Sinful Cinderella (Dark Fairy Tale Queen Series Book 1)

by Anita Valle

  I pass a mirror that sprawls across a large section of wall and I turn my head for a quick glance.

  And stop cold.

  I look dazzling! The black dress blooming out around me, the high, feathery collar behind my neck. And my hair! Piled up on my head, a bit loose and chaotic, rather like Godnutter’s. But it works with this dress. And I’ve got a tiara I didn’t even know about. A silver tiara with sharp, flashing points. I look like a queen already. An evil queen, the best kind.

  I almost forgive Godnutter for the curfew. Almost.

  Toward the back of the ballroom I find a collection of small round tables. Most of them are empty now. A few couples are sitting and talking over thick slices of pie. But I don’t want pie. I want chicken.

  I’m standing there, not sure what to do, when a little servant girl appears and asks if I’d like to eat something. I tell her chicken, and vegetables, and bread, and wine. Then I find a table and wait, my toes twitching inside my rock-hard shoes. I can’t say they’re terribly comfortable.

  A stout young man looms up to my table. “Sitting alone, fair lady?” He asks with a heavy smile.

  “Yes!” I snap and the man backs off. Oh brother. Why are the men here anyway? I guess the ladies needed escorts but the men must know the truth. This is all a colossal headhunt for the prince. His Royal Highness may think he’s selecting a bride but it’s the other way around. He is the rabbit. And we are the wolves.

  I haven’t seen the prince yet. Or anyone else I know, the faces gliding past me are strangers. I amuse myself by watching the women, they’re all beautiful. Well not all, but a great many. Their gowns are lavish, their hair curled and braided and jeweled. A few of them wear tiaras but none as fancy as mine.

  The little servant girl brings me a steaming plate and I’m so hungry I want to tear into it with my fingers. But I force myself to eat decorously. The chicken is wonderful, moist and smoky, unlike the bland cuts of wood Cook serves to us at home.

  I’m starting to like this palace.

  I don’t stop watching for the prince. I peer into the crowd, check the room from side to side. As I’m turning my head I notice the person sitting at the table next to mine and almost jump.

  It’s Moody. Sitting alone and looking right at me.

  I’ve got a mouthful of chicken so I can’t speak. Moody simply looks at me, mildly curious, then lets her lifeless eyes drift back to the ballroom. I continue to stare at her. That was odd. The way she looked at me.... Almost as if... she didn’t recognize me?

  Gracious, I don’t look that different! My face is the same, I just saw it in the mirror. Is she really that dense?

  “Hello,” I say, just to test it.

  She looks back. “Good evening.” She says it so politely I know she doesn’t recognize me. That’s so bizarre.

  “Are you enjoying the ball?” I ask.

  “Not a bit,” she says. “You?”

  I laugh. “I just got here. Awfully late, I’m afraid.”

  “You haven’t missed much,” Moody says dryly. “Eating and dancing, dancing and eating. A long, boring speech from King Stephen. That’s all.”

  “Did you dance with the prince?”

  Moody shakes her head. “Don’t want to. I’ve been sitting here alone all night. Wish my sister was here.”

  “Your sister?” Loony? She has to be here somewhere. Probably swimming around the prince with the rest of the sharks.

  “Yes, she stayed at home. My mother wouldn’t let her come to the ball.”

  Is she talking about... me? And referring to me as a sister, not a step. “Why do you want her here?” I have to ask.

  Moody shrugs. “She would enjoy this. And if she didn’t, at least I’d have someone to talk to. Mother’s being stupid. Cindy has a better chance for the prince than anyone. She’s pretty. And unlike Lunilla, she’s smart.”

  A hard, frozen section of my heart begins to thaw. Moody likes me. Or at least doesn’t hate me. I remember when we played together, that first year before Papa died. We would braid each other’s hair before bed. I could even make her laugh sometimes. Then, when Stepmother began to segregate me, Moody turned cold, probably afraid of defying her mother. But sometimes, when I came to make her bed in the morning, she would speak to me, a few flat sentences that I thought meant nothing. But she never got nasty, like Loony did. Maybe in her dull, emotionless way she felt sorry for me. Just didn’t know how to show it.

