The Wronged Princess - Book I Page 9

  She narrowed her gaze. Impossible. It could not be so, could it? She drifted back to another moment.

  “Who are you?” Cinderella asked.

  “Why, I am your fairy godmother, child.”

  “Fairy Godmother,” Cinderella scoffed. “Impossible.”

  “Bah, nothing is impossible. I am made of all your hopes and dreams and wishes.” This vision in the frothiest pink stood before her spouting the silliest nonsense. But to only believe...

  “I’ve only one wish tonight,” she whispered, not daring to hope.

  “You’ve only to ask, my dear.”

  “There’s a ball…” her voice trailed. ‘Twas an impossible wish, she knew, as was the apparition standing before her. For it would all disappear were she to blink—such was the way with dreams.

  A rut in the road jarred Cinderella back to the present.

  The sun warmed the air in an unnatural bright fall day. Cinderella could feel excitement lending a tingle in the atmosphere. She turned her sights on the manicured trees sheared in uniform that showed not a single branch or leaf protruding from its designated position. And if she managed to tune out Pricilla she found she was most happy indeed.

  Cinderella tried to contain her exhilaration as the footman steered them through magnificent squared and colorful gardens. She felt compelled to ask for the possibility to wander the walking paths to some of the ponds where other mythological statues resided, but one covert glance to the present company showed the relationship between Pricilla and Esmeralda, deteriorating with rapid vigor.

  From the moment Prince had slipped Cinderella’s slipper onto Esmeralda’s foot, Pricilla’s scowl had taken on a permanent etch in her pinched expression. With most of her anger directed quite unrestrained at Esmeralda, Cinderella ceased to exist as an object of scorn.

  On the one hand, Cinderella felt a surge of relief at being spared Pricilla’s sharp and vicious tongue. While on the other, as the object of many of those horrendous jabs in the past, she felt an immense empathy for Essie, and struggled with how she might aid in diverting the borderline abusive attention. For each added kilometer the ride became conspicuously contemptuous and painfully awkward.

  After a particularly scathing remark, Essie whipped about and said, “Really, Pricilla, you go too far! What exactly is the nature of the problem here? You have been nothing short of monstrous since our arrival. I suggest if you have nothing nice to say then you say nothing at all!”

  Cinderella was hard pressed in keeping her mouth from gaping.

  A violent flush rose up Pricilla’s neck—quite unbecoming. In a flash Pricilla’s hand rose toward Essie. But a swift, yet surprisingly, strong gust of wind stirred. Cinderella shot a quick look to Essie’s eyes. But they were slotted toward her sister. Not a single blink registered. Very odd.

  As sudden as the burst appeared, it just as promptly disappeared.

  But a speck of dirt diving through the air had met its mark. Pricilla let out a hysterical shriek and covered her tearing eye with a gloved hand. Frankly, Cinderella was surprised dirt was allowed to levitate and dart as such without its proper consent. She tugged a white lace handkerchief from a hidden pocket in her skirt and pressed it into Pricilla’s hand. Much nicer than the dingy gray she’d been accustomed.

  “Wh…what happened? Oh, this is all so unfair,” she wailed. Her voice was muffled by the lace hankie while she worked the foreign substance from her eye.

  “What do you find unfair, Cill?” Essie sighed. The dramatics were almost comical.

  “Everything,” Pricilla cried. “You have dainty feet. You are engaged to Prince Charming. Even Cinderella’s chamber is bloody nicer than ours—”

  Cinderella gasped at her profanity.

  “—and now my eyes will swell, turn red and watery.”

  “My chamber?” Cinderella’s calm façade snapped in an unprecedented instant. “What can possibly bother you regarding my chamber? ’Tis the Royal Palace, for heaven’s sake. Of course, it is nice.”

  “Oh, quit being so dramatic, Cill. I do not even wish to marry the prince. I certainly have no choice in the matter.”

  “What!”

  “I thought I did…” she said, softly. “But—”

  “What do you mean you do not wish to marry the prince?” Pricilla interrupted. She turned to Cinderella. “Would you marry the prince?”

