by Casey Lane
Cinderella Dreams of Fire
Casey Lane
Contents
Special Offer
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part 2
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part 3
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Part 4
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
About the Author
Thanks From Casey
Special Offer
Click here to get your free novella!
Part I
Chapter 1
The cold night air made Kiyara shiver, and she wondered what she and her family would need to do to survive. She looked up at the lantern outside the old, broken-down inn. She hoped it would be warm inside. Kiyara hoped her mother wouldn't have to do anything drastic to keep them safe.
Armenia's fingernails pressed through her quaking daughter's too-thin cloak and into her shoulders. “Stay close to me, my dears. This land isn't like our own."
Kiyara was actually glad to hear that, since they'd almost been murdered in their own home.
Her mother opened the door, causing an ancient creak to seep into the blackness of night. A musty odor mixed with alcohol met Kiyara's nose as they stepped into the light. They hadn't been to many taverns as a family, but she assumed that most of them were just as dirty, impersonal, dimly lit, and with at least one passed-out drunk near the kegs.
She had the feeling of unfamiliar eyes meeting them from all sides.
Kiyara glanced at Malina. They were both dressed in similarly drab cloaks, though her sister somehow made hers look much less depressing. The tattered garb was a far cry from the tailored clothes they wore in the royal castle. While Kiyara imagined her own eyes were filled with fear, her sister seemed to have something else on her mind. Whatever it was, it only made Kiyara's distress increase.
An innkeeper entered the main room from the back. He looked as old and grizzled as the tavern itself. Perhaps a little less dirty, but not by much.
Their mother left them beside the drunk and glided over to the man of the house.
Kiyara watched Malina dart her head from side to side before grabbing the man's drink and swigging from it. Her sister gagged at the taste and slammed the mug down. Kiyara wished she could shrink so small that no one would ever see her again.
Her mother leaned across the bar, as if to put her chest on display for the innkeeper. “Good evening."
The man spit on the ground. “Not sure why you brought children in here, but it's not safe for them."
She licked her lips. “Few places are these days. Who owns most of the land in this area?"
The innkeeper narrowed his eyes. “Strange question to be asking late at night."
"Does it have a strange answer?"
"I'm guessing it's the earl. He's a good man. Better than most."
Kiyara watched her mother lean even closer to the man, who smelled vaguely of rotten fish. “The earl wouldn't happen to be looking for partnership, would he?"
The innkeeper's grim face grew darker. “I'm happy to let you and your girls get a few minutes out of the cold, but this is no place for families and I'm not one to answer such odd questions at this time of night."
"Father?"
A young girl entered the room. She wore similar clothing to the man behind the bar, which easily painted them as related. She seemed as if she hadn't bathed in days, which normally would've made Kiyara uncomfortable, but she and her sister had barely touched water in the last month. She shuddered to think what the girl thought of the three of them.
Part of her wanted to shout, “We were princesses, I swear.” But she remained silent.
The innkeeper's face warmed slightly. “Go to bed, Brianne, my love. I'm closing up soon."
Kiyara's mother looked at the girl like a snake eyeing its prey. “What a beautiful daughter. I'm sure my Malina would just love playing with her."
With a nod, Malina pulled back her cloak and wrenched a dagger from her boot. Before the innkeeper could make a sound, Kiyara's sister had the blade pointed at the girl's throat.
Kiyara's mouth twitched. Everything felt so familiar.
The little girl let out a mousey squeak. “Father!"
Malina pressed the dagger tighter against the girl's neck. “Quiet, or it goes deeper. And then you bleed."
Kiyara backed away and tripped over the drunken man's shoe. As she fell to the ground, she heard the innkeeper rummaging through his pockets.
"Please, leave my daughter alone! I'll answer anything you want, I swear. The earl lives a few miles east of here. He's married. Has a daughter the same age as mine. Just please, leave my family out of this!"
Kiyara was almost glad she didn't have to see what was about to unfold. She knew Armenia was past the point of gathering information. Her mother was hungry.
Kiyara glanced up to see Malina move the dagger down and slice at the girl's arm. Her sister laughed as the girl cried out.
The innkeeper's voice shook. “She's all I have left. You can stay here as long as you like. You can have the entire place if you want it."
Her mother drew out every last syllable. “I don't want your tavern. I don't even want your daughter. I want something more."
Kiyara saw the red, magical light reflected on the stone of the ceiling. She shut her eyes tight.
Make it stop. Please, make it stop.
She didn't have to look to know exactly what was happening. Even though her eyes were shut, she knew her mother had laid her hands on the innkeeper's chest.
Kiyara sobbed silently as she listened to the young girl scream and the innkeeper beg for his life.
