King Peter led his steed into the kingswood just as the sun began to sink in the sky, leaving long shadows imprinted upon the forest. He left his personal guard behind as he followed a familiar dirt path down the vast hill of which his city sat upon. He was on a sensitive mission: finding his son.

Stefan had his mother's strong-willed spirit, and his father's wanderlust. It was this combination that worried King Peter the most. The boy is just like me, he thought, watching the prince grow. He wants to see the world, not rule a piece of it. Stefan was the natural born heir to the kingdom; he had no more choice in the matter of succeeding than the King himself had. And the King was sorry, but raising Stefan to inherit the kingdom was his single most important duty.

He will be late to his own damn ball, thought the King with great annoyance. I knew I'd have to come down here. He is testing me again.

Just ahead on the path King Peter could hear the clashing of swords and occasional shouting over the ringing. The horse quietly proceeded through a maze of trees to an open area of the wood. The prince was sparring with his friends, his gold-threaded doublet thrown into the dirt, replaced with mud-stained armor. Two other boys sang the song of steel, oblivious of the king's presence.

Stefan was a skilled fighter for his age, the king knew. He was light on his feet and quick thinking. But mostly, he had an insatiable passion burning with him; a fire the king could not extinguish, for it was the same he had flaming within himself. Stefan had an affinity for battle, but also for play. Never for royal duties. The king had trouble on his hands.

"Enough!" King Peter thundered, emerging from the trees. The two sparring boys came to a frantic halt. Stefan glanced warily at his father.

"Leave us," the king commanded. The boys immediately disappeared up the path out of the wood. Stefan stood silently, catching his breath, waiting for his father's words to come down on him like a storm.

"What are you doing out here sparring when your ball is about to begin?" The king asked his son.

Stefan took off his helmet and dropped it onto the ground. His brown hair was matted against is face and neck. "I followed a bird to this spot. It promised you wouldn't find me here."

The king sighed. "Yet this is always where I find you. The sooner you get back up to the castle and ready for this engagement, the sooner it will be over. Everyone has to do things in life that they don't want to do."

"Especially if you're born a prince," Stefan replied bitterly. "I never asked to have this ball. I'm not ready to take your place, father."

"You won't take my place for many years to come," the king lied to his son. "But you will be betrothed by the end of this year. It is the law."

Stefan could barely stomach the idea of this ball, yet he had known it was coming all of his life. It was the most famous ball in the world; he would be introduced formally to hundreds of eligible girls that had waited all their lives to attend. Every year his parents threw a ball for is birthday, and they were embarrassing enough, but this ball all eyes would be on him, for he would have to choose a girl. Everyone was expecting it. Stefan had hardly spoken to a girl outside of his family—the school he attended was an all-boy's boarding school. How could his father possibly think he could choose a wife from one single encounter at a horrible, stuffy ball? Why didn't his father ever think of him as just a son—not a pawn, not a prince, not an heir, but as a person?

"I'll head up in an hour," Stefan told the king. "I'm going for a walk."

He is going to sulk, the king realized. Anything to defy me.

"I will see you cleaned, dressed, and in high spirits in the great hall at seven o'clock," the king said curtly. "If you're late, I will cancel the next summer hunting trip. Mark my words!"

Stefan gazed stonily at him as his father retreated back up the path. The sun was now much lower in the sky, and the muggy evening air was thick and stifling. Stefan could smell the storm approaching in the distance, and it offered him comfort.

Let it rain, he thought. Rain brings new beginnings.

The first thing I realized was pain. My waking was slow and deliberate; the fog was clearing and the memories forming.

Lorna did this, I thought.

I was on the floor beside my bed, but the room was swaying like a ship in the high seas. I clutched at the stone floor, holding on and willing it to stop.

Lorna made me sick. But why? Why did she attack me?

I felt a horrible pull in my stomach and began to violently dry wretch. My room was dark now; how long had I been out for? Anxious questions began to flood through my brain.

I need to leave this place. Now.

I hoisted myself onto my bed and rested my head on the pillow. I was surprised that it soon became wet, for I did not realize I was crying. Not from the mysterious, dull pain and shock in my body, but from something nameless. The night was quiet and heavy, and I breathed.

A voice near me spoke from the darkness. "She must pay the price for what she did."

I sat up, clinging tightly to the bed mattress. "Who's there?"

A small, golden light hovered over the window ledge. Its shine illuminated like a flash of lightning; and suddenly, there stood a mysterious woman with long white hair wearing a small crown of dark crystals. The lady smiled calmly. "I am Pandora. Your mother sent for me many years ago. She told me to be with you on this night. I am your fairy godmother."

I stared at her, utterly dumbfounded. "My mother sent you? But she died when I was born. No one told me of a godmother-"

Pandora laughed, her voice like tiny ringing bells. "Do not be upset, Mary. I'm here to help you. It appears your stepmother has made a fateful decision tonight."

I swallowed hard, trying to ease the pain in my throat and stomach. I realized I was still wearing my mother's silver gown. How ironic.

"You know why she attacked me?" I asked.

Pandora looked at me with sadness in her eyes. "Mortals often have more than one reason behind the things they do. It is beside the point; Lorna must pay the price for her decision, and you must attend a ball. Do you understand?"

