Cinderella (Not quite the fairy tale Book 1)

by May Sage

Dane survived and better yet, conquered. It was his own battalion which had lead the covert op to attack the enemy’s leader, and won.

  Coming back home, nineteen, covered in medals, all he had wanted was to get the girl. That’s how the story was supposed to go.

  Damn, they were both young but he had fully intended to beg for her hands.

  The only woman who’d ever moved anything in him, she had been the one light he’d imagined at the end of the tunnel. The letters she’d written when he could still receive mail had lived inside his jacket, close to his heart for over four years…

  And she was dead.

  Now.

  Dane didn’t often think of Cinds.

  When he did however, he usually felt bitterness, betrayed – as if some invisible enemy had robbed him of the life he should have led.

  There was none of that now. Instead, he remembered her and for once, thought of her smile and her sweetness rather than the hollowness he’d had to battle against in the few months following his return to the palace.

  He had been a mess and when his unstable state had unleashed uncontrollable winds on the entire country, he hadn’t even cared.

  But he’d been young. Ten years later, it was with very little effort that he regained his composure and immediately, the gusts faltered.

  “I’m not the best company right now. I’ll tell you what: you pick a second choice, alright?”

  He took his leave without bothering to find an excuse. There was none. He had one thousand one hundred and seventy seven guests he just didn’t give a fuck about, and that was all.

  “Right, what’s crawling up your pants.”

  Alessandro had given him exactly fifteen minutes; ten more than he’d deserved.

  “I mean, I wouldn’t bother asking, but as you’re here rather than in your room, I take it you wanted to be found. Spill so I can go to bed.”

  “Here” was the secret chamber hidden between the walls for the protection of the royal family; or at least, such had been the intended purpose.

  Since his father had rebuilt the palace, it had been used whenever Dane had needed a break from anyone expect the only other man who fully understood him.

  “There was a girl a while ago. Like, almost fifteen years ago. I liked her and she died. I’m sure you recall the day when I found out.”

  “When…”

  “Let me remind you. A storm over Fortswood, thunder actually striking the palace in several places and the entire thing going up in flame?”

  As many nobles had been present to celebrate his return, everyone had supposed that the fire had been started by the rebels who loved to attack them, although they’d never hit the actual palace before.

  But Alessandro had been doubtful at the time; he’d told Dane he’d felt the unsettledness of the skies and suspected some pissed off Fays to be responsible.

  “That was you.”

  Dane shrugged, rather than elaborating. There was no need to ponder upon the extent of his rage or remind Sandro of the months of emptiness that had followed the incident; he’d had been there. Actually, he’d been the one who’d finally pulled him out of it.

  He’d given Dane a simple choice: he could pull himself together or Alessandro would leave.

  Sandro’s passion had never laid in the political games he excelled at. If it hadn’t been for Dane, he would have washed his hands of Alenia and everything attached to it the day he turned eighteen.

  But Dane was too selfish to let him.

  King Leopold had been adored by his court, worshiped by the people but none of that had made him a decent man.

  He’d married Dane’s mother for her fortune when the country had needed extra funds, all the while knowing that his current mistress had been pregnant.

  Alessandro, almost a year older than Dane, was the actual elder child of the King and could – at any point between Leopold’s death and Dane’s coronation – have sized the throne. Technically, he was still entitled to make a bid for it, although any move now would have led to a civil war.

  Yet his brother stayed in the shadows, content to help organising the country he could have ruled.

  They’d never discussed it; how were you supposed to approach such a subject? Hey, how do you feel about me being King when, really, it should have been you?

  But the gist of it was, he would have moved mountains to ensure that Alessandro wasn’t going anywhere so he’d somehow pushed his way out of his depression.

  Dane had lost the girl he’d loved and he would have done anything not to lose his brother too.

  “I’m sorry… but you were a kid, Dane.”

  “I was when I met her. I didn’t fall in love then. It was at war – when had I become a man – than she owned me. She wrote to me and… anyway, her death messed me up. Then, I met Aurora and she reminded me of Cinds, somehow, so I thought she’d be a good replacement.”

  He let the penny drop and Alessandro eventually guessed:

  “So Ella is similar too?”

  “Even more so. With Aurora, it was merely physical. Damn, Ella is… I can actually talk to her. And she made me laugh.”

  Dane didn’t really laugh; he just did the awkward choking thing when the situation called for it.

  “You’ve just met her; you’re probably…”

  “Projecting, I know. But hell, if I can only get an illusion, I’ll take it, dammit!”

  After all this time, didn’t he deserve it?

  He could have waited until morning but in his restless mood, he needed something to do so he tracked down Sheila to the quarters where she’d been settled; on the same floor, yet slightly secluded from the mists of women occupying his home.

  She met him at the door and reported that she was quite tipsy and therefor, didn’t have a thing to actually report.

  The journey, however, wasn’t exactly wasted.

  “Ell’s till down, though,” the girl informed him.

