One Week Later

"How do I find her, Arnald? Was she just a dream? Just one lovely night in the moonlight?" Prince stood before the pond of Eros, drawn by some inexplicable pull. How was it that a piece of marble could issue such a smug and irritating smirk?

For a week past, he trod dusty roads, endured cold rain and brisk winds as late fall set in. He traveled the countryside led by the strings of his heart, only to come up short and frustrated. Where did one navigate from here?

Once he found himself before the cottage where the slipper had slid so effortlessly onto Efterpi's foot, it was time to head home. He had nothing. No one could tell him a thing. It was if she hadn't existed before or after the ball.

"Mayhap she's hidden right beneath your nose, cousin."

Of course, that made no sense, and he shot Arnald a disgusted look. "Perhaps," Prince said slowly, "we should find you a bride."

"Ah, no thank you. I require no such effort," he shot back, palms out, backing away.

Arnald's panic and alarmed expression drew a quick smile. It faded quickly. "Leave me be, Arnald. I will meet you in time to change for supper."

"As you wish." As if unmarried debutants were fast on his heels, Arnald almost tripped in his haste to get away.

Prince pushed his fingers through his hair and studied Eros. His curls, almost feminine, were etched in the marble sculpted hair. Had it only been a week since he'd stood in this very spot having that ridiculous conversation on the "personification of love" nonsense?

Cinderella's deep brown eyes, and not those of his mysterious princess, tugged at him and he shifted, uneasy. This whole situation with Ermaline, the fast-approaching wedding...they played havoc with his sense of normality. Prince lifted his eyes to puffy white clouds filling the sky. A cool breeze nipped the air. He strolled over to the stone garden bench and sat down.

He had not yet seen Maman, Papa, Eve...Est...he would never remember her name. He doubted he'd been missed this week past. The impending sense of doom pressed hard against his chest.

Prince leaned forward, elbows on thighs and dropped his face in his hands. What was it she'd quoted that day? That Eros was described as "bittersweet" and "cruel" to his victims. Oui, that was it. The irony of cut deep.

"Also known as unscrupulous..." Her voice echoed in his head. He let out a groan. Now, he was a victim, or worse, unscrupulous?

Could anything be worse?

"Your Highness?"

Ah, well…apparently, it could. But the serene calm of Cinderella's voice seeped through to his weary bones. After a week's disappointing journey how could he not help reveling in sweetness so tempting.




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