Sandra set down her quill with a tired sigh. She rubbed her temples lightly, blinking her eyes once or twice at the carefully scripted symbols on the page before her.

     “This would all be so much easier if I could use a ballpoint pen!” she grumbled quietly, tossing the stained feather up next the ink well. But almost impossible to make the right shapes, she admitted a moment later. Glaring at the well-worn feather she wished for the ten millionth time that magic didn’t require such strict adherence to out-dated rules. And not for the last time, she wondered how much of it was really required and how much of it was show and tell to keep students disciplined. No, someone would’ve leaked it by now if there was some easy way.

     That was the trouble with magic—too many nuances and aged customs were needed to make the stuff work with any degree of reliability. It was for one of those reasons that she now puffed her breath lightly upon the paper in an effort to quicken the slowly drying ink. In fact, if the benefits of commanding magic artfully hadn’t been so great and if her instructors hadn’t told her about her natural talent, she’d have quit the hours of tedious study and odd-smelling components long ago.

     At present, she was the only one in the room, having stayed after her normal instruction period to make certain that her incantations were scribed perfectly. She’d seen enough mages foul up thanks to an error in their bookwork to promise herself that no matter how much toil it involved, she wouldn’t let a single mistake weasel its way into her work. The clock ticked annoyingly at the back of the room for a few more seconds before striking the hour of three.

     Sprinkling a few pinches of buff-colored sand onto her blue inked pages, Sandra closed her spellbook with a thump and stood up from the tall writing desk, taking a moment to stretch.

---

     Sandra slammed the door a little bit harder than she really needed to. It let her work out a little frustration and annoyed her step-mother enough to raise some hackles, but not enough to get her in any trouble.

     “I’m hooooooome,” she called with sarcastic joy before trudging tiredly up the stairs to her room where she left her spellbook. She couldn’t remember anyone ever answering her before and they didn’t break the tradition on this particular Friday afternoon.

     Her step-mother’s name was Marie. An unfortunate coincidence with Sandra’s middle name about which she was forever dismayed. Marie was a stout, Wagnerian woman with a wide figure and a tendency to belt out her sentences as if the person she was addessing were deaf. Marie intercepted her step-daughter on the way back down the stairs, wearing a scornful expression and favoring Sandra with a condescending glare that most people normally reserve for when they pass a mime in the park.

     “Where have you been, Sandra?” asked her step-mother balefully, hands on her hips. “You were supposed to be here over an hour ago and here it is almost three-thirty!”

     “I’m sorry!” Sandra threw up her hands in protest. “I was busy working! I know you don’t care, but I happen to.” She tried to make her eyes flash with ferocity and failed miserably. Her step-mother was too good at it herself to be intimidated by anything Sandra could put up.

     Every evening seemed to start like this.

     Marie started in without so much as a hint that her step-daughter had even spoken, as if to prove Sandra’s accusation, her voice taking to a higher register that to Sandra sounded like a banshee’s wail. “You haven’t washed the dishes since Wednesday and those clothes of mine you put in the washer last night have been moldering because you forgot to put them into the dryer! There’ll be hell to pay if my blue skirt and top are wrinkled...”

     No matter what I do, she’s got a problem with it, Sandra thought glumly to herself as the litany of her “thoughtlessly forgotten” or “neglected” chores paraded before her in Dolby Surround Sound. Marie’s voice always seemed to come from every direction at once. A banshee would be a definite improvement. Maybe I could give one the Journeyman mages a little practice for his polymorphing spells.... Surely no one would notice another moth fluttering around the porch light beating itself senseless? With another sigh, Sandra nodded to each of the tasks that Marie railed at her and when her step-mother’s tirade had finally ended, she slipped past on her way to the kitchen.

     As Sandra busied herself with the dishes, her wicked step-mother left and returned with the afternoon mail. Was the old bat actually smiling? Yes... Marie brandished a good-sized white envelope with enough decorative engraving on it to have come from Urtho the Mage of Silence and head Adept of the College. I should be so lucky.

     “Rachellina! Crystal! Come down, dears, there’s something I need to shoooow yoouuuu!” Marie’s voice held a twinge of vibrato from her old opera singing days on those last two words. It made Sandra want to cringe.

