Page 3

ELINOR

Menacing dark eyes lock onto mine. Chompers, Tremaine’s snarling hunting dog, rises to his feet.

“Easy, boy. I’m only checking on him. Same as I do every day,” I murmur soothingly.

The dog’s growl fades into a whine.

“You need to go outside, don’t you? Been locked in here all night.” I shove the door wide open to let him trot past me. Chompers wouldn’t hesitate to bite me, hence his name, but he’s more interested in watering trees than taking a chunk out of my flesh.

I let him out the front. If I put him in the rear yard he’ll kill the chickens. Once the dog is out of the way, I return to Tremaine’s study and tiptoe over to shake him awake.

This is the worst part of my day, by far. My heart leaps into my throat as I prod his shoulder, keeping as far away as I can from my stepfather.

“Sir?”

Nothing. I give him a firmer nudge.

He awakens instantly. His hand manacles my wrist. Hard eyes meet mine.

No, no, no, not again…

I resist, putting all my weight into my heels, my panicked heart fluttering like that poor robin’s wings. I hate it when he touches me. Although it’s been years since he last forced me, the threat of assault keeps me terrorized and meek.

He chuckles. The sound rolls over me, sending a shudder of revulsion coursing through me. I can’t conceal my reaction.

“As if I’d waste my time with an ugly cunt like you.

” He releases me abruptly. I land painfully on my posterior, my skirt falling up to reveal my scarred knees.

I tug the patched fabric down and scootch away on my backside.

Totally inelegant of me, but the thought of him seeing up my skirt makes bile rise in my throat.

“We’re out of sugar,” I say inanely, scrambling onto my feet and smoothing my skirt, feeling the careful stitches where I’ve repaired a dress that was deemed beyond saving years ago.

“Stacia will have to go without.” He gets up with a squeak of leather and ambles over to the liquor cabinet, passing close enough to flick my red hair dismissively on his way.

I flinch. His hand trembles as he sloshes amber liquid into a clear glass and tosses it back.

“Let her make good on her promises to slim down, finally.”

Addiction runs in the family. I would pity them, if the Tremaines hadn’t spent the past decade and a half ruining my life with their vanity, selfishness, and cruelty.

Or if my stepfather hadn’t started coming to my bed weeks after my mother was buried.

He only stopped when I fell ill and he made me drink a bitter tea.

What followed were the worst stomach cramps I have ever felt in my entire life and so much blood I thought I was dying.

It wasn’t until years later that I understood what he did to me.

Made me pregnant, then forced a miscarriage.

More to the point—he’s ruined me for marriage.

Tremaine ensured that no man would ever want me enough to take me away from the estate where I was born a lady but raised in poverty.

I’ve treated my stepfather like a dangerous monster ever since.

My stepsisters may be unkind, but they are no threat compared to him.

I tiptoe warily around him whenever I’m forced to interact with him. Unfortunately, he holds the household purse, which, naturally, he keeps a tight grip upon.

“Come closer, Mouse.”

I edge warily toward him.

“Closer.”

Sipping air, I keep my attention on his shoes. If they move, I’ll run.

“Open your hands.”

I cup them, keeping my head bowed.

“What else are we out of, little Cinder?”

“M-magic.”

A coin plops into my hand. One for the witch.

“Flour.” I gulp. “Sugar.”

One for the shop.

“Lentils.”

Wrong answer. Coins jingle softly.

“Anastacia wants a new dress.”

“She had one last week.”

“I’m only conveying the message, sir.”

Another coin clinks into my hand. It’s not for a dress. A new gown would cost more than a handful of coppers. It’s for more sugar, since he can’t give Stacia what she really wants. “Get the girls something nice while you’re in town.”

Code for “stop by the milliners’ and waste money we don’t have on fripperies to keep my daughters happy.” I close my fingers around the money and exhale for the first time since I entered this room. “Breakfast is ready when you are, sir.”

“Feed it to the dog.”

I blink and back away slowly. If I hadn’t made it, he’d have struck me for being lazy. I did, and he refuses to eat it. If he did eat it, he would berate me for being a poor cook.

There is no winning. I no longer try. I’m only surviving the day.

* * *

“You can’t do any better on the price?”

I eye the inadequate stack of foodstuffs, then the shopkeeper. One small sack of flour. A half-pound of lentils. One pound of sugar.

If I can’t talk the shopkeeper down, I won’t have enough money left to buy the magic Cilla and Stacia crave. They’ll make my life miserable until I find a way to get it.

“I can give you credit until next week.”

If I accept the credit, I’ll be in a better position now but an even worse one come Sunday.

“Let’s make it a quarter-pound of lentils and half the sugar.”

At least this way, I’ll be able to return home with a few vials of potions.

“How are you faring out there at Emmett’s Folly these days, Ellie?”

I smile at his use of my true name, although the insult to my father’s work stings. My father was ahead of his time. Nowadays, everyone who can afford to is installing plumbing.

“It’s not right, the way they treat you,” he says, placing two small sacks where the larger ones had been a moment before. “Elinor Scinder, daughter of the brilliant Earl Emmett Scinder, oughtn’t be?—”

“I’m fine, sir. I have a roof over my head, food to eat, and even a pet cat. I am much more fortunate than some.”

