The Ugly Stepsister (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 1)

by Aya Ling

  “What about the duke?” I say. “He might still wish to see me.”

  “I already have it on good authority that he regards you as no more than a friend. There’s an absurd rumor that he is attached to Elle, but it is immaterial.” Lady Bradshaw whirls on the servants. “If I catch any of you disobeying me, you will be sent packing straight away.”

  Martha and the other servants look at each other. I read sympathy in Martha’s eyes, but she doesn’t say anything.

  Then I glimpse Bianca in the doorway, leaning into the kitchen. She’s glaring at me with unmistakable hatred. Bianca never liked me, but now she looks like she could throttle me. She must be really pissed off that I’ve diminished her chances of making a royal match.

  When I return to my room, I discover that Lady Bradshaw really means it. All my fancy dresses are gone; only the ugly snuff brown dress and a few other plain ones remain. The pretty shoes and boots are missing too—not that I care that much, but it makes my shoe cupboard look threadbare. Even my books are gone! I have half a mind to go down and threaten Lady Bradshaw to make her return them, but it’s likely that the books have gone into the burn bin. Besides, my door is locked from the outside.

  At least the double poster bed remains. I dive onto the bed, face-down, and bury my nose in the pillows, inhaling the scent. Mmm…Martha must have done something to the pillows and sheets, because they smell like a combination of lavender and lemon. After that crazy journey to Ruby Red, I miss the comforts of city life. For a moment I forget about being grounded a second time, I forget worrying about getting Elle to the ball, and just close my eyes, wanting to put all my troubles behind me for…a few minutes.

  There’s a tiny popping noise. A cackling voice. “Girlie! You’re back!”

  I’m so tired, I don’t even open my eyes. “Come back some other time, Krev. I’m dead-tired.”

  Water splashes over my back.

  “Hey!” I sit up. Krev hovers in the air, his pointy ears protruding from the jug he’s holding. Damn. It’s the jug I use to pour water into the basin when my hands are dirty.

  “Couldn’t you at least warn me?” I glare at him. The blanket now has big patches of dampness.

  “You’ll have to say you got clumsy, it’s one thing you’re good at,” Krev smirks. “We’ve all been wondering what happened on your journey. Did your little friend get married? Did you find the fairy?”

  Seeing the jug bobbing in the air, ready to tilt over a second time, I give in. I’ll have a lot of explaining to do if Martha finds my blanket and spread soaked through. So I tell him reluctantly. Krev chuckles when I mention Montgomery storming into the wedding, and how he is thwarted because Bertram and the “future queen of Athelia” are witnesses.

  “Nice work, girlie,” he says. “The king bet you couldn’t find the fairy. Morag bet you couldn’t persuade her. Now they’ve lost the bet. Ha!”

  “You bet I’d succeed?” I say in disbelief. “But I’ve always had rotten luck.”

  “They took the other options so I didn’t have a choice.”

  I roll my eyes. For a second, I thought he had faith in me.

  Krev’s still in a good mood anyway. “Don’t go making faces, girlie! Look, you started out with zero clues, and now you’re almost done!”

  “Not yet.” I tell him that Lady Bradshaw has grounded me—again. Even the duke can’t get me out of hot water this time. “How am I to escape and tell Elle she has to go the ball?”

  “Considering the doctor cousin is gaga for her, maybe she’s invited already.”

  “That’ll be worse,” I groan. “And besides, I’ve got to give her the spell di amor. Edward’s the one she has to fall in love with.” I look up at him. “Can’t you sneak me out of the house with your magic?”

  The jug floats back on the dresser.

  “I could give it a try,” Krev says, surprisingly cooperative. Or maybe he figures that the story will suffer if I can’t get to the ball. “But you’re much heavier than the jug. Can’t promise anything if I fail to levitate you from this floor to below.”

  Damn. My room is on the third floor. What’ll the neighbors say if they see me floating to the ground? Do they have witch-burning here? Even worse, what if Krev’s magic fails and I fall on the ground? I could break a leg—or worse, my neck. I wonder about the consequences if I die in the book. I’m too wussy to ask though.