     The excited squeals of her twin step-sisters as they came thundering down the stairs almost made Sandra wheel and throw the plate she had been drying at the nearest wall. Their combined voices always drove a railroad spike between her ears—and her Magic Theory instructor had the nerve to ask her why she always turned out for class in the morning with a headache. The two girls were just a few months older than Sandra, but had learned most of their habits and attitudes from their mother and usually tended to be just as demanding of her.

     “What is it?” Crystal shrieked excitedly as she bounded into the kitchen, hot on Rachellina’s heels.

     “It’s an invitation,” Marie informed her two hyperactive daughters. “The Prince of Evcilere is holding a Grand Ball two weeks hense at the palace in West Shanbar and all eligible ladies in the realm have been asked to attend!” Her step-mother seemed almost as ecstatic as her two daughters as she handed over the opened envelope.

     “I hear he’s been on the lookout for a bride,” Rachellina chirped, pouring quickly over the invitation before handing it to her sister. “Wouldn’t it be just mmmarvelous if her were to pick me?”

     Well. Crystal had something to say about that: “He’d pick you, Rasche, if he were as blind as a bat and as stupid as our last class president. He did have the worst taste in clothes....”

     Sandra interrupted before either of the twin terrors could erupt into a fit of arguing, a tradition whenever one or the other of them was hit by a particularly good stroke of fortune. “That includes me,” she stated in a quiet tone. She didn’t want to be left out of something this large and important. Not like usual when her step-sisters went cavorting off with members of the city’s upper echelon. Not with the Prince being the host, especially. It was generally accepted that he was the single most desirable man in the whole country, and not just because he was the Prince.

     All three of them looked at her for a moment as if she had been the refrigerator a moment before and suddenly, without permission acquired a voice. Her step-mother broke the silence with a quiet chuckle: “Oh no,” she remarked coldly, almost sneering, “I don’t think so, Sandra. You’ve had your chance and muffed the things you were supposed to do. No Grand Ball for you.” She punctuated each word with a gleeful jab of her finger.

     The first words were enough to make Sandra feel frustrated. She dropped her dish towel over the metal rack near the sink and would have dropped a dish as well had she not just finished. “What do you mean?!” she tried shouting. Her voice was naturally quiet and not well-suited to the yelling matches the twins sometimes got into. “It says all eligible ladies, right?”

     A cool smile tugged at the corners of Marie’s mouth and she snatched the invitation from her daughters with one dark-skinned claw. “You’ll be far too busy taking care of things for Crys and Rachel to have time for anything of your own. I do expect all of their gowns to be dry-cleaned and pressed neatly. You’ll need to call our hairdresser and make appointments. They’ll need someone to tag along and carry any new shoes they want to buy....” As if this weren’t enough, she then turned back to the twins and said: “I want to make sure you two are the prettiest ones there. I don’t think I need to tell you what snagging the Prince would do for us financially as well as politically. We’d be able to get back at the Dubois’s next Spring at the Renaissance Faire, among many other things.”

     This seemed to excite the two girls and they both grinned mischievously at each other. Sandra had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. She had never been a party-goer.

     After a moment, her step-mother added, “And it’ll help us do better than that washed-up man you call a stepfather has been providing.”

     Sandra bristled at that! Oh, you dreadful woman, she thought and was about to speak when Marie cut her off with a wave of her hand and a wordless warning. “Not a word, child. You and I both know it’s true.” Her voice held a note of satisfaction as she watched what little fight there was drain from Sandra’s expression.

     That last statement left Sandra feeling like a dragon whose wings had just suddenly stopped working and whose fiery breath had unexpectedly gone frigid in middle of fighting the maid of the princess it’s been trying to kidnap for months. The worst part was that it was true. Since her mother’s death, Father had only been interested in one thing she did and that had been her studies at the College. He had found the money for her to attend and had convinced her to keep with it every time she had wanted to quit.

     With a defeated sigh, she turned and retreated to the relative sanctuary of her room, leaving the trio to bicker over dresses and hair styles. She managed not to scream too loudly once she got there.

