Cinderella (Not quite the fairy tale Book 1)

by May Sage

  He’d asked his brother for the pleasure of his company that morning and Sandro had just laughed.

  To be entirely honest, he wasn’t exactly a festival kind of guy. When he wasn’t training, analysing their finances or surveying reports, Alessandro could generally be found reading; preferably in the woods.

  Dane found him doing just that, in one of the most secluded spots in the palace; the inner gardens accessible only through the king’s quarters.

  Neither of them where exactly what one would call sociable – however Sandro, lucky bugger, could actually do something about it from time to time.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked without so much as raising his head when he discerned the sound of his steps approaching.

  “We have to ensure that there is no war.”

  It wasn’t an enquiry, a request, an aspiration, but an artless, straightforward instruction.

  It was perhaps the one thing Dane was better at: inflexibility. Alessandro could be swayed, reasoned with. When Daniel De Luz believed in something, he made it happen. He’d believed, at just nineteen, that he could send his two hundred thousand soldiers home if he’d managed to get to the leaders of the attacks against Jereena, and he’d done it.

  Now he believed in peace and peace, they would achieve. The plan was already half formed in his mind; he’d thought of it without much conviction from the moment when whispers of hostilities had come from Ferren.

  Now, it was about executing it.

  “You’re to go to the Woodlands and reason with that Queen of their tomorrow. There’s no sense in waiting. Offer her the Faylands if you must; they’ve wanted it back since they’ve sold it to us. Once they show their hand, they should tip the scale in our favour. I’ll contact the Falls of Atlantis; if Krutia and Denker wish to attack, they will have to come to us by water. Having the merfolk on our side might make them think twice about attempting it. Publish that video showing off my flying. They’d do well to remember what they’re risking by attacking an Old Kingdom.”

  And that was it: the simple, straightforward play was strategically, almost surgically removing the poison from the wound by effectively cutting every access to Alenia while subtly bringing to their attention that their enemy wasn’t entirely human.

  Truth was, Dane was one very limited individual. He couldn’t exactly fly bombs and soldiers to the heart of their enemies.

  What he could do, though, was wish to win the war.

  Sandro gawked, apparently lost for words, before grinning from ear to ear.

  “Look at you! One would believe you still have a set of balls. She asked for you to stop the conflict, didn’t she?”

  “She didn’t have to, bro.”

  And that was the worrying thing; if she managed to have that much of an impact without asking, without even knowing, would there ever be any limit to what he might do for her?

  Chapter 11: Consequences.

  I have to go? I have to go. The guy gave her an outdoor orgasm at a damn festival and had to go afterwards.

  The very worst thing was that she hadn’t wanted him to – not even a little bit. What she’d desired had been to plant her claws inside his flesh and keep him against her, inside her.

  What the ever fucking hell. That was not going to fly well with her.

  He’d made her realise just how potent her desire for him could be and then, just up and left her!

  Damn if she didn’t hate him for it.

  Ella could have wished to be taller, have bigger feet; she could even have wished Lady Tremaine away but her mother’s words had rang to her hears each time she’d been tempted.

  Bear what you can, Cindy, and wish what you must.

  For one second at least, she felt that cursing Dane with an atrociously painful and irreversible case of blue balls was a must.

  Then, she decided that there were better ways to do just that and headed towards Fortown, grumbling all the way down.

  Payback was a bitch with a mean strike.

  Finding anything remotely useful wasn’t easy in the village; Fortown was the definition of a tourist trap, which meant that she would have had a hard time buying a pack of eggs. However, there were forty six souvenir shops, over fifteen coffee-place, twenty seven restaurants and a dozen of high-end boutiques.

  Ella remembered shopping there in her youth; Clara, the dressmaker of Jinx’s Design, had created most of her elaborated dresses and the artisan two street down had fashioned most of her handmade shoes.

  Given the fact that she paid over ten thousand marks per year for the sole privilege of being taught her future trade, she hadn’t had the money to spare on such trifles.

  But two weeks ago, a few days after the phone call whence she’d attempted to wiggle out of the current weekend, she’d received a very large cheque she hadn’t planned to bank. Still muttering, she swore to put it in her account as soon as humanly possible.

  Her destination, Lula’s Closet, was nestled in a little alley just off the principal street. Its vitrine was nothing like the colourful, inviting presentations brightening the rest of the own. It was dark, mysterious and sexy.

  Satin, velvet, deep red corsets and open crotch kinda sexy.

  It catered to all taste – wannabe sub, dom, teacher or pet, but also to the more refined side of naughtiness.

  Somewhere around her twelfth birthday, her mother had let her come along and she recalled how beautiful Cindrana had looked when she’d modelled babydolls, long form-fitting gowns with slits going on and on and on…

  Her mum had also bought her a delightful little bra with ribbons and lace, some silky underwear which hadn’t even remotely been suggestive.

  Ella passed by the demure, the fetish and the weird sections, heading for the realm of plain old bend-me-over-and-have-your-way-with-me.