He shakes his head. “A sweet girl like you deserves better.”

I don’t wish to discuss my home life with him, or with anyone.

While I live for my weekly visit to shop in town, I don’t appreciate people’s pity.

I like it best when they chat with me about village life.

Who’s courting who. Complaints about children doing childish things like running into shops while playing tag. Hearing the names of new babies.

I adore babies. I try not to think about the one I might have had. The last thing I want is to be tied to my stepfather that way.

But at least I’d have had someone to love, and love me in return.

Melancholy ruminations have no place on such a bright and beautiful morning. I carry my shopping out into the street and continue to the milliner’s shop to buy a new ribbon for Drucilla’s bonnet and delicate buttons for Anastasia’s gloves.

So glad I gave up half my ration of lentil beans so my stepsisters can have fripperies.

Ugh.

I give myself a little shake. Bitterness makes me feel more disgusting than cleaning chamber pots, and that’s saying something.

I’m free to explore the town for a few hours on a sunny day. There’s an apple in my pocket for lunch. I’ll find a way to stretch the lentils. Unlike my stepsisters, I don’t need much to be happy, and I like that about myself.

I wave to the baker’s wife.

“Haven’t seen you around lately,” she calls out. “Did you see the news about the prince’s ball?”

“Can’t say I have.”

A royal ball isn’t exactly something I would pay attention to. After the prince rescued the legendary Sleeping Beauty, there was a surge of fae monster attacks. Everyone was talking about how he would marry her even though the monsters attacked the castle, trying to get to her.

But she fell in love with the knight instead, and when he carried her off, the monsters followed. Since then, they’ve become folk heroes for leading the monsters away.

A mural of The Sleeping Beauty adorns the shop next to the bakery, depicting a handsome knight in black armor defending her against an enormous dragon. Her long blond hair swirls in an imaginary wind. Her willowy figure is round in all the womanly places.

“All ladies of high birth are required to attend.”

Mrs. Baker’s voice drags my attention away from the mural. She points to the town notice board, a wooden plank on two posts covered with a wooden roof. Smack in the center is a thick parchment nailed over the other announcements.

“I’ll be sure to tell my sisters.”

“They’ll know by now. The rider came through this morning. He was on his way to see Lord Tremaine.”

Her pitying expression makes me die a little inside. I know what she sees, looking at me. The same thing everyone does—a pathetic little mouse who’s too timid to stand up for herself.

“They’ll be thrilled. Drucilla and Anastacia love any excuse to get dressed up.”

“You ought to be there, too.”

I scoff and glance away.

“You’re as highborn as either of them.”

I shrug, unsure what to say. It’s true that I was born to an earl and that I’m the stepdaughter to a baron, but ladies are refined, plump in places I’m not, and most of all, virgins.

The only evidence of the life I was born into is my dowry, which Tremaine keeps locked in a thick metal box on a high shelf in his study, which is always guarded by Chompers. The key is in my possession, but I keep it hidden away. Someday, I’ll find the courage to get that box and then…

I don’t know what I’ll do.

I have nowhere to go. No other family. No skills to trade for money. I could get hired on as a maid or possibly a seamstress, but I don’t expect that would be any improvement over where I am now. I’d still be washing chamber pots, cooking, and mending clothes.

Besides, it would leave my stepsisters alone with their father. They might be unkind, but they can’t take care of themselves, much less him. I pity them. They need me. Besides, if I left, would he do to them what he did to me?

Awful thought. If I left and he hurt them that way, the guilt would eat me alive.

“It’s a royal order, Ellie.”

“I know.” I force a smile. “But imagine if he did choose me, Mrs. Baker. Who would care for the Tremaines if I went off to be a princess?”

I laugh. Mrs. Baker doesn’t.

“Come inside,” she insists.

The scent of freshly baked bread makes my mouth water and my stomach growl. I shift the heavy pack on my shoulder and discreetly touch my lips to make sure I’m not drooling. Mrs. Baker moves around the counter filling a cardboard box.

“Here. These were squished. That one is a day old. I can’t sell them. You could use a good meal.” She thrusts the box into my hands and pats her hips with a rueful smile. “I certainly don’t need them.”

“Please, I can pay you.”

I’m torn between not wanting charity and thankfulness for the gift. Mostly, I’m embarrassed she felt compelled to try and help me.

“There’s no need, Ellie. You make sure you keep these all for yourself, now, you hear?”

Hot tears scratch the backs of my eyelids. She is so kind, yet her charity is humiliating.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and flee.

I can’t run very far or fast carrying several pounds of foodstuffs and a carton of pastries.

I stop at the edge of town. Inside the box I find more pastries than I could possibly gorge myself on.

I perch on a fence in the sun and cram a croissant into my mouth, leaving the cream puff, the cupcake, and the muffin for my sisters.

But after I make quick work of the apple, I also eat the muffin. Beneath it, I find a broken star cookie with one leg broken off. I leave that one for Anastacia too.

Time to meet the witch.

A thundercloud blots the sky overhead as if in warning.