The Wronged Princess - Book I Page 19

  And then he saw her. His mysterious princess. But hadn’t the herald said Lady Cinderella? Glitter filled the air.

  Rich dark hair, just as he’d imagined, amassed in artistic magnificence encircled by a tiara of blinking diamonds sat atop her head. Mounds of full ivory skirts and petticoats fanned soft silk behind her in an elaborate train as she made the slowest foray down the highest of grand balustrades’ known to man.

  Abject fear met his eyes as she began her descent, but he recognized something new. Steeled determination registered in the tilt of her chin, in the glint of her focus. Shimmering sparkles that saturated the air, dissipated, as if a veil were slowly being lifted. For weeks he’d been seeing through a fog-filled vision.

  Elation swept through him. He’d found his love.

  The satin gloves that covered her arms left just a small portion of exposed skin making his fingers itch with the want of touch. He stepped forth, and a slight change altered her demeanor from fear to uncertainty.

  His eyes feasted on the solitary teardrop diamond resting at the base of her throat. Her pulse beat in an irregular rhythm—the only sign of her terror he could discern. Prince moved into a predatory glide, from whence he gleaned her flicker of hope. He dare not take his eyes from her. She would surely disappear if he did. His gaze drifted down to her feet as she raised her dress so as not to trip with each methodical step.

  Dainty glass slippers.

  How could he not have known Cinderella was his lost love? The last of the Arnald’s words seeped in the consciousness of his mind: Mayhap she's hidden right beneath your nose, cousin. He glanced to the beauty of her face. The only thing missing in her appearance were the cinders on her cheeks. A tremulous smile tilted her lips. His gait lengthened.

  He was the blasted prince, and charming at that. There would be no one to disappear this eve. Not this time, he vowed. But ’twas relief that assailed him when met her eyes. Her smile turned knowing. She was on a mission and he was her goal.

  He stepped up as she stepped down, one blissful step at a time until he had her wrapped in his arms, ne’er to escape again. Let the gossips say what they will.

  His mysterious princess was home at last.

  Prince touched his lips to hers in a fated seal. But not before she whispered with sound confidence, “What were you thinking, my prince—trying my slipper on every maiden in the kingdom?”

  Epilogue I

  Cinderella caught the eye of her new husband and gave him a secret smile and a quick wink. He winked back. Happiness soared through her. She would ne’er tire of looking at this charming man. He held her heart in the strongest of spells.

  Her fairy tale come true.

  Bits and pieces of conversation seeped into Cinderella’s spinning head. She listened absently as Essie and Cill bickered over George Berkley’s An Essay Toward A New Theory Of Vision. Apparently, it questioned the objectivity of perception. She shook her head, smiling, as they hotly debated how the perception by sight and distance, magnitude and situation of objects of—well, she was not quite certain. She tried to follow, as their voices escalated into an argument that considered the differences between sight and touch, and anything common between the two. ’Twas confusing at best.

  Their closeness brought her nothing but joy.

  Cinderella tossed two sugars into a cup of tea, no cream, for Essie, and handed it to her. Then poured Pricilla’s who drank hers black. She snuck one cube to Marcel who hid in her pocket. He nipped her finger in appreciation.

  How different her life might have turned out had Essie not had such a dainty foot. She marveled in silence at such a miracle. How lucky to find such two extraordinary sisters that may never have materialized.

  Not to mention, the expanded-shoe wardrobe. Things really did happen for a reason.

  Epilogue II

  Prince gazed lovingly at his new bride while she laughed affectionately at Esmeralda and Pricilla. Her velvety brown eyes were full of mischief and happiness. The change in her was nothing short of miraculous, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief. ’Twas curious her slipping a lump of sugar in her pocket, but they had the rest of their lives for answers.

  How marriage plans with Esmeralda had gotten as far as they had could only be described as astonishing. Trying the slipper on every maiden he’d found in the countryside had not been one of his better ideas, he conceded. Though in retrospect, he’d not only gained a warm and loving wife, but an exceptional Land Manager in Pricilla with such pragmatic skills. Her dry wit and direct manner worked wonders in handling the diverse and multifarious tenants throughout Chalmers. Who could have known?

