‘Wow,’ Cinders gasped when they pulled up in front of the palace. ‘It’s flipping enormous.’

‘It’s a palace,’ Sparks replied. ‘They tend to be rather on the large side. Hmm now, can you smell that? I bet the sausages here are out of this world.’

Cinders climbed down from her crystal carriage as gracefully as possible (which wasn’t very graceful at all) and gasped. The palace really was a sight to see. She thought it might be bigger than her entire village, and the six shining white turrets stretched all the way up into the sky. Music poured out of every window and Cinders found herself swaying back and forth as her two horse-mice squeaked along in time to the tune.

‘Excuse me, milady.’

She looked up to see a tall guard, wearing an incredibly elaborate hat, staring down at her.

‘Me?’ Cinders asked. For a moment, she had completely forgotten what she was wearing and why she was there. She loved music so much and never heard it at home. Anything even approaching a tune gave her stepmother a headache.

‘Yes, milady,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to need you to move your carriage.’

‘Right,’ Cinders agreed, straightening her shoulders and clearing her throat. ‘Footman, take the carriage and the horses, ah, wherever one takes carriages and horses.’

‘At once, modom,’ Sparks the footman said with a very doggy-like growl.

‘One will be inside eating as many sausages as one can get one’s hands on,’ she said. ‘Perhaps one will be able to bring you, um, one.’

The palace guard gave her a funny look before waving her towards what looked like an endless marble staircase that led into the palace.

‘Have fun,’ Sparks replied with a wink and what sounded like a woof as she tottered away in her mother’s glass slippers. ‘And remember we have to be home before midnight!’

When she finally made it all the way to the top of the staircase, Cinders couldn’t believe her eyes. Just as her father had promised, there was a glorious new ceiling above the ballroom, painted to look exactly like the night sky and studded with diamonds to show where the stars should be.

Everything was so grand and everyone was so fancy that it looked as if one of her sisters’ celebrity magazines had come to life. Cinders had never seen so many colourful gowns or powdered wigs. Come to think of it, she’d never actually seen a powdered wig before. Almost everyone in the room was wearing what looked like a bright white hat made out of hair. The only people without such a silly thing seemed to be the servants, and they didn’t look very happy at all.

‘I wish I had a powdered wig,’ Cinders whispered under her breath. For a second, she felt a faint tingle in her fingertips, followed by something prickly. She looked down and saw a tiny tree branch covered in flour.

‘I said a powdered wig, not a powdery twig,’ she muttered as her cheeks began to flush with embarrassment. Would everyone be able to tell she didn’t belong? All she wanted to do was dance and sing and find a plate of sausages for Sparks, but instead she hovered by the entrance to the ballroom, too afraid to join in. Maybe her family was right – maybe she didn’t belong at the palace after all.

‘Perhaps I should find something to eat,’ she said to herself, throwing away the twig and rubbing her grumbling tummy. ‘I always feel better after a snack.’

And – oh – what snacks she found!

The palace cooks had prepared the most incredible-looking feast Cinders had ever seen. Roast suckling pigs, enormous whole turkey legs, tureens of soup, baskets full of bread and platter after platter piled with candied fruit, cakes, biscuits, sweets and the biggest wibbly-wobbly jellies in the world.

For seven long days, Cinders hadn’t so much as looked at anything sweet. She’d been on her very best behaviour ever since she’d found out about her fairy godmother, and in her stepmother’s house very best behaviour meant absolutely no sweet treats. But Cinders had an uncontrollable sweet tooth, especially for cake, and now, standing in front of the dessert table, she was powerless to resist.

‘Maybe just one little slice,’ she said, grabbing a plate and reaching across the table for the slightest sliver of chocolate gateau. ‘And just half a biscuit. And maybe some of these little jelly things. And I really would like to try the blancmange …’

Before she knew it, Cinders’s plate was piled so high she could barely manage to carry it.

Hmm. Now where to sit?

There were a dozen or so tables on the other side of the feast, covered in crisp white cloths, where she spotted some of the powdered-wig wearers tucking in to their dinner.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, approaching a tall, skinny man with a ginger moustache, who was eating alone at one of the tables. ‘Is anyone sitting here?’

‘All these seats are taken,’ he replied without even looking at Cinders.

‘But there’s no one else here.’ She glanced round the empty table, confused.

‘All these seats are taken,’ he said again.

