Ashlei felt dizzy and thick-headed, as if she had just emerged from being underwater slightly too long. Around her colors and lights swirled, and she fought to get her bearings.
She gasped for air. Looking down, with a shock she realized that the brown homespun of the dress she normally wore was gone, replaced by an unimaginably rich red brocade, heavy with embroidery. It was the corset that constricted her chest--an unfamiliar sensation. Gold twinkled from her wrists and fingers, and a small train sliding across the floor behind her contributed to the feeling of walking through water. Her feet hurt, too, and with another small ripple of surprise Ashlei discovered glass slippers on her feet. Inexplicably, red paint on her toenails peeped through.
Ashlei placed her hand on the banister and paused, steadying herself. A grand entranceway loomed just ahead, and through it she could see a ball in progress. Flashes of jeweled color swept past, and she could hear the orchestra grinding out a waltz. Candelabras stood on the steps leading up to the doorway, blazing a path for the guests.
Breathing more slowly now, Ashlei remembered that she had, in fact, solicited help from her great-aunt's magical potions, and the process of being transformed from an ordinary hearth girl to a dazzling coquette was complete. She had not expected it to be this disorienting, and painful.
Behind her, Ashlei saw other guests emerging from gilded carriages drawn by matched pairs of white or grey horses. Gentlemen stepped down and then reached inside to help the women secure their footing on the ground and avoid getting their voluminous skirts soiled. Several couples and a group of young women passed Ashlei as she stood on the step, glancing at her briefly but continuing their eager progress toward the grand entranceway. The oddly-shaped conveyance that had brought her here circled away from the drive to park in the grass beyond the garden.
"It's now or never," Ashlei thought, and she took one final mental inventory of her dress. She settled her shoulders squarely, winced as the unyielding footwear dug into her heel, and proceeded into the ballroom.
Through the doorway she was enveloped in a wash of glittering crystal chandeliers and a buzz of conversation punctuated by affected laughter.
"The inside of the palace certainly lives up to its outside appearance," Ashlei observed under her breath, taking a moment to notice the silk wall panels, the shining sconces, and carved, painted chairs lining the edges of the walls. At one end of the huge ballroom was a buffet table laden with hams, roasted sides of beef glistening pinkly in the middle, fish laid out on platters, enormous piles of small cakes, apples, and dishes of candies and nuts. A fountain discharged pink liquid, which Ashlei assumed was punch.
At the other end of the ballroom were several alcoves, above which a balcony jutted out. Here was where the orchestra played, and the musicians kept to their work with weary and pretended joyfulness.
At the edge of the doorway, Ashlei felt secure in the knowledge that she would not be noticed much. After all, her purpose in coming tonight was not to be observed, but to observe. She was very curious to see whether the Prince, whom she had heard snippets of gossip about, was really going to choose a wife at one rather contrived event. Sheer stubborn curiosity, tinged with skepticism, had given her the idea of trying to attend the ball, and after gulping the foul, malodorous potion which her great-aunt had concocted for her, here she was.
Her great-aunt had warned her that the idea was foolish. A small, rejected wisp of an old woman, whose magical powers had faded over the years with the grind of poverty and self-sufficiency, would not be able to conjure up the necessary magic. But she had, and Ashlei's desire to attend the ball had contributed to the power.
Normally, Ashlei was content to do her housework, tend the animals, and read late into the night with books stolen from her father's disused, dusty library from under the nose of her harsh stepmother. But when the proclamation had gone out that the King's son would hold a ball so that he could find a wife, Ashlei's skepticism knew no bounds. How could a person live a lifetime with someone they knew only for one evening? Ashlei thought that at the very least, it would make a diversion from her dull, routine life, and the more she thought about it, the more she was determined to go. Besides, wouldn't it be a delightful trick to play on her stepmother, who was such a foul bore, and her idiot stepsisters, whose only concerns were the neighborhood gossip and the latest fripperies displayed in the fashion journals. Especially because, even though the invitation read, All Eligible Young Women of the Domain (Far and Near), the thought of Ashlei being among those eligible had simply not occurred to of them.
So Ashlei crept steadily into the ballroom, edging her way past a fat matron sitting contentedly with a plate of cream puffs balanced on her brocaded lap. There were quite a lot of Eligible Young Women present, she noted, and they were all clustered at the far side of the room, watching with various expressions of vapid eagerness and jealousy as the Prince danced with each one in turn. Keen-eyed mothers hovered nearby, coaching their daughters heavy-handedly toward a potential match with the Prince.
Ashlei observed the hopeful scheming with no small measure of contented skepticism, a slight smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. She tapped her closed fan at her side to the beat of the music and allowed herself quick glances at the ornamented ceiling, on which cherubs, angels, and birds seemed to float. It was a fine experience just to be present, and to be able to watch the social drama as it played out. By the end of the evening, she would see the Prince choose his wife, and she would wish them a lifetime of happy days together, or whatever the turn of phrase was, as she swept out.
Ashlei began to notice how gracefully the Prince moved, and decided to take a more careful look at him, to see what kind of man would decide to choose a wife this way. In order to get closer, she had to manouver around to the side of the ballroom near the alcoves, almost to the edge of the cluster of girls and their hawk-like mothers. He really was quite handsome, she admitted, if you like blond men. Her taste ran to the dark looks she imagined the authors and heroes of her philosophy and history books to have, and had never particularly noticed the young men of the village with fair countenances. The Prince had a way with a dance, she saw, as the waltz gave way to a minuet that showed off the virtuosity of the violin players. As he held the waist of the newest beauty to grace his arms, she gasped to recognize on his face—was it a hint of contempt?
Why would the Prince, who presumably was going to marry one of these beauties, feel this way toward the girls being paraded in front of him? Shouldn't he at least display some calculated curiosity? It seemed to Ashlei this was a strange development that none of the other young ladies had noticed in their bald eagerness to outshine each other.
At the other end of the cluster of women, Ashlei saw with satisfaction the same blank eagerness on the faces of her two step-sisters. Isabella was dressed in a gold gown oversewn with crystals. Her corset barely managed to hold in the slight roll at her waist, a product of a few too many marzipans. Her arms were raised and a faint beading of sweat graced her forehead underneath the crystal headpiece. Too many crystals, thought Ashlei. The younger step-sister, Frederica, was thin and pale, and her face showed both her insecurity and her desire to be like her older sister, for she glanced every now and then at Isabella and tried to imitate her bearing and actions. Frederica's dress was a pale green, which did nothing for her sallow skin and slight frame, and although it was of the latest fashion, like everyone else's, Frederica failed to shine in it. Behind them, their mother scowled, probably at the pink-garbed girl currently in the Prince's arms, and clutched her evening bag in a bony hand.
Ashlei clapped politely as the minuet ended and decided she was thirsty. Having no male companion to fetch a drink for her from the trickling fountain of punch, she picked up the edges of her red brocade skirt and began to stride purposefully away from the cluster of women and their mothers. She succeeded, she hoped, in keeping any hint of the pain she felt from her godawful uncomfortable shoes off her face as she began to make her way across the floor to the food and drink.
As she proceeded toward the side of the ballroom, the girl in the feathery pink gown who had been dancing with the Prince was swarmed by both the girls who had not yet had their turn, demanding to know how it was; as well as those who had, wanting to make sure the Prince had not said anything more witty or admiring to her than he had said to them. Ashlei was knocked aside by the rush of girls, and lost her balance slightly. Trying to avoid letting out a curse, Ashlei righted herself, and found herself face to face with the Prince.