Funny, how he came to think of her as an accomplice in the effort to circumventing their looming connubial prison.
He prayed he would not be required to call her by name, he thought wincing. No one would remiss him for a glass of brandy. In fact, mayhap he should have two.
"Here," Arnald barked, snapping him out of his doldrums. In his hand he held two small glasses filled with rich gold liquid.
"Perfect," Prince praised under his breath. He was sunk.
*****
Escorted by the timid Manette, Cinderella awaited with barely suppressed panic alongside Pricilla and Essie. Just beyond closed doors of the ballroom, she tried to ignore the footmen's curious gazes. Dual shiny brass handles separated insanity from unreality. Pricilla's brutal honesty spelled practicality, she reminded herself. 'Twas their only hope.
"Breathe," Pricilla hissed. "Whatever you do, hold your head high. 'Twill be our saving grace if we are to carry off this bout of lunacy." She pierced Essie and Cinderella with a stern scowl.
Cinderella nodded and tried to absorb Pricilla's fierce confidence. She lifted her head. Do or die, the time had come. Her wildest dream or starkest nightmare was about to unfold. She could only admire the tenacity Pricilla snapped to after her own dreadful confession.
"I said breathe, blast it. Both of you," Pricilla commanded. "We'll get through this. What are they going to do, put us in the dungeon?" A second later she frowned.
A hysterical laugh bubbled through Cinderella, knowing it was a probability in some monarchies. The perfect ending to a horrific fairy tale.
"You don't think-" Essie started.
"Don't be ridiculous, Ess. The prince is more in love with Cinderella than his mysterious princess. He'll be groveling on bended knee before you and me."
"What?" Cinderella said. "What do you mean Prince is-"
Strings, horns, wind instruments, and percussion pounded sounds of Mozart through the walls indicating a ball in full swing, cutting her off.
"Follow my lead," Pricilla instructed. "Just remember what we planned." Pricilla's calm demeanor was amazing.
Esmeralda nodded. A lump constricted Cinderella's throat. She had nothing. She felt like one of the statues in the gardens-Thanatos, Greek god of death, she decided as an odd detachment took hold of her. Her silence was taken as concurrence. Pricilla inclined her head-not unlike Queen Thomasine-to the waiting footmen.
The doors to the ballroom swung wide and the music tapered off to a slow death. There was naught for it now. Cinderella sent up a silent pray. Her shaking knees would likely send her barreling to the bottom of the grandiose staircase in a heap.
Pricilla stepped forward and paused. Red flags dropped signaling for attention. The two footmen framing the doors lowered their trumpets. The blast shushed the crowd and the herald bellowed. "Lady Pricilla."