The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  I secured my grip, keeping her in place. “Be still.”

  “Not them,” she beseeched. “Please, not them.”

  Them? The guards? As I descended, her quaking magnified, baffling me. Leonora had feared nothing and no one, but Ashleigh was terrified of avian soldiers who wouldn’t touch her without my express permission? Why?

  I landed as gently as possible, a courtesy Ashleigh didn’t deserve. As I strode forward, my bracelets clinked together, the noise actually calming her, as if her thoughts had just curved into a new road.

  She buried her face in the hollow of my neck and asked, “What do the bracelets mean?”

  “That is none of your concern,” I replied, giving her back her own words. Each band pointed to a significant event that had occurred or would occur in my life. The day of my birth. The battles I’d won, and the warriors I’d killed. One day, I would give the marriage bracelet to my wife and queen, whoever she happened to be. “You, fetch Eve,” I demanded, motioning to a nearby guard. I wished my friend Vikander were here to aid me instead of these strangers. I trusted the fae prince in ways I didn’t trust the avian. Unfortunately the irreverent warrior with a taste for sex and fine wine had been called home for an emergency.

  Ashleigh lifted her head, and she was nibbling on her bottom lip again, drawing my attention there, making my gut clench. “Who is Eve?” she asked.

  “My second-in-command. At the moment.”

  Adriel, the one posted in front of the tent, opened the flap and stepped aside. As I strode past him, Ashleigh watched the male the way a wounded animal watched an approaching hunter. Only when the flap swished behind us, sealing us inside, did the tension seep from her.

  I set her down, glad to have her out of my arms. Yes, glad. “I’m going to untie your wrists. If you use your magic, I’ll cut off one of your hands. If you attempt an escape, I’ll cut off one of your feet.” It was the Craven way.

  The Leonora way? To do it, anyway.

  “Would you really mutilate me?” Ashleigh asked.

  Always follow through. But...

  “Enough conversation.” I palmed a dagger and cut the tie as promised.

  She scanned the area with growing horror, taking in the mess I’d created just for her. “This is where you’re staying?”

  A slow grin spread. “It is.” The other two Leonoras had despised cleaning. In fact, during both of our first and second lifetimes, we’d argued about her messiness, how she would drop whatever she didn’t want on the floor, wherever she happened to be, expecting servants to clean for her.

  That’s what you pay them for, she’d liked to say, and the lack of respect had infuriated me. Now I had the distinct pleasure of offering a small measure of restitution to all the servants she’d abused, while proving the truth about her identity to Noel.

  She is Leonora. She is.

  “You will clean my tent from top to bottom, and you will do it before midnight.” No one could finish in that time frame. Would she burn everything in a fit of pique? “If you fail to complete your task, I’ll give you another. And do not think to shout for help. There is a spell around the cloth, preventing the escape of sound.”

  As she sputtered, I slipped the satchel’s strap over her head.

  “Hey! That’s mine.” Her nostrils flared as she grappled for the bag. “Give it back, Saxon. Now.”

  “You have nothing until I say so, remember?” I held the bag so high she couldn’t reach it, even when she jumped.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Take my things, and I will punish you.”

  Hadn’t she already?

  My hatred resurged with a vengeance. “I’ve changed my mind, Princess. Finish cleaning the tent before sunset.” With that, I strode out of the tent, the satchel in hand.

  I never looked back.

  4

  Grab a mop, grab a broom,

  brush and clean away your gloom.

  Ashleigh

  He’d just left me here?

  I should rejoice. The wicked warlord was gone. At least for a little while. On the inside, however, I remained a bundle of nerves and confusion.

  The second the avian prince had wrapped his arms around me, I’d experienced a sense of true comfort. Comfort. From the source of my discomfort. How could it be? But then, how could it not be? It had felt like we were hugging. The first hug I’d received since my mother’s death. And how sad was that?

  My shoulders wilted. He had an army at his disposal. I stood alone, always alone, the girl who would never be as good as her stepsister, who wasn’t worthy of meeting her stepmother, who hadn’t even known she had a new family until today. The girl whose own father had greeted her coldly. A princess in title only, still mockingly referred to as the Glass Princess. Mostly, I was Saxon’s enemy, doomed to endure his wrath for three weeks.

  I needed a fairy godmother. But when had a fairy godmother ever come to save me?

  Pitying yourself? Enough. So my life had gotten worse instead of better today? So what? Tomorrow, things would improve. I just had to clean this tent in an impossible amount of time, prove the sincerity of my apology to the avian prince who hated me, and make my father proud along the way. No big deal.

  Wow. I’d really thought I was going to go a different way with my pep talk. I could only swallow a whimper as I swept my gaze around the tent. Never, in all my days, had I beheld such an awful mess. And I’d had to clean the Temple after every holiday and celebration.

