“What color do you plan to wear to the ball, Cinderella?” Agatha asked as Cinderella helped her put on her bright blue woolen cloak.
“Oh, I haven’t decided.” Cinderella brushed a piece of lint off her stepsister’s shoulder and then turned to help Gwendolyn with her cloak. She still didn’t believe her stepmother would actually let her go.“I’m just happy to get the opportunity to attend.”
“I guess,” Gwendolyn said, not bothering to bend down as Cinderella reached up on her toes to place the cloak on her much taller stepsister’s shoulders. “I mean, it’s not like you stand a chance at getting a dance with the prince. There will be hundreds of girls at the ball, and maybe only fifteen or twenty open slots on his dance card.”
“He’ll have a dance card?” Cinderella asked. She had no idea how balls worked and realized that she should have paid more attention to her stepsisters’ chatter over the years.
“No, silly,” Agatha said as she extended a foot so that Cinderella could stoop to lace up her boot. “It’s just a figure of speech. I’m sure he’ll have some kind of servant or attendant who’ll notify the girls he’s chosen.”
“Sounds somewhat impersonal.” Cinderella turned to lace up Gwendolyn’s boots.
“Impersonal?” her stepmother said as she entered the room.
Cinderella’s excitement blew up the chimney. Her stepmother had decided to join them, after all.
“We were discussing the ball, Mother.” Agatha grinned.
“What about it?” Her stepmother’s voice dripped with suspicion.
“How the prince might select girls to dance.” Agatha’s grin started to waver, as if leery of her mother’s mood.
Her stepmother turned toward a blood-red cloak hanging on a wooden peg high on the wall, and Cinderella rushed to take it down and put it over her stepmother’s shoulders.
“Agatha and Gwendolyn, for shame. It’s cruel to tease your sister with thoughts of dances with the prince.”
Cinderella sucked in a sharp breath and closed her eyes for a second. Of course she wasn’t really going to the ball. Of course it had been an elaborate tease. Even though she’d assumed as much, it stung anyway. She likely wasn’t going to the village today, either.
Her stepmother turned and took Cinderella’s chin between her black-gloved fingers, pushing the flesh against her teeth and pulling her face up so high that Cinderella had to lift up on her toes.
“Look at her.” Her stepmother kept her eyes on her daughters, and not on the stepdaughter’s face she was pinching so hard that she’d probably leave bruises. “Her plain features are so pale and freckled, her drab hair the color of straw—as straight as straw, too—and she possesses no figure to speak of.” She barked out a sharp laugh.“Poor thing looks more like a ten-year-old boy than an eighteen-year-old girl. It’s cruel to get her hopes up.”
“You’re so right, Mother,” said Gwendolyn, turning up her nose. “It’s ridiculous for Cinderella to worry about how the prince will choose dancing partners. No chance will he even notice she’s there.”
“He’ll be too busy looking at me,” said Agatha.
“No, me.” Gwendolyn pushed her sister, and then the two stuck out their tongues before turning their backs on each other.
Her stepmother released her chin, and Cinderella fought the impulse to rub the throbbing spots.
“Perhaps I’m cruel even to let her go,” her stepmother said as she put her hands on her corseted waist. “She’ll feel out of place.”
Cinderella bit down on her tongue, and wished her stepmother would just admit she’d been playing with her all along and end this charade. And what was with discussing her as if she were invisible? Not to mention the irony of her claiming to care about cruelty. That part chewed away at Cinderella’s stomach, but she refused to respond. On the slim chance that leaving the house was still a possibility, acting out wouldn’t help.
She didn’t really care about the ball as long as she was released from the grounds today. She might be small, but she was strong and fast, and the instant her stepmother’s back was turned, she’d make a run for it and never return. Her stepmother would try to stop her with a spell, but if Cinderella was fast and used her ninja skills to leap out of reach, it was possible she could escape.
Her only regret would be Max, sleeping down in the basement. But he’d understand and perhaps one day he’d find her.