  Shocked by the question, she stuttered an answer. “Of…of course. He…he is the prince, is he not?” She could feel the flames in her cheeks. If they only knew.

  Pricilla did not seem to notice and whipped back to Essie. “See? Even Cinderella would marry him.”

  Cinderella had no idea how to comment to a statement such as that and let it go somehow holding back a groan.

  “I’m just a blast of nerves,” Essie defended. The self-disgust in her tone was rivaled by the apparent anger at circumstances beyond her control. “The instant the prince is anywhere about you’d think a storm had blown off the Mediterranean Sea. My eyes bat like I’m about to take flight…I…I start to stutter.” Her embarrassment tugged at Cinderella. “Can you imagine a union where your husband wondered if the crops blew away simply because he walked up and asked you some mundane, perfectly ordinary question? Like ‘how was your day, dear’?” The throb pulsing Essie’s neck was testament to the inner torment she worried over.

  Pricilla stared at her sister in astonishment. “B-but you have dainty feet!”

  Cinderella let out a gurgle of laughter drawing Pricilla’s unwanted attention. “What are you snickering at?”

  Cinderella shrugged. “I have dainty feet, too,” she sniffed.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” It was plain Pricilla’s patience had worn through and Cinderella could see her temper threatening. Yet, Cinderella fought the urge to shrink away.

  Essie spouted with impatience, “Oh, think about it, Cill. How many maidens throughout Chalmers must have dainty feet? For surely, I cannot be the only one in all the land. I venture not, as the shoe clearly did not belong to me.” Then musing, more to herself Cinderella thought, Essie said, “His highness did not quite think that one out, non?”

  Cinderella’s laughter could not be contained, bursting forth. The contagion took hold, because Essie’s unfettered laughs soon followed suit.

  Pricilla stared at the both of them as if they actually held their laughing heads in their hands. With narrowed eyes on them, she said, “I fail to understand the hilarity of the matter.”

  Cinderella patted tears from her eyes with the back of a gloved hand and met Essie’s. She lifted her chin and said, “Esmeralda and I have come to a truce of sorts.”

  Pricilla looked at her sister, the disbelief in her eyes, clear.

  Essie’s eyes never broke with her own, nodding in agreement.

  “We have, Cill. ’Tis much more pleasant than being mean all the time.” Her full mouth softened into a wide smile. Cinderella thought she’d never looked more beautiful than in that moment.

  Cinderella spared Pricilla a glance, almost bursting out in laughter once more at Pricilla’s flabbergasted surprise. Her mouth gaped; opened and closed like a fish underwater spouting bubbles.

  “But…but Mamá will be furious!” Pricilla stuttered, her shock obvious.

  For a moment, Cinderella studied her stepsisters as the three of them seriously contemplated this new tribulation, each daring a glance at one another.

  It was true! Stepmamá hated Cinderella with an unnatural passion. Cinderella shuddered at what punishment Stepmamá would no doubt bring over Cinderella’s head should she learn of this current evolvement. She blew a strewn strand of hair from her face through pursed lips.

  Suddenly Pricilla’s spilled laughter cracked at the incongruity of the situation. The same thought must have occurred to Essie as a small giggle escaped. Cinderella’s gaze moved from one to the other not quite sure of what to make of their jubilant reaction. She felt an involuntary twitch of her own lips.

  Was
it possible they could become friends? What would happen when they learned she was the mysterious princess? And how would she be able to choose sisters over life with Prince Charming? She peered into Essie’s laughing, brilliant green eyes. Prince might even prefer this new Essie…

  The dilemma subdued her laughter to a weak smile.

  *****

  Prince guided his large gray toward the stables with Arnald fast on his heels. The morning had been a long but fruitful one of guiding repairs on the wall along the western perimeter of the castle grounds. Flocks of sheep grazed undisturbed by their presence which never ceased to amaze him.

  Prince loved this portion of his life, working alongside the men who labored the land to feed their families, keeping Chalmers Kingdom safe. He vowed there was no greater purpose in life than these men. He felt humbled and honored by their service to his family, to this land.

