My shoe.

Light danced in the intricate heel of the glass slipper, as if to taunt me. Like it was bragging that it had been out dancing without me, and this was what I got for trapping it inside a dark metal box.

“Where did you get that?” Fire rushed to my cheeks as I reached for the glittering slipper. The courier yanked it back just before my fingertips could graze the clear glass.

“Miss Payne, this is a possession of the Prince of Dwellen and is not to be handled lightly.”

“That’s not the prince’s. It’s mine,” I snapped. The courier and the guards tensed, even as I drew my hand back. Confusion flickered over my father’s face, and my mother’s for a moment, before her perceptive eyes scanned the familiar pattern in the heel and widened in realization.

“Ah, yes. As it was Miss Lightfoot’s next door, and Miss Balfour’s next door to her.” The courier rolled his eyes, and the two guards fought back snickers. “Let us simply pray that you are the unique one among them and that you refrain from wasting our time and the precious skin on your feet by attempting to shove them into this poor, abused slipper.”

“Fine.” I shrugged. “Let me try it on. Unless the criminal who stole them from me stretched out the glass, I imagine it still fits. Considering I made them from a mold of my foot.” I sauntered over to a woven chair in the parlor and whipped my skirts up, tossing my house shoes across the room with a flick of my ankles.

Exasperation flooded my mother’s face at the unladylike gesture, but my father had to clamp a hand over his mouth to suppress his laughter. Clearly he thought my antics were just that, an attempt to get a good laugh out of him at the expense of the courier’s embarrassment. I could only imagine the anger that would flood his face once he realized I wasn’t bluffing. That someone really had broken in and stolen years’ worth of work, just to leave one of my precious shoes at that stupid ball—in an attempt to run away from a prince who apparently couldn’t take no for an answer.

The courier sighed. “Very well.” He kneeled and placed the wooden box gently on the black-checkered tile next to my feet. When he pulled the shoe from the box, the heel sparkled in the chandelier light above us, and my eyes met my father’s. The sight of the intricate pattern on the shoe wiped the amusement from his face, and this time he stifled a gasp rather than a chuckle.

My mother clamped a hand around his wrist and squeezed, no doubt a warning for him to keep calm.

The courier brought the shoe to my foot and slipped it over my toes and onto my heel. When he brought his hands away, the shoe stayed glued to my foot.

As if it had been made for me.

Imagine that.

“Well, now that that’s settled.” I wrenched the shoe off my foot and gripped it tightly, just in case the courier got it into his mind to take it back. “I would like my other shoe now. Please,” I added with a saccharine grin.

The courier’s jaw dropped as he slowly rose to his feet. He exchanged confused looks with the guards, who both raised their palms in a “don’t look at me” kind of expression.

The courier cleared his throat. “Miss Payne, I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding. By all eyewitness reports, you are not the woman with whom the prince danced last eve.”

By all reports. I snorted. That could only mean one thing. In the city of Othian, fashion came and went within the span of a butterfly’s lifespan. Last season, having skin the deepest hues of brown had been all the rage. At least half a dozen painters in the art district had approached me, inquiring about whether I would pose for a portrait.

Now, the more veins one could count beneath a woman’s translucent skin, the better. The people who’d had the foresight to get into the parasol industry were doing quite well for themselves. There’d been a mass exodus in the cobbling, forgery, and baking industries so their owners could open parasol shops.

My father and I hadn’t been so inclined, knowing the fashion pendulum would swoop in the opposite direction before the season adjourned.

That wasn’t even the most ridiculous of Othian’s ever-revolving fashion trends. A significant portion of Othian’s human population had developed an obsession with the fae. One couldn’t take a trip to the city center without passing a male whose ears were bandaged over, recovering from a recent procedure that would leave his previously rounded ears whittled into crisp points. Since the popularity of the Queen of Naenden had surged, some had gone as far as having an eye plucked out in her honor—and she wasn’t even fae.

“And by that, you mean that the woman the prince danced with had skin as pale as the flickering moonlight, and hair to match, I assume?” I waved my hand, flicking my slippered foot, marking how nicely the floral pattern on the heel had turned out.

“Miss—”

“The thing is, I never claimed to be the one with whom the prince danced. I only claimed that these shoes belong to me. Which they do, clearly. If you need further proof, my father and I would be more than happy to show you our workshop. I’ll show you the mold I used to make them, if you so desire.”

