The princess dancing on with the coachman couldn't possibly have been my daughter, and yet, there was no denying. That was Cinderella.

But how?

I almost said 'magic' like some imbecile. No. There was no magic, but rather...logic.

Edmond.

My body warmed. I sucked in a deep breath and scanned the room, but everyone had a blasted mask. Instead, I looked at hands, necks, anything I could to find someone else with that familiar skin color.

Beside me, Poppy and Piglet spiraled down into a frenzied state but their reasons differed from mine.

Not only were they bearing witness to madness before their very eyes, a girl with no dress and no passage nor invitation to this ball, appearing out of thin air. And worst yet, she was doing the one thing every other girl in this ball avoided. She'd ruin them. They'd never live it down. Each social outing now would be marred by this. It was no longer about making it out of this with a good friendship or courtship of sorts we could later exploit. This was now a fight to the death to wrestle their stepsister away from the ledge before she could finish not only her own social suicide, but their social murder on top of it.

My concern? Edmond.

Poppy and Piglet resembled fish, mouths gaping, mouths closing, eyes bugged and wroth with terror.

I scanned the crowd.

Edmond must have been here. And if he was able to get Cinderella into this ball, that meant his ties to the royal family had been rewarded.

And yes, Cinderella was here, literally dancing with a jester and once the music stopped and the masks came up, her humiliation would seal all our fates. But....

I had to find Edmond. With no other starting point, I rushed to the cad of a prince enjoying the show. Now that I sought him out, my eyes made out the part in the crowd, giving him a perfect view of his prank, which had him and his friends nearly doubled over in sweet revelry.

Someone touched the small of my back and my body stiffened. Whoever it was held out a hand to me and my breath caught.

He was tall, and well dressed and wearing a white glove.

Several couples danced, many casting fervent glances at Cinderella who required the coachman's help to keep upright on more than one occasion, a fact that had many giggling.

That should have been my concern, but I took hold of that extended hand, body feeling weak at the familiar grip on the back of my waist, and I allowed the man to lead me to the dancefloor.

When the crowd thinned and we turned to one another, my heart fluttered.

It panged at the sight of the decorations on the man's chest.

It wasn't Edmond.

Tears stung my eyes in my charitied mask and I nearly ran off that dancefloor, consequences be damned.

This dancer had height, but I didn't bother to look up at him. Instead, I focused on his hero's emblems. I allowed him to lead me and when he pulled my body close, as a woman of principal and poise, I should have pulled back. But I longed for Edmond.

It was foolish, but I allowed for the heartfelt dance, my eyes focused on that hero's medal to wash away my guilt.

Perhaps Edmond was gone. Perhaps he'd given Cinderella that dress, brought her here, then left.

Or perhaps he sailed now on a ship and this was something else.

When I finally worked up the courage to look at this man, the mask was a start. It resembled a mouse.

The song ended to thundering applause, most of which came from one rambunctious group—the prince and his company.

By now, he'd affixed his mask and sauntered toward us. He passed me by, solely fixated on Cinderella and her dance partner.

Cinderella was stunning. Her blonde hairstyle, done up perfectly, complimented her slender face.

And the dress...it looked better than any other here.

Edmond had given it to her, and brought her here, as I'd originally planned. But he was a true friend to Poppy, knowing full well this would hurt her. The fact that he gave in and betrayed her trust saddened me now, because they'd pined for him. Because of me, his memory would be a bitter one.

I had resolved to keep Cinderella at the manor with me. That is...until I learned of Arabella and Raphael's terrible fate.

Yes. I could keep Cinderella in that house with me forever. She could run wild and unpolished. Making up grand stories and befriending rodents. But that wasn't fair. She was no longer a child, and keeping her in a state of limbo-like regression benefited no one. For one day I'd be dead, and she'd be alone.

She deserved to leave. She deserved to conquer the world. She deserved to find her own Raphael or Edmond, a companion of some kind who could share her existence with her.

She deserved love.

And because she was so unrefined, rather than make a small jump as Edmond or I would attempt, I tried to be like Raphael or even Arabella and leap high, praying for a miracle.

Should someone have believed Cinderella's appearance over her lack of tact, manners, or breeding, it would be easier to convince others that she were too wealthy to care. It would solidify her appearance, not undo it.

But as the prince closed in now on Cinderella and her nervous dance partner, if his body language were to be believed, I lost faith in my plans.

We'd all take off our mask, someone announced. Of course we would, how else could the prince show the full effect of his practical joke.

I sprang into action, circumventing the crowd, shoving bodies out of my way in an effort to reach Cinderella fast and warn her.

To my shock, Poppy and Piglet were already there, with Piglet whispering, "Coachman! He's a coachman."

And not just any coachman. A simple coachman would be bad enough. A coachman of this kind would ruin a woman. The fact that a prince would do something as destructive as this, to both his guests and his servant, was beyond the pale.

In this instance, between the strange one-eyed prince to this twisted fool, I lost all interest in any of my daughters joining this useless family.

Both Piglet and I were too late.

The dancers backed away, giving the pleased prince more than enough room.

Once the signal went out for everyone to take off their masks, everyone but Cinderella who wore none, the room felt deathly silent.

The poor coachman turned his mask over in his hand, humiliation written on his face.

Cinderella looked around, confused at everyone's behavior at first, then focused on her dance partner.

The prince's laughter echoed throughout. He was the only one amused.

