Section 3
HARD WORK REWARDED
3
Cinderella carefully set the two gowns onto the dress forms in her stepsisters’ shared dressing room that spanned the space between their grand bedrooms. She felt light, more alive and happy than she’d been in a very long time.
It had been smart to say no to the ball, even if it had been impossible at the time to tell if her answer had pleased her stepmother. Since then, she’d worked hard to complete every task and chore she’d been given, like always. But completing these gowns was different, and her stepmother was going to be both shocked and pleased. Although Cinderella knew it was wrong to expect a reward, she certainly deserved and hoped for something—maybe a few hours outside during daylight.
Hearing the clack of her stepmother’s and stepsisters’ high heels coming up the stairs and crossing the wooden floor, she stepped out to greet them. “I have a surprise,” she announced.
“Oh, goody.” Agatha clapped her hands, but then Gwendolyn bumped her sister with her hip and Agatha wiped the smile from her face and said, “Yeah, whatever.”
Cinderella couldn’t let her sisters spoil this moment, for her or for them. As soon as they saw the dresses, they’d squeal with glee, and her stepmother would marvel at her speed and skill. After buying dresses in town for the girls, her stepmother had handed Cinderella huge sacks of beads and sequins and feathers yesterday with an evil glint in her eyes and had insisted she sew every single embellishment onto her daughters’ dresses by tomorrow, the day before the ball. By staying up all night, Cinderella had finished a day early.
At first, Cinderella had cringed when she saw all the beads and feathers and sequins. Not so much because sewing on every single item would be tremendously hard work, but because she didn’t want to ruin her stepsisters’ ball gowns with all that sparkle. But she’d figured out a way to save the dresses.
“Well?” Her stepmother frowned and then snapped, “We don’t have all day, girl. What is your so-called surprise?”
Cinderella flung open the doors to the dressing room to reveal the gowns she’d spent all night embellishing. The light from the window across the hall and the skylights above caught the crystal beading and sent sparkles shooting everywhere. She lifted the fabric of one of the skirts to show how lightly she’d applied the tiny feathers to the hem and how ethereal they’d make Gwendolyn appear as she glided across the dance floor.
“Oh!” cried Agatha, who ran forward to touch the beading at the bodice of her dress. Her face was beaming, but then she turned and glanced at Gwendolyn for guidance.
Gwendolyn’s eyes narrowed as if she thought Cinderella was trying to play some kind of trick. Of what sort, Cinderella could not imagine.
Her stepmother walked into the dressing room and slowly circled the dresses, her face frozen and expressionless. She examined the dresses carefully, even checking inside, and grunted when she saw Cinderella’s even stitching and the lining she’d added under the intricate beading to protect the threads and ensure that not a single bead could get snagged.
Cinderella had never felt more confident in her own work and although she knew it was conceited to be so incredibly proud, she was. She’d worked all night and had the bandages on her pricked and sore fingers to show for it.
Still, in spite of her utter confidence that this was good work, her mouth dried and her smile grew heavy. Her stepmother hadn’t uttered a word, and the woman’s silence and scrutiny chilled the air.
Suddenly, her stepmother raised her head. Cinderella jumped and clasped her hands in front of her apron.
Her stepmother stepped forward, towering above Cinderella like a hammer over a nail, ready to strike. “Where is it?”
“What?” Cinderella backed up, fear flooding every crevice previously occupied by pride and joy, not to mention the hope that she might be offered a reward.
“The wand.” Her stepmother clenched her hands. “To do this so quickly, you must have used magic.”
“No, I didn’t.” She wished she had her mother’s wand or possessed the powers to have done this with magic. Then she’d have been able to catch a few moments of sleep last night.
“You expect me to believe that you completed all this in one night?” her stepmother asked, her voice hard and spiked. “Without magic?”
Cinderella nodded and swallowed hard.
“Let me see your hands.”
