by Aya Ling
“My grandparents were known for their reckless extravagance and decadent lifestyle, which was not well-received by the people. It did not help that my grandfather went mad in his later years. Therefore, when my parents ascended the throne, they attempted to repair the royal family’s image. They made a conscious effort to live a healthy and productive life, such as adherence to industriousness, morality, punctuality . . .” his voice drifts off when Amelie approaches us, carrying a jug and two cups.
“Dinner will be ready in a quarter-hour,” she announces. “Your Highness, I hope you’ll forgive that Bertram has already raided the kitchen. It seems that he couldn’t wait a second longer to sate his hunger.” She sounds exasperated.
Edward grins. “Leave him be. The lad’s worn out. As a matter of fact . . .” his gaze strays to my face, “I believe it is not necessary to prepare a normal dinner with cutlery and napkins. It has been a long journey, and we have already partaken of refreshments whilst on the train. A simpler fare should suffice. Kat, what do you say to a grilled ham and cheese sandwich?”
“That sounds wonderful. But how . . .” He squeezes my hand and gives me a warning look. I gulp down the rest of my sentence, but I can’t ignore the question. How does he know that I have a weakness for grilled ham and cheese sandwiches?
The tea, along with the fire blazing merrily in the grate, proves to be the balm to soothe my soul. The sandwiches are also heavenly—I have to restrain myself from licking my fingers clean of melted cheese. I attempt harmless small talk, like asking who the guy in the painting is—his great-great-grandfather, who reminds me of the infamous English poet, Lord Byron—or how long it snows in the winter. Edward answers me readily, but I sense there’s something weighing on his mind, which I can totally relate to. I’m desperately worried about how to go home, but with servants dropping in now and then, we can't discuss the mystery of my being here.
After dinner, Edward calls for Amelie. “See to the princess’s needs before we retire. Have Mabel or more servants assist you when necessary. There are a few matters I need to take care of.”
Amelie orders for a hot bath to be prepared. This is kind of alarming. A large brass tub is carried into the bedroom, a silken screen set up, and then the maids start carrying buckets of hot water into the room. Uh-oh. Looks like they haven’t installed modern plumbing.
Uncomfortable with all those servants going up and down the stairs, I cross over to the threshold and try to take the pail from a middle-aged woman with graying hair. I have to do something rather than lounging in a chair and watching the maids pour water into the tub.
“Let me have the pail, please.”
The woman jerks back in surprise. “But Your Highness—”
“If it’s going to be my bath, then I’m going to lend a hand.”
Despite her protests, I grab the pail and haul it toward the tub. I had expected Amelie to stop me, but maybe since I don’t splash any water or teeter dangerously, she lets me take over without further comment.
Getting out of that heavy brocaded gown is a pain, so I let Amelie undress me, but I refuse her offer to wash my hair. The soaps are handmade and smell natural, a nice change from the chemical smell from our modern manufactured brands. Once I’m done bathing, Amelie enters the room—it seems she has the sense of a trained hound—carrying a snowy nightgown, and insists on drying and brushing my hair.
“By the way, the queen asked me to give you this.” She fishes a small ruby pendant from her pocket. “Wear it when His Highness . . . when you go to bed.”
“I’d rather not, thank you.” I place the pendant on the table. “I don’t like having any ornaments on while I sleep.”
“But you should.” She flushes—the first time I’ve seen her look discomfited. “Her Majesty specifically requested you wear it. It’s a charm for, ahem, procreation.”
It’s my turn to get embarrassed. At dinner and during the bath, I had briefly wondered how we’re going to deal with sleeping in the same room, but I didn’t dare to ask Edward. As I’ve made it clear that I have no memory of him, it’s unlikely he’ll demand his husband rights tonight. On the other hand, the prince does seem quite besotted with me. If his gaze is intense enough to kindle a fire, then what can happen when we’re alone and expected to . . . um . . . procreate?