  I’m tempted to hurl a chair at the door and see if it’ll crack. But I can’t sneak out of the house through the front door. Not all of the servants like me. Van, for instance, is fed up with me making him drive everywhere. I could ask Martha to send a message to Elle, but I’m not sure if she’s allowed to see me. Unless Edward comes himself… Haha. Fat chance of that happening. As if a rejected suitor would come, not to mention there’s Bianca around.

  I open my desk, take out the almanac, and count the days till the ball. Less than two weeks left.

  I spend the next few days in complete frustration. I can go down to meals, but once I finish, a servant is ordered to accompany me upstairs and lock my door. Without my books, I feel like going crazy. I stomp on the floor, roll in the bed, yell at Krev, and even start pondering the risk of being levitated through the window.

  Finally, on the third day, the mirror glows. Meg’s face shows.

  “The spell is ready!” She announces triumphantly, like a child who has just completed a jigsaw puzzle.

  “Great,” I respond. “Now get your butt over here.” There’s this whirring noise, like a fan turning, and then the mirror starts to glow. Meg’s head emerges from the mirror, bathed in golden glow, and I jump back with a shriek. It’s kind of freaky, her crawling out of the mirror, but then it becomes comical when she’s stuck.

  Meg heaves and puffs until her upper torso is through; she grabs the rim of the mirror and tries to haul the rest of herself out, but somehow she can’t budge.

  “Give me a hand,” she pants.

  I grab her arm and pull. She moves—maybe a few inches.

  “Sometimes this happens,” Meg says, looking embarrassed. “It’s a long time since I travelled through the looking glass.”

  “I’d say this is due to incompetence.” Krev’s annoying voice floats in the room. I glance around; he’s sitting cross-legged on the mantelpiece, grinning from ear to ear. Obviously he’s not going to help; he always revels in others’ misfortunes.

  “Who are you?” Meg snaps.

  I give another tug—she squeezes through with a nasty squelching sound and lands on the floor with a bump.

  “Ow!” Meg rubs her elbows. “Why do you use wood for your floor? Moss is much better.”

  “We have carpets…” I start to say, then stop. I haven’t seen fully carpeted floors in Athelia, not even in Lord Mansfield’s mansion or the opulent palace. I guess it’ll be too difficult to clean them until the vacuum cleaner is invented.

  “Oho!” Krev takes off and hovers above Meg, a mocking expression on his face. “So you’re the fairy godmother, huh? Looks pretty dim-witted to me.”

  Meg rounds on him. “Who are you calling dim-witted, you ugly pointed-eared creature?”

  I refrain from pointing out that Meg’s ears are also pointed. She does have a point on the ugliness though—Krev’s squashed, toad-like face is definitely an eyesore compared to Meg’s baby-pink cheeks and cornflower blue eyes.

  Krev snorts. “I’ll have you know that in the goblin realm, the females are swarming for my attention.”

  “Really?” It’s Meg’s time to snort. “They must have very poor taste in males.”

  “Okay, stop it.” I step in between them. Meg’s still making faces at Krev, so I have to wave a hand in front of her face. “Look, we don’t have much time. I’ve got to get to the palace and tell Elle she has to go to the ball. And I’ll bring her here so you can put the spell di amor on her, Meg.” My best bet is to wait until Bianca and Lady Bradshaw have left for the ball. Meg can perform her magic with the pumpkin, mice, and outfit, though aft
er seeing her struggle through the mirror, I’m having doubts. I didn’t expect the fairy godmother to be this incompetent. Maybe that’s why in the original tale she couldn’t make Cinderella’s dress last past midnight.

  “Why must you go to the palace now?” Meg asks.

  I explain about Elle. “But Lady Bradshaw now expressly forbids me to go out. Is there a way you can sneak me into the palace?”

  Meg scratches her head. “But I don’t know where the palace is.”

  Neither do I; I always relied on Van’s driving.

  “I do,” Krev says. I’m kind of surprised he’s being helpful. Maybe he wants to prove his superiority.