“What are you waiting for?” her stepmother snapped.
Cinderella’s shoulders jumped, her daydream interrupted by her stepmother’s demands.
“Open the door, you stupid girl. Do you think it will open itself?”
Cinderella suppressed a grin as she pulled on the door’s heavy iron handle and it swung back. That spell had been temporarily lifted.
Excitement buzzed through her body, making her feel almost giddy. Today was the day she’d escape.
Cinderella quivered with excitement as she closed the gate behind her and she inhaled the crisp spring air. So this was how freedom smelled.
They started off down the road to the village and Cinderella glanced up at the bright blue sky peeking through the canopy of birch leaves. It had been so many years since she’d looked up to the daytime sky.
“Why are we walking?” Agatha whined. “My feet hurt already.”
“Exercise is good for your complexion, girls,” their mother said.“How can you expect to win the prince’s heart if you don’t look your best?”
Muttering under their breaths, the two sisters continued to trudge along behind their mother. Cinderella took up the rear, surprised that her stepmother wasn’t watching her more closely. Perhaps her stepmother thought Cinderella truly believed she was going to the ball and wouldn’t run for that reason, or believed her stepmother’s claims that she’d never survive on her own.
She scanned the woods to evaluate her options. If she simply took off at a run down the road, her stepmother would have a clear view of her and be able to stop her with magic, for sure. But if she headed into the woods, she might be able to hide high up in the canopy of branches and avoid a spell. The chance of this plot working was slim, but she had no other ideas.
She studied the tree branches. If she could find a group of branches at the right heights, she could use one branch to swing up to another, then another, and be high in the trees before anyone noticed she was gone. Her stepmother would have to cast a spell on the entire forest to stop her, and she’d never risk that. There was just too much chance someone might detect her illegal use of black magic.
“Ouch!” cried Agatha as she stumbled over her long purple gown and landed on her knees in the dirt.
Ignoring her instinct to help, Cinderella exploited the distraction and leaped to the right, barely grabbing onto the lowest branch of a nearby oak. She arched her back and swung, hoping she could build enough momentum to loop herself up to stand so she could leap from that branch to a higher one.
Her palms scraped on the rough bark, but on the second swing she had enough height. She hoped.
She let go, did a somersault in the air, and landed. The branch bounced beneath her, but she controlled the spring and used the momentum to propel herself higher. She reached up and out toward another branch. She was going to make it.
Just as she began to sense freedom, she slammed at full force into something unseen.
The breath rushed out of her chest and pain spread everywhere. It was as if she’d plowed into an invisible wall between the two branches. She slid down the unseen hard surface to land in a crumpled heap on a pile of dead leaves.
“Stupid girl.” Her stepmother strode into the forest and nudged her with her pointed boot. “Do you really think I’d take you off the grounds without taking precautions?”
Dizzy from the impact, Cinderella pulled herself to a sitting position and leaned on her sore arms for support. Her stepmother kicked one of her arms to the side and Cinderella fell back to the ground.
“I think you’ll find it quite imposs
ible to go more than thirty feet from me in any direction. Now get up. We have shopping to do.”
Cinderella’s dismay at being stopped on her first escape attempt was soon replaced by a feeling of delight when she caught the sights and sounds and smells of the village. A few feet away, a man dressed in bright orange juggled, tossing fireballs into the air in high, arching loops without getting burned. Cinderella’s eyes opened wider and she itched to go closer. He had to be using magic, but what kind? And how had he learned it? A few fireballs might come in handy for her escape. Even if today wasn’t escape day, she was still determined to do it one day.
The sweet, cinnamon-tinged scent of freshly baked goods wafted toward her, and she spun around to spot a bakery filled with the most beautiful creations she’d ever imagined. About eight feet away, her stepmother was looking into the window of a hat shop, so Cinderella took the opportunity to dash over to the bakery window for a closer look at the piles of pink-topped cupcakes, bright orange cookies, and cakes with layers so high she couldn’t imagine how they didn’t topple. Her mouth watered, but she felt a tug on her body and realized her stepmother had moved too far away.
