Shut Up, Cinderella

A Royal Nightmare

It wasn't that Cinder didn't know how to dance.

He had been taught, of course, at some point during his childhood, just like everyone, except maybe for the extremely poor who had no hope of attending formal events. It wasn't that he had forgotten it, either. Cinder knew how to dance about as well or as badly as the next commoner on the off chance he tried.

No, not knowing how to dance wasn't the issue. Cinder could dance.

The issue was just that he couldn't dance nearly well enough to leave a good impression before an entire ballroom of guests who were presently staring at his every move.

Cinder gritted his teeth, focusing hard on his childhood lessons. The steps weren't too complicated on this one, thankfully, but he was painfully aware of how gracelessly he moved. His limbs were stiff from lack of practice, his back tense, and to make it worse, between the heat of the room and the movement, inside his gloves his palms were quickly beginning to sweat.

If only he could at least follow the superior skills of his dance partner, but right now that wasn't an option. The boy who had asked him was a lot of things, but not good at dancing. He was too eager, too hot-blooded, moving too fast for the rhythm; his steps were so wide that Cinder could barely keep up with his shorter legs; and he was all but dragging him along across the dancefloor, no matter how hard Cinder tried to slow them both down for appearance's sake.

All in all, it wasn't a dance, it was a wrestling match. And Cinder was losing.

The music seemed to drag on forever. The stares endured. Cinder wanted to disappear in a hole in the ground. As soon as this dance was over, he was so getting out of here. Disappearing in the crowd, maybe, or just straight-up running out of the palace and hoping the carriage would still be there.

Except when the dance was finally, finally over, Cinder hadn't even had time to gather himself, let alone escape when his partner immediately asked for his hand again. "May I ask for one more?"

May I ask for the sweet embrace of death? Cinder thought, but he gritted his teeth and nodded. He'd just use that extra time to figure out a better escape plan. Maybe find someone else to distract this royal with, or just wait until he got distracted himself. It wasn't like he could dance with just him all night anyway, right?

The next dance was slower, at least. Cinder allowed himself to relax. His eyes roamed the ballroom for doors. One led back to the main entrance, he knew. Others seemed to lead into the palace; he'd stay away from those, or he would only get lost. Still another row, however, opened to the palace garden. He just hoped they were unlocked.

"Who are you?" the royal asked him as they danced. "I've never seen you before."

Cinder groaned inwardly. Oh great, now this guy was making conversation.

And, he realized in shock, he had no idea what to answer.

Tell his true name? Like hell he would. Nobody could know he was here. He was officially staying home, cleaning the house and taking a break. If it came out that he had come to this ball after all—if Hestia and the girls found out—tomorrow all hell would break loose.

So...what? Give a fake name? Avoid the question?

"You must be a prince," the royal continued. "Or a lord from somewhere. Who are you?"

Cinder's eyes darted from side to side, looking for any inspiration for a fake name to give. Then he dropped the thought. A royal would likely know all the important noble houses and quickly figure out if he was making one up.

His gaze flitted to his costume and hit the edge of the mask.

An idea struck him.

"I'm nobody," he said. "Just a guest in a mask."