The Wronged Princess - Book I (38 page)

But Pricilla would not be reprieved
. 
"
Mamá
," she whispered.

"Of course, you did
n’t
kill her.
”
Essie patted her hand
. 
"We just
want
to kill her
. 
She dropped her hand. “Come
. 
We must finish dressing for this outrageous farce.
”
A frown
marred
her brow
,
obviously remembering her current dilemma. She strode toward Manette who held out an ivory cream silk edged with the softest whispering of white velvet.

But Cinderella did not move
. 
She met Pricilla's eyes in the glass and knew she spoke the truth.

Cinderella drew herself up and proclaimed in a soft yet fierce determination, "She killed herself
. 
Do you understand me
?
She. Killed. Herself," she repeated
. 
Cinderella did not know who she tried to convince, Pricilla or herself.

The grip she had on Pricilla was returned tenfold
. 
A tense
silence
stretched between them.

"
Oui
. 
She killed herself," Pricilla whispered, nodding.

Cinderella watched her a moment longer willing her to remain calm
. 
Pricilla’s words pounded through her with glimmer of hope that would have her baking in the depths of Hades
. 
Could
Stepmamá
truly be gone
?
Morbid as it was if it were so, the relief was staggering
. 
Cinderella owed Pricilla more than she could say
. 
Convinced by Pricilla’s slow calm intakes, Cinderella
released her hands and
moved off slowly toward Manette who now struggled to keep the wrinkles from a breathtaking emerald green silk
. 
She glanced back over her shoulder one last time to see Pricilla still standing before the looking glass her winsome spirit dampened
, yet
coming to terms
with her nefarious deeds.

Cinderella should be envious of her translucent skin and shimmering light blond hair that appeared so fragile in her distress
. 
She knew her own eyes were puffy and strained from her midnight ordeal with
Stepmamá
, jumping as she did at every little creak in the floor she could not identify.

Not normally given to frivolous gestures, Pricilla seemed to pull herself up in one fell swoop, fussed over her appearance in the reflection glass for a moment or two longer before turning a pragmatic direct gaze on Essie
. 

Cinderella let out a long held breath.

Pricilla
was back
, for the moment, leastways
. 
Though her confrontational blaze did not bode well
. 

Stomach pinched in apprehension at Pricilla’s next words
.
Cinderella found herself trying to edge her way out of her peripheral sight.

“Something is wrong,”
Pricilla
said, tapping her chin in contemplation
. 
"The white makes you look…I don't know… Essie
. 
Wan…pallid, colorless, sallow.
”
Pricilla flung her hand out as more adjectives escaped her
. 
"That dress is
all
wrong for you.”

"Um, Pricilla, I vow she begets your meaning." Cinderella winced and resisted brushing damp palms over
the lovely green silk in her
skirts. Oh, this was not good at all
. 
Almost all
traces of her previous apprehension
vanquished
.

Essie's pent up vexation had met its end, not that Cinderella could blame her
. 
“What is that suppose
d
to mean?” she shrieked, “We have been trying these dresses a week past and you vow to say something
,
now
?”

To Pricilla's credit, she did appear chagrined
,
Cinderella was relieved to see
. 
Yet, it did not stop Cinderella from rushing over
and
grasp
ing
Essie's hand
.
She darted
Pricilla her
harshest glare
. 
Not that it could help Essie
. 
The white did make her appear ashen and bloodless, but mayhap it had more to do with wrought nerves.

Pricilla ignored
Essie’s
angry outburst
and
Cinderella’s meanest stare
. 
Ha,
’
twas
the biggest jest round, any
how
. 
“I cannot be sure; but it has just occurred to me, rationally speaking of course."

"Of course," Essie retorted.

Pricilla paid her no mind
. 
"The white would look much better on
Cinde
with her dark coloring
. 
The green would
work
fabulous on you—match your eyes
to perfection
.
”

Essie cast a critical
gaze
over Cinderella, making Cinderella cringe
. 
Essie's nerves were not the only ones wrought
. 
If the floor could swallow Cinderella up, she would be most grateful
. 
She sent up
a silent prayer to Fairy Godmother
. 
As if anything could unbreak her magic stick.
It was hopeless.

“I do so love that color,” Essie professed
. 
“Mayhap I would not be so nervous if I did not feel
so
much like the sacrificial lamb on its way to the slaughter?
”

An apt analogy, Cinderella professed inwardly.

