The Wronged Princess - Book I Read online

  Prince bounded from the bed and paced his large, opulent chamber. He was a man who had never wanted for anything in all his nineteen years, he reasoned. Of that, his parents had made certain. He was Royalty.

  “Royalty, I say!” he yelled to the empty room.

  “Sire?” His annoying friend and companion, in truth, his cousin, though he’d deny the fact if asked. Arnald poked his head through the door. Prince frowned.

  “Nothing, Arnald. Be off.”

  It confounded the mind why a young and beautiful princess would run. From him. He could understand their running from Arnald whose manners resembled that of an ox.

  Prince stopped before a luxuriously padded-chair and sunk down, chin rested on his fist. But, alas, she was gone. He tried to summon his anger. ’Twas impossible. She was too beautiful for him to be truly angry—too sweet for his outrage.

  Lovestruck. That’s what he was, he thought glumly. Mayhap, really ’twas all a dream.

  Restless, he stood again and gazed out at the night sky. ’Twould be dawn soon. The sun would rise and he with no idea where to find her. He’d not even learned her name.

  “Why? Why had she run?”

  “Because you are such a child,” Arnald said.

  “I thought I told you to be gone,” Prince snapped.

  “Hah! Who else have you to talk to?”

  Prince scowled at the truth of that statement. “I have much to offer. A home, large coffers. Overflowing coffers.” Prince resumed his pacing. “Lands, clothes, servants—” He stopped.

  “And?” Arnald prompted.

  And…Love? He dared not spout that to his cousin. He would ne’er hear the end of such drivel. He cleared his throat, paused, before changing his tactic. “Young women were known to fantasize their notions of romantic love, non?” He said slowly, carefully keeping his eyes averted from the teasing light he would surely see in Arnald’s.

  “I vow that is so.”

  “I must marry regardless, oui?”

  “Oui.”

  “Then she is whom I must marry. Mamán is determined after all.” Justification served to save face and Prince leaped on the excuse, knowing he lied to Arnald.

  Oui, determined,” Arnald repeated, chuckling.

  “Enough,” Prince barked out. He needed to think.

  By the time Prince had realized her intentions and dashed after her…it was too late. All he’d caught was the tail of her golden coach drawn with six white horses darting away at breakneck speed. He put his arm up in an effort to halt her flight, but could only watch in helpless despair her wave of farewell from the small rear window. He swore he saw anguish in those exquisite eyes.

  He’d dropped his head in desolation, and gasped.

  There—in plain sight—on the stoop descending the ballroom, lay proof that this night of heaven had not been just a dream of his bride-to-be vanishing into thin air…

  A single glass slipper.

  Chapter 2

  Queen Thomasine almost rue the day she’d had a son.

  Non, that was not quite right, for she loved her son dearly. But she’d be hard pressed to refrain from admitting that the comfort of a daughter would have served quite pleasant. Someone with whom she could embroider, or titter on about the failings of men. She sighed. It would have made for excellent bonding experiences.

  Regrettably, that had not been her destiny.

  She shook away the fantasies and turned to the misfortune at hand. For days now, seven to be precise, Prince had moped about the palace, hoping against hope, his lovely young woman would somehow reappear. Drop into his life the same way she’d dropped out.

  Thomasine had deliberately let a full sennight of his nonsense persist before finally summoning him to set forth she and her twin’s underhanded scheme. ’Twas not without some guilt, however.

  She quashed the feelings ruthlessly.

  “Have you decided what it is you are to do now, mon fils? You have spent this week past doing naught but brooding and sulking about.”

  His gaping shock was most telling.

  “Mamán,” he said sharply—deeply offended.

  She bit back a searing retort, irritated that young men dared think a mother could not possibly understand such a dilemma. Bah, what was it with today’s children? Did they believe their parents had sprung from the womb grown? Not experienced love and infatuations in their youth? That they had had a youth?

  Thomasine pinched the bridge of her nose praying for patience. Tried to remember this was the future king. “My dear, ’tis time to move past this fixation,” she said gently. She frowned. “Frankly, I find myself amazed that this…this woman-child had the nerve to run from the ball in such a manner. To run, at all, in fact. Most unladylike.” She sniffed with disdain. “But, alas, not being in her shoes—well, so to speak, I suppose, I shall withhold my judgment for the present time.”

