Cinderella Undone

by Nicole Snow

  Serena tips her head back and laughs, tapping her heels like the evil witch she is. “That was a joke, dear. Lighten up. God, even in the backrooms, they say you come off so tense, so cold. The press wants another Lady Bearington to adore like Silas' poor mom. So far, you're coming dangerously close to falling flat.”

  Falling flat? I'll show her falling, preferably by shoving the bitch off that desk if she doesn't shut her mouth...

  “Oh, and you're going to have to send your manuscript to me, as soon as you have it ready. I'll go over it with Perkins, the palace's lawyer, strictly to ensure you haven't said anything that would cast the crown or the kingdom in a bad light.”

  “You're kidding, right? You make it sound like this isn't a free country. I think I'm entitled to write whatever I want, so long as it isn't libel. There's no reason for me to insult anybody, much less my own husband and his family.”

  “Nonsense. You're entitled, dear, to writing anything you damned well please. What you're not entitled to is publication, if the palace deems it's going to be a problem. Still thinking like an American, I see. If you want to be a Princess, you'd better start acting like it, and thinking like one as well. That means leaving the free speech on demand crap on the side.”

  I've had it. I stand up, look her in the eye, and let it roll.

  “Why are you constantly so fucking insulting? What did I do to deserve this?”

  She gives me a blank look. “We both know why, dear. You're abandoning your dreams to take over mine. Marrying Prince Playboy, heir to the throne, in a country you know next to nothing about.”

  “That isn't true! I'm reading every damned day, when I'm not busy traveling, or talking to all the great people he introduces me to. I –“

  “It isn't my place to judge, or to alter anyone's decisions. I'm here to whip you into shape so you don't embarrass Her Majesty and cost this family its throne. Look, I'm being as open and honest with you as I can. There's no sense in hiding it. I'm trying to get over him. Someday, I know I will, and then it'll be all business.”

  “Like it should be now? I should tell Silas myself.”

  “Go ahead. He still reports to the Queen, as long as she's breathing. He won't get rid of me.” She smiles sweetly, a shark-like grin that makes me want to punch her stupid face. “The great thing about being in this position means I'm privy to all kinds of dirt. Silas won't take the risk. Not when he's tying the knot, thinking about hanging up the partying, and becoming King in the next few years. Or is he? Maybe that's the latest load he's decided to feed you. He'll say anything and everything to charm you into having his way. Trust me, I know from experience...”

  I don't say anything. I'm blindsided, wondering if I should interpret this as a threat. She isn't that crazy...is she?

  “Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I meant His Highness. Is that better, my Lady?” Sarcasm drips off every word like poison.

  “I need to go,” I say, knowing it's true. I need to get the hell out of here before I do something I really regret, like risk a drag out fight.

  It would be worth it just to put this asshole in her place, too. If only it weren't for the scratches and bruises I wouldn't be able to hide before the Queen's tea in a couple days.

  “We aren't finished,” Serena snaps, trying to lock me down with her pale blue eyes. “If you'll sit, my Lady, we can go over exactly what you should expect. I'll even do it without being a bitch. I am a professional, after all.”

  It takes every fiber of patience in my body to park myself back on that seat and stare at her. For the next half hour, she becomes another person.

  She talks about the history, the pushy journalists to watch for, and the demeanor each person should have when they're enjoying this high royal honor. I actually listen, biting my tongue the entire time. It's easier because she lives up to her word.

  She muzzles her inner bitch, and I gag mine. I wonder why she can't be like this all the time.

  “Are we finished?” I say, when she stops talking and grabs the French press next to her, pouring more coffee into her china cup.

  “For now. See, my Lady, that wasn't so bad, was it?”

  “No. We might be able to make this work if you could hold that attitude a little more often.”

  She kills my hopes with a single smile. “What would be the fun in that? I'll tell you what I can do, though.”

  We lock eyes. If I could choose any superpower that moment, it'd be the ability to shoot daggers out my pupils.

