Princess of Midnight: A Retelling of Cinderella (Fairytales of Folkshore Book 6)

by Lucy Tempest

  My line of thought was bent off its trajectory by a burning sensation blossoming around my ankle.

  Thinking I’d rubbed an unnoticed injury raw against Oscar’s side, I paid it no mind at first. But the burn grew hotter with every trotting step.

  I still bore it until we were almost at the border, and it became a scalding burn that cut off all my other senses. Weak, swollen fingers slipped off Oscar’s antlers and I fell sideways off him.

  I hit the frozen ground on my injured side, crying out as two different kinds of pain overtook my body. I curled in on myself, frantically piling handfuls of snow onto my skin—to no avail.

  Keenan dropped down next to me, looking anxious. “What happened?”

  I trembled with the agony of the persistent burn as I wailed, “My ankle!”

  He lifted my foot and showed me the source of the burn. An anklet.

  That was what Dolora had fastened to my right ankle. The cuff, a thin, shining silver now burned bright red in the center.

  “What is this?” I howled. “Get it off me!”

  “I can’t.” He stuck his hands under my arms and lifted me up. “But I know how to make it stop hurting you.”

  “H-how?” I whimpered as he deposited me back on Oscar.

  He secured me when I almost slithered down again, before jumping back on his steed.

  Then with one last look behind me at the border to his home, he met my streaming eyes, his own betraying his extreme frustration as he said, “I have to take you back.”

  Chapter Three

  The agonizing burn lessened as we retraced our path back to the house.

  But it didn’t vanish entirely, becoming nothing but a singed ache, until Keenan helped me back inside the kitchen—just in time to rush through preparing and serving them dinner.

  Thankfully, they hadn’t suspected that I’d left.

  But then, with this anklet on me, Dolora knew even if I did leave, I couldn’t go far. That I’d be forced to come back or lose my foot.

  She’d taken all my prior attempts into account when I’d broken the invisible chains of her thrall and leaped through a window of opportunity to scurry to freedom. And what she’d come up with was even worse than her previous mind control. She now had me fully aware of what she was doing to me, and cowering in her prison of my own accord.

  After delivering their trays to their respective rooms and leaving fast enough to avoid any confrontation, I returned to find Keenan pacing in the backyard.

  As I approached the window, I was so exhausted, I couldn’t even summon enough energy to weep. I felt like a hollowed-out husk, a fallen log in the woods, covered in moss, my roots and trunk being burrowed through by insects and mold.

  As he came to stand across from me, I said, “So, this thing, it’s on me for good?”

  Keenan shook his head, biting his bottom lip. “It’s not bonded to you, if that’s what you’re asking. But it’s almost impossible to remove.”

  “Do you even know what it is?”

  “Yes, and I think I’ve finally figured out what your stepfamily are.”

  “Ogres?”

  “Ogres mind their own business, save for when they feel the urge to eat others.” He looked disgusted. “I think they’re trolls. And judging by that anklet, they’re traffickers.”

  “T-traffickers?”

  He ripped his knit cap off his head, his long reddish-brown hair spilling past his shoulders. “The ones that basically run the changeling trade. Swapping healthy human babies for fairy ones, normally, defective Unseelie spawn, which is usually no issue.”

  I goggled at him. “Kidnapping babies isn’t an issue?”

  “Yes, it’s the adults that are problematic, like you.” He eyed me curiously, like he was searching for something to confirm a suspicion he had. “But why you, specifically?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did they single you out of all humans? And now you’ve proven so difficult, why not snap your neck once they caught you, then move on to the next victim?”

  That—was a good question. And a terrible realization.

  Dolora and her daughters did consider me their slave.

  And according to Faerie’s laws, it didn’t seem frowned upon to traffic or have human slaves, over which owners had the power of life and death.

  But really—why me?

  He put his hands on the sill, eyes narrowed. “Now I think of it, even if I find a way to take off this anklet, since they’ve taken up residence in the Winter Court, and if you’re considered their slave, if I take you, I could be breaking a few laws here.”

