Ella wasn’t in her room, so Frederic headed to the gardens. He paused briefly to sniff a rosebush, when he heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. He looked over his shoulder to see that a large white horse was bearing down on him, tearing through the garden at a fast gallop, leaping over one hedgerow after another. The prince tried to run, but the golden tassels of his jacket caught on the shrub’s thorns.
Frederic tugged frantically at his stuck sleeve as the horse’s rider pulled up on the reins and brought the steed to a halt. From the saddle, Ella looked down at him and laughed. She wore a distinctly unfancy blue dress, and her tied-back hair was disheveled from the ride. Her strong, athletic build and warm, healthy glow were a stark contrast to Frederic’s slender frame and sun-deprived complexion. “I hope you haven’t been stuck there all morning,” she said, only half joking.
“No, this just happened,” Frederic said, relieved. “I don’t suppose you could possibly hop down and lend me a hand?”
Ella slid off the saddle, patted her horse’s nose, and crouched down to help free the prince’s jacket from the thorns. “I told you those tassels would get you into trouble someday,” she said.
“But they’re what all the most fashionable noblemen are wearing these days,” Frederic said brightly.
He brushed himself off and struck a chest-out, hands-on-hips pose to show off his outfit. He hammed it up to get a laugh out of Ella. It worked.
“Very nice,” Ella said with a chuckle. “I’d love to see you up on a horse sometime,” she hinted, petting her mare’s pink nose.
“Yes, I’m sure I’d look positively heroic up there,” Frederic said. “It’s a shame I’m allergic to horsehair.” He wasn’t allergic; he was afraid of falling off.
“A terrible shame,” Ella sighed.
“I didn’t realize you knew how to ride,” Frederic said. “Considering the way your stepmother kept you under lock and key, I wouldn’t have thought you had much time for equestrian lessons.”
“I didn’t,” Ella said. “Charles, your head groom, has been teaching me these past few weeks. I usually practice in the mornings, while you . . . um, while you sleep.”
Frederic changed the subject: “So, have you heard the song that Pennyfeather wrote about you? That bard of ours certainly has a way with a quill. The song is very popular, I hear. Supposedly, the minstrels are singing it as far as Sylvaria and Sturmhagen. Before you know it, you’ll be more famous than me. Or even more famous than Pennyfeather. Though I don’t really like the fact that he called you Cinderella. Makes you sound dirty and unkempt.”
“I don’t mind,” said Ella. “I was dirty and unkempt for years. I was always covered in soot and cinders from cleaning the fireplace, so at least I see where he got the name from.”
“Speaking of names,” said Frederic, “have you noticed that the song refers to me as ‘Prince Charming’? My real name’s not in there at all. People are going to think I’m the same prince from that Sleeping Beauty song or the Rapunzel one. Here, listen and tell me what you think.” He called out to a passing servant, “Excuse me, my good man. Could you please fetch Pennyfeather the Mellifluous for us? Tell him that the prince and Lady Ella would like a command performance of ‘The Tale of Cinderella.’”
“I’m sorry, milord,” the servant replied. “Mr. Pennyfeather is unavailable. He hasn’t been seen for days, actually. It’s the talk of the palace; we assumed you would have heard by now. No one knows where the royal bard is.”
“Well, that explains why I haven’t been getting my lullaby these past few nights,” Frederic said thoughtfully.
“Frederic, maybe something awful has happened to Pennyfeather,” Ella said, sounding a bit too excited by the prospect. “We should check into it. Come on, let’s go. We need to figure out the last person to see him. Let’s start by asking at the gate—”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing so dramatic,” Frederic said quickly. The only thing he had a harder time imagining than a crime occurring within the royal palace was himself investigating such a crime. “He’s probably just off at a bard convention somewhere, one of those gatherings where they vote on the precise number of feathers a minstrel should have in his cap—that sort of thing. But don’t worry, just because Pennyfeather himself isn’t here doesn’t mean we can’t have music. I’ll just send for—”
“Never mind the song, Frederic,” Ella said, taking a deep breath. “Remember how we were just talking about my sheltered childhood?”
Frederic nodded.
“Now that I’m free, I want to have new experiences. I want to find out what I’m capable of. So, if we’re not going to look into Pennyfeather’s disappearance, what can we do today?” she asked. “What kind of adventure can we have?”
“Adventure, right.” Frederic pondered his options briefly. “It is a lovely day. Nice and sunny. I’m thinking picnic.”
Ella slumped. “Frederic, I need to do something different.”
Frederic stared at her like a lost baby rabbit.
“I hear there’s a troupe of traveling acrobats in town,” Ella suggested. “Maybe we could get them in here to teach us some tumbling.”
“Oh, but I’ve got that problem with my ankle.” He had no problem with his ankle.
“How about a treasure hunt?” Ella proposed excitedly. “Some of the kitchen staff were gossiping about a bag of stolen gold that one of your father’s old valets hid in the tunnels below the castle. We could try to find it.”
“Oh, but I can’t go below ground level. You know what dampness does to my sinuses.” Dampness did nothing to his sinuses.
“Can we go boating on the lake?”
“I can’t swim.” This was true.
Ella huffed. “Frederic, what can we do? I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but I’m bored.”
“We could have a different kind of picnic,” Frederic offered hopefully. “We could do breakfast food for lunch. Croissants, poached eggs. How’s that for shaking things up?”
Ella walked back to her horse and hopped up into the saddle. “Go ahead and order your picnic, Frederic,” she said flatly. “I’m going to ride a bit more while you wait.”
“Okay,” Frederic said, and waved to her. “I’ll stay right here.”
“I’m sure you will. You’re very good at that,” Ella replied. And she rode off.
An hour or so later, Frederic sat out on the palace lawn (well, on a carefully unfolded blanket, actually—he didn’t want to get grass stains on his white pants), waiting for his lunch and his fiancée to arrive. A servant arrived and set down a tray of breakfast delicacies in front of Frederic. “Milord,” the man said, as he bowed and backed away. “There’s a message there for you.”
Frederic saw a folded piece of paper nestled between a bowl of grapefruit slices and a plate of chocolate-chip waffles. He picked up the note, with a sudden sinking feeling about what it might say.
Frederic dropped the letter onto his empty plate. So, he thought, the ball was the most romantic night of her life, huh? Well, that’s not saying much coming from a girl whose