Cinderella

Men Behind Maks

The ballroom was swelteringly crowded, and not only with women. Citizens of all ages had come to catch a glimpse at the prince, and many of the men had arrived simply to find a bride for themselves. The moment Mariette stepped into the large ballroom a hush fell over the crowd. Even with her face partially covered, Mariette was still the most beautiful women in the room, and possibly in the entire kingdom. The crowd of women gathered around what could only have been the prince turned to stare and sneer in jealousy, for they knew they would not be noticed by any man that night.

"Your name?" a small man beside her sneered. He was holding a piece of parchment with a book under it, and had a feather quill in his other hand.

"Why?" Mariette asked self-consciously, blushing at the stares she was receiving.

The man sighed as if he were ready for the night to be over. "The prince wishes to see every woman that has arrived. Thus, I am to keep track so that they might be called when their turn arises. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me your name..." He wiggled the quill in frustration.

"Oh," Mariette murmured, feeling rather rude. She struggled to think of a name not her own, so that Lenora and Margaret would not know that she was there. "Emeline," she said finally. "Emeline Beaumont."

"Thank you, Mistress Beaumont," he said, his voice thick with boredom. "Enjoy your evening." He left then, to attend to the woman who had just walked through the door.

"Is that truly your name?" a man said to her left, and she turned, relieved to find that it was not the prince (she knew that if it had been him, a parade of women would be standing nearby). He was handsome, from what Mariette could tell, with soft brown hair and grey eyes that shone from underneath a golden mask. He was smiling at her.

"What is it to you, Monsieur?" Mariette returned his smile to show that she was only joking. He offered her his arm and she took it; he led her onto the floor. She said, "My, my, Monsieur, your manners are lacking. It is customary to introduce oneself before forcing a dance upon their unsuspecting victim."

He placed a large hand at her waist, and she felt the warmth of it through her gown. His other hand grasped hers as he laughed. "I am not very old-fashioned. You never answered my question."

Mariette could scarcely focus on what he said; her eyes were trapped in the blue color of his and her heart struck with recognition, though she could not place it. "For tonight, my name is Emeline, and that is all that I shall tell you. Will you grant me your name?"

He smiled. "I will not, for you have not granted me with yours. At least, not your true name."

She almost laughed as he twirled her, then pulled her back to him. "I suppose that makes sense. But will you answer me one question?"

"Hm," he murmured as he contemplated. Mariette could not help but notice that almost all of the eyes in the room where on the two of them."Yes, yes I could do that."

"How did you know that Emeline is not my name?"

His eyes turned down in what could have been sadness, though Mariette could not tell for sure. "I knew a girl, once, long ago, who was a great friend of mine. She never told me where she lived, or what her station was, so I followed her home one day. I discovered that she worked at the de Casé estate, and so I spoke to the maid there. She told me that there had once been a woman in the household who fit my description, but that she was long dead, and that her name was Emeline Beaumont."

Why had this stranger been searching for a girl that looked like Mariette's mother? Mariette had never been more curious about anyone in all her life. "I once spent the night at the de Casé estate," Mariette said quietly. "It was rather beautiful, I recall. I especially liked the patio, and the one table that was perfectly placed so that one would not burn from the sun."