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Elliot	By : Lollers Category: +1 through F > Cinderella (Disney) > Cinderella (Disney) Views: 3792 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Cinderella(Disney) or any of it's franchise. I also do not make any profit off of these stories. Characters and plot within this story are vaguely based off of the movie, Cinderella.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
In any other situation, Elliot would have found the interior even more breathtaking than the exterior. However, due to his black and desperate mood, he only spared a glance to the polished marble walls, crimson red tapestry with scenes etches out in gold and silver thread, and framed paintings of previous royal families and other important figures. A long rug lay centered on the main hallway, end tables with curled feet lining the walls every so paces, with vases, busts, and trinkets layering the smooth surfaces. A younger Elliot would have gaped and paused at every object.
All he wanted to do was find the prince.
Unfortunately, the guards near the front entrance simply pointed him off into a direction without giving much other useful information, besides that he was late and the guide had already shown the other bachelorettes to the ballroom. When he had demanded for more specific details as to where exactly said ballroom was, they simply shared an amused look and gestured, once more, in the direction they had originally pointed towards. The blonde, rather put-off by their lack of help, gave them a dark look before stomping off in a very unladylike fashion.
It took a good five minutes to find the ballroom. Elliot was feeling quite the idiot, after the fact. All the way down the main corridor, he had checked any adjoining hallways before trailing back to the main area. It wasn't until he reached the very end did he noticed the open archways, where light spilt out from and murmurs barely audible over the music filtered through. Elliot let out a groan, pausing in the shadows. His heartbeat quickened.
What if Lady Tremaine found out just who he was? Or his sisters? He was so close to freedom, a simple "hello, goodbye" away. If he was caught now… he simply wouldn't be able to stand it. He hesitated, before taking a step forward. His feet had begun to tingle threatening. He needed to get this done. Another step was taken. And then another. Slowly, he emerged from the shadows, stepping past the threshold of the archway.

The ball was a bored. Prince Charles sighed into his hand, which he was currently propped up on the armrest of his throne, supporting the side of his face. He stared grudgingly at the gaggle of females gawking up towards him from the dance floor, wanting to give them a rather snide look. Ladies of all types and class were here. Brunettes, blondes, red-heads, raven-hairs. Pale, olive, tan, ebony. Skinny and large, plump and curvy. Tall, short, blemished, unblemished. Daughters, sisters, and widows. Ladies and duchesses, bakers and seamstresses. And yet, despite their obvious differences, not one of them stood out. They simply blended together, creating a large mirage of obnoxious colors. The prince felt an oncoming headache and fought the urge to close his eyes.
Glancing up towards the balcony, he saw his father and the advisor peering down. They were expecting him to find someone, that night. Charles saw them ducking their heads together, nodding in different directions to indicate a particularly woman, before chattering above themselves. Gestures of approval and disapproval, laughter and scoffs. If the prince didn't know any better, he would have sincerely doubted that the event was for him. Unable to suppress the slight smirk at the joyful attitude in the balcony, he stood up; it was time to mingle. The urge to taking in a deep, prepared breath rattled through him but he resisted, quite aware how visible it would be and just how the action could be perceived.
Moving into the crowd of skirts and fumes of strong perfume, Charles forced a smile, chattering cordially to each that asked for his attention. Yet, not once, did he offer a dance. There wasn't a single lady he wanted to brush hands with, nonetheless waltz. Some played coy, blushing and fluttering their eyelashes, lingering back as though to seem the obedient and submissive type of girl. Others were more brazen, demanding his attention, enthusiastically chirping about complete nonsense, obviously trying to outshine the other competitors. The prince wanted to curl his lip in disgust but, instead, held his practice smile, greeting each lady one by one and keeping the conversation light and short.
It was a mere half hour when it felt like days. There was absolutely no one that he wanted to choose. Of course, he would have to. And when it came to the inevitable decision, Charles knew he would have to lower his high standard and think practically. Resisting a sigh, he excused himself, heading back to his high back chair, intent on mulling over his choices in as much peace as he could muster in the noisy ballroom. Just as he was mounting the steps to the seat, his eyes caught something moving from the entrance. Someone. Brown eyes focusing on the lady, he turned towards her. A woman, in a blue dress, not puffed out by those awful metal contraptions, blonde hair unpinned and let free. Simple yet elegant. The prince went down a step, slowly moving towards her. Maybe, upon closer look, his interest would fade.
