Cinderella (Not quite the fairy tale Book 1)

by May Sage

  Instead, it seemed she’d walked right off an edgy runaway.

  Shit, someone really needed to have a chat with her. Right away. That kind of getup was going to be a problem. At the minute, he felt a very large problem rising to attention. The red bra under the loose white t-shirt was more appealing than any of the low necklines and side slits around the room.

  Red. Bra.

  As thought she’d been at the palace from the instant of her birth, the woman expertly roamed her eyes around the room and smiled, acknowledging and making herself agreeable to everyone in one single glance.

  There, he wanted to shout, pointing at her. There was a Queen.

  Finally her gaze fell on him and her pleasant expression fell, morphing into a purposeful scowl.

  Ah. So the fuck you had been personal.

  While the De Luz were generally liked, it wasn’t actually possible to reign without accumulating a fair few enemies; people who didn’t appreciate some of their decisions, those who wouldn’t accept their explanations…

  There were the others, though; those he encountered once in a blue moon.

  Dane was ruling a kingdom: his subject had to obey a set a rules and when they didn’t, they were punished for it…

  However, very occasionally, the system went wrong. They could be overtaxed, fined or condemned for crimes they hadn’t committed.

  Dane turned to Chantelle, wondering if she had found any trace of family feud or personal requests denied by the crown.

  While he’d had a background check done, he’d asked Alessandro to review it, rather than reading it himself. It had seemed almost perverted at the time; now, he wondered what he’d missed.

  “So, are we sending them all packing?” Alessandro asked, and for a moment, Dane wished he could.

  But the thing was, it really wasn’t an option; not because of the reaction of his subject – daunting as that thought might be – but because of all the ire conveyed by Ella’s dark smothering eyes.

  He had summoned her here and would be entitled to demand everything she had, but under Alenian laws, everything she was belonged to her.

  Her hand was hers to give and there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind that had he dropped to his knees and begged for it at this very instant, she would have laughed to his face.

  The show was over, there was no denying it – not anymore. The goal of this weekend had completely changed the moment he’d seen her face through Alessandro’s screen. Ella Tremaine was the woman he was going to propose to and he had two and a half days to convince her to say yes.

  Dane sighed, wondering if changing a few laws might be more straightforward.

  Chapter 4: Anger.

  Ella had never had the pleasure of passing an interview for a job she didn’t want before; she had to admit, it was kinda fun.

  Instead of worrying over every answer, she relaxed, sat back and smiled, often raising her brow at something her assessor said.

  After a set of embarrassingly comprehensive physical exams, she’d been ushered to this bright, welcoming office where a woman who’d introduced herself as Silvia asked her some rather intrusive questions.

  Silvia was a beautiful, yet subdued in her grey suit, her hair was knotted in a perfect chignon, her eyes hidden rectangular glasses.

  She was also very, very nice. While Ella didn’t mind it, she also had a tendency to suspect that kind of excessive sweetness towards a stranger.

  She wanted her to drop her guard therefore, it really wouldn’t be happening.

  After twenty minute of nonsense, Silvia said:

  “Obviously, being Queen would come with a few perks. What do you think you’d enjoy the most?”

  That wasn’t a hard one:

  “Well, my actions are more likely to have an impact if I wear a crown so I suspect it would be easier to make a difference.”

  “What would you like to change?”

  That was getting a bit too close for comfort, but she explained without making it personal:

  “There is a lot of anger between nobles and commoners and it is rooted in the way the government treat either party. Everything from the schools we attend, to the laws we abide by depends on who your family is. I believe that’s wrong and I plan on changing what I can – with or without a crown on my head.”

  Preferably, without.

  The blond stopped taking note and looked down at her for the first time.

  “You’re a noble,” she told her.

  It wasn’t a question, so Ella simply shrugged.

  “And what would be the worst thing about it?”

  That was another effortless one:

  “Being married to the King.”

  If she was certain of one thing, it was that whoever married Daniel De Luz would be miserable. He would effortlessly make her fall in love with him, before breaking her to pieces with his carless indifference.

  Perfect Blond didn’t particularly like this answer, though.

  “I’ve read your file, Ella. All of your file, starting when they used to call you Cinderella.”

  Now all pretence of amiability came to an abrupt close; she almost spat her name. Ella wondered at it at first, but somewhere in the depth of her blue eyes, she saw her answer clear as day.

  Ah. So, berating Daniel in front of that woman might not have been the best idea she’d come up with.

  “Why have you changed your name, Ella? Why hiding who you are?”

  “I haven’t. My father has, when I was a minor.”

  “How convenient. Why not change it back when you turned eighteen?”

  Perhaps because I am effectively bound to my gaoler had have had absolutely no help from the crown.

  “Has it occurred you that Daniel might be more likely to choose little Ella Tremaine than a Duchess?”

  Ella didn’t usually get angry. Not with her sleazy boss, her stepsister, not even with Lady Tremaine. She’d understood a long time ago that the nature of most human being was to be cruel – the kind one just had the strength to fight that instinct.