A wave of heat washes over me when I imagine him taking his clothes off, his lips hot on my skin, his hands moving over my body . . .
Stop. I will not succumb to mindless lust. I wouldn’t even be having these ridiculous thoughts if he weren’t the hottest guy I’ve ever met.
“Your Highness.” Amelie steps aside, and I’m confronted with the object of my insta-lust. Said object has taken off his dark jacket and is currently wearing only a pure white shirt and black pants.
My heartbeat starts racing and my throat goes dry. I don’t have heaps of experience with men, but I swear a muscle moves in his throat when he looks at me. The nightgown is long-sleeved and reaches right to my ankles, but I feel naked under his heated gaze.
“Amelie, wait . . .” My voice comes out as squeaky as a mouse. Amelie probably didn’t even hear me, for she curtsies briefly and walks away. The door closes behind her with a soft thud.
I’m now completely alone with the prince.
6
My heart is pounding in my ears. To make things worse, I hear the sound of a key turning.
“Did you lock the door?”
A chuckle escapes him.
“Relax, Kat,” he says, his voice deep, warm, and startlingly sensual. “I wasn’t planning on taking you to bed, however appealing the idea is. Locking the door is merely a precaution. Suppose Amelie enters our room in the morning and discovers that we aren’t sharing a bed? Remember, we have to keep up appearances.”
“Oh.” I didn’t consider that servants might enter without knocking. Amelie seems capable of being discreet. “Right. Okay. Then I’ll take the lounge over there and—”
“Absolutely not. I will not have my wife freezing.” He strides across the room, and for a second, I think he’s going to touch me, but he sinks into an armchair a few feet away.
“We should talk.”
Suddenly, the locked door sounds like a good idea.
“Right.” I push back a chunk of hair that fell over my eyes, and the movement causes my nightgown to slip a bit lower, baring my collarbone. Edward looks away, but a telltale blush starts spreading from his ear. As I snatch up a wrap and pull it around my shoulders, I wonder how old he is. He definitely isn’t the kind of playboy prince you read in romances.
“Has anyone unusual—for example, has a goblin, or some other supernatural being shown up?”
Bemused, I shake my head.
He purses his lips, apparently deep in thought for a moment.
“Do you remember anything before you woke up in that scanty dress?”
It takes a moment until I realize he is referring to my Victoria’s Secret slip.
“Well, before I passed out, I was at . . . at home.” Better not tell him that I was at Jason’s house. How he can blush just from seeing my collarbone gives me the idea that Athelia must be pretty strict with morals and propriety. At least Edward’s education is. “I took a shower, it was late, and I was ready to go to sleep, when the book appeared out of nowhere. I got sucked into it, and the next thing I can remember is that I woke up in that tiny room. Then you came in.”
“What is the book you speak of? Is it the old picture book, titled Cinderella, that you accidentally ripped up and came to Athelia in the first place?”
“No, it’s a plain text paperback, a retelling of Cinderella. It certainly isn’t new. I’ve had it for several years since high school, but it’s one of my favorites, and I know I took special care with it.” Wait, when we were on the train, didn’t he tell me that I had ripped apart The Ugly Stepsister? Why is he talking about some old picture book called Cinderella?
And then I realize another thing that has confused me for ages: I
DID have an old Cinderella book, but it seems to have vanished, even though I remember I had stashed it away in a box in the attic. But when Mom asked me to clean out the attic for a yard sale, I could never find it.
Edward frowns. “Did you mention that it has been several years since you were in high school?”
I nod, wondering why he asks. “Seven years, I think. I got the book when Gabriel . . . in my last year of high school.”
“I thought you looked slightly different from what I remember,” he says slowly. “Apparently, the explanation is that you have aged seven years since I met you. Which means that you must be twenty-four now. However, by some reason I have yet to fathom, time has remained the same here.”
Part of me gets annoyed when he uses the word “aged,” even though twenty-four is by no means old . . . or is it by Athelia’s standards? “If I did meet you when I was in high school, then I guess I’m too old for you now.”
