My mother handed me a goblet of water, which I attempted to slurp once my chest had stopped spasming from inhaling the oats. “Mind if I take another look at that?”

Papa shrugged and handed me the paper, which I searched over and over for any further description of the glass slippers. I found none, however, and eventually gave up. “I’m going to get started early this morning.” The newspaper crumpled in my shaking hands as I placed it back on the table.

“You sure? You haven’t even had your coffee yet.” My father frowned, but it was Mama who placed the back of her hand on my forehead and said, “You’re not ill, are you?”

One would have thought that my leaving the breakfast table before my first cup of coffee was the sign of an international incident.

I nodded and shook Mama’s hand off. “I’m sure.” Then I bolted from the room as quickly as I could manage without raising more suspicion.

The dewy grass soaked my morning silk slippers as I traipsed across our yard in my robe. The sun was just beginning to rise over the grassy hillside, and Mama’s chickens clucked as they scampered through the grass.

It wasn’t until I reached our workshop, a large wooden shed that looked lopsided from all the additions Papa had built over the years, that I realized I had forgotten to grab the key from my room. I almost turned around to fetch it, but a sinking sensation thudded in my stomach. The large wooden door stood before me, taunting me. I reached out a trembling hand and pushed.

The door opened.

My lungs must have fallen out of my ribcage.

Someone had been here. Someone had broken in.

I turned the knob of the gas lamp next to the entrance and a flame appeared, lighting the workshop. Relief flooded my bones as hundreds of glass windows glittered back at me in the firelight. I leaned my hand against the entryway to steady myself. Whoever had broken in hadn’t touched father’s windows. At least, if they had taken any, it hadn’t been enough for me to notice. Not enough to crash our business.

But the windows weren’t what had me traipsing out here in my slippers.

I wove my way through the wooden tables where my father and I had neatly organized our creations and made my way to the back of the shop, where a single furnace and blow pipe served as my shop. My workspace—after-hours, of course—once I’d fulfilled all my regular orders.

It was here that I’d spent what probably equated to months of my life laboring over the fancy glass plates I’d made with the local inn in mind. Where I’d practiced on our bowls. A few panes of glass, covered by burlap, leaned against the back wall. Underneath were my first attempts at painting glass, and though they were so messy and simplistic that I vowed never to show them to anyone, I still kept them.

If the intruder had looked under the burlap, they must have agreed with my embarrassment, because they hadn’t bothered to take them.

So far, nothing seemed out of place. I clutched my chest and tried to calm myself. If there really had been an intruder, surely some of our equipment would have gone missing, and I hadn’t noticed anything out of place. Maybe there hadn’t been an intruder at all. I’d been working long hours into the night all this past week trying to get the innkeeper’s order fulfilled. Yesterday, I’d allowed myself a break from work, as it was the weekend. Father had rested, too. Perhaps I’d simply forgotten to lock the workshop door.

That would be a problem in its own way, of course. Papa would be displeased at my irresponsibility. Maybe even forbid me from working after hours until I learned my lesson. Though I knew it hurt him to discipline me, he’d always been a boulder of will in that regard, reminding me the Fates had entrusted him with the duty of raising not just a child, but a woman who would take over his business one day and needed to learn responsibility.

But all that would be fine, just as long as the shoes were still here.

I leaned down and pulled a metal box out from under my workstation.

The box was too light.

My heart sank.

I knew before I opened it that my shoes, my glorious creation, the glass slippers that had taken two years to perfect, were gone.

Tears crowded my eyelids, and I tossed the empty box aside. It clattered on the floor and the lid fell aside, only rubbing in the truth as the box lay gaping and empty on the ground.

My dreams shattered, every single one of them. Decorative plates and bowls had only ever been a means to an end. The shoes had been my real prize, the beautiful creation that would have become synonymous with my name. The shoes that would have launched my career.

Now the shoes were going to be famous, all right. And every glassblower in the kingdom was going to have a head start on recreating them.

