Vanity's afternoon was different.

As part of the service staff, she moved through the gardens and upper levels of the castle carrying decorations, linens, and floral arrangements. No one questioned a servant in motion, and she quickly learned invisibility often came from looking busy.

She made herself useful while quietly surveying everything.

At one point, while delivering folded napkins to the outside party area, she passed a room with its doors left ajar. Music drifted out from within, along with the chatter of slightly annoyed attendants and one very familiar voice. Curiosity got the better of her, so she peeked inside.

And there he was.

Prince Charming.

He stood on a rounded platform before a large mirror while tailors adjusted his clothes and polished his boots. His blond hair caught the light from the windows, almost glowing.

He looked younger. His smile, brighter. He was untouched by failure.

Flawless, ridiculous, infuriating. It was unmistakably her father.

She had never known this side of him, and something boiled up inside her knowing he was capable of being happy.

For one dangerous second, she considered stepping into the room just to say something. Anything.

But what?

Hello. I'm your daughter from the future, and you need to not mess this up.

She nearly laughed at herself.

Before she could slip away, she heard, "You! Servant!"

Startled, she turned toward the open door to see Charming pointing directly at her. She froze in place and slowly looked at into the room.

One of the tailors waved her in impatiently with wide, helpless eyes.

Vanity stepped inside, though every instinct screamed to run. Instead, she curtseyed. Keeping her head bowed, she crossed the room and placed her napkins on a side table.

Charming barely looked at her as he continued admiring himself.

"Tell me," he said, adjusting his collar, "does this shade of ivory and gold make me look too accessible?"

Vanity blinked. "Accessible, Your Highness?"

He sighed dramatically. "Well, I am obviously handsomely human now, and married. I cannot have fair, desperate maidens swooning at my presence, can I?"

Vanity bit the inside of her cheek, keeping the screams trapped inside her chest. He wasn't married to Fiona. Fiona wasn't her mother.

In the second of silence, he turned to look at her. Really looked. They had the same blue eyes.

Vanity suddenly became very concerned for the timeline.

What would this interaction do? What if Fairy Godmother found out?

Charming changed his glance from her eyes to her clenched fists. "You're trembling," he said without empathy, merely stating a fact.

"I'm cold," she lied.

"Nerves no doubt," he corrected. "Understandable. It can be overwhelming to stand in the presence of greatness."

Vanity nearly choked as he turned back to the mirror. She now understood why she was named Vanity. Vanity was his favorite thing.

He snapped his fingers, forgetting his original question. "Someone, bring me my brush."

A separate maid brought him the brush.

Then he demanded cologne, lip gloss, gloves, no gloves, gloves again, and continued asking for opinions, to which everyone assured him he looked astounding, fabulous, royal, flawless.

After much grooming, he clapped for his chaperon cape. Vanity was the only one with empty hands, so she attended to it. She handed it up to Charming, but instead he knelt slightly to her level, waiting for her to place it on him.

Her fingers shook as she draped it around his shoulders. She missed the clasp and the cape began to slip.

She caught the fabric

Charming caught her hand.

Vanity pulled her hand away quickly and let the cape fall.

Charming scoffed and didn't bother picking it up.

He stood and gave one last look in the mirror, grinning pompously. "Even without a cape, I still look heroic, don't you think?"

The room once again filled with nods, approvals, and agreements, which did not cover up Vanity's quiet, "No."

The entire room went cold.

All concerned eyes turned to her, especially Charming's. Though his expression was that of anger and disbelief.

Without another word, she hastily slipped through the door, leaving the napkins behind. Hoping, praying, he would not mention her insubordination to anyone. Especially Fairy Godmother.

As the afternoon stretched on, the castle seemed to tighten with anticipation. Sunlight turned golden through the tall windows, making everything an orange hue. Footsteps multiplied and last-minute orders flew in from every corner.

Fortunately, Vanity did not run into Charming again. Or his mother.

By the time the sun had set, the head of staff came around shouting, "Places, everyone! Places! Almost time!"

In the bustle, Vanity made her way back down to the kitchens. It was completely empty except for one other maid in a green cloak staring at a prepared tea tray.

They glanced at each other with a start, then exhaled in relief.

"Still alive?" Vanity asked.

"Still alive," Felicia answered.

Vanity's hair was frizzy now, up in a loose bun, and she had rolled up her sleeves.

Felicia's apron was stained with an assortment of colors. Her forehead beaded with sweat beneath the velvet cloak.

The girls stood closer and spoke in hushed tones.

"Any news?" Felicia whispered.

"Fairy Godmother's in charge of entertainment and security. And everyone is fed up with Ch—Shrek'." said Vanity.

Felicia nodded gravely. "The King has been a nervous wreck all day and hasn't eaten. Fiona's been in hiding."

The girls heard muted booms of fireworks and applause. The red-carpet arrivals had started. The night had officially begun.

In that moment, both girls' eyes settled on the tray of tea.

"Maybe we should dump it out," Felicia said.

They reached for the set when, at that moment, the kitchen door opened with a slow creak. King Harold stepped inside.

Instinctively, both girls curtsied, bowed their heads, and moved as far from the tea tray as they could. Then they slipped behind a stack of wicker baskets, Harold too preoccupied to notice their existence.

They watched as the King looked around the kitchen for any prying eyes, not catching the girls. He reached inside his cloak and withdrew a tiny pink vial. With trembling fingers, he uncorked it and let a drop fall into a waiting teacup. He sighed as a small pink heart floated out of the cup.

He quickly tucket the potion away, lifted the tray and turned for the door.

Felicia stared at the king, slightly taken aback to see her grandfather alive, and not an amphibian. She stood. Everything inside her urged her forward to knock the tray out of his hands.

Vanity immediately yanked her back down by the cloak and shook her head.

Once the door had closed, Vanity whispered, "Don't interfere with the timeline, remember?"

Felicia nodded.

Hopefully things would unfold the way they were supposed to.

Hopefully.