---

     Something that every sensible person knows is that you never, ever make a wizard angry. Not even an Apprentice. Offended wizards are notorious for their tendency to want at least a small bit of revenge and are fortunate enough to have many methods at their disposal to get it.

     It wasn’t Sandra’s usual reaction to get angry at anything. She had always been a rather gentle person and though she often thought many things about her step-family, she could only rarely voice them. The banshee observation, for example, would have seen her grounded for a month.

     This time was different. It was the Prince who would get stuck with some noble’s daughter or God forbid, one of her step-sisters. Before her mother died, Father had been one of the King’s personal architects and he had taken her to meet the King and his family once after completing plans for King’s new dome amphitheatre. She had seen the Prince then, only a year or two older than her. He had kissed the back of her hand and Sandra, who had always been a believer in fairy tales herself, had quite a crush on him at the time. Since then, Father had gotten worse and worse. It was a wonder to Sandra how he had found the time between feeling sorry for himself and his work (no longer nearly so inspired) to marry that witch downstairs.

     The day of the Grand Ball had arrived with much fanfare by the court heralds and much business done by dress and tuxedo shoppes. It also found Sandra at home, in her room, both sulking and brooding at her predicament: chores around the house had been so thick over the last few days that she hadn’t had time to do anything for herself, just like Marie had said. Sandra smirked at herself in the mirror suspended on the back of her door, then sighed and flopped miserably on her bed to stare up at the ceiling. I’m such a failure! she berated herself silently. Can’t even get enough magic energy together to do a simple glamorous illusion for your plain clothes!

     The mirror on her door, apparently, didn’t share this thought. At that moment its glass surface rippled like water, flowing off and around a petite woman who stepped nonchalantly into the room.

     Sandra blinked.

     “Hello, dear,” said the kind-looking elderly woman with a smile.

     Another blink and Sandra was on her feet, also smiling, to give the woman a hug. “You came!” she exclaimed, letting her smile spread into a grin. “I wasn’t sure if Cinergi would make it to you on time.” Cinergi was Sandra’s messenger bird — a small species of relatively intelligent avian that had been brought into the region ages ago by some of the older Clans and were kept for their remarkable ability to relay messages in the voice of the sender. Cinergi was the closest thing Sandra would have to a familiar any time soon, so she used the little bird every chance she got. “I’m glad you came,” she added softly.

     The woman, whose name was Aryah, was Abbess of Ravenswood Abbey just east of the city. She and Sandra had met some time ago at a meeting at the College and had become friends over the last year and a half. “Of course I came!” Aryah put on an expression of mock incredulity. “Your message did say it was important.”

     Sandra looked down at the brown carpet on her floor for a moment before saying, “Err, now that I’ve got you here, I’m not so very sure how important it really is....” She looked back up at the kind face, smiled wanly, and explained to the Abbess what had transpired over the last three days and that her step-family had already left on their way to the Grand Ball.

     Aryah looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “Well, dear. It wouldn’t be right for me just to cast spells for you.” Sandra’s face fell. The old woman’s smiled. “However, I wouldn’t be adverse to a little pre-shaping of energy for you to use — you know, make it easier on you.”

     Sandra’s face lit up like a supernova and she hugged the old Abbess again. “Thank you!” she beamed, then released her friend.

     “Your book, dear. And quickly,” said Aryah. “We haven’t much time if we’re to get you to the Prince before your sisters.”

---

     People arrived from all over the city for the Grand Ball, some in limousines, others in quaint old horse-drawn carriages. It must be some sort of retro trend, thought Sandra as she drove past them into the large semi-circular paved drive before the Royal Home. She drove a little faster than was really required, simply because it felt nice to have a brand new, fiery-red Mitsubishi 3000GT under her. Even if it was a magical construct, it certainly beat out her old `85 Pontiac, the car she and Aryah had molded into this speed demon. Only the King and some of the other higher ups were allowed really flashy and fashionable entrances like a Gate transport spell.