She turned to find her stepmother had crossed the street, and was backing away purposefully, one side of her mouth quirked up in an evil sneer. A horse and carriage hurtled down the roadway from the left, and Cinderella ran across the street to get closer to her stepmother and avoid getting pulled into the horse’s path.
“That’s a girl,” her stepmother said. “Stay close to me and you won’t get hurt.” She tipped her head back and laughed.
Cinderella gritted her teeth, but fought off the terrible feelings in her heart. She wouldn’t let her stepmother spoil her temporary release from her prison.
Besides, at this point the possibility—however slim—of her attending the ball still existed. Certainly her stepmother wouldn’t dare cast a spell on ball night. Her entrapment spells relied on black magic, which was illegal. The most important people in society and all the great wizards would be there, and she doubted her stepmother would risk her black magic being detected. If Cinderella got there, the ball might prove her perfect chance for escape. She’d just have to stay on her stepmother’s good side until then.
“Open the door, lazy girl.” Her stepmother gestured toward the closed door of the fabric shop. Cinderella pulled it open and followed the woman inside.
As soon as she stepped through the door, Cinderella gasped in awe. Each wall of the store was covered in shelving that reached from floor to ceiling and supported hundreds of bolts of the most beautiful fabrics she’d ever seen.
Until now, her fabric options for her stepsisters’ gowns had been constrained by what they’d brought home, and she’d had no idea the magnitude of that limitation. With her eyes open wide, she started around the room, unable to take her eyes of the array of peacock blues, deep ambers, rich reds—every color she’d ever imagined and more—in the shiniest satins, the finest silks, the softest chiffons.
She’d never seen anything so beautiful. How would she ever choose for her stepsisters, never mind for herself?
Just then, she slammed into what she assumed was the edge of her stepmother’s range, and not taking her eyes from the fabrics, she backed up a few steps, and then reached out to tentatively touch a deep bronze organza that would bring out the highlights in Agatha’s hair.
“Hello?” The voice was male and teasing and familiar, so she drew her eyes from the shelves.
Him. The royal messenger. But he was not dressed as she had seen him earlier; his clothes were dirty and torn. She raised her hand to her lips. “Oh,” she said. “Excuse me. Did I plow right into you?”
“A most pleasant collision,” he replied. He smiled and his bright blue eyes sparkled, setting off a little buzz inside her.
“Where is your uniform?” she asked, and then hoped her question wasn’t rude. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect to see a royal messenger . . .” Oh, how was she going to explain herself without offending him?
He looked at her from under the rim of his cap. “Surprised I’m dressed in rags?” he asked in a conspiratorial whisper. He ran his hand over the tattered and coarsely woven fabric of his shirt, laced over his broad chest with a well-worn strip of leather.
She shrugged, tipping her head toward her shoulder and smiling. “I’m sorry. Hey, I’m in rags, too.” She held up the ragged ends of her gray apron. “But I do love looking at these splendid fabrics.”
“Even the most beautiful attire would pale next to you.” He tipped his head and smiled, so charming and generous.
She fought the urge to object. Her sisters were beautiful, not her, but she could return his polite compliment without reservation. “Thank you, and you’re very handsome.” Unbelievably handsome, in fact, even dressed as a beggar. Under the rimmed cap, his blond curls hung about his face and shaded his eyes in the most devilish manner.
“Thank you.” He bowed slightly. “Most people can’t look past the way someone’s dressed to see who’s inside.” He rested one of his hands on the counter beside them. Cinderella couldn’t help but notice his strong-looking fingers. “I’m not really this poor, but I like going about the kingdom dressed as a beggar,” he added. “I’ve run into several people today who know me as the—as the messenger—and you’re the only one who’s seen through my disguise.”
“That’s shocking.” Cinderella had recognized him the instant she’d seen his bright blue eyes, his curly blond hair, his kind smile.