His gaze slides over my body, slowly and deliberately. A wolfish gleam lights in his eyes. “I see no problem.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “How old are you?”
He ignores my question. “We are bound by marriage, and nothing will change that. Certainly not an inconsequential matter of age. But . . .” Suddenly, he looks as though thunder has struck his face. “Since you’re past twenty, then it’s highly possible that . . . are you married?”
There’s such a dejected look on his face that I shake my head without thinking.
“Then are you engaged?”
“Not . . . no.”
“Truly?” There’s a shrewdness in his expression as he searches my face. “It seems highly unlikely that an attractive young lady like you would not have at least a suitor or an admirer.”
I have to suppress a smile. His speech, along with the surroundings, make me feel like I’ve traveled back in time. I have an image of Jason dressed in a black tux and holding a bunch of roses and kneeling before me. Or him trying to climb up to my balcony, Romeo-style.
Should I deny him Jason’s existence? I’m sure that he’ll be mad, but if he thinks I have no attachments at home, then he will probably make me stay in Athelia. Which is not what I want.
“There is a man in your life,” he says, and it’s not a question. “You are not engaged to him, but there is at least enough of an attraction that it causes you to hesitate before answering me.”
I decide there’s no point in lying. “I’m sorry, but it’s true that I am in a relationship now. I can’t . . .”
“Don’t.” He holds up a hand. “Don’t tell me that because of this other suitor in your world, you cannot consider becoming my wife. Well do I understand that for you, today must have been a strange, harrowing experience. But for me, I had expected that I would be married to a woman who doesn’t know me any more than I know her. Yet with an astonishing stroke of luck, you were sent back to me.”
Again, I remember The Ugly Stepsister rotating slowly in the air, bathed in the yellow-greenish glow. For some inexplicable reason, the image gives off a sinister vibe. There’s something decidedly wrong about being pulled to the book by force, as though it were a swirling black hole in the universe.
“I do not know the reason—perhaps the goblins took pity on us and reversed the spell. In fact, if you did not show up in that revealing piece and with your appearance slightly altered, I might even believe that you’d never left Athelia. Whatever may have occurred, all I know is that you are now here with me. If you were married and with child, I may have reservations, but since you are not officially attached to another, I shall endeavor to make you stay.”
The passion in his voice startles me. In a novel, perhaps, as a heroine, I’d be flattered and thrilled at the alpha-ness of him. But experiencing it firsthand, while I am definitely flattered, there’s a part of me that rebels. He may be the prince of his country, and he may be used to having others defer to anything he wants, but in a relationship, we are equals. He has no right to keep me shackled to Athelia simply because he doesn’t want me to go.
I open my mouth, but drowsiness happens to overtake me at the moment, and all that comes out is, “I d–don’t . . .” followed by a huge yawn. Weird. I already had a nap on the train. Maybe I have something similar to jet lag. I’ve definitely come a long way from home.
Edward smiles indulgently. “I suppose it is rather late, and you have been through a lot today. We shall talk more tomorrow.” He rises and casts a glance at the bed—the large, comfy-looking four-poster bed with fat white pillows and an apple-green spread. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to claim his wedding night, regardless of my memory loss, but he abruptly turns and heads to a narrow door in a corner. When he opens the door, I glimpse rows of suits and dresses in another small room. A changing room, I guess.
“Good night.” The door clicks shut.
I breathe a sigh of relief, even though I know perfectly well that he could return if he changes his mind. At the same time, there’s a tiny part of me that’s disappointed. Given how he professed his love to me on the train, he might have struggled a bit more.
Stop it, Kat. This is no time to be worrying about whether a stranger finds you sexually attractive.