     She still wore her jeans and her favorite sweatshirt; the spell that would transform them into an elegant gown was held in check by the last word of the incantation, which she would utter the moment she stopped the car. It would have been to difficult to drive with a ballroom gown in the way. Glancing out the tinted windows, she noted the approaching valet and quietly murmured the end of her spell.

     The valet opened the door and stood agape. “Milady,” the youth managed, holding out his hand to help Sandra from the car. Her dress was a shimmering array of blue and white silk trimmed with the occasional gold fringe or piping. She wore a pair of crystal cut earrings and a stunning necklace of bright gems. Nothing shines quite like diamonds and here was her step-mother’s prized possession. Sandra couldn’t think for the life of her why Marie hadn’t worn it tonight. She stood with the valet’s help and stepped toward the main door. Her dress matched the sexy blue and white racing stripe along the car’s sides and rear spoiler.

     Show time!

---

     The assembly in the main ballroom would have been called a large crowd had not the room itself made adjectives such as “big” and “large” fall far short of describing it. Men and women of varying ages and social status milled about the hall in the intricate dance of the King’s court, all of them moving about seemingly at random, but ever-graceful and ever with deference to the seat at the far end of the room. The Lion Throne was occupied by none other than the King of Evcilere himself, flanked on his right by the Prince and on his left by General Amond L’acier of the Royal Army, Admiral Natasha Kerensky of the Royal Navy, and Kaliffio Del Varanis, Acting Royal Advisor, who Sandra was surprised to see was a Unicorn from far off Xanadu.

     Sandra walked past groups of chattering courtiers, all of whom stopped to gape at her as she strode past, resplendent in her blue and white silk and diamond necklace. Her step-sisters were part of one of these groups but they failed utterly to recognize her. Briefly, she wondered how they could not see her for who she was. It must be the magic, she thought to herself. Perhaps it’s done a little more than change my clothes.

     In truth, she simply didn’t realize how truly beautiful she was. It had never been a habit of hers to try and make herself pretty. This was the first time she’d ever done so consciously and she had no comprehension of her effect upon the crowd. Especially the men.

     Sandra walked about with graceful steps in that pointless sort of way that nobles have when at official functions. She nodded diplomatically to a visiting ambassador from the Dellian Federation. She also greeting his son, a tall, thin fop of a man with blonde hair and dark green eyes who stood enraptured with his mouth hanging open in a very unbecoming fashion. She moved on.

     As she passed a group of robed individuals who were quite obviously Wizards, she noted their appraising glances, not those of lust, surprise, or delight that she had seen elsewhere, but expressions of interest and curiosity. They knew she had used Magic to enhance her clothing. She didn’t feel the slightest bit apprehensive about it, though, for she knew that they had done the same—she could see the occasional violet flicker of magic at the edges of her vision as she moved by.

     Eyes seemed to follow her where ever she went and as more people became aware of her presence, the quiet buzz of conversation in the room slackened audibly. Sandra looked around her at the sea of admiring faces, smiling amiably to each one as she passed. Her attention was so focused on those around her, for she didn’t wish to make any kind of a poor impression, that she nearly missed hearing her name called. When she heard it again, she turned and became acutely aware that every gaze was fixed upon her and that even the musicians in the twin balconies above the main floor had halted mid-chord.

     “Sandra,” said the Prince who was inexplicably standing before her where a moment before had been only a barrier of minor nobles and Northwall oil barons. She started a moment and the breath caught in her throat.

     He remembers my name! she half-shouted in her mind. Instead of faltering though, she curtsied deeply and said in a quiet voice, “Your Majesty.” Looking up, she smiled at him, wishing fervently that the strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead would somehow replace itself in the braid she wore over her left shoulder.

     The Prince returned the smile and held out his hand. “Would you care to dance?” he asked. His voice was deep and resonant, like the ringing of some great brass bell. At his words, the entire court seemed to let out the breath it had been unconsciously holding so that its members might mutter to one another about this strange Lady that none of them had met and yet somehow had managed to be invited to this Grand Ball. The Prince ignored them pointedly and smiled again as Sandra took his hand lightly.

     “I would be delighted,” she replied happily, losing some of that horrible sense of having everyone’s attention directed at her. Perhaps I should have said “honored”, she mused momentarily, too late now.

