Gem was left on the stairs with one shoe in his hands, kneeling in the snow with no regard for the cold.

One shoe. That was all he had left from the mysterious stranger who had walked into this ball and run away with his heart. No name. No clues about his identity. Nothing.

And now what?

Should he wait for him until he magically returned to his doorstep? Should he hope against hope that their paths would cross again? Should he give up?

No. That wasn't how true love worked. That wasn't how he wanted it to end.

"You'll catch a cold."

Gem gave a start. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Olive behind him at all.

"He's gone, Olly," he said, turning around with the shoe in his hands. "He ran away and I don't even know his name!"

She gave him a look that lay somewhere between amusement and pity. "He didn't seem that into you anyway, you know."

Gem shook his head. "You wouldn't get it," he answered. "He was just being mysterious. He probably has something to hide and now he's waiting for me to show up again." He clutched the shoe closer. "I can't just abandon him now!"

"Maybe you misunderstood. I really don't think he was interested."

"He's the one." Gem stared dreamily into the distance. "He has to be interested."

Olive sighed and shook her head, but made no comment. It was like she already knew that no matter what she said, Gem would not be persuaded.

"I'll find him."

Turning back towards the palace, he strode up the stairs, snowflakes beginning to fall again as he went. "I promise," he said, "no matter what happens, I will find him again. Even if I have to turn the whole kingdom upside-down."

Behind him Olive muttered something about him being an idiot, but he didn't listen.

~ ~ ~

Life had returned back to normal. Well, mostly.

At least Cinder was no longer being nagged about going to any potential balls, and he could go back to his usual work. The special orders for the ball were all done and completed, and it was much less hectic. The downside to it all was that the entire kingdom was gossiping about the mysterious masked stranger from the prince's ball, and his stepsisters were unbearably smug about him having missed the event.

If only you knew, he thought every time they bragged about the story again. Their accounts had nothing on what he might be able to tell them.

A few days passed, and then another subject of chatter emerged among the gossipers. Cinder didn't pay it much heed at first; he didn't care for gossip, and he had things to do. But when he walked into town on an errand he couldn't help but pause at the grand announcement pinned up on the marketplace, skimming over it in mild curiosity.

And paled.

The prince, it said, was offering a kingly reward to anyone who could help him find the runaway guest from the ball who had lost his shoe on the palace stairs.

Immediately his eyes darted around, as if fearing someone might recognize him and rat him out. No one noticed, of course. Nobody suspected him, and for that he was endlessly grateful. What in the world had he done wrong to make the obnoxious prince fall in love with him so hard that he was now searching for him all over the kingdom?

Oh well, he thought, nobody would figure him out anyway. By all accounts he had stayed home the night of the ball. His nice clothes were gone. No one would ever find him.

Right?

Cinder could keep up his hope for the rest of the week, because throughout that week nothing happened.

He let down his guard. Maybe the prince had lost interest by now, he thought; people who fell in love fast were probably quick to fall out of love. And then he could erase that disaster of a ball from his memory for good and mark it down as his life's biggest waste of time and nothing more.

A clamor of voices from outside snapped him out of his thoughts. Cinder furrowed his brow. Was there trouble out there? Did he need to stop anyone from doing anything stupid?

"No, nobody else," he caught Izetta saying. "Just our brother, but he didn't go."

"But he's a shoemaker," Marietta added. "Maybe he can help you with the shoe."

Cinder frowned. What were they getting at? A new customer?

Before he could make sense of the situation, the door flew open and in came a familiar face.

No.

Cinder rose from his chair. No, he thought. No. You have got to be joking.

Their eyes met. The prince studied him from head to toe, observing every strand of hair and every fold of clothing. Cinder wanted to run and couldn't. If he recognized him out of costume, if he realized—

"Hey, shoemaker."

Oh, thank goodness.

"I'm looking for the owner of a shoe," said the prince, extending the specimen towards him. "Can you help me?"

Cinder's eye twitched. There was something grimly ironic about being asked to inspect his very own shoe.

"Looks like a dancing shoe," he said, pretending to be clueless. "Who loses one dancing shoe?"

"The love of my life."

There it was again, that shine in the prince's eyes, but this time it wasn't directed at Cinder. Well, not the Cinder in front of him, anyway.

"I met him at the ball," he said, "but he ran away and lost his shoe. And now I can't find him again and I need to."

Ridiculous. This whole situation was completely ridiculous.

"You say that," Cinder answered, "but does your beloved even want to be found?"

The prince's wistful expression disappeared, only to be replaced by a look of deep offense. "Say what?"

"You say he ran away." Cinder crossed his arms. "Don't you think he did that because he's not interested in you?"

"Like hell he isn't!"

The prince flushed and huffed, stomping his foot like a furious child. "He came to my ball!" he burst out. "He spent the whole evening with me! He just has a ton of secrets and that's why he left without giving me his name!"

Cinder's other eye twitched, more strongly than the first. Was that the impression he had left behind? Or was this person simply so delusional that he didn't care about anything that didn't fit his own daydream?

"And you're asking me to believe that, or what?" he shot back, scowling. At the ball he hadn't dared to get snappy, but here he was in the safety of his own home and could plausibly claim ignorance on who this person was. "You sound delusional! How do I know I'm not helping a creep if I help you?"

"You—!"

The prince balled up his fists, his face turning red enough to match his hair. "Olly!" he yelled to the knight who stood in the entrance. "He's insulting me! Do something!"

"I don't think he knows who you are," the knight answered, raising an eyebrow. "You could introduce yourself first, you know."

