Disclaimer: Well, "Cinderella" certainly isn't mine, but the CHANGED plot belongs to me, as do everything else. So do me a favor and don't land yourself in jail for life by stealing other people's things. And please review! Author's Note: If you like Archie Comics (or Betty and Archie as a couple), please read and review my story "Who Told You? Me?". Oh, and be prepared for some mushiness ahead. P.S. Don't kill me; I know that this is nearly two months late.

Part 3: The Actual Ball

September sixteenth finally dawned, much to the impatience and gratefulness of the townspeople (especially the town's ladies), who had been waiting anxiously (not to mention impatiently) for this day. They could hardly wait to finish up their chores and then at 8:30, the ball would start.

Prince Eric, quite frankly, wasn't looking forward to it. To tell the truth, he wasn't looking forward to it AT ALL. He examined his figure critically in the mirror. He had put on what he called his "princely" uniform: blue jeans, sneakers and a red shirt emblazoned with the words "Prince of the World" on it. He knew that his parents would get mad (actually, "mad" was quite an understatement, he thought) at him for wearing commoners' clothes, but he didn't care. He was sick and tired of being a prince, the name on the tip of everyone's tongue, and ALWAYS being in the spotlight. He just plain HATED it. His father wouldn't be as mad as his mother would be, though. Eric mentally shuddered at that thought. Queen Isabel was very self-conscious of her place holding in society, not to mention also her family's.

Especially mine, Eric thought in disgust. Now she's going to blow her top off on this one. Yet, when he thought about it, he'd rather face a thousand girls saying "Prince Eric's SUCH a hottie" (a rather relevant depiction of the town's ladies) than his mother's wrath. Yep, he was a chicken-faced coward, all right. He sighed and changed into his official "princely" uniform, which happened to be his royal military uniform.

Once you looked at Eric in his military uniform, you couldn't help but wonder whether you were in a dream or not. The deep blue and gold color contrasted sharply against his tawny skin, bringing out his light brown eyes more than ever. As for his hair, well, that was a whole different story. It was a light copper brown (everything was light about him, Eric thought glumly) and was rather curly. Not exactly the way a prince's hair would be. And he still had to wear those dad-gum knee-high boots. Well, here goes. He took a deep breath and walked out of his room. It was time to pass the True Test: his father's inspection. Eric groaned.

Amity took in her surroundings. She was in the ballroom (where the ball was going to be held) and was currently standing by a curtain (the perfect hiding spot, by Edward's standards). She darted a quick glance all around her, and then dove behind the curtain. Thank goodness that the Livingston family wasn't in the ballroom just yet. (They were out in the Grand Hall greeting guests.) She made sure that the curtain completely hid her body, which was easy since the curtain hung down from the way top of the ceiling and it covered the whole entire wall.

The reason why the curtain hung on one wall, Amity learned later, was a classic Livingston family tale. When Prince Eric was two years old, he had been playing and running around with the family's, namely his, golden retriever, Worly. Usually, the golden retriever was obedient ("Mother and Father worked their heads off training him," Eric recalled later), but that day, it decided to be naughty, playful and mischievous, whatever word you could think of. All of a sudden, Eric's two-year-old mind (which was quite advanced for his age) got a "brilliant" idea. He ran two or three times around the room - he couldn't remember exactly how many - and of course, Worly chased him.

When Eric got to his fourth lap around the room, however, he made a quick swerve and landed up against the curtain on the left side of the room. Worly, of course, just HAD to follow him. The dog jumped on Eric, who fell flat against the wall and fell down, causing the curtain to tear and fall on top of the future monarch of the kingdom and the future guardian dog. Needless to say, King Pedro and Queen Isabel weren't happy when they found out. They had grounded Eric for two weeks and ordered him on both garden and kitchen duty.

Amity gulped and ducked out of sight behind the curtains when she spotted the king and queen (such gracious hosts they were, she thought ruefully) heading into the ballroom (where she just HAPPENED to be in). Just in time, too. Since Prince Eric had just walked in.

Boris called for everyone's attention after a few minutes of idle chitchat (very BORING chitchat, even in Boris's opinion). Then the king spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, as all of you may or may not know, my son, Prince Eric, recently graduated top honors from the royal military school. And as his coming of age to the throne, he also has to have a future queen." Eric forced himself to stay calm and examined the list of potential princesses-to-be. Unconsciously, he let his eyes go down the list, looking for Spencer. Of course, his parents just had to keep tabs of every young, single and pretty (in his mother's case) girl in the entire kingdom! he thought irritably. And the worst part is, I have to choose one out of all these blonde bimbos. He groaned inwardly. Just then, his eyes froze on a name at the bottom of the page. Eric felt his mouth go dry. Spencer, Amity Lillian. He swallowed hard. Not in attendance.

Pay attention, Livingston. Now's not the time to blank out when you're about to choose a bride. Then why was he so disappointed at the fact that Amity Spencer wasn't there at the ball?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Boris signaling him to go and join his family. With a sigh, Eric walked out onstage.

Amity sucked in her breath when she saw Eric emerge from backstage. He was just as she remembered. He looked just like he had eight years ago, only a lot older, of course. The same curly brown hair, light brown eyes, the same achingly sweet half-smile. If anything, she liked him more than ever before. Yet something was missing.

Amity searched carefully, and found it. Eric's eyes had no sparkle in them. Without the brightness in his eyes, they were only a regular light brown color. Even though they had no shine in them, they still seemed to penetrate through her very soul. Eric's eyes had a very haunting effect on Amity. Idly she wondered what it would be like to be his wife. A princess, and given the job of giving the kingdom (and Eric) an heir.

