So This is Love (Disney Twisted Tales) - Elizabeth Lim Page 0,73

she dabbed at his lips.

“It wouldn’t do for a prince to return to breakfast with jam on his face,” she said, wiping away the marmalade. The tips of her fingers accidentally brushed against the bend of his lips, and a shiver raced down her spine.

She darted her fingers away, forgetting she was holding her apron. Its folds landed over Charles’s chest, and she instinctively reached out to fix it. But as her hand hovered just over the prince’s heart, so close she could feel his pulse beating unsteadily against her fingertips, she flattened her palm against his chest.

And, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she brought her mouth to his.

It was a kiss even sweeter than their first, and Cinderella was glad she had set down her tray, for she surely would have dropped it this time. She stood on her toes, gently pushing Charles a hair’s breadth away, so she could whisper:

“This isn’t a dream, is it? You, here with me . . . that we’ve found each other?”

“The sound of my heart in my ears would have woken me up by now if it were.” Charles kissed her fingertips, holding them close to him. “I thought it was you—that time in the portrait gallery—when I first saw you wearing Aunt Genevieve’s sash. I should have known. I should have found you then.”

Cinderella held her breath. “You’ll never have to worry about finding me ever again,” she said softly, quoting him. “I promise.”

They kissed again.

But in their exhilaration, she and the prince made one mistake. Neither of them saw the Grand Duke hiding in the opposite corner, taking in every word of their romantic interlude.

Ferdinand was most perturbed by what he had witnessed. All this time, the maiden with the glass slipper had been her.

Cinderella.

Ferdinand had thought she looked familiar. What an idiot he’d been to recruit her to spy on Genevieve. Now the girl knew far too much. And if Charles had his way, she would become princess of Aurelais—and then, one day, queen.

“The servant becoming a royal,” he muttered to himself, hardly able to believe it. “This is even worse than I feared. It will doom the kingdom.”

Displeasure darkening his expression, he twirled his monocle. The prince couldn’t possibly marry a servant. The people were already getting ideas; the youth especially no longer had the same respect for rank and breeding—just yesterday, in the western countryside, there had been a riot against the local lord, a riot Ferdinand had worked hard to conceal from the king. And in the east, a band of young revolutionaries had demanded that the king allow commoners to serve on his council—imagine!

If Charles married Cinderella, who knew what the people might do?

Who knew whether the monarchy would survive?

Straightening his back, he tidied the folds of his jacket, dusting imaginary dirt off his sleeves out of habit. He was about to return to his duty at the king’s side when he stole another glimpse at the prince and his newfound bride.

They were still talking, their heads bent close like a pair of purring lovebirds. The public display of Charles’s affection nauseated him, and normally he would have turned away from the sight in distaste. But then the maid’s pale knuckles twisted at the cloth of her apron, even while she smiled at the prince.

A clear sign something was amiss. Given Ferdinand’s long experience working with subterfuge and deceit, he was positive she was hiding something, something she desperately wanted to confess to the prince.

Ferdinand frowned. Could it be that she felt guilty for working with him, the Grand Duke?

No, in the height of romantic love, court intrigue and the machinations of espionage wouldn’t be on this simple peasant girl’s mind. It had to be something else.

The duke had always had a strong sense of intuition; it was what had gotten him so far in his position. He had a feeling that whatever the prince and his bride were discussing, it would be useful to hear.

He inched closer to the couple, tilting his head to catch what they were saying.

“I didn’t mean to leave,” Cinderella began. “But well, you see, I didn’t have a choice. I . . . I had to go because . . .” Her voice trailed off, and the duke leaned forward, nearly tripping over his own shoes.

“Because of what?” asked Charles.

Yes, because of what? Ferdinand echoed in his thoughts.

“Because of my fairy godmother. It was her magic that helped me to the ball, and