Cinderella's Not-So-Ugly Stepsister (Grimmer Fairy Tales Book 2)

by Lee Hayton

  We stored our waste as far back in the corner cupboard as we could. In the long, warm days, the chamber pot ripened like a fruit dropped from a tree onto the grass beneath. Meaty, rotten, foul.

  The smells were pungent but not as terrifying as the threat we faced from our celebrating neighbors. Two days in, Anastasia’s mind seemed to break. She’d graduated through the stages of melancholy and regret, to launch head first down the well of despair.

  On the third day, a knock at the door signaled more unwelcome news. My stepfather answered after the wooden planks started to bend in under the weight of the person hammering. When he pulled it open, his face was white, and he used the door itself as a shield, ducking in behind it.

  That left me, mother, and Anastasia exposed, but we quickly stepped behind the solid wood of the table. The kitchen knives, all we could arm ourselves with on short notice, were stretched out in front of us in shaking hands. Waiting for trouble.

  “The prince requests your immediate presence at the castle,” a servant said, bowing and clicking his heels forward as he delivered his message. “You’re wanted in the marriage ceremony joining your daughter Cinderella to the royal house of Ivy, through Francois, the Prince Regent, and sole heir.”

  As we stared at each other in confusion, still expecting a nasty surprise to land at any second, the footman swept his arm in welcome to a waiting carriage. Black wood polished with oil, so the light reflected off every surface. It was hitched to four white horses, their manes plaited and knotted and threaded with jewels in a grotesque display of wealth.

  “We’re not fit to travel in that,” my stepfather said. Talk about stating the obvious. His lip curled in disgust as he looked down at his soiled clothes.

  If the footman thought along the same lines, he hid his revulsion far better. After glancing at each member of our bedraggled family, he swept his arm toward the carriage again.

  “Nothing about you that can’t be washed off the seats later.” The servant held up a hand in tired warning when our stepfather opened his mouth to protest again.

  With no other choice on offer, we stepped out of our cottage. The stench of our confinement was deeply ingrained in every fiber of our clothing. Inside the carriage, we all perched on the very edge of the flat wooden benches. Anxiety curled through my stomach until I gasped at the pain.

  The rhythmic motion of the horses eased us into the journey. The clomp of their well-shod hooves hitting the soft dirt and pine needles of the path set a steady drumbeat for my heart to mimic. The motion of the straining pull forward, with a tiny jolt backward before easing forward again, reminded me of being rocked in a cradle.

  Soon, the castle loomed before us. The lawn that I’d fled with Cinderella in tow was now pristine. The mud, churned up by the heels of a thousand party-goers, had been resewn and was starting to blossom green once more.

  Upon exiting the carriage, we hovered near the side entrance. Waiting patiently for somebody to appear and tell us what to do. Eventually, Gerald came around the corner, and I sobbed with relief. A friend in the middle of the darkness. The only kind person in my life who hadn’t grown out of my family.

  “Come through,” he said, formal in tone, his back ramrod straight. The corner of my mouth curled into a smile as I saw the look of reverence on my stepfather’s face. The man seemed in awe of everything that Anastasia, mother, and I were so accustomed to. He walked through the rooms and corridors, his head peering and darting in all ways at once.

  The room Gerald took us to was frighteningly familiar to me, and to Anastasia as well judging from the look of dawning horror on her face. Unlike the last time I’d visited, now there was a steaming bath in copper. Buckets of water to top it off with hung over the open fire. Towels and washcloths for bathing and finery for dressing afterward were laid out upon the single bed. As my sister and I tried not to catch each other’s’ eye, my stepfather looked mystified at what he should even do.

  “I’ll send through a maid to help you with your clothing,” Gerald said, tipping me a nod and a small smile as he backed out of the room. With the door closed behind him, the four members of our family stood silent. Around us, the castle walls of thick stone creaked and groaned, chattered and mumbled. A conversation I couldn’t translate.

  “You go first, mother, father,” Anastasia said. “Zelda and I will wait out in the corridor.”

  They looked frightened. An expression natural to my mother but one my stepfather’s face wasn’t accustomed to wearing. It made him look odd, a different man than the one my sister, mom, and I had grown to fear.

  The maid entered as Anastasia and I left. My stepfather looked so puzzled and confused that pity gave me a little stab. Then the ache in my once-broken leg twanged my nerves, setting them on fire, and the urge faded back away into its usual background resentment.

  “Are they really going to make us go to the wedding?” Anastasia asked me as we waited outside. She was wringing her hands in front of her waist, while her eyes looked over her shoulder to a memory that I couldn’t see.

  I put my hand on her shoulder, a light caress. For a moment, she turned to me, and I felt that old sisterly bond tugging between us. Then her gaze shifted away and the moment was gone.

  “I guess so,” I replied after a long pause. “It would look strange if the bride’s family were excluded.”

  Anastasia sniffed, though whether as some allergy or because of being lumped in as Cinderella’s family, I don’t know. An awkward silence stretched out between us. The length elongated until it dangled in the middle like a cord drooping so low it trailed on the muddy ground.

  “All done,” my stepfather announced more cheerfully. He stepped through the door dressed in a morning coat with long tails, matching pants, and a shirt of white cotton starched so well that it moved independently of his body. I reached out to touch one frill near the collar, it felt like cardboard. I would have poked it further, but my stepfather’s face clearly displayed the warning that I was on dangerous ground. My mother trailed behind him, her face bent to the floor. Her dress of golden sequins fit better to a dance than attending a wedding.

  “You two go get cleaned up. My turn to wait out here.”

  The maid helped me and Ana undress and then helped us wash with a sponge the parts of our bodies that we couldn’t reach. The cleanliness that once upon a time I would have found refreshing, now just reminded me of the horrors the castle once had in store, and might again.

  The dresses laid upon the bed were a dowdy shade of cream, almost beige. They were a matching set, and with so many fiddly fastenings that without the maid there I would have wasted days trying to work out how everything held together. It reminded me of the white gown that Cinderella wore to the ball. That I’d once worn also. I saw a shadow of regret on Anastasia’s face and reached out my hand to comfort her. She shook it off, tilting her chin defiantly as she looked away.

  Creeping malaise entered my body. Starting at my feet, it slithered up my legs, entwined with my entrails, then slid into my heart. Its weight dragged at me, simultaneously making me want to cry with sadness and dulling my emotions down until they were so quiet, so muffled, the release didn’t seem worth the effort.

  Winding corridors with rooms tucked away like dark, moldering secrets—the castle seemed never-ending as we followed the maid through its dimly lit trails. At last, she stopped and opened the door to a dining room. Not anything compared to the ballroom, but still large enough to comfortably fit the extent of our entire farm.

  As soon as I entered the room, my eyes were drawn to Cinderella. The mask of a polite smile hid her true face. I was startled by the change in her. It weighed down my soul even more. Pain lines were etched into the skin of her forehead, her eyes, her mouth. The beautiful visage still unblemished but radiating distress.

  I tried to angle closer to her but was stopped in my tracks by a large male. Dressed as a waiter, I feared it was a disguise, and he was actually a bodyguard. I peered around the edge of h
is massive shoulders and saw Cinderella, smile still fixed in place, look at me. Her eyes widened, startled, and she began to rise from the table. A warning hand from Francois immediately returned her to the chair, her face blanching from pale to ghostlike.

  My heart broke for her. Pent up emotions fought their way free of my depression, and I cried out in distress. Cinderella heard me and shook her head, her face creasing in concern. My stepfather caught my shoulders and pulled me back as the “waiter” raised his arm to strike.

  “I think we should hang back and wait to do what we’re told.”

  His voice was so subdued, so careful, that I missed the raging hatred my stepfather so often displayed. Where was it now when it could come in useful? What was the point of spending a life blasting fiery torrents of anger, when it disappeared the first time it had the chance to strike a righteous blow?