  Prince lowered himself into an opposing chair so utter in his devastation her heart could not help but soften in sympathy. Squaring her shoulders, stiffening her resolve, she vowed to see this through, no matter the difficulty. Then, proceeded to shock him further. “The question is, dear, what are your plans to remedy the situation?” She spoke briskly. ’Twould not do to let him surface any cracks. She had great faith in his intellect, it just needed uncovering.

  His expression made her wonder if she’d grown horns.

  Thomasine shook her head in self-deprecation. “I vow I bear full responsibility for this predicament, of course. Well,” she amended frowning, “except for the portion your father is responsible for.” She almost choked over this sentiment, but shook it abruptly away and continued her most regal-tone-to-the-masses she could manage. “As the guiding parent, however, I have come to the conclusion that I have failed miserably in teaching you (again, a small choke) to act responsibly and timely for yourself in a crisis situation.” She paced the length of the chamber. Thinking was always best when she had the versatility of movement.

  She stole a glimpse in Prince’s direction. He looked as if he were trying to comprehend her efforts of explanation. Mayhap there was hope. But just as sure as she was he was listening, she was just as sure he had no possible idea of her importune. His glazed, blank expression revealed just how very clueless he remained with every uttered word.

  Thomasine had to shake off her irritation once more, knowing instinctively a daughter would have been much sharper on the uptake. It was as if he were from a different celestial orbit.

  She eyed him carefully.

  Hope sparked within her as his gaze narrowed. When his eyes seemed to focus on some divine light above her head she somehow resisted an urge to lift her head for a peek.

  “Ah!” His inspirational gasp startled her, excitement palpable, giving her cautious hope. “I have her slipper. I shall take it to every maiden in the Kingdom. Whom it fits, is where I shall find my bride.”

  “Oh, my,” Thomasine murmured, fighting an impulse to enlighten him just how impractical his proposal was; the consequences such an outcome could prompt. She dropped into a chair considering him with a prudent gaze. This was not quite the direction she and her sister had envisioned. But mayhap ’twas something they could work with it.

  She let out a slow breath trying to focus on the positive aspects.

  There at least appeared to be some kind of idea brewing around in that round appendage sitting atop his shoulders. She had to struggle to mask her frustration. Honestly, he needed to be married. Then he could utilize his intended’s acumen. Of course, were he married there would be no use for…she tapped a finger on her chin. She swallowed her sigh, disappointed. It appeared she and her twin’s lesson would indeed be required. Much needed lesson. If he were to someday lead their kingdom, however, small.

  She let a slow smile curve her lips. “’Tis a wonderful idea, darling.”

  He blinked as if surprised.

  And sent him off—with her blessing.

  Word spread quickly throughout Chalmers Kingdom. Prin
ce Charming was on the hunt for his mysterious princess.

  His future queen.

  She only hoped the young woman proved worthy of their efforts.

  Chapter 3

  News of Prince Charming’s outrageous plan reached the cottage within days. Hours possibly, and Cinderella was outraged. The competency of communication through word of mouth was quite amazing when one evaluated its efficiency to any minute degree.

  The range of emotions roaring through her started with that of stunned horror to a morbid yet hidden amusement as Stepmamá and her stepsisters danced round their small abode with glee. The likely prospect that her glass slipper could ever fit one of her evil stepsisters was…laughable. But she wasn’t laughing. Well, it was vile enough to make her want to cast up her accounts that somehow warred with an effort to hide an unexpected yet hysterical giggle.

  “Do you think he shall be here soon?” Pricilla spouted, turning cool gray eyes on Stepmamá. Her blond, almost white hair, bounced bobbing curls. Ever the ultimate image of Stepmamá, were it not for Stepmamá’s rotund figure. With an inward sigh, Cinderella had to admit both Pricilla and Esmeralda had lovely hair.

  Stepmamá considered Pricilla with a glance of calculated amusement. Cinderella fought to keep the shiver of trepidation from snaking up her spine. It didn’t work. What tactic Stepmamá was now hatching in her malevolent mind? Cinderella made a show of dusting the buffet while waiting for some insight to surge forth with bated breath.

