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

by Lucy Tempest

  Sorcha rolled her eyes. “I got spooked, but not by my own reflection.”

  “Meaning?” Keenan pressed.

  “She thought some mirror in the ballroom was haunted,” Simeon answered, even more unamused. “Never mind that ghosts are a rare occurrence here.”

  “All manner of spirits skulk around Autumn,” Sorcha argued. “And the border area of this court.”

  “Yes, the border. We’re in the heart of Winter. You probably just spotted the reflection of some courtier behind you.”

  “I saw what I saw, Simeon!”

  “It’s understandable if you’re jumpy.” Simeon’s voice softened as he patted her shoulder. “You hadn’t slept well in days.” He turned to address us. “It’s been a hectic week—getting everything ready for the ball, followed by what happened when we went to Midnight to announce it with His Majesty.”

  I was about to blurt out that it was I who had stopped the assassination, when Keenan discreetly jabbed his elbow into my side, the one Dolora had kicked, saying brightly, “We’re well aware. We’re both here to help with that—issue, as I said in the message I sent you earlier.”

  So he’d already told them I’d come, even before I’d known anything about this mission. He’d known I could do nothing but accept it.

  Feelings and ribs smarting—and though he couldn’t have known about the latter, had only been trying to maintain my disguise—I stomped on his foot, eliciting a satisfying yelp.

  Simeon surveyed our suppressed altercation with a confused, apprehensive look. “You are here to help willingly, aren’t you?”

  I rushed to nod vigorously. “Me? Yes, yes, I am.”

  Sorcha motioned for us to follow her. “Then we best get moving. I assume Keenan has filled you in on everything.”

  “That I need to make sure the king doesn’t get too close to anyone who could stab him?”

  “Exactly,” said Simeon, sounding even more worried. “It’s a shame it has to be this way, since the ball itself was organized as a way to save him.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  Keenan hustled me after them. “Long story, I’ll fill you in later.”

  Heading back to the landing, we stepped onto the white carpet that led up the spiraling staircase. And the further we climbed, the more of the castle’s details I saw.

  The walls had etchings of snowflakes and innumerable designs that gleamed in and out of sight like apparitions, depending on the viewing angle. All columns were intricately carved into stylized shapes of animals. The ones that framed the entrance to the second floor were the heads of mammoths, their curled trunks supporting the ceiling. And everywhere, there were crystal sculptures and mirrors, each a unique work of art.

  These Winter fey really liked their reflective surfaces.

  We passed by one broken mirror as we entered the ballroom and I felt Sorcha stiffening up beside me. I wondered if she saw her ghost again in it.

  “What is it?” I asked her.

  She clenched her right hand and grimaced, no doubt at stretching the fresh scabs on her knuckles. I knew the feeling well. “That mirror. I’m surprised they haven’t removed it.” She looked away from it, looking suddenly angry. “I don’t believe it was my exhausted mind playing tricks on me. It’s likely a gag gift sent from our court.”

  Keenan raised a hand defensively. “It wasn’t me!”

  “Strangely, I believe you.” Her lips twisted sarcastically. “But it seems I’ve been here so long, the gag actually managed to spook me. Though no one saw me punch that mirror, so our reputation as being unshakeable is intact.”

  “Good to see Winter hasn’t wilted your need to uphold our Court’s reputation.” Keenan snorted. “But you’re right. A haunted mirror does sound like something we’d do. Remember those snakeskin boots great-uncle Torquil gave Dad?”

  “The ones that turned into actual snakes and started swallowing his feet?”

  They snickered amongst themselves like children.

  Sorcha’s husband, who’d walked ahead, checked them over his shoulder, perplexed. “What are you two giggling about?”

  “Nothing!” they sang in unison.

  I wasn’t in the least bit surprised they’d find a cruel prank funny, even when Sorcha herself had been a victim of one. The Autumn Court specialized in creating and importing the stuff of nightmares, whether macabre threats, like those sentient scarecrows, or outright terrors, like the inside-out centaur that had chased us through the woods in the Equinox Games.