  I huffed bitterly. “As if that’s ever stopped you?”

  He wasn’t mischievous this time, just frustrated. “Yes, if I’m caught running off with someone else’s slave, I’m a prince, and I’ll only have to give you back, maybe pay compensation—but you will be severely punished for it.”

  Slave. The word was still expanding inside my head until I felt it might burst.

  That’s what I was. All along. For real.

  Keenan sighed loudly. “But that’s only if I can get the anklet off. And I don’t know how anyone but the slaver can remove their own anklets. And believe it or not, I want to get you out of here without having to amputate your foot.”

  Close to collapsing under the escalating weight of the mess of realizations, I mumbled, “But you can’t. So just leave me here. Go home.”

  “I will. But I’ll be back, with what I hope will help.”

  I slumped onto a stool by the window, unable to remain on my feet another second. “Keenan, it’s obvious my situation is no longer fun for you. You can wash your hands of me now.”

  His face entered my line of sight, wearing a bland, unimpressed smirk. “Cinders, if I wanted fun, you’d be the last person I’d pick.”

  “Then why are you bothering?”

  “Because I told my cousin I’d find you and bring you home. Promises might be mere words to you on the Folkshore, but here in Faerie, they’re unbreakable once made.”

  A hysterical giggle wound up through me, springing past my lips in a shaky wheeze. “Didn’t know you pointy-eared demons were so honorable, considering all I’ve seen from you so far.”

  “Don’t check a gift tea-set for cracks, Cinders. I’m going to get help, so stay put and try to stay in one piece until I do.”

  Before I could say anything else, he disappeared from the window. In seconds, I heard him hop back onto his steed, then the clomps of two sets of hooves as he steered both reindeer away. Then he was gone.

  As for me, there was only one thing I could do. Be a good slave.

  Now that there was any chance of being rescued, I couldn’t risk provoking Dolora into that deadly reaction I’d been hoping for earlier. I had to stay alive until Kennan returned.

  If he returned.

  Chapter Four

  Darla’s screech for a drink echoed down the stairwell, snapping me out of my disturbing musings.

  I allowed myself one long-suffering groan before I heaved myself up, readied a tea tray, and limped out of the kitchen.

  Dolora’s elder daughter stood at the bottom steps of the staircase, scowling impatiently. Her previous blonde hair was now mousey-brown and in rollers, her skin tinged greyish-green, features halfway morphing from the Seelie fairy she now emulated and into her true troll form. It seemed in every disguise, she took after her mother the most, in appearance and attitude, though she was more petulant than aggressive.

  I raised the tray to her and she sneered down at me. “What is this?”

  “Tea?”

  She made a cranky noise. “I said I wanted a drink, not tea.”

  “What is a ‘drink’ exactly, then?”

  “Juice or wine, what else?”

  “Where am I going to get either of those?”

  “Figure it out!” She lashed her hand out. I froze, tucking my chin between my collarbones. But her slap didn’t meet my cheek, just flipped the tray out of my
hand.

  The silver tray hit the floor with a bouncing clatter and the porcelain followed, shattering upon impact, scattering to a hundred pieces.

  Great. As if I hadn’t had enough of cleaning today.

  Before I turned away to go search for a broom, she lunged down and pulled me back by my hair. Knowing that resisting or returning her attack would only incite more abuse, I gritted my teeth against the pain, and prayed she’d fall down the stairs and break like that teacup.

  As always, my prayers went unanswered as Darla descended to my level to tighten her grip, nails digging into my scalp. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To get things to clean up your mess,” I moaned, tears gathering in my eyes, seeming to spring out from my very soul with pent-up rage and frustration.

  She yanked on my head again, and I reached up to tug at my hair, attempting to lessen the pain. That just made her angrier. “It’s your fault you got me the wrong thing. Now, pick that up, with your hands. Then go to the market quickly and get me what I asked for. Then draw me a bath.”

