The Next Cinderella

Chapter 9--Princess Material?

The library's looming grandfather clock ticked the seconds in an ominous tone, and in-between those ticks Fredrick made his choice.

He rushed to the window beside Myrielle, opening it as silently as he could. "The sacks!" he whispered urgently.

For a moment Myrielle was stunned. A loyal servant of the kingdom was now her accomplice in treason.

"Hurry!" He urged.

She understood the urgency but promised herself to contemplate this act of generosity later. "Thank you!" she whispered.

She sprung into action and together they tossed the sacks of stolen food out the window. One by one they landed in the academy's overgrown courtyard with a "splat!"

Once all the evidence was gone and the prince's steps grew closer, Myrielle and Fredrick stared at each other breathless.

"Do you solemnly swear that what you said about your family is true?"

She nodded. "I do!" And it was. She may have used the truth to draw some sympathy out of Fredrick, but none of that made her father's ailment or Emilia's obsession with tarts any less real. The only part that seemed difficult to fathom was a total stranger who had sworn to serve the kingdom saving her in a time of need. When she'd first seen Fredrick up on stage polishing the thrones, she'd assumed that duty was the only thing that mattered to servants. She'd been wrong.

She spotted the prince's shadow approaching from around the corner, and in the brief final moment she had alone with Fredrick, she squeezed his shoulder and smiled. "You're amazing!"

For Fredrick, time suddenly stopped. He'd never heard that he was amazing before, not from a member of the king's court, not from the butcher's daughter, not from anyone. The words had disarmed him completely, and for a second he found his whole body dissolving in the sandy brown desert of her eyes.

"What's going on here?" said the prince.

Myrielle released her grip on Fredrick and stepped back, bowing her head in a second attempt at meekness.

Fredrick turned towards the prince and smiled in a reassuring manner. "Nothing to worry about here, your majesty. This contestant, she uhh...simply lost her way and...I saw her wander in here and...since this big academy can be quite confusing..."

The prince raised his hand. "I never said I was worried, I said what's going on."

Fredrick had practiced telling lies in terms of complimenting the prince's hair or telling the king he seemed as fit as a teenage gymnast, but not so much in covering up acts of treason.

As Fredrick struggled to gloss over the criminal act and his subsequent choice to be an accessory to the crime, Myrielle seemed to be mesmerized by the prince's beauty.

"Hello," she said timidly.

The prince was stunned. He looked to Fredrick in disbelief. "Did the peasant just address me? Correction: did the village idiot who got lost in a simple corridor address me, the official heir to the throne?"

Myrielle cast her eyes down in apparent shame, but really she was hiding her instinctive glare.

The prince took a closer look at Myrielle, examining her bulbous skirt with disgusted eyes. "So this is the kingdom's finest, is it?" He shook his head. "Didn't they consider the genetic ramifications of mixed-breed royals?"

Myrielle seemed confused as to why the prince was so anti-contest.

"What if the rest of them are even worse?" the prince said shuddering. His focused his eyes back to her hideous skirt. "At least we know who we'll cut from the list first; isn't that right Fredrick?" He elbowed Fredrick. "Isn't that right?"