“Indeed.” My father’s voice boomed. “I’d be pleased to escort you there myself.” Though the tight-lipped expression on my father’s face indicated the opposite.

A crease formed between where the courier’s eyebrows might have been if he were human or high fae. “You admit it then, that you are not the woman who danced with the prince last eve?”

My mother stepped between me and the courier, towering over the thin fae. “Admit? Admit to what? Are you accusing my daughter of a crime?”

“No, of course not,” the courier muttered. “I meant to only—agh. Chrisington, the decree, please.”

The guard to the courier’s left removed a tightly rolled piece of parchment from his coat and handed it to the courier, who pulled the indigo string that secured the paper until it unraveled. His eyes darted across the page as the crease above his brow furrowed deeper into his skull. His lips muttered something unintelligible as he searched the smooth paper.

In the end, he rolled up the parchment, taking his time securing the string that kept it tightly wound.

Then he closed his pale eyelids and inhaled.

In that moment, I realized how weary he looked, and I wondered what foolishness the prince had subjected him to in his years of running errands for the spoiled heir. “Very well. Miss Payne, you are to come with me.”

“Pardon me?” my parents chimed.

The courier extended his hand for the slipper, but my mother didn’t budge from between us. “Why must she go with you?”

My father advanced and stood by her side, completely blocking the courier from my view. My heart raced. Moments ago, I had been so furious that someone had stolen my craftsmanship to wear to a silly ball, that I’d been glad to defy the scrawny courier. But now, as my parents stood between me and the spokesman of the palace, I wondered if I had made a mistake.

Though the King of Dwellen was not known for being unnecessarily cruel to humans, like some of the other rulers in Alondria, I didn’t know how he would take to a human family defying his messenger.

When my parents discovered my mother’s pregnancy, they’d escaped from Charshon, where humans continued to be abused and mistreated, in the hopes of bringing their daughter into a world where she could thrive. When they’d arrived, they’d found Dwellen to be a less pristine version of the faerietale they’d been sold. But still. The fae here did not openly oppress humans, and the king had upheld a long-standing policy of including humans in his host of advisors.

That didn’t mean the fae king took kindly to those who transgressed his orders. Would any of the king’s human advisors bat an eye if the crown stripped my father of his business license?

I doubted it.

“Mama, Papa, it’s alright. I’ll go with him.” I stepped out from behind their tensed frames.

“Elynore,” Mama said, but I cut her off.

“Really. I need to submit a plea for an investigation for my other shoe, anyway. And to open a request for a patent. This way I won’t even have to wait in line,” I added, flashing them what was apparently a pretty unconvincing attempt at a light-hearted grin, considering the way their faces hardened.

The courier closed his eyes, and I couldn’t tell whether the expression betrayed relief at not having to fight my parents, or disgust at a human woman’s intention to request a patent, but I didn’t care. All that mattered right now was making sure my parents didn’t risk falling onto the king’s bad side.

Before either of them could protest, I wrapped them up in a hug and kissed them both on the cheek, careful not to let my fingers slip from the slipper’s heel. “I love you both. This will all be resolved shortly. Just you wait.”

Then I turned and walked out the front door, intentionally beating the courier and the guards to it. I couldn’t have them escorting me and getting it into their heads that I wasn’t doing this completely of my own volition.

Outside our cottage was a velvet blue coach, attached to which were two starlight white horses.

Footsteps shuffled behind me, and I propelled myself into the coach before the guard could offer me his hand. I settled myself onto the pleasantly comfy seats, still frazzled at how my day had certainly not gone as expected, but feeling optimistic. Surely the prince would happily give me my other slipper back once he realized the woman he probably thought was his fated mate was actually a thief, and that he must have misheard the call of the Fates.

This could actually turn out for the best, really. The glass style would surely come into fashion now that a drawing of the shoes was all over the papers, promoted by the prince himself. And once everyone recognized me as the designer… My heart pounded with excitement.

The courier climbed into the coach, followed by the first guard. When the second guard attempted to join us, the courier held out his palm. “Wait. You’ll need to stay behind and gather her things. I’ll send another coach to fetch you once we arrive at the palace.”

Those words snapped me from my inner daydream of fame and glory and self-made fortune.

“Wait. Why does he need to fetch my things? The castle is less than half an hour away by coach, and it’s still morning. I know I’m fond of my clothes, but I don’t change my outfit that often.”