by Aron Lewes
“We were,” Cinderella answered with a nod. “My mum died when I was six. When she was gone, my father became my best friend. For five years, it was just me and him... until Mellanor entered the picture. That's my stepmother. I hated her from the start, and I protested their marriage very adamantly. I think that's why she hated me. Anyway, my father ignored me and married her anyway. She pretended to be nice to me, as did Gaia, but I could see the lies under their smiles.”
Fenix hoped she didn't see the lies under his smiles. Donnabella is gathering ingredients was hardly a convincing fib.
“Anyway...” Cinda continued, “When my father died, that's when her true nature emerged. Mellanor hid my father's money from me and forced me to be her servant. She said I was doing chores. She threatened to throw me out if I didn't do them. Gaia would harass me, and Mellanor would encourage her. It was... awful.”
“It sounds awful,” Fenix chimed in.
“I'm sorry I talked so much,” Cinda sighed. “I'm a bit of a hypocrite, aren't I? I whined about Sharman talking too much... and now I am talking too much.”
Fenix quickly disagreed. “Not at all. I like to listen to you, and I'm glad you shared this story with me.” His gaze suddenly dropped to her lips. Every time she nibbled a strawberry, his chest tightened. In a whisper, he added, “I wish I could kiss you.”
Cinda leaned closer to him. “Pardon?”
“Uh... nothing.” Relief flooded his body when he realized she didn't hear him. “I was just muttering to myself.”
“You were probably saying you wish I'd shut up!” Cinda laughed. When she got tired of strawberries, she reached for one of Fenix's sandwiches. “Anyway, Fenix, I have a request. I was wondering if you might change into a... an onocentaur.”
Fenix threw back his head and cackled. “Are you sure? It might be a bit creepy to see me with hooves.”
“No, I'm interested,” Cinda insisted. “I've never seen one before, so--”
Before she could finish, Fenix hoped to his feet and shifted into a half-man, half-donkey. When his appearing hooves accidentally squashed her strawberries, she pouted at him. Fenix's breeches were gone, but he was still wearing his tunic.
“Well?” Fenix paused, waiting for an opinion that never came. She had been stunned into silence. “What do you think?”
“It's... weird.”
“Yeah. I told you it would be strange.”
“You're supposed to be part-donkey, right? Your body is definitely different from a horses',” Cinderella observed. “It's stouter and smaller and gray.”
“Some horses are gray, though.”
“True.” Cinderella nodded slowly. “When you go back to your original form... will your trousers come back?”
“They usually do.”
“Usually?” she gasped. “Usually doesn't sound very promising.”
“One time, my trousers were gone, but I still had my knickers. Another time, my knickers were gone, but I still had my trousers.”
“Well, I really hope you come back with both.” When his body started glowing, Cinda realized he was shifting, so she clapped a hand over her eyes. If there was a chance he would come back naked, she wanted to be ready. Assuming enough time had elapsed, she asked, “Well... do you have clothes?”
“Yes!” Fenix answered with a chuckle. “I'm fully clothed and sitting beside you.”
“Good.” Cinda had finished her sandwich, so she rooted through his basket in search of more food. When she found a jar of pickles, she squealed. “Ooo! How did you know I liked pickles, Fenix?”
“I didn't know. But they're one of my favorite things, so I thought I'd bring them.”
“Really?” Her lips were lifted by a surprised smile. “That's unexpected. Do you know what else I like? I'm also a big fan of--”
Cinderella didn't finish her thought. She was silenced by the sound of laughter—and it wasn't hers or Fenix's.
“Is there someone nearby?” Cinda asked. “Well... there's obviously someone nearby, but where do you think they are?”
“Beyond the trees, maybe?” Fenix suggested as he hopped back up. “Should we go look for them?”
Cinderella's slippers evaded dry leaves as she followed Fenix to a knotty, large oak. She didn't want to attract any attention. When they reached the tree, Fenix flattened himself against the bark and peeked around the trunk.
“Do you see someone?” whispered Cinda, who hovered behind him.
“Uh... yeah.” Fenix gently pushed her forward. “See for yourself.”
