Cinderella Undone

by Nicole Snow

  My heart starts hammering in my chest. Thank God corsets aren't a thing in royal fashion anymore, or else I'd be screwed.

  It takes several minutes to travel through the palace, taking in more history, wealth, and power than I can fully absorb. Hell, I think I'll need several lifetimes to do that. Every wall, every ceiling, every chandelier oozes class.

  The very highest, most exclusive class a human being can belong to. These royals make billionaires and celebrities back home look like posers.

  I'm walking into the home of living, breathing people who think they're gods, put here to shape this island and the broader world as they please. It's their destiny, the one they're told to fulfill from the day they're born.

  Besides being alien to everything I know, I can't lie about what it means. It's fucking terrifying.

  The door to the throne room – if I can even call it that – is huge. Scenes of battle, triumph, and dragons are carved into every inch, stretching from floor to ceiling. Two men in traditional navy blue uniforms with rifles slung over their shoulders bow their heads as soon as they see us.

  “I'm here to meet with Her Majesty,” Silas tells them. “Let us in.”

  The men move like clockwork. They march several long strides to the center, and grasp the huge silver handles. The door creaks open like it's hiding Aladdin's long lost treasure – what else? – and I'm staring into a scene from another century.

  Inside, Queen Marina Bearington sits on her high throne, a tiara like crystal on her head. I've seen it in the pictures. She's like a living ornament on a Christmas tree turned into a room, decked in jewels, metals, and silk robes. It's hard to believe she's human, much less standing in front of me.

  Yes, standing, rising to her royal feet. Waiting for us.

  “Come on. Just follow my lead,” Silas whispers under his breath. A move that teaches me everything echoes in this monstrous, awesome chamber, however subtle.

  He steps forward, and I'm at his side. When he bows – much more deeply than the shallow head nods I've seen in the kingdom before – I do it, too. Then I curtsy, careful not to catch my dress on my heels, embarrassing myself forever.

  “Your Majesty. It's my great honor to present my fiancee, and future Princess, Erin Warwick from the United States.”

  My head stays dipped too low to see the Queen, but I can feel her eyes. They're focused on me like a hawk's, wondering where the hell I came from, and why.

  “Rise.” She speaks one word.

  Silas takes my hand and helps me up. We're standing beneath her elevated throne, just several feet away from a woman who's ruled over millions long before I was born.

  I can't make out any of Silas' facial features in hers, but they share the same eyes.

  Deep, dark, royal blue, unchanged by age.

  “You're the girl whose father collapsed on television, interviewing my grandson, aren't you?” she says, slowly scanning me with her gaze.

  “Guilty as charged, Your Majesty.” I want to kick myself as soon as it's out of my mouth. Jesus, what was I thinking – guilty?

  The Queen turns to Silas, her tiara catching the light, sparkling brilliantly like stars in her head. “What's the real meaning of this, Silas? Tell me the truth.”

  He looks taken aback, and his fingers tighten in mine. “The meaning? I've found the love of my life, and I'm claiming her. You always said I ought to find a good girl to settle down with. Someone to calm me, bring balance. Well, Your Majesty, I have.”

  The Queen looks incredulous. “So, you've done exactly what I suggested in a matter of days? You couldn't have possibly known Miss Warwick much longer than that, all things considered.”

  “You're right,” he says. “We've barely known each other a week, if you want the full truth. This woman, she's different than all the others I've ever been with. She isn't just another fling. When you meet the love of your life, you just know. I used to laugh at that, but now? I get it. Hell, yeah, I do.”

  He pulls my hand up, brings it to his mouth the same way he did yesterday on the balcony, and puts it against his lips.

  The floor drops out beneath me.

  I can't believe I'm standing here, having my hand kissed by a Prince who doesn't believe a word of anything he's just said, all in front of Queen Marina Bearington.

