At the conclusion of the dances the decadent dinner was served. In addition to game meats swimming in creamy sauces and mountains of mashed potatoes, each table had been given a three-slotted box to deposit shiny coins for their final princess votes. What they didn't know was that the totals had been accumulated week after week, and that the count was already far too lopsided for tonight's final votes to make a difference. According to Gianni these were only small details, as he would happily collect as many coins as possible, whilst giving these nobles the illusion of control to keep the balance of the kingdom in tact.

The audience of elites was as thrilled as Gianni on this night, and it wasn't just because of the endless supply of champagne. They reveled in the pleasure of exerting their god-like power to determine whichever peasant the prince would be forced to marry. If they had their way they would decide on the number of offspring too, and give them funny names just for laughs. They had earned their current privilege with the purchase of platinum tickets to attend the royal ball, and in doing so believed they were the only ones to cast the final vote. Their desire to choose the bride was a passive-aggressive revenge for what had happened in their realm; they certainly loved how wealthy Cinderella had made their kingdom, but a lowly peasant rising to ascension in place of their noble heirs? It was a tough pill to swallow.

"Don't let him marry the sultry one," said a smarmy sweating noble. "Save her for me!" He laughed and fist-bumped an equally smarmy nobleman.

"Let's have him marry the one with the garish large hands," said another, as the entire table broke out into a chorus of laughter.

It was all fun and games in the quest to find a princess, and as Gianni watched them make a mockery of it all, he was relieved these elites wouldn't actually determine the outcome. It wasn't that Gianni was opposed to mockery since of course he was a terrible person, but there was a difference between these smarmy comments and the controlled, guided mockery that added to the overall show. Gianni was the one who possessed that control, along with the distinction of creating what was surely the greatest show on earth. As he reflected on his accomplishment he felt a little taller, and it had nothing to do with his three-inch lifts.

Despite the alluring smells of dinner, the final three contestants were not allowed to eat. Instead they'd been told to stand off to the side while the royals dined at a table by the stage.

For the first time, King Gastronso finished his meal before anyone else, despite his usual routine of consuming fifteen entrées on his own.

As he wiped his chin and glanced around, he was surrounded by nobles still elbow deep in high-cholesterol delights. He frowned as he considered how much longer they would take; what was he to do in the meantime? He struggled for an answer, as waiting for dessert was not his strong suit in the least. Deciding that this night was about his happiness above all else, he rose from the table to proceed with his life's true purpose.

"If you'll excuse me," he said.

Before anyone could ask where he was off to, he rushed to the dessert table and lovingly sighed. He rubbed his hands together in a giddy fashion, unable to wait a single second more before diving into his triple-threat dessert. He pulled an éclair from the center of the dome, and as was likely to be expected given the laws of physics, the entire thing came crashing down. The dome collapsed into the pies that had been baked into the cakes, and the whole thing transformed into a blobby mess. He shrugged and popped the entire éclair into his mouth.

"Worth it," he mumbled through a mouthful. "So worth it!"

Once the table was cleaned and the annihilated dessert table rolled away, the servants snuffed out the candles in every chandelier except the one near the stage. The result was a spotlight shining down on an empty space of floor.

A chatter of confusion echoed through the ballroom as Gianni sauntered up to the spotlight. He reveled in the power of being the only one who knew what was next. Even Fairy Godmother was clueless to what would follow, and it wasn't even because she'd been excessively drinking. The final phase was a secret just for him.

As he prepared for his ascension into the contest-hosting hall of fame, he was momentarily distracted by Fairy Godmother. She was nervously fidgeting which was certainly new, as she'd never seemed worried about anything besides trying to fake magical powers. He could only assume it was the cumulative effect of alcohol, and for that he had no mercy or concern of any kind.

"Ladies and gentleman..." he bellowed in his special showman's voice. The crowd was as quiet as he needed them to be, but he noticed it was less about curious anticipation, and more about the fact that they'd dozed off from over-eating. He gestured to a nearby servant who sounded his horn, and with a single blare they all jolted awake.

"The time has come to choose the next Cinderella," he said, "and for that we have something quite special in store." He snapped his fingers in the air. "Bring it forth, minions!"

Two servants wheeled in a large glass structure with a winding staircase and platform at the top. The audience was equally amazed and confused as to its purpose.

Bella and Josselyn looked on in anticipation, whereas Myrielle seemed eerily calm (likely due to a dead-inside dissociative state).

"Will it be a race?" said Josselyn, imagining her thundering ascent. "Maybe the first to run up the staircase gets to marry him?" She started to loosen her hips. "You'd best watch out 'cause these legs were made for runnin'!"

Bella seemed unfazed by the cardio challenge. "Those legs might be made for running now, but they won't be once I break them."

Josselyn swallowed hard and ceased her warm-up.

Once the platform was secured in place, a servant rushed off and returned a few seconds later. He was holding a shoe-sized velvet box that he immediately passed to Gianni.

Cinderella slowly shook her head. "That better not be what I think it is..."

