Sebastian's
quill broke, snapping him out of his reverie and alerting
him to the
unnecessary force with which he'd been pressing pen to
paper. Completely
unnecessary since he hadn't actually written anything for
ten minutes.
Throwing
down the broken quill, he swept his fingers through his hair
till it
came loose from its black, confining ribbon. He pushed back
his chair.
He'd
done everything he needed to for this damned ball, anyhow.
Decoration
was almost complete, food and wine was ordered, guest list
vetted, approved
and invitations delivered. He'd sent dressmakers to the
queen to prepare
her costume, and chosen his own simple mask in case he
troubled to wear
it. By tomorrow night everything would be ready. And by the
following
morning...
Sebastian
stood abruptly. He didn't want to think about that. He
wasn't stupid.
He understood what this ball was really about. He couldn't
blame her.
The poor woman hadn't been laid in years--and if rumor was
true, she
hadn't been laid much before that, either. Given Charming's
recently
revealed preferences, that was hardly surprising, but a
woman as passionate
as Ella needed far more than pretty words and flowers. She
needed a
man.
He
didn't begrudge her a little snatched happiness, but
everything in him
revolted against helping her find it like this. Apart from
anything
else, he wasn't convinced it wouldn't be aiding her
political suicide.
The people accepted her because they'd put her on a
pedestal, which
she seemed determined to dive off head first and legs akimbo.
Without
their acclaim, her position was untenable. And his. What
price then
the ambition that had driven him from poverty to the second
highest
power in the land? If she fell, so did he.
Intriguing
idea. At least then he might get some sleep.
Finding
himself at the window, he threw the casement fully up and
stuck his
head out into the fresh, cooling air. His "apartment"--a
tiny room
that served as both bed chamber and private office--was on
the ground
floor, and looked out onto one of the kitchen courtyards. As
if he needed
anything to remind him about his true position in the
queen's life.
Useful, as a pen or a piece of furniture was useful, and
taken for granted
to the same degree. Did she even see him when she turned
those huge,
blue eyes up to his in yet another request or demand? She'd
look right
through him tomorrow night to get at some handsome,
unscrupulous rogue
who could cause the kingdom untold damage, even let
Malevolin in...
A
loud crash interrupted his bleak speculation. Blinking,
Sebastian saw
a figure fighting its way out of the dustbins in the corner
of the courtyard.
"Goodness
me!" it whispered as more bins fell. "Oh goodness me, what a...
Oh, dear." Stumbling clear at last, the figure shook itself
out and
by the light of the moon and his own lamp, Sebastian saw
that it was
a woman. A very small and very old woman in a black, hooded
cloak from
which strands of white hair straggled free.
"What
in the world are you doing?" he asked, amused.
The
old woman jumped. "Oh, goodness! Oh, dear!" she said again. "I
think I arrived in just the wrong..." As she spoke, she drew
closer
to him, peering hard into his face. "But then again...
What's your
name, young man?"
"Sebastian,"
he said dryly. "What's yours?"
"Oh,
that's not important."
"It
might be to the guards when they arrest you for trespassing."
"Arrest
me?" The old woman looked stunned. "They can't arrest me!
Cinderella
would never allow it!"
Sebastian
frowned at her. He was sure he'd never seen her before.
"Why? Who
the devil are you?"
The
old lady smiled--a singularly sweet if vague smile. "I'm
your fairy
godmother, of course."
"Of
course," Sebastian sighed. He'd have one of the guards take
the poor
old thing home.
"Well,
strictly speaking, not your fairy godmother, but I do
like to
help the unhappy--and you are unhappy, aren't you, dear?"
"Not
in the slightest," said Sebastian, giving her the look that
withered
haughty noblemen.
"Nonsense,
you drew me here like a bullet. No wonder I landed so
abruptly. Dustbins
indeed! Anyhow, now that I am here, what's your problem?"
"I
do not have a problem." Apart from you.
He
was already drawing his head back in, preparatory to
summoning the guard,
when she enquired, "Going to the ball?"
In
spite of himself, Sebastian smiled sourly over his shoulder.
"Organizing
the damned ball."
"So
you'll be there? Then perhaps I can grant you a wish."
I
wish you could.
"I
did for Cinderella once, you know. At another ball. She met
the prince,
as he was then..." Her voice trailed off, unhappily. But
Sebastian,
against his better judgment, had turned to stare at her. The
mad old
trout actually brightened under his disbelief.
"Come
on then," she encouraged. "What would you like?"
Sebastian
laughed. What I wish for, nobody can grant.