  I grabbed her wrist, pain forcing me to abandon any discretion as I tried to scratch her with my broken nails. “I don’t even know where the market is.”

  “I said figure it out!” She shoved me hard, and I slipped in the spilt tea. Trying to catch myself only made me fall forward, crashing down on my hands and knees. Porcelain crunched underneath them, but I was too exhausted, and too angry to feel the cuts they gouged in my flesh.

  In a moment of enraged carelessness, I snatched the tray up and stumbled after Darla, ready to dent it over her head as she stormed up the steps, screeching for her sister.

  Mid-swing, my ankle burned so hot I dropped it onto the bottom step, and bent over in agony, clutching my leg.

  Why was it acting up? I was in the house!

  Unless it also did if I tried to lash back against them.

  “Well?” Darla yelled from the top of the first flight of stairs, watching me with crossed arms. “Pick it up!”

  She really was going to stand there the whole time, just to make sure I didn’t use a broom. It wasn’t like horrid things like her had anything better to do.

  Taking in deep breaths, I wiped the blood off my swollen hands and started picking up the pieces of the ruined tea set, nicking my fingers no matter how careful I was, and gathering them onto the tray.

  When she was satisfied with the pile I’d gathered, and that I’d bled enough, Darla continued on up, pushing past her sister who’d belatedly answered her screeched summons.

  I finally sat up on numb heels, my whole spine cramped with a spasm running from my tailbone to my stiff neck. It was a miracle I hadn’t passed out yet.

  Whatever drowsiness had begun to lull my senses was blown off my eyes by Darla’s yell. I couldn’t hear what she bellowed, but I already knew her orders.

  After dumping the shattered pieces in the bin, I searched the kitchen and found an indigo, syrupy liquid in a crystal wine bottle. I hoped this would save me the shopping trip, since I couldn’t achieve one. Not with that anklet. Or without money. If the drink wasn’t to Darla’s satisfaction, I was sure she’d force me to do so anyway.

  On my way up the stairs, I almost bumped into Aneira, my younger stepsister.

  Aneira was the merciful option to deal with, oblivious and fussy, but she only ever raised her voice to Darla.

  Though she now maintained the appearance of a Seelie fairy like her family, with pointed ears, clear, pearlescent skin, and sharp, upturned features, she was watching me with unmasked eyes, her green irises melting into the yellow edges that had replaced the whites.

  “What do you want?” I asked, with no actual bite.

  Her eyes briefly flit up towards her mother’s room, then back to me. “Don’t try it again.”

  I blinked at her, confused.

  “Trying to hurt any of us,” she clarified. “That shackle has replaced the thrall you broke, so if you disobey us, or lash out, it will burn you. It’s only unbearable pain to start, but if you push through it, it will really burn your skin off.”

  That explained it, and supported Keenan’s theory that Dolora was involved in trafficking humans. Enslavement at its most effective.

  “I got that,” I mumbled. “Anything else?”

  Aneira hesitated, playing with the end of her ponytail, its color changing from chestnut to coppery in the light from the mounted window behind her. I had to wonder what she really looked like. I’d seen a glimpse of their true forms back in my mansion in Aubenaire, but I was too busy fearing for my life to take a good look.

  Was this shape-shifting a troll trait? Or was it a spell like the one Bonnie’s fairy mother had placed on her, making her look completely human, and keeping her almost child-sized? Maybe this could work on me, too? If Keenan was so concerned about the legality of absconding with a human slave, could he could glamor me to appear fey? If we could get that anklet off me first. If he returned at all.

  Since Aneira seemed to have nothing more to say, I moved past her, delivering the drink to Darla then running a bath in the closest bathroom. She seemed satisfied with the indigo syrup, but didn’t waste an opportunity to elbow me in the face while I helped her undress.

  I hoped the hot water melted her skin off.

  Slipping out before she could conjure up another demand, I was about to go in search of a room to collapse in when someone pounded on the front door. Dolora roared for me to answer it.