When Cinda got her first glimpse of their fellow picnickers, she clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a squeal.
Princess Rose's naked body was crushed against a young man who wasn't Prince Elliot, and their lips were locked in an ongoing kiss.
Terra grumbled a quiet curse when Rank swaggered into her bedroom. “Oh no!” she complained. “It's been three nights in a row! Don't you have anywhere else to stay?”
“No. Not really.” Rank sank to the floor beside Terra's bed, next to his bundle of blankets.
Terra closed the book on her lap. She knew it would be impossible to read while Rank was around. “Also,” she began “do you ever knock?”
“I'd knock on Donnabella's door... but that's 'cause I'm afraid she'd kill me if I didn't.”
“And yet, you choose to work for her. That's not smart, Rank.”
Inside his pocket, Gloriosa's head was nodding in agreement.
“Well, now that you're here, I won't be able to read. You're too noisy,” Terra grabbed her crutches and hoisted herself out of bed. “Do you want to go for a walk in the garden?”
In less time than he needed to blink, Rank hopped to his feet. “Aye. I'd like that.” As they passed through the door, he asked, “Is this a date?”
“No.” Terra chuckled at the question. “It's a walk in the garden.”
When Rank flicked his wand, a trio of yellow roses popped out of the tip. As he slipped them in her pocket, he asked, “Is it a date now?”
“Because you handed me some roses?” Terra defiantly shook her head. “I don't think so.”
“Alright...” Rank flicked his wand two more times. A colorful arrangement of irises, tulips and baby's-breath appeared in a puff of smoke. “How about now?”
Terra resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “That... is a lot of flowers.”
“Aye. Do you like them?”
“They're certainly pretty. Unfortunately, I can't carry them. My arms are occupied by these stupid things.” Terra sneered down at her crutches.
Rank cradled the bouquet in his arm. “That's okay, love. I'll carry them for you.”
When they reached the garden, Terra went quiet. Her eyes were downcast and her lips dropped their smile.
So Rank asked, “What's wrong, sweetheart? You look sad.”
“I am. A bit,” Terra confessed. “For the last few days, I've barely spent any time with Cinda. Tonight, I ate supper by myself yet again. I know she's busy, and I know it's not her fault, but... I miss her.”
Rank didn't utter a word. He simply gaped at her. When he felt Gloriosa kicking him, he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Are you unfamiliar with the concept of empathy?” the little witch hissed. “Say something nice to her!”
Heeding her advice, Rank said, “You have lovely hair.”
His randomly blurted compliment wasn't what Gloriosa had in mind, so she kicked him again.
“Oh... thank you.” Terra gave him a slight smile. “In this sloppy plait, I can't imagine it looks that good.”
“You have a lovely smile as well,” Rank added, which made her smile climb a bit higher. “And lovely eyes.”
“That's very kind of you. Unexpected, but kind.”
For reasons unbeknownst to Rank, Gloriosa was kicking him again. He let Terra drift ahead of him, then he hissed at the witch, “Wot?”
“Do something romantic!” Gloriosa suggested. “You have to impress her someh
ow. Flowers aren't enough.”
“Alright,” Rank whispered, “I'll work on it.” Then he doubled his pace to catch up to Terra.
As soon as he was back at her side, Terra whispered, “Did you hear that?”
“Hear... what?”
“Over there.” She used one of her crutches to point at a hedge. “I hear rustling. I think there's something behind it.”
“Could be a rabbit,” Rank said with a dismissive shrug. “It's probably not anything we have to worry a--”
His reply was cut short by a peculiar sound. It was a tiny, gurgled growl, unfamiliar to Terra's ears. As quickly as she could, she raced behind the hedge to find the growling invader. “Oh my god!” she gasped as she rounded the corner. “I think it's a baby dragon.”
“Really?” Rank joined her on the other side of the hedge. “Is it a hatchling or a fledgling?”
“A fledgling, I think.” When the dragon toddled toward her, Terra trilled excitedly. “Hatchlings are too young to fly. This pup's wings look functional. As for the breed... I'm not entirely sure. It appears to be a very deep green, so it might be an Emerald Drakon.”
