The royal ball was just a few days away, which meant double-duty at the tailor shop to finish the lavish clothing by the deadline. There were no little blue birds or magical mice to work on the seams, but the children hired to be Rose's assistants were proving their usefulness in spades. Their tiny little hands were perfect for sewing on glittery embroidery, while their arms were so resilient they could hold up a piece of fabric for hours if need be. They did occasionally need to be fed in accordance with the kingdom's child labor laws, but with ravenous appetites they'd lick their plates clean and return to their stations in a speedy ten minutes or less.

Thomas had taken on a leadership role in managing the minion assistants, and even though Rose had concerns about him wielding a wooden stick as a tool of intimidation, as long as two gowns were completed by their hands she did her best not to worry about the details.

"No beatings," she vaguely said when she heard too much screaming.

The reason the children had to finish two gowns was so that Rose could focus on one. Hers was the gown that would turn all the heads, and this special gown could only be worn by one person.

In keeping with the contest rules, Rose wasn't aware of any specific developments, except for the fact that her daughter was still at the castle and had made it to the final three. Rose couldn't help but feel emotional when she realized her daughter would attend the royal ball, and even though she'd been told to make three gowns of equal magnificence, it was too vague a rule to properly enforce. She hadn't received detailed measurements apart from each girl's waist size and height, but it was all that was necessary to wield her power in deciding which contestant wore which gown. Josselyn was the tall one so that was easy, but Myrielle and Bella were similar in height. The difference was that Bella had a tiny waist, and Myrielle had a normal more sturdy shape that characterized the average healthy woman. It was nothing that a corset couldn't squeeze away, but there was no possibility of Myrielle fitting her body into Bella's gown.

Which would precisely be the difference between magnificent and 'meh.'

It might not have been the fair thing to do, but if mothers couldn't give their daughters special treatment, then what sort of world were they living in? Nepotism was alive and well in the year fifteen hundred and something, and as Rose added each shimmery detail to Myrielle's gown, she prayed that it would hypnotize the prince and make him choose her as his princess...

***

The big day had finally arrived.

Not unlike the afternoon when the contest had first been announced, the Enraptured Kingdom's struggling town square had been revitalized once again. The only difference now was that it was more; more ribbons, more flowers, more food stalls, more everything! (But fewer rat carcasses, which were swept into darkened corners so no one could see)

The peasants would spend the evening reveling and rejoicing in the square, as there was zero possibility of being invited to the ball, and zero possibility of forming a crowd outside the castle. The second part was impossible because the queen would never allow that many peasants in close proximity to her home. She took every precaution to spare herself from typical peasant illnesses, and even the contestants had been triple de-loused before getting anywhere near the point of sharing her high-end oxygen.

As the peasants would entertain themselves partying in the square, at some time after midnight, the castle would send word of the final results. From that moment on the peasants' lives would change forever. Or so had been the political promise drilled into their heads for weeks...

High up the hill and inside the castle, the promise was more concrete. Choose the right princess, escape your horrid debt. It was the promise Queen Enevere repeated to herself as she added the finishing touches to her outfit for the night. She was dressed in gold and shimmering blue, making for the most incredible gown she'd ever worn as the queen.

She opened a drawer and found the most stunning jewelry to match, jewels she was no longer forced to humbly hide, as tonight the debt would finally be gone and she could return to spending coin as she pleased. She knew that some of the coin would have to go to the peasants to create a better image of prosperity, but how much did they even need? Enough to buy some fruit? She envisioned the various shopping trips at exotic locales in her future, but her daydream was interrupted when the king came waddling in at stress-level 'high alert.'

"I'm not sure if it's going to work," he said shaking his head. "I just don't know." He hopped onto the bed and laid out his pudgy body in the starfish pose. "What if it all falls apart?"

The queen reluctantly made her way over to the bed. She patted him on the leg in the only act of sympathy she could manage. "Everything will work out fine; we've almost reached the end which means the debt is almost gone. So please darling, smile." She demonstrated her best example of a smile, which was ninety-five percent thin-lipped indifference. "See how easy it is?"

The king sat up abruptly and frowned. "I'm not talking about the contest! I'm talking about the most magnificent dessert that has ever been made and that's meant to be the true star of the contest."

The queen could hardly believe she'd married this food-obsessed excuse for a man. Then again his food fixation allowed her to spend more coin on fashion than any other queen before her. "I'm sure this extremely important dessert will be fine."

He leapt out of bed. "Fine? Fine? Fine is not good enough to impress by B-F-F King Edward!" He abruptly ran off. "You just don't understand!" he cried.

The queen watched him rush out of the chamber and scurry down the corridor, cursing the day when two grown men had decided to wear matching amulets...

***

The prince was in a far less dramatic mood than his father, admiring himself in the mirror as he placed his crown atop his head. His jawline was looking extra angled and his blond hair extra feathered, but only after he'd cornered Fredrick in the dungeon, demanding he outline every step in his customized hair treatments. Fredrick had been more than willing to pass on the instructions to his servant successor, which came as no surprise since Fredrick had always been known for his obedience. The only exception was of course his poor decision to prioritize a peasant over his duty to the crown. The memory of betrayal still made the prince sneer, as he struggled to understand how someone could put duty before feelings. Did people really feel things that strongly? Was that a thing?

He didn't have time to figure it out with Prince Charming a.k.a. Bartholomew on his way, so he dabbed some castor oil on his lips for extra shine, pinched his cheeks for some rosiness, and left the chamber to begin his night as the one true star of the royal ball...

***

As the sun began to set on the biggest day of his life, Gianni scrambled to dress himself and make it to the ballroom in time. As he stood there in his underclothes without his customized overcoat designed to form a sturdy frame, he now showed his true colors as a frail little man. He stuffed thick shoulder pads into his jacket to broaden his torso, and placed rubber lifts into his shoes for a three-inch boost. Once that was done he added curvaceous calf inserts into the lining of his tights, creating the illusion of muscular legs.

After putting on the outfit he was a whole new man, but he still hadn't added the final flourish. He took a small box from his dresser and opened it to reveal a set of teeth. He inserted the dentures into his danky rat-hole mouth and the illusion was complete; a young, tall and muscular author. It was this heavily-enhanced man who would host the royal ball to end all balls, cementing his reputation as the superstar writer across the seven lands....

***

Fairy Godmother should've been dressing herself like the others, but instead she was wandering the castle corridors in her typical dirty cloak. Each time she would pass one of the guards, she would purposely stumble around so they'd ignore her. Her stumbles were a familiar sight around the castle, so they simply chalked it up to a typical night when she'd been hitting the bottle. What they didn't see was the scroll she would periodically pull out of her cloak, or how she scribbled down little notes as she made her way deeper into the castle.

Fairy Godmother wasn't the superstar writer who ruled the seven lands, but for once she had a specific plan that would accomplish a world of good. It was a daring idea born out of sober inspiration, and the only way it would ever work was if a very specific person took the reins...

[WRITER'S COMMENTARY: What's a fairytale without a royal ball? ;-) Most of the final chapters will focus on this monumental occasion; hope you enjoy them!]