  I shuddered at the memory of the latter.

  “Are you cold, Miss…?” Simeon prompted, eyeing me curiously.

  I opened my mouth, but words died on my tongue. I was supposed to make something up, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember the last time I had lied, seeing as I hadn’t been allowed to speak my mind at all for more than half my life.

  Keenan saved me the trouble, bowing exaggeratedly with an introductory flourish. “How remiss of me. This is Lady Ellenore, a melia from our court, but who lived in the Folkshore until recently. She is the very good friend of our newfound cousin, Bonnibel. I promised her that I’d bring her along the next time I came to visit Sorcha, and the visit came sooner than expected. And after the developments, she graciously accepted to help us save the king from his enemies.”

  “A melia?” Simeon asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  “You know, a kind of nymph.” Keenan bumped me with his hip, subvocalizing, “Back me up here.”

  I dropped into a curtsey, my mind racing through all I’d ever heard of nymphs. “Yes, a tree nymph. A flowering ash tree to be exact.”

  That wasn’t a lie exactly, since that was what Ornella meant, according to both my mother and Keenan.

  Simeon hummed, intrigued. “Better stay away from all candles and fireplaces then. Wouldn’t want you being set alight.”

  I tried to hold back another shudder as thoughts of wood burning assailed me, of ash in my hair, soot in my lungs, the searing of red-hot pokers and—

  “Are you sure you’re not cold?” Simeon eyed me with concern. “You keep shuddering, and your dress is, while lovely, very inadequate for our weather.”

  I swallowed, lips welded shut and quivering. “Mhm.”

  After another moment of hesitation, Simeon gave up, held out his hand to Sorcha, and they swanned off to greet more guests.

  Keenan stuck his hands at his sides as soon as they were out of earshot. “Could you be more wooden?”

  “I’m a tree, aren’t I?”

  That brought a chuckle breaking through his annoyed facade. “Still, this is a performance. We’re here to observe, mingle, and weed out suspects—which will necessitate spinning some elaborate tales, not to mention pulling a few pranks.”

  “I suspect that’s all you do at parties, anyway.”

  “What else is there to do at a party?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “But seriously, I need you to do some of the talking yourself. Simeon almost didn’t believe our cover story.”

  “Not that we actually agreed on one, but why wouldn’t he?”

  “Well, as my brother-in-law, he’s too—familiar with my antics and doesn’t take much of what I say seriously anymore.”

  “What a shock, since you’re such an upstanding, honest imp of a man,” I sneered, remembering how we’d first encountered him.

  Bonnie, Mr. Fairborn and I had just arrived in the Summer Court, only to be ambushed by Keenan and three guards. Recognizing his uncle, and deciding to welcome him back with a prank, Keenan led us on a wild goose chase by snatching up Bonnie and running across the rooftops of the city. We’d tailed him along with the guards and had gotten arrested.

  Keenan—masquerading as a guard named Alan—had tossed me in a cell with the satyr, Clancy, knowing how I would react. That grey-eyed lunatic had thought my meltdown was hilarious. It didn’t matter that Clancy was a man affected by Prince Leander’s curse. I didn’t know that, and had thought that he, like all satyrs, would force hi
mself on me.

  “You’re not still mad about what went on in Summer, are you?”

  “Strangely, no,” I said tersely. “Those deranged games you all put us through were no worse than being at my stepmother’s non-existent mercy.”

  “Rock and a hard place, I know.”

  “More like the chopping block and the fireplace.”

  He leaned in, brows raised interestedly. “Which one am I?” I shoved him, and he cackled. “You’re so fiery, I love it.”

  “Please, don’t use fire or any kind of heat when describing me.”

  “All right then, you’re lukewarm,” he said with a reluctant sigh. “How’s that?”

  “I’d rather be cold.”

  As if in answer, the chill around us grew suddenly. The drop in temperature was so fast, so sharp, even I felt it crawling up my exposed skin, awakening gooseflesh.

  Then, from the shadows, a voice spoke, as deep as a moonless winter night, as monotonous as eternity. “Prince Keenan, it is good to see you again.”