  Hell if Daniel bloody de Luz was going to get away with making her want more from him. It wasn’t how their “friendship” worked. He was supposed to be salivating and she, the one who got to walk away unscratched.

  She bought a dress. She bought hosiery and matching underwear. She was handing her purchase over the counter, a self-satisfied smile creeping up, when the display against the wall caught her eyes.

  On a lit up rotating platform, in the middle of the third row of racy heels, there was a pair of shoes.

  They were simple court with an adorable bow at the back. What made them stand out was the fact that, save for the dark blue block heel, they were transparent and seemed to reflect the light, just like glass.

  “Plexi,” the vendor explained, catching the direction of her gaze. “There’s a sole glued underneath some and sort of gel inside to make them comfortable. My nephew made about twenty of those a few months back, before going off to uni; they sold on the day – should have got a contract out of him. He’ll go far, that kid.”

  “So, you kept them as a memento?”

  “Not really. He was good, but not that good. Misjudged the size on his first try, I reckon. They are so tiny it would only fit a six years old, I tell you.”

  Ella bit her lip, deliberating her course of action.

  Six years old was her size, which was also why she’d never, ever had any kind of actual feminine shoes to wear. The highest heels she’d ever found were something along the line of two inches tall.

  These heels were easily three and a half – If not four – inches and the midnight blue would match her lingerie.

  But then again, it was hardly her style.

  Liar, a little voice told her.

  Inwardly, she was drooling over those slippers.

  If her wardrobe was composed of various derivatives of cotton, it was out of necessity; when she’d had a say, she’d loved softness, girliness, a tiny bit of sparkle...

  Well, there would be no harm in trying them, right?

  •

  “That’s it. I give in. Send them all home. Now.”

  Alessandro just laughed. He somehow found the situation amusing.

  There w
as nothing remotely amusing about what was about to happen.

  He was seconds away from jumping on the fucking table, running straight to the cruel creature currently concealed under a dress crafter by some evil sorcerer and taking her there, in front of everyone.

  What he’d do to her was currently outlawed in seventeen countries.

  It was obvious that she’d meant to cause his despair. No woman goes from baggy t-shirts to that without reason.

  For all intent and purposes, Ella wasn’t wearing anything.

  The A line number poured on her curves wasn’t short or even a little bit revealing, but it was also made of some sort of sheer material; there was a slip underneath, but its beige matched her skin, calculated to give the illusion of nakedness.

  The design was perfect. Five out of five. Mission bloody accomplished. He’d been hard since she’d walked in and there was a chance he’d suffer from priapism for the foreseeable future. If it became permanent, he was going to find the designer and throw him in jail.

  The worst of it was that, in comparison to most, her attire would probably have been considered modest; it was a formal cocktail dress, rather than the dramatic eveningwear those who were still trying to get his attention had worn.

  “You’re in for a treat tonight,” Silvia commented, openly malicious.

  She was always verging towards callousness, but never had he been quite so tempted to punish her for it. Silvia was a bitch, but she had her reasons and besides, she was his sister; blood meant something to him.

  But then again, so did the engagement ring currently inside his jacket.

  He would be in for a treat tonight, but while it was something Sandro was very welcome to joke about, Silvia wasn’t teasing him: she was insulting Ella. The look he gave her was held a very real warning.

  He was not going to hear her spite his future wife.

  Chapter 12: Betrayal.

  Seven minutes, twenty eight second after she’d closed the door, it swung open and before she got a chance to turn around and take in the tornado suddenly invading her space, she was flat on her back, pushed against her bed.

  Her legs – hanging off the edge – wrapped around his waist as he pressed against her, letting her feel just how effective her get-up had been; he was hard everywhere. As her skirts had ridden up her legs, she felt it directly through a minimal amount of fabric.

  He didn’t kiss her; he fucked her mouth. It was intrusive, messy, erotic and highly addictive. Getting more of this could become her sole goal in life and she’d imagine she’d die happy.

  Quite suddenly, Dane froze, interrupting all movement and then, slowly distanced himself from her, taking one step back.

  And another.

  A third one.

  He looked horrified, stunned, a little bit frightened.

  His voice, when it finally came, was hoarse, breathless, dark and dangerously low, akin to an animal growl: “Remove it,” he ordered her. “Remove it all.”

  She looked down and realised that her underwear were on full display.

  Ella didn’t do trashy; most of the lingerie would have looked ridiculous on her – a child playing dress up with mama’s clothes. She’d gone for what she could pull off: playful, girly. Long white Stockings with tiny blue bows, a lace thong. She got to her feet and obeyed his request, slowly pulling her dress up.

  She caught her gaze in the full length mirror behind him and smiled. For once, even the hair was working for her: it brought a tiny bit of wildness to the good girl thing she had going on.

  “No,” he growled when she made a move to touch her feet. “The shoes stay.”

  “Poor you,” she replied sweetly, conveying a world of condescendence. “You think you’re in charge.”

  The thing was, he really hadn’t been, at first; she had been second away front turning around to give him a full view of exactly what he was missing, before bidding him good night.