The woman was peeking at the paintings on the wall, keeping to the shadows, looking rather nervous and guilty as she stared towards the gaggle of ladies. Watching for someone. Charles didn't care to investigate further, it was none of his concern.
Still at enough distance to not be noticed yet, the prince ran a critical eye over her once again. His heartbeat didn't quicken. His palms didn't sweat. The lady wasn't petite, wasn't overly beautiful. A smirk slowly grew on his face. Perhaps… She didn't seem to overdress, which was a plus. A vain woman was a difficult one. And the fact that she wasn't gorgeous was also appealing; all the more reason for her to remain faithful. She would be grateful for even being considered. The way she kept to herself… perhaps, as a wife, that habit would continue.
Charles decided once he casted a look over his shoulder at all the other ladies. Of all the pickings, this one appealed to what he was looking for even more. He wasn't looking for love. He was looking for a stepping stool, to become king without the extra baggage of a married life.
Charles began to move again, fighting back the wolfish grin that threatened to appear as she whirled her head to look at him. An inner glee filled him as he approached, watching as the blue eyes widened. She was shocked. She was flattered. She was pleasantly surprised.
He was within a few yards of her. She ducked down to gather the hem of her dress. Obviously, the lady didn't know the proper way to curtsy. Opening his mouth to greet her, he barely got one syllable out… before she was off.
Startled, Charles simply stared at her awkwardly dashing back through the archway, his feet moving before his mind could comprehend just what happened. "What… Hey, wait!" he shouted, chasing after her, the conversing murmurs rising to shocked whispers and gossips. "Guards, seize her!" the prince demanded to the guards, just as the lady slipped out the front door. He let out an ungentlemanly oath, following her outside the front entrance as well.
She had doubled back for something. Tripling his efforts, Charles took advantage of her mistake, skipping down the steps two at a time. The lady noticed him, let out a rather peculiar noise of frustration, before deciding against going back for whatever she dropped. Instead, she continued her dash down the stairs and dashed around the side of the building. Momentarily, the prince lost sight of her.
Pushing himself to run faster, he rounded the corner quickly… and paused. There was no one. Frowning, he slowly walked around the grass, peeking behind the trees, glancing into the shadows. Finally, he neared a fountain.
A twig broke. A smirk appeared on the prince's face as he slowly walked around the fountain.
And quickly, it disappeared.
"Where… You there, peasant boy. State your business," he snapped, frustration boundless as he looked around the courtyard for the maiden he had been chasing after. He had decided. She was going to be his wife. Of course, that little episode was enough to have him reconsider his choice, but the fact that the lady was trying to deny him his desires… No, he will have her. Why did she run?
"My prince," a gruff voice sounded behind him and, momentarily, he turned his attention from the gaping boy to look at the guard. Flickering his gaze down to what the man was holding, Charles stared before stepping over to it. Carelessly, he picked it up. Glass. Examining it, he frowned; was this the woman's? He had never seen a woman with such big feet. Granted, he didn't look at feet too often to be much of an expert, but the prince could have sworn, with enough effort, even he could make the slipper fit. His eyes narrowed in thought as he stared at the glass slipper, unaware of the audience.
"Elliot?" A woman rasped, causing Charles to put the shoe on hold. Lifting his gaze, he stared at the matured lady, before looking at the boy in ragged clothes. Elliot? He scoffed. He's heard the name before… didn't he hear the guards grumbling over a deranged, escapee boy named Elliot? Sneering, he eyed the boy up and down, concluding that the boy was clearly on one of his escape escapades. Rolling his eyes, he shoved the glass slipper back to the guard, ignoring the older woman's curtsy.
"Put out an order," he began his demand to the guard. An idea piqued in him. "Within the fortnight, I will find my bride… I will marry the woman who's feet fit that slipper." A rather cruel smile twisted his lips. "Surely, there can only be one lady with such large feet," Charles responded flippantly, walking away from the fountain. It was about time he found his father and concluded this ball. His father should be happy; he decided on a bride. Now he just had to find her.
- 5
- 6
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Elliot