As expected, the prince raised a big fuss about the mysterious lady in black. The only clue I had left him was a shoe that could not possibly fit any human of natural proportions. I glanced at my tiny bound feet. All my suffering was beginning to pay off. When someone knocked on the door I rushed to answer it, despite the fact that I was covered in soot from cleaning the fireplace. A richly dressed man looked at me disdainfully. A footman stood behind him, holding a wrapped parcel.
"By the prince's orders, all the ladies must try on this shoe," he sniffed. I stepped aside and he breezed right past me. The sisters, who had apparently heard the knock, rushed over and squabbled over who would try the shoe on first. I quietly waited in a corner. When it became apparent that neither sister had feet dainty enough to fit, the royal servants made to leave immediately.
"Wait," I commanded. "The prince ordered every maiden to try on the shoe."
"Are there any other ladies in the household?" the messenger asked haughtily. He did not look happy to be addressed in such a way by a sooty servant.
I silently pulled out the other shoe. Everyone's eyes goggled.
I was bathed, combed, and made up until I actually looked like a princess. I had to give the ladies in waiting credit. When I finally looked presentable (by royal standards), I was allowed to see the prince. The prince was neither very handsome nor charming, these are characteristics more expected of women so the queen can make the masses oooh and ahhh while the king gets real work done. However, he was trained in the proper protocol.
"Ahh, the love of my life," he murmured, as he brushed his lips over my hand.
Despite his romantic demeanor, I felt my spite for him swell up. He didn't even know me and he dared to call me the love of his life. However, I swallowed my disgust and wore a mask of delight. Many Dowager Queens or mistresses had acted as regents or the real power behind the throne. Queen Catherine of Austria-Hungary. Queen Catherine of Russia. Diane of France. I would do the same. I did not speak too often but offered a witty remark when I did. I thoughtfully agreed with whatever the prince had to say without seeming too sycophantic. I had managed to pick up the right mannerisms from the high class prostitutes who ran coffee houses.
I was introduced to the entire court. Most of the courtiers struck me as unimpressive, with the exception of the cardinal. Cardinal Richelieu. He looked at me dismissively as if I were some concubine. I kept my expression soft and nonthreatening but I sized him up. His robes and jewelry were rather lavish for a man of God. I could already tell that this man would be my rival. We would clash to keep the king in our own pockets. Perhaps I could have him killed before he saw through my façade. I could easily frame him for treason, or perhaps not. A man of such status would no doubt have connections. I would have to be careful. He could be the end of me.
A/N: Cardinal Richelieu is an actual historical character. He was a powerful figure during the reign of Louis XIV. My European history is ridiculously rusty now but you can expect more historical figures.