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When every inch of her back had been massaged into languid bliss, Cynthia forced herself to take the soap from the princess.
“I’ll continue from here. You can… look about the attic, if you like.”
The princess relinquished the soap, then rose from her knees. She dried her hands before turning her back discreetly and feigning great interest in the piles of rotted crates and the dismal view outside the window at the brick wall opposite.
Cynthia washed the rest of her body in haste.
She didn’t bother with her hair because there wasn’t enough time for it to dry. And by now, the water had begun to turn tepid.
Cynthia gripped the sides of the tub and pushed to her feet. At the sound of the sluicing water, Princess Ammalia spun around. Cynthia’s face went bright red.
Unperturbed, Princess Ammalia wrapped Cynthia in the towel, and allowed her to pat herself dry whilst the princess opened the box she’d brought into the house.
Cynthia gasped to see a folded gown of rich blue satins and silks take up most of the interior, topped by a matching blue diamond tiara and a pair of dazzling slippers that glittered brightly, even in the fading sunlight. She used her stepsisters’ forgotten candle to light the wall sconce in order to see the items more clearly.
“Are those slippers covered with bits of decorative glass?” she asked in wonder.
“Thousands of gemstones,” the princess replied, as if such an extravagance was perfectly normal for a shoe that would be half-hidden beneath one’s skirts and dashed against hard terrain all night.
“I couldn’t possibly,” Cynthia stammered. “Each of those gems must have cost… If I lose even one of them…”
“No one will know but you,” the princess answered. “If even you can tell the difference. These shoes are yours now. You needn’t return them. They’re yours to do with as you please.”
“Until midnight,” Cynthia murmured. She had to be home by then, or she’d never get her chores completed on time—and she couldn’t risk infuriating her stepmother and stepsisters any worse. They were already fuming. Once they caught sight of Cynthia in this gown and with these slippers…
“May I help you with the dress?” Princess Ammalia asked. “I fear it is indeed the sort that requires the assistance of a lady’s maid.”
“Please, that would be lovely.” After sliding on her shift, Cynthia held perfectly still as the princess laced the cords along Cynthia’s spine.
She’d expected the dress to be too big or too small, too long or too short, but it fit her as though it had been custom-tailored to Cynthia’s exact measurements.
An appreciative smile flitted at Princess Ammalia’s lips. “You look breathtaking. Even more beautiful than you did before. The blues bring out the bright cerulean of your eyes, and the cut of this gown…”
“It is a truly astonishing fit,” Cynthia admitted in awe. “Your brother picked this out after a single glance at my stepsisters?”
“I directed the creation of this gown,” Princess Ammalia corrected her softly. “After gazing at you.”
Cynthia’s throat went dry. Her heart beat faster—then sank. Those ambiguous moments, during the bath…
Had she wasted a golden opportunity she would never have again?
Chapter Seven
All Princess Ammalia wished to do was ogle Cynthia. Well, ogle her, hold her, kiss her, touch her, have her. Ogle with sensual flourishes.
Cynthia had piled her long blond hair high on her head with nary an escaping ringlet. Her bosom was plumped to perfection inside a low bodice of shimmering ocean blue, matching the underskirt below. The puffed sleeves of robin’s-egg-blue complemented the sweeping, overskirt of flowing pale blue gauze. The lines accentuated Cynthia’s lush hips and narrow waist and long legs, right down to the tips of the sparkling crystal slippers poking out beneath the floor-length hem.
Essentially, Ammalia wanted to engage in activities that would ruin their coiffures and wrinkle both their gowns beyond repair, so that the only solution would be to stay here in this room with Cynthia and not exit each other’s arms for any reason until the morning light.
Unfortunately, the second Cynthia opened the attic door, her step-siblings pounced. From that moment on, they conspired to keep Ammalia separated from Cynthia by inserting themselves between the two.
They peppered Ammalia with an unceasing and utterly exhausting barrage of inane questions, every one of which was about Ammalia’s brother Zurri.
“Has he got a castle of his own?”
“How tall is he?”
“What’s his favorite color? Is it blue?”
