Myrielle's thoughts floated in a haze as she stood in the royal hall. The latest lily ceremony was underway, following each girl's private chat with the prince. Myrielle already knew she was through to the next round after winning the corset-removing test, so she wound up feeling a whole lotta nothing when the prince gave her the lily and made his snarky remarks.

"Thank you," she said, faking a smile for Gianni's notes but incapable of anything more.

As he moved on to the bottom three and the requisite spectacle of drama, Myrielle freed her mind to play out all the possible scenarios. She wondered what would happen if the prince accidentally died; maybe he'd be trampled by pigs, and then what? The king didn't have any other children, so would they find a replacement prince? A younger brother from the Enchanted Kingdom named Prince Charming The Second? Or maybe the king would adopt someone in-house...Her wandering gaze locked in on Fredrick who dutifully held the tray of lilies. What if the king adopted Fredrick and made him the prince instead? Wasn't he already like a surrogate son?

"Fredrick!" the king cried out from his throne. Fredrick put down the tray of lilies and rushed over to address the emergency.

The king pointed to his throne's left armrest in disdain. "Do you see that?" he said, forcing Fredrick to eye-level with the armrest. "Those are greasy fingerprints." The king had never glared at Fredrick so intensely before this moment. "Fingerprints on my throne that's meant to be pristine!"

Fredrick examined the fingerprints, followed by a careful assessment of the king's pudgy sausage fingers. "Your highness...those fingerprints were only just formed...by your own hand...and the grease is the residue from the Cornish hens at dinner."

The king stared long and hard at his oily fingers. He was puzzled by the armrest ugliness of his own making, and reacted the only way he knew how. "Fetch a cloth and wipe it clean then!" He shooed away Fredrick angrily and leaned towards the queen. "Never trust a servant..." He scoffed. "Am I right or am I right?"

The queen stared straight ahead. "Napkins aren't just food bibs, dear; remember that for next time."

He brushed her off and gestured to the prince to carry on.

As Myrielle watched Fredrick race back to the king with a fresh cloth, she realized he probably wasn't surrogate son material after all. She clutched her lily tight and sighed, accepting that the horrid prince was the only hope she had to change her life...

***

A simple rectangular room had been Fredrick's home for years, with a single bed, a stack of books piled neatly on the floor, and a desk for writing letters to his family.

He had just returned after another seemingly endless day, and the first thing he did was pull off his servant's coat. He could've tossed it onto the ground but he hung it neatly behind the door, an influence of the day job no doubt. The thin cotton shirt he wore underneath his coat revealed a lean upper body you could rely on for a solid cuddle. It seemed that Fredrick had been holding out on the world, hiding his runner's frame and muscular arms. Having spent so little time around women in the castle, he was barely aware of his seven-percent body fat delights. He also didn't have a mirror in his room.

He sat at his desk and finished the last few lines of a letter to his family. Once he was done he sealed it and put it in a box that was already filled with candied fruit and every coin he'd saved in the last three weeks.

He left the box on the desk and collapsed onto the bed, remembering his stolen moments in the garden with Myrielle. He touched his cheek where she'd kissed him and felt a mixture of amazement and defeat. He wanted nothing more than for her to lose the contest, and if she did maybe he would get the courage to leave the servant world. Maybe then they could run away together and start a whole new life, except...what would his family do without his help? He glanced at the box and knew he had to stay, at least until the kingdom's fortunes turned around.

"But how long will that take?" he wondered aloud. And where would Myrielle be by then? Would she even remember him? And what if...what if she actually won this contest and ended up marrying the prince?

He refused to vocalize any of those thoughts, and clutched his seven-percent body fat stomach in distress...

***

It was early morning in the tailor shop, and Rose had fallen asleep at her desk. She was surrounded by piles of lace and satin, which were a part of her next assignment to complete eight dresses that were distinctive and unique.

At Peter's insistence she'd sent a message to Gianni urgently requesting assistance, but until now she hadn't heard a thing. The stress of it all had left her passed out and drooling in the early hours of the morning.

That is until she heard three knocks on the door.