Gianni waved the box in the air for all to see. "Announcing the next princess is a monumental thing, and we must do so in a way that is fitting of a grandiose event." He chuckled at the pun that no one else understood. "And so...let's see if the shoe fits!" He opened the box to reveal glass slippers that sparkled in the spotlight.

"Nooo!" cried Cinderella. "You cannot let peasants re-enact my tale!"

Prince Charming nudged Cinderella. "Weren't you a peasant too?"

She punched him in the arm. "You're sleeping in the guest room!" she spat.

Gianni came over to calm her down. "Have you forgotten that in your own royal ball you were wearing those shoes all night? And that the fitting ceremony was a total fabrication the guests were too drunken to confirm?"

"But they don't know that!" she roared.

"Big picture my dear," he said calmly. "The sequel will fall within the Cinderella brand...and sales for your products will continue to flourish."

She crossed her arms. "I'll need to see a year-over-year sales scroll," she said.

He nodded. "Done. Now please stop interrupting this manufactured drama!"

Just when he thought the interruptions were over, a nobleman rose from his seat and raised his arm. "Err...excuse me? How did you custom-make shoes for the winner when we only just finished voting?"

Gianni had hoped the noblemen would be too drunk to question the holes in the voting process, but professional as he was he had prepared for the possible inquiry.

He laughed and shook his head. "Come on now...would a Fairy Godmother reveal her customized-shoe-making secrets?" He winked in her direction and the audience applauded, sitting too far away from her to notice her troubled expression.

Gianni handed the box to the prince who made his way up on the platform. Once he was up there he held a shiny slipper to the crowd. "I hope you all selected a decent wife!" The audience laughed along at his playful quip, the fate of his future nothing more than a game for the noble cause of having a good time.

Gianni kicked things off by gesturing to Josselyn, the most obvious reject who needed to go first. "Go on then and try it on!"

She sprinted up to the staircase and it rocked back and forth under her weight.

"No need to run!" Gianni scolded.

She slapped herself on the forehead and laughed. "I was just so excited!"

As Gianni explained the rules of immediate elimination if the shoe did not fit, Fairy Godmother nudged Myrielle.

"Don't do it," she said urgently.

Myrielle was caught off guard. "Don't do what?"

"Go through with this. And I know you're doubting it too."

Myrielle hadn't told a soul about the prince's seedy offer of a concubine servant in exchange for a handmaid mistress, but maybe her eyes had somehow revealed her disgust. She was no doubt disturbed, but what about her family who was right here in this room and waiting for her to win? "My doubts are not a reason to throw away this chance," she finally said.

Fairy Godmother frowned. "Chance at what? No one will be proud of you if you're miserable."

Fairy Godmother's logic in conjunction with her misery was starting to affect her defenses. She inadvertently sighed, and it was all Fairy Godmother needed to hear before stuffing a scrap of scroll into Myrielle's hand.

Myrielle froze, hoping no one had seen what she'd done. "What is this?" she whispered.

"Hide it in your bust."

Myrielle shot a glance at her. "Excuse me?!"

Fairy Godmother stared straight ahead. "I said hide it in your bust."

Myrielle obeyed. "Now what?"

"Now you have a chance to find Fredrick and get him back." Myrielle's eyes widened. "But since I'm not a real fairy you'll have to do the work all by yourself."

Myrielle peered into the darkened crowd where her family was eagerly waiting. "I'm not sure I can do it," she confessed.

Fairy Godmother gestured to the platform. "Well you had better get sure before you run out of time."

Up on the platform, Josselyn removed her shoe and waved her super-sized foot in the prince's face.

The prince cringed and looked down at Gianni. "Do I really have to?" he whispered. "It's obvious it will never fit."

Gianni nodded. "I'm afraid it's the only way to make it official."

The prince took a long breath and then, with the slowest of movements, pulled Josselyn's, foot towards him with the tip of his index finger and thumb. She giggled at his touch, not realizing it was a clear attempt to minimize physical contact. He did his best to slide her foot into the slipper, but it was only halfway long enough to accommodate her massive measurements.

The prince put his hands up helplessly in defeat, and as they gasped at the result he offered Josselyn the tiniest bit of sympathy. "Well, dear Josselyn...it appears that it was not meant to be."

She went from giggly to insanely frantic in two seconds flat. "But...but...we don't even need shoes, do we?" We can go to the countryside and run barefoot holdin' hands; say you'll go." Her desperate eyes shifted back and forth. "Won't ya go?!"

The prince put the slipper back into the box as the knights rushed up the staircase to remove her from the platform.

"And back to filthy peasant life she goes!" said Gianni, sounding like a demented host of 'The Price is Right.' The audience cheered as she was heartlessly banished, now eagerly clamoring for more.

"On to the next!" cried Gianni, before pointing his finger of doom at Myrielle. "Go try that slipper!"

Myrielle clutched her chest where the life-changing scroll was hidden, knowing that her moment of truth had come...

[WRITER COMMENTARY: Well you knew I wouldn't use that book cover without the glass slipper moment right? Hope you enjoyed the little background on the Enchanted Kingdom and what they really thought of Cinderella ;-); only three chapters left, so this story will wrap up this week, eeek! Thanks for reading!]