Cinderella offered her hands to her stepmother, who yanked them forward, hard, pulling Cinderella off balance. Her stepmother wound the bandages off her hands and then frowned and grunted when she saw the pricks and blisters from the needle and the redness on the sides of her fingers where the chafing fabric had rubbed Cinderella’s skin raw.
Her stepmother twisted Cinderella’s hands, flipping them over and over, studying them as if they weren’t even attached to her arms.
When she finally dropped them and stepped back, her expression had molded into a smile of sorts, but this new expression injected more terror into Cinderella than any scowl. Cinderella knew that smile. Long ago, she’d learned never to accept it at face value.
No longer expecting a reward, Cinderella wondered how her stepmother would punish her and what excuse she’d devise to make her punishment seem just.
“I’m impressed, Cinderella,” her stepmother said, stepping back and keeping the hard smile on her face.
Cinderella knew staring at her stepmother was beyond rude, but she had to wonder if she’d lost her touch at interpreting the woman’s expressions. There was no punishment yet.
“When I saw the completed dresses and how you’d used every single bead,” her stepmother continued, her voice even and calm, “I assumed you’d used a wand, or the services of a powerful wizard to finish this in a single night. But now I see you used only your hands and your patience to complete this difficult task.”
Cinderella waited for the “but.” When her stepmother doled out praise, there was always a “but,” and experience had taught her to expect a big one at a time like this.
Her stepmother turned to Agatha and Gwendolyn, who looked confused. “What do you think of your dresses, girls?”
Gwen looked to her mother for clues as to how she should respond, while Agatha’s attention vacillated between the dresses and Gwen.
“Fine work, wouldn’t you say?” her stepmother asked.
“Oh, yes!” Agatha ran her fingers over the beading again before stepping back to admire her dress. “I think they’re absolutely beautiful. The prince won’t be able to resist us.” She turned to Gwendolyn and grabbed her hands. “Don’t you think so, Sister?”
Gwendolyn lifted one of the feathered sleeves of her dress, and her lips twitched as if she were fighting to keep a smile down. “They’re all right, I suppose.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” her stepmother said.
Cinderella’s insides froze.
“You’ve created a big problem for your sisters, Cinderella.”
Her mind spun with the possible problems. “But the beading is lined,” she said, “and I made sure the feathers don’t fall too far down, so neither Gwen nor Agatha will trip while waltzing with the prince.” What problem could she have neglected to anticipate?
“Slippers. Handbags. Hair adornments.” Her stepmother shook her head as if she were talking to a child who couldn’t remember that seven came after six. “After what you’ve done, nothing the girls own will do, and with my other engagements today, I cannot make time to shop with them.” She pursed her lips together.
“You’re right, Mother.” Gwendolyn turned up her nose as if smelling sour milk.“My slippers are covered with brushed silver threads, but they won’t do with this gown. Under the feathered hem, they’ll look plain and everyone will laugh.”
Cinderella suppressed a cry of protest. She agreed that the slippers Gwendolyn had planned to wear would be inappropriate with the gown, but not for the same reason. A much simpler pair of slippers would be better—ones of a soft dove gray, or the palest of pale pinks.
“What will we do about this, girls?” her stepmother asked, crossing her arms over her bosom.
“Tear off the beading and feathers?” Gwendolyn suggested, which made Cinderella’s stomach feel as if it were about to expel the few bites of porridge that had been left for her to eat after the others had finished.
All her work torn apart? Even her stepmother would never be that cruel. Would she?
“Mother.” Agatha stepped forward. “Given we have only today to shop, perhaps Cinderella should accompany Gwen and me to the village to help us pick out new slippers.”
“That’s actually a good idea,” remarked Gwendolyn, running her hand over the beading on her dress. She turned to her mother with a forced smile on her face. Agatha beamed at the praise from her sister.
Cinderella took a deep breath and tried to keep her expression neutral. She was thrilled at the idea of going to the village, even though her sisters were motivated purely by self-interest. They would do everything they could to look their best at the ball, and although Gwen wouldn’t admit it, she and her sister relied completely on Cinderella for fashion advice.