“I’m Ty, by the way.”
She smiled and felt her cheeks burn. “Cinderella.”
“That’s an unusual name.”
“It’s a nickname, but it’s all I’ve heard for so many years, I’m not even sure I remember the name I was born with.”
“Nice to meet you, Cinderella.” He edged a bit closer.
“And you.” She stepped an inch back.
“So.” He ran his hand along the wooden surface of the counter toward her. “Have you decided?”
To distract herself from his hand, she glanced up at the shelves, and soon spotted a bolt of silvery-blue velvet that might suit Gwendolyn nicely. “Decided what?”
“The ball, of course. Will I see you there?”
She turned to him and cocked her head to the side. “You’re going to the ball?”
His head snapped back ever so slightly.“I, well . . .” He looked up and to the side. “No choice. I’ve got to be at the ball, um, working.”
“There are messages to deliver at the ball?”
He looked up and away in amusement. “I’m involved in many areas at the palace.”
“Oh.” She smiled, warmth spreading inside her. At least she’d find one friendly face in the room. “I’m hoping to go. Perhaps, if you get a break, you might have time to teach me to dance?” She looked down, embarrassed that she’d just asked this young man, Ty, to dance. Working at the palace, he was surely highly skilled at all the court dances, whereas she’d only seen her stepsisters practicing. Why would he want to dance with her?
“I would be honored to share a dance with you,” he said. “But won’t you be more focused on landing a dance with the prince?” His eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Oh, no,” Cinderella said, laughing. She pulled a bolt of silk with golden threads woven through it off the shelf, and he helped her set it on the counter. “The prince won’t be interested in dancing with me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” His eyes flashed again, and it was almost as if he knew something she didn’t.
Looking into his eyes, Cinderella felt uncomfortable and happy at the same time. “Even if the prince asked me to dance, which he won’t, I’m not sure I’d want to.”
Ty drew back, startled. “Why not?”
“I didn’t mean to offend your employer.” She bit her lip and moved her hand closer to his on the counter. “And I certainly didn’t want to offend you. It’s just that I can’t see getting all excited about a dance with som
eone I don’t know, just because he’s rich and famous. And the idea that he’s going to pick any girl he wants, ask her to marry him, and she’s expected to say yes?” She shook her head and leaned back on the counter. “What if the girl he picks doesn’t want to get married? What if she doesn’t like him? What if she loves someone else? What if she has other plans for her life?”
“Exactly!” Ty laughed and turned to lean against the counter beside her. His arm lightly brushed hers. “I wish there were more girls like you in my kingdom.”
“The kingdom is yours?” Cinderella grinned.
Bright spots of red bloomed on his cheeks.“I meant, um, the kingdom belongs to all of us, doesn’t it?”
She gave him a sly smile to show that she found his remarks endearing, and then turned to look at the fabrics again, spotting a silk interwoven with threads of silver and mauve that changed colors as it caught the light from different angles.
He helped her take down the bolt.“And I understand what you mean about being expected to marry, whether you want to or not, whether or not you’re in love.” He leaned his lips closer to her ear. “But I’m starting to believe things might work out for me in the love department.”
Cinderella felt a flush rise from deep inside her—and it wasn’t unpleasant at all. After she escaped, maybe she’d have a chance to get to know Ty better, but for now, it was best to concentrate on getting to the ball so she could escape.
She turned to search the shop, now bustling with shoppers, to find her stepsisters. If either of them grew angry, it might ruin everything.
She located Agatha tugging at a bolt of cloth, a hideous lemon yellow with bright orange polka dots, from the bottom of a huge stack of fabrics at the back of the store. From the look of the garish colors, it was a tidy stack of bolts no one else wanted to examine, never mind buy. The stack wobbled as Agatha pulled, and Cinderella looked up to the top of the tall pile, where a wooden box of foot-long spindles teetered close to the edge of its perch. If Agatha pulled much harder . . .
Cinderella: Ninja Warrior Page 4