by May Sage
Now.
Ella was so easy to speak to; he would have thought – after merely an hour – that he’d known her forever.
She also had a weird thing about losing her shoe. Seriously. The little flats had managed to fall twice, so far.
“Three times,” he corrected a second later, chuckling as she irritably stomped the naked foot, cursing at her footwear.
“Occupational hazard. I have a couple of old pairs which were made to my measurements, but the rest are slightly too big.”
“Why?” he wondered.
When he caught her death stare, he had to laugh out loud. Damn if the little kitten wasn’t endearing when she was trying to roar.
He was going to push for an answer but his gaze fell down to the red ballerina he’d absentmindedly picked up.
Damn.
They were almost smaller than his palms.
“What size…”
“Don’t,” she threatened darkly.
He laughed again.
But really, what size was that?
He kneeled before her and she pushed up her teeny, tiny little foot.
Dane had found that kind of fetish rather strange in the past, but damn if those weren’t cute. He had nothing against the idea of taking the little toe in his mouth and…
“Whatever you’re imagining,” she said, “don’t.”
Wise advice.
Glancing back up brought his attention to her mouth and his mind immediately sank back in the gutter.
The first and only rule of conversation she observed was “don’t bullshit me, or I’ll call you out on it.”
She did just that after asking why he was wasting his time showing her the gardens when he was supposed to get to know one thousand one hundred and seventy eight women.
He’d dished out a random excuse about having some time as one of his appointments had been cancelled and she’d stop him right there:
“Wait a minute: you give yourself seventy-two hours to find a bride and you’ve got appointments this weekend.”
That’s when he realised that there was a reason why some guy preferred their women dumb.
“Well, if you demand the truth from me, I must admit I’ve been curious about you ever since I’ve read your message.”
While she blushed, she also laughed and shrugged rather than beg for his pardon; he couldn’t tell whether he liked or absolutely hated the fact that she wasn’t in awe of his power.
“Well, if that’s any excuse, I wasn’t expecting you to actually read it.”
“I’m happy I did. You wouldn’t be here, otherwise.”
She openly snorted at that. Admittedly, it did kinda sound like a line but it genuinely hadn’t been.
“Look, your grace, I’m not going to swoon at that. Actually, I won’t fall for anything you’ve got up your sleeves. Been there, done that – it’s just not happening again. It was really nice speaking to you, but don’t waste your time on me when you have a wife to catch.”
She got up from the bench where they’d stopped, a jovial bounce in her steps as she walked away.
Dane let her go. There was no other option. He really didn’t want her around when he digested that she’d been with some other guy.
It was absurd. Of course she had, like any other twenty-something woman out there.
Dane didn’t like little girls straight out of school, which meant that every single woman he’d ever got involved with, including his previous fiancée had had a past.
He hadn’t cared about Aurora’s ex-boyfriend, or even about the admirers who got too touchy so he had had every reason to believe that he didn’t get jealous.
But that particular piece of information made him want to lash out every single wind under his control at the unknown threat any previous lover of Ella Tremaine represented.
She was his.
•
She should have felt quite satisfied with herself; she’d said what needed to be said and hopefully, he’d leave her alone from now.
The thing was, she wasn’t anywhere close to. Satisfaction would have been having him at his feet begging for her forgiveness but fat chance of that; he didn’t even remember her.
His response to her plea to help with Lady Tremaine had made it clear that Prince Daniel, newly returned from his time with the militia, didn’t recall – or care much for – the girl he’d played days after days for one summer; she’d comprehended that early on and had even learnt to accept it.
In some miniscule part of her brain though, there had been some sort of hope that he might come to, if only to rejoice in his embarrass.
Now she was just frustrated; at herself for even feeling that hope, at him for being an all-around jackass.
By the time she made it back to the palace, an attendant informed her that they would be expected for dinner within the hour; the man looked her up and down from her flats to her hoodie and she imagined he meant to express that that amount of time could be used to do something about her attire, when he helpfully added that the dinner would be served in the formal dining room.
Fuck that shit.
Before she’d met Daniel, Fortswood had been her favourite place to accompany her mother to for a very different reason and she resolved to entertain herself while she was there; so, she walked to the stables.
While the palace had certainly changed, she found them still at the rear.
There was a time when there had been dogs, horses and ducks in her home; as Lady Tremaine didn’t see any financial advantage in keeping animals who needed grooms, vets and food, there were none left but her ugly cat and the little mice who plagued him.
She took the liberty of grabbing a bucket and clean the relatively tidy stool of the oldest, grumpiest and possibly ugliest horse around, all the while engaging him in a conversation.
Those who believed animal couldn’t comprehend what they were told are fools.
When she informed him that she really couldn’t wait for the end of the weekend, and was looking forward to resuming her life – where she would never, ever see the King again – the horse nickered a derisive snort.