Her stepmother’s eyebrows drew more closely together and Cinderella wished she could read the evil woman’s mind. She wanted to feel hopeful that her stepmother was at least considering her daughters’ suggestion, but Cinderella couldn’t fully let herself believe it.
“It is important that you stand out at the ball,” her stepmother said. She approached her daughters and cupped their cheeks, almost affectionately. “It’s imperative that one of you end up married to the prince. Imagine the power.” Her voice lowered and the silence crept over Cinderella like a cluster of spiders.
Her stepmother spun around and said, “Fine. Take Cinderella to the village if it will increase your chances of catching the prince’s eye. If Cinderella can’t find anything acceptable, she can certainly bead your shoes, bags, and combs as easily as she did these gowns.” She glared at Cinderella as she offered the challenge. “Can’t you?”
Excitement rushed through Cinderella at the thought of getting off the grounds for the first time in nine years. Her breath caught in her throat. Even if her reward for doing her work quickly was yet more work—pushing the ultrathin beading needle through leather would be a challenge—she was going to the village.
“And, Cinderella,” her stepmother said, rubbing her finger and thumb over her chin.
“Yes, Stepmother?” She fought to keep her voice even.
“Your hard work deserves a reward.” She turned to the others.“Don’t you agree, girls?”
Filled with anticipation, Cinderella could hardly stand still, but her stepmother’s voice was tinged with deceit, as if she were hiding something behind her back even though her hands remained in plain sight.
Cinderella’s heart raced. Her insides buzzed. Would her stepmother let her buy fabric to replace the rags she now wore?
The evil woman reached for the small black pouch she had dangling from her belt and pulled out a coin. “Cinderella, purchase something for yourself. A new broom would be useful, I think.”
Cinderella grinned. It wasn’t a great reward, but she did need a new broom, and her stepmother couldn’t crush the happy feelings floating through her. She hadn’t been to the village, or off the grounds at all, since she was nine years old. Unless this was some kind of trick, it was the best reward she could’ve hoped for.
She fought to hide her building excitement. Could she use this trip to the village to escape? Her stepmother would have to release the entrapment spells, and she could certainly outrun her stepsisters.
It would mean leaving without Max, and never returning to the home her real parents had shared, but she was ready. As soon as they were out of sight of the house, she’d ditch her stepsisters and escape.
Cinderella drew in a breath of the fresh spring air. The scent of wildflowers and damp earth compounded her joy. In just minutes, she’d be walking through the iron gate at the end of the path and would be on the road to the village. Excitement churned inside her and she almost felt as if she could fly.
Outside in the daylight, the sun felt so warm on her arms and face—much better than it did when it was filtered through a thick windowpane.
She looked back at the house she’d lived in her whole life. It had been so much cheerier when the shutters were painted butter-yellow instead of black, but she’d still cherish her few good memories: her father tickling her and telling her how her laugh was just like her mother’s, the day she’d found Max in the garden, and the fun times she and her cat had practicing her ninja skills—even on the days when her training sessions had made her muscles ache and scream in pain.
With the thought of pain, ugly memories attempted to overtake the good but she refused to let them win. Today, nothing would spoil her mood. Today she’d escape.
“Oh, girls,” her stepmother called as they reached the gate.
Dread filled Cinderella’s belly as she turned to see her stepmother at the front door, her wand raised high in the air. She knew this moment had been coming. The trip to the village had been too much to hope for. She wouldn’t be going to the village as a young woman. Instead, her stepmother would send her as a donkey, a cow, maybe even a rat.
Cinderella braced herself as her stepmother flicked her wand, then looked down at her clothing and body to see what spell her stepmother had cast.