  On my way, I narrowly missed slipping again on a puddle of spilt tea I’d missed, was panting by the time I pulled open the door. Pale, but still painful light—of what could be any time of the day in this heavily overcast weather—made me blink back tears before I focused on the stocky fairy man on the doorstep. He was wearing a fur-lined, slate-grey, conical hat and matching cloak over a woolen navy-blue, gold-ornamented uniform.

  His lilac eyes widened at the sight of me, the mess I must surely look like. And the fact that I was human. His gaze lingered on my ears before he said, “Is the head of the household in?”

  Biting back some rude reply, about Dolora being the backside of something filthy and monstrous, I gritted instead, “Yes. Why?”

  From his cloak pocket, he retrieved a silvery envelope with a bronze wax seal. “Well, since the king’s announcement was interrupted yesterday by that heinous assassination attempt, instead of rescheduling a public appearance, we’ve been dispatched to deliver these invitations.”

  Too caught up in my situation since I’d been recaptured, I’d forgotten that strange pale man in the flying sled was their king. And that I had saved him from said assassination attempt.

  In spite of myself, the embers of hope were fanned back to life. “What’s the occasion?”

  “His Majesty is making an historic adjustment to the Midwinter Ball. Now it will be held over three nights instead of one, and it will double as his vehicle to pick a bride.”

  My heart started to race, my mind already stumbling over delirious plans.

  If I managed to get them to take me to this ball, and I managed to slip away, I could track down that king, ask him to repay my rescue by removing the anklet and—

  A boney hand poked into my bruised ribs, shoving me aside, ripping a startled gasp of pain from my depths.

  As I stumbled away from the doorway, Dolora replaced me in front of the messenger, covering half her face with her hair. It seemed it wasn’t that easy to hide her burn.

  She was all smiles as she extended her hand for the envelope. “How generous of the king to invite us. My daughters must have made an impression on him when he saw them in the crowd last night.”

  The man stiffened, as if she’d personally insulted him. “This is an invitation extended to all unmarried young women present in the Court, and some beyond.”

  Though she maintained her smile, her tone took on a pinched, irritated quality, the sort she always used with people she couldn’t risk upsetting, like high society women from neighboring to
wns, or the wives of my father’s influential or rich friends. That would be another reason for me to attend this ball. She’d be forced to rein in her aggressiveness and put off disciplining me for the duration. Hopefully, by the time my transgressions piled up and warranted a crippling punishment, I’d be free of her hold.

  “The ball will take place over three nights, starting tomorrow at sundown.” The messenger handed her the envelope, sparing me a confused glance.

  His frown deepened under the rim of his hat. “Ma’am, is your daughter a—”

  “She’s not my daughter—and you best be off,” Dolora cut him off, pointing at his cross-body satchel. “Those invitations won’t deliver themselves.”

  Before he could say anything else, Dolora slammed the door in his face. I could still see him through the side window by the door as he slowly turned away, glancing back at me with that same confusion.

  What was that all about?

  Dolora’s boisterous voice filled the entrance, rattling the chandelier above us. “Aneira! Darla! Come here!”

  Darla slammed out of her room and stomped down the stairs in a grey-green robe that now perfectly matched her skin tone, a scowl etched deep in her face. Aneira hesitantly descended behind her sister.

  Darla stopped before us with an irritated flounce and whined, “What is it?”

  Dolora waved the silver letter at Darla triumphantly. “Looks like coming back here wasn’t in vain. We have been gifted an opportunity.”

  Darla snatched the letter and tore it open. She couldn’t have done more than skim it before she squealed, hopping up and down, her shoulder slamming into Aneira’s chin, almost tipping her back. “You’re right! This makes leaving the human world so much better! You can trade that stupid merchant for the king!”

  “Is there even a glamor strong enough to make him pick you?” Aneira asked, speaking my thoughts. I’d seen the king, and I couldn’t believe Dolora could con him like she had my father, no matter how strong her spells.