She exhaled sharply, and covered herself with a hood. Already she looked like Princess Jasmine in Aladdin. She had the grey hood over her head and the drab charcoal-colored peasant dress that hid her prom-like spaghetti strap green dress. Unfortunately, she couldn't hide her Jamaican sandals. Amity didn't care, though. As long as no one knew that she was there at the ball, she was fine. And it seemed like no one knew, which was good. She laid herself flat against the wall and breathed evenly through her nose. And waited.

Boris watched as Manford, the royal announcer (or town crier, if you will), called out the girls' names, and one by one curtsy before Prince Eric and Their Majesties and then walk away. The prince cocked his head to one side, apparently scrutinizing them in deep thought. Just then, Boris noticed that the number of girls were odd. One was not in attendance. There were thirty- nine girls, he noted, and in total, there were forty girls in the entire kingdom (obviously, it was a small one).

"And finally, Aurelia Vallis," Manford announced. A girl about fifteen years of age, Boris supposed, stepped forward. Glancing at the prince, Boris couldn't help but notice something. Eric seemed troubled. Very troubled. Anyone could see that; it was so evident. But exactly what was it that was bothering His Majesty so much? Following the prince's gaze, Boris saw that he was looking at the curtain of the left side (Boris's left, anyway) of the room.

At that moment, the dinner gong rang, breaking off Boris's thoughts. Sighing, he went over and questioned the prince what was wrong. "Nothing. I'll come for dinner in a minute," was his reply.

The vizier sighed; he had learned from previous experience not to persuade the prince to do anything, especially something that he hated. Even when he was little, Eric had managed to be an unbearable headache to everyone in the palace. A classic, tornado, hurricane-like, stormy, absolutely unbearable headache. Finally, after a few minutes, Boris left, leaving the prince to his thoughts.

Once he was sure that no one was lurking about, Eric headed straight for the curtain that had been bothering him all night. Something - just SOMETHING - about that curtain had bothered him endlessly throughout the curtsying before him process. Ugh. What a nightmare that had been. It was a miracle that he'd lived through it.

A thought lingered in his mind, however. How come HE had the feeling that someone else was there at the ball? No one else had noticed his discomfort (thank goodness), not even Boris, who probably had the keenest eyes around.

Whenever he had glanced at the curtain - or rather, a pillar hidden behind it - he had gotten a sick, churning feeling in his stomach and his ears were peeled and alert for something suspicious. Somehow he just KNEW that an unwanted person was in the room, hiding. And obviously behind the curtain, he thought, wincing. Try as he might, Eric just hadn't been to shake off the quaking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He still couldn't. With a deep sigh, he continued on walking.

Meanwhile, behind the curtain, Amity leaned against a white pillar, trying very hard not to shake from head to toe. If Eric just HAPPENED to find her, she'd have no idea what to do. She just prayed that he wouldn't find her. Well, ditch that plan. She bit her lip and braced herself for the inevitable as Eric's shadow loomed closer, reflecting off of the moonlight and onto the marble floor. All Amity could do now was wait and go through the questioning that was sure to follow.

Eric stopped suddenly. What if he was wrong? Sometimes his imagination had caused him to be grounded and all the grown-ups to shake their heads in disappointment. Why was I born with a runaway imagination? He was only two steps away from the pillar when once again, he stopped dead in his tracks. Why was he so hesitant? One thing for sure, he wasn't scared. Timidly he reached out, snatched the curtain and pulled it away - and found out that he couldn't move.

Amity's eyes flew open (funny, she hadn't even noticed that they were closed) and just discovered that all the moving parts in her body were frozen. She risked a glance at him, and visibly grimaced at the look on Eric's face. It was one of pure and utter surprise. He was caught off-guard by ME, she thought in disbelief. He's scared of ME. Just because of Dad's reputation. She shut her eyes, exhaled deeply and opened them again. The surprised look on his face had disappeared, only to be replaced by one of anger. Fake anger, Amity decided, looking at him closely.

"What are you doing here?" Eric asked in a hoarse voice. "You're not supposed to be here if you don't have a pass!"

"Oh, really? Since when?" Amity crossed her arms together.

His eyes narrowed. "Since rich girls like you came prancing in as if you owned the place. When did you come, anyhow?" His eyes drilled through hers.

She swallowed. You're not scared of him, silly! Repeat after me, you're NOT scared of him! She took another deep breath. Okay, case closed. You're scared of him. "7:50." He raised his eyebrows. "Really."

She mock glared at him. "Really."

"How come your father didn't come?" Now Eric was starting to get a little curious. "He was busy. Besides, why would he go to a Commencement Ball for the prince? He's got a lot of paperwork, not to mention a ton of patients' lives in his hands." Amity snapped.

Eric held up his hands in mock surrender. "Easy there, girl. No need to get your shirt all tied up in a knot."

Amity closed her mouth and looked at him. "Shut up," she said at last.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, catching her off guard.

She nodded her head. "Fine." She took his hand and let him lead her to the dance floor.

Eric, meanwhile, was having trouble on where to place his hands. Amity had to smile a little at his awkwardness. Stifling a snicker, she guided his hand to her waist. Laughing nervously, Eric let her put her head on his shoulder and they danced for the rest of the night. He didn't even care that he had missed dinner. Just a simple case of simplicity, Amity thought to herself. We're weird. Now that seemed simple enough.