“You are a monster. Cinderella knew it. She saw right through you.”

“How would you know what Cinderella thought of me?”

“You think you’re the only one who can come back from the dead?”

His face changes. Behind the decaying flesh, there is confusion. “Mother.” He shakes his head, and another chunk of his neck falls away. “So it seems she was playing both sides. I wonder whose side she was on in the end?”

He closes the gap between us in the blink of an eye, and I scream as he wraps me in a grip that is stronger than it should be. I raise my hand to stab him with the dagger, but he grasps my wrist, folding my arm and the dagger between us. The smell wafting off him hits the back of my throat. Rotted flesh and human waste. I fight to keep myself from gagging as he glowers down at me.

He releases me for a moment to run his hand over the side of my face. I slap it away as hard as I can. A piece of his index finger splinters off like a twig and lands on the floor.

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” I say.

“The spell is broken,” he says. “But make no mistake. I am taking you with me.”

He grips my face between his decaying hands, pressing his putrid mouth over mine once again. Pain erupts in my chest, and the light smolders between us. It grows brighter as I close my eyes. This is exactly what I’d seen in my vision. It’s coming to pass, and I can’t stop it. Is that what it was? Not a warning but a revelation, a glimpse of what would happen no matter what I did? I fall back into a dark, desolate place.

I’m dying. My thoughts ring out as if I’d spoken aloud. Constance’s face appears in front of me, and I want to tell her how much she means to me. I see Erin, her face bruised and broken, Amina’s lifeless body on the floor of the ballroom, and Luke’s skeletal frame. I hear Constance’s voice in my head pleading with me to come back to her. I don’t want to fall into the void. Suddenly bells begin to toll somewhere in the distance. It is midnight. And then, my own voice echoes in my head again, I am not ready to die.

My eyes snap open, and I see the king, his eyes closed into slits, only the bloodshot whites showing. The bells toll, loud and clear. I focus on the translucent tunnel of light between us. This has to be the channel Cinderella spoke of in her journal. It snakes down his open throat and into his chest where a white-hot ball of light sits pulsing, flickering on and off as if it is struggling to stay alight. This is what Amina’s spell has been protecting, the source of his power.

He squeezes me tighter, desperately trying to feed the light in his chest, but it’s futile. He’ll die, but I will too if I can’t find a way to stop him. I grip Cinderella’s dagger, feeling the outline of the stone in the handle. The crystal suddenly grows bright, and I’m awash in a pale pink haze that surrounds only me, severing the tunnel of light between us. I step back, still clutching the dagger, as the king falls to his knees.

The clock begins its final toll, and the enchanted dress Amina had provided melts away in a wash of silver and starlight. The soft slippers disappear from my feet, my hair hangs around my face, and I am left in the tunic and trousers Constance had given me. I am left just as I am, and after all this time, I know it is enough.

I gather myself as Manford sputters, swiping at me, and lift my arm to bring Cinderella’s dagger, my dagger, straight down into his chest, right where I imagine the light is sitting. I lean on it with all my weight and look directly into his wild, searching eyes.

“For Liv,” I say. “For Lille. For Cinderella.”

Bright, hot, and crimson like a heatless flame, the light in his chest erupts out of his mouth and engulfs the king’s entire head as he rears back, his hands clutching wildly at the air. A sound escapes his throat, the cries of a dying animal. What is left of his skin begins to shrivel and crack like burned paper. The crimson cloud dims, and the king’s body shrinks down until it resembles a human-shaped cocoon of white ash.

I feel like I’m floating, like my head is no longer sitting properly on my shoulders. I steady myself and take the torch from its holder on the wall. I plunge it into the pile of dust that had once been the king of Mersailles.

The flames render the ash weightless, and it floats on the air as the fire spreads to the wooden chair the guard had been sitting in. The flames climb up until they engulf the wooden beams running across the ceiling. The embers from the burning structure find the piles of straw in the cells and set them alight. I run up the short flight of stairs and out into the rear courtyard, panting, my vision still blurred, my heart still racing.

The girls in the other cells, the ones on the upper floor.

A rush of panic washes over me. I drag my heavy limbs through the now-abandoned courtyard to the side of the castle where the cells are hidden. The flames from the fire paint the darkened sky orange. It’s burning quickly and spreading fast.

They will burn to death if I don’t get them out.

I run to the little door I’d escaped from during the ball. My head begins to clear, and I remember I had the keys in the folds of my dress before the enchantment wore off. I frantically search my pockets and find them safely tucked away. I pull them out and fumble with the lock. None of the dozens of keys seem to fit.

Constance, where are you?

My hands are unsteady, and the sky grows brighter with each wasted second. I pause for a moment and then back up enough to get a running start. I have to knock the damn thing down.

I rush forward, shoving my shoulder into the wooden door. It breaks from the frame, and I kick it the rest of the way in. Inside the passageway, I can smell smoke, though the flames have not yet reached the hall. I bang on each of the cell doors.

“Hello! Just hang on! I’m going to get you out!”

Coughs and pleas for help ring out as a thick black haze penetrates the confines of the hallway. I’m running out of time. They are running out of time. I go to the cell next to the one I’d been held in and try each key until finally one fits, and the lock pops open. I push the door in to find a woman standing in the far corner. Her long brown hair hangs around her face, two streaks of white at her temples. She comes forward, sputtering as the smoke fills the cell. I put my arm around her waist, and we hobble out into the hallway.

“Where is the king?” she asks, searching the hall frantically.

“He’s dead,” I say. Even in the haze of smoke, I can see the astonishment in her eyes.

“You’ve done it?” she asks, tears filling her eyes. “You’ve done it!”

“You need to get out of here.” I still need to unlock the other doors, and smoke is starting to stream into the hallway. I guide her to the door, and she falls onto the snow-covered ground. I take a swallow of fresh air and duck back inside to open the other doors.

Excitement begins to mount. The king is dead, I can free his prisoners, and maybe things can be different in Lille. One by one, the girls emerge, and I rush them outside. My head swims as I approach the last door. I can no longer see the lock in my hands, so thick is the smoke. I fit the key in by feeling where the opening is, and as the last girl stumbles out, the smoke overtakes me.

I fall to the floor of the servants’ passage; a thick cloud of black smoke lies over me like a blanket. My lungs burn, and my eyes water. I can’t move, so I close my eyes. All I can think of is Constance. I see her face in the darkness as I give in to the falling, sinking feeling. Manford is dead. The people will be free, but there will be no escape for me.