She rocked herself on the ground. “We're going to be okay. We're going to be okay."
Chapter 2
Cinderella scrubbed at the stone floor where she used to play with her dolls over a decade ago. Her pruned hands worked the brush to get out every last drop of the dark wine stain.
She didn't remember what her toys looked like. She barely even recalled the proud face of her mother looking down upon her, the joyful daughter. There was no joy anymore. There was only cleaning and getting ready for the day when she would break the chains.
Until that time, however, every moment she passed in what used to be her father's beautiful house would be spent smelling of soap and oils.
"Could be worse. Could be ash."
Even though Cinderella's stepsister Malina was the one who snuck into her mother's stash and proceeded to spill the dark purple liquid all over the ground, Cinderella received the blame. Armenia wasn't her mother, and she'd played the role as horribly as possible for the last decade or so. Ever since the woman had stormed into their lives and swept up the mourning, debili
tated earl.
Of course, Cinderella hated Armenia, but she saved a different breed of contempt for her father. If he ever spoke to her again, she would consider letting him know about it.
She heard light tiptoes from the other side of the hallway. Most normal people wouldn't have picked up on it. Most normal people hadn't spent every night for 10 years training their senses.
Cinderella raised her voice as she kept her head down. “I hear you, Kiyara. No need to sneak around. You didn't do this."
She heard a long sigh before her other stepsister made herself known.
Kiyara and her sister both looked like their mother's daughters, but they couldn't wear those looks more differently. While Malina used her ample bosom and long, flowing hair to string all the noblemen along, Kiyara took similar attributes and made them kind and gentle. She looked every bit a princess, while her sister seemed more likely to stab a princess in the back.
Kiyara slouched, as if she wanted to look smaller and less significant. “I'm sorry, Elle. I should've kept an eye on Malina. She really is impossible."
Cinderella attempted a vigorous scrub of the last remaining patch of wine. The stain was not cooperating.
"She isn't your responsibility. According to your mother, anything she does to upset her pristine house is all on me."
Kiyara looked up and sighed anew. “It isn't fair."
"Tell me something I don’t know."
A half-smile formed on her stepsister's face. “We're going to meet the prince soon. There's a tea followed by a ball a little later. Maybe Mother will let you go."
Cinderella laughed. “A ball. I remember before my father turned into a mute and married a beast, no offense of course, we used to go to all sorts of parties.” She tried in vain to remember her mother's face as they danced in circles so many years ago. “But I wasn't of age back then. Maybe the prince will take a shine to you."
Kiyara blushed. “Me? He would never look at me with my sister around."
Cinderella pushed off the floor. There was no way all the wine was coming out. “You never know. Some people have a pretty low tolerance for evil."
They laughed until they heard the heavy steps of Armenia two floors above them. She wasn't big on laughter. Or sounds of any kind, really.
Kiyara shrunk herself back down again. “I have to go. We're going into town to be fitted for our ball gowns. I'll see if I can get a fourth one made for you."
Cinderella cracked her knuckles. “As much as I appreciate your optimism, Kiyara, you have about as much a chance of getting that fourth dress as I do of getting this stain all the way out."
"I guess that's what makes me an optimist."
They smiled at each other before Kiyara turned and walked away.
Cinderella no longer minded the cleaning so much. After all, she'd been forced to do it since the day of her father's second wedding. She still remembered picking up after all the guests as if she were the hired help. Seeing the earl get married again so soon after her mother had died made her angry and upset enough. Being treated like a slave took things to a whole new level.
Over time, the water-soaked hands and achy knees didn't hurt nearly as much as the time devoted to her own thoughts. She endlessly replayed countless embarrassing moments from her adolescence. Her stepmother kicking her into a puddle of mud in front of her former school classmates and Malina torturing her with no sleep during a particularly trying week in her early teens bubbled to the top. But Cinderella no longer had to worry about sleep. She only needed the couple of hours before dawn after prowling the village at night.
She heard the front door close, followed by the carriage taking the earl's wife and “his two lovely daughters” into town. Cinderella glanced up to the ceiling just below her father's study. She couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken a word to her. It was possible that she hadn't even seen him since Kiyara snuck him downstairs for her 16th birthday.
Two whole years ago.
Cinderella walked over to the window and opened it to let the air dry the wet stone inside. The cool breeze reminded her of her late-night dashes across the village, with the wind whipping in her hair as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Her legs instinctively crouched as if she were about to make a particularly difficult jump.
A sound from outside caught her attention, and with lightning-quick speed, she extended her hand at just the right moment. A small rock wrapped in parchment made impact with her palm and she closed her fingers around it.
Cinderella glanced outside, but she never saw where the notes came from. She only knew who sent them.