  By that, he assumed that she meant that Ella was still downstairs, in the billiard room they’d chosen for their oestrogen powered get together.

  Walking down, he assured himself that he was motivated by a set of strictly honourable reasons.

  While most of his staff was indeed trustworthy, it wouldn’t do to have a drunken woman alone in a house full of males, such as the cook who’d been flirting away with her.

  Then, he got there and the delusion shattered into tiny little pieces.

  He had to be frank and admit that he had come because he’d wanted to see her just like that.

  She’d lost the jeans, the hoodie and was now curled up on the plush rug next to the fireplace. For some reason, she was still wearing one of her tiny little red shoes.

  Although the lean naked legs and the pair of simple black boy shorts appealed to his taste, it wasn’t sexy; it was adorable. She’d lost her guards and was sweetly smiling in her slumber.

  Dane sat next to her and found himself playing with her halo of dark wavy hair. It was soft, sleek and somehow warmed his fingers as he curled it around them.

  Then, unexpectedly, she shifted in her sleep and somehow instinctively snuggled up next to him, her head on his knees.

  Well. There certainly were more uncomfortable places to sleep.

  Chapter 8: Heaven and Hell.

  It had been a while since Ella had slept in such a comfortable bed.

  The day following her father’s passing, she’d been invited to move her possessions at the very top of the eastern tower of her home, to what could only be described as the attic.

  A dark, messy, spidery attic, at that.

  There had been an old pallet and she’d made an half decent mattress out of old curtains; eventually, she’d sneaked in a throw, a few pillows. It hadn’t been too bad and when she’d been allowed to work, she’d bought herself a hallway decent castoff divan.

  However, she’d had the pleasure to sleep away from home a couple of time; there had been the instance when she’d completely collapsed at John and David�
��s place, and the one or two school trips she’d been permitted to attend.

  But none of the cushy, silky, plush bedding had ever been quite as good as this.

  It wasn’t soft – quite the contrary, actually – nor very flat; actually the surface seemed uneven, yet perfectly designed to relax her tense muscles and damn, the smell was…

  Familiar. Recognisable, as a matter of fact.

  She abruptly opened her eyes, anxious to investigate why her bedding smelt of the exact same blend of spice and musk as Daniel De Luz.

  It turned out that the reason was because the King was her bed. She’d somehow ended up curled up on top of him, her legs stuck between his, her head against his chest, one of his arms around her shoulder while the other…

  She decided that the wise course of action was to entirely ignore the second one, currently burning a hole at the top of her inner thigh.

  Ella ruffled through her memory; dinner, a game of card, some champagne – although not nearly as much as Sheila – and then, she’d decided to stay down and enjoy the dance of the flames in the fireplace for a while.

  Ella had no such luxury at home – at least, in no room she might have been free to frequent for a longer stretch of time. It wasn’t difficult to guess that she might have fallen asleep; flames had a mesmerizing effect on all, Cinders included.

  Yep, no Daniel in her recollections.

  She attempted to glare at him, but ended up gawking. Looking at his face was a dangerous past-time she rarely indulged in, even when he appeared on TV or the random cover of a glossy magazine.

  Since the beginning of the weekend, she’d avoided it at all cost. He was just that gorgeous.

  Black hair so dark they seemed almost blue in the morning light, long lashes that had no business on a male who wasn’t of the equine variety, that lovely mouth that seemed delicious... Up-close, she saw that they seemed a little bit on the dry side; ever so slightly chipped.

  Damn if that didn’t make her want to press them against hers.

  He’d remove his long formal dinner jacket to cover them both under it, and his silken chemise did nothing to hide the shape of his lean and muscular frame.

  “I hate you,” she told him.

  She’d thought it a few thousand times this last decade but it was the very first time she voiced it.

  She immediately understood why she never had before, as she heard the lie in her own intonation.

  Dammit.

  There was no way to disentangle herself without rousing him, so instead, she pinched the hand between her thighs. Hard.

  The chest she was snuggled up to vibrated as the man chuckled at her attempt to inflict him some pain.

  “I hate you,” she repeated, with more conviction this time.

  “Good,” he grumbled, his dry throat making his voice hoarse, soft and so damn sexy.

  As he was apparently at least half awake, she wiggled in an attempt to extricate herself from the embrace, but soon enough, she stilled.

  Shifting had brought her in direct contact with a part of him that was most definitely awake. Hopefully, anyway. If it wasn’t fully erect, his future wife was in for a very bumpy ride.

  Apparently Daniel didn’t just have eyelashes in common with horses.

  “Really?”

  “It’s the morning, woman,” he replied, apparently fully aware of what she was referring to. “Give me a break.”

  “I’ll certainly break something if you don’t let go of my leg. Now.”

  Chuckling again, he slowly lifted his hand from her leg to her waist, caressing the length of her leg and pushing her top up in the process.

  The ass knew exactly what he was doing and there was no point trying to hide the effect that the touch had on her; her gasp, her erratic breathing said it all.

