Chapter 1
Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Bitch is in Danger
CINDER
The Fairy Godmother assured me these glass slippers would not shatter and slice my feet off into bloody nubbins.
When I initially asked, her nose and forehead wrinkled, taken aback in open disgust. But if I was going to step into the fairy realm of Midnight, I needed to make sure I could run without becoming an instant amputee.
Though the option of using the jagged edge of a broken glass shoe to stab anyone who dared come at me held a certain appeal. My look has always been on the stabbier side anyway—chains, spikes, dog collars, and fish nets. Nothing saysfuck off, don’t touch or talk to melike goth fashion.
Tonight I traded in my six-inch platform combat boots for dainty footwear to get me where I need to go. The Fairy Godmother also forced me to forgo my usual black lipstick, cover up any visible tattoos with makeup, and take out my many facial piercings—the goal being to blend in.
I've penetrated the society ball and now I just need to get what I came for and get out.
As I weave through the throng of fairy aristocrats, a passing elbow jabs into my ribs. I flinch, my breath catching in my throat. The unwelcome contact sends a jolt of panic through me and I quickly sidestep, putting distance between myself and the offending party. My skin crawls, a prickling sensation that lingers long after the touch is gone.
I grab a glass of champagne from a silver tray, not meeting the human server’s gaze.
Their sightless eyes freak me out. The humans in the fairy realm are little more than automatons, running on autopilot to serve their master,the King.
Maybe I should have snuck in disguised as a human servant, but my pride wouldn’t let me pretend to be one of their familiars.
The lace face-covering distorts the upper half of my features. I doubt I’ll be recognized, but capitalizing on the outlandish fashion here only works to my benefit.
In the kingdom of Midnight, most days it is acceptable to dress as if one is attending a gothic masquerade.
My skin, a ghostly shade of pale that's damn near translucent, helps me blend seamlessly into the monochromatic crowd. On my side of the world, Boston doesn’t feature many sunny days and I tend to be a night owl, thanks to my upbringing here in the kingdom. Since the Midnight fairies live in a land of perpetual night, no one around me is sporting a tan either.
Once, years ago, I walked among the Midnight fairies as an equal.
Okay, at the very least as a tolerated presence.
But then my father died, and all protection and pretense of tolerance disappeared before I could say Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Butthurt. I’d been degraded by these fairy fuck faces enough for one lifetime, yet here I am again.
Flickering candelabras and chandeliers cast a warm glow over the ballroom. The attire varies in shades of black, deep blues, and purples—the royal colors of Midnight. The castle is near freezing since the Midnight fairies are not bothered by temperature. Like the Common World, it has slipped into the chill of autumn.
Crossing realms into Midnight is like stepping back into the early nineteenth century. The faint echo of clip-clopping filters in from the courtyard, reminding me horses are still the primary mode of transportation.
After seceding onto their own astral plane from the Common World several hundred years ago, the fairy lands forbade technologies like electricity and tightly controlled their borders to keep out humans, mages, and the more common fae creatures like ogres and shifters.
Fairies are pure-blood bastards with a superiority complex.
Sipping the sharp citrus bubbles that likely came from a priceless vintage, I take a moment to be grateful there are libations available other than the usual.
A couple adorned in matching eggplant colors next to me put their lips to dark, blue glass coupe glasses. Despite their attempts to mask a color the kingdom views as vulgar, I know exactly what thick viscous liquid they drink.
Blood.
The woman laughs at something the man says, throwing her head back with just the right amount of tilt to show off the jewels dripping around her pale throat. Her upper lip curls, showcasing a pair of long, sharp canines that gleam under the candlelight.
I swallow hard.
The Common World has another name for the Midnight fairies.
Vampires.
Fear snakes up my spine and winds around and down to land with an icy drip in my stomach.
