by May Sage
“She might have called to a fay, even if she doesn’t hold their blood.”
He really, really hoped not. Fays took their payment seriously and generally asked for an arm and a leg. Literally.
“And if she has, what does it change?” Silvia shrugged.
Nothing; whether with the help of magic or by her own means, Ella had disappeared and he had to finally accept it.
Don’t.
He stilled, frozen in place at the sound of her voice, ringing like a bell in his mind.
That’s it. He had suspected it for some time, but now he knew: he was actually insane.
Insane enough to consider using his second and last wish.
He would always remember the day when he made use of the first. He’d been nine and he wished for her mother to stop crying. The next day, she was dead.
He’d researched fay magic extensively in his teens and had concluded that he’d caused it. Fay used whatever word you say and moulded them as they wished.
Taking into account his brother’s theory, he suspected it would have done no good to wish to know Ella’s whereabouts. If she was somehow shielded through fay magic, he wouldn’t have found her had she been in front of him.
Instead, he wished to know how to get to her.
Nothing happened at first; he didn’t expect it to. There had been no thunder, tambours or applauds preceding his mother’s fatal slumber.
But within seconds, he heard it again, just as clear as he had seconds ago. Her voice.
Chapter 14: Decisions.
Deserve her. He was supposed to deserve her.
Shit.
Dane would have been fine with most demands; had she asked for someone who could give her comfort, security, love, he would have found her within days.
Yes, it was ridiculous but he did love her, he finally admitted to himself, quite openly.
Contrarily to what he’d believed, love at first sight seemed to exist. That made him a superficial prick, but hey.
“Hey!” Chantelle called out one morning, joining his daily run around the parks.
She wasn’t exactly dressed for exercise, though, in a sharp suit, with a suitcase in his hand.
“I found it! I’ve found her. I mean, I haven’t actually found her but…”
Dane laughed, slowing to a walk, and offered his assistant the water bottle he carried.
“Calm down, and try again, will you?”
She finally caught her breath and, without taking a sip, replied:
“I found Ella. Rather, I’ve found what we’ve been looking for about her. When I did a background check back in October, I looked at anything that has happened in her adult life. Well, I’ve decided to try and find out the rest a while ago, but it was difficult. Some of her file has been taken – recently, too – and buried. It took a while, but I found her records.”
Dane took her wrist and led her to a bench as soon as humanly possible. He insisted that she’d drink, before gesturing her to carry on.
“I realised she pretty much popped out of nowhere at sixteen; I researched every database in the country and nothing gave me a clue, so I decided to try a bit of actual investigation. I went to the town where she lives this morning; it’s a beautiful little village, picturesque, but very small. I just approached the first person I came across, an old farmer, and asked.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Everything.”
Cinderella.
It didn’t make sense, not a word of it.
Dane felt dizzy, lightheaded. It couldn’t be true.
Yet, at the same time, the rational part of him wanted to nod and shrug. Of course, it was her. Haven’t you noticed that adorable little mole under her mouth? Didn’t you feel connected to her as soon as you saw her, through a bloody screen?
Didn’t she seem to hate your guts?
The old farmer had told Chantelle Ella had spent years serving her relatives.
If that was true, he knew for a fact that she would have asked for help – his help – at one point of another.
Recalling her first stare, he already knew the answer, but he dug through the royal achieves all the same.
There it was.
The letter was concise, to the point; and so was the answer he’d written.
He didn’t recall it, but that was no surprise: it had been within month of his return, when he’d been mourning her loss. Who knew how many people he’d treated so unjustly during that period.
Fuck.
How was he ever supposed to deserve her, after that?
•
“How was town?” she asked reluctantly.
The fay wasn’t interested in most human activities; he only paid attention to major events when he went away on his own, and major events in Alenia were generally connected to Dane.
She didn’t want to hear it, but she needed to. He’d get married anytime now; things would be better after she put it behind her.
“Interesting. These weeks have been busy. There won’t be a war, apparently. And the King has offered to abdicate.”
What the hell.
The cat she was operating meowed when her hand slip.
“Damn it, you don’t do that to people who are cutting animals open, Skinny!”
“Must you call me that?”
“I must.”
He sighed and shrugged, but failed to conceal his smile.
Whatever he said, the fay loved to be teased.
“So, tell me more.”
“Well, as the Woodlands have announced...”
“About the King!”
“Oh, yes. He told everyone that Alessandro Primerius is his older brother, the actual elder child of the previous king and offered to abdicate. Alenians get to vote for either options.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. He also did a long speech about the fact that he wouldn’t be giving any heir to the kingdom unless… something about someone fitting a small shoe, it was rather confusing.”
Ella carefully stitched the cat up, before turning her scalpel towards her cousin:
“Don’t think I’m not aware that you’re doing this on purpose, but I warn you: I have enough sedatives to knock a cow down and my skills at spraying males are getting pretty good, cousin.”