Despite feeling sleepy, I force myself to stand up. I need to make sure there really isn’t any chance of escaping. I go to the window, but not before flinging on a heavy cloak and discovering a balcony beyond the window. Tentatively, doing my best not to make a sound, I step outside. As I expected, it’s completely dark except for the moon shining luminously above. There is nothing outside except for some grass, bushes, and trees. There’s a distant light within a cottage, but it’s so distant that it provides a mere pinprick of light. Everything is completely silent, save for the soft whinny of the horses in the stable, which I suppose must be located somewhere near the house.
I am trapped in the middle of nowhere.
A shiver runs down my spine.
How am I going to get home?
When it starts to get too cold to bear, I trudge back to bed and try to gather my thoughts. If I had somehow met this guy and fallen in love with him, it would have taken a big chunk of time out of my life. I never had the chance to go abroad. The longest trip I’ve ever taken was to Florida. I cannot imagine having weeks—no, months—of my life completely wiped out. I went straight from high school to college, and I’m positive I didn’t miss a single semester. Can Athelia be some tiny European country I have never heard of? But there is no way that it can be so nineteenth-century, like a fancy, aristocratic version of the Amish with a monarchy, which doesn’t make any sense.
The only explanation is what Edward told me—I was sucked into the Cinderella book, met him, fell in love, and returned to America. But that’s impossible. This isn’t a novel or a movie, and it’s even more incredible than time travel.
Besides, everyone calls me Princess Katriona. I am most definitely not Katriona. It can’t be that I changed my name. The best explanation I can come up with is that this Katriona has disappeared and somehow, I have taken her place at the same time, and as it happens that we look alike, Edward has mistaken me for his bride.
Then how does the prince know that I have an old picture book of Cinderella? How does he know that I have a sister named Paige? How does he know that I have a penchant for strong milk tea and a weakness for ham and cheese sandwiches?
I yawn again, despite fighting to keep my eyelids open. In the end, I surrender and climb into bed.
7
I wake up in the morning to the sun streaming through the window. I sit up abruptly, my mind blank. How did I end up in some bed-and-breakfast place? And then it all comes rushing back to me. Yesterday, somehow, I was dropped into this old-fashioned country called Athelia, and what’s more ridiculous is that I’m the princess of this country.
I jump out of bed and look around. It's so bright outside that I am positive that it’s no longer early morning. I guess the prince must be up already. He doesn’t seem the type to sleep
in.
Sure enough, when I peek into the changing room, it’s empty. Whew. It’s much better this way. If we wake up at the same time, it’s going to be dreadfully embarrassing, especially if he walks around half-naked, searching for a shirt or belt.
I look for a dress to wear. Fortunately, the gowns here seem okay. Probably because it’s summer, they look pretty and well made, but not yards of fabric that one might drown in. But how am I going to get dressed? I don’t think it’s a good idea to go without the corset. It doesn’t have zippers, making it impossible to put on by myself. Not to mention that I can’t do my hair either, unless they can accept a sloppy ponytail, hah! I’ll have to find Amelie.
With a sigh, I open the door. A tall man in a dark blue uniform happens to walk by, and he freezes when he sees me. “Highness . . . you shouldn’t . . .”
In a few seconds, Amelie appears—so fast that I suspect she was hiding close by.
“Get inside.” She shuts the door with a bang. “Don’t you let anyone, other than His Highness and me, see you in your nightgown. His Highness will be very displeased if another man sees you half-dressed.”
“I’m not his property,” I grumble. “Where is he, by the way?”
“His Highness went riding in the morning, and he told us to let you sleep as long as you like.” Amelie appears a little uneasy as she looks at me. “Is everything all right with you, Princess Kat? Do you feel up to a bit of breakfast?”
It takes me a second to guess that she's wondering if I might be pregnant. “Of course. I’d love some breakfast,” I quickly assure her. “I’m so hungry that I could eat a horse.”
“Oh.” She seems disappointed, then she nods. “Would you like to have a breakfast tray served here, or would you rather go downstairs to the dining room?”
I look around the bedroom. There’s only a small, round table in front of the fireplace. And I’m not really keen on the idea of having breakfast in bed.