Enchanted in Time (Enchanted After Thirty #1)

Chapter 10

10

A long, long time ago

H olding her mother’s hand, Mirabelle stepped inside the magnificent ballroom. Her heart was pounding wildly, and her hands were sweating and itching in the lace gloves that covered her hands and arms. Not one bit of her blemished skin was showing through her high-necked ball gown. Her mother grasped her hand and did not leave her side for a single moment.

This solidarity—this motherly love—moved Mirabelle to tears. She had no longer known if her parents felt anything for her. But now she was sure that the love was still there. She breathed a sigh of relief, held back her tears, and squeezed her mother’s hand. In return, she gave her daughter a kindhearted smile. Mirabelle would have to attend this ball, but she was sure she could speak with her mother afterwards and think of a plan to avoid any future social obligations of this sort.

They ambled past the rows of knights on either side of the red carpet and stood in line with the other guests, mostly lavishly attired young women who, accompanied by their parents, were being introduced to the king and his son. Mirabelle tugged discreetly at her gown’s long sleeves, which reached down over her gloves. Then she adjusted her headband and veil so that no one could peer at her face from the side. Her golden hair, which shone like the sun, fell over her shoulders and all the way down her back. It was the last vestige of her former beauty, and against the midnight blue of her dress, it shone like the stars. The lady’s maids had braided it into an elaborate hairstyle and adorned it with satin ribbons.

Again and again, Mirabelle felt the curious gaze of the guests, who marveled at her beautiful hair and were trying to catch a glimpse of her face. Mirabelle smiled. Recalling who she once had been, she remembered her strength and confidence and stood straight and tall in her ball gown. When her turn arrived and she came alongside her mother before the king and the prince, she felt a bit proud of the way the prince was eyeing her with interest and how the other girls whispered behind their hands. With the assurance of a princess, she stepped before the king and the prince of the land and could feel the eyes of the gentlemen there upon her. She curtsied to the king and his son, just as she had learned to do, and a murmur went through the hall.

“Such grace!” someone whispered.

“Who is the enchanting stranger? And why does she hide her face?” murmured another.

Content, she stepped to the side, her hand on her mother’s arm, and waited until the guests behind her had come before the king.

No sooner had all the guests introduced themselves to the royal family than the orchestra began to play and the first young man approached Mirabelle to ask her to dance. Having cast one last uncertain sidelong glance at her mother, who nodded and smiled, Mirabelle took the stranger’s hand and followed him onto the dance floor. After just a few steps, her rusty feet felt loosened, and she glided gracefully through the hall at the young man’s side. She danced and danced, forgetting all her sorrows and cares, and not for one moment did she think of her blemished face but enjoyed the evening instead.

One young man after another would approach her, so that she had a different partner leading her for each piece of music. She took no breaks, had nothing to drink, nothing to eat—no, Mirabelle literally came alive and danced as if it were her salvation. How wonderful to be so adored!

Another dance came to an end, and Mirabelle’s partner bowed gallantly to her. As she fanned herself—though the air could barely move through her veil—another stranger approached to ask her to dance. But before he could make his request, he dutifully took a step to the side and bowed low to the prince, who was striding directly toward Mirabelle.

“May I have this dance, Mirabelle Madeleine Alice von Taustein?”

“With pleasure, Prince Gustav von Lichtenberg.”

Not once did Mirabelle think to look back at her mother, for if she had, she might have noticed her mother’s nervous look and perhaps held back a bit. Yet she didn’t give a single thought to her mother, her blemished appearance, her usual aloofness, or even her fate, and instead she laughed and danced with the prince as though she had not a care in the world.

Her grace and elegance surpassed that of the other young ladies, and her hair and voice were so charming and lovely that with the very first dance, the prince was already falling in love.

“Honored Mirabelle, I am delighted that you have come to our ball. I had already heard of your grace and beauty and am therefore all the more pleased to be able to say that none of the accounts do you justice.”