Same torn apron, same navy blue skirt with its frayed hem that no amount of mending could repair, same threadbare linen blouse. She grasped at her hair—still there—and tentatively pulled a piece around to check the color. Still blonde. Was it possible her stepmother hadn’t cast a spell?
“Have a good time,” her stepmother called out. The woman’s cheery voice made Cinderella feel as if she could’ve been knocked over by a speck of dust.
She opened the gate and her stepsisters walked through. Expecting a strong wind, or an invisible wall, or a pit of quicksand to stop her, Cinderella held her breath and took a long step through the gate.
But no pain struck, so she rubbed her hands over her arms, patted her neck, and ran her fingers through her hair. Nothing. She was outside the property’s grounds, on the road to the village. It didn’t seem possible.
Feeling giddy, she started to skip down the path. “Come on,” she called back to Gwendolyn and Agatha. “Hurry up, slowpokes.” A little company might be fun for the first part of the trip. It would be best to wait until she was farther from the house before making her escape.
Agatha started forward, a skip in her step, too, but Gwendolyn grabbed her sister and held her back. Gwen stood still and then crossed her arms over the pink velvet fabric of the dainty jacket she wore over her deep red dress.
Cinderella paused for a second. Let them dawdle if they wanted to. Escape would be even easier than she’d expected. Her heart was so filled with joy, she thought it might burst.
Skipping forward, she kicked a pebble in her way, and then leaped into the air and spun in two full circles before landing. Freedom felt great. Freedom felt wonderful. Freedom was even better than that tiny crumb of chocolate Agatha had secretly passed to her one winter day.
Freedom was—burning!
“Aah!” Cinderella cried as smoke suddenly wafted off her fingertips, flames licked the edges of her slippers, and the already-frayed hem of her skirt smoldered as if she’d stepped too close to the fire while heating the bathwater.
Cinderella staggered back a few steps and the burning stopped, but her nostrils filled with the acrid scent of smoldering fibers.
She spun toward her sisters. Agatha’s eyes were wide with alarm and she ran toward Cinderella, but Gwendolyn sauntered forward slowly, a grin on her face that closely matched the one her mother had worn earlier. Cinderella’s hope and happiness iced over.
“That will teach you,” Gwendolyn said when she got closer.
Agatha turned toward her sister. “What happened?”
“Mother knew Cinderella was too foolish to be trusted off the property.” Gwendolyn’s evil grin was even more terrifying up close. “These woods are dangerous, Cinderella,” she said in a pedantic tone. “Stay close. There are thieves and wolves everywhere.”
Cinderella squared her stance. “The wolves only come out at night.”
“True,” Gwendolyn said, “but they’re only one of many dangers lurking in this forest. A girl like you, with no experience, no magic, no way to defend yourself, you can’t be running off on your own. You’d never survive.” Gwendolyn touched Cinderella’s arm, pretending she actually cared, but her hand was cold and heavy.
Cinderella shrugged it off.
“Mother cast a little spell to protect you, that’s all.” Gwendolyn continued to sport a most disingenuous smile.
“Protect me? I nearly caught on fire!”
“Yes, and if you get more than fifty feet from either of us, you’ll start smoldering again. More than a hundred feet and you’ll burst completely into flames.”
Agatha raised a hand to her mouth to cover a gasp, but Cinderella only stared at Gwendolyn, her rage fuming in her eyes. She should have known that total freedom was too much to expect.
Apparently she wouldn’t be escaping today—not unless she wanted to burst into flames. She stomped along behind her stepsisters, but soon realized it was no use moping. Even if today’s escape hopes were dashed, she could still enjoy the way the sun filtered through the leaves, and how the blue jays and cardinals battled for territory in the treetops.
She kept track of more important details, too. Even if she couldn’t escape, it would help to know which trees had branches low enough to jump onto, which areas had thicker or thinner underbrush, which sections of the forest were riddled with poison oak.
