Glass Slippers & Jeweled Masques (an Erotic Cinderella Fairytale) (Twisted Fairy Tales)

by Denysé Bridger

  Before she could raise further objection, Julietta had shooed Deschamps out of the room, and began to work her magic on Cindi. Less than an hour later, Cindi stood in front of a full-length mirror, in total awe of the woman in front of her.

  "You'll be the most beautiful woman there, Cindi. Here, put these on." She handed Cindi the heavy glass shoes and laughed. "Don't be losing one!"

  A soft knock on the door had Julietta running to open it, and her smile grew bigger.

  "Miss Cynthia…" Deschamps stared. "You are lovely. So like your mother."

  Cindi was startled by the emotion revealed in the old man's eyes as he looked at her. She took a few steps toward him, concerned. As quickly as the window had opened in his eyes, it was securely closed. His smile, while forced, was once again polite and warm, nothing more.

  "Your carriage awaits, Miss Lancourte," he said.

  Her eyebrows rose and she smiled. "Carriage?"

  He escorted her to the entrance hall. Julietta trailed after them, beaming happily each time Cindi glanced back at her.

  "This is for you, Miss Cynthia." Deschamps handed her a glittery foil box, and she lifted the lid, peered inside, and gasped in delight.

  "It's beautiful!" She lifted out the exquisitely crafted Venetian masque. It matched her dress to perfection, and falling from the left eye of the silk-covered face was a small, glittering emerald tear, surrounded by sparkling diamonds. Feathers and hand-shaped gold weave arced gracefully from the sides of the masque.

  "It was part of your father's collection," Deschamps informed her.

  "It must be worth a fortune?"

  Deschamps didn't reply, he placed a faux-fur trimmed wrap around her shoulders and opened the main doors as she secured the masque in place. She stared in total wonder at the snow-white carriage waiting for her. No modern limousine, a fairy-tale coach, complete with a uniformed footman and driver.

  "I can't believe this," she whispered in awe.

  "Enjoy yourself, Miss Cynthia. I'll send the carriage back for you at midnight. The car is due to pick up the witch and her spawn at one."

  The footman came up the stairs and walked her to the coach. Minutes later, she was whisked off to the Ball.

  * * * * *

  Michel looked around the vast hall, rented for his father's Masquerade Ball. From his vantage point at the top of the broad staircase, he gazed down on a sea of glittering color and jewels. A low buzz of quiet conversation hummed in the background, growing louder with each step he took. He adjusted his masque, and tried to quell his resentment. By the time he reached the bottom of the long flight, every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to keep walking out the wide doors and not look back.

  As if he could hear the panicked thought, Alenzo appeared at his son's side.

  "At least try to look like this is a pleasant experience, my son," the king requested, the steel in his tone making the statement a royal order.

  Swallowing the retort that sprang to his lips, Michel smiled, the expression strained his composure much more than it should have. The prince squared his shoulders and walked with his father into the crowd.

  * * * * *

  As the coach neared the estate where the Masquerade was hosted, Cindi's nerves kicked into near panic mode. They were winding up a driveway that seemed to be a mile long, and each moment took them into another world. Light poured out of the open doors and windows, the sound of music, voices, and laughter spilled out into the darkness.

  The coach halted at the entrance and she peered out, adjusting her masque and taking a deep breath. The door swung open and the smiling footman held out his hand to help her down.

  "We will return at midnight, Miss Lancourte," he assured her. They ascended the steps and walked to the doors. He turned, bowed and smiled. "Enjoy your evening, Miss."

  "Welcome."

  The footman hopped onto the coach, and they pulled away with a wave. She looked up at the man in the door, who'd welcomed her.

  "Good evening, sir," she murmured. "I hope I haven't arrived too late."

  Alenzo Coranthaos permitted himself a thorough, appraising look at the lovely girl who was standing before him. She was curvaceous and feminine, not painfully thin, and her skin was clear and glowed with health, not the sheen of expensive make-up and artifice. But, her eyes held his real interest. Candid, curious, but genuinely happy to be alive is how he read her. The sparkling humor and warmth of her spirit shone in her bright blue-green gaze.

  "If you would like to come in, I will introduce you to the host of tonight's event." He offered his arm and she took it, smiling up at him.

  * * * * *

  An hour after he'd plastered on his happy face, Michel was ready to run for his life. He'd had more cloying hands and simpering smiles than any sensible man could tolerate. He lifted a glass of wine off a tray as one of the waiters passed him and while he sipped at the perfectly chilled liquid, his gaze skimmed the room again. There were women of all ages present, but the younger ones were like a pack of hounds on a scent. If they weren't offering their bodies, their mothers were determined to offer everything else.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of deep, rich emerald and he turned. His father was coming toward him, a lovely woman on his arm. Michel's heart stilled in his chest for a moment, then an instant later the pace of its beat seemed to double and roar to new life inside him. Jade colored eyes locked with his and he stared. The jeweled masque accentuated the startling beauty of her eyes, and he suddenly wanted to know what the masque was hiding from his hungry gaze. He allowed himself to behold her seductive, alluring curves; the graceful sway of her hips; and the beautiful shape of her mouth when she smiled at him.

