Sinful Cinderella

I turn to rise and stop short. A little girl stands a few feet away, watching me. She looks no more than eight years old and wears a fluffy white dress with lots of lace. This, clearly, is the prince’s daughter. I’ve seen no other children here.

She steps closer to me. “Why are you wearing that?” And points to my dress.

I smile. “Do you like it?”

“It’s ugly,” she says. “Did somebody die?”

“No, I just like black.” My tone is colder now. I’m not enchanted with this little girl. For one thing, she’s awfully pretty. Her hair is raven black and flows freely to her waist. Her skin is pale and porcelain smooth. She needs no white magic to perfect her appearance, she will naturally grow into a breathtaking beauty. It isn’t fair.

The girl points to my head. “Your crown is nice, though. Where did you get it?”

“It’s a tiara. I, um, borrowed it from a friend.”

“May I wear it for a while?” The girl holds out her hand, expectant.

I hesitate. “Well... perhaps later. I need it until the ball is over.”

The girl keeps her hand out and expertly lifts a single eyebrow. “I want it now, if you please.”

I look straight into her haughty brown eyes. “No.”

The girl’s hand drifts downward. She’s shocked. I guess a princess is used to getting her way. Not with me. I’ve got this tiara for ninety more minutes, and prince’s daughter or not, the little brat can’t have it.

I’m hoping she’ll leave me now, go off somewhere to sulk. But suddenly she lunges and snatches the tiara right out of my hair! With a high laugh she dashes away, throwing herself straight into the churning crowd of dancers.

I jump up, grinding my teeth. The prince is gone; I lost track of him when his daughter appeared. And now she has my tiara. I will get it back if I have to break her little arm.

I barge right into the midst of the dancing couples. It’s like trying to walk through a moving forest. I see the girl ahead, sprinting around the wide, swishy skirts. A few people step aside for the princess, but most of them don’t notice her and she’s getting blocked and slowed, as I am. But she is smaller, quicker, and not wearing breakable shoes. The distance between us grows.

I growl and push harder, not caring who I bump or that I’m drawing hostile stares. I stay focused on the girl, just a flash of white dress among the hordes. She’s nearing the top of the ballroom and the long staircase with golden railings. I spy a sudden opening to my left, a clear path between the dancers. I race through, hoping this will catch me up.

I break out of the crowd just before the stairs. The girl bursts out at the same moment, my tiara still clutched in her grubby fingers. She sees me. She makes a frantic dash up the staircase but I leap and grab a fistful of her flying hair, jerking her to a stop. “Give it back, you little freak!” I snarl.

“Yes, sweetheart,” says a man’s voice. “Please give the lady back her tiara.”

I drop my hand and straighten like a puppet yanked on its strings. The prince. Standing just below us, his hands clasped casually at his back. He’s looking at his daughter, not me. And he’s smiling.

The princess is on the fourth step, twisting to look at her father. Her eyes are rebellious. The prince calmly lifts a hand and says, “Give it here, darling.”

The girl slaps the tiara into his hand and stomps up the steps, muttering. The prince turns to me with a gentle smile. Surprising, considering he just caught me pulling his daughter’s hair and calling her a freak. But all he says is, “Please forgive my daughter, she can be mischievous at times. I believe this is yours?”

“Thank you,” I murmur, still flustered. I take the tiara and settle it back into my hair. Remembering my manners, I sink into a deep and graceful curtsy. “Good evening, Your Highness. I am sorry for the disturbance.”

“Nothing at all,” he says pleasantly. I like the way he looks at me, as if I’m something rare and exotic. This is what I hoped for.

He smiles and offers his arm. “Well. Now that that’s over, would you care for a dance?”

I sigh and laugh. “Gladly!”

We stroll onto the dance floor where everyone makes room for the prince and his partner. He slips his hand on my waist, smiles, and we begin.

Oh, it’s wonderful. Like dreaming. We glide swiftly and smoothly around the ballroom, perfectly timed to the music and each other. Memories float up of those beautiful years when Papa and I lived alone and he’d push back the dining room table and teach me how to dance, humming the music himself. And look at me now, in the royal palace, dancing with the prince.

I still wish it was you, Papa.

“So. They call me Prince Edgar.” The prince grins and it’s dazzling. He has strong, handsome features, a good chin, clear blue eyes. His blonde hair is cut short, a bit fluffy on top. We must look great together, my black dress weaving with his white suit. Like day and night, good and evil.

“So happy to finally meet you, Prince Edgar. Do you know this is my first time in the palace?”

“I thought so!” Prince Edgar takes my hand, twirls me on the spot, then clasps my waist again. “I knew I couldn’t have seen you before. I would have remembered.”

“Well, I don’t get out much,” I say lightly. I keep my eyes on his, my face lifted, my lips parted just slightly. Come on, white magic, don’t fail me now.

“And what do they call you?” he asks with a subtle lift of his eyebrows. Boy, he’s good. My heart flops around like a fish on dry land.

But I’m hesitant to reveal my name because I’m still worried about the incident with his daughter. The prince brushed that off just a bit too easily. Furthermore, his parents – King Stephen and Queen Shelley – are here tonight, I saw them dancing. If that nasty little princess learns my name, she might go blabbing to the king. And I do not want to end my evening in the dungeon. So my name can wait until I’ve thoroughly hooked the prince’s heart.

I offer a coy smile. “You may call me whatever you like, Your Highness.”

Prince Edgar laughs. “Are you some kind of dark secret? You look it, in that dress.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect. You’re like a little crow that’s come to haunt me.”

“Then call me Crow.” I grin at him.

We dance and the minutes slip like sand through my fingers. My charm enhancement does wonders, never did I find speaking so easy. Our conversation flows as seamlessly as our feet, never faltering or missing a step.

Once, and only once, do I spot Stepmother. She’s over by the wall with Loony, both of them watching me. My stomach twitches when I catch Stepmother’s eye, but her look, though irritated, shows no sign of recognition. I know Stepmother by now. If she knew it was me, she’d be white with rage. She’d find sly ways to humiliate me, like tripping my feet or dropping a spider into my hair. And Loony, well, Loony would probably rip me to shreds in front of everyone.

Godnutter’s spell. Has to be. She knew my stupid steps would never leave me alone otherwise. She did it to protect me, to let me enjoy the night. I really should forgive her for imposing the curfew.

But I won’t.

The music ends and we sway to a stop. “Hot?” Prince Edgar asks.

I laugh. “Terribly.”

“Let’s go out for a bit, walk under the stars.” He curls an arm around my shoulders. “If you promise not to fly away, of course.”

“I think my wings are too tired.”

We begin to thread our way out of the ballroom. I do enjoy the looks I’m getting from other ladies. Frustration. Envy. Unconcealed hatred. They will hate me more when I am queen.

I will see to that.