Mirabelle’s heart was beating a little faster. Even so, she ignored the first few anxious thoughts that attempted to steal into her mind on hearing his words, and she reveled in the prince’s admiration. He continued to whirl her around the glittering ballroom, and her midnight blue gown was swinging about along with her golden hair. The crowd moved aside, and the two of them danced in the middle of the hall, the focus of everyone’s attention.

“My dear Mirabelle, perhaps you’re aware that this is the ball at which I intend to choose a bride.”

She winced at his words. Was that a hint? He didn’t mean to choose her, did he? A lump began to form in her throat as she remembered the secret she was hiding under all those clothes.

Trembling, she continued to dance in his arms. Oh dear, how could she have forgotten what she had become? How could she have thrust herself into the center of attention in this way? How could she have allowed herself to risk being noticed by the prince?

Oh, how she despised herself at that moment for her pride, which had driven her into the center of the room. She glanced anxiously back at her mother, who was following her with a worried look. Save me, Mother! Please!

“I’m so very glad you’ve come, my esteemed Mirabelle.”

She had to give him an answer—she could see that he was expecting it. But how should she reply? She certainly mustn’t offend him.

“Honored prince, I am truly sorry to disappoint you, but please believe me when I say that I am most assuredly not amongst the maidens who are worthy of your choosing.”

The prince’s eyes were twinkling. “I hadn’t expected you to be so shy. But have no fear, I know how I must choose.”

Mirabelle was about to reply, but the prince laid his fingers upon the veil and over her lips, the soft contours of which he could only guess at. She trembled at his touch and went weak in the knees, and at that moment, she wished—oh, how she wished—she had not been the one to have been so disfigured by cruel fate. Why could it not have struck another, one who hadn’t been as especially pretty as she had ben? Why did it have to be her? What had she done?

She heaved a sigh, and the prince understood it as confirmation.

“My esteemed Mirabelle, when will you do us the honor of removing your veil?”

Mirabelle froze in the middle of the dance. She tried to break free of the prince, but he held her fast with an iron grip. He pulled her closer and lifted his hand to sweep the veil aside, but Mirabelle managed to lean back in time, and he missed his mark.

“Please, let me go. I need to see my mother.”

“Why are you acting so coy? In my view, you have kept us in suspense long enough. Let me see the pretty face you’re hiding under that veil!”

“Pardon me, noble Prince Gustav von Lichtenberg.” It was the voice of Mirabelle’s mother, who had come to her aid. “My daughter is not feeling well. She has been ill for quite some time and is in need of rest. I shall escort her out into the fresh air.”

Already, her mother’s protective hands were encircling her daughter’s waist and gently pulling her back. But the prince would not allow his catch to be wrested from him.

“Very well, madame, have no fear. I shall safely escort your daughter out. How fortunate that you’re well again, dear Mirabelle. It would have been a great loss to us had you not graced us with your presence today.” He would not let go of her hand, as if he could sense that she wanted to flee.

The other guests stepped to the side and formed a narrow lane. Taking her by the hand, the prince led Mirabelle out to the large balcony, with a number of curious guests in their wake. Nobody wished to miss the moment when the heir to the throne would fall to his knees to propose to his future wife, and the ladies there planned to be on hand should the prince elect to distance himself from this mysterious woman and look for another.

Mirabelle’s mother hurried after them, but the throng of people pushed her back, and she could not fight her way through to her daughter. She had no wish to draw more attention to Mirabelle than necessary, so she kept her elbows by her sides. But she never stopped trying to weave her way through in a pleasant and proper manner.

Having arrived at the balustrade, the prince leaned against the ornate railing and observed Mirabelle, who was feigning discomfort by breathing deeply in and out. But not for a moment would he let go of her hand, like a hunter afraid that his prey might escape.

“Why do you wear this veil?” he asked, broaching the subject again. “And when may I finally see your pretty face, dear Mirabelle von Taustein?”