  His unpretentious and proud people had educated and protected him as a small child through all the years he’d ridden the land next to his father. Now, as an adult he found his duty unequivocal. Keeping the land safe, productive, orderly. A position he took with great solemnity.

  He and Arnald set toward home. All he envisioned was a long soak in a hot bath. Arnald pulled up beside him when an outburst of delighted laughter exploded through the air. Not the shrilly, artificial kind most females were taught to use in the presence of their male counterparts and Betters. But the genuine, humorous kind when one believed no one would hear. They slowed their horses in perfect unison.

  Prince raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright afternoon sun and spotted an open carriage on the path toward Demeter, the natural goddess of the harvest. Colorful parasols curtailed his view but the uninhibited amusement was just too curious to pass by.

  Prince met Arnald’s eyes with raised brows. Then, testament to the true friends they were—or mayhap the blood of the relation—without a word spoken between the two, turned in simultaneous redirection. No question in following such irresistible sound.

  By the time Prince and Arnald had approached the rear of the carriage the laughter had dissolved into fits of girlish giggles, indicating their arrival had indeed gone unnoticed. To Prince’s surprise, it was Espelina, Pricilla and Cinderella. He discerned at once how enticing laughter made the trio look. He hesitated for a moment, knowing the carefree sound would stop once they were made aware of his presence.

  But alas, an honorable gentleman did not eavesdrop. It was with great reluctance that he cleared his throat and inclined his head at their startled expressions. “Ladies, a lovely afternoon, is it not?” As expected, the silence resounded in an abrupt halt. Hands flew to their mouths. Whatever they found so humorous must have been exceptionally so, as seen in their desperate efforts to constrain their grins.

  “Your highness.” This from Eptelinda.

  Pricilla and Cinderella inclined their heads politely as well, amusement clearly still lighting their faces. His eyes narrowed as he tried to comprehend what appeared so different about Erstella since supper the evening before.

  “You are enjoying your ride?” he inquired.

  “Immensely, merci,” she said. Her unflinching gaze, almost defiant, head held high, had brilliant eyes boring into him as sharp as cut emeralds.

  Prince frowned, feeling as if someone had leveled a punch in his midsection as he realized that the air surrounding him was a natural breeze of the lightest wisps. For some reason, she did not appear so unnerved toward him. Her eyes were not batting with uncontrollable flurry. They were framed by dark lashes tilted up at the ends. Quite beautiful, in fact. Could it be she held excessive ability in the company she kept?

  The thought disturbed and…well, annoyed him. Prince felt as if he’d lost personal power, somehow. It was a blessing his royal nature ran too deep in his blood to appear less than poised and self-confident, however.

  “The grounds are breathtaking, sir.” Pricilla added. Her boldness glittered through eyes what he’d previously thought of as plain gray. He was wrong. Confidence had turned them to a striking silver. The change downright astonishing.

  His gaze move to Cinderella’s brown eyes. The soft familiar warmth from their early morning chance encounter reassured him. Fathomless depths he could easily drown in this instant. With her hair drawn up he could see she had less natural curls than the others. It was much less fashionable, and yet perfect on her. The air around him glowed with an unusual iridescence. The fickleness of his senses caught him unawares. Could he now be falling for the almost servant?

  “Lovely, sir.” The object of his thoughts chimed in, startling his attention. Her assurance came across more reserved but he reveled in its sweetness, further irritating him. Glow like sparkles dangled in the atmosphere just out of his reach. He willed her to meet his eyes, but she’d dropped them to the fingers clasped in her lap.

  Pricilla’s obvious delight in their shared secret did draw a quirk of a smile. It was nice to see Cinderella in a cheerful honey colored frock. A far cry from the drab brown patched gown and apron she’d donned earlier. The air literally bristled with mischievous caper. Either that, or he was about to swoon again, he decided.

  Prince glanced toward Arnald, his oldest and dearest friend in the world. Leastways, his one close blood relation, who posed a nonchalant air on his horse without so much as a care in his demeanor. That odd tingle sent a ripple over his skin, and a small awkward silence ensued.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we shall be on our way then. Ladies, enjoy the remainder of your afternoon.” He graced the trio with a short bow. As well as one could bow seated on a horse. Prince signaled to Arnald, and they resumed their journey toward the stables in silence. Uncontained giggles burst out following their departure.