His mother, taking time out of her wife-hunting for her addled son, came out of the crowd to slap the prince on the arm. She wore a smile until she yanked him close, and her hidden expression turned cold.

Whatever she whispered dissolved the prince's grin. In fact, he looked haunted when he cleared his throat and said to Cinderella, "My lady, the least I could do is offer you a proper dance with a prince for being such a good sport in entertaining our coachman."

His low bow was met with awkward chuckles from the crowd.

Cinderella looked from the coachman to the prince and back again.

"A coachman?" she declared. "Why, you danced rather nicely for a coachman. Far better than I."

The servant in question gripped the mask tighter, willing her to stop.

Still extended in a bow, the prince unfolded and chuckled.

He approached Cinderella to offer her rescue, but she held up her hand and said, "No. No need. It would be poor form to abandon such a lovely dance partner."

The collective gasp had the room still.

Grin bordering on a grimace, the prince scanned the audience then muttered to her through gritted teeth, "I insist."

But Cinderella took a step back to dodge his grip. "And I insist that I'd prefer to remain right here." She looked him up and down and declared, "You don't appear to be much of a dancer."

Laughter erupted but quickly petered down.

"I'm dead," Poppy whispered, in a state of disbelief. "I've died and this is hell. It must be. There can be no other explanation!"

Piglet held her shoulder, but I could offer no comfort for I was in a state of shock, too.

"My lady," the prince began again but Cinderella cut him off by turning to the coachman and holding out her hand.

"Would you dance with me again, sir? You were awfully lovely."

The coachman blinked at her. His eyes, wild with panic, settled on the prince who was now red in the face.

A trumpet sounded and the prince cringed. "Uncle."

One body moved aside then another and another still until a clear path came into view. The entourage to gather needed no announcement. The king.

Courtesies and bows accompanied him.

I offered mine, but kept my head up, as did most, to see if Cinderella would pay him the proper respect as well.

Cinderella bowed low with beauty and grace.

Two men flanked the king, both wearing masks. One was that of the mouse I'd danced with earlier.

The me of two years ago would have been proud to know I flirted with the right-hand man of the king, but the me of today hated myself for it.

This was a masked ball. If Edmond had been here, we could have danced with one another.

The king walked with a limp but required no cane or helper to aid him. He was a strong looking man, with light brown hair and blue eyes. Raphael's friend.

I was proud to stand here before him for many reasons, this being one.

Beyond the grave, I prayed Raphael would save my daughter now.

"What is the meaning of this?" the king asked.

The prince, no longer amused, but rather panicked, turned to his uncle and insisted, "Oh, it was all in fun, Your Majesty. I—"

"I was not speaking to you." In fact, he pushed past the buffoon and arrived at Cinderella who's hand he took.

Once she rose from her deep curtsy, he smiled. "A reaction fit for a princess." He leaned to the right in order to catch her gaze. "Had you known he was a coachman."

Cinderella bowed her head. "Why, yes, Your Majesty. One can see it by his shoes."

The king studied her. "And yet you continued. Why?"

"Well...." For a long moment, she said nothing, then she found herself bold enough to meet eyes with the king. "There are many people from many places. I imagined that this was a prince from a new country. What should I do if that were to happen? Offer insult and scurry away like a rabbit?"

Her answer came with awkward coughs.

"You are very right about this. But that is not all," the king said, "that is the situation we find ourselves in at this very moment. For you see, there is such a prince here tonight. He does not speak our language so he cannot understand my fury at this very moment."

"Your Majesty," the prince interjected but his uncle raised his hand to silence him.

"He cannot understand our words but he can see action. I do believe your action has saved this entire ball." He stepped aside and motion for the man on his left to step forward.

Once the mask was down, revealing an ebony face, the crowd gasped.

The coachman kept his eyes on the floor. His task was to translate, and he had to be very careful how he worded said translation.

Slowly, the foreign prince's smile blossomed. He bowed at Cinderella who curtsied yet again.

He also shocked everyone, even the man in the rat mask, if the gasp was to be believed by holding out his hand to dance with Cinderella.

My body flung itself from the crowd, I was certain, because I spilled out of the people, making an awful ruckus as I scampered to the king.

"Your Majesty," I said, dipping low, "As my stepdaughter is not yet betroth and she is truthful in being a terrible dancer, I fear she may insult your guest. Might I...might I trade?"

The king leaned away. The act was meant to show surprise, but I saw it at this distance; he'd been alarmed by his guest's actions as well and hadn't known how to resolve this.

A prank was one thing, this was another.

In an instant, the king smiled wide and gave a gracious smile as he bowed.

I stood and held out my hand for the foreign prince. When he extended his own, he wore no glove.

The worry burning through me surely looked like I was troubled by that fact, but in fact, I was troubled by the fact that this wasn't Edmond.

Here I was, doing something of the utmost taboo and with someone who meant nothing to me.

But I wasn't the only one. My action sparked movement from other mothers who knew a death blow when they saw one. Woman after woman came to curtsy and offer a dance, thus sparing their own daughters while looking regal.

Husbands and fathers filled the floor, a rare thing, and offered a dance which was simple and required no touching beyond my initial acceptance of the invitation.

As the king's guest was swept away in the dance, I sought escape.

It was a good thing that I did.

I left that dancefloor to see the last of Cinderella's dress. The addled prince's mother had her.