  “I'll go along with this,” she says quietly. “Just do my fucking job without letting my feelings get in the way. Because I'm damned good at it. It's most certainly not my place to screw up things between you and Silas, or prevent this ridiculous wedding from happening. I'll let you find out for yourself what it's like to be used and cast aside like rubbish. He always does it to his girls, sooner or later. You've just gotten a little further than most for reasons I'll never understand.”

  I don't jump her, or slap her, or tackle her on the floor and start ripping out her hair. Every evil little fantasy burning in my brain gets doused just long enough so I can stand up, turn around, and walk out the door without seeing her venomous smile one more time.

  “Everything all right, my Lady?”

  “I want to see the Prince,” I tell Dean, letting him wonder about the pain that's curdling my face. “Take me to him.”

  The guard frowns. “Mister Chambers told me His Highness won't be available until after four. He's at the Air Force base, awarding several men today. I can take you there if you're willing to wait until the ceremony's finished.”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever. I'll wait however long Victor says.”

  “I'll fetch a car and a security detail this instant, madame.” He's already got his phone out before I walk past him.

  I need to talk to Silas. I have to get him to discipline Serena, or fire her, or just let me spit in the bitch's face.

  It isn't just personal, although it's definitely that. She's so busy talking about protocol and making sure traditions happen like they should.

  I'm not going to take this when I'm officially wearing Silas' ring. If I let her walk all over me when I'm officially Princess, or God forbid, Queen, I'll never live it down. I have to put this bitter woman in her place, and demand some respect when she insults my soon-to-be-husband, too.

  By the time the pitch black SUV circles up with Dean and several others inside, I'm seething. I don't say a word as I climb into the back, tearing a bottle of water from the ice.

  I have to cool myself down before I talk to him. I swear.

  If I don't, something absolutely crazy is going to happen.

  I sit in a back row, insisting on a subtle space cleared by the guards so I don't bother the families. Watching Silas up there with the Royal Air Force pilots helps stifle the anger. It's so somber, just like the other times I've seen him wearing his uniform, around other military men.

  He takes this soldier stuff very seriously. It's beautiful, really, showing a side he wants to pretend isn't there.

  This is my man with his shields down. The man I want to marry behind the magnificent tattooed body and the king-sized cock. The hero, the veteran, the worldly gentleman with the filthiest mouth I've ever imagined.

  This is Prince Charming, the war hero, incarnate.

  I wait patiently, until he's finally done. A few of the families below us whisper about me and my entourage. I try to shrink down, not wanting to take the moment away from them.

  When the ceremony is finished, and the captain is leading his men off the runway with their wives and kids, Silas sees me.

  Surprise. He doubles his speed, walking through the small gate held open by the guards.

  I climb halfway down the metal seats to meet him. He grabs me, holds me in those tender, powerful arms, and banishes my woes in a single kiss.

  If only they'd stay gone.

  “What're you doing here, love? I would've been home in another hour or two.”

  �
��Serena.”

  One single word, and his face tightens knowingly. “What did the bitch do now?”

  “She insulted me, insulted you, and I'm not going to take it anymore. I'm afraid she's never going to let it go. Whatever she thinks the two of you had. She won't stop being a bitch to me, every time I'm supposed to meet her for those briefings.”

  “She won't be easy to replace, Erin.” He frowns, thinking it all over. “I'll probably have to get grandmom's approval, simply because she's been a favorite for several years. Shame, really. Old Henry, her predecessor, never would've treated you like trash. I knew I made a mistake with her. Whatever, I'll do what it takes to sort this out.”

  “That's all I'm asking,” I tell him, squeezing both his hands. “I don't need her fired if you think there's some way to make her shut up and show some respect. This isn't an ego clash. I just can't wait and wonder if she'll ever stop questioning us with every other sentence that comes out of her mouth. It's not her place, and it's rude as hell.”

