Cinders

"The Prince Alexander hosts a ball tonight,"

My head snaps up in surprise, and I drop the bag of golden coins I had been counting.

"Really?" I ask. "He's normally quite recluse, isn't he?"

"Word on the street is that he's looking for a wife," Evangeline comments, her gaze focused intently on her stitching. She hold volumes of heavy, sunset pink fabric in her lap, and is embroidering beads onto the bodice of a dress. "It's supposed to be a masquerade ball, I heard,"

A masquerade ball, huh? Lots of wealthy, ignorant men and women, practically asking to be robbed. It's a perfect target.

"Will you send one of the girls?" I empty the coins back onto the counter and count them again, having lost track of the total.

"They're busy, and so am I," she says. Her grey eyes leave the dress and she looks directly at me. "El, I need you to go,"

I drop the coins again and a handful of them scatter on the floor. I pay them no heed.

"Eva!" I exclaim. "You know I hate the royal family,"

"I know, Elliot, but income has been low. So many people are wearing fake gemstones and that's practically all we've taken in the past month," she looks at me sorrowfully. "I'm as upset about what happened to your father as you are, but this a royal ball and dignitaries will want to wear their best, making it the perfect target for us,"

"Dad was murdered, Evangeline," I tell her. "You're my stepmother and I love you, but you can't make me do this. I don't want to go there,"

"Call it revenge, Elliot," she says calmly. "He was killed there and the King didn't do anything. Now you go there and steal from the pretentious lords and ladies. The court deserves it, you know that better than anyone,"

She sees the doubtful look on my face. "Besides," she adds, "You'll be wearing a mask. No one will know that it's you,"

Silence hangs in the musty air of the basement.

I sigh. "Fine," realisation hits. "But I don't have anything to wear, and I can't exactly go to a party in the palace looking like a beggar,"

I do look like a beggar. My clothes are torn and faded, a full grey colour. My nails are chipped and dirt is almost permanently wedged under them. The scuffed and stained brown leather of my shoes and the way the rubber soles are falling off aren't appealing in the slightest. Wearing clothes like this is town is perfect— no one wants to look at you so you're practically invisible, but in the palace it would be like wearing a sign that says "I'm not meant to be here! Get rid of me!"

She smirks, the lines around her mouth and eyes deepening.

"Well, it's very fortunate that I took this from the dry cleaners a few weeks ago, isn't it?" She pulls a burlap sack out from under her table, eyes glittering. "Look inside," she instructs.

I dump the contents on the floor and she winces.

It's a deep navy suit, a few shades darker than my eyes, with gold trim that matches the hue of my corn yellow hair in the sunlight. An eye mask, depicting stars against a midnight sky, is wedged into the suit coat and two polished black shoes lie in haphazard fashion on the tiles desire the mound of fabric.

"It's your size," she tells me. "I'm not sure about the shoes, they look a bit big, but the suit is the right size,"

The fabric is unbelievably soft. Is this what royalty wear every day? My eyes are wide and my mouth hangs open.

She laughs. "Don't drool, El. Leave that to the girls who'll be falling at your feet at the ball,"

I look at her, stricken. "But I—"