  The havoc she wreaked over Arnald was just added benefit.

  And, a brilliant accountant proved invaluable in Esmeralda with her mathematics wizardry. Not to mention her weather changing abilities should the need ever arise. A snort of laughter escaped him, drawing all three sisters, Arnald and Alessandro’s quick attention. Prince smothered his laugh behind a quick cough and offered a small apology.

  In his travels and single-minded way, it had never occurred to him the shoe could or would fit someone other than his “mysterious princess.” He made a mental point to take the time think to through solutions more thoroughly in the future. The idea was preposterous that a glass slipper should only be made to measure one person in an entire kingdom.

  After all, it was not like some transcendental fairy godmother had swooped in to swing her magic wand to make the shoe fit only one foot!

  Ludicrous.

  The Real Epilogue

  “I must confess,” Queen Thomasine said. “’Twas a call too close for my comfort. I thought my son was to perish right before my eyes.”

  “Nonsense,” Faustine said. “I assure you, I had control of the situation entirely.”

  “Mm.” Thomasine turned to Arnald. “Dear boy, what a blessing you are to your sweet mamán,” she said, accepting the fluted glass of champagne from her nephew. She dropped into a second chair Faustine had so generously conjured.

  “Oui, quite the dear,” Faustine agreed, pinching his cheek before snagging her own glass. Thomasine noticed her sister did not bother rising from her chair at all since he’d so conveniently leaned forward.

  “Hmm, quite,” Arnald agreed jerking his head. “However, I have a feeling my shortened life span is under consideration as we speak.”

  “Nonsense,” Thomasine said.

  "He is curious how the two of you managed to keep the fact that you are twins such a secret," Arnald told them.

  "And how, pray tell, did you manage that one, darling?"

  "I'm afraid he is not quite finished with the conversation as of yet. I shall have to avoid him for a time."

  "A not so difficult feat, I should think, with a new wife and all." Thomasine sipped her wine, thoughtfully, eyes reflecting the sparkling bubbles. "Just think! Soon I shall have grandchildren. Oh, the thought."

  Faustine frowned, jealousy marring her delicate brow before lifting narrowed eyes to Arnald.

  "I suspect I should be going…uh…before I am…uh… missed," he said quickly, backing to the door.

  "Oui. Perhaps you should," Faustine said. Thomasine smiled as Faustine’s eyes remained focused on his hasty exit. "Who do you suppose I should set him up with, darling?"

  "You know your powers do not allow you to force love, sister dear."

  "Alas, I do know," Faustine snapped. "But I can certainly entertain the possibility by throwing irresistible women in his path.” A petulant pout touched her lips.

  "Did not Cinderella break your little magic stick by stepping on it?"

  "Oui. I managed an adhesive to piece it back together," she said absently. "It works almost perfectly."

  "Almost?" Thomasine squeaked, appalled. "Mayhap, we should leave the young ones to find their own way, Faustine."

  "Perhaps," she murmured. "More champagne, dear?"

  "S'il vous plait." Thomasine held out her glass.

  With a quick flick of h
er repaired wand, the bubbly spilled over the tops of their flutes, along with their soft giggles.

  About the Author

  Kae Elle Wheeler was born in Presque Isle, Maine. How she ended up in Texas, Colorado, then Oklahoma is as much a mystery to her as anyone. She graduated from the University of Central Oklahoma with a BA in Management Information Systems and a minor in Vocal Music.

  In the big picture, she has not been writing near as long as some of her writing cohorts, but has already completed a number of manuscripts. An avid traveler, she’s been to Europe, Mexico, Canada and roams from one RWA conference to another, nationwide. She’s served several positions in the Oklahoma Outlaws RWA Chapter.

  Kae Elle lives with her musically talented husband in Edmond, Oklahoma, has one grown daughter and one bossy cat!

  http://www.klwheeler.com

  http://www.kae-elle-wheeler.com

  http://facebook.com/

  @KaeElleWheeler

  Keep reading for an excerpt to Pricilla’s Story in Book II

  “The Unlikely Heroine”

  The Unlikely Heroine

  Chapter 1

  “Pricilla Louise!”

