Glass Slippers
Chapter Two
Nearly a month had passed since I’d fulfilled my glass swan request. Yet despite completing it on time, no further orders had come in. At least none that requested me by name. Perhaps it hadn’t been up to their standards. Perhaps word had somehow gotten out about my being a woman? No. The guards would have visited if so. But it had been unusually quiet the last few weeks. Until this morning.
The tring of the bell jolted me from my work in the smithy. I leapt up to peek out the curtain and into the shop to see who’d entered. Mama was waiting behind the counter as usual, but her eyes bulged. I followed her line of sight and my mouth went dry. It wasn’t just any normal customer strolling around our small shop, casting a critical eye over everything on display. It was the prince himself.
But why would the prince come here?
“Good morning, Madame,” he said stiffly, as though holding his breath.
I stiffed the air. I guess it was a little stuffy, thick with a smoky chemical scent most people weren’t used to as we were.
“Your Highness, what an honor,” Mama said, seemingly frozen behind the counter. “I’m Josephine Renard, pleasure to be of service. What brings you to our humble shop?”
It was a real question, not just one to appear modest. The palace had its own live-in blacksmith. There truly was no reason he should be here.
“Why, your glass work of course. I wish to speak with the man who crafted the swan.” He wore a crisp cornflower blue coat, trimmed with gold thread to match his gold waistcoat. Silky blond hair swept across his brow giving him a casual look which contrasted with his critical brow and pursed lips. The prince wasn’t often seen outside the palace, let alone ever seen visiting a shop personally.
“The swan? Oh yes, for Monsieur Gaudart.”
The prince nodded curtly. “Monsieur Gaudart commissioned that swan for my ball. I’ve never seen its equal.” He spun to face her, his expression suddenly softer. “I assume that was your talented husband. I would love to speak with him.”
No one had come in to the shop to speak with me directly. We hadn’t discussed what our strategy was should the occasion arise. It was fine for “Elle” the glass worker to exist in theory, to take orders, to be the invisible glass worker, but to speak with customers face-to-face was too risky. Especially when it was the prince himself coming for a closer look.
Mama’s eyes flicked to the smithy. “Yes, my husband, Arthur.”
“Your Highness!” Papa boomed, slipping past me and giving me a little push to ensure I was hidden behind the dividing curtain. “What a welcome surprise. How can we be of service?”
The prince resumed perusing the shop, hands clasped behind his back. His analytical eye seemed to dissect each glass piece before finally finding my father. “Sir. I understand you are the hand behind my swan.”
Papa forced an awkward smile and jutted his chest proudly, “You know it?”
“I know it,” the prince smiled and crossed his arms across his chest. “And I felt compelled to discover & meet the artist. You’re Elle?” His eye fell to my father’s gnarled hands and he frowned. “Hmm,” he said, pinching his chin with his thumb and index finger. “Those aren’t exactly the hands I’d have imagined capable of such fine work.”
Papa tried to laugh, but I heard the discomfort in it. “You’d be surprised, young man. I’ve been in this line of work for over forty-five years. My father was a blacksmith and glass worker as well.”
The prince seemed to ignore my Papa, gingerly picked up one of my glass miniatures, a tiny cat. “Tell me, how do you get them so exact?”
As my Papa began to lie, the prince continued to move about the shop, turning over the glass cat in the light, until he’d stopped just in front of me. Only the thin curtain separated us. Why had I been so arrogant as to watch? I should be hiding in the back of the smithy.
I held my breath but before I knew what was happening the prince had reached in a hand, clasped my wrist and yanked me out into the shop.
“And who do we have here?”
I cast my eyes to the floor and turned it into a bow. “Your Highness, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to spy.”
I cannot see the look on the prince’s face, but I hear the surprise in his voice. “Well, well, and what is your role impudent boy?”
“I am my master’s assistant.”
The prince snatches one of my hands and holds it up for all to see. They are smudged with soot, calloused and scared, but still delicate, small, woman’s hands. My heart-rate quickens.
“Now these hands, I would believe.”
Knowing it was foolish, but fear taking over, I yank my hand out of his and force a fake chuckle. “You flatter me, Your Highness. But I merely assist.” I turn to return to the safety of the smithy when the shattering of glass behind me has me spinning on my heel. The glass cat lay in pieces on the floor.
“Ah,” the prince says, taking in the look of disappointment on my face. His eyes flick between my parents. “Only the true artist would be so pained to see their work destroyed.”
I try to speak, but the prince holds up a hand. “Please, don’t bother continuing this charade. Your age shouldn’t have you cowering in fear, boy. You’ve got talent, why not claim it?”
My throat feels dry as ash but I attempt to swallow, my eyes darting from my parents to the prince to the shattered glass. I feel unable to meet his eye.
He chuckles innocently. “I’m so sorry to have broken your beautiful cat. But I knew you wouldn’t tell me directly.” He snatches up one of my hands again, observing it, rubbing his thumb over my fingers. I ache to pull back my hand, my tool, but dare not. I wonder if he can feel my racing pulse through my fingers
“Unless it’s not your age you fear being discovered.”