  “Forget it,” he growls, sliding one hand down to the small of my back, pushing me against his chest. “She's gone. I'll get Her Majesty on board, one way or another. I've got to be careful not to stress her too much, seeing how she's in recovery. Still, I'll find a way.”

  “Oh.” I look down, suddenly embarrassed. I hadn't thought of that. “Well, if you think you can do something.”

  “Babe, don't even ask again. I'll put the bitch in the dungeon and give her a talking to myself, if that's what it takes to shut her yap.”

  I'm laughing. “You're joking, right? You don't really have a...dungeon?”

  He smiles. Yes, that familiar, slightly wicked, damnably handsome curl of the lips.

  “Hasn't been used since the eighteenth century, love. I think it's time we made an exception.”

  “Don't!” I slap playfully against his chest. “Seriously. She's a bitch, but she isn't a criminal.”

  “She's a demon in my book,” Silas growls. “Nobody fucks with my princess.”

  He brings his face closer, gently grabs my face, and tips my lips to his. I can feel his breath on my skin, and I'm already getting wet.

  “Don't worry, I won't torture her. I won't even scare her unless she really lays it on thick. I'm not letting this go until the palace has a new press secretary. Anyone who insults my wife, my Princess, isn't fit to clean the fucking stables.”

  “Wait, stables? You have horses?”

  He laughs. A deep, baritone, belly busting sound that's like music to my ears.

  “What's a Prince without his white horse? After the wedding's over, I'll take you on a trip to Saxon castle in the south. You can meet Eddy, the stud I used to ride when I was a boy. Only animal on this island who's more hung than me.”

  He's insane. I'm slapping his chest again and trying to wiggle away, laughing, but nothing could ever escape these arms. Silas' lips take mine, harder than before.

  It's a kiss that tells me I'm going to be reminded just how big the favorite part of his anatomy is tonight. Maybe reminded at least five times.

  God, yes.

  He talks to Serena, but he doesn't tell me what he's said. It's morning, several days later, less than an hour before we're due to arrive for tea with Her Majesty.

  “You've got nothing to worry about anymore, love. She's been taken care of. Gently, I assure you.”

  “So, she's not in irons over in Grace tower?” I nod my head out the window toward the high spire across town, supposedly attached to Silas' castle by a secret passage.

  “I wish.” He shakes his head. “I do have principles, whether you want to believe it or not. There's only one woman I want to see writhing in restraints, and she sure as hell isn't Serena.”

  He steps up, cups my chin, and silences my next round of sass in a powerful kiss. “Mmm. Now, you're making me wonder who.”

  “Bullshit.” His hand glides down my back, lifts off, and smacks my ass. “You know.”

  I do. I'm reminded every single day how much he wants me.

  We're about to kiss again when Silas' phone goes off. “Yeah?”

  I watch his face go dark and tense. He swears under his breath, turns around, and whispers a few more words into the phone. I don't move until he ends the call and stuffs the leather and gold clad unit back in his pocket.

  “What's wrong?” I ask, hoping it isn't the Queen's health.

  “Fucking protesters. Again.” He paces around me angrily, moving to the window, staring out across the city.

  I join him. The streets are teeming with little crowds, tourists and pedestrians, mostly people milling around the palace so they can catch the royals setting off for tea. It's been all over the morning news, Her Majesty's first public event since coming home to the palace.

  “I don't understand. What is it they want, Silas?” My hand squeezes his shoulder, trying to be reassuring.

  He's bristling with so much rage he won't relax. “They'd hack off our heads if they could. Fucking maniacs, all of them. I'm sure half the bastards are hoping they cause grandmom to have another stroke so the crown falls to me, and they can have their damned referendum.”

  He isn't just speaking anymore. He's growling, each word more angry than the last, sending chills up my spine.

  “I'm sure it'll be all right. It seems like there's nothing but sympathy for the royal family. If they do anything crazy, the public will turn on them.”

  I'm trying to talk with confidence. But truth be told, I know very little about the emotions wrapped up in the political situation here.