“I’m telling the truth,” she assured him.
The horse just shook his head, before pushing her towards his food bucket.
“For a posh pure breed horse, you’re kind of an ass.”
Chapter 6: Females.
Determined to prove the horse wrong, she decided that the best way forward was to completely avoid the King for the rest of the weekend; therefor when the chamberlain directed her towards a seat placed almost directly opposite him, she turned to a pretty girl who was longingly gazing at Daniel and asked her for a swap.
The girl didn’t seem that grateful; in fact, for some unfathomable reason, she seemed pissed at Ella.
It was only then that she realised that absolutely every woman in the room sent her the same look, a mixture of irritation and disdain. Oh great. Someone had seen them out in the garden and she’d been labelled as “that” girl.
It didn’t make a blink of sense. A slut would have cornered him in a secluded room, somewhere where they could have made use of a flat, non-humid surface; not the grounds.
She’d never cared about such a thing as reputation; so what if they thought she had been humping Daniel in the bushes? She knew she hadn’t. Consequently, instead of bowing her head in shame, Ella shrugged and walked towards blondie’s place.
She was only showing up because of the flagrant food which had teased her nostrils since she’d made it indoors.
“Good move,” she heard from her left, “but it won’t make them like you; the problem is that you’ve been given the place of honour to start with.”
Ella turned and had to raise her head to get a glimpse of the gorgeous woman sitting next to her. She was probably an entire foot taller than her and had an exotic and polished appearance, complete with expensive gold jewellery, a silk shift dress bearing a discreet logo anyone would recognise and a deliciously floral perfume.
“They wouldn’t like whatever I do,” she responded with an indifferent wave of her hands.
Ella simply didn’t get along with women. It wasn’t voluntary – she’d tried her very best to be likable in her youth – but there was just no way she could connect with the rest of her sex.
Strangely, the startling beauty next to her seemed more approachable than the rest of the room.
“Tell me about it,” the woman nodded, obviously understanding.
It clicked then, when she shot her a dazzling smile: she was Sheila Vaneer, the model who’d taken the whole continent by storm a few years back, before virtually disappearing from the public scene.
It wasn’t a surprise that this woman hadn’t volunteered compromising pictures; her whole future/post career might have gone down the drains if they’d leaked.
“But you have to understand their predicament. Look at them,” Sheila said, pointing to a group of girls chatting away.
There were two brunettes and a blond, one smaller than the rest and one who might benefit from a diet actually involving food rather than air.
“You’ve just compared them. In your mind, you’ve decided who the pretty one is.”
That was true; the pretty one was the plump brunette who self-consciously replaced her curls every five seconds or so.
“And now, ask yourself why they would want to be friends with us?”
She looked at her blankly, failing to comprehend her meaning.
“Those like you and I will always end up on top,” the woman clarified in response to her blank look.
Sheila would have sounded like an arrogant bitch if she hadn’t seemed so nonchalant and matter-of-fact.
She just snorted in reply. The thing was, she was spot on when it came to her own appeal, but her account of Ella was quite overrated. She had a slim, yet curvy figure, her face was proportionate, her skin, clear and her hair… No need to talk about the hair. In no way did those attribute place her in the same level as Sheila Vaneer.
“No need to shake your head. It’s not about being pretty, it’s about standing out. If you were half a foot taller, if you wore a dress, if you didn’t have that little mole on your chin, you’d be just like them. But you do, which makes you striking. No plain Jane likes to have striking friends.”
Ella just stared at her blankly.
Damn if that didn’t make sense.
Girls were generally wearing the same kinda thing, ever desperate to blend in, but those who ended up on TV screens and billboard were the one who didn’t look identical to the rest of them; the likes of Sheila, with her strikingly beautiful purple eyes and that golden skin of hers.
Ella had never felt the inclination to blend in. In the past, she’d done her very best to find the prettiest, girliest dresses one could imagine. Later, when she had found herself without the funds to indulge in her taste, she’d settled on going for the most comfortable or practical thing she could find in her price range. The whole trendy thing hadn’t ever registered on her radar.
Was it what made others uncomfortable? Would she have had female friends if she’d been five foot five and had something fashionable rather than a blue t-shirt reading Don’t Grow Up – It’s A Trap?
“And the fact that your face is quite similar to Aurora Stephenson certainly has been noticed.”
Ella ignored the bitter feeling that name never failed to conjure.
The thing was, she couldn’t deny it.
Five years ago, when the engagement had first been announced, she remembered looking at the picture of the foreign beauty and wondered if it had been what had caught Daniel’s attention when they’d first met. That face.
He obviously had something for their type, because if Aurora died her hair, made a mess of it and somehow found herself losing six inches horizontally, they could very well have been twins.