  Before I could draw another breath, a piece of the shadows separated and took human form. Fairy form. The rider of the flying sleigh. The man I’d saved from the assassination attempt. The man I had to save again, if I were to have a chance at my own salvation.

  The Winter King.

  Chapter Eleven

  Up close, the king was much taller than I’d realized.

  Pale skin blue-tinted, he cocked his snow-white head down at me curiously. The strange wastelands he had for eyes seemed to delve deep into my mind, my very being.

  The cold he emanated intensified as he approached, but it wasn’t why I shuddered. Now I wasn’t running for my life, or gambling it away for his, I found him far more striking than I remembered.

  I felt the need to tell him this, or something else of equal weight. Something true, something that will intrigue him enough he’d let me take him away from the crowd where his enemies lurked, and keep him safely away.

  Then I opened my mouth and I heard myself saying, “You look like Father Frost.”

  I couldn’t even groan inwardly. But if it were possible to kick oneself, I would have done it. This was what I said when I got the chance to talk to the man I needed to impress?

  But then again, what had I expected? What had Etheline and Keenan been thinking? I was the last person in all the realms who could charm anyone, let alone this frosty king.

  At least I didn’t need to worry about getting his attention. I certainly had it now.

  My heart hammered against my ribs, so hard it rattled my bones as I waited for his reaction. But when it came, it shook me even further.

  Instead of cold affront, maybe even vicious rage, the ridiculousness and forwardness of my comment only warranted a slight and tranquil widening of his eyes.

  Just then, I noticed that many had come forward to be near him, and my words had silenced them all, earning me a dozen disbelieving stares.

  Then the corners of his mouth twitched and he held out a hand to me. “I am no one’s father, but at this point the resemblance could dub me Cousin Cold.”

  Everyone within view, including Keenan, overreacted for some reason. Be it eyebrows shooting up, gasps gurgling deep in chests, colorful irises being engulfed by inky pupils, or even purses and drinks clattering to the ground.

  “Was—was that a joke, Yulian?” Keenan asked, showing concern, of all things.

  Yulian rolled his shoulders in a serene shrug. “No one seems to be laughing, so it must be a bad one.” He turned back to me. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  The urge to say “Yes, I tackled you off your sled and saved your life” was stifled by an even stronger surge of worry. If he, who had seen me once, and in such fraught conditions, recognized me through Etheline’s disguise, then so could my stepfamily.

  “Maybe,” I managed to say, hopefully coolly, when the only thing cool about me was the sweat slithering down my back. “But pleased to meet you all the same.”

  It was only then I noticed that his hand was still outstretched. I hesitantly reached out, but when my palm approached his, I felt a harsh wave of cold biting at my skin. It spread a kind of burn I’d never experienced, one that shimmered all through my body. The sensation startled me so much I snatched my hand away.

  Keenan cleared his throat and tugged at his cuffs. “Yulian, the ladies here tonight are trying to win your hand—without losing theirs to frostbite.”

  If that offended the king, he didn’t show it as he slowly removed white gloves from his pocket and tugged them on. “Simeon usually reminds me, but today has been so hectic I forgot.”

  “Shouldn’t you just keep them on all day, every day?” Keenan suggested.

  “You expect him to bathe with gloves on?” I snorted.

  I would have clamped my hand over my foolish mouth if it wouldn’t have made what I just blurted out look even more uncouth.

  Keenan grinned, clearly appreciating my runaway lack of decorum. “Why not? He could turn his shower into a hail storm.”

  I had a feeling that if Sorcha were here, she would have smacked her brother upside the head. At least with him around, I wasn’t the only one lacking in royal etiquette.

  “Your friend makes an excellent point,” Yulian said to Keenan, finishing tugging on his gloves, white leather with patterned backs. “That, and they do get uncomfortable after a while.”

  “Uncomfortable how?” Keenan asked. “It’s not like you sweat anymore.”

  The king’s impassive stare remained fixed on Keenan, somehow making his earnest comment almost funny. “I do get clammy, but then like everything else, the sweat turns to ice.”