Fear clutched my spine and my eyes widened, but I didn’t dare move. I forbid myself from meeting his eye. My parents hadn’t spoken. The moment we’d all feared was upon us. I was discovered. By the prince, of all people.
“Don’t be frightened girl, I have no intention of turning you in.”
I flicked my eyes up to meet his and he smiles warmly, caressing my hand again. He lifts it to his lips and kisses it softly.
“You don’t?” I squeak, feeling suddenly lightheaded.
“And why is that?” Papa stepped forward, face contorted with confusion and anxiety. “We’re breaking the law, aren’t we?”
The prince looked over his shoulder and laughed heartily. “Because your daughter is an artist!” he said with a flourish of his hand. “So it is lucky that I found her,” he said turning back to me, “before she was discovered.”
My belly did a flip. He still hadn’t released my hand.
“You shall come to work for me at the palace. Where you’ll be safe.”
The prince’s words hung in the air like the smoke I was so familiar with. He couldn’t be serious. Me? Work at the palace?
“Your Highness,” Mama said finally, her voice cracking. “Surely you would prefer a professional. My daughter is still a novice. And to expose her as a woman, not everyone would be so accepting.”
The prince’s smile flattened and his eyes went cold as he took in my mother. “I think what you mean to say is ‘Thank you, Your Highness. My daughter is in great need of a benefactor.’”
Mama swallowed and let her eyes fall, her posture shrinking.
The prince turned back to me. “I can make all your dreams come true.” His grip tightened around my hand. “What is your real name?”
It was everything in me to not look to my parents for guidance. Did I tell the truth? “Eleanor,” I finally said, seeing no alternative.
“Eleanor,” he said, tasting the name a few times. “Elle. Eleanor. Risky taking on orders as a woman, isn’t it? Even if you did give yourself a new name.”
I nodded, dropping my gaze to his shiny boots. “I merely wanted to practice my craft, that’s all.”
He laughed again. “Well that’s just endearing. Sweet young Eleanor, pretending to be a boy.” He picked up another glass figurine. “Risking your freedom, your parent’s freedom, all to play with glass?”
His assessment cut deep. I knew I was risking everyone’s safety. Women were forbidden by law from working the forge. Even mama’s stained glass work was done in secret. There were many professions in which a woman was forbidden from entering, from medicine to carpentry. If I’d been a boy I’d have been part of a guild by now. Instead, I practiced my craft in secret, guided only by my parents.
“She’s not playing, I can assure you,” Papa said. “I wouldn’t take the risk if it weren’t worth it. My Eleanor’s got a gift.” He stepped closer to us, his shoulders back and chin held high. “As you have observed, Your Highness.”
Papa’s words sent warmth through my body, chasing away the cold the prince had caused. Oh Papa.
The prince grinned, seemingly satisfied with the answer he received. “Indeed I have.” He turned back to me and allowed his eyes to dip down to my chest for a moment before returning to my face. “You are gifted, that cannot be denied. And it is why I’m here today, why I request you come work for me.”
Before my parents could speak, the prince held up his hand to them, his eyes never leaving mine. “I would have Eleanor speak for herself. Surely she is old enough to decide between working for the King in her own smithy, her work finally appreciated, and living in secret, a law breaker, her family’s livelihood always in jeopardy.”
Again, my stomach somersaulted. This was no invitation, it was a threat. And yet…the idea of no longer hiding behind a curtain, of pretending to be a boy, of having my own smithy stirred a desire in me I’d never before felt. This had never been an option. I’d resigned myself to a half-life.
“Your Highness, I thank you for your offer,” I said, hating the words that would come next. “But I’m afraid I must decline. My family relies on my work. But if you request something specific, I’d be honored to fill it.”
Still holding my hand, he pulled me close to him, fingers tightening around mine. “I request you come work for me. Is that not specific enough?”
The polished, velvety scent of bergamot orange and sandalwood filled my nostrils and my cheeks warmed at the closeness of his face to mine, his eyes holding my focus. I’m sure he sensed my terror.
“Your prince has recognized your work. This is a great honor. To deny me is to deny the Crown. Not to mention your being a woman and a practicing artisan is reason enough to have you spend the rest of your beautiful days behind bars.” He smiled, as though not describing my suffering with ease. His other hand reached to my face and curled a finger around one of my red curls.
Instinctively I turned my head, and his thumb caressed the top of my fingers as he chuckled.
“You are too innocent, too pure for that. Prison is designed for men, my sweet, not for young women with such talent as yourself.” He turned to face my parents, swooping an arm out in their direction. “And what of your poor parents, Eleanor? Wouldn’t you provide better for them working for me?”
I looked at my parents who were both shaking their heads, but their eyes held fear, uncertainty.
He pulled my attention from my parents. “And don’t you want to be recognized for your craft? Do you want Elle to take the credit forever while you toil behind the curtain? Well, until you’re discovered, that is.”
“He’s right, Ella,” Mama piped up before my father shushed her. “Shh yourself.” She turned back to me, “His Highness is offering you more recognition than you’d ever have with us, honey. You would be known throughout the kingdom. You’d be safe to work the forge.”