About half a mile from the house, she heard the sound of a brook through the trees and her breath quickened as memories of her father flooded in. The summer before he died, he’d taken her to that brook, they’d thrown rocks into the water, and she had delighted at the plopping sound as each stone hit. She had been four years old at the time.
Gathering strength and love from the memory, a warm feeling flowed through her, and she reached up to the branch of an apple tree bending over the path. Her hand singed the leaf.
She spun around and saw that her stepsisters had opened up a gap and were now fifty feet ahead of her on the road. Gwendolyn was laughing. Next to her, Agatha stared at the ground. Gwendolyn set off at a run, and Cinderella had no choice but to race to catch up. Who knew Gwen was capable of moving so quickly?
Within a few long strides, Cinderella had passed Agatha, and as she continued to chase Gwendolyn, she started to worry that there might not be any way to win this sadistic game. If Gwen had been right about the parameters of the spell, the smoldering would start as soon as she was fifty feet from either sister, so if Agatha couldn’t keep up, it wouldn’t matter if Cinderella caught up with Gwen, the faster and meaner of the two.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Agatha had figured out this little detail as well, and didn’t want to witness her stepsister become engulfed in flames.
Agatha was dressed in a heavy lavender velvet skirt, under which she wore about twenty layers of crinoline over hoops. She struggled clumsily as she tried to close the distance, but Gwendolyn showed no signs of slowing.
Cinderella stopped and gestured for Agatha to hurry. If she carried her, at least she’d only have to worry about keeping up with Gwen. Agatha tried to pick up her pace, caught up with Cinderella, and bent over, gasping from the effort.
“Hop on my back,” Cinderella said, turning and bending down to indicate that she planned to give Agatha a piggyback ride.
Agatha looked horrified. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s not dignified. What if someone should—” She stopped short as Cinderella’s dress started to smolder at the hem.
Cinderella spun to see that Gwen had stopped, too, and was bent over, panting, but kept her eyes closely on Cinderella. Each time Cinderella took a step forward, dragging the out-of-breath Agatha with her, Gwendolyn took another step back, keeping Cinderella right on the fringes of smoke.
“Please,” Cinderella said, appealing to Agatha with her outstretched arms. She saw something in her stepsister’s face that she never saw when Gwen was around. It was a speck of sympathy, a crumb of regret, an ounce of apology.
Cinderella turned again, bent down to offer her back, and this time Agatha hopped on. Cinderella tucked her arms under Agatha’s legs and ran toward Gwen.
Gwen straightened up and opened her mouth as if to yell at Agatha, whose arms and legs were clamped around Cinderella’s chest and belly like the hoop on a barrel. But instead of shouting at her sister, Gwen turned and resumed running.
Cinderella did her best to close the distance between them, but as slender as Agatha was, she was at least seven inches taller than Cinderella and twenty pounds heavier—with at least half of those pounds coming from her dress. Yet Cinderella had no choice. She had to keep up. If she didn’t catch Gwendolyn, she’d go up in flames, and that was a thought too horrible to contemplate.
She would not give up and burn. And she wouldn’t give up her plans for escape, either. Even if her stepmother’s tales of the world’s dangers were true, even if she were attacked by wolves or robbed by thieves, or even if she were simply unable to find work or shelter or enough to eat, at least she’d have tried. At least she wouldn’t die a victim of her stepmother’s and stepsisters’ cruelty. At least she’d have done something to make her life better.
A man dropped from the trees and landed directly in front of Gwendolyn, who stopped in her tracks and screamed, “Aah! Thief !”
Cinderella could clearly see this was no thief, yet a man dropping out of the forest could not be a good thing. Gwendolyn ran away from the man and sprinted back to hide behind Cinderella, who tried to let Agatha down from her back, but the girl’s grip was so tight, Cinderella no longer needed to hold her legs.
But assuming this man planned to rob them, she couldn’t mount a defense with someone literally holding her back, so she tried to shake Agatha off.