Never! Mirabelle wanted to scream. What could she tell the prince to make him leave her alone? Why hadn’t she discussed with her mother what reason to give for hiding her face? Should she try telling the truth? No, that was unthinkable!

“Please excuse me, Prince von Lichtenberg. I never meant to offend you, but I simply cannot tell you. Please—let me go.”

But the prince’s dark eyes were already burning with the fever of the hunt—he, who had never had to fight for a woman before. He took a step closer. “What must I do so that I may see your face, dear Mirabelle?”

“Nothing, nothing at all! I cannot! Please...”

He took another step closer. With one hand, he gripped her wrist while raising the other to pull her veil aside.

Mirabelle recoiled in horror. “Please, I don’t feel well. Let me go.”

“And if I vow to marry you? May I then have a glimpse of your countenance?”

“You’re mad!” Mirabelle held her hand to her mouth in alarm. “Forgive me, Prince Gustav von Lichtenberg, I did not mean to say that.”

Prince Gustav laughed loudly. Then he went down on one knee and grasped Mirabelle’s right hand with both of his. Raising his voice for all to hear, he proclaimed: “I vow to marry you, Mirabelle Madeleine Alice von Taustein. And now I command you: show me your face!”

Mirabelle suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning halfway around, she found herself looking into her mother’s horrified face. “I never meant for this to happen, my child.”

With an imperious gesture, the prince immediately bid her mother stand back, and with bowed head, she took a respectful step backwards.

“I cannot!” Mirabelle whispered to her mother, hoping that she would support her.

“You have no choice, my love.”

The moon was casting its silvery white glow upon the balcony as the prince knelt down before her and the guests stood all around. Mirabelle swallowed and took a deep breath. Now shall you all bear witness to my unparalleled humiliation . Slowly, she pulled the veil aside.

No one spoke a word. The wide grin on the prince’s face froze. Not one of the guests moved, and for a moment, even the servants paused. A murmur followed, then whispers from the guests, and the servants returned to their work. Only then did the prince rise to his full height and look down upon her. “That was a base deception!”

“I never meant?—”

“You bewitched me! You seduced me! You made me believe that I wanted only you. But now you’ve cast off your magic veil, and I see the truth.”

“No, I’m not?—”

“Admit it, you tried to steal into my bed through an underhanded ruse! You deliberately tried to seduce me into marriage so that I could no longer break the sacred bond and would have to endure you by my side forever—so that you might become the queen of this land, the ruler of this innocent people!”

Mirabelle was so overcome with shock that she gasped for air. She forgot who she was and who the prince was. “It was you who would not let go of me!”

“Look at her, honored guests!” the prince said as he turned Mirabelle’s face toward the crowd so that everyone there could see. “Do you think I could fall in love with such a maiden? That I should desire to marry such a woman? Look at her!”

And so, the people did. And now they knew no bounds. They pointed and laughed and grimaced in disgust. Mirabelle wanted to sink down into the ground with shame. She attempted to pull the veil back over her face, but with one jerk, the prince ripped it from her headband and threw it down onto the floor.

“No longer can you deceive us now, wretched liar! Hideous witch!”

Mirabelle held her hands to her face as she tried to hide it from the looks of all who were there, but they had long since seen how life had disfigured her.

Red with shame, she turned around and peered through her fingers. She glanced down over the balustrade. It was not very high. She wanted only one thing: to flee! She grabbed the balustrade with both her hands and jumped across. One of her heels caught on the railing, and the shiny red dress shoe fell with a thud upon the tiles.

Mirabelle practically flew across the railing and landed in the royal gardens. Now, with her hands in the grass, she could feel the soothing sensation of live vegetation and nature. She slipped the other shoe off her foot, and it fell silently onto the grass. Barefoot, she raced through the rosebushes and hydrangea shrubs. But she could not hear, through the prince’s piercing jeers and the jangling laughter of the guests at the ball, the familiar voice of her mother desperately calling after her.