Perception ✔

25 Lords & Jesters

The princess dancing on with the coachman couldn't possibly have been my daughter, and yet, there was no denying. That was Cinderella.

But how?

I almost said 'magic' like some imbecile. No. There was no magic, but rather...logic.

Edmond.

My body warmed. I sucked in a deep breath and scanned the room, but everyone had a blasted mask. Instead, I looked at hands, necks, anything I could to find someone else with that familiar skin color.

Beside me, Poppy and Piglet spiraled down into a frenzied state but their reasons differed from mine.

Not only were they bearing witness to madness before their very eyes, a girl with no dress and no passage nor invitation to this ball, appearing out of thin air. And worst yet, she was doing the one thing every other girl in this ball avoided. She'd ruin them. They'd never live it down. Each social outing now would be marred by this. It was no longer about making it out of this with a good friendship or courtship of sorts we could later exploit. This was now a fight to the death to wrestle their stepsister away from the ledge before she could finish not only her own social suicide, but their social murder on top of it.

My concern? Edmond.

Poppy and Piglet resembled fish, mouths gaping, mouths closing, eyes bugged and wroth with terror.

I scanned the crowd.

Edmond must have been here. And if he was able to get Cinderella into this ball, that meant his ties to the royal family had been rewarded.

And yes, Cinderella was here, literally dancing with a jester and once the music stopped and the masks came up, her humiliation would seal all our fates. But....

I had to find Edmond. With no other starting point, I rushed to the cad of a prince enjoying the show. Now that I sought him out, my eyes made out the part in the crowd, giving him a perfect view of his prank, which had him and his friends nearly doubled over in sweet revelry.

Someone touched the small of my back and my body stiffened. Whoever it was held out a hand to me and my breath caught.

He was tall, and well dressed and wearing a white glove.

Several couples danced, many casting fervent glances at Cinderella who required the coachman's help to keep upright on more than one occasion, a fact that had many giggling.

That should have been my concern, but I took hold of that extended hand, body feeling weak at the familiar grip on the back of my waist, and I allowed the man to lead me to the dancefloor.

When the crowd thinned and we turned to one another, my heart fluttered.

It panged at the sight of the decorations on the man's chest.

It wasn't Edmond.

Tears stung my eyes in my charitied mask and I nearly ran off that dancefloor, consequences be damned.

This dancer had height, but I didn't bother to look up at him. Instead, I focused on his hero's emblems. I allowed him to lead me and when he pulled my body close, as a woman of principal and poise, I should have pulled back. But I longed for Edmond.

It was foolish, but I allowed for the heartfelt dance, my eyes focused on that hero's medal to wash away my guilt.

Perhaps Edmond was gone. Perhaps he'd given Cinderella that dress, brought her here, then left.

Or perhaps he sailed now on a ship and this was something else.

When I finally worked up the courage to look at this man, the mask was a start. It resembled a mouse.