From his size and gait, the man was young and he slowly walked toward them, hands up, palms forward. She’d never seen a thief, but this man looked more like a hunter, dressed as he was in a leather vest over a shirt only partially tucked into well-worn leather breeches. He had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung across his broad chest.
She stared in recognition. The messenger? “That’s not a thief,” she said to Gwendolyn, and then walked toward the man.
Agatha squeaked, let go of her death grip on Cinderella, and slipped to the path behind her. Cinderella didn’t even turn to see whether Agatha had landed on her feet.
“It’s you,” she said to the royal messenger, who was easily recognizable. His unruly blond curls were loose and caught the patches of sunlight that broke through the leaves above. “You’re a hunter and a messenger?” She imagined the freedom.
He bowed to her and smiled broadly.
“Cinderella,” Gwendolyn yelled in a scolding tone, “you stupid girl! Why are you talking to that villain? I’m sure the rest of his gang will be here any minute and we’ll be robbed and killed.”
“If we’re robbed and killed, we can’t go to the ball,” Agatha said, her voice quavering.
Both Cinderella and the young man rolled their eyes at the same time and then started to laugh.
It was time to put her stepsisters out of their terror. She turned to the messenger. “I’ll tell them who you—”
The messenger held a finger in front of his lips to silence her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Mischievous, a little mysterious, but not dangerous. No way did he mean them harm. “I’d rather stay incognito,” he said.
Cinderella wondered why and then smiled.“If people know you work at the palace, do they ask a lot of questions about the ball and which girl you think the prince might choose?”
“Um, yes,” he replied. “You could say that.” He nodded slowly, as if thinking about it.
Gwendolyn, clearly deciding that the danger had passed, was stomping toward them, pulling Agatha behind her. The messenger turned to the two sisters and bowed, his hat shading his face. “I’m not a thief, but a simple hunter. I do apologize for startling you lovely ladies.”
“Well, you did,” Gwendolyn snapped. “What business do you have falling out of trees to terrify innocent women? My sister here”—she put her hand around Agatha’s waist—“might have fainted from the shock.”
“I do apologize,” the young man said. “I was simply curious about your game and wondered if I could play, too.”
“Game?” Gwendolyn asked. “You insolent . . . Oh, off with you!”
Even though her sisters had seen the messenger just a few days ago, it was clear that neither of them recognized him now. They wouldn’t dare treat someone who worked at the palace this way.
“Perhaps you might let me escort you into the village,” he said.“These woods can be dangerous.” He bowed again.
“Hogwash,” Gwendolyn said. She purposefully let her heavy handbag bump against his bowed head as she strode past. “Get lost.”
Agatha skittered behind her sister.
Cinderella stepped up to the young man. “Are you okay?”
He grinned and said, “Fine. I’ve had worse lumps than that one.”
“I’m glad. I apologize for my stepsisters. They can be . . . well, I’m sorry.” It would be incredibly impolite to say anything against her family in front of this relative stranger.
Her cheeks burned under the bright light of the boy’s gaze. Something about him made her feel both comfortable and nervous at the same time, as if she were wrapped in warm blankets, awaiting an exciting surprise. It was the way she’d felt the night before the winter festival each year before her father had died, knowing she’d wake in the morning to find treats in the sock hung at the end of her bed.
“Do you mind if I walk with you a while?” he asked.
“I don’t mind, but would it be proper?” Feeling silly about her question, she looked down. Her real concern was whether her stepsisters would tell their mother, but what was the point of living in fear?
“Do I frighten you?” The messenger shaped his hands into claws, let out a playful growl, and then smiled.
She laughed. “No, you don’t frighten me.” Frighten wasn’t the word that came to mind when it came to this boy.
“My name’s Ty,” he said.
“I’m Cinderella.”
“What were you doing before I interrupted? It looked like you were playing a game of tag.”
Just then, the hem of her skirt started to smolder. Cinderella skipped forward quickly and then picked up the pace to close the distance between her and her stepsisters. “They were just teasing me.”