  That has to change, and soon. Everything's becoming less theoretical by the day with our wedding approaching.

  Silas looks at me, his eyes full of flickering blue fire. “I'll tell you something, love. These shit-stirrers are lucky we're not the monsters they claim. If we had the rights and powers we enjoyed five hundred years ago, they'd be rotting away with rats and moldy bread crusts by now.”

  Silas' phone chirps again before I can respond. “Shit, time to get downstairs. They want us to leave early, considering the situation. The biggest idiots have been cleared away from the palace grounds, at least.”

  I nod, grateful for the small progress. When he takes my hand to lead me out, his grip is tight, almost as intense as the day our first press conference turned into disaster.

  “Sire!” A soldier in camo fatigues salutes the Prince when we're outside, heading for our big white limo. We have a military escort, more than just the usual security services, as I can see from the Humvees with heavy guns mounted to the sides.

  Silas nods, helps me into the car, looking around him the entire time. My instinct makes me want to run my eyes over the people gathered just outside the gate as well, in case I see any impending violence.

  I'm stopped in my tracks, though, because suddenly I'm face-to-face with Queen Marina.

  “How are you, dear?” she asks, sitting across from me with Patricia and several bodyguards I don't recognize.

  “Perfectly well, Your Majesty!”

  Yeah, if perfectly well means stressed as hell.

  “You look much better. I'm pleased to hear you're on the mend,” I say, while Silas climbs in next to me.

  Is there anything worse than trying to make small talk with a Queen?

  “I still have a few good days in me to serve this kingdom,” she says, twirling the platinum and gold tipped cane in her hand. “Silas, what's eating you, boy?”

  “The protests,” he growls, as if it isn't obvious. “Can't stay off our damned backs for a single minute.”

  I lay my hand on his. Patricia gives us both a sour look. Next to me on the other side, Victor clears his throat uncomfortably.

  “They're entitled to their opinions. They certainly won't be allowed to stomp their feet or smash up my property. However, what kind of kingdom do you think we'd have if we didn't allow a place where people are free to express the unthinkable?”

  “Yeah, maybe you're right,” he says, clenching my hand
tighter. It doesn't sound like he's being honest. “I've been worried about you lately, Your Majesty. That's all.”

  “Take your minds off me today, please.” She pauses, looking around at each of us. “That goes for everyone in this car. Today, we have a chance to show our people that we're peaceful and united. I trust no one here wants to screw that up, and too much thought my way isn't helping the situation.”

  It's hard not to laugh. I wonder if she knows she's riding on a powder keg.

  Peaceful? United? It won't take much to blow it all sky high.

  “We'll be at Milton's in five minutes, Your Majesty,” Patricia says. She snidely one-ups Victor, who'd been pulling out his phone to check the time.

  “Wonderful. Miss Warwick, you'll be pleased to taste the finest tea in Europe at our traditional spot today,” Her Majesty says.

  “Oh, yes!” I clap my hands together, praying it won't ignite the tension in the air. The grin on my face feels crazy. “I love, love, love a good cup of tea.”

  I'm trying harder than I ever had in my life to diffuse the invisible rage.

  For a minute, nobody says anything. Then Silas relaxes his grip on my hand and starts to laugh, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, tea. I'm going to tell them to make mine so damned strong I go blind.”

  I think things are going...well.

  Unbelievably well, perhaps. We've just sat down at a private table reserved for the Queen. The media bombards us with camera flashes of our first orders before they're shuffled out the door, leaving us alone.

  They won't see us again until we head back to our car, all smiles, Silas gently helping his grandmother down the steps. It's going to be a picture perfect end to a picture perfect photo op with so little drama people will fall asleep when it rolls across their newsfeed.

  That's what I'm hoping for, anyway.

  Our tea shows up in no time while the royals talk about Silas' dealings with diplomats in Her Majesty's absence. Mine is black, velvety, sweet and citrusy. It's heaven in a cup, a million times more soothing than the shot of something stronger I'm sure Silas is craving.