The Next Cinderella

Chapter 38: The Final Vote

At the conclusion of the dances the decadent dinner was served. In addition to game meats swimming in creamy sauces and mountains of mashed potatoes, each table had been given a three-slotted box to deposit shiny coins for their final princess votes. What they didn't know was that the totals had been accumulated week after week, and that the count was already far too lopsided for tonight's final votes to make a difference. According to Gianni these were only small details, as he would happily collect as many coins as possible, whilst giving these nobles the illusion of control to keep the balance of the kingdom in tact.

The audience of elites was as thrilled as Gianni on this night, and it wasn't just because of the endless supply of champagne. They reveled in the pleasure of exerting their god-like power to determine whichever peasant the prince would be forced to marry. If they had their way they would decide on the number of offspring too, and give them funny names just for laughs. They had earned their current privilege with the purchase of platinum tickets to attend the royal ball, and in doing so believed they were the only ones to cast the final vote. Their desire to choose the bride was a passive-aggressive revenge for what had happened in their realm; they certainly loved how wealthy Cinderella had made their kingdom, but a lowly peasant rising to ascension in place of their noble heirs? It was a tough pill to swallow.

"Don't let him marry the sultry one," said a smarmy sweating noble. "Save her for me!" He laughed and fist-bumped an equally smarmy nobleman.

"Let's have him marry the one with the garish large hands," said another, as the entire table broke out into a chorus of laughter.

It was all fun and games in the quest to find a princess, and as Gianni watched them make a mockery of it all, he was relieved these elites wouldn't actually determine the outcome. It wasn't that Gianni was opposed to mockery since of course he was a terrible person, but there was a difference between these smarmy comments and the controlled, guided mockery that added to the overall show. Gianni was the one who possessed that control, along with the distinction of creating what was surely the greatest show on earth. As he reflected on his accomplishment he felt a little taller, and it had nothing to do with his three-inch lifts.

Despite the alluring smells of dinner, the final three contestants were not allowed to eat. Instead they'd been told to stand off to the side while the royals dined at a table by the stage.

For the first time, King Gastronso finished his meal before anyone else, despite his usual routine of consuming fifteen entrées on his own.

As he wiped his chin and glanced around, he was surrounded by nobles still elbow deep in high-cholesterol delights. He frowned as he considered how much longer they would take; what was he to do in the meantime? He struggled for an answer, as waiting for dessert was not his strong suit in the least. Deciding that this night was about his happiness above all else, he rose from the table to proceed with his life's true purpose.

"If you'll excuse me," he said.

Before anyone could ask where he was off to, he rushed to the dessert table and lovingly sighed. He rubbed his hands together in a giddy fashion, unable to wait a single second more before diving into his triple-threat dessert. He pulled an éclair from the center of the dome, and as was likely to be expected given the laws of physics, the entire thing came crashing down. The dome collapsed into the pies that had been baked into the cakes, and the whole thing transformed into a blobby mess. He shrugged and popped the entire éclair into his mouth.

"Worth it," he mumbled through a mouthful. "So worth it!"

Once the table was cleaned and the annihilated dessert table rolled away, the servants snuffed out the candles in every chandelier except the one near the stage. The result was a spotlight shining down on an empty space of floor.