She jumped from her chair and hurried to the door, hoping upon hope that Fairy Godmother had been summoned, and would use her magical powers to fix this problem. Would she put a spell on bluebirds so they could serve as her special helpers? She'd done it for Cinderella hadn't she? So why couldn't she offer her some sewing animals too?

She opened the door to find Fairy Godmother as she'd hoped, only she was shielding her eyes from the sun and grimacing in a pained manner.

"Get me out of this light," she muttered. She stepped inside and plopped into the nearest chair.

"Fairy Godmother?" said Rose. "Did Gianni inform you of my need for special assistance? Because with eight more dresses and all these embellishments..." Her eyes began to water. "Please say you've come to save me."

Fairy Godmother suddenly remembered why she was there, and as she looked into Rose's desperate eyes, she realized just how seriously people were taking this 'Fairy Godmother' thing. "Right...of course." It made her uncomfortable to be relied on by anyone, especially since the last time when things had gone so awry. She waddled back to the door and poked her head out. "Come on in!"

Rose's helpers filed in one by one, and they happened to be...children. Eight children. Eight children under the age of ten. They lined up like an army of dutiful laborers, whispering in excitement at their special royal assignment.

Rose scratched her head. "Children?" She thought of Emilia and Thomas who had already been pushed to the brink. "More children?"

The sound of voices must've stirred Thomas awake as he sprinted down the stairs in his nightshirt.

"Is this the staff?" he said excitedly.

Rose slowly nodded.

He grinned. "Then I shall be their manager." He snapped his fingers and led them to his mother's work desk. "Obey my commands and we shouldn't have any problems."

As Rose watched her business turn into a sweatshop with her son already drunk on authoritarian power, she could only hope that this moral grey area would help her eldest daughter rise to the top...

***

The next afternoon, in one of the royal gardens surrounded by bushes in bloom, eight contestants in lovely summer dresses posed for eight focused artists.

The artists were busy painting portraits under the watchful eyes of Gianni and Fairy Godmother.

"Hmm..." said Gianni, clearly unsatisfied with their efforts. "Bella's eyes are actually a different blue; like the blue of the sea in mid summer." His comments were an obvious ploy to increase his 'bonus coin winning' odds, by having his show pony immortalized as the greatest beauty.

Fairy Godmother was well aware of his tactics and matched him at every turn. The only difference was that her approach was a little more aggressive.

She circled Myrielle's artist like a hyena moving in for the kill. "Do you find it challenging to paint with your head lodged so far up your arse?"

The artist dropped his paintbrush in fear. "Is there...a problem?"

She pointed to the work-in-progress painting. "The problem is her bosom's a lot bigger than that." She gestured to Myrielle. "Arch your back more."

Myrielle arched her back to the point of true discomfort. Was this really the state of her life now? If a month ago someone had told her she'd be pushing out her chest as she posed for a painting in the royal garden in an effort to marry the prince...she would've laughed until she cried. And yet somehow there was nothing funny about this moment. She took a deep breath and decided to grit it out, determined to stay focused on the only goal that mattered.

At the artists continued to create their masterpieces, Gianni glanced up at the sunny sky. "High noon already?" For the first time in this entire contest he seemed a little nervous. "Let's skip the extra layers of color."

The row of artists collectively frowned. "Skip layers?" one of them said. "But this is art."

Gianni rolled his eyes. "I'm certain that your work will be stellar with or without the added shades, but if this doesn't dry by evening we might experience our first...delay." The word alone was like poison in his mouth, and he refused to give it another thought. Before he could calm the unwelcome anxiety a servant rushed up to him with urgent news.

Whatever he whispered in Gianni's ear was not what he'd been expecting. "Right now?" said Gianni, looking utterly confused. "But I thought she was joining us for afternoon tea..."

The servant shook his head. "I am told ten minutes is all the time she has."

As soon as the servant said the words, a pumpkin-shaped carriage in gold and turquoise rolled up from around the corner. The contestants gasped when the carriage halted at the edge of the garden path.

The coachman opened the carriage door, and a glass-slippered foot emerged.

It was the legend Cinderella right here in the flesh, and with her presence two worlds would officially collide...[WRITER COMMENTARY: Cinderella has arrived!! Is there any more to say?! Stay tuned for the next chapter coming to your Wattpad screens tomorrow, ahhhh!]