  Pricilla heard her name loud and clear. More precisely—exceptionally, loud and clear. She ignored it. Everyone knew her duties as Land Agent of Chalmers took precedence, and though she couldn’t quite her put finger on it, something seemed not quite right.

  She shuffled through the papers until she reached Sebastian Landsome’s, her bailiff, reports. Tenants rents collected, solicitors met with; she’d even patted annoying little children on their perky little heads, and placated the village vicar for Prince Charming and Cinderella’s absence in church due to their soon-to-be growing family. While few would hesitate to reprimand Prince for his lack of attendance at the local rectory, they certainly did not mind informing Pricilla of their lack of attendance.

  She was hungry, tired, and wanted nothing more than to finish out the schedules she’d promised Prince, and hand them over to his cousin and right hand man, Sir Arnald. She blew out a lingering sigh. Having a leisurely tray sent to her chamber sounded like heaven. La! To just eat, crawl into bed and devour a good and luscious horrid novel….

  One peek at her calendar promised no such luck. She tapped a fingernail on the desk. According to tonight’s entry, the Royal Family had a visiting Italian dignitary making the event a mandatory affair. The ormolu clock over the mantel showed the family’s standing supper was scheduled to begin in less than an hour, blast it all. Pricilla pressed the heel of her hand onto her forehead, and inhaled deeply.

  She loved and appreciated nothing more than her position as Land Agent for Prince Charming and Chalmers Kingdom. ’Twas generously offered when Prince and Cinde found one another. Especially, after Cinde’s glass slipper fit so easily onto Essie’s dainty foot. Alas, the three of them might not have become true sisters had the shoe not fit Essie with such ease. Pricilla chuckled at the memories. Despite mamá’s underhanded manipulations for a different outcome, all had worked out wonderfully.

  It galled Pricilla that her own foot, so much larger than either of her sisters, still had the ability to irk. In all fairness, marrying Prince Charming would not have suited Pricilla any more than it would have Essie. Much to Mamá’s dire chagrin. Pricilla smiled at how Cinde quite out-maneuvered Mamá’s little scheme in tying Essie to Royalty.

  Oui, Pricilla was profoundly aware of society’s expectations for women. That they were good for two things—marriage and babies. Irritation rippled through her. She, for one, had no use for either. Brains were such useful organs, and she intended to use hers. Nothing less than a powerful act of magic would convince her otherwise.

  It had not taken long for Cinde to do her duty upon nuptials to Prince, becoming enceinte with the first royal heir. Quite timely. ’Twas now nine months, and said child was due any day. Pricilla shook her head, wayward tendrils teasing her brow. She plopped her chin on her fist.

  If anyone deserved happiness, it was Cinde. In truth, Cinde had not fared so well after Papá had passed from this world unto the next. Pricilla knew the label people assigned to she and Essie as the evil stepsisters. La! They were not so undeserved.

  She pushed away the guilt for her part in Cinde’s preadolescent misery, knowing in all honesty, past actions could not be changed. Only current actions were in her power. And she and Essie were making tremendous amends, day by day. To dwell on their youthful behavior, as hateful as it was, was pure foolishness. And, truly, Pricilla cherished her sisters, both of them.

  Pricilla dragged her thoughts back to supper. Alas, she could not deny her envy of Cinde this eve. She scowled. Cinde would most certainly manage to escape the family supper—all with the queen’s adamant approval.

  A persistent pounding on the sitting room chamber door ceased with an abruptness that startled Pricilla from her wool-gathering. The scattered reports before her shifted quickly into focus.

  Copper curls and flashing green eyes peered round the door. “You are not yet dressed!” Esmeralda charged. “The Italian Ambassador is supping with us this evening. Queen Thomasine asked specifically, we be on time.”

  “Oh, blast it all.” Essie’s alarmed gasp at her profanity made her wince. “Just give me a moment, would you?”

  “You know it takes long on forty minutes to orchestrate your hair. Might I assist? Elst send for Manette?”