  Mud caked everything. Shattered glass and splintered wood littered the ground. Every piece of furniture and every potted plant had been overturned. A bed of fur lay in tangles, the covers in tatters. My only supplies? A bucket of water and a rag.

  If I’d had a good, solid year before sunset, I could have done it.

  Did Saxon want me to fail, just so he could make me suffer the consequences?

  Devious avian. Well, too bad, so sad. I would give this cleaning everything I had. I would give each of his tasks everything I had. I might be weak physically, but I had book smarts and determination, both of which had helped me thrive at the Temple. With hard work and thought, I could overcome anything. Then, Saxon would have no excuse to lash out at me, and the monthly attacks would cease.

  Oh, how wonderful. I’d just found the silver lining to my situation: outsmarting Saxon. And stopping the attacks, of course. So, I pasted on a happy smile because presentation mattered. The prince was absent, yes, but he might be watching me through some kind of magic mirror. I’d heard rumors about such things.

  “What shall I do first?” I said, performing a little twirl for Saxon’s benefit, just in case. I thought...yes. I would start with an extraction and haul out the broken things, the clumps of mud—Whoa. Hang on. Did I really want to go outside where the avian soldiers waited? Trio was among them, and his glare had promised another stoning at his earliest convenience.

  I shuddered. All right, new plan. Toss everything outside the tent, without ever actually leaving the tent. No problem.

  Humming, I rigged the door flap to remain open, then hurled the first pieces of glass and wood through it.

  Protests sounded outside, and I held my breath. One minute passed. Two. No one entered the tent to chastise me, so I relaxed. Had they been ordered to leave the maid alone?

  My gain, Saxon’s loss. His greed to hoard my misery for himself would cost him. I discarded more glass...the remains of a chair...a cracked pot.

  As I righted a trunk, a family of spidorpions darted away from it and me, and I yelped. The spider/scorpion hybrids produced a terrible venom I’d rather not deal with today. A bite always resulted in fever, aches and pains, and sometimes vomiting.

  Once my heartbeat slowed down, I returned to my cleaning. Ohhh. What did we have here? One...three...six solid gold nails. As sneakily as possible, I buried each one, along with a few of the sturdiest
sticks. Nothing to see here, Prince Saxon. Later, I could make spiked daggers.

  All right. Back to work.

  By the end of the first hour, I was soaked in sweat and panting up a storm. My feet ached, but miracle of miracles, I hadn’t collapsed.

  During the second hour, the panting turned to wheezing. Even still, I continued to make progress. Having cleared an area for the bed, I sat down to untie the knots in the furs, sneaking a rest now and then. When I finished, I stood—

  Nope. My legs refused to support my weight. I tried again, only to crash back into the furs.

  Frustrated, I gazed about and mentally cataloged the remaining chores. Ugh. So many. Repotting the plethora of plants. Scrubbing mud from the walls. Arranging the usable furniture—a round table, a single chair and a privacy screen. Discarding everything else.

  I wasn’t going to be halfway finished when Saxon returned, was I? My best wasn’t going to be good enough.

  No. Every problem had a solution. Especially my problems, considering I had my own personal prophecy and the accompanying fairy tale, “The Little Cinder Girl,” to act as my guide.

  Woe is she. Woe is she. The Glass Princess, born twice in one day. Two heads, one heart. To purge or merge? One heart, two heads. To merge or purge? One brings a blessing. One brings a curse. Only she can choose. Only she can fight. The ball. The shoe. Diiiing. Diiiiing. Diiiiiiiiing. At the stroke of midnight, all is revealed. Who will live and who will die when past, present, and future collide? Let the fire rage—let the flame purify. Let the world burn, burn, burn.

  My prophecy was spoken the day of my birth, and it was the reason my parents had known I was the living incarnation of a character in “The Little Cinder Girl”...they just didn’t know which one.

  Sometimes, as I’d wiled away my days at the Temple, I’d begun to hope I was the star, the motherless Cinder, forced to wear rags and clean for the ungrateful. And now, knowing my father had married a woman with two daughters of her own, I shared an even greater connection to the cinder girl. But, honestly, similar pasts didn’t always matter. As I’d heard my father mumble a time or twenty, story details were almost always symbolic. Death could represent a new beginning. A birth could represent the start of something.

  What’s more, the fairy tale claimed Cinder was “Strong of heart and fast as wind. A warrior set apart, unwilling to bend.”

  I was the opposite of strong of heart, and I was as fast as a snail. I definitely wasn’t a warrior. Try fragile sickling.