  I really couldn’t help asking, “Are you like the king who turned everything to gold?”

  His face remained expressionless, but his question carried mild fascination. “Gold? How did that happen?”

  “Yes, indeed, how?” Keenan feigned interest, before unceremoniously shoving me at Yulian. “Oh, I can hear Sorcha calling me. Why don’t you tell him all about it while I go see what she wants? Come people, my sister promised a feast like no other. Let’s all go sample the delicacies of Winter.”

  With that, he skipped off, herding the others away, leaving none a chance to object.

  Suddenly, I found myself alone with the Winter King.

  If the surrounding temperature had dropped at his approach, it plummeted further just by being this close to him. The sensation was enveloping, permeating, like being cocooned by a cool blanket, and lined inside with frost. My skin, tightening and layered with goosebumps, claimed I ought to have my knees knocking together. But they weren’t.

  This must be what all others felt towards fireplaces and furnaces during the winter, being comforted by the warmth that made me sick. The cold, his cold, strangely, soothed me.

  It more than soothed me. It lured me, demanded I come closer, bask deeper in this pristine frigid delight. The sensations were so strong, I felt I was in danger of hugging this man.

  Before I gave in to the ridiculous urge, with an awkward smile, I stepped back. “Keenan—he’s uh, a real scamp, isn’t he?”

  Yulian merely nodded. “Comforting to see that he hasn’t changed.”

  “If he’s always been like this then I pity whatever nanny was in charge of him. He must have been one monstrous toddler.”

  “No more devious than the usual Autumnal child. They have to be in order to withstand that wildly unpredictable environment.”

  As much as I wanted to escape back to Autumn, where I’d been safe from my stepfamily for the first time in my life, I realized living there would require some level of madness. “I think he has some room for improvement.”

  “Don’t we all,” he said, in what I could only describe as sad bitterness. Not that this could be interpreted from his expression or tone, as both remained unchanged. I just—felt it. “Still, it must be nice to remain as you are, and to change only what you choose, when you choose.”

  I exhaled. �
�Tell me about it. My life has recently cartwheeled its way through many changes, and I can’t decide if they were for the better or worse.”

  “If yours has cartwheeled then mine has somersaulted.”

  “That’s not too bad. A cartwheel covers more ground.”

  He narrowed his pale eyes at me. “Somersaulted off a cliff.”

  In spite of myself, I found my lips twitching at this impromptu challenge, dueling over who had it worse. “Did it land in a split?”

  “Yes, it split into a dozen pieces.”

  “Mine shattered, like that mirror over there.”

  “At least you’d still recognize your reflection if you look in its fragments.”

  I barely held back the retort that I wouldn’t.

  But despite the abundance of mirrors, I hadn’t really seen my new reflection yet. I checked the closest one now, framed by an elaborate oval of quartz and mounted between two lifelike paintings of armored white bears.

  It was hard not to be overwhelmed again at the sight of my long, healthy and perfectly styled hair. I’d never had the luxury of caring for it, since it had meant less time waiting on my stepfamily. And though I’d always kept it tied back, with all the cleaning of fireplaces, stoking of firewood and standing before boiling cauldrons and blazing ovens, it used to frizz rather than curl, my ponytail hanging dry and full of split ends.

  But right now, the luxurious tresses weren’t the most noteworthy part of my reflection. In the soft, silvery light permeating the ballroom, I could now see my skin had taken on a delicate greenish tint, and so did my eyes. My ears had soft, pointed tips and no earlobes, just like a lot of the fey here. The changes were enough to make me look completely different, even when my features themselves hadn’t changed.

  Strangely, nothing about this glamor unsettled me. Looking like a woodland nymph was nothing like my stepfamily’s true troll appearance. Instead of grotesque, it was—wholesome, natural. My fake hair even had a few bronze and vermillion leaves in it. Combing my fingers through it, it felt real enough, a glossy, and vibrant reddish gold, a vast improvement on my original lackluster red-tinted blonde, which I’d inherited from my mother.