in her pocket. She’d forgotten to leave them in her room. No chance of doing that now; it was too late. Besides, she had other things to worry about.
Chin up, she reminded herself. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her in her uniform. After all, he hadn’t the first time.
Just serve the food quickly, then leave.
The king sat at the head of the table. To his right was the prince, and to the left was the Grand Duke, tying a napkin around his neck in preparation for his meal.
“The Princess of Lourdes was most distraught,” the duke was saying. “Most distraught indeed. She was an honored