  Well. That’s something.

  Moody lifts a lazy finger. “That’s my other sister, Lunilla.”

  I look up. Two people have spiraled onto the outer edge of dancers. One is Loony, her ruddy face even ruddier with exertion. And she’s dancing with

  The prince!

  There he is! And he looks fabulous. Dressed in a slim white suit, edged in gold. Lunilla is running her mouth, of course, and he listens with a polite smile. I grab the napkin beside my plate and wipe the grease off my fingers. I’ve sighted my quarry.

  It’s time to join the hunt.

  ~*~ 16 ~*~

  I turn to rise and stop short. A little girl stands a few feet away, watching me. She looks no more than eight years old and wears a fluffy white dress with lots of lace. This, clearly, is the prince’s daughter. I’ve seen no other children here.

  She steps closer to me. “Why are you wearing that?” And points to my dress.

  I smile. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s ugly,” she says. “Did somebody die?”

  “No, I just like black.” My tone is colder now. I’m not enchanted with this little girl. For one thing, she’s awfully pretty. Her hair is raven black and flows freely to her waist. Her skin is pale and porcelain smooth. She needs no white magic to perfect her appearance, she will naturally grow into a breathtaking beauty. It isn’t fair.

  The girl points to my head. “Your crown is nice, though. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s a tiara. I, um, borrowed it from a friend.”

  “May I wear it for a while?” The girl holds out her hand, expectant.

  I hesitate. “Well... perhaps later. I need it until the ball is over.”

  The girl keeps her hand out and expertly lifts a single eyebrow. “I want it now, if you please.”

  I look straight into her haughty brown eyes. “No.”

  The girl’s hand drifts downward. She’s shocked. I guess a princess is used to getting her way. Not with me. I’ve got this tiara for ninety more minutes, and prince’s daughter or not, the little brat can’t have it.

  I’m hoping she’ll leave me now, go off somewhere to sulk. But suddenly she lunges and snatches the tiara right out of my hair! With a high laugh she dashes away, throwing herself straight into the churning crowd of dancers.

  I jump up, grinding my teeth. The prince is gone; I lost track of him when his daughter appeared. And now she has my tiara. I will get it back if I have to break her little arm.

  I barge right into the midst of the dancing couples. It’s like trying to walk through a moving forest. I see the girl ahead, sprinting around the wide, swishy skirts. A few people step aside for the princess, but most of them don’t notice her and she’s getting blocked and slowed, as I am. But she is smaller, quicker, and not wearing breakable shoes. The distance between us grows.

  I growl and push harder, not caring who I bump or that I’m drawing hostile stares. I stay focused on the girl, just a flash of white dress among the hordes. She’s nearing the top of the ballroom and the long staircase with golden railings. I spy a sudden opening to my left, a clear path between the dancers. I race through, hoping this will catch me up.

  I break out of the crowd just before the stairs. The girl bursts out at the same moment, my tiara still clutched in her grubby fingers. She sees me. She makes a frantic dash up the staircase but I leap and grab a fistful of her flying hair, jerking her to a stop. “Give it back, you little freak!” I snarl.

  “Yes, sweetheart,” says a man’s voice. “Please give the lady back her tiara.”<
br />
  I drop my hand and straighten like a puppet yanked on its strings. The prince. Standing just below us, his hands clasped casually at his back. He’s looking at his daughter, not me. And he’s smiling.

  The princess is on the fourth step, twisting to look at her father. Her eyes are rebellious. The prince calmly lifts a hand and says, “Give it here, darling.”

  The girl slaps the tiara into his hand and stomps up the steps, muttering. The prince turns to me with a gentle smile. Surprising, considering he just caught me pulling his daughter’s hair and calling her a freak. But all he says is, “Please forgive my daughter, she can be mischievous at times. I believe this is yours?”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, still flustered. I take the tiara and settle it back into my hair. Remembering my manners, I sink into a deep and graceful curtsy. “Good evening, Your Highness. I am sorry for the disturbance.”

  “Nothing at all,” he says pleasantly. I like the way he looks at me, as if I’m something rare and exotic. This is what I hoped for.

