Slowly, I’d shifted my focus from all the things that made me like him to all the features that weren't his. Where his chin is weak and narrow, mine is squared, and I have my mother’s nose, ears, and smile.
After shifting the perspective, I was finally able to unclench my fist and release the knife from my shaking fingers.
“You both will do exactly as I say when I say it. If either she or you attempt to leave the premises, the guards are instructed to stop you both by any means necessary. If you don’t abide, someone might get. . . hurt.”
I am in no doubt as to what he’s implying.
My father turns on his heel to leave.
Still holding myself up against the wall, I call after him. “So you’ll permit it? The marriage?” I can’t help my surprise or skepticism. It’s too much to hope his only retaliation will be a house arrest.
He pauses, looking over his shoulder but not back at me. “This union would be an abomination. The day this kingdom is handed over to a lowly human will be the day I’m rotting in the ground.”
My lips curve up in a grimace. That’s the general idea.
“Don’t worry,” he sniffs, “I’ll take care of your mess like I always do.” A chill runs down my spine at those final words. I know him and can anticipate his intention all too well—stopping the wedding at any cost, even if it means targeting Cinder.
Doubts flood my mind and guilt gnaws at me for bringing her into such danger. Unlike my father, I’m not willing to hurt others to further my agenda.
But deep down, I also know that I couldn't resist the opportunity she presented.
A human bride will help everything move along quicker and sway the odds in my favor.
I just need to make sure she survives long enough to fulfill her purpose. Which means I can’t let her out of my sight.
Chapter 11
A Walking Sexual Innuendo
CINDER
Iwake up feeling the full force of how my life turned upside down when Prince Too-Handsy paraded me about in front of the Midnight court.
I was received by barely tolerant fairies who would rather swallow their tongues than acknowledge me as the future Princess of Midnight.
If only they knew I share the sentiment.
After hours of enduring half-hearted congratulations and waiting for someone to rip my throat out, I was finally led to my new jail cell.
I mean my bed chambers.
Exhausted, I shimmied out of the massive ballgown and cracked into the bottle of iron supplements I brought. Leaving my clutch on the side table next to my phone, a useless brick without cell service, I slipped between the impossibly soft sheets in only my panties and fell into an uneasy sleep.
My room in the castle is something I always dreamed of having as a little girl. Of course, in my fantasy, I wasn’t a pseudo prisoner.
The soft flickering light of the candles casts a warm glow over the elegant furnishings and rich tapestries lining the walls. The plush canopy bed is fit for a Queen, with its luxurious velvet drapes and soft down pillows. The huge windows offer a stunning view of the rolling hills bathed in silver moonlight. In the distance, I spot a group of riders on sleek, midnight-black steeds, their coats gleaming under the perpetual full moon. The stars twinkle above, winking at me with assurance.
A fist closes around my heart with an unwelcome feeling. Nostalgia.
While I spent the worst years of my life here, I also spent some of the best. Though never socially accepted, I found solace in the stars and moonlight. I had loved the dark embrace of the Midnight Kingdom.
I remember sneaking out when everyone was asleep to explore, like an adventurer on a secret mission. The moon was always my guide as I roamed through the gardens and stumbled upon hidden nooks and crannies that only seemed to reveal themselves in the darkness.
I often found myself sitting by the edge of the cliff that overlooked the sea, watching as the waves crashed against the rocks below. The wind would whisper secrets to me, and it was like I became part of something bigger than myself.
Then there were the endless hours creating, painting, and sculpting with my father. A cigarillo always hung from his lips, though he often forgot to keep it burning. Too busy squinting at his canvas, willing it to open up its potential to him. I learned to love the smokiness ingrained in his skin and clothes.
Without the rise and fall of the sun, there was nothing to interrupt our time of creation. We’d only pause to hastily makepeanut butter and jelly sandwiches to stop our stomachs from complaining.