  “You're lying,” she says, turning her angry eyes to me, making my heart sputter. “You're either lying, or you've lost your mind, son. When I said you should find a woman, I meant it should happen slowly...naturally. Just as these things are meant to. You can't possibly think I meant for you to find a wife in less than a week. What I don't know is why you're doing this. Regardless, it isn't going to work, Silas. I see through it, and I'm going to instruct the royal chapel not to approve any weddings with this woman.”

  “No!” Dad flashes in my brain, and I step forward, speaking my objection like a bullet. “I know what this looks like. It seems insane, Your Majesty, like something from a dream. That's been my last few days with the Prince, exactly. The truth is...we're in love. We want to move this forward. But I can't do that unless he gives me a place in the kingdom so I don't have to go back to LA.”

  Her gaze picks me up and throws me down again. I feel like I'm disembodied, watching myself plead this crazy case, telling the biggest lie I ever have in my life to a famous person I never imagined talking to.

  “You don't have to believe it, but I'm giving you the truth. And the truth is...I've never met a man more kind, more noble, more handsome than your grandson.” I pause, feeling his smile burn when I call the bastard handsome. Damn him. “I want to have a life with Silas. I'll do anything to make that happen.”

  “Certainly, you will,” she snaps. “It isn't every day a commoner has the prospect of becoming a Princess staring her in the face.”

  “No,” I agree softly. “Believe me, that isn't what I'm after. I'll do whatever I need to convince you I'm sincere. I'm not looking to get rich or have a title behind my name.”

  Except...that's exactly what I'm hoping to get from this.

  “Nonsense. You'll acquire both those things, no question about it, if you two go through with this madness. Technically, there's no law restricting marriage outside the family to royal blood, so I can't oppose you on those grounds. There is, however, more than ample reason to stop this when I believe my son's judgment has been compromised. It's ludicrous!”

  That last word rings off the gold walls like a cannon blast. She's rattled, for good reason, but it's disturbing as hell to hear the Queen get so emotional.

  “My judgment?” he says, sharp sarcasm in his voice.

  Great. They're about to argue, and I'm going to be sick. My stomach flips itself over several times. I'm almost grateful when Silas steps in front of me, closer to the throne.

  The Queen nods. “You can't be in your right mind. I want her gone, Silas, and then I'm going to ensure you get a full evaluation at the royal hospital.”

  Silas snorts, shakes his head, and points a finger up at her.

  “You've got to be fucking shitting me, Your Majesty, if you think this makes me mad. Where were you, questioning my judgment, when I decided to be the first royal since World War II going into battle? I'm pushing thirty soon. I've led men in war and saved lives, foreigners and our own subjects alike. I've watched my parents live and die. I've seen their mistakes and their triumphs. No, I haven't been perfect, but I'm trying like hell to be better, and Erin's the best chance I have to do that. Knew it the second I laid eyes on her, when she fell into my arms. You want to question my judgment? Then start by asking why the fuck you never did it sooner.”

  The Queen doesn't flinch at his rough language, which surprises me. Probably a sign she's heard it all before. She's used to Silas' outbursts by now.

  She lets out a long, tense sigh. “I'm too old for this. If I wasn't bound to wear this crown on my head to the grave, or I had someone worth handing it to, I'd give it up tomorrow. Silas, you're right, for once in your outrageous life.”<
br />
  He blinks, his face softening. “I am?”

  “I'm going to allow this, with a few very strict conditions.” She steps down, her robes flowing over the short golden stairs leading to the floor like she's hovering. “Number one, Miss Warwick will be thoroughly vetted, trained, and assessed for the duties she's bound to take on as your wife.”

  Nod at her, damn it. It takes every muscle in my body to move my head.

  Suddenly, now that she's on our level, Queen Marina is coming toward us. It seems like she's shrunk at least a foot, but she's no less imposing, decked out in her royal wears like a ghost from a lost time.

  “Your Majesty, I –“

  “Quiet.” She cuts him off, turning away from us, slowly pacing on the floor. “Second condition, this wedding won't happen for at least six months. That's more than enough time for you, Silas, to decide if you've made a terrible mistake, given your track record with women in the past.”

