Ella knew the Prince was a dumb ass when he tried to place the fragile slipper on her left foot instead of the right. She rolled her eyes, casting all hope out of the window that he was smart as well as handsome - if he knew not what foot was which, he could hardly know how to please a woman let alone carry on any reasonable conversation. Yet she was expected, destined her Faerie Godmother had said, to marry him and end the tyranny the land had suffered for so long.
So, she smiled feebly, getting some measure of enjoyment out of seeing her bitch of a stepmother and stepsister gape at the way the slipper fit like a glove upon her dainty, calloused foot. Only Ophelia, her other stepsister, watched with a serene smile on her face. She had suffered as much as "Cinderella" had under the two women's cruelty and was happy to see them grovel.
"Oh, dear Ella, dear, sweet, Ella, it is a perfect fit!" Prince Derek planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, confirming her suspicions he had little experience with women. "You are to be my bride!"
Ella smiled again, looking with pleading eyes up at Ophelia, who simply snickered behind her hand. This was not the Prince at the ball, not the handsome rogue with suave speech and satin steps, guiding her as if on clouds through dance after dance. No, this fool was an oaf, who stumbled upon rising from his knee, having to grasp her hand for support.
"It is settled, then," the footman declared. "You will be paid a handsome dowry for your daughter, Lady Verda."
Ella's stepmother sniffed, stiff arrogance and disdain making her countenance all the more revolting and imposing. "Very well. What of my - other - daughters?"
The footman opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Ella's sharp retort.
"Ophelia is to be my Lady In Waiting." Ella smiled at her sister's sigh of relief. "Nelly and the hag? Well, they can go to the stables for all I care."
"Watch your tongue, girl! I am still your mother!" Lady Vedra snarled.
"She is the wife of a Prince now, Madame." The footman glared, stirring a bit of familiarity within Ella. He was dressed smartly in black wool and lace, black hat upon a flawless powdered wig, kerchief over his face from which his dark eyes shimmered. "So I urge you to hold your tongue, Madame."
Ella scrambled to pack what little mementos she had left from her father, convincing Ophelia to leave her tawdry dresses as she would have new ones made.
"No! This one must go!" Ophelia grabbed a simple summer dress with pink roses from Ella's arms and put it back in her trunk.
"But you can barely fit in it," Ella frowned.
"It was the last...." Ophelia choked back a sob. "The last dress Father bought before...."
Ella put her arms around her sister, hugging her close. She was the only one who showed true affection for her father, Nelly and Verda bleeding him dry financially and emotionally before he finally died of a broken heart. Ella's mother had died giving birth to her stillborn baby brother, and her father had promised he wouldn't let her grow up without a mother. The marriage to Verda was a farce and a disaster, but he could not bow out. Ella often told her father she hated him for making that promise, one he couldn't break if he tried for fear of incurring the wrath of Verda's family and losing the lands he'd worked hard on increasing for thirty years.
"It's alright, dear one. We'll keep it."
"He's not the Prince, you know." Ophelia sniffed, wiping the tear from her eye as she turned back to packing.
"Whatever are you talking about, Ophie?" Ella frowned.
"That idiot that fumbled with the shoe," Ophelia replied. "Not the Prince at all."
Ella put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. Verda had often said Ophelia was "touched," but Ella just saw her as eccentric, unconventional. Now she thought the old bat might have been correct.
"Now, the footman - ah!" Ophelia looked up suddenly, as if seeing a dream manifest before her eyes. "Princely indeed!"
Ella shook her head and chuckled. "Don't be foolish, sister. Now, we must finish packing or the Prince may leave without us."
The carriage in which Ella and Ophelia rode was plush beyond compare, the seats so comfortable both fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the horses' gait. A blue light filled the carriage suddenly, waking Ophelia to the sight of a beautiful blonde woman leaning over her with a wicked spiked wand, her ethereal appearance marred by the fierceness in her crystal blue eyes.
"What are you doing?" Ophelia mumbled sleepily. "Who are you?"
The woman jerked back with a start, flawless brow furrowing, eyes glittering like the many beads upon her chiffon bodice and skirt. "You can see me, child?"
"Of course I can see you." The woman's voice tasted like sugar plums to Ophelia's ears. "And I'm not a child, I'm nearly twenty - practically a hag."
"Well, I am quadruple plus nine thousand your age, so I must be a perfect corpse!" The woman's laughed, the tinkling of bells making Ophelia giddy with giggles, then she sobered, frowning. "Still, I am her Faerie Godmother, so you are not supposed...."
"Saw you the night of the ball." Ophelia yawned, stretching and patting the seat beside her, the Godmother taking the seat with a nod of thanks. "Gladys, you called yourself? Impressive work, but why the lame curfew?"
Gladys rolled her eyes. "Well, we couldn't have them doing it the night of the ball, now could we? That would spoil the whole thing later when - oops!"
"I knew it!" Ophelia exclaimed, eyes widening, smiling with glee.
Gladys put her delicate hand firmly over Ophelia's mouth, looking over at Ella stirring, sighing with relief as she settled back down. "Damn it, you stupid cow, you want to mess up everything?!"
"The Prince isn't the Prince is he?" Ophelia whispered, remarking how Gladys' skin tasted and smelled of vanilla custard when she spoke through her fingers.
"Well, of course Derek is the Prince, don't be silly." Gladys removed her hand from Ophelia's mouth, making a face when the girl licked her fingers. "Vulgar child!"
"You taste like custard." Ophelia mused, pouting when Gladys snatched her hand away. "Why is that?"
"Never mind." Gladys shook her head. No wonder the child was strange, she had a rare touch of Fey in her that tingled across her flesh with the chill of a mountain stream. "You must never tell what you know, understand? The peace of this kingdom, of its people depend on it."
"Ella fell for the footman, not the Prince." Ophelia looked over at her sister, expression troubled even in sleep, and her eyes welled with tears. "She will know much sadness."
"As if she hasn't had enough already." Gladys began to see all too clearly the error of her actions, her Fey nature rarely concerned with the human heart as rule, more with the balance and peace of their land whatever the cost so that their secrets and places of power could be kept without threat of human treachery. The Kingdom of Caeron was situated along a Path of most importance, and with the King near on his deathbed and war looming on the horizon with Doaer Province, it was imperative there be at least one strong voice in the council given that the Prince was more than a little inadequate.
"My point exactly." Ophelia glared at the Godmother. "War will be circumvented for a while, but eventually she will know battle and blood and tears innumerable."
"What have I done?" Gladys sighed.
"Undo it. You know you can."
"I can, but I can't. There's too much at stake."
"Then it would've been best you left us be." Ophelia leaned over to brush an errant lock from Ella's head. "At least she was happy with her mice and her horses."
The footman stood on the back of the carriage, stalwart, sturdy, hands gripping the bar til the driver thought it might break when he looked back upon him. Geoff had submitted to Gladys' wishes, after she'd submitted to his, a cold rogue she had called him after the deed was done. He indeed had done it for the sport, the pleasure of wooing yet another young maid to his charms, no matter that his cousin reaped the benefits. Yet now his chest clenched painfully, eyes burning with rage that he was delivering the very woman that had indeed wooed him with her wit and dark humor, herself the very predator he was usually adept at playing.
He wanted her.
Needed her.
And so swore he would have her.
Damn his cousin, damn the Kingdom, and damn his heart for being foolish enough to fall for the one woman so clearly out of his reach.
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