She remembered snorting and wishing Aurora all the luck in the world. She certainly needed it to keep her fiancée’s attention.
“You seem well versed in social science.”
“Quite. That actually was my PhD.”
In her surprise, Ella let a bit of the delightful clam she’d just brought to her mouth go down the wrong way and caught it up.
Sheila found her astonishment entertaining, but was thankfully not offended. She filled up her glass and kindly handed it to her.
“Yes, some of us have a brain. I just started modelling to pay my way through school.”
Now, she shamefully recalled that all of them had some education or they wouldn’t have made their way through the selection process.
Thinking about it, social science was the perfect subject a future queen could study. Ella quickly glanced down toward Daniel, and back to Sheila.
Would he be tempted by the Amazon? Was Sheila likely to welcome his attention?
“He’s gorgeous,” the woman said, yet again reading her mind. “But I want it all. The whole grand elusive love thing. It’s not going to happen here, not in three days.”
Ella soundlessly nodded her agreement.
No one was going to fall in love this weekend but then again, it wasn’t what it was about.
Out of the dozen hundred women here, a fifth was visibly amenable to the idea of getting a crown and those could be separated in two categories: the optimists and the opportunists.
The first category included those who sighed, doe-eyes every time his royal majesty passed in front of them. They genuinely believed that the king might somehow make them happy, for whatever reason.
The others were sighing, too, but at the expensive jewellery at their disposal in each and every one of their rooms, the palace’s splendour and the billions the De Luz represented.
Ella didn’t know which infuriated her more.
“So if he asked…”
“He wouldn’t,” Sheila shrugged indifferently. “I intend to stay out of his way, in any case. Keeping… female company might help, if you’d like to stick around?”
Was she actually suggesting that they might want to pretend being into each other? The time, she spit out some of her water as chuckles erupted.
Sheila stayed absolutely unreadable all the way during their conversation, but the ghost of a smile crept in.
•
What was making her giggle so damn much every five beaming second?
Being there, in front of the lady who bat her eyes more often than a butterfly on crack, while Ella sat at the other end of the table, having the time of her life with Sheila was torture.
Right after dessert, he decided that he didn’t actually have to endure it, and got up, intending to make his way down and join them; but the two women were actually walking away.
Ella cracked a full blown smile which stunned him in place, before returning to the table and grabbing an unopened bottle of Champagne. Sheila – who as a rule looked absolutely miserable unless Chantelle was near – grinned and imitated her, taking one in one hand for good measure.
Dane had to force himself to remember that it had been his idea. He had asked Sheila – who as well as one of his rare friends, was a most promising intelligence analyst – to “do the friend thing” and get to know her.
But Sheila was bisexual and he knew for a fact that her relationship with Chantelle was completely open. Hell, what if she fancied Ella? Scratch that. She would fancy Ella.
What if Ella returned the feeling?
The idea of those two together should have been hot; Dane wasn’t ashamed about frequently observing Sheila and Chantelle when they got touchy-feely. Instead, though, he felt like grabbing the exotic beauty by the hair and yanking her back. He never had laid a hand on a woman but damn, if she touched Ella…
Obviously, his thoughts were written on his forehead because Alessandro soon leaned in to whisper:
“She knows her boundaries. Give her an hour. In the
meantime, try and pay attention to your options, would you? You need a second choice, Dane.”
The annoying thing about Alessandro was that the man would have been a great king; most definitely a better one than Dane. He was practical to a fault and cunning when he needed to.
Most of the time, Dane valued practical and cunning; the logical thing was to find a second option, in case Ella ended up being unsuitable or worse, refused him…
But the prospect of just replacing her didn’t sit very well with him.
It was absurd.
Wasn’t it what he was doing here, replacing Aurora?
“Dane, calm down. The wind is picking up. Inside.”
What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t felt this unstable since…
Chapter 7: Storm.
Then.
“What do you mean, there is no Cinder left?”
“We’ve buried two in your absence, and I don’t think there were many more.”
No, there had been exactly two. He remembered the sweet cheery voice explaining just that.
“Mum said we’re the only one allowed to have «Cindr» at the start of our first names. It was different when there were a lot of us, and some men could bear the name after they married, but as we’re girls, I’m Cinderella and she’s Cindrana. Don’t you think it sounds weird?”
“It’s beautiful, Cinds,” he’d told her.
Beautiful, like her.
He’d left for the army six months before Jereena called for help to protect their borders and when they did, at his father’s request, he’d been sent to war.
Some might find strange that the country’s one prince might so be casually brushed away, but first, it was Alenia, a country of soldiers, and the people wouldn’t have it any other way.
Secondly, while Dane was the sole heir, he certainly wasn’t the only child of king Leopold’s.
The general populace might not know of the two others but in the event where Dane might come back in a box, they would have been made aware.