I could practically hear the glass melting all around the kingdom, the glassblowers who’d been at work since before I sat down for breakfast.

The door creaked, and I bolted to my feet.

My mother’s voice whispered through the room. “Ellie? There are people here to see you.”

I squinted the tears from my eyes. “People? Who…?”

My mother stepped into the workshop, the rising sun silhouetting her sturdy frame. She creased her eyebrows as I wiped the dirt from my morning robe. “What’s wrong, Elynore?”

I swallowed the burning lump in my throat. “It’s nothing.”

I crossed the room and went to sidestep her, but she blocked my path and set that familiar glare on me. “Don’t insult me. I’m your mother. I know when my child is hurting.”

My mother had a sense for these sorts of things, it was true. She’d probably even guessed that I’d been working on something special, but she hadn’t pressed me about it. I almost never showed my creations to my parents until they were finished, and even then, there was a proper way to present art.

The crimson satin cushion I’d bought for showcasing the shoes wasn’t finished yet. I was supposed to pick it up from the seamstress tomorrow.

A tear slid down my cheek, and her face softened as she wrapped me in a hug. “Tell you about it later?”

She kissed my forehead and nodded before releasing me from her embrace. Then she wiped the tears from my cheek with her thumb, rough from all her gardening, cooking, and tending the chickens.

She scrutinized my robe, specifically my sleeves, the edges singed from years of forgetting to roll them up as I brought my projects to the fire. Her nose turned upward, a smile curving at her full lips. “You might consider changing for our guests.”

CHAPTER 2

ELLIE

I’d had to dab paint on the skin beneath my blotchy eyelids to hide the swelling my tears had caused. By the time the redness in the whites of my eyes had faded and I’d changed into an outfit more suitable for company—an ivy-green house dress with a flaring skirt and a cinched waist, I was fairly certain our guests, whoever they were, had been waiting at least half an hour.

It didn’t matter, though. I could only hope the delay would serve to shorten our visit. After all, I had much to do today, including submitting a petition to the Palace Guard to open an investigation regarding my stolen property. Unlikely as it was that the Guard would agree that my property was valuable enough to lift a pen, much less open up a proper investigation, I had to do something. I had to try.

I took one last glance in the mirror, less than satisfied with my paint, which was doing a poor job of obscuring my distress, but pleased with my appearance all the same. My mother had gifted me her beauty—brown eyes, wide but sharp; strong cheekbones that paired well with my curved jaw; and her warm, deep brown complexion.

I applied another coat of paint under my eyes, all the same.

My heels clanked down our glazed cherry wood stairway as I descended into the parlor.

I came to a stop when my heels clicked against checkered tile.

“Ah, Miss Payne.”

The bored voice sounded familiar, though I didn’t think it was one of our neighbors. When I turned the curve of our winding staircase, I realized why.

It was the same courier who had delivered my invitation to the ball. The same who I was fairly certain heard me burst into a fit of unrestrained giggles as soon as I’d shut the door. Two soldiers accompanied him, each in a royal indigo uniform bedecked with large silver buttons.

The courier wore similar colors, but on a velvet robe that ballooned out at his feet and sleeves. I wondered if he recognized how ridiculous he looked. Even felt a twinge of pity for the faerie. His skin was pale as eggshells and thinner than a human’s, so much so that I would have been able to tell he was faerie even if the pointed tips of his ears hadn’t protruded from underneath his velvet cap. My parents stood on either side of the guards, amused expressions tempered under solemnly tight lips. I wondered what was so funny, yet inappropriate to express.

“Welcome.” I curtsied as I reached the bottom of the stairs. “Might I ask what brings you to—” All sense of propriety fled me as my gaze halted on the object in the courier’s hand. He held a box made of dark chestnut wood. There was no lid, leaving the contents visible. Inside was a red velvet cushion, atop which sat a shoe.