  “What do you suppose that was about, Arnald?” Prince asked perplexed.

  Arnald shook his head. “Women are extremely pleasurable to look upon, but cease asking me to explain them. Most especially, the fair one.” Then, with a sly look added, “Your highness.”

  “You are not above the dungeons,” he muttered.

  *****

  “Essie, I don’t know how you think us to pull this jest with no one the wiser.” Cinderella knew her nerves were pressing her tone to an unnatural curtness and shrill.

  “Of course it will work,” Essie assured her. “Queen Thomasine has already included you; we are just ensuring no one forgets. That is all.”

  “Mayhap I would not mind so much if they forgot,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Do not be ridiculous. Cill is already coming round. Lift your hair so I can manage these tiny buttons.”

  Cinderella complied.

  “Manette should be here any moment to dress your hair. ‘Tis a shame you have no natural curl. It’s as straight as a sword. But a lovely color, nonetheless. I vow there are streaks of auburn throughout.”

  “Merci.”

  “Esmeralda, are you soon ready—” Pricilla’s head appeared around the corner. “What on earth are you about, Essie?” she hissed.

  “Is Manette finished with your hair, Cill? Send her in.” Essie’s ability in ignoring danger was impressive. Cinderella marveled at her absolute composure.

  “Mamá will perish of an apoplexy. We shall be orphans…” Pricilla paused at this slip. “One moment, I’ll retrieve her.” She disappeared behind the door.

  Esmeralda guided Cinderella to a chair before the vanity. Hand to her shoulder, she pressed her down, none too gently. Cinderella feared Stepmamá would murder the three of them, even if Pricilla was an unwilling participant.

  Cinderella swallowed past the apple-sized lump in her throat, and glanced up at her reflection in the looking glass. Her eyes appeared much too large in her face, mouth too wide, the fear evident. A young maid appeared behind her.

  “Mademoiselle? Vos cheveux sont beaux.”

  “Merci.” Cinderella could hardly speak.

  “See? Manette thinks your hair is beautiful too,” Essie said.
<
br />   “Comment devrions-nous la coiffer?”

  Cinderella had no answer on how to dress her hair. But the matter appeared unnecessary as Essie put a finger to her bottom lip contemplating the dilemma for her. Pricilla poked her head round the door. “Tis, Mamá. She is coming.”

  “Do something, Cill,” Essie bit out.

  “Essie, don’t put yourself to trouble for me,” Cinderella said, horrified. They were as good as dead.

  “Children, children? Are you ready? Do not dally so.” Stepmamá sounded dangerously close. Cinderella gripped the edge of the vanity, panic choking her. Ready to bolt. She glanced about the chamber for a suitable hiding place. The wardrobe. Non, too impractical. Space would be limited with both Essie and Pricilla’s abundance of gowns. Beneath the bed. She jumped up.

  “Very nearly, Mamá,” Pricilla answered, slipping from the room. The door latched. “Is that what you presume to wear, Mamá? The green frock is so much more becoming…” Pricilla’s voice faded from beyond where her efforts proved successful in redirecting Stepmamá.

  Essie’s fingers dug into her shoulder as she pushed her back onto the chair. Cinderella forced her fingers to loosen from the vanity and met Essie’s eyes in the glass. Essie released a pent up breath that matched her own. There was no mistaking the tremble of Essie’s fingers, however.

  “See? No problem.” Essie’s confidence was astounding, but Cinderella heard the alarm she tried to mask. “But we must hurry,” she said. She turned to Manette, “Nous devons nous dépêcher.”

  “Oui, mademoiselle,” Manette responded, snatching the brush off the table.

  *****

  Supper remained the same formal affair with its full five customary courses as the evening wore on. And the wine, thankfully, flowed freely. Prince hid his surprise well, he thought, with the welcome addition of Cinderella in the fray of the family dining. He wondered briefly at the sudden turn of events. He had not thought Ersalia’s mamá that generous in nature.