  The story claimed a prince would be her friend and a foe. Like everything else, the title of prince could be literal or symbolic. I wasn’t sure friend could be interpreted any other way, though, and I had no friends. I had no enemies, either. Well, other than Saxon. For all I knew, I represented Cinder’s slipper—the thing upon which she tread. I was the Glass Princess, after all.

  Unlike me, Cinder had fairy godmothers. But I had grit and determination—and the ability to be my own fairy godmother.

  That’s it. When a fairy godmother issued an order, she expected compliance. I could force the avian soldiers to aid me, without violating Saxon’s wishes. I wouldn’t be shouting for help; I would be demanding it.

  Thanks to the spell that stopped the escape of sound, the soldiers hadn’t overheard my conversation with their crown prince, so they didn’t know what I’d been ordered to do. Could I approach the soldiers, though, without being pelted with stones?

  Only one way to find out...

  I gathered what remained of my strength, my grit and determination helping me stand at last. On trembly legs I staggered to the open door. After lifting my head and squaring my shoulders—deep breath in, out—I did the smartest, dumbest thing of my life and stepped outside, walking past the avian as if I hadn’t a care.

  Night hadn’t yet fallen. The glass I’d thrown littered the ground and crunched underneath the threadbare soles of my slippers. All other debris had been cleared away, however.

  Trio soared over and landed in front of me, as I’d expected. He blocked my path and drew his sword, his teeth bared. “I hoped you would mount an escape. We have orders to stop you.”

  Figured. My heart galloped. Faster, harder. Too hard, too fast. Deep breath in. Out. Forcing an airy laugh, I waved a dismissive hand. “Escape? You silly rabbit.” Rabbit—a grave insult to the avian, who believe rabbits to be the weakest of all the land’s creatures. “As if I’d leave my darling Saxon. We’ve decided to work on our relationship.” All true. In a way. Kind of. “He’s requested a clean tent, yet here you stand, doing nothing. It’s shameful. Have you so little respect for your future king?”

  His cheeks speckled with anger. He took a step toward me, then ground to a halt. He couldn’t touch me, one way or the other, I realized. Also, he hadn’t denied anything I’d said. For all he knew, I was Saxon’s soon-to-be beloved queen, my word law.

  I almost grinned at the thought of wielding such power over him. “I’ve done enough of your work, haven’t I?” I glanced over my shoulder at each of the other avian to make it clear I addressed them all. “Get in there, and get busy.” I turned and marched back into the tent.

  Had my confidence sold my claims? I held my breath, waiting, one second...two...three...

  The avian filed into the tent, one after the other, and I released a silent squeal of happiness. Ashleigh: 1. Saxon: 0.

  The guards got busy, hauling out the rest of the debris in record time. I watched from the pallet of furs and issued instructions like a spoiled royal princess who believed she had every right and deserved every luxury. Broken furniture got fixed. Plants got righted and repotted. Mud was washed away.

  “You’ve done an adequate job,” I said when they finished. “Now get out and think about how you almost failed your leader and his treasured liaison today.” I shooed everyone away. The more distance between us, the better. The faster the better.

  To my surprise, they obeyed once again. Of course, Trio lingered in the doorway, his narrowed gaze leveled on me.

  “If you lied about Saxon’s wishes, you’ll—”

  “Regret it, I know.” I rolled my eyes to mask my internal shudder. “Trust me, that threat never gets old.”

  He stomped out, muttering under his breath. Didn’t like when the predator became prey, huh? As the flap swished closed behind him, I fell back onto the furs. I’d done it. I’d gotten the tent cleaned in record time, without taking a single stone to the face.

  Three more tasks like this, Saxon? How hard can they be?

  When would he return? I couldn’t wait to see his expression.

  As one minute bled into another, I forgot all about the avian, savoring my victory...reveling in the softness of the furs...mmm. My eyelids grew heavy and slowly slid shut. I should stand... I should...sleeeep.

  * * *

  Angry voices drifted into the tent, yanking me from a dark void and into light. One of those voices belonged to Saxon. Memories of our newest fight flooded me, and I gasped, jolting upright. I braced for impact.

  The avian prince strode past the tent flap, the master of all he surveyed. The sight of him... What remained of my fatigue vanished in a flash. Awareness of him overtook me. My blood heated, and my limbs trembled as if...

  No. No, no, no. I couldn’t be attracted to him. Not him. Anyone but the boy who sought my misery.

  Fury pulsed from him as he scanned the sparkling clean tent. Uh-oh. Had the soldiers already tattled?

  “Just like she would have done,” he spat.

  She? “Before you complain,” I rushed out, only to rethink my words. “Don’t you dare complain. You told me the tent had to be cleaned before sunset, not that I had to be the one to clean it. I adhered to your rules and met your expected end. One round of restitution has been achieