“I guess.” Cinderella didn’t see the immediate appeal, yet felt somewhat excited for her stepsisters if they really thought he’d pick one of them.
Excited for herself, too. If one of her stepsisters became a princess, her stepmother would gain all the power she could possibly want and might even give up on trying to get Cinderella to reveal where her real mother’s wand was hidden.
Even if Cinderella knew where the wand was—which she didn’t—she’d never give it to her stepmother. With the wand’s reputed powers, her stepmother could terrorize not only her, but the whole kingdom.
She refocused on her stepsisters. “You expect the prince to propose marriage today?” Cinderella was pretty sure her stepsisters had never even met the young man.
“No, silly.” Agatha leaned back on her elbows, and the hoops rose up around her as if she were lying in a barrel. She kicked her feet, like two huge duck flippers, in front of her.
Gwendolyn spun from where she’d been playing with her hair. “Do you not pay attention at all? He’ll propose at the ball, the day of the magic festival. We told you last night.”
“There’s a magic festival?” Cinderella wouldn’t have forgotten that.
“Don’t interrupt.” Gwendolyn waved a long, slender finger at Cinderella. “The important part of the day is the ball. The prince will choose his bride from among the young ladies in attendance.”
“Cinderella,” Agatha said as she stood, thrust out her breasts, and ran her hands along imaginary fabric. “You have to sew me the best dress ever, because I plan to be that young lady.”
Gwendolyn leaped up. “Well, that’s going to be impossible, because he’s going to choose me.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I hear he has a preference for dark hair.”
“You don’t know that,” Agatha challenged her sister. “Brown hair is so boring. I’ll bet as soon as he sees my rich, red curls, he’ll fall instantly in love.”
Cinderella tapped her foot on the floor and crossed her arms over her chest. Every moment spent dealing with these two was a moment she couldn’t spend doing her chores and then training. “So,” she interrupted their bickering, “I’m still not sure why today’s so important.”
“Fool.” Gwendolyn returned her attention to her hair. “We need to be seen in the village to be sure we receive invitations.”
“Also,” Agatha added, “we should buy up all the best fabrics before the other girls get a chance.”
Cinderella’s eyes ached from the effort of not rolling. Her stepsisters had the worst taste in fabrics, which was something else they’d inherited from their mother. They’d need to purchase every bolt in the store to up their chances of finding the best ones.
“Cinderella, you must help me pick fabrics.” Agatha raised her hands to her bust. “I must have the most beautiful gown ever. What do you think would go best with my hair and show off my eyes? A cherry red, perhaps? Lemon yellow? Lime green?”
Gwendolyn stepped in front of Agatha and said, “No, Cinderella, you must reserve the best fabrics for my gown.”
“Girls, why are you dawdling?”
Cinderella spun, wondering how long her stepmother had been standing in the doorway. “Agatha and Gwendolyn were just telling me how they’ll need new gowns for the prince’s ball.”
“Of course they will,” replied her stepmother. Her tone and expression made it clear Cinderella had made the most idiotic comment ever, but Cinderella refused to react. She knew an opportunity when she saw one.
She stood very still, clasped her hands behind her back, and lowered her head slightly, feigning deference. “I should get started on the gowns immediately.”
Her stepmother didn’t respond.
“Perhaps it would be most efficient if I were to accompany Agatha and Gwendolyn into the village to help select fabrics.” It was a long shot, but it was worth a chance.
Cinderella hadn’t been into the village since she was nine years old. Back then, she’d enjoyed slightly more freedom. She should’ve taken advantage when she had the chance, but at the time, she’d been far too fearful to flee.
“Oh, yes,” said Agatha,“Cinderella does have good luck picking fabrics. Without her, we usually have to bring home ten or fifteen different bolts of cloth before finding one that’s perfect.”
One that was passable was more like it, Cinderella thought to herself.
Gwendolyn curled her lips as if she’d tasted something unpleasant. “Agatha does have a point. Cinderella might be useless at so many things, but she does make beautiful gowns and has an eye for fabrics. If I’m to snag the prince, I need the best dress possible.”
When her stepmother didn’t immediately reject the idea, Cinderella’s hopes inched upward, but she kept her head down and her expression neutral. If her stepmother realized how badly Cinderella wanted to go to the village, she’d never let her go.
“Agatha, Gwendolyn,” Cinderella said,“thank you for the compliment, but you give me too much credit.” She kept her gaze down. “Your fabric selections are always beautiful.”
She thought it would be best not to specifically mention some of her stepsisters’ previous purchases, like the hideous yellow-and-scarlet upholstery fabric with teapot patterns that Agatha had brought home the last time she’d needed a gown.
If Cinderella played this correctly, she could make her stepmother think it was all her idea to send Cinderella to the village. Even she relied on Cinderella’s taste in fashion and would realize that sending her stepdaughter to choose fabrics was the best and most efficient way to ensure her real daughters shone at the ball.
Silence filled the room, and Cinderella realized she might have gone too far by hinting at the need for a trip to the village. Her stepmother’s hand hovered over her wand, and Cinderella braced herself for whatever punishment she might be forced to endure.
The gong at the front door sounded, and everyone’s head turned to the source of the noise.
“Well?” asked her stepmother after no one moved for a few moments. Her voice sounded full of venom.
Cinderella moved her gaze from the wand to look into her stepmother’s face.
Her stepmother sneered. “Do you expect the door to answer itself?”
“No, of course not.” Feeling slightly giddy that she’d dodged, or at least delayed, whatever bullet had been coming her way, Cinderella skipped down the main stairs in the vaulted front foyer to the door.
She opened the heavy inner door that led to the small entryway separating the main rooms from the outside. It was unbelievably annoying that whoever was outside could easily open the outer door to come in, yet she couldn’t open it herself because of her stepmother’s entrapment spells.
She stepped forward, determined that this would be the day the front door would not only open for her, but that it would also be the day she’d be able to cross its threshold and leave. She grasped the huge iron handle and, for extra insurance, braced one foot on the stone wall beside the door. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated and pulled.
Nothing happened. She pulled again, and the muscles in her upper back felt as if they were about to tear off her body. It felt pointless to keep trying, but trying was all she had.
She dropped her foot, opened the tiny window in the door, and saw a young man dressed in a suit of burgundy and deep gray velvet; an ostrich feather stuck out jauntily from his floppy black hat. He was undoubtedly a messenger from the castle. She had to admit she was somewhat impressed by his fine uniform.
“The door is unlocked,” she told the messenger.“Just give me a moment to back out of the way, and then you can enter.” If she were standing within six feet of the door, the spell would prevent its movement.
“You want me to open the door myself?” the messenger asked.
“Yes, my hands are full.” Although visitors to the house were rare, she’d worked up a list of excuses over the years.
Even if the cook and grooms employed by her stepmother could see her—which they didn’t se
em to be able to do, likely the effect of another dark spell—she couldn’t ask them for help. If she ever told another soul about the entrapment spells, both she and the person she told would be turned into stone.
The messenger opened the door and stepped inside, his broad shoulders filling a surprising amount of the door’s width. His black hat was tilted forward so that it shielded his face from the light and made his features hard to discern. He was tall, and although the uniform was slightly worn and baggy, Cinderella could see the young man had a strong form beneath his broad shoulders.
“Your hands aren’t full,” he said as he stepped forward.
She stepped back. “I put everything down.”
He walked past her into the foyer, glanced around, and, not spotting any evidence of baggage, looked at her curiously. “Where?”
Caught in her lie, Cinderella squirmed under the gaze of his bright blue eyes. Moths fluttered in her belly, as if she had a light in there to which they were drawn.
Mentally swatting the moths away, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Excuse me, but I expect you came here with a purpose. Now that you’ve barged all the way in, would it be too much to ask what that purpose might be?”
He tipped his head back, as if startled at her question, and she caught another glimpse of his handsome face. Her moths started up again.
He removed his hat and bowed toward her. “My apologies, Miss. This is your home and I’m an intruder. Forgive me.”
“Certainly.” Her cheeks burned. She hadn’t expected him to bow. Men bowed to her stepmother and stepsisters, but not to her. She was nobody.
He straightened and the light struck his smooth cheeks, crisply angled jaw, and blond hair that—now released from under the hat—hung about his face like unruly golden corkscrews.
She sucked in a sharp breath. The messenger, not much older than she, was far more handsome than any man who’d come to their home before. In fact, she hadn’t realized this particular combination of ruggedness and good looks was possible in a human being. But it wasn’t his looks that struck her most; it was his smile and the glint in his eyes as he studied her with what almost looked like admiration.
An entirely new kind of fluttering started up in her belly.
She swallowed hard before saying, “No, it was I who was rude.” It wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t open the door to her own house, and he’d borne the brunt of her frustration.
His grin widened, revealing dimples on his cheeks. “Shall we put it behind us?”
“Yes, please.” Relief flooded through her. “How may I help you?”
He cleared his throat. “Other than yourself, how many unmarried young women reside here?”
“I live here with my stepmother and two stepsisters, Agatha and Gwendolyn. Perhaps you have heard of them. They tell me that their beauty is renowned.” She swallowed the shame she felt for poking fun at her stepsisters, even if the messenger might not have sensed her sarcasm. They were pretty, sure, but it was boastful of them to constantly say so.
“Renowned beauties, you say.” His eyes flashed mischief. “I’m afraid I’ve yet had the pleasure to make their acquaintance, but if they’re half as beautiful as you are charming, their beauty must be renowned indeed.” He stepped back, executed another half bow, and Cinderella’s stomach lurched.
She steadied herself and grinned. At least he had a sense of humor.
“Oh.” He clasped his hands together. “What a lovely smile.”
His voice was soft and deep and reminded Cinderella of how she’d felt the one time she’d tasted chocolate. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe she was beautiful like her stepsisters. She wasn’t ugly, she knew that—just plain.
Enough of this, she thought. He was teasing her and eventually her stepmother would expect her back upstairs; there was no sense risking another punishment. “Beyond false flattery,” she asked, “do you have a purpose for your visit?”
His body stiffened, and she felt badly that she’d spoken so sharply.
He reached into the leather satchel that was slung over his shoulder and handed her four envelopes. “The king and queen extend their invitation to you and your family and hope you’ll attend a ball given in the prince’s honor.”
She accepted the envelopes, which were made of fine linen paper with gilded edges. Imagine, all that gold used simply to adorn letters.
“Will you attend?” he asked, another smile spreading on his handsome face.
Oh, thought Cinderella with a sense of urgency, he wanted a response now. Should she respond on everyone’s behalf? “I’m certain my stepsisters will attend.”
His smile faded. “Not you?”
Cinderella let out a short burst of laughter, then quickly covered her mouth with her hands.
He looked almost hurt or offended. Ashamed of her outburst, Cinderella cast her eyes down at the floor. He didn’t know his suggestion was ridiculous. In fact, he couldn’t know why it was, or he’d turn to stone. “Do you need our responses right now?” she asked. “Because I can call up to my stepsisters and—”
“That won’t be necessary.” He returned the cap to his head and tucked all his loose golden curls back under it. “But I do hope you’ll come.”
Cinderella stammered. “I-I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“What’s not possible?” her stepmother said from the top of the stairs.
A chill invaded the room and Cinderella backed away from the messenger. There was no need to drag him into whatever horrible punishment her stepmother might have in store. She braced herself.
“Good morning, Madam.” The messenger bowed again, this time toward her stepmother. “I am here to extend invitations from the palace for you and your three daughters.”
Her stepmother smiled, and Cinderella cringed. “For my three daughters, you say?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I understand there are two other lovely young women at this residence?” The messenger’s expression had changed, and so had his voice. It had grown more formal and distant. It was almost as if he could sense the danger that lurked behind her stepmother’s smile and upturned lips.
Fighting to keep her hand from shaking, Cinderella climbed a few steps and extended the invitations toward her stepmother. She regretted that she hadn’t tucked the fourth one inside her apron. Even if she could never go to the ball, it would’ve been nice to keep the invitation to serve as a reminder that the possibility of something better lay outside the grounds of her home.
Her stepmother took the envelopes and fanned them out. As she watched and waited to see what the woman might do, it felt to Cinderella as if hours passed. She didn’t fear for herself. She was accustomed to her stepmother’s cruelty. It was the young messenger she worried about. He didn’t deserve to be punished for delivering an extra envelope.
Her stepmother raised her head. “Thank you,” she said, her tone making it clear that the messenger was dismissed.
When he bowed a second time to her stepmother, he tossed a quick glance at Cinderella and winked. She raised a hand to her mouth to cover her smile.
As soon as he was out the door, her stepmother dangled one of the invitations between her index finger and thumb, as if it were poisonous. “Well then, Cinderella,” her stepmother said, an evil glint in her eye. “It seems you’ve been invited to the ball. Would you like to attend?”
If you were Cinderella, what would you do?
OPTION A: It must be another of her stepmother’s tricks, but what has she got to lose? And on the long shot that her stepmother’s question isn’t a cruel tease, there’s a chance the prince might choose Cinderella to be his bride—her ticket out of servitude. Besides, marrying a prince sounds dreamy. If you think she should say yes, go to section 2: Crystal Clarity (page 39).
OPTION B: Even if her stepmother is serious, what is there to gain from going to a ball? How boring. Not to mention, even if marrying the prince would get Cinderella out from under her stepmother’s s
pell, she’d be trapped in a royal marriage with all its pretentious customs and ceremonies. When she chooses a husband, it’ll be for love, not money. If you think she should say thanks, but no thanks, go to section 3: Hard Work Rewarded (page 73).
Section 2
CRYSTAL CLARITY
2
Cinderella tapped her foot on the foyer’s inlaid wood floor, anxious to go into the village for the first time in over a decade and feeling as if she’d entered some kind of parallel universe. One where she was allowed to leave the house anytime she wanted, one where her stepmother was more like an actual mother, one where Cinderella was free.
Such a universe was not likely to exist. In this universe, she’d proceed with caution.
Her stepsisters had argued vehemently with their mother about the fabric selection, and their mother finally gave in to her daughters’ wishes. Then her stepmother acted as though it had all been her own idea: if Cinderella selected the fabrics, Gwendolyn and Agatha would have a much greater chance of outshining the other girls and snagging the prince.
If one of her daughters married Prince Tiberius—although her stepmother hadn’t admitted it—it was clear she believed that, as the mother of a princess and future queen, she’d gain more power.
“Gold? You can’t wear gold with your red hair.” Gwendolyn and Agatha bickered as they scrambled down the main stairs.
“You’re just saying that because you want to wear gold.” Halfway down, Agatha leaned over the landing’s oak banister. “Cinderella, I look better than Gwenny in gold, right?”
Anxious to leave before permission was withdrawn, Cinderella said, “Both of you will look beautiful no matter what color you wear. The prince will have a terrible time deciding which sister to marry.”
The two sisters giggled together for a moment and then descended the remainder of the staircase with more decorum. And it was about time they showed more decorum. Now Cinderella needed them to get into their cloaks so they could get out the door. She was still hoping her stepmother wasn’t coming.
Cinderella: Ninja Warrior Page 3