  We were all of us useless, all of us helpless. The machinations of the Prince were too powerful for us to triumph. Insects. That’s all we were to him. Scurrying about, doing his bidding. Even the Royal Family of Ivy bent to his will.

  His father, the King who should have been lauding his power over his son as the only person with the command to do so, shrank away from Francois stern gaze. His mother looked worn and tired. A woman who had birthed many children while only one survived.

  I wondered what happened to the others, then shook my head. No need to ponder that one. I already knew. Francois swallowed attention like the gluttonous ate and the alcoholic drank. A small baby, endearing in its helplessness, would never have been allowed to sup from the prince’s serving.

  The night swam in my head, an endless unveiling of fear and confusion. As I lay trying to sleep in a hard and unfamiliar bed, I wondered what horrors awaited us tomorrow. The royal marriage would be in full swing for hour after tortuous hour. The endless parade of pageantry and wonder would fade into boredom long before it ended.

  I didn’t understand fully why my family had been dragged along to that ceremony. At dinner, we were seated and fed so far from Cinderella, that to pretend our presence was to celebrate together would be farcical.

  There was some reason we were there, and it wasn’t just to be bridesmaids and hold Cinderella’s room-length train. Even then, waiting for the full terror of the wedding day to unfold, I knew in my heart that we would somehow be punished. For what, I didn’t know. How I didn’t know. That it would hurt? Well, that seemed certain.

  Chapter Ten

  The wedding day dawned, cheery and beautiful. Birds were singing, the sun was shining—an abject betrayal of all that I was feeling. Get on board, nature.

  Is there anything worse when you’re feeling blue than watching the rest of the world celebrate? I think not, but I am biased toward my own conclusions. Feel free to correct me if you think I’m barking up the wrong tree.

  A new dress was laid out for me, a new ladies maid appointed. In such opulent extravagance, I was churlish and wound tight with anxious fear.

  The new maid came complete with a set of instructions for me. She repeated them over and over until I could recite them back to her by rote. I still remember them now, that’s how deeply she ingrained them into me.

  Chapel at nine, wait for the groom to arrive, throw gifts to his people and follow him inside. Seat yourself in the third row from the back, making sure that you and Anastasia are nearest the aisle. When you’re signaled, rise and make your way to the entrance of the church. As your stepsister enters, take her train in your hands and fall into step behind her. At the altar, gather the train together and tie it with a ribbon, then pass it to your sister to attach to her wrist.

  The ceremony, blah de blah, then reverse the order until she’s outside the church and I’ve taken a seat again in the third row from the back.

  Nowadays, I hear they stage entire practice ceremonies before the actual wedding itself is performed. Ritualistic nonsense that’s gone overboard, I think. But I’m and old crone whose face is disfigured and who hasn’t seen the sun since she was a young girl. There’s a tiny chance, hidden in there somewhere, that I’m a tad bitter and twisted. If my life had been touched with romance more than assault, love more than fear, maybe I too would enjoy the practice of committing my life to another before the act itself was required. Perhaps it’s a blessing that these young people today get a chance to see what’s involved and run screaming.

  More fool them if they don’t.

  Anastasia and I waited in front of the chapel, side by side. During the hour long wait we never once looked at each other. My heart was going pitter-pat and not from excitement. I think the dread had overwhelmed me so, it was all it could manage just to keep pumping and beating.

  The prince arrived, and the waiting crowds shouted in joy. Their hands flailed in the air to catch the gifts he threw out to them. As Francois turned his back to head into the church, fistfights broke out in every direction. Gifts had been dispersed but not in nearly enough quantities. Greed and hunger were on their worst display.

  A package fell near me, and I bent and picked it up. Beautiful pale blue fabric tied with lace. Inside, there was a selection of dried fruits and candy. Love heart shaped. A tide of nausea swept up the back of my throat, and I tossed the bag to a little girl waiting nearby. Her squeals of excitement and joy helped me to swallow back my disgust along with my bile. Soon enough my stomach settled back into its previous anxious knot.

