Felderon withered like a dry husk in a drought blast.

Somehow, he excused himself from further service to the royals at Palacio de la Renada, moving like an automaton, mechanically, back onto his horse and through the gates.

How else he'd returned to the inn was a mystery to him. He remembered nothing. Couldn't tell whether he'd eaten, slept. He could not attend a King's command, though his father sent letter upon letter to the inn, commanding his compliance. Theron and Travers deserted him for the even cheeper taverns on the fringe of the country's borders.

At last, a rap against the door cracked like a thunderbolt and the prince groaned upon his bed, but the loud rapping persisted.

"Get IT! TherON!"

But the rapping only continued.

He pulled the pillow over his head. "The DOOR!"

A moment later, there was a crash and a voice spoke above him.

"They said you were a prince!"

Felderon froze at the sight of the strange figure standing over his bed. Who was this? Theron should have sent whoever it was at the door away!

Was he mad? A woman would never...he rolled his sack-of-flesh over on the cot. Then he flinched.

Few men could be so slight. The hooded person must be a woman! Then the hood of her cloak fell back, exposing her face, and it was as though the clouds dissolved away from the sun. It was her!

Then she spoke. "Why do you lie here like a sack of dry bones?"

Felderon covered his eyes and groaned. "Is it not possible that I am one?"

"Why do you not finish what was well begun?"

"Finish?"

"The entire royal family sits exposed, belly-up and half-paralyzed by their vanity and self-absorption on the viewing end of your enchanted mirror! Why have you not finished them?"

"I beg your pardon? I am, in fact, a prince—not an assassin, m'lady." Holding his head, Felderon swung his feet to the floor, but caught in the sheet, tumbled out of bed. "Ow! Ow!"

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"Are you all right?"

"No!" Felderon looked at the woman again. "Are you not one of them? I was sure you were one of them. I saw you at the palace!”

"I am Cylene, their kinsman—sort of—I shall never be one of them, believe me. I am their letter writer, their nursery maid, the butt of their jokes. I do all manner of bidding they cannot lift a finger to perform themselves—”

"Wait. Wait just a minute." Felderon pulled his shirt over his naked torso. "They are your kinsmen? They keep you in luxury? Employ you and yet you want an assassin to finish them? You're like Cinderella but without her good qualities!"

“I—“ Cylene's lovely face waxed pale. "I thought you would understand. You are a sixth prince and all over the civilized world your name is mocked! A playwright is performing your comedy in the city, mocking you every other night of the week. He will perform it abroad. You'll die a fool!”

"You witness my calumny, and you wish to trump it! I”ll die a fool, but you’ll die the snake-in-the-grass villain! Parasite and traitor to her own kin!”

"You are the one who paralyzed them with your mirror's sorcery! Excuse me for being presumptive!"

"I shall die a fool—but it will not be because of those ridiculous love letters. There's still a chance for you. Go back and help them!”

"I cannot help them. That mirror has bewitched them utterly. Nothing can be done for them. Some other prince will bring conquest upon the kingdom. They won't be able to mount up a defense. They were not much good before, but they are everlastingly worse off now."

Felderon held his head in his palms. "That is a cruel pity. I did not realize what I was doing! There must be a way to return them to their senses."

"If there is, I cannot fathom it. How came you by that mirror?"

"There is a famed magician in my home country. He gave it to me. I thought it would be a fine novelty—a mere diversion. I could not have guessed they would find it so overpowering."

"You do not know them—how the Renada family pine for beauty!”

Felderon surveyed the lovely Cylene up and down. "They prize beauty so? You should be happy among them."

"They do not prize it in me. They despise me."

"Well if you knew the truth—they would see how little cause they have for envy."

Her eyes widened. "How dare you!"

"You're welcome. The mirror you call sorcery is a mere lie. Illusion is cheap."

"I know it is illusion."

"I would show you the truth in a very different kind of mirror, but I doubt you could stomach it."

"I assure you," she rolled her eyes. "I have never met an unkind mirror."

"You do not want to see it Cinderella. I promise."

Suddenly, the bugling of a thousand trumpets shattered the quiet morning.

Felderon's knees locked and he broke his fall, catching the bed frame with his palms. Nothing short of six legions, armed and armored for war could project such a sound!

He raced to the window casement and stared. The distant horizon was a blur, but in a moment, he perceived the tiny motion of banners, rising like steam upon a lake boiling with the motion of a cavalry's charge. His throat went rigid. This was the black cavalry. His father's army. But how and—?

Felderon flinched as a high pitched scream drew his attention somewhere behind him. He glanced backward. Where? Where had she gone?

Then he saw her, gasping in slack-jawed horror at her image in the dark mirror. Felderon choked a horrified, "No!" from his throat. "Put it down!"

But too late. She had seen the void. Fingers limp, the stone mirror dropped and Cylene crumbled to the floor.