  “Yes, but we still have to find out how to get there,” I groan. “Meg, do you have any ideas?”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Before she can answer, a knock comes on the door. There’s the sound of a key turning in the lock. I freeze. Meg pulls out a wand from her pocket and starts waving the wand around her. Slowly, her body disappears where the wand passes. By the time the wand reaches her head, she has completely disappeared. Krev stays put, though. Since he isn’t from Story World, no human can see him except me.

  Martha enters, carrying a pail and a jug.

  “Were you talking to yourself again, miss?”

  “I got bored,” I say. Which isn’t far from the truth. Before Meg appeared, anyway.

  Sympathy is etched over her face. “I thought so. Here.” She sets down the pail, removes a few cleaning cloths, and extracts a small, fat, hardcover book.

  “I managed to snag it before Madam burned the rest. Keep it hidden under your pillow; don’t let her catch ya.”

  I smile gratefully, touched by the small gesture. “Thanks, Martha. I really appreciate it.”

  Martha shakes her head and wrings her hands. “Least I can do, miss. I’m sorry she forbade ya go to the ball.”

  “It’s all right,” I say quickly. “She’s doing me a favor actually. And the men who attend the ball. Their toes are safe from me.”

  She senses I’m just putting on a façade.

  “Just don’t get into any more mischief,” she says. “We’ll try talking to the mistress; perhaps she’ll come around at the last minute.”

  When Martha leaves, I press my ear to the door. When I’m sure she’s gone, I tell Meg to reappear.

  “Okay, I’ve got an idea. First, can you make me invisible?”

  Meg hesitates. “It won’t last long. More than two hours, and the spell will go weak. Your head might appear.”

  I can’t be invisible the entire time anyway. I pace the room, thinking hard. What if she can make an invisibility cloak, like the one in Harry Potter?

  I outline my idea to Meg. At first she looks doubtful, but when she spots my cloak hanging on a coatrack, she brightens.

  “That’ll do! With a real object to work on, I can weave a spell on it. This is much easier than conjuring an illusion from thin air.”

  “Great.” I’m relieved. I should have expected it—the fairy godmother had to create a coach from a pumpkin after all. “Also, since Martha or someone might come in again, can you make a duplicate of me as well?”

  Meg looks around. She removes the cloak and stares hard at the coatrack. Then she waves her wand. A puff of smoke surrounds the wooden rack—when the smoke clears, a crude version of myself stands in place of the rack. It’s like seeing a weird Photoshopped version of myself. The contours of my body are fuzzy and my head blurred.

  Krev cackles. “Ooh, imagine Martha’s face when she sees this dummy. She’ll run out of the room screaming.”

  Meg glares. Anger seems to fuel her determination, for when she waves her wand again, I’m looking at a twin of myself. You couldn’t tell us apart.

  “There!” she says, with a smug smile at Krev. “Now she can go to the palace.”

  Even though we’ve taken precautions, the journey to the palace is difficult. Without the carriage, it takes me two hours on foot. My feet ache from the walking. I’m tempted to hitch a ride from a carriage waiting on the side of a road, but I’ve no idea if it’s headed to my destination. Plus, I’m worried my hood would slip and I’d be this dismembered head floating in thin air.

  Krev flies above; guiding my way. I sneak in the entrance with other courtiers, taking care not to bump into anyone, while also worrying that Meg’s magic will fade. Finally I make it through, sweating like I’ve finished a marathon, and as thirsty as though I’ve crossed the Sahara.

  “Krev,” I croak. “I need some water.”

  He leads me to a fountain in the gardens. I scoop up a handful of water and drink till my thirst is quenched. Then I duck into the hedge, remove the cloak, and try to tidy myself up the best I can. Tendrils of my hair, damp from sweat, cling to my neck. I do my best with finger-combing, then start looking for the greenhouse. Galen is most likely there.

  Before I enter the greenhouse, I halt abruptly.

  Elle grasps a leafy plant in her hands, the dirt-covered roots hanging out, apparently in the process of moving it into another pot. Edward bends over her, apparently giving instructions. His body is so close that he could embrace her if he opened his arms. There’s a blush on her face, but out of respect or fear, she doesn’t back away.

  I freeze on the spot.

  “By the name of Barthelius,” Krev is saying. “This beats a melodrama! The heroine catches sight of the hero with another woman in his arms without any staging or script. Wait till I tell the king!”

