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I am in the foyer scrubbing the floor while my stepmother and stepsisters are out shopping when the knocker interrupts. I frown in confusion. Who could be visiting at this hour? It is near lunch so most people are eating. The knocks sound again and I shrug.

"Coming!" I call as I throw the rag into the wash bucket. I cross the slick floor to the door and open it. "Yes?"

There is a royal messenger on the doorstep. His silken red coat glistens spotlessly in the sun. His hair is crisply cut and perfectly done.

"May I help you?" I ask. I cannot imagine why he is here.

"A message from their majesties. In one month's time, their majesties will throw three ball to welcome the prince back from his travels. They request the presence of all eligible young ladies at the balls," he announces. He extends a snow white invitation with the royal seal on it.

"Thank you," I reply as I take the fine paper. "I will give this to my stepmother."

"How many of women live in this house?" he asks, obviously surprised.

"Four, counting myself," I blurt out and drop the invitation as I cover my mouth with my hands. It couldn't be! The other me only comes out after sunset! But that was she who said that, not me! What was happening?!

"I see." The messenger hands me three more invitations. "One for each lady." Then he clicks his polished heels and returns to his party. He mounts and they leave.

I pick up the soiled invitation and close the door. I numbly walk to the small table by the door and place the three perfect invitations on it. I walk to the stairs and sit down. I stare at my invitation.

"It can't be." I smooth my curls away from my face. I brush at my skirt with one hand. I lick my lips. The red wax seal laughs at me, daring me to open it. Even though I have no right to this invitation. It's for the ladies who aren't servants. I'm a servant. The king and queen don't want me there. But I have it.

I purse my lips and break the seal. I pause. I shake my head. There's no going back. My other self takes over and she smiles. She flips the note open and reads it aloud.

"Their royal majesties, George Paul Hunter and Gertrude Hermoine Augusta, cordially request your presence at three balls on the 11th, 12th, and 13th of October of the year of our Lord 1260 to help them celebrate the return of their son Prince Gregory James Charles from his sojourn in the Holy Land."

My tongue goes still as I realize what this means. I'm expected at the balls. They expect me, Cindy, at the three balls. I read on.

"The prince will choose his bride at the end of the third ball.

"If I go to the ball, I could meet him." My eyes flash to the portrait of him at the top of the stairs. His kind grey eyes rest on me and I drink in his perfect face framed by beautiful dark curls. "He might choose me as his bride. I could marry him and leave all this behind."

I stand and twirl across the floor. I can finally meet him. At the ball, I will be dressed beautifully. I'll be a princess. I won't look like a servant. I'll be the equal of any of the other girls there. I dance across the hall.

Only a month. That is how long I have to wait.

I'm pulled from my thoughts at the sound of a carriage in the court. I stuff my invitation into my apron and begin to scrub again. But I stop and touch the pocket where my invitation is.

"What have I done?" I whisper.