  "This is my son, Michel," Alenzo said as they stopped.

  "A pleasure to meet you, your majesty," Cindi replied with a delicate curtsy.

  "Would you like to dance, Miss…?"

  "Louisa," Cindi supplied, using her mother's name.

  Michel smiled and nodded. "Louisa," he tasted the name and tilted his head to one side. It didn't fit or feel right, but it was not his place to question her name. He caught his father's nod of approval before he swept the lovely woman into his arms and a new dance began.

  "I've never been to a party like this," Cindi confessed, looking up into the hazel eyes of the prince. She'd have known him anywhere, his picture was often on the society pages of the newspaper, and those were the only pages Alana and her daughters ever looked at.

  The Prince of Coranthis was as handsome as any fairytale prince was ever reputed to be, with his fair hair and sculpted features. He was tall, and while well-built, he lacked the heaviness of men who spent grueling hours at fitness centers and gyms. His movements were elegant and easy, his entire manner relaxed.

  Michel pulled her closer, and Cindi gasped when she came into contact with his body. Something powerful woke deep inside her, and she trembled. Long fingers slid into her hair, coming to rest against the back of her neck while he drew her to his shoulder and bent to whisper close to her ear.

  "You are easily the most beautiful woman here, Louisa."

  The stain of embarrassment heated her cheeks and she shook her head. "I know that isn't true, but thank you." She stumbled and was further mortified, felt herself scarlet with self-conscious annoyance. "I'm so sorry, I really don't know how to dance. I should have warned you."

  Michel shook his head and laughed. "Why don't we take a walk in the gardens? The fresh air would be very welcome."

  Cindi nodded and he placed a hand on the small of her back as he guided her toward an exit. His touch was casual but her skin burned beneath her layers of silk and lace, and the corseted top of her gown was suddenly not allowing her to breathe.

  They walked into the night. A light, flower scented breeze cooled the heat that was raging on her skin. He led her to the edge of a patio, railed like a balcony, overlooking a vast, perfect garden.

  Cindi was lost in the splendor of the night, and the equally in
tense awareness of his proximity. His large, graceful hand at her waist burned as intently as the flickering torches that cast dancing sparks of light into the blackness. Unconsciously, she allowed the music to flow into her body, and her hips swayed slightly in time with the waltz's gentle rhythm. He moved to stand directly behind her, and she closed her eyes, as her head fell naturally to his shoulder. She stroked the back of his right hand where it rested above the curve her hip. She traced the heavy ring that adorned his smallest finger, and smiled at the tickle of lace that touched her hand when she grasped his wrist very lightly.

  Michel felt an unwanted shiver of longing wake within him as she caressed his hand. His gaze dropped to the neckline of her dress, the soft fullness of her breasts tempting him. She pressed more intimately against his growing arousal; unaware of the effect she was having on him. The rolling motion of the subtle dance was an aphrodisiac to his roused lust, and he encircled her waist with both hands as he pushed his hips against the cushion of her body. Her soft gasping moan of pleasure created a shudder that ran the length of him and his hands moved of their own volition. The firm swells of her breasts filled his palms, and he kneaded the soft flesh gently as he pulled her into more solid contact with him. Her fingers curled around his wrists, but she made no attempt to pull his hands from their sensual task.

  When his lips touched the curve of her shoulder, she cried out, a soft rumble of desire. She was creating madness inside him. The taste of her against his tongue when he touched her neck was heavenly and she trembled in his arms, imprisoned by his passion. His name was a gasp on her lips, and finally he turned her to face him. Her eyes blazed into his, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, lifted her mouth to his kiss.

  Michel groaned softly as he stared into the smoldering green of her eyes, and his mouth descended to cover hers. Her lips parted to the thrust of his tongue and he plundered the moist warmth of her mouth. She was pliant and eager in his arms, her hands moved in exploring circles over the expanse of his back as she clung to him. His hands tangled in the heavy masses of her auburn hair, the tresses silken against his skin.

  The night had grown still around them and still their fevered kisses and caresses held them entwined in a tempest of emotion neither of them fully understood. Michel drew away first, held her shaking hands in his as he tried to breathe through the near pain of his lust. She was dazed, her eyes dark with need. She looked up at him, expectant, her breaths hoarse and erratic.

  “Miss, your carriage has arrived, and the footman asked me to fetch you."

  The spell shattered and she tore her gaze from Michel's.

  "I have to go," she said.

  Before he could stop her, she was working her way through the crowd, and he was chasing her. Grasping arms and voices vied for his attention.

  "What's wrong, Michel?"

  He tore his masque off and looked at his father. "The woman you were with, the one in green, where is she, Father?"

  Cindi was almost tripping as she ran toward the door, and her second stumble encouraged her to stop and lean against a wall. She bent down and quickly slipped off the glass heels, then she gathered the heavy skirt of her dress and continued. She bumped into someone and opened her mouth to apologize, but the words froze in her throat. She was staring at Alana Lancourte, and the woman's masque did nothing to hide her irritation.