     The orchestra came alive again and, as if on cue, everyone who had been standing about on the dance floor made way for the Prince and his chosen dance partner until a wide, somewhat circular space was left on all sides of the couple. The King looked pleased: his son had been ever so adamant about who he danced with this evening and he was happy to see that the boy had chosen someone and said as much to his Unicorn advisor.

     Sandra fell easily into step with the Prince, who did much smiling in her direction and talked with her in quiet tones as the danced a gentle waltz. They spent the entire evening together on that dance floor and before the end of the night, any feelings for the Prince that Sandra had forgotten from their meeting two years ago had been rekindled. She realized also, as the night went on, that he held similar affections for her and had in fact looked forward to seeing her again. He even said that he would have, but that it was generally considered bad form to interrupt a mage in her studies and that he had only been able to hope that she wouldn’t find someone else during her years at the College. She gladly told him that there was no one.

     Time slipped by and before she realized it, the tower clock of the cathedral south of the palace began to toll the midnight hour. Normally, this would have been of absolutely no concern to her at all. She routinely stayed up late with her school work and midnight was quite a normal hour for her. However, before she had left home, Aryah had pointed out that by some large and highly improbable coincidence the fact that both moons were in their second New phase of the month tonight would interfere with magic in such a way as to render any spell cast by all but the greatest of magicians inert after the passing of midnight. A conjunction that only occurred once every thirty-seven years. Typical.

     I can’t let him see me looking like some five-zorkmid-an-hour window washer! With a mental curse at herself for her stupidity at arriving in jeans and a sweatshirt, Sandra quit the dance abruptly, leaving the startled prince with only a hurried apology and a swift kiss upon his cheek. She bolted quickly for the huge double doors that led from the ballroom, surprised that none of the King’s guards stepped out of their niches to restrain her. Running in a large dress is not the easiest of tasks even on a good day, and Sandra had many difficulties with the red carpeted stairs that led to the drive. The sound of the voices of the court broiled out of the ballroom behind her as she searched quickly for the valet’s kiosk, snatched her keys from the startled boy and went hunting for her car.

     Sandra kicked off the stylish slippers that had replaced her Reebok tennis shoes and hopped into the driver’s seat, slamming the door and tromping on the accelerator with a bare foot. The Mitsubishi peeled out of the royal drive with a screech of tires and a roar of its finely tuned engine, taking her off into the streets at a terribly unsafe speed.

     Behind her, the cathedral clock struck twelve.

---

     Sandra’s `85 Pontiac pulled into the drive way of her family’s house and stopped with its customary shudder and gasp when she turned the key. She tugged nervously at her sweatshirt and headed for the front door. What did I hope to accomplish by running out on him? she berated herself mentally. It’s not as if I can hide from him or anything. He knows just who I am and it’ll be simple for him to discover where I live. All I succeeded in doing was being rude to the person I fell in love with!

     She let herself into the mostly dark house and went to sit on the back porch. There was a nice quiet garden behind the house and it was a place she liked to retire to when she was frustrated with life. Stepping out onto the white stone of the back porch, she called a small bit of magic and instantly every lantern in the garden began to blaze with yellow flame. Sandra sighed and sat down in one of the comfortable wicker chairs to watch the garden for a time.

     “It’s very nice here,” said a voice suddenly beside her.

     Sandra almost leapt out of her skin at the sound. Instead she leapt from the chair, giving a startled cry and looking to see who had snuck up on her.

     The Prince stood still near the chair she had just vacated, smiling faintly, at her reaction or at her in general she didn’t know.

     “Er, yes. It is,” she answered lamely, looking from him for a moment toward the plants and trees, then back again. “How’d you get here?”

     The Prince’s smile broadened considerably. “Lord Kaliffio is quite an Adept,” he said, folding his arms politely behind his back and stepping around the chair toward her. “He opened a Gate from the Ball for me.”

     Sandra smiled now as well, some of the worry in her mind having drained away when the Prince spoke. “I didn’t want you to see me,” she made a vague gesture down at her favorite sweatshirt, printed with a logo long since faded. “...like this.”