  “Orchestrate?” Pricilla shot her a lethal glance.

  Essie’s hand fluttered out. “Dress it. Adorn it. Compile it. Manage it.”

  “Oh, what do I care who manages it. Sir Arnald needs these schedules on the morn. A moment or two more is all I ask. I’ve already sent Monsieur Landsome on his way. I shall have to finish them, personally.”

  Exasperation poured from Essie though not so much as a peep escaped.

  “What has you so excited about supper with the Italian Ambassador, pray tell?” Pricilla asked, irritated, focused on the papers before her. A light dawned and she glanced up at Essie, whose eyes fluttered in a nervous twitter. It created a slight current through the air. “Ah. Mayhap Alessandro de Lecce is in attendance, as well?”

  Essie had an unfortunate affliction, poor thing. At the slightest provocation, albeit anxiety or excitement, her eyes battered uncontrollably. A definite downfall. For both, Essie and Mamá. ’Twas always a strong indication of her discomfort—signaling her distress in droves.

  “I have no idea,” Essie said quickly.

  Hah. The flux of air rose in its intensity. Pricilla gifted her with a knowing smile but held her tongue.

  Essie shuffled her feet. “You need to make haste—that’s all.”

  Her fluttery-eyed sister definitely had a crush on the beguiling Alessandro, elder son of the Conte de Lecce. The queen had invited the family last year upon Essie and Prince Charming’s—faux—betrothal. Of course, it wasn’t fictitious at the time. But Pricilla was not so sure Alessandro de Lecce had not been the queen’s plan for Essie all along.

  “Hmm.” Pricilla studied her sister minutely before resuming her perusal of the documents. “Quit. Pacing,” she ground out, piercing Essie with her aggravation.

  Essie stopped in her tracks, clasped her hands genteelly before her, presenting the picture of patience.

  Pricilla lowered her eyes back to the reports. “And quit staring at me.”

  Keep reading for an excerpt to Book III

  “The Surprising Enchantress”

  The Surprising Enchantress

  Chapter 1

  “You know not of what you speak. You are an insolent son,” Conte Pasquale de Lecce bit out.

  “Perhaps you will enlighten me, sir?” Alessandro de Lecce, Nobile dei Conti, watched his father pace the near bare chamber like a caged lion. Aless knew he and the Conte resembled one another greatly in the set of their eyes and the harsh angle of cheekbones. But the past few years had aged his father at an alarming rate, shown by his thinning hair and the deeply creased lines etched in hi
s forehead. A constant worry seemed to settle over him of late.

  Aless snuck a glance at his timepiece for the third time. The past three quarters of an hour he’d been at odds with his father in a deserted wing of Chalmers castle. A strange location his father had requested for an interview. Aless was starting to fret for his father’s mental faculties.

  The Conte stopped, contemplating Aless for a long moment, mouth agape as though he might speak. But no, he clamped it shut and resumed his pace. Aless rubbed his temples to stave off an aching head. Dio! The man treated him as though he were the same age as Prince Charming’s young heir.

  Without warning, the Conte stopped before him. The abrupt stance raised the hair on Aless’s nape. Wary, he watched, knowing things with his father rarely dispelled so easily. “Sit,” his father commanded.

  Foreboding trickled through him. Alessandro obliged, moving to an opulent, though faded, wing-backed chair, and slowly lowered his large frame. He stifled a sneeze for all the dust he’d disturbed.

  The Conte twisted his hands as though he were fraught with nerves. “I am not certain how to tell you this.”

  “Mayhap you should just say, save all the dramatics.” Aless drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair impatient for the interview’s conclusion.

  “We are españa.”

  “Si, on Madre’s side. ’Tis no secret we are of Spanish descent.” A sense of relief assailed him, and he shot his father an amused glance. But the Conte did not respond in return, instead compressing his lips firmly together, he resumed his pace the length of the room. Alessandro let out a sigh. “What is it, Padre?

  “’Tis long past time you did your duty and married. Nobility, Royalty.” He flung out a broad hand. “It matters naught. We must begin building our legacy. The plans are almost in place.”