“Whatever it is, I say we kill it.”
Terra's gaze snapped to Rank, who was already removing his sword. “No!” she gasped, whacking his leg with a crutch. “Don't kill it! It's adorable.” The pup was friendly, too. Not unlike a cat, it nuzzled Terra's leg.
“It might be adorable now... but little baby dragons grow into big, angry dragons. It's best to kill it when it's young.”
“Nooo!” Terra whined. “If you kill it, you'll make me very upset!”
“If you don't kill it, someone... or many someones... will get eaten by your little friend. Do you want that?”
“No. Of course not.” Terra simpered at the affectionate beast, whose wings merrily flapped as he nuzzled Terra's leg. “But I would hate to see a baby dragon skewered on the end of your sword! It would be... cruel.”
With a low grumble, Rank sheathed his weapon. “You better hope it's a male, then. They're less aggressive than the ladies.”
“Right. Because the males of the species are probably lazy,” added a chuckling Terra. The dragon pup cooed as he cuddled up to her.
“He looks like he likes you, but don't be deceived,” Rank warned her. “The little bastard could turn at any moment. I wouldn't be surprised if he lit your dress on fire.”
Terra turned up her nose at Rank's remark. “You really don't like dragons... do you?”
“No. I actually love them,” he corrected her. “They're mad, powerful beasts... and most of the time, they're just hungry for a meal. If they eat your grandpa, they're not doing it out of spite. They're doin' it 'cause they got hungry.”
Terra's eyes sparkled at Rank's answer. His opinion surprised her. “If you like dragons, why do you want to kill them?”
“I'm just trying to survive as well, innit?” Rank answered with a yawn. “It's survival of the fittest, I say.”
All of a sudden, the baby dragon turned around, flapped his wings, and took flight. Tears glistened in Terra's eyes as she watched him flutter unsteadily into the sky.
“I've never seen a dragon pup before.” When she spoke, Terra sounded awed. “It was much cuter than I expected.”
Rank echoed the sentiment with a weak, “I... suppose.”
When their walk resumed, Rank led her to one of the garden's three fountains. Water sprayed from the mouth of a marble Prince Sharman. Naturally, Rank hated it, so he waved his wand and turned Sharman's face into a devil's face.
Terra gasped at the transformed fountain. “How did you do that?”
“Donnabella taught me a lot,” Rank said. “And you're sneering, so I guess you don't like my answer. Oh well. Anyway, the devil's face won't stay forever, but at least we don't have to look at Sharman's ugly mug.”
“Sharman's not ugly!” Terra couldn't believe she was defending him. “He's pompous, arrogant, shallow... but he's not ugly. He...”
As soon as she felt Rank's hand on hers, Terra stopped speaking. “Watch the sky,” he requested. “Keep your eyes on the stars.”
She almost moved her hand, but the mischief in this voice made her curious. Terra turned her eyes skyward, where winking stars sparkled on a bottomless black canvas. As she watched, more stars appeared, spangling the darkness. Countless stars emerged out of nowhere—hundreds, or possibly thousands.
“Are you doing that?” Terra asked. “Are you making more stars appear?”
“Aye.” He looked down at his fingers, which were lightly touching Terra's. “I used your loneliness to make the stars brighter.”
“You can do that?”
“Aye,” he repeated. “Mine aren't real stars, though. But I bet you can't tell the difference.” Rank released Terra's hand and flicked his wand at the sky.
When the stars started moving, shifting positions, Terra gasped. “Oh my god... how?”
“I told you... they're not real stars,” Rank said. “They're mine to manipulate and move. Keep watching.”
Rank's stars moved to spell the word Tara.
“Uh. That's... nice.” Terra winced. “Unfortunately, you spelled my name wrong.”
So Rank tried again. His shimmering stars moved to spell another name. Terah.
“Wrong again!” she laughed. “Remove the haitch and add another r.”
Rank was losing control over his stars. For some reason, they decided to form a B instead of a T. With an exasperated snort, he narrowed his eyes, focused, and wiggled his wand.
Finally, Rank's stars danced into a clearly scrawled Terra.