She unwrapped the string and spread out the parchment on the wall. A quick scan gave her a location and an item. She didn't know who the object belonged to, but it wouldn't be theirs much longer.
She smiled to herself. “I'll clean your house now, Armenia. But the second you go to sleep, I'm not yours anymore."
Cinderella crumpled the parchment and made to start a small, evidence-destroying fire.
"Tonight, I work for the Godmother."
Chapter 3
Braedon looked around the overcrowded bar and tried to pick out bits and pieces of the loud chatter surrounding him. In one corner of the room, a balding toad of a man was trying to swindle land from a farmer after they'd drunk half a dozen drinks. In another, the notorious Madame spoke to a poor cobbler, no doubt attempting to recruit his daughter for her employ. With a slight swivel of his stool, Braedon also heard two off-duty knights discussing the growing group of raiders to the south. As he turned to listen further to the tavern's secrets, he received a hearty slap on the back.
The five fingers belonged to a foul-smelling heavyweight he called his friend.
Sir Don Falstone's breath smelled like he'd been drinking from the bottle. “My dear boy! I was just thinking about how I met you 10 years ago. That has to be at least 500 women ago."
Braedon smirked and looked the man over. While on first appearance it would seem as though Falstone had eaten more women than he'd bedded, the large, bearded man had his charms. There were few people who could hush a packed crowd with a simple half-true story the way Falstone could. Whether it was the adventurous tales or the family money that did it, he often left the bar with a girl on each arm.
Braedon remembered when he was wowed by it. He made no effort to replicate his friend's popularity, however, because he knew it was very likely to get back to his mother.
He took a sip of his ale. “And I'm sure you keep track of them all, Falstone, in a little black book."
The rotund knight clapped him on the shoulder and bellowed with laughter. Several others near the bar joined in his revelry.
"Five hundred is an estimate, of course. Besides, most nights I'm in no condition to be writing anything. Wouldn't want to accidentally sign away my inheritance to a girl I hardly knew.” His fake teeth showed through his beard. “Sounds like something your father would do.” Another laugh spread like wildfire.
Falstone always talked about Braedon's father. After the untimely death from a hunting accident, the portly noblemen said he would take the boy under his wing. Braedon's mother was less than pleased with the arrangement.
Since he'd come of age, Braedon had spent a fair amount of time among the heaviest drinkers in the land. As a result, he could tell he was the sharpest in the room, even with two drinks in his own system. He noticed an unmarked royal guard enter the building with an inconspicuous pouch.
Falstone's eyes grew wide. “Braedon, how long has your drink been empty?"
Braedon watched two more covert soldiers follow the man with the pouch. “And how long have you been as large as two men?”
The drunks beside them howled as Falstone put on a play frown for the crowd. The knight shook his cheeks as if trying to recover from a blow to the face. “It was long before your mother had to change your swaddling clothes three times a day. If my memory serves me correctly, that was just last week!"
The audience of their little exc
hange doubled over in laughter. Falstone gave Braedon a wink. Over his shoulder, the young man saw another two guards enter the room. They scanned their surroundings for danger before following in the direction their friends had gone.
Isn't this getting interesting…
Braedon contemplated what was in the pouch as he leaned toward the group of onlookers. “The only reason you know that is because you've been trying to catch a glimpse of me naked for years."
The men slammed their drinks onto the bar in delight. Two of them put their arms around Braedon as if they were best friends. In truth, he didn't know their names. He supposed there was no camaraderie quite so handsy as a bar friendship.
Falstone stood up to take back the attention. He grabbed a full mug from one of the men and tipped it toward his mouth. It took a few seconds, but he easily drank the entire thing. Then he tossed it behind him, where it expertly landed flipped onto its top. The happy mob cheered.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I think you had me mistaken all these years, my boy. See, the only one I wanted to see in the buff was your dear, sweet mother."
The walls of the tavern echoed with the loudest laughter and applause of the night. Braedon sensed the victory of the exchange had been awarded. He also watched as the final guard entered and snuck to the second floor.
That's a lot of guards for a little package.
Falstone walked over to his side and hugged Braedon with all his might. While the young man felt somewhat suffocated, he knew the rosy-cheeked idiot cared for him as much as any man. Maybe even as much as his father had.
"My friends, I watched this boy grow up from nothing, into…” The gaggle of drunks laughed in anticipation. “The fine young miscreant you see before you. When his father and I served in the war, who knew that I'd end up rich, and he'd end up bedding the finest woman in the land?”
Braedon glanced past the giggling rabble and through one of the windows to the outside. A blur went by for half a second. Nobody else would've caught it, but Braedon wasn't just anybody.