‘Must be rough having all those friends,’ she muttered as she walked away, shaking her head. Taking a deep breath, Cinders moved on to the next table. Five of the seats were filled with girls about her own age, but one remained enticingly empty.

‘Hello,’ Cinders said, straining under the weight of her groaning plate. ‘Is anyone sitting here?’

‘No,’ replied one of the girls. Cinders couldn’t help but notice they all looked almost exactly alike. The same powdered wig, the same bright blue lipstick and nearly identical ballgowns, all in slightly different shades of pink. ‘Do sit down.’

‘Thanks!’

Cinders pulled out the chair and sat down. To her surprise, something moved under the table, something warm and furry, tickling her leg. She looked under the tablecloth.

No, not furry. Woolly.

Under the table were a number of sheep, with bows tied in their wool.

‘Er …’ she said. ‘There are sheep under the table.’

‘Oh, yes, those are mine,’ said the girl who had invited her to sit down. ‘I’m Bo Peep. I never go anywhere without my sheep, not since I lost them once.’

‘Oh …’ said Cinders. ‘Right.’

She began tucking into her treats. She’d never eaten anything so glorious in all her life! Only when she was halfway through her plate did she realise that all five girls were staring at her.

‘Would you like a cookie?’ she asked, reluctantly pushing her plate towards them.

‘Oh, no!’ said Bo Peep. ‘We only eat greens.’

‘We only eat greens,’ echoed one of the other girls, and another nodded.

‘Where on earth did you get that dress?’ Bo Peep asked.

‘I made it,’ Cinders replied, looking down at her beautiful gown. It was more or less true after all. ‘Where did you get yours?’

‘We all got ours from Monsieur Couture, of course,’ the second girl said. ‘Everyone gets their dresses from Monsieur Couture.’

‘Ah.’ Cinders nodded. ‘That explains why they all look the same … er … same kind of lovely. They’re very nice. I like all the ruffles.’

In truth, Cinders did not like the ruffles – there were far too many of them. You could, after all, have too much of a good thing.

‘Why aren’t you wearing a hairpiece?’ the third girl asked.

‘You mean a wig?’ Cinders gestured towards their matching hairdos. ‘Um, I must have left mine in my carriage. Silly me.’

‘You’ve got chocolate cake on your face,’ the fourth girl said.

‘Saving it for later,’ Cinders muttered, swiping at her cheek with a napkin.

‘Maybe you should sit somewhere else,’ the fifth girl suggested.

‘Maybe I should,’ Cinders agreed, jumping to her feet and picking up her plate of desserts. ‘Have a lovely evening, everyone.’

Struggling to keep a smile on her face, Cinders trotted away from the table and looked for somewhere else to sit. Who wanted to spend the evening with such boring people anyway? If she wanted to sit around, not eat sweets and talk about fancy dresses all evening, she could stay home with her stepsisters. Plus, they all looked the same. Bo Peep and her sheep, she thought to herself.

After all that effort, the ball was a bust.

Even though she could see people dancing and eating, no one looked as if they were truly enjoying themselves. There was no laughter, no singing and the musicians were struggling to play in their tight, high collars and big, heavy wigs. At the furthest end of the ballroom, Cinders saw three thrones. Right in the middle, perched on the biggest throne, sat the king. He was a shortish, greyish, grumpy-looking man who was sulking in the middle of the biggest party his kingdom had seen in years. To his right was the queen. She was also shortish, greyish and grumpy-looking, which made her slightly skew-whiff powdered wig and ruffled rose-pink gown look really quite silly. The throne to the left of the king was empty.

‘Should have sat there,’ Cinders said, nibbling on some nougat. ‘I wonder where the prince is.’

Still holding her incredibly heavy plate, Cinders glanced around the room, looking for a place to sit. Just when she was about to give up and go home, she spotted a pair of legs disappearing under a table laden with salads and vegetables. Strangely enough, now that Bo Peep’s crowd had eaten, no one seemed to be too bothered about the salad station. Trying not to draw attention to herself, Cinders sidled over to the veggies and stuck her head underneath the heavy tablecloth.

A boy with a crown on his head and cake all over his face stared back at her.

‘Hello.’ Cinders put her plate on the floor and clambered under the table. No easy task in a ballgown. ‘Who are you hiding from?’

‘Everyone?’ the boy replied. ‘Hello, I’m Prince Joderick.’