“Really?” He fell in stride beside her. “Hey, what’s up with that?” He pointed to the blackened hem of her skirt.
“Oh . . .” She kept her voice light.“I’m sometimes careless when I tend the fire.”
He nodded.
She wasn’t sure he believed her, but at least he was kind enough not to press her for more details. It was too embarrassing to reveal the power her stepsisters held over her, and besides, revealing the spell or anything about her stepmother’s illegal use of black magic would turn both of them to stone.
“Do you travel this road on foot often?” he asked.
“Not in years.”
“Usually in a grand carriage?” He smiled slyly and her heart skipped a beat.
“Something like that.”
Gwendolyn glanced over her shoulder, scowled, and then quickened her pace. Cinderella sped up to close the distance.
“Just a moment,” Ty said, stepping into the underbrush at the side of the path.
Cinderella stopped too, praying he’d return before the girls got too far ahead.
“Did you decide?” he called out from the woods.
“Decide what?” She kept her eyes on Gwendolyn, who hadn’t yet noticed she’d stopped.
“About the ball.” Ty was bent over, reaching for something from the forest floor. Cinderella was growing anxious.
“I’m not going,” she said.
“That’s too bad,” Ty said as he came out of the woods with a beautiful bouquet of bluebells and daisies. He handed them to her, and as she accepted them, she felt her cheeks redden.
“Thank you,” she said as she took in the scent of the flowers.“I’m not much for balls. All that fancy stuff really isn’t me.”
“No?” he said. “I was hoping to see you there.”
“You’ll be at the ball?”
He nodded.
She glanced up to Gwendolyn, who turned to see that they’d stopped. Seizing the moment, Gwendolyn grabbed Agatha by the arm and set off at a run. Cinderella’s fingers started to smoke and, before the bouquet could catch fire, she dashed off after her stepsisters.
“What’s going on?” Ty asked as he ran to keep up.
“It’s hard to explain.” More like she couldn’t explain. “I need to keep up with my sisters, that’s all.”
“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” he said. “But if you do need someone to save you from something, perhaps I can help?”
“Thanks, but I don’t need saving. Really.” She did need saving, but she planned to save herself.
Cinderella noticed that Gwen had slowed her pace, clearly overtaken by fatigue as she was huffing and puffing, so she slowed to a walk, but kept Gwen in sight.
She put her nose to the bouquet and inhaled the sweet scent. He was so charming, but hard to understand. “Do you really work at the palace?” she asked Ty. “I’m starting to think you stole that uniform and the invitations from the real messenger.”
“How could you think that of me?” He dashed ahead a few steps and then turned around to walk backward, a grin on his handsome, tanned face. “I assure you, I work at the palace. In fact, um, I’m involved in many areas of palace operations.” He was about to fall over a stone in the road.
“Careful!” she said, but he sprang up and glided smoothly over the stone before the warning was out of her mouth. “How did you know that was there?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“The stone?”
She nodded.
He shrugged and said, “I know this path like the back of my hand.”
Such concentration. But she realized it was the same kind of skill she’d been teaching herself. “Have you studied martial arts or magic?”
Ty strode alongside her. “Both. I’m training to become a wizard.”
“Me, too.” She raised a hand to her lips, realizing she’d told him something she didn’t want her stepsisters to know. Plus, she’d exaggerated the extent of her education. Practicing her magic and ninja skills with a cat coach hardly counted as wizard training.
“You must have a wise teacher if he or she is including martial arts in your training,” Ty said. “It really focuses the mind and body and helps them work together.” He turned to her. “What wizard school have you been attending?”
To avoid answering, she checked that her stepsisters weren’t watching, and then, still holding the flowers, did an aerial cartwheel.
“Nice. I’ve learned some acrobatics, too.” Ty leaped up, did a twisting somersault, and landed right beside her without breaking stride.
“Impressive,” she said, her belly getting strangely warmer.