  “If you're saying I'll get bored of her, you're out of your damned –“

  She holds up a finger. “Third and last, you'll announce this news to the kingdom. Both of you. Should you decide it's off sometime in the future, then that will fall on you, as well. I won't keep this a secret and risk sensationalism running wild.”

  “Very fair, Your Majesty.” I tell her it is, anyway, even though thinking about the inevitable appearance in front of millions is turning every muscle in my body to stone.

  “Silas?” She stops in front of her grandson, face-to-face, a royal challenge across generations.

  “Whatever. I can live with it,” he says. “It's going to be my pleasure to show you how wrong you've been, grandmom.”

  Queen Marina doesn't say anything. She simply turns, moving back to her throne, a force of nature.

  “I don't want to hear about it until we're closer to the date, unless I change my mind,” she says, once she's perched in place again. “I'll hear everything I need to from Mister Mead, my chief of information. You're both dismissed.”

  Silas looks like he's about to make his handsome face crack when he dips his head again. I mimic the gesture, watching him the whole time.

  God, he's so wound up. Tighter than a spring.

  Hard. Angry. Did I say hard?

  My eyes tick over to his crotch for a split second before I jerk them away, remembering where I am.

  Holy hell, what's wrong with me? I can't risk another scene.

  I have to get out of here. Before we both drown in the thick, smoky tension curdling the air.

  I hear the doors creak open behind us. Silas and I both rise. He snatches my hand, leading me out, and doesn't say a word as we take the long, dream-like path through the palace.

  “What do you think? Was that her taking it well?” Truthfully, it seems like a disaster, but I'm new to all this and I don't know the Queen's attitude like he does.

  “Well enough. She didn't outright forbid it,” he says, helping me down the stairs. We take a turn toward a new section of the palace, and I realize it's adjacent to the huge, semi-public entrance that leads to the big conference room where I fell into his arms.

  “You were very well spoken back there, swearing aside.” I mean it, too.

  “Yeah, well, I know how to pull her strings. I've been doing that damned near twenty years by now. Anything about God and country, about my service...it really gets to her, love. Reaches her on a primal fucking level.”

  Ouch. I cringe, suddenly wondering if he rehearsed everything about her questioning his judgment. That would be so Prince Playboy, wouldn't it?

  I have to remember who I'm dealing with.

  Silas, the manipulator.

  Silas, the most immature war hero in the world.

  Silas, the lying, faking, self-absorbed bastard.

  “What's next?” I ask, trying not to dread it.

  “We're going to have some tea and lunch. Then, a quick meeting with Serena, my press secretary. You've met her once with the whole press corps, under very different circumstances.”

  “Oh, we're being prepped already to talk to the media?”

  He flashes me that wicked, teasing smile. “Babe, we've got ourselves a press conference this afternoon. Just you and me, in front of the entire kingdom. Grandmom wants me to show I'm serious? I'll make her believe in this fake marriage more than we do.”

  Crap! I don't say anything. I just hope there's something stronger than tea up ahead.

  We don't say much through our snack. We have the fanciest pot pies I've ever eaten, stuffed with something that tastes like duck, veggies, and wine sauce, plus spring salads, and plenty of that dark, coffee-like tea that's a standard in the kingdom.

  It's just me and the Prince. Victor stands quietly in the corner like a loyal dog.

  A servant comes in, takes our plates away, and awkward silence returns. The Prince leans back in his chair, eyeing me.

  “It'll all be over soon. I promise. You're doing a damned good job for your first day, I have to say.” He leans forward, clasps my hand in both of his, stroking the back of my skin way more seductively than he should. “You're going to make a beautiful bride. Absolutely fucking beautiful, Princess.”

  “Don't call me that until it's official. I'm not anybody's princess yet, I mean. It's strange enough.” I smile uneasily, wondering what happens later, when a short-lived princess divorces her prince.

  Victor turns our way. He's frowning.

  Has he figured out it's all just an act? I don't know, but it doesn't help the butterflies in my stomach.

  I'm nervous. Cameras are nothing new to me. I did plenty of journalism in high school, and video blogs in college for my projects, but I never imagined I'd be addressing an entire nation.