     The Prince moved toward her again, taking her hand lightly. “If that mattered to me, do you think that I would have bothered getting here before you? Lord Kaliffio was kind enough to explain why you left. I’ve found Unicorns to be quite good at discerning things like that. Probably one of the reasons Father has him for an advisor while his usual counsel is away.

     “Would you like to come back with me?” he asked, taking her other hand.

     With a blink, Sandra said, “Looking like this?” and immediately felt foolish. Didn’t he just say that it didn’t matter to him? Say “yes,” silly. She grinned trying to cover over her blunder and nodded, “Yes.”

     “Good,” said the Prince. “The Gate is still up, I believe.” He turned toward the garden and nodded in satisfaction at the faint ripple in the air that marked the Gate’s presence among the foliage. He led her toward the shrubbery, then through the portal and once again to the overly huge ballroom.

     There, before the lords and ladies of the court and their retainers, he presented her to his Father and the acting advisor who both smiled and nodded, greeting her warmly. The Unicorn touched her lightly upon the forehead with his muzzle before stepping aside to let the Prince stand with his father, Sandra at his side.

     The Prince seemed to be perpetually smiling as he asked, loud enough for all those assembled to hear, if Sandra would do him the honor of being his wife. Each person in the room leaned forward, hanging upon her answer. Sandra’s face lit up and she accepted at once, without even bothering to talk it over in her mind. She knew it was the right thing. She knew he loved her.

     Almost as one, the court surged forward to offer the betrothed their congratulations and wishes of good will. Rachellina and Crystal were among the very first and Sandra was genuinely surprised when they seemed sincere in their words and smiles. She cast about behind them for some sign of her step-mother and finally caught sight of her near the second to last pillar on the north side of the chamber, arms folded sternly across her chest and wearing a glare that could have melted steel. Sandra looked down and only now realized that she was still wearing Marie’s diamond necklace. It looked horribly out of place, only part of it showing above the collar of her sweatshirt and she made a motion with her hands to remove it. The Prince darted his hand in ahead of her, gathering her hair in one hand and taking care of the necklace with the other, smiling all the while. He handed it to Sandra with an air of mock formality and a small bow.

     Marie elbowed her way forward in a most unladylike manner and snatched the necklace from Sandra’s outstretched hand. She looked daggers up at Sandra and appeared as though she wanted to say something, but warning glances from both Lord Kaliffio and the Prince warned her of the error of that course and she stalked off, sparing a look of disgust for her twin daughters whom Sandra had asked to stay near her after their heartfelt wishes.

     Another look around the ballroom and Sandra found Aryah standing back near the main entry, a glowing smile on her face that broadened as she caught Sandra’s gaze. The young mage smiled back at the Abbess nodded to her in silent thanks. She would see to thanking the matronly old woman in person later.

---

a      For many years Sandra and the Prince were happily married and when the sad day of the King’s death arrived, she became Queen of Evcilere beside her husband. Their reign was a long and prosperous one.

     Seeing his daughter married brought much of the life back into Sandra’s father as well as to his work. For many years after, he was heralded as the country’s finest architect and his services were sought after by all families with wealth, power, or both.

     Sandra made up many differences with her step-sisters; both of them turned out to be quite nice once they were separated from their manipulative and demanding mother for any length of time. They eventually married twin sons from the royal house of Kassandora, a country somewhat south and west of Evcilere where they lived the rest of their lives in comfort and happiness, doing much to promote peace between the two lands.

     Marie was in a ceaselessly dark and irritable mood for several months after the Grand Ball and eventually took up her singing again and became somewhat of a continental opera star. Her husband’s improved mood and outlook on life began rubbing off on her after a time and she softened somewhat, but never really forgot the moment when she saw Sandra upon the dais with the King and his son. No one could say much to slander the country’s Queen, though, and Marie died at the age of seventy-four with the burden still on her heart. Some people never do learn.

     Others do. Sandra found that she hadn’t needed magic to help her win the Prince’s heart. The necessary qualities had been hers from the beginning and a look within at her own qualities and talents was the only element lacking in the magic she made both for the Prince and for herself.