  Anastasia and I walked into the chapel. After the bright sunlight, we had to pause for a moment, blinking away the spots floating in front of our eyes. More by feel than by sight, I moved to the third pew in from the back of the room. Taking a seat, I closed my eyes until the bright aftereffects of the day faded. When I opened them again, I could easily see the stream of people filing in to take their seats.

  Each one of them was also blinking. Some guests rubbed their eyes as though they could massage the glow away. Soon, the church filled. On every seat held a person perched, waiting for the main attraction. Others shuffled in to stand quietly along the back and the sides.

  The overdressed women around us sported hats and finery more detailed and beautiful than I’d seen, except at the ball earlier in the week. These outfits, though, were far more refined and dignified. Suiting the tone of the occasion perfectly, as money enabled people to do.

  A man scurried in after we’d been seated for a good half-hour. Hunched over, he held a sheaf of papers in his hands. My back straightened as I awaited the news, good or bad, that he carried. Luckily, I was mistaken in my assumption. The man bowed and nodded quickly to the prince and then slid into his seat behind the large organ. The pipes stretched up to the high, vaulted ceiling, and I tilted my head up to follow their path.

  It was the mumble of voices growing ever louder outside, that alerted me to Cinderella’s arrival. As one, the church stood and awaited her entrance. Both Anastasia and I slipped further down the back, staring fixedly at the floor as we did so, hoping not to draw attention.

  That was a failure. Every neck craned to see some action, and as the only people moving, we were the recipients of their collective stares. It was a relief when Cinderella stepped into the church. Every set of eyes transferred to her, instead.

  She was beautiful.

  Standing in the entrance way, blinking her eyes clear of the shards of fallen sunlight, my stepsister gave the daylight outside a run for its money in brightness and glow.

  Her dress was white. Silk flowed down the curves of her body, following its shape with the close attention of a new lover. A long, lace veil smoothed out any imperfections on her face. The intricate patterns curving into a comb plunged deep in Cinderella’s golden hair.

  My hands went to my stomach, pressing hard to quell the churning and burning inside it. My heart was hollow and cracked open, wishing that Cinderella’s beauty could have earned a worthy suitor.

  It was too late for that.

  Francois grinned at her from the front of the church. The minister in his raised pulpit an
d black formal dress formed an evil shadow behind him. The face that had once looked handsome was now only cruel. The lips that I’d once ached to touch with my own were now thin and twisting—a hint at the true depth of depravity the prince kept hidden beneath.

  For a fleeting moment, I considered plucking up Cinderella’s train and wrenching as hard as I could. A torn dress might provide enough reason for her to retreat out of the chapel. Once outside, we could flee to the stables, find a mount each and gallop away to the far horizon. Live in another Kingdom until the end of our days.

  I reached down and clutched the small loop designed for lifting the heavy weight of fabric. My shoulders stiffened as my thoughts formulated their plan. Then I shook my head. No good could come of it. I lifted my stepsister’s train and fell into step beside Anastasia.

  The organist played a solemn march, better suited for soldiers heading into war than a bride to her marriage partner. Whether it was through Francois’ sick design or just a poor choice in musical taste, it fitted this occasion perfectly. The sentencing of Cinderella to life with a monster. A sentence that I could only think would end with her death.

  I bent my head forward as a sob tried to break out of me. My shaking shoulders were a giveaway as I bit my lips hard, trying to stop. The minister ran through the ceremony. Vows were garbled at each other, rings were exchanged. A procession around the back of the church to take a solemn sip of red wine from a cup and a piece of bread from a bowl. One single crimson drop fell from the rim as Cinderella went to sup. It splashed onto her dress at the point where her heart would be beating. The drop soaked into the fabric, spreading out into a small round stain. Like a bullseye to a sniper, one shot.

  There was general applause throughout the chapel as the minister pronounced them married. Goodhearted cheers and a standing ovation as the newly joined couple turned to leave. Cinderella dropped the lace circle from her wrist, so the train flowed out behind her once more. Again, Anastasia and I bent to catch up each side and keep it clear of the floor and any waiting snags.