Another slight cough interrupted their light banter, startling him momentarily. He swallowed a groan. How could he have forgotten?
With the calm resolve of nobility, he turned his attention to the woman he could hardly put from his mind-Ersilia's mother. A face worthy of nightmares. Her features could only be described as robust, topped with an undercurrent of permanent dull flush, her body, broad and intimidating. Prince pulled himself to his full height of over six feet and bestowed his most congenial, princely, smile.
"Madame," he murmured, lifting her clammy hand to his lips. He moved off swiftly to the two younger women. They were not near as frightening. But for the life of him, only Elverdine's name sprang to mind, so unlike him. His mother taking a pity on him, said, "You remember Pricilla, dear?"
The young woman before him had flaxen hair, almost white in its blond, piled high in elegant curls atop her head. Her evening gown, a pastel yellow billowed over full petticoats, was trimmed in white lace. Full and fashionable. Her manner appeared quite direct; gray eyes…almost…accusatory, met his full on.
Her lips stretched into a thin smile, giving her a surly appearance. Once again, the word angry popped in his head.
"Ah, yes, of course. Pricilla." He bowed over her outstretched hand. There was a reason he was called Prince Charming-and gave her a full, smile, drawing an audible gasp and deep blush to her cheeks. He was very happy the shoe had not fit her.
"And, Esmeralda, darling."
"Ah, Esmeralda," he whispered, committing the name to memory. Lowering his lips to a hand that visibly trembled, and eyes batting so furiously he feared she would take off in flight. The current in the air was amazing.
"Dinner is served." The perfectly-timed announcement resounded.
*****
Outrageous.
Cinderella stomped her foot in frustration. How could Stepmama pass her off as a servant! Because she was the evil stepmother, and this was a blasted fairy tale, she fumed.
Her ugly brown skirt whipped around, vicious in its attack to any unlikely cobwebs as she maneuvered about her elaborate chamber. She wanted to scream. Despite the spaciousness, Cinderella felt as if the walls were closing in. She felt lost in a jungle, all alone and unarmed. She spun, stubbing her toe through thinly made, and worn slippers on the leg of an overstuffed chair.
In an unusual fit of violence, hopping on one foot, Cinderella flung open the door where it bounced against the wall behind. She winced, appalled at her lack of manners. She strived for calm through deep breaths then crept forward and peered out.