"Traitor!" the prince shouted at her, then he struck the most pompous, self-important pose he could manage. "Everybody should know who I am, peasant!" he declared. "But since I'm feeling generous today, I'll introduce myself." He pointed to his chest. "My name is Gemstone Crystalline, the first prince of this country and your future king! And you are being rude!"

"And you," Cinder deadpanned, "are still in my workshop."

"I have a right to be here!" Prince Gemstone shot back. "I have a right to be anywhere!"

"You came in here as a customer. Prince or no prince, I'm not making a deal with you if you don't behave!"

"You dare tell me to—Olly! Do you see how this peasant talks to me? He has no right!" the prince yelled over his shoulder. "Punish him already!"

Cinder winced inwardly, wondering if he had taken it too far, but to his relief the knight only smirked.

"Maybe he wouldn't talk to you like that," she remarked, "if you weren't being such an ass."

"I'm not an ass! Whose side are you on?"

"What? I think you deserved everything he told you." The knight's smile turned smug. "It's quite refreshing, seeing a peasant tell you off like this."

"You dare disobey your prince?"

"You dare disobey your older sister?"

"Half-sister! You're just a stupid knight, anyway!"

"Oh yeah? Maybe the stupid knight should tell Father what really happened to his favorite carriage, then?"

Gemstone blanched. "You wouldn't dare."

"I'll do it if you don't grow up and start acting your age. See, you wanted to ask this nice shoemaker here a question." The knight spoke in a tone as if she was talking to a toddler. "Now what do you say?"

Cinder gave a snort. Whoever this knight was, he liked her already. She seemed to have enough common sense to make up for that fool of a prince.

"What are you snorting for?" Prince Gemstone snapped, spinning back towards him. "What's so funny, huh?"

"You should listen to your knight," Cinder remarked. "She's smarter than you."

"I—I—I should have you executed!"

"Brilliant idea!" Cinder replied. "And then who's supposed to examine your shoe for traces of your beloved?"

"I'll find someone better!" The prince stuck out his tongue like an overgrown five-year-old. "There's tons of shoemakers in this country!"

"Good!" Cinder shot back. "I can't wait!"

"I hope you choke on your leather!"

"And you on your obnoxious attitude!"

The prince spun around and made ready to storm out. Then his eyes fell on a half-done pair of shoes, and he stopped in his tracks.

"These are really good," he said. "Who made them?"

"I did," Cinder answered, going back to work.

"You didn't. You're way too annoying to be good." The prince turned around. "Who made them?"

"I said I did!" Cinder clicked his tongue. "Who else should have done it?"

"You're way too young to be this good!"

"Do me a favor, Your Highness, and mind your nosy royal business!"

The knight stifled a laugh. The prince shot her a death glare that she completely ignored.

"I can't mind my business." Prince Gemstone crossed his arms. "These look similar to my beloved's shoe. Maybe the same person made them." He stepped close, leaning all up in Cinder's personal space. "I need to find out who did."

"Like I said, I did," Cinder said, leaning away to regain some space. "At least the ones here, not your pair. But you're right, the style is the same. That's how shoes are made in this region." He pointed along the shoe in Prince Gemstone's hands. "You can tell from the seams and the shape of the sole."

The prince's eyes lit up. "So he's from around here?"

"At least bought his shoes here," Cinder replied. "I can't say anything else. Just that he didn't get them from me."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

That you won't find the owner of the shoe, because he's in front of you, idiot, Cinder thought. Not that he could say that. He'd give the guy a lead that led comfortably away from him, and then they would never see each other again. Hopefully, this time for real.

"It's of high quality," he muttered, inspecting the shoe. "Buckskin, I think; soft and smooth. Very expensive. Whoever bought them has to be rich."

Gemstone looked at him with wide, impressed eyes. "You are good."

"These are the basics. Any shoemaker worth his salt could tell you that," he answered. "Need any more leads?"

The prince thought for a long, good moment, his forehead creasing from concentrating so hard.

"A rich guy who bought buckskin dancing shoes here," he muttered.

"He also bought them recently," Cinder added. "There are next to no traces of use. Must've ordered them specifically for that ball of yours."

"So I just need to ask around all the shoemakers in the area if they sold any like these lately?" the prince concluded, holding up the shoe.

"Yeah." Cinder crossed his arms. "It shouldn't be hard."

"You're pretty useful."

A variety of conflicting emotions mingled on the prince's face. "Annoying," he said, "but useful. I bet somebody like you could find the masked guy way fast."

You have no idea, Cinder thought.

"You should help me."

Cinder froze.

"I already helped you!" he burst out. "What else do you want from me?"

"Help me with the shoemakers. You know stuff about shoes." The prince crossed his arms. "You can be my knowledgeable sidekick."

"Like hell I'd ever—"

"I can pay you."

Cinder paused.

"...How much?" he asked warily.

"Five thousand gold coins," Prince Gemstone answered. "How's that sound?"

Cinder choked on air.

Five thousand gold coins. At once. For one short job. That was enough to feed him and everyone in this house for years and years on end.

But…he shouldn't. This was a scam job. If he accepted it, he was bound to end up in trouble soon enough. He couldn't keep up his lie forever. And once it all came out, he would be dead meat.

Unless, of course, he figured out a plan to distract Gemstone by then. Introduce him to a new flame. Get him to lose interest in his masked alter ego.

And in any case, if he declined the job after being offered such an astronomical number, he'd make himself suspicious anyway.

"Fine," he said. "It's a deal."

He was already dreading it.

But, all in all, how bad could it possibly be?