  But there was one teeny tiny problem with her plan; it hadn’t taken into consideration the possibility of Dane removing his jacket, his shirt and his trousers, item by item, just as leisurely, sensually as she had.

  Fucking shitty hell.

  Back to the incoherent swearing, but damn, he was hot. His large shoulders, the define line of muscles covered in dark tousled chest hair, the narrower hips and those little lines leading to the bulge inside his white boxers…

  She wasn’t able to move – let alone talk – when he came back to her. He was standing there, a breath apart, and it was impossible to recall the details of the plan.

  Dane held out his hand to her stomach but the simple touch somehow electrified everything else inside her. He pushed her backwards, ever so gently. She was back on the bed but this time, he sized her waist and pulled her up, until they’d reached her pillows.

  “How’s that friendship thing working out for you?” he murmured against her ear before biting the lob.

  Fuck. How the hell did he do that? Her guts clenched, reacting to everything; his voice, his smell, his teeth, the sensations his breathing against her neck caused.

  He kissed his way down from her lips to her hips; then his lips brushed her clit through the sheer lace and oh, yes! He smiled and bit at the nub.

  There were women on every single suite in the east wing of the palace; Ella had a neighbour each side of her room, so she attempted to stay as quiet as possible.

  She failed.

  Dane kissed the inside of her thigh, all the way down to her feet.

  Then he removed her right shoe and unexpectedly brought one of her toes to his lips.

  Why was that sensual?

  In her desperation, Ella grabbed a pillow and covered her moans as best as she could.

  He kissed his way back up to her, before propping himself up on one elbow and settling down next to her.

  “Seriously. We should talk about your exams, or the country’s finances. No, I know. Let’s plait each other’s hair.”

  “Fuck you,” she spat, pushing him down on his back with all the strength she could muster before shifting position.

  Now she was on top of him, his flesh between her legs, pulsing at every breath.

  Just so he understood just how torturous his administration had been, she returned the favour, grinding against him as her lips, nails and tongue grazed him. She took particular care with his nipples as she felt him clench when sucked them hard.

  She was back on her back in two seconds flat, and her legs were up against his left shoulders. Dane removed his boxer, revealing just how big he was and then, he was pushing his way inside her.

  Unsurprisingly, it hurt for a moment.

  “Oh bloody fucking hell, no,” he said.

  Good to know that she wasn’t the only one who resorted to inane cursing.

  “God, woman you can’t do that to a man without warning.”

  “Shut up and fuck me.”

  Thankfully for the sake of his balls, the King obeyed. He thrust inside her slowly at first, and if the beads of sweat glistening on his tan were any indication, his restraint was costing a tremendous amount of self-control.

  She didn’t want self-control.

  Untangling her legs from his hold, she pushed them apart, secured them on either side of him and pushed up to meet him hallway, imposing her rhythm.

  That’s when he lost it and that was good.

  Ella hadn’t had the time for sex. No, to be entirely honest, she hadn’t taken the time for sex, because she saw it as one of those necessary steps, filling in a purpose on the grand scheme of things; we grow up, pair up, have sex to make baby and then, we die.

  She hadn’t paired up with anyone so the whole sex thing had seemed like an elusive, remote possibility.

  No one had actually told her that it would make her feel like this.

  There was a furnace inside her, burning hotter every time Dane pushed himself inside her. A little while ago, she could only fit the tip of his length; now he clapped against her butt at each thrust, lou
d, wet, wild.

  He was pushing so hard into her it was a miracle the bed hadn’t given out.

  At some point, Ella noticed the noises. A woman was screaming close by; begging for someone, something. It took a while to realise that the sounds came from her; they were entirely foreign. Everything happening to her senses was entirely foreign.

  Dane’s voice joined in, groaning, growling, calling out to her.

  Then, suddenly, something tipped offer and every muscle, every tense, intensely contracted part of her inner flesh were simultaneously exploding.

  It wasn’t pain or pleasure, but both. Then, coming back down from her high, what she felt was complete, total, utter contentment, fullness, fulfilment.

  Dane’s head fell next to hers; he was breathing out harder than ever but he’d also relaxed.

  So that was why people had sex.

  Ella unexpectedly jolted awake at the sound of a bell; the digital alarm on her bedside table showed it was quarter to twelve. Still the middle of the night. She would have attempted to go back to sleep but her stomach groaned in protest.

  She turned to face her companion, wondering if she’d waken him; if she had, she had an idea of how to make up for it. And at least she could ask if the kitchens would be opened at this time.

  However, while the spot next to her still warm, it was also empty.

  Not surprising; he could hardly waltz out of her room the next morning, when the corridors would be littered with dozens of other women, but she felt his absence all the same.

  It wasn’t pleasant. Something inside her was… disorientated.

  She frowned, disturbed at the prospect of becoming needy after one night with him; it didn’t bode well with her.

  After stretching with a lazy yawn, she propped herself on her feet and blushed at the sensitivity of her flesh. There was no denying that something – something big – had been inside her a few hours ago.

  Her inside clenched when she recalled how he’d made her feel; god that had been good.