  I tell myself to stay calm. Isn’t this what I told Edward to do, to set his sights on Elle instead? What he’s doing is only proof that he is selfless enough to heed my wish. I doubt he has fallen for Elle this fast; he is only trying to attract her because I asked him to. Still, a lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard.

  Hastily, I brush a strand of hair out of my eyes and enter the greenhouse. Several workers glance up, but I ignore them. I head straight to Elle and Edward.

  The prince looks up once I step in. Astonishment, hurt, and resentment seem to cross his features, but soon he conceals all emotions in a perfectly cool and calm mask.

  “What can I do for you, Lady Katriona?”

  He never calls me by my full name. Only then do I realize how affectionate it sounded when he called me Kat.

  “Your Highness.” I curtsy, not daring to look him in the eye. “I’d like to speak with Elle, if you can spare her.”

  Elle brightens when she sees me—she looks so pretty and radiant that I wish Edward was away.

  “May I be excused, Your Highness?” She gazes up at Edward, a pleading expression in her baby blue eyes. No man can say no, I’m sure.

  He nods. “Go.”

  Elle and I step into the gardens. I find a long bench in a secluded spot and motion for her to sit with me.

  “I’m not your mistress now,” I say, seeing her hesitate. “How are things going? I believe His Highness has been treating you well.”

  A pink flush spreads from her face to neck. “I’ve learned a lot about herbs from him and Mr. Galen.” She tilts her head, her large eyes concerned. “What about you, miss? I’ve been meaning to visit you once I have a few days off. Mr. Galen says we’ll receive a short holiday after the ball.”

  “Aren’t you going to the ball?” I blurt.

  Her hand flies to her chest. “How did you know His Highness invited me?”

  Jealousy stabs me for a second; then relief washes over. Edward has been considerate enough to make my wish come true, even though he doesn’t love Elle. Plus, Elle is unlikely to refuse if her boss asks her to the ball. I should be glad that the happy ending is in sight, but instead a heaviness weighs on my chest.

  “Fantastic,” I say, trying to appear cheerful. “Then come by our house on the night of the ball. Let’s dress up and go together.”

  She looks down at her hands. “Miss Katriona, can I ask you something?”

  Please don’t tell me you’re pining for Henry.

  “Why are you all so kind? Yo
u, His Highness, Mr. Henry…you’re doing too much for me.” She bites her lip. “I’m sorry, but you’re making me scared. I don’t feel right accepting so much kindness.”

  I hesitate. Should I tell her the truth? What if Elle insists that I stay in Athelia? Call me sneaky, but I can’t bring myself to tell her I’m trying to manipulate her to be with Edward, so I can return to my family. I clench my fists briefly, then let go. They’re storybook characters, I tell myself for the zillionth time. I’m not actually causing real harm.

  But I can’t make up a lie on the spot. I rack my brain for a moment, but there’s nothing I can come up with.

  “You’re right,” I finally say. “There is a reason I’m going out of my way to help you, but I can’t tell you right now. Trust me, Elle, I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

  She looks confused, but she nods slowly. “After all you’ve done for me, I’m willing to do anything you ask of me.”

  “After the ball,” I promise. “When the ball is over, I’ll tell you what’s going on.” Maybe before Edward comes with the glass slipper, I’ll tell Elle she is Earl Bradshaw’s daughter. That should be reason enough that I’m helping her get back to the life she’s entitled to. That should remove any doubts that she is unfit to marry a prince. And once Edward claims Elle as his bride, she will be part of the royal family, ranking far higher than her original title.

  “By the way, how is your mother? And how’s Billy?”

  A sparkle flares in her eyes. “I’ve put a mortgage on a flat in a nicer neighborhood for Mamsie.”

  “Really?” Considering her income as a servant, even at the palace, I wonder how she managed to convince the seller.

  “Mr. Henry kindly offered to be my guarantor,” Elle says shyly. “Without him, I couldn’t have succeeded. I shouldn’t have let him, but I really wanted Mamsie to move to a better place. She deserves it, after working so hard to raise us.” Her face is now entirely pink.

  Oh no, she’s still in love with Henry.