She wanted to show Ty more of her skills, and ask him about his training, but she’d already been foolishly bold. Plus, since he’d arrived, she’d forgotten to pay attention to her surroundings. In fact, except for making sure she didn’t catch on fire, she hadn’t paid attention to anything but Ty. She was letting the opportunity to scope out escape routes slip through her fingers, all for a boy. Still, on the chance she ever did escape from her stepmother’s spells—and she had to believe she would, somehow, someday—she’d like the opportunity to know Ty better.
“Are you planning to enter the magic competition the day of the ball?” he asked.
“There’s a magic competition?”
“Yes, and the winner gets a year’s training with the royal wizard.”
“Really?” Her heart pounded with excitement. If she won, her stepmother couldn’t stop her from taking the lessons without exposing her illegal use of black magic—she hoped. This could be her ticket out, if only she could figure out a way to enter the competition and win. “Lessons with the royal wizard?”
“Yup, and this year, there’s another prize, something even better than that.” His sleeve brushed against hers.
“Better?” She couldn’t imagine anything better.
“If the winner’s a girl,” Ty continued, “she gets at least one dance with the prince at the ball.” He turned to her as if he expected her to jump up and down and squeal with glee.
Cinderella gave Ty a mocking look and said, “Funny. I thought you said better.”
“You’re not interested in dancing with the prince?” He looked oddly hurt. “There aren’t that many spots on his dance card, and girls are expected to fight over them.”
“Not me. Why would I want to dance with the prince? I’ve never even laid eyes on him.” She jumped over a rock. “If you get a break from your duties, I’d much rather dance with you.”
He quickly turned to look at her, and his gaze was so intense, she felt heat rise in her chest and face. She checked to make sure she hadn’t fallen too far behind her sisters again, but her flush was caused by a different kind of fire.
“I’d like that.” He reached over and took her fingers in his, lightly, as if testing to see if she’d pull away.
She didn’t, and when he wrapped his hand around hers more firmly, warmth shot everywhere inside her, spreading like the sparks in the fireplace after she’d used the bellows.
She looked up into his face and this time there was something more in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite place, but liked. It seemed he wanted to hold her hand forever, and frankly, she’d be okay with that, even though his touch made her light-headed—as if she’d been spinning in circles or doing too many backflips in a row.
His eyes gleamed bright blue and the curls of his blond hair danced wildly behind him in the light breeze to stroke his neck, almost as if they were beckoning her to do the same. Her breath hitched, and she realized they’d stopped running. Not only that, they were standing closer together—so close that she could feel his body’s heat, smell his spicy scent, and hear his breaths hitching, too. For a moment, it was as if the past thirteen years of her life hadn’t happened, as if her father hadn’t died and remarried, as if she’d lived a normal life like any other girl.
“Cinderella! Come here right now!” Gwendolyn cried.
Her stepsister’s voice pierced through Cinderella’s happy bubble, bringing her back to reality. She stepped back and dropped Ty’s hand.
“Get away from that forest scum!” Gwendolyn’s voice grew louder. “And drop those weeds. We’re nearly at the gates to the village. It’s embarrassing enough that Agatha and I must be seen with you, but if you’re mooning around with this common rodent? I won’t have it.”
Cinderella stepped toward her stepsisters.“Just a moment,” she called to Gwendolyn.
Gwendolyn’s shouted, “If you don’t come this instant, I’ll—”
Cinderella knew exactly what that threat held. She gave the flowers back to Ty and, keeping her eyes on him, she walked toward her stepsisters. “I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t forget,” he said, gesturing with the bouquet as if he were holding a magic wand. “I have a strong feeling you’ll do very well. And either way, please come to the ball. I have a feeling you’ll enjoy dancing with the prince more than you expect.”
“I’ll try,” she said, and then turned to race after her stepsisters.
Try? She could try all she wanted, but there was no chance her stepmother would let her enter that magic competition or go to the ball. She’d missed that chance.