  She forced herself to breathe. Calming herself with the thought she would have her chance with Prince, she just had to. He was asking for all the maidens to try the slipper, non? They could not stop her. They could not, she vowed, pressing her lips together.

  “We shall be prepared,” Stepmamá announced. “Both of you, follow Cinderella about this house. Make sure that she has swept, scrubbed, cleaned, polished, waxed and sanitized each and every viable surface.” Her brittle and high pitched voice, grated. “Leave no corner untouched.” And with her dramatic flair, quit the room.

  And so they did.

  ’Twas another two days that found the cottage readied and spotless. Unfortunately, it left her sisters floundering in restlessness. It well bespoke trouble for Cinderella. On a normal basis they were annoying and underfoot. Bored, however, made them dangerous.

  Cinderella had to fight for every ounce of control and sanity as she sat in her own little corner. Mending stockings from a nearby basket, she listened in horrific silence as Esmeralda and Pricilla argued amongst themselves on whose foot was the most exquisite. On whom Prince would think the prettiest. On whom should be first to try the blasted slipper. On whom it would actually fit. Only once, did Cinderella’s lips tip in a secret smile, eyes averted.

  “What are you contemplating, Cinderella?” Pricilla sneered. “That the shoe will fit you?” At which point both sisters cackled with hysterics at the absurdity.

  “It could, you know,” she said softly.

  The silence in the room boomed. Oh, no. She’d made a very large tactical error. Cinderella lifted her eyes from her task to find both sisters and Stepmamá staring at her in dumbfounded stupor.

  Pricilla was the first to recover, casting Cinderella a bleak, tight-lipped smile. Her cold gray eyes and cruel expression sent Esmeralda’s eyes fluttering with bird-flapping intensity. Pricilla rose from her wooden chair and glided with a surprising grace to stand before Cinderella. The move, deceptively casual. Cinderella would be a fool to believe otherwise. “What has you so busy this lovely morn, Cinderella?” The dainty smile she handed Cinderella personified her evil mamá to perfection.

  Cinderella found she was unable to hide the tremble in her fingers. “Es-Esmeralda’s petticoat.” Fear had Cinderella’s voice trickling out husky and restrained.

  Pricilla gently lifted the soft fabric from Cinderella’s lap. “Oh, my, yes. I can see.” Quick as a flash, she ripped the delicate fabric apart at the seam. Esmeralda’s gasp filled the air but Cinderella dared not shift her focus. “You are quite the seamstress, oui?” Pricilla said with a twisted curl of her lips. Pricilla let go and it floated to land at Cinderella’s feet. Eyes still on Pricilla, Cinderella reached for the garment with a shaking hand.

  “Pricilla, my darling, you shall be the first to sport the slipper,” Stepmamá announced as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. “As the eldest, ’tis only fitting.” Then howled with laughter at her silly pun, jowls shaking with mirth. The sight would provoke nightmares.

  But, of course, ’twas not out of the ordinary was it? Cinderella reasoned swallowing sudden tears. She’d let her mouth get the better of her. Cinderella knew for certain the slipper would fit her. It was hers after all, was it not? All she had to do was concentrate on that one detail and she would be out of her personal torment soon. ’Twould not be for much longer. She had only to hang on to her dreams.

  The sudden pounding of hooves vibrated the cottage. It stayed the violence that poised the tense atmosphere. Thank the heavens.

  Cinderella surprised her stepsisters by fighting for a place at the window alongside them. Something she’d never attempted before. Their anticipation of the prince’s visit had to be the only reason no one threw a punch.

  Stepmamá hissed in exasperation, “Girls! We do not hang out an open window like common…harlots. We let the prince come to us!” She raised her chin where the skin hung beneath like that of a gobbling turkey. Cinderella, so attuned to the excitement, let a giggle escape.

  Stepmamá turned to her and snarled, “Not you! You shall remain inside.”

  “But…but, Stepmamá—” The crack of Stepmamá’s open palm stung her cheek cutting her off mid sentence. She covered her cheek, hot to the touch.

  “You dare to spar with me, child?”

