Enchanted in Time (Enchanted After Thirty #1)

Chapter 4

4

A long, long time ago

M irabelle never went out anymore. Since she had been robbed of her perfect beauty, she only left her room for basic needs. She even took her meals in her darkened room. Neither her sister nor her parents were able to lure her out, and after their first few pathetic attempts to distract her, her friends were only too happy to stay away.

Annabelle would often visit her. Her little sister seemed the only one who wasn’t repulsed by her repugnant appearance. She would sit on the bed with Mirabelle and tell her all about everything that was going on outside. And she would try to make her laugh, which it seemed she was able to do.

“Mira, Mira, you’ll never believe what the kitchen boy did today!” And she would start to babble away. From time to time, Mirabelle would join in her sister’s laughter, which rang as clear as a bell. But it didn’t come from the heart. The truth was that she couldn’t bear to see how sad her little sister felt about her tragedy. So she would giggle at her silliness, but the laughter never reached her eyes or her heart. Doomed to eternal loneliness, she had turned from her initial self-pity and succumbed to a state of lethargy.

That morning, Mirabelle was dozing when the door to her chamber burst open and startled her awake. First, she had to orient herself in the dark room, where the thick drapes hanging in front of the windows were never drawn anymore.

“So early, Annabelle?” Mirabelle drowsily raised her head from the rumpled sheets. “You should be at your lesson. Or is Miss Breitenmeier ill?”

“Of course, your younger sister is at her lesson!” Her mother’s firm voice rang out.

“Mother? What are you doing here?”

“What sort of question is that? I’ve come to see my child!”

Yet she simply could not bring herself to actually look at her daughter. For this reason, Mirabelle never took any delight in her mother’s visits, and her father had not stepped foot in her room even once since her illness. Her parents had had such big plans for her—had envisioned her future in the most shimmering colors and hoped to marry her to a prince. But these lofty ambitions had been thwarted by the dreadful sickness, and now it seemed they no longer knew what to do with their disfigured daughter.

“We’ve just received an invitation. It was delivered by messenger.”

“An invitation?” Mirabelle replied, indifferent. “For whom?”

“For you!”

“For me? Surely you jest, Mother!”

“I do not jest.” Her mother’s icy gaze shot past Mirabelle and, missing its mark, fell on the small rabbit figurine sitting on the dresser beside her bed.

Mirabelle sat up in her bed. “Who sent me the invitation? And for what?”

“You have been invited... to a ball.”

Mirabelle’s heart began to pound so hard that, for the first time in weeks, she could feel it was still in her chest. “Now, in truth you surely jest, Mother. Who would invite me to a ball? Or am I to be the entertainment?”

“Mirabelle Madeleine Alice von Taustein,” her mother admonished, though her agitation was only apparent from her tightening grip on the envelope she held in her hands. “You shall never serve as the entertainment for any festive event. You are, of course, invited as a guest.”

Mirabelle could hardly believe it. Her heart leapt as she thought of the lovely gowns and the endlessly long dances, of the music, the delicious victuals, and exuberant mood of an evening ball. For a moment, her blue eyes began to shine at the thought, just as they had in the past, and a careful observer would have seen that her beauty had not been lost after all.

But a dark cloud immediately settled back over her countenance as she was reminded of her appearance. “Who sent the invitation?”

“King Ludwig von Lichtenberg.”

“Lichtenberg? Where is the kingdom that he rules?”

“So many miles hence that the king and the prince have apparently not yet learned of your... situation. You are invited by name, even though you are not from that kingdom. Word of your beauty has spread far beyond the borders of our country.”

An awkward silence. Mirabelle gazed down at the scab-covered, mottled hands in her lap as her mother looked past her head pointedly.

“I don’t believe it.”

Her mother held out the invitation. “Here, read it yourself.”

Mirabelle hesitantly took the letter, taking care lest her repugnant fingers touch her mother’s hand, as if they might infect it with her ugliness.

“His Majesty King Ludwig Reinhard von Lichtenberg

hereby announces

that a ball shall be held on Saturday.

All marriageable ladies of the kingdom are invited.

Following the assembly of the entourage and introduction of the same,

His Majesty Prince Gustav Ludwig Friedrich von Lichtenberg

shall choose a lady from amongst those present to be his wife.”

Mirabelle let go of the beautifully embellished invitation with the crest of the royal house, and as it slid onto her lap, she looked at her mother, wide-eyed. “I cannot go!”

“You shall!”

“I cannot go!” Mirabelle screamed in horror. “See, Mother, see how I look! Look at me!”

“You shall go!” replied her mother firmly, without so much as a single glance. “We may not refuse the king! It is your father’s wish, and you shall obey!”

She walked briskly to the window and drew the thick, heavy drapes. The sunlight streamed into the room. Blinded, Mirabelle held her hands to her blemished face.

With a loud noise, her mother threw the remaining curtain aside and looked directly at her daughter. “The time for hiding is past!”