Luke looks thoughtful as he stares off. “Everything we do is measured against Cinderella’s story. But what happens if … well, let’s say—” He shifts around, fumbling with the reins. “Why is that story the only way of doing things?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say. “But we should get going. My mother—”

Luke glances over at me. “When my sister read that story as a child, I—”

“Luke—” I start.

“I remember thinking Prince Charming would make a good husband—for me.”

“What?” I’m breathing so fast that little orbs of light dance around the edge of my vision.

“Did you want to marry the prince? Or maybe the princess?” he asks.

“Why are you asking me this?” My voice is barely a whisper, and my heart pounds. “I have to go.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I swear I’ll never say a word about any of this to anyone.” His face is tightly drawn, his eyes downcast. He struggles to find the words to continue. “It’s just that I—I know about you and Erin.”

A sinking feeling overtakes me. “What about me and Erin?”

“I overheard your mother talking to my mother.” He watches me carefully, reading my expression.

“What did she say?” I can’t imagine my mother telling anyone about my feelings. She doesn’t even want to hear me talk about it.

“She said she was afraid you couldn’t hide your feelings for Erin, that sometimes it was like you didn’t even want to.”

The world has suddenly become unnaturally quiet. Carriages pass by us, but I don’t hear their wheels on the road. I don’t see anything but Luke’s face. It never occurred to me that my mother would confide in anyone other than my father.

“Why would she do that?” I ask. “Why would she talk to your mother about me?”

He angles his body toward me. “It’s true then?” An almost hopeful look spreads across his face.

I don’t say anything, but my silence is confirmation enough for him.

“I know what it’s like to feel as if everyone wants you to be something you’re not.” His eyes soften, and he sighs. “When I was seventeen, I fell in love with a boy named Louis. That’s who Morris was referring to. He was a light in a world that was so dark. So dark, Sophia. You can’t imagine—”

“Yes I can,” I say without thinking. Being face-to-face with someone who might understand how I feel overwhelms me. I wait for him to continue.

“He allowed me to envision what life could be like for me. When I was with him, nothing else mattered. We planned to flee, but when Morris and his brother, Édouard, found out about us, they told our classmates and of course the news reached Louis’s parents. They asked him if it was true, and he would not deny it. They took him to the palace as a forfeit. I never saw him again.” His eyes fill with tears.

“They gave him up? Just like that?” It’s horrifyingly simple for some people to forfeit their own children. I’ve seen it happen dozens of times, but it never gets any easier to imagine. I reach out and put my hand over his. “I’m so sorry.”

He blinks back tears. “My parents would have done the same to me if my sister hadn’t convinced them that our relationship was a phase that I’d grow out of. She knew it was a lie, and I think my parents did as well, but they chose to believe it rather than surrender me to the palace.”

My heart shatters into a thousand pieces for what he has lost. What we’ve all lost.

“People who don’t fit nicely into the boxes the kings of Mersailles have defined are simply erased, as if our lives don’t matter.” Luke hangs his head. “Have you ever heard of a man marrying another man? A woman being in love with another woman? Of people who find their hearts lie somewhere in the middle or with neither?”

“Only as a cautionary tale that ends with people imprisoned or dead.” I slump down against the seat, crushed by the hopeless feelings that always seem to find me.

Luke picks up the reins, and we begin to move. “I can avoid the ball for as long as I choose,” he says. “And people wouldn’t think twice if I’m old and gray before I go out to the palace.” He shifts as if he is uncomfortable with what he said. “You don’t have that privilege, and my heart breaks for you and Erin and for all the rest of us who have to hide.”

“All the rest of us?” I ask.

Luke nods. “The kings that have ruled Mersailles would like you to believe that you’re alone, but it’s not true. People wear masks so they can fit in and stay safe. Can you blame them?”

“No, I guess not,” I say. Isn’t that what I am doing? Hiding. Pretending. Just trying to stay safe.

As we approach my house, the weight of our revelations bears down on us, and the feeling of utter despair is palpable. I climb out, taking the bag of ribbons from the bed of the cart.

“What will you do?” Luke asks.

I shrug. “I don’t feel like I have any choices.”

“We should look for an out,” says Luke. “And at the first opportunity, we should run. As far away as possible.”

“Do you think things are different past the towers?” I think of what might lie beyond the capital, beyond the farthest borders of Mersailles.

“Maybe. For now, just try to stay safe. That’s all either one of us can do.” He reaches out and presses a few silver coins into the palm of my hand. “Your mother feels better when she pays me for driving the cart, but I’ve told her it’s not necessary. Maybe you should keep it. Prepare for your great escape.”

I take the coins, even though I don’t think that there will be an escape. Not for Erin and me. Not for Luke or Liv or anyone else. We are all trapped here, our stories already written.

7

My mother is standing over me, nudging me out of bed.

“I’ve drawn you a bath,” she whispers. Her hands are like ice as she pulls the blankets off me. I blink repeatedly. “Get up, Sophia. We have work to do.”

I look out my bedroom window to see the sun cresting over the horizon. Against my sincerest wishes, the day of the ball has arrived, and my mother is already preparing. I slide out of bed and plant my feet on the cold wood floor. My mother shakes her head as she looks at me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing.” Her voice cracks, and she quickly looks away. “Into the tub. We don’t have much time.”

“It’s dawn,” I say. “The ball doesn’t begin for hours.” I want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

She stops in my doorway, her hand resting on the jamb. She doesn’t look at me. “We’ll be at this all day. Best to get started right now.” She disappears into the hallway.

I trudge into the washroom and bathe, stalling until the water turns cold and my fingertips wrinkle. I slip into a dressing gown my mother has left for me. Uncontrollable hopelessness sweeps over me, the feeling of hurtling off a cliff and not being able to do anything about it. I could be chosen, and my life would be only what my husband said it could be. Or I might not be chosen at all. I wonder if my parents could forfeit me so easily, the same way Louis’s parents had.