  With that, all hopes were dashed.

  “To the basement with you,” Stepmamá commanded.

  “But…”

  “But nothing,” she spat, hand raised reinforcing her threat. “Away with you. Quickly.” Cinderella dare not disobey. Dropping her head in defeat, she turned from the window, hands clenched, swallowed choking tears and moved to the basement door. Stepmamá cast one more glare which had Cinderella running the rest of the way. She slipped behind the basement door, but in a fit of rebellion perched herself on the top stair.

  A knock, firm and strong, pounded the door. Cinderella peered through a crack. She watched Esmeralda pull it open with an unnatural and timid reserve, green eyes batting wildly.

  A footman, ridged and formal, appeared very distinguished in his white pantaloons with their red stripe down the side, awed by his corresponding jacket adorned with gold tassels. Cinderella had ne’er seen the like. Stepmamá’s preoccupied stupor and grandeur allowed Cinderella’s furtive peek to go unnoticed.

  Without warning he bellowed in clipped cultured tones, as if they were not standing within touching distance, “Your Royal Highness to see the maidens of the house.” He clicked the heels of his shiny black boots and a offered a sharp formal bow from the waist. A swift movement from another similarly dressed individual pulled a trumpet to his lips. The blaring sound brought everyone to attention, even she. At least Cinderella had the luxury of covering her ears.

  Royally formal and very loud, she could almost laugh at their strained expressions.

  Someone Cinderella could not see spoke softly. It was not Prince. She would have recognized his deep warm voice anywhere. It had been in her dreams for a week past now. “We shall conduct the business of the slipper-trying on the bench in your lovely garden, Madám.”

  Stepmamá flounced through the door with Esmeralda and Pricilla trailing like little ducklings. Little ugly ducklings, she amended, scowling. The door shut behind them in a resounding slam.

  Despondent, yet defiant, Cinderella darted from her post inside the basement to peer through the curtains. It was a risk worthy of furious wrath.

  She gaped in awe as Prince, her Prince, dismounted his horse in a graceful drop to the ground.
He looked just as she remembered. Hand on her throat, a dreamy sigh escaped. Hair, black as midnight held at his nape by a velvet queue, firm determined jaw, strong teeth and corded muscles. Her fingers tingled remembering her hand swallowed in his as he’d guided her through the ballroom dance after dance.

  “Mew.” Without taking her eyes from her beloved she lowered her palm for Marcel’s assent.

  “Look at him, my sweet. See how wide his shoulders are? How graceful his hands?”

  Marcel peeped an agreement.

  She watched an entourage of six surround Prince. Another gentleman off to one side held a wooden box. He opened it with a show of spectacular theatrics—and then, she saw it.

  She gasped. Her glass shoe.

  Cinderella blinked away sudden tears. Prince knelt on bended knee before Pricilla, sending the breath rushing from Cinderella’s body. How had she ne’er noticed the sun’s brilliance glinting off Pricilla’s silvery blond locks? A lightheaded sensation assaulted her senses shooting straight to her knees. She had to force short small breaths to keep from fainting in despair on the spot.

  Instead, Cinderella concentrated on the dark curl falling o’er her love’s brow. The considerable effort it took to not scream squeezed the heart in her chest as he reached for Pricilla’s foot. He pulled it forward, a bit too gently in her opinion, and slipped the shoe on—or rather—tugged, shifted, wrested. Cinderella watched his face carefully, narrowing her eyes. He seemed quite determined, she thought with pursed lips. He risked a glance upward and a smile lit his face sending Cinderella’s heart fluttering.

  Alas, it did not work. No amount of manipulation could make Pricilla’s exquisite foot slide into Cinderella’s glass shoe. Triumph surged through her veins as he moved to Esmeralda’s waiting foot.

  Was it…relief she saw? Oui, she was certain of it. Especially telling in the stiffening of Pricilla’s spine, as Cinderella’s view consisted of her sisters’ backsides, leaving her to gaze upon Prince’s lovely features.

  She was, however, able to observe the unattractive scowl cross Stepmamá’s jaunty, over-exaggerated features as the chance for one of her daughters to marry genuine royalty suddenly drop by a colossal fifty percent.