  “What?” I ask Silas, noticing he hasn't taken his eyes off me.

  “You're mine,” Prince Silas says, smothering me in those intense blue eyes. “Mine.”

  “Your what?” I'm trying not to completely lose it.

  “My Princess. I don't give a damn if it isn't official yet. We're in love, right?” He cocks his head and winks, urging me to play along. “Doesn't take a royal crest on your clothes to remind me you're my one and only. The one I chose. The one I'll keep. The one I'll bind forever. By blood, by marriage, by kiss.”

  “S-sure. Of course, you are. We're going to be great. The two of us. Together.”

  God. I'm clucking like a total idiot, and I'm sure Victor catches every awkward word. It doesn't help that he's staring at me like it's all true.

  How can he do that? It's like he's had years posing as an actor, instead of a spoiled Prince. His charms are so powerful, so real, they're dangerous in the moment.

  Then I feel my hand moving through the air, going to his lips yet again.

  Instant heat flows down from my belly, settling between my legs.

  I can't do this right now. Jerking my hand away, I fold it in my lap, hoping Victor doesn't see. Whatever, I'd rather have him see the serious lengths I'll go to avoid physical contact.

  That's better than anyone realizing how hot, how wet, how much I want when Silas lies to me like a champ.

  A knock at the door breaks my confused haze. Victor strides across the room, opens it, and nods.

  “Miss Hastings, sire. Punctual, as usual.”

  Prince Silas' evil, teasing expression goes flat. He stands as the familiar blonde steps in, wearing heels that put anything of mine to shame. There's something odd about the way she looks at him.

  It's more like an old friend than a servant. Like a woman who's seen past the royal mask he wears, down to who he truly is.

  “Serena.” That's his greeting when they're face-to-face.

  She looks over, noticing me for the first time. Tension lines her face the second she takes in my dress, my place at the table with the Prince. I'm used to his entourage and the Queen herself being horrified by this fake engagement by now, but with her, it seems like something more.

  “Hello, again.” I smile politely because I don't kn
ow what else to do.

  “I think I'm going to need a quick briefing,” Serena says to the Prince, flipping her blonde hair. “There wasn't a formal email or anything. I'm...surprised to see her here again, Your Highness. With you, in private, that is.”

  He looks at her sternly. “That's because I need you to help introduce Erin as my fiancee. Future Princess of Saint Moore, Sealesland, and all her tributaries. You know, the usual. There wasn't time to write. This all came together fast.”

  “Fiancee?” It's like a rasp coming out of her throat. Her hand touches the corner of the table, as if she needs to steady herself, but she doesn't crack.

  I stand up. Whatever's going on here, I want to show him that I'm useful, that I can help diffuse yet another crisis.

  “It's a pleasure to see you again,” I lie. My limited experience with this woman tells me she doesn't do courtesy, much less smile at strangers. “We're grateful for your help.”

  “It seems to me you already have a plan to handle this without consulting my expertise,” she says to Silas, without even acknowledging me.

  “You're right, I've been through the ropes before. This time, my image issues are bound to control themselves. Everybody loves a big, beautiful wedding, right?” He gives her a second, but she doesn't answer. “Whatever. I'm not the one who needs a fucking primer on how to talk to the kingdom. Erin does.”

  I watch the bitch swallow. She looks at me with the slowest glance in the world, eyeballing me like I'm something rotten she's just found on her plate.

  “How long do we have?”

  “An hour and a half. That's when the press conference is scheduled. Full house.” Prince Silas folds his arms, giving her no mercy.

  “Jesus,” she sputters, looking back at him. “You expect me to give her a whole course on royal protocol and media pitfalls, just like that?”

  Serena snaps her fingers. Way too close to the Prince's face. Victor cuts in just then, getting between us, gesturing for me to walk next to him.

  “Miss Hastings, you know your duties here are whatever His Highness tells you. Please, let me escort you ladies to a private room, where you can get to work without any further interruptions. With your permission, of course, my Prince.”