“That's really nice, Rank,” Terra said. “If there's anyone else looking at the sky right now, they might be thoroughly confused, but... that's nice.”
Rank ignored Terra's remark and whispered to Gloriosa, “How did I do?”
“Not bad,” answered the shrugging witch. “On a romance scale, I would give you a solid eight out of ten.”
Turning his attention back to Terra, a winking Rank said, “The heavens move to spell your name, love. What do you think about that?”
“I'm impressed,” she admitted. “Is there anything you can't do?”
“No. Not really,” Rank said—but it was a lie. There was one specific miracle his magic could not perform.
He couldn't make her fall in love with him.
Before exiting his bedchamber, Prince Sharman checked his reflection in the looking glass for a dozenth and final time. His thick, brown curls had been arranged to look windblown and striking. There wasn't even the tiniest speck of lint on his royal blue coat. His black breeches and shiny black boots were tailored to fit him, and his necktie was so intricately tied, only the most skilled valet could have pulled it off.
Satisfied with his appearance, Sharman smiled at his reflection. Under his breath, he whispered, “My god, you handsome devil.” Fortunately, there was no one around to hear his self-praise.
Sharman stood in his doorway, and he didn't budge until two servants rolled out a red carpet for him. When he reached Cinderella's room, his knuckles gently rapped her wooden door.
For the last three hours, handmaidens fussed with Cinda's hair and clothes. She was so dolled up, she barely recognized herself. However, Prince Sharman was pleased with her appearance. A smile exploded across his lips when he had his first glimpse of her.
“You've just stolen my heart and ripped the breath from my lungs, Cinderella,” Sharman told her. “Your beauty is extraordinary.”
Cinderella's ivory gown was swathed in champagne lace. The gauzy, light material flowed around her as she moved. Her hair—shiny and gold—had been styled into ringlets, and her lips were as red as sunlit cherries. His fiance was so lovely, Sharman's pulse raced at the sight of her.
“I'm glad you think so. It took the handmaidens a long time to make me look this... fancy.” In some strange way, she missed her simple dresses and sloppy buns. “You look handsome as well, Prince Sharman.”
“
Thank you, dear.” Sharman captured her hand and brought it to his lips. As he studied her knuckles, he said, “You even have lovely, long fingers. Until I met you, I never realized perfection existed.”
“Goodness!” With a nervous chuckle, Cinda retracted her hand. “No one's perfect, Your Highness.”
“No. You are,” the prince insisted. “And you're still barefoot, I see. As you know, I have some very special shoes for you.” Sharman claimed a box from one of his servants. When he knocked off the lid, his eyes went wide with elation. “I had them replicated to the best of my ability. What do you think?”
Cinderella peeked into the box and forced a smile. The prince's shoemaker made an exact copy of Gloriosa's glass slippers. “Those are very much like the original slippers, Your Grace.”
“I know!” Sharman dropped to his knees and held out one of the slippers. As Cinda's toes dipped into the shoe, he added, “I was pleasantly surprised.”
When the first slipper was on, Cinderella reported, “They fit quite well.”
“Good! I'm glad to hear it.” He held out the second slipper. “It might sound silly, but... I'm trying to recreate our magical night.”
“It's not silly at all,” Cinda objected. “Actually, I think it's quite sweet. It was a special night for me as well.”
As soon as he was back on his feet, Sharman offered her an arm. “Let's go to the ballroom, shall we? Our engagement celebration awaits.”
Prince Sharman led her to the Winter Palace's grand ballroom, where sixteen silver chandeliers dripped diamonds from the ceiling. In the room's golden candlelight, Cinderella's dress shimmered as she moved across the floor. Her glass slippers were clacking, but she could barely hear them over the symphony of strings. Violins and cellos filled the ballroom with sweet, sonorous music.
When Sharman passed in front of his sister, Rose suddenly feigned interest in Prince Elliot.
“So, uh... Elliot... what are your hobbies?” the princess asked.
Elliot's eyebrow raised at her question. So far, she had been ignoring him, so he was surprised by her sudden curiosity. “Well, I like to paint.”