  She knew what her anger could cause, so she’d taught herself such strength: curbing her own moods was her version of showing kindness. Whenever she felt that she might possibly feel a little upset, she got out of the situation.

  That being said, the woman – with her annoyingly familiar blue eyes – had managed to piss her off in the space of a few second and that wasn’t good.

  There were exactly two differences between those descending straight from the Old Kingdom and the rest of the populace: the bond and the wishes.

  The wishes were the good part.

  Anyone could appeal to the fay and if the creatures were in a very, very good mood – or rather bored – they might possibly answer, but would demand a humongous price in exchange of each request.

  Those with fay blood – such as the Falls, de Luzes, Cinders and Woods – were assigned two guardian at birth and within their lifespan, were warranted a free wish from each.

  The downside was an unbreakable bond to the element their ancestors had been attached to. As a Cinder, she was fire all the way which meant that she needed to get out.

  Now.

  “You know nothing about me. Assume all you want, blondie.”

  With that, she got up and left, breathing in and out as slowly as possible.

  That had been a close call.

  •

  “I like her.”

  Dane did a double take, astonished.

  Silvia didn’t like anyone, especially not other female; she had the attractive woman syndrome.

  Beautiful and aware of her own assets, she was also smart enough to understand that those big doe’s eyes and her heart-shape face failed to make her that notable therefore, was an absolute bitch to every other woman – especially those who, like Ella, had a little bit more.

  “She can hold her own. I’m pretty sure she can protect herself.”

  He only raised an eyebrow, doubtful. The woman was five foot one, at most, and wo
uldn’t tip the scale against a hundred pound – not even yesterday, soaking wet from head to toes.

  However Silvia didn’t do the whole flattery thing; if she said Ella was strong, she was.

  Dane hadn’t expected it, but it that was definitely one very desirable characteristic in a future Queen of Alenia.

  “I doubt she likes me very much, though. I may or may not have been a bit blunt with her.”

  That was more like it.

  “Which brings me to the reason why I’m interrupting your all-important afternoon break. She’s a bit upset. I thought now might be a good time to go and be an awesome Prince Charming.”

  “I’m a King, and I don’t do charming.”

  “Then, you’re screwed, aren’t you?”

  •

  Whatever the problem, it turned out ice cream could generally be the solution; especially homemade vanilla ice cream with pecan and bits of hard salted caramel. She was literally going to have an orgasm on the stool.

  “Frank, you’re a fucking genius.”

  “Excuse me while I attempt to get over the fact that a girl who used to wear satin, muslin taffeta and lace dresses just said fucking. It’s so wrong.”

  “Please, that was over a dozen years…”

  “Do not finish that sentence if you want any more of that, girl. You’re not going to remind me of how old I am.”

  Ella just snorted. Frank had been a kitchen porter when she’d met him; fifteen years later, he was hardly what one would call ancient.

  He’d grown into quite an attractive man, despite the chef whites.

  Actually, scratch that. He was hot, point blank; pulling of the surfer ultimate combo, from the dark tanned flesh to the long sun-bleached hair.

  “So, you’re on the running for the King’s hand, now. That’s hardly a surprise.”

  She’d been flattered when he’d recognised her but now, she cursed his remarkable memory.

  “Hardly, Frank. I’ll be quite happy when the weekend is over, believe me.”

  “Mhh. We should stay in touch after you leave. You know, take the occasional drink in the city when I actually get to have a day off.”

  She laughed and was just about to accept when a purposeful knock against the wide open door interrupted them.

  Ella turned and almost fell off her stood.

  There were places one could be prepared to see his Royal Highness the King of Alenia. The palace’s kitchen wasn’t one of them.

  From up-close he was gorgeous, of course. Every woman on Gaia knew it, but they were still all missing out: no camera could give full justice to his silky dark hair, the stormy blue of his eyes or those sculptural muscles flexing under his clothes, with each of his movement.

  He too wore a uniform; the beige and blue casual military attire, with the long jacket, the discreet embroidery around the colour and the ems, the sword…

  It looked good. If you were into that sort of thing.

  Who was she kidding? Let’s face it, everyone was into this uniform; it had probably been designed specifically to make female drool.

  But the punch in the guts was his smell.

  It may very well have been a fay thing, but scent generally hit her more powerfully than any other sense and he was deliciously spicy, exotic, masculine and...

  God was she ogling? From his smug smile, she decided that she indeed, had been gawking at him with a vacant, enamoured expression.

  Great. Return to your twelve-year-old self, why don’t you?

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything of importance.”

  The question was addressed to Frank and said with a hint of disapprobation; he’d obviously heard the conversation and wasn’t thrilled about it. Was it because Frank had been joking about his lack of time off?

  “Nothing we can’t catch up on another time. Is there anything I can help you with, your highness? It’s so very rare to have you down here.”

  The King looked from his chef to her and his gaze somehow went down to settle on her bowl of ice cream.

  Really?

  Ella didn’t share deserts.