“Mama,” I started but it was my father that spoke instead.
“If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to.” He looked to me, “Let’s give it some thought okay?”
The prince laughed and finally dropped my hand. “Oh you peasants are delightful in your assumed freedom. If I want you,” he turned sharply to me. “I will have you.”
“Your Highness,” I began. His smile widened, as though he loved the word coming out of my mouth. “I thank you for your offer, you honor me and my family. But I do not think palace life would suit me.”
The prince chuckled and bent to examine one of my figurines. “But prison life would?” He shook his head, still smiling, like I was some fun riddle to be solved. “I rarely find myself surprised by people. Though I’m also rarely denied by people.” His eyes scanned my face, hovering over every feature from eyebrow to lip. “I don’t take rejection well.”
“Apologies, Your Highness,” I said with a curtsy, which felt strange as I usually bowed. “I mean no offense. But my family needs me.”
“Well,” he said, turning his focus back to the whole room and allowing space between us. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Renard family. I will send word when I require another astounding piece.” He swept low into a bow, then straightened, held my gaze a moment, then spun on his heel and left the shop.
A burst of breath I’d apparently been holding in my chest burst free. I noticed the gooseflesh on my arms, how my hands were shaking and cold, how warm my face was. And another strange sensation just below my stomach, the same feeling I got when I was around Leo. I shook in place, ridding myself of it all. It was over. He was gone.
My parents had come together in huddled talking as they did when they tried to quietly fight. I pretended not to hear. I also pretended I didn’t feel a guilt-soaked twinge of regret. Finally, I’d been noticed. And not just by anyone. By the prince. By the crown. And somehow, it had been okay I was a woman.
Or it wasn’t? My high crashed. It was a threat, wasn’t it? Would he have me imprisoned now? Or was he merely warning me of the risk I took everyday?
My parents yelling grew louder, harder to ignore. I cleared my throat and they both fell silent.
“So, that was strange,” I tried, offering a dumb smile.
My mother simply sighed, briefly looked at me, and went to the back of the shop and into our home. My heart sank. Mama always talked about how unfair it was that I had to hide the fact that I was a woman. She’d never tried glass work herself, she’d just done the staining, which her father had allowed her to help with too. But it, too, had been in secret, her father saying she was adding the “womanly touch” or something and she’d been excused as an assistant, never an actual craftsman. And her designs were magnificent.
But I’d wanted to craft. To shape something into whatever I pictured in my head. Once Papa had found me one night having sneaked in to try, nearly climbing into the hot forge, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep me away. He’d needed an assistant anyway, seeing as that was his whole purpose in picking up an urchin like me. Why couldn’t I still be the assistant? We both would get what we wanted.
And so for ten years, that’s how it had been. And it had been enough for me. But for Mama…Selling my work in the shop and hearing the customers praise their invisible boy assistant “Elle” got to be too much for her sometimes. This was my shot at not only coming out of hiding but actually getting truly recognized and compensated for my work. And I’d turned it down.
I wasn’t exactly sure why I refused. Perhaps it was simply a lack of confidence. Why would he want me? What would he ask me to make? Perhaps it was the question of freedom? Would I be able to craft what I wanted or only what he tasked me with? At home…I could make anything I wanted. I could practice, I could make mistakes. Would the prince tolerate four broken swans before he got his perfect swan? Perhaps it just came down to fear. I’d never been on my own. I didn’t know anyone at the palace. I didn’t know the prince. And from the one encounter I’d had, my gut told me to stay away from him.
I reached out to touch Papa’s arm. He smiled helplessly, and patted my hand.
But my choice now meant I’d risked imprisonment. I could see the pain in my father’s eyes. Where I’d hoped to find certainty, I found none. Perhaps even he wasn’t sure of the right decision.
“I should have asked for time to think about it,” I blurted, wondering how I truly felt about the statement. “Do you think? What should I have said?”
Papa sighed, as though I’d asked him once again about the origin of babies. “Ella, my dear. He was the prince.”
“I know but—”
“He’s the prince,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean he should get whatever he wants.”
My heart lifted and my throat tightened with emotion. I threw my arms around his torso, resting my head on his broad shoulder. “Thank you, Papa,” I whispered in his ear before kissing his stubbled cheek.
He squeezed me back. “Now we need to convince your mother it was a good decision,” he chuckled. “She just wants the best for you, Sweet Pea. We all do. It’s hard when everyone has a different vision of what that looks like.”
“Papa,” I held his arm to prevent him from leaving. “Do you think he’ll expose me as a woman? Send the guards for me?”
My father’s eyes darkened, as though he internally went somewhere else for the briefest of moments. He blinked himself back and forced a smile. He patted my hand gripping his sleeve. “Oh no honey, I doubt that. He seemed a bit taken with you, so I doubt he’d want to harm you. It was a baseless threat he hoped would work. He’s not used to being told no.” He widened his smile. “My daughter was likely the first.”
I tried to match his optimism, his smile. But my storm of emotions and physical reactions hadn’t quite cooled, and instead my gut seemed to be beating along with my heart. This wasn’t over.