  Cindi glanced back, saw Michel looking frantically for her, and she continued to race for the door. The second time she bumped into a guest, she dropped one of her shoes and didn't bother to retrieve it when she spotted the coach waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She darted out the door and all but flew down the stairs. She could still hear Alana's shrill voice muttering to the women she was with about Cindi's rudeness.

  * * * * *

  "So, how do you suggest we go about finding this mystery woman?"

  Alenzo's annoyance was tangible, and Michel stopped his pacing long enough to scowl at the older man.

  "You insisted on this accursed Masquerade Ball, Father! Masques..." he growled the word with disdain so profound it became a curse.

  "We will go through the guest list, and begin searching. If this girl can inspire such passion in you, what choice do we have?"

  When Michel met his father's calm gaze, he saw only concern.

  "I know how crazy this sounds, Father."

  Alenzo's smile was understanding. "No, it is not crazy, my son. We will find her."

  * * * * *

  A week after the Masquerade, Cindi was sitting in her room, the emerald masque on her pillow, her mind alive with memories.

  Had she really kissed Prince Michel of Coranthis?

  A quiet knock on her door had her making a leap for the masque.

  "Miss Cynthia?"

  Deschamps' voice was low, but there was something urgent in his tone.

  She crossed the room and opened the door.

  "What is it, Xalvador?"

  "A visitor, Miss. I think you need to come to the sitting room." He paused, then looked intently at her. "Bring the masque, Miss Cynthia, and the shoe."

  "What?"

  "Please," he requested. "It is important, I assure you."

  She retrieved the items, then followed him to the sitting room. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw Prince Michel standing at the fireplace, his expression expectant. He was quite alone.

  "Xalvador?" She turned to the butler.

  "Madam and her daughters are out, Miss Cynthia. I will not allow them to come in until you and His Majesty are done."

  The doors closed, and she was sure she heard a lock click.

  "Who are you? He called you Cynthia. The woman I'm looking for... her name is Louisa."

  Cindi nodded and bowed her head.

  "Louisa Butler was my mother."

  "Your servant said you had attended the Masquerade. That you would have proof you are the woman I've been searching for since that night."

  "Why would you search for me when there were so many?"

  He smiled.

  "Louisa was the only one who didn't attend with the intention of marrying me," he replied with cold, bitter, irony lacing his perfectly enunciated words.

  She placed the masque and the glass slipper on the gleaming coffee table and watched his eyes widen in recognition. He picked up the masque and examined it closely, then put it down again.

  "Who are you?"

  "Cynthia Louisa Butler Lancourte," she answered. "I was born to a servant here. My father chose not to acknowledge me until his first wife died. A year after he gave me his name, he married again. To the present Mrs. Lancourte. You met her at your Ball, as well."

  He nodded. He didn't look as though the recollection was pleasant.

  "I want you to be my Queen one day, Cynthia Lancourte."

  "What?"

  He nodded. "For now, I would like to take you back to Coranthaos, so we can spend time together, know each other. But, yes, I want you, my princess. Only you."

  Before Cindi could reply, the sounds of angry voices reached them and the door to the sitting room flung open. Alana stood in the wide entrance in high dudgeon, her face lit with outrage, spots of color high on her cheeks.

  "What is going on?"

  Cindi winced at the fury in her tone, and a quick glance at Michel showed her that his anger was cooler, but would easily destroy Alana's superficial snobbery if pushed.

  "The Prince requested to speak with me," she offered.

  Alana strode into the room, followed by her daughters, who were intently watching both their mother and Michel.

  "Behind locked doors?" Alana's sharp voice cut the air like a knife.

  "I can see why your butler thought it a good idea," Michel interjected, tone cold and calm.

  Alana flinched as though he'd struck her.

  "I have asked Cynthia to become my bride, madam. She has agreed."

  The color drained from Alana's face and she swayed. Her daughters came forward and eased her down on the leather sofa. L
yndi glanced over at Cindi and then to the Prince, her smile was slow and wicked. She winked at Cindi, and mouthed the word, "congratulations!"

  "How...?" Alana's question dissolved into a sputter of disbelief when she saw the shoe and the masque sitting on the coffee-table. She reached out to touch the ornate emerald masque, then drew back and looked up at Cindi.

  "You? Where did you get this?"

  "It belonged to her father," Deschamps answered from his position at the door. "I was directed to keep it safe for her."

  Alana's face darkened.

  "Madam," Michel's steely voice spoke before an eruption could occur. "The question has been asked, and answered," he smiled briefly at Cindi before continuing, "if you wish to be part of our family, I suggest you think carefully about many things."

  Alana opened her mouth to reply, apparently thought better of it, and nodded.

  Lyndi rushed to Cindi's side and hugged her tight, whispering in her ear, "I'm so happy for you! You deserve this."

  After a few moments, Delia and Ruella joined them with their good wishes. Only Alana refused to speak. Michel watched it all as the girls began to make wedding plans.

  * * * * *

  A month later, Cindi and Michel married.

  "I find this impossible to believe."

  "Why?" Michel entered their suite, and smiled.