  But then again, he kind of was the master of the place so reluctantly, she scooped a very little helping and held it out; he greedily opened his mouth and devoured it.

  She couldn’t help but notice how his eyes, so cold one second, shifted to something wild, hungry.

  Actually, ravenous

  “Good, right?”

  “Very. How come I haven’t tried that before?” he asked the chef.

  “It’s staff food, your highness. Made with leftovers. You’ve never ordered anything close to it and I do as I’m asked.”

  Ella smiled admiringly at Frank; the guy certainly had balls. A lesser man might have apologized and sworn to serve it this very evening, not shrugged it off and carried on prepping carrots.

  But then again, he was Alenian; it seemed they’d all been injected with a very healthy dose of testosterone.

  “Could I possibly trouble you for a portion, Frank?”

  She was quite surprised that he remembered his name, but as one of the main chefs, Frank was probably considered high up in the household’s hierarchy – and the occasional guest might have wished to know who they needed to brag about.

  “Of course. To take away?”

  There were balls, and there was pain old stupidity. Was he actually kicking his King out of the kitchen?

  “Please. If you’d accompany me?” Daniel asked, turning back to her.

  It was only then that the penny dropped.

  The men weren’t pissing on the floor to mark their territory. They were pissing on her.

  Daniel De Luz saw her as his until Monday – as part of the harem he’d called to his home – and Frank was stupidly baiting him.

  “Actually, I was about to have a look around. I don’t believe they allow food in the corridors.”

  Daniel broke into a delightful smile – one that actually reached his eyes, for a change.

  “Woman, you may not have noticed, but I happen to be the King.”

  The cocky bastard thing should have irritated her, but she could feel a smile forming despite her best effort; the glint of derisiveness was just irresistible.

  It was the very worst thing about Daniel; his approachable persona made it impossible to realise what he was behind the mask – a cold-hearted, ruthless, uncaring bastard.

  But Ella had fallen for it once; it would not happen again.

  Chapter 5: Size.

  Then.

  Dane’s hand was still trembling; it turned out that punching a wall wasn’t such a smart idea. It hadn’t alleviated any of the frustration and now, his hand was bleeding.

  He wasn’t exactly feeling the pain though; pain was one of those things you eventually end up getting used to. But a blatant opened wound would mean questions he wasn’t at liberty to give a sincere answer to.

  “I got pissed off when I caught my father forcing himself on a maid,” wasn’t an option and “Oh, just an accident,” sounded fake as fuck.

  “You should go,” a little voice said behind him.

  He turned, expecting Silvia although his half-sister never sounded quite so gentle. Instead, he discovered a kid in a monstrous dress.

  It had a layer of sheer, sparkling shit over a long bulbous blue skirt, and while the bustier wasn’t nearly as bad, it was ruined by puffy sleeves.

  Yet, somehow the girl managed to look absolutely adorable in it, perhaps because she seemed genuinely happy.

  Dane knew some beautiful women; he also had met some happy ones. Never had he witnessed those two traits joined in one female before this day, though. Ugly or old women generally seemed content enough but the rest…

  His mother had been miserable until the day she’d died. His sister absolutely despised their father and everything attached to him – which unfortunately meant everything in the whole country. The attractive women in the palace were wary and weary.

  One downside of living in a palace rul
ed by a psychotic serial rapist.

  “What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

  “You should go outside if you want to.”

  Only then did he notice the garden his eyes had absently gazed over through the windows; it was gorgeous, of course. He’d heard they were the envy of surrounding kingdoms and now he saw it; the picturesque domes and the beautifully carved bushes and lanes, the magical fountains.

  His ears caught a familiar voice approaching, breaking the spell, and something in him suddenly bolted.

  The kid was young; twelve or thirteen, maybe a little less, but she was beautiful and it was the only thing that mattered at Fortswood. Dane had no reason to believe that details such as a woman’s age would stop his father from taking what he stole from everyone else.

  He abruptly took the girl’s hand, pulled her to him and grabbed her by the waist to throw her on his shoulder. The next instant, he’d opened the window and jumped down from the third floor.

  His landing was quiet and skilful, but now they were out of danger, he realised he’d probably scared the crap out of the little wannabe princess. He gently put her down on her wobbly feet, thinking up apologies, up until he got a look at her face.

  She was smiling broad, her eyes alive with mischiefs and she laughed so hard she soon had to hold her sides.

  Over the years, Dane had spontaneously used his affinity with the air a number of times and sporadically, it had involved the occasional lady.

  The usual reaction was horror, fear, queasiness; anything but the obvious delight she displayed.

  “Oh my god, we were practically flying!”

  Not quite; but soon, he did show her how to do just that.

  The girl was a bundle of laugher, energy and pure fun ­– something he hadn’t experienced in years. Fuck, he was fifteen and she’d gotten him to play stupid games for hours!

  But soon – too soon – he heard the voices calling out an unfamiliar, yet utterly beautiful name.

  Cinderella.

  He reluctantly brought her back towards the palace, seeing that if they were reasonable about it, her parents might let her come back.