I didn't understand; how could I?

"I'm not meant to go to the ball," I told her. "It's probably almost over by now anyway."

Her smile was like moon beams. "The hour is still early, my dear Mary. I promised your mother I'd get you there, and so I will. But first things first: we choose."

"What must I choose?"

The fairy moved closer to me. "You must choose to go tonight and to never return, to never look back. If you come back, you will be cursed. Here," she produced a small glass vile from her dress. "you will need this to get past your stepmother. She is guarding the front door."

I stared at the small glass vile in my hand. "What is it?"

"Does it matter?" the fairy asked.

I didn't know what to say.

"It will help your stepmother rest tonight," Pandora explained. "Go to the kitchen and pour it into her tea. Then, you can meet me in the garden." Here, she smiled brilliantly. "I believe you have a ball to attend."

The house was quiet, so I tiptoed down the stairs carefully. The kitchen was occupied only by a small fire glowing in the hearth. Upon the serving table was Lorna's tea set—and, how strange—a fresh pot of tea steaming silently upon the tray.

I stood over the teapot with the glass vile and allowed myself to wonder if I was making a terrible mistake. After all, I didn't even know what was inside of it. The fairy said it would help Lorna sleep—but how did sleeping make up for her attacking me? How did my mother know I would need a fairy godmother's help on this very night?

You were meant to go to that ball, it is your destiny, the fairy had assured me. Will you let one evil act change your fate?

No, I thought. Not a chance.

I poured the contents of the vile into the teapot and made my way out into the back garden by the stable. Pandora was waiting for me by the pumpkin patch.

"Sweet Mary," she said, taking my hands, "How beautiful you look tonight. You are the image of your mother. She was strong, like you, and had the talent of enchanting everyone in her presence—even without magic! Know this: you are the same. And don't forget it."

My stomach felt weak again as tears rose to my eyes. I wish she were here now, I thought. This night was not how I had imagined it would be.

Pandora gently raised my chin with her fingers. "How about a carriage for a princess?"

She turned and knelt down beside the group of pumpkins. From within the folds of her dress she produced a crystal wand, and it glowed as she waved it over a fat, healthy pumpkin. I gasped and stumbled backwards as the pumpkin immediately began to transform—it enlarged itself slowly, growing wider and taller, its color changing from burnt orange to polished wood. In an instant, an ornately decorated carriage occupied the courtyard.

Before I could voice my surprise, Pandora waved her hand at the old gander that lived beside our well. It promptly came waddling over and hopped into her open arms. I watched as the fairy planted a kiss on the gander's head, and in a flash it stood as a man, dressed in a coachman's clothes. He smiled and bowed in front of me. "My lady," he murmured. "I will see you safely to the ball tonight."

I could've fainted; what other impossibilities hid behind the next corner?

"No shoes?" Pandora asked, noticing my bare feet. I had completely forgotten about having no shoes to wear. I lifted up the silvery dress and glanced at Pandora. "How about these?" she asked, waving her wand over my feet. They came from nothing; glass slippers, fitted perfectly onto my feet.

"I don't know how to thank you for helping me," I said. "I'm afraid that this is a dream—you, the magic, this night. What will I do if I wake up and it never happened?"

Pandora gazed at me curiously. After a long moment, she said, "Remember. If you return here, you will be cursed. After tonight you cannot look back."

I ventured to ask, "Why?"

"Fairy magic is governed by very old laws," Pandora said calmly. "Every decision yields consequences; they cannot always be explained or understood. After tonight, your fate will finally be back in your hands. I advise you to venture forth wisely."

I would go, I decided. I would leave town without a trace and travel far enough away to somewhere Lorna nor Lord Terrowin could ever find me. I will be free.

"I understand." I assured the fairy.

She beamed. The night was muggy, but the air began to feel lighter. "Now, take a look at yourself in the mirror. Then you can tell me if you're ready to go to the ball." Here she held out a mirror with a silver handle. When I looked into it, I was again taken aback.

The girl in the mirror was not me.

She was beautiful; dressed in silver radiance, her appearance confident and alluring. "It's not me," I said.

"It is," said Pandora. It is the real you. Everyone will see the real you tonight, if you have the courage to show them."

Her words gave me courage. In the distance, a rumble of thunder echoed through the forest.

"It's past time," Pandora said. "you must be on your way now."

Sir Gander, who was just previously a lazy yard goose, helped me into the carriage which had previously been a regular pumpkin. He had already prepared the old horse, Luc, to take the carriage. My glass slippers were curiously comfortable, I realized.

"Thank you," I told Pandora through the window. "You saved my life."

There was a special twinkle in the fairy's eye. "There's one more thing," she said. Through the window, she passed me a silken wrapped parcel. "To keep you warm. Farwell, Mary!"

The carriage began to move, making its way out of the courtyard and past the gates to a home I would never return to again. I unwrapped the silk; it was a cloak, beautiful and iridescent as a pearl, with silver clasps, deep pockets, and a large hood. I hugged it to me as the carriage bounced along the street, ascending the hill that led to the king's castle. Above me, the clouds had shifted and the stars finally showed through the hanging midnight curtain. I looked up at the moon and briefly wondered what price Lorna had paid for my freedom.

What price would I pay?