  He smiles and offers his arm. “Well. Now that that’s over, would you care for a dance?”

  I sigh and laugh. “Gladly!”

  We stroll onto the dance floor where everyone makes room for the prince and his partner. He slips his hand on my waist, smiles, and we begin.

  Oh, it’s wonderful. Like dreaming. We glide swiftly and smoothly around the ballroom, perfectly timed to the music and each other. Memories float up of those beautiful years when Papa and I lived alone and he’d push back the dining room table and teach me how to dance, humming the music himself. And look at me now, in the royal palace, dancing with the prince.

  I still wish it was you, Papa.

  “So. They call me Prince Edgar.” The prince grins and it’s dazzling. He has strong, handsome features, a good chin, clear blue eyes. His blonde hair is cut short, a bit fluffy on top. We must look great together, my black dress weaving with his white suit. Like day and night, good and evil.

  “So happy to finally meet you, Prince Edgar. Do you know this is my first time in the palace?”

  “I thought so!” Prince Edgar takes my hand, twirls me on the spot, then clasps my waist again. “I knew I couldn’t have seen you before. I would have remembered.”

  “Well, I don’t get out much,” I say lightly. I keep my eyes on his, my face lifted, my lips parted just slightly. Come on, white magic, don’t fail me now.

  “And what do they call you?” he asks with a subtle lift of his eyebrows. Boy, he’s good. My heart flops around like a fish on dry land.

  But I’m hesitant to reveal my name because I’m still worried about the incident with his daughter. The prince brushed that off just a bit too easily. Furthermore, his parents – King Stephen and Queen Shelley – are here tonight, I saw them dancing. If that nasty little princess learns my name, she might go blabbing to the king. And I do not want to end my evening in the dungeon. So my name can wait until I have thoroughly hooked the prince’s heart.

  I offer a coy smile. “You may call me whatever you like, Your Highness.”

  Prince Edgar laughs. “Are you some kind of dark secret? You look it, in that dress.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s perfect. You’re like a little crow that’s come to haunt me.”

  “Then call me Crow.” I grin at him.

  We dance and the minutes slip like sand through my fingers. My charm enhancement does wonders, never did I find speaking so easy. Our conversation flows as seamlessly as our feet, never faltering or missing a step.

  Once, and only once, do I spot Stepmother. She’s over by the wall with Loony, both of them watching me. My stomach twitches when I catch Stepmother’s eye, but her look, though irritated, shows no sign of recognition. I know Stepmother by now. If she knew it was me, she’d be white with rage. She’d find sly ways to humiliate me, like tripping my feet or dropping a spider into my hair. And Loony, well, Loony would probably rip me to shreds in front of everyone.

  Godnutter’s spell. Has to be. She knew my stupid steps would never leave me alone otherwise. She did it to protect me, to let me enjoy the night. I really should forgive her for imposing the curfew.

  But I won’t.

  The music ends and we sway to a stop. “Hot?” Prince Edgar asks.

  I laugh. “Terribly.”

  “Let’s go out for a bit, walk under the stars.” He spreads his hand on my lower back. “If you promise not to fly away, of course.”

  “I think my wings are too tired.”

  We begin to thread our way out of the ballroom. I do enjoy the looks I’m getting from other ladies. Bewilderment. Envy. Unconcealed hatred. They will hate me more when I am queen.

  I will see to that.

  ~*~ 17 ~*~

  The night is cool, soft as feathers. I walk with Prince Edgar on a terrace that stretches a long arm out from the castle. The moon hovers like a bright pearl, quiet and graceful. It’s a lovely night – a finer night I know I’ll never see. Edgar is delightful and we talk long and easily, rambling about our childhoods, places we’ve visited, the best kind of riding horse, how we both don’t like pork much, whether stars are white or gold, even touching on fashion. I feel as if I found the friend I lost when Papa died. With Edgar, I could even be good.

  The terrace is key-shaped, ending in a wide circle. It surrounds a lonely tower, a pale finger of stone cutting high into the night. To our right, a staircase drops from the terrace to the gardens where I see sculpted shrubbery and paths that curl around flower beds. I’m guessing we’ll go down to the gardens, but Edgar invites me to sit with him on an iron bench by the wall.