Oui,
they were right
. 
But Cinderella
—
lips pressed tightly together
—
refused to comment, opting for
another
silent prayer of an open floor
. 
She was small
. 
All she needed was a
minute
crack to swallow her whole
. 
She would ne’er complain
. 
The white dress
was
stunning and it
did
make Esmeralda’s pale skin look chalky
. 
If Essie donned that green dress she had no doubt Prince would take one look at her and fall heedlessly in love
. 

Cinderella
deserved this, of course
. 
Did she not, indeed, steal a kiss from
her sister’s betrothed
without his knowing
?
Would this not serve as restitution for all time?

She gazed longingly at the ivory dress
. 
It
was
hers
.
She wanted to slide it over her head one last time before being hauled away as the fraud she was
. 
Fear had her trembling to the point of swooning.

Oh, what was she so afraid of
?
Stepmamá
was all but dead, she chided herself
. 
Pricilla had confessed to her murder
, t
hough it was strange
that
the horns had not yet sounded
. 
Mayhap she was not the only one thrilled about such a scenario and the poor wretched soul who happened upon her cold dead body
had
decided to keep mum.

Panic surged through Cinderella
. 
Mayhap it was time
. 
Non
. It was past time
. 
They deserved to know the truth, come what may
. 
This was the moment to grasp, the opportunity to confess all
. 
T
hat
she
was
the mysterious princess
. 
Oh, blast it
. 
O
nce she donned that white dress there would be no need to tell them anything. The
world
would know the second it floated over her head, because
she
should
be wearing it.

Perhaps, if she fainted.

Oh, she was the worst of cowards
. 
No question about it.

But she was not ready
. 
Since her father’s death, she’d been alienated, detested
,
disliked and mistreated by both Essie and Pricilla
. 
And now they had formed a … a sisterhood—the three of them
. 
As likely a scenario one might never happen upon a second time
. 

Wasn’t that the perfect fairy tale
?

But
happy ending
s
of this sort just w
ere
not done
. 
Stepsisters in any tale were the bane of the heroine’s very existence
. 
But this new unspoken harmony ruined the story for that scenario
. 
How could she bear to relinquish this new kinship
?
She actually
liked…
mayhap even
loved
, the both of them
. 
They were now true sisters no matter what the fairy tales of old would have
one
believe.

Even
with
Pricilla's wary, critical, and
somewhat
outspoken characteristics
t
hey
cared
for one another—like real sisters
. 
Certainly, the first barrier had been difficult, but now it felt solid and right. Pricilla would never have put herself between
Stepmamá
and Cinderella, otherwise
. 
The thought of hurting either of them pierced her heart like a burning arrow.

“Well?
”
Essie asked
. 
"What say you,
Cinde
?
”

Essie's tentative tone should have indicated askance awaiting an answer
. 
And Cinderella hesitated, opened her mouth to say—say what
?
But
, Pricilla,
with her typical impatience and matter-of-fact, no-nonsense, calm, straightforwardness, took care of the matter by plowing over any consideration either she or Essie might have
.
“Well, I do not see the problem.
”
She s
napped her fingers at Kira, Manette’s assistant
. 
"
Vous, vite!
”

The poor thing practically tripped over her own feet
,
jumping to Pricilla’s command.

"The white shall be quite striking on you,
Cinde
, with your dark hair and eyes
. 
Why do you hesitate
?
Quick, we are out of time
.
” Essie implored
. She bustled
to Pricilla’s commands as well, with a vengeance, Cinderella thought with a scowl
. 
The stays down the back of Essie's dress fell quickly apart.

Cinderella spun
about, faced
both of them
. 
“I…I want you both to know—” she stopped
. 
Her breath came rapidly. So much so her head swam with the rush of oxygen
. 
She gulped the air
,
finding her fragile control teetering on a glass edge, shards ready to rip her to pieces.

"
Cinde
, you are blabbering like a fool
. 
Unhook her dress," Essie pressed Manette.

“That these…past few days…have been…
”
Oh, heavens, she was hyperventilating
. 
The chamber air swirled
over them in a thick
fog
. 
Mayhap, she would faint
. 
She fanned her hands
before
her
cheeks
. 
Where was the breeze of Essie’s batting eyes when one had need of them
?