  “Oh, you’re good,” she admitted out loud. “Obviously well practised.”

  Daniel finally opened his dark ocean blue gaze. It was sharp, and completely focused.

  “Yes, very,” he admitted without shame. “I fully understand how to please a woman, like any man should; and I expect you’d know exactly how to drive me completely mad with this.”

  He touched his palms to hers and intertwined their fingers for the space of one timeless moment; then he reached for her face, cupping it while his thumb brushed her mole first, then her mouth.

  “And with this,” he murmured, right before closing the distance between them.

  He didn’t kiss her; he only bit her lower lip, but it was enough.

  Enough to understand that she was so fucked.

  “Stop it. I told you; I’m not falling for it,” she lied, hoping that somehow, he failed to see through the bullshit.

  “Perhaps not,” he allowed. “But your body just might.”

  •

  What the hell had he been thinking when he’d announced intending to revealed his bride at the end of one long weekend?

  He needed weeks, months.

  He needed to give her time to know him, enjoy his company and someday, if he played his cards right, she might just trust him.

  Now, she didn’t.

  He might have succeeded in making her want to jump his bones, but damn if she wasn’t also considering the best escape route; her eyes had visibly roamed towards the door.

  Five bloody times.

  Giving up, he simply asked:

  “What are you thinking about?”

  His question took her by surprise and she dropped the façade for one very short second. Anyone else might have missed it, but luckily the ability to read behaviours was the essence of his job.

  What he deciphered was good news: she blushed. Ever so slightly, but it was enough to realise that whatever she had been thinking was to his advantage.

  Dane also knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that the girl was going to lie.

  “I’m just wondering what you’re doing out here with me, when there are many upstairs who would have leaped at what you’re offering right now.”

  Was she for real?

  There were a few things he needed to make absolutely clear right this minute.

  “This isn’t a raffle, or some sort of beauty pageant. There aren’t hundreds of runners. I could send over one thousand one hundred and seventy of you home right this instant.”

  I could send all of those who aren’t staring at me as thought I’d just grown a second head.

  “I seem to recall you mentioning an orgy in your memo. Well, woman, it’s anything but. I am to choose a bride within three days: the only persons I have the time to make offers to are my real options.”

  Dark eyes were supposed to be mysterious but hers reflected all of her secrets; the shock, the wonder and then, the appearance of displeasure.

  It was all it was, though. Appearance.

  Ella may have scowled and crossed her arms but her flush, her gasp, and the fact that she still – for all intent and purposes – straddling his cock, through three layers of cloth, told another story.

  “Don’t think whatever angle you’re working will work. You don’t know me,” she stated defiantly.

  “I will.”

  He would have years to do so after she said yes; years to get to understand what brought that cute little wrinkle of annoyance on her forehead, to lean how and where to touch and tease her flesh...

  As he had two days and a half left, though, he had to make an irrefutable case pretty damn quick. He grabbed her damn mess of dark locks and pushed her head towards his, almost groaning at the shift of her body over his.

  The next second, he was tasting a little parody of heaven, forged by hell.

  Fuck.

  It happened as soon as the lips brushed against each other; a jolt, a complete shock freezing them both in place for the fraction of an instant. Then, there was only one conscious thought.

  More.

  What the hell was this? As his tongue stroked hers, as she grinded against his frame, he felt something completely foreign undoing him from the in
side out; something so intense he would have almost described it as agonizing…

  No. Agony was what happened when the woman pushed against his torso and detached her lips from his.

  They were both panting, as thought they were recovering from a run rather than the most disturbingly intense make-out session of all time.

  Again. He needed it again.

  However, he could hear voices approaching behind the closed doors; someone was looking for him, or his flocks of servants were converging towards them.

  “That was…”

  “Not happening again,” she completed resolutely.

  He only snorted in disbelief. That was going to be part of a daily routine implemented soon.

  Really, really soon.

  How long did it take to plan a royal wedding anyway?

  Rather than futilely waste time arguing a moot point, he said:

  “Look, let’s make this simple; I like you. You like me. Let’s get to know each other.”

  Her derisive laugh was so fake she completely failed to deliver the disparagement she’d tried to sting him with.

  “Don’t,” he ordered, his hands back on her – around her waist – because he could simply not stop himself from touching her. “You kissed me back. You snuggled next to me in your sleep. You may look pissed off but, woman, your damn pussy is still sitting against my cock. That’s because, regardless of what this brain of yours think, your body likes mine. It’s a very basic thing.”

  “Could you be more of a disgusting pig?”

  He wasn’t doing very well, was he?

  “My point is, in less than three days, we won’t have to put up with each other if we don’t want to. Never again. So let’s get to know each other before we decide if Monday is the last time you wake up against me.”

  Chapter 9: Falling.

  No. No way. The right answer to that proposal was never in a million year.

  If the fact that he obviously planned to intrude in her sleeping arrangements tomorrow and the day after was an indication, he’d wanted to do this whole touching thing again and she was not up for it.