Skinny raised an eyebrow but he also deigned to give her a full account of the drama:
“Daniel had announced his love for a woman and declared that only her would do. If they want him as King, they have to accept that. He said, word for word, that he’d only marry a woman who could fit into her glass slipper.”
Ella frowned, perplexed.
What was his game? Sheila was good enough to bed, but not to wear the crown? Was he racist or something?
“Look, in my humble opinion, you should go.”
Ah. So, apparently, his tolerance for her sarcasm had reached a limit.
“I would love having you here for the rest of time, little Cinder. I’ll let you in on a secret. You’re part pixie.”
It was her turn to raise a brow questioningly.
“Pixies are tiny, adorable and playful, if you catch my meaning. You are the first to jump on a puddle and on… other things. Over the centuries, they’ve been revered and sought by the Kings of our realm – which is the reason why we’re related.”
“So, you’re – like – fay royalty, or something?”
“Pretty much. So are you. Moving on: there is no reason why a half human would ever stray on a pixie. There is a very good chance that you’ve completely misinterpreted the situation.”
She shook her head, denying the whole thing.
First off, she wasn’t very playful; not anymore. The joy and enthusiasm he described had definitely defined her in her youth but now, who was she but a weary, worried undergrad vet who practiced her trade illegally when they came across an animal in need of care?
Nevermind the fact that the skills Skinny had taught her over the last months made her more of an expert than any o
f her professors.
“You don’t have to believe me. How about believing your gift?”
The gift he referred to was the one he’d bestowed upon her: thanks to her wish, she was literally invisible to nine out of ten people, unless she consciously chose to reveal herself.
It had startled her when a little girl had looked straight at her that morning; it had been over a week anyone had been able to point her out.
“What about it?”
“They’re holding a ball tonight, as the results of the votes are to be read. Let’s go. If he can’t see you, we’ll be on our way. I have a mind to set for the East, anyhow. If he can…”
“How? It’s most probably by invitations only. You could get us in but…”
“Certainly not,” Skinny snorted, cynical. “I’ve given you one wish, dearest. If you want another one, you’ll have to pay for it, and as you have nothing of value, the cost is going to be worse. Your eldest child, for example.”
She gapped at him, shocked into silence.
Rumpelstiltskin had brought her along for over two months and paid for every single expense, including her clothing, her utensils, the drugs she’d needed to help her patients.
Reading her expression correctly, he explained:
“I don’t mind spending money on you, it’s worthless. Magic cost a great deal. Every time we perform a spell, we lose a day of life.”
Shit.
She didn’t know what to say, taken afresh with a wave of gratitude for his help.
“How long would you live otherwise?”
“Forever. In my youth, I used to give, and give and give… We only grow more careful as we get older. I’ve lived two millenniums now. I’ve performed as many spells, at least.”
Had he actually said millenniums?
He smiled and said:
“Your godmother is very young, still. If you wish it right, she’ll get us in without a hitch. I’ll go ahead and wait for you there, though. Don’t call Mal until I make myself scarce; it won’t end well if we’re in the same room, take my word for it.”
•
Things were better.
After days of wallowing, he’d pulled himself together and done what needed to be done for his country, all the while tracking all those he’d wronged in his sorrow ten years ago and putting things right. He’d also vehemently fought for the peace his people deserved.
Politic and duties, he could deal with.
He did his best to hide his pain from Sandro because his ordeal seemed so minimal, compared to his brother’s…
But damn, it hurt. Her absence was tangibly, physically affecting his body.
“Dane, I need to speak to you about a… theory of mine,” Sandro said, walking towards the chimney.
He grabbed the thongs and played with the coal, until he’d got hold of a big glowing piece.
“Catch,” he instructs and stupidly, Dane instinctively obeyed before the nature of the object actually registered.
By the time his brain kicked in, informing him that he should be crying out in pain, he was holding the hot coal in the palm of his hand.
He felt nothing. Not even a little bit of pain. Actually, that was incorrect. The sensation spreading through his finger was agreeable; a gentle tickling.
“What the hell? How did you know I can do that?”
“Logic and research. I read about fays, Dane. The rules are much simpler for them; if you think you want to spend the rest of your days with a woman, and she thinks that she’d like to spend hers with you, you form a bond. Add sex to the equation and you get a marital bond. In the eyes of nature, you’re actually married. That’s good news, though. That pain you’ve been through while you were apart? She feels it, too. She’ll be back.”
That was assuming a lot. He had no reason to believe that she might, at any point in her life, have wished to link herself to him.
“I don’t think...”
“Don’t think. Just acknowledge the fact that you’re holding something that should have given you a first degree burn by now. You’re a Cinder, mate.”
Chapter 15: The wish.
It was quite obvious, when she gazed into her dark eyes, and took in her ravenous smile, that fairy would have taken pleasure in carving out her heart and eating it. Raw.
