Sebastian's quill broke, snapping him out of his reverie and alerting him to the unnecessary force with which he'd been pressing pen to paper. Completely unnecessary since he hadn't actually written anything for ten minutes.

Throwing down the broken quill, he swept his fingers through his hair till it came loose from its black, confining ribbon. He pushed back his chair.

He'd done everything he needed to for this damned ball, anyhow. Decoration was almost complete, food and wine was ordered, guest list vetted, approved and invitations delivered. He'd sent dressmakers to the queen to prepare her costume, and chosen his own simple mask in case he troubled to wear it. By tomorrow night everything would be ready. And by the following morning...

Sebastian stood abruptly. He didn't want to think about that. He wasn't stupid. He understood what this ball was really about. He couldn't blame her. The poor woman hadn't been laid in years--and if rumor was true, she hadn't been laid much before that, either. Given Charming's recently revealed preferences, that was hardly surprising, but a woman as passionate as Ella needed far more than pretty words and flowers. She needed a man.

He didn't begrudge her a little snatched happiness, but everything in him revolted against helping her find it like this. Apart from anything else, he wasn't convinced it wouldn't be aiding her political suicide. The people accepted her because they'd put her on a pedestal, which she seemed determined to dive off head first and legs akimbo.

Without their acclaim, her position was untenable. And his. What price then the ambition that had driven him from poverty to the second highest power in the land? If she fell, so did he.

Intriguing idea. At least then he might get some sleep.

Finding himself at the window, he threw the casement fully up and stuck his head out into the fresh, cooling air. His "apartment"--a tiny room that served as both bed chamber and private office--was on the ground floor, and looked out onto one of the kitchen courtyards. As if he needed anything to remind him about his true position in the queen's life. Useful, as a pen or a piece of furniture was useful, and taken for granted to the same degree. Did she even see him when she turned those huge, blue eyes up to his in yet another request or demand? She'd look right through him tomorrow night to get at some handsome, unscrupulous rogue who could cause the kingdom untold damage, even let Malevolin in...

A loud crash interrupted his bleak speculation. Blinking, Sebastian saw a figure fighting its way out of the dustbins in the corner of the courtyard.

"Goodness me!" it whispered as more bins fell. "Oh goodness me, what a... Oh, dear." Stumbling clear at last, the figure shook itself out and by the light of the moon and his own lamp, Sebastian saw that it was a woman. A very small and very old woman in a black, hooded cloak from which strands of white hair straggled free.

"What in the world are you doing?" he asked, amused.

The old woman jumped. "Oh, goodness! Oh, dear!" she said again. "I think I arrived in just the wrong..." As she spoke, she drew closer to him, peering hard into his face. "But then again... What's your name, young man?"

"Sebastian," he said dryly. "What's yours?"

"Oh, that's not important."

"It might be to the guards when they arrest you for trespassing."

"Arrest me?" The old woman looked stunned. "They can't arrest me! Cinderella would never allow it!"

Sebastian frowned at her. He was sure he'd never seen her before. "Why? Who the devil are you?"

The old lady smiled--a singularly sweet if vague smile. "I'm your fairy godmother, of course."

"Of course," Sebastian sighed. He'd have one of the guards take the poor old thing home.

"Well, strictly speaking, not your fairy godmother, but I do like to help the unhappy--and you are unhappy, aren't you, dear?"

"Not in the slightest," said Sebastian, giving her the look that withered haughty noblemen.

"Nonsense, you drew me here like a bullet. No wonder I landed so abruptly. Dustbins indeed! Anyhow, now that I am here, what's your problem?"

"I do not have a problem." Apart from you.

He was already drawing his head back in, preparatory to summoning the guard, when she enquired, "Going to the ball?"

In spite of himself, Sebastian smiled sourly over his shoulder. "Organizing the damned ball."

"So you'll be there? Then perhaps I can grant you a wish."

I wish you could.

"I did for Cinderella once, you know. At another ball. She met the prince, as he was then..." Her voice trailed off, unhappily. But Sebastian, against his better judgment, had turned to stare at her. The mad old trout actually brightened under his disbelief.

"Come on then," she encouraged. "What would you like?"

Sebastian laughed. What I wish for, nobody can grant.