  “Enjoying yourself?” He takes my hand and my heart crashes inside me. I can’t stop smiling. “This is the most wonderful night of my life!” And I mean it.

  Edgar releases my hand and leans back, folding his arms. “Glad to hear it. Now tell me, what would being queen do for you?”

  Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness! Is this really happening? I want to squeal like a little girl, bounce in my seat. I can’t believe I’m going to win.

  “It would... be wonderful!” I cry. “A dream come true!”

  “And why did you dream of being queen? Specifically?” His smile is different now. Careful. Detached.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think it’s a hard question. You want to be queen and that’s why you’re here. Not for me. Why?”

  I don’t know how to answer. The change in his tone surprises me.

  “All right, let me make this easier.” Edgar shifts, propping his hands on his thighs. “I asked my father to give this ball so I could find a wife. Do you want to know why I want another wife?”

  “Y-yes,” I think I’m expected to say.

  “One,” he says, “I need an heir. A son. Or let’s just say, a legitimate son.” He chuckles and winks at me. “Two, I want a beautiful woman to sit beside me on the throne. It looks good, you know? Three, my daughter needs a mother, one that can manage her. And given that little... dispute... I observed between you earlier, I think you have the spirit to rein her in. And four, well, I get lonely sometimes. Mistresses, sooner or later, must be sent back to their husbands. I want someone for me.”

  My heart has stopped crashing. It has become a lump of coal, dull and heavy. I feel that sickening sense of loss, like waking out of a beautiful dream. Knowing it’s gone and you can’t get it back.

  “Now what do you want?” He’s not even smiling now. This is a business deal. An exchange of offers as we weigh the mutual benefits. Fine. If that’s how it is, I can play along.

  “I have a stepmother and two stepsisters. I hate them. They have always been cruel to me. I want to become queen to rise above them, to prove myself better than they can ever be. And I want to punish them.”

  “Really?” Edgar laughs and it’s not friendly. “I mean, that’s all you’ve got? Petty revenge on your family? I guess I expected more. But sure, fair enough. As queen you can punish them any
way you like. Crush every enemy you’ve ever had, if you so choose. That is what I can offer you. Are we in agreement?”

  I look down at my hands. “I... I don’t know.” I didn’t like his talk of mistresses. If he’s had them before, he’ll have them again. And I know the rules that men have made. Infidelity is only a woman’s crime. He will expect me to be loyal while he runs around freely. That isn’t me. If I choose to, I can be faithful, but I want the same in return.

  I rise to my feet. “Thank you, Prince Edgar, for your generous offer. I will give it some thought and-”

  Edgar laughs and stands with me. “Look up there.” He points to the tower behind us, to a small, dark window tucked high in the curving wall. “Let’s go up, shall we? That window commands a lovely view of the kingdom. And I think... when we’re alone... I can convince you that you’ll like me as a husband.”

  One thing I have learned: when a man invites you into a private room with him, it is not to enjoy the view. That quick, I don’t like Prince Edgar. He is not like Papa. I didn’t know until now that I wanted someone like Papa. Someone to love me, not use me.

  I stand straighter. “No, Your Highness, I would like to stay here. Perhaps we can walk in the garden.”

  Edgar, still smiling, wraps his fingers around my arm. A tight, commanding hold. “We’re going up first.”

  Impulsively, I kick his shin with the toe of my crystal slipper. He flinches, baring his teeth, but does not release my arm. Then he laughs.

  “You see?” He tugs me closer. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were perfect for me. I knew that black dress meant a soul even blacker. You are-” he slides a finger down my cheek “-everything I have ever desired.”

  Then he strikes me across the face.

  The blow knocks me over and my hands hit the stone slabs of the terrace. I crouch on the ground, too shocked to cry out, my mouth open wide. Never, never have I been struck. Not even by Stepmother. My cheek tingles and I felt a hot slice when his hand hit my cheekbone. I touch the spot and find blood on my fingertips. A cut from his wedding ring.