The fay was, if possible, even more stunning than Skinny, but she also took great care to arrange her appearance to fit the description of Evil Incarnated.
She wore a leather corset, a long dark satin skirt and a cape; more noticeably, there was a hairpiece shaped to emulate horns coming out of her skull.
“Wow.”
The woman’s expression barely changed, but Ella somehow got the feeling that she liked her exclamation. Obviously, she loved to make an entrance.
“So, you wish to go to a ball, I hear.”
The voice was slow, sensual and chilling to the bones. Damn, that fairy didn’t do things halfway, did she?
“Right. What do we have to work with, then?”
“What…”
“We are both perfectly aware that you’ve tricked me into performing ten spells, at least. You need a dress, something drastic must be done about the hair, the tan, the nails,” the creature listed, far from upset at the prospect of losing ten days of her life in the process.
In fact, she seemed excited.
“And you’ll need a transport. That’s going to be a mair, so please tell me you’ve got some sort of base materials. An old dress to work with, some water, make-up…”
They’d been travelling since her departure from the palace; each time they needed to stop, Skinny had arranged to “borrow” some empty house.
She went to look around each room, but it was clear that the owner was a man – a fat one at that.
“No cosmetics,” she apologised, “but I have a dress and water shouldn’t be a problem.”
She’d changed into the lace number she’d purchased at Fortown, but Mal didn’t particularly approve of it; she all but snorted, muttering about the tasteless, bland designers of this particular century.
“That needs to go. This should be longer, and oh, let’s just do this.”
To say that Ella felt weird was the understatement of the century; one second, she’d been standing there, twirling at the request of the strange woman and the next, she was in a completely empty space.
There wasn’t any wall, nor any sort of flooring; she hanged in the air, weightless, empty, insubstantial.
The next instant, she was back in the room. Her ears buzzed, her eyes couldn’t adapt to the darkness, and she fell on her knees, too dizzy to stand on her feet.
Her descent was cushioned by fabric. Loads, and loads of blue fabric.
She blinked to adjust her vision and looked down to her skirt; or rather, her skirts. She was wearing an awful lot of them; layers and layers of soft midnight tulle which shimmered gently in the night; there was a sort of boned structure under her matching satin bustier, but unlike Mal’s corset, made to impress and alarm, hers was modest, simply enhancing the shape of the dress. Her sleeves fell of her shoulders, freeing her throat of anything save for the long perfect, soft curls which fell around her face.
In short, her twelve year old self just died and went to heaven.
“Oh my god.”
“I know. I don’t think I’ve ever cast a spell harder than what I had to do on that hair. If I didn’t owe you one, I would have had to take your next five lives for this. Now, transport. We’re hours away, so a car isn’t an option if you have to make it by tonight. You need something I can enchant.”
“Such as?”
Thankfully, no one saw the strange orange sphere floating three times faster than a sporty number because, whatever Mal said about golden carriage, it definitely bore resemblance to their “base material,” a pumpkin she’d found in the old bachelor’s pantry.
She just hoped no one else would actually smell the slight vegetable scent she definitely noticed when she’d walked in.
“It’s a day for celebration, Dane,” Alessandro – who looked just as tired and sad as he’d had when he’d made it back from the Woodlands – said, attempting to convey merriment.
Miserable failure.
“They still want you. Everyone knows you’re a great King.”
Alessandro had been completely opposed to divulging his identity to start with; he hadn’t relaxed until the results of the votes had been announces two hours ago.
Twenty percent of the citizens hadn’t bothered to participate, but practically everyone who had chose him. It should have been something to rejoice about but Dane just didn’t have the energy.
He sighed, plastering yet another adornment on his formal coat. The thing, made of heavy silver brocade, velvet lining, incrusted with precious stones, had always seemed as warm as a polar bear hide, yet today, he wore it without discomfort, indifferent to the heat.
“That thing is vile,” Sandro grumbled.
He was wearing the same uniform, now he’d been recognised for who he was, a Prince of Alenia.
To say that he didn’t like it would be an understatement.
“Suck it up, bro. If I have to look like a tapestry, so do you.”
They made their way through the formal throne room slowly, nodding to the neighbours, nobles, exceptional talents and renown individuals invited to celebrate the dawn of an era where their King would never lie to them again.
It was then that he felt it. The calm. The serenity. The lack of pain.
He froze in place, first, and turned to his left.
The Mayor of Terenance and his plump wife were standing before one stranger.
There was no doubt that he’d never seen the man: his face wasn’t the kind one could forget. It was too unsettlingly perfect; beautiful, he could have said.
But it was to the man’s side that his gaze fell. It didn’t make sense because there was nothing there.
Until, quite suddenly, she appeared.
There was a good chance that he may have died, or at the very least, fallen asleep and dreamt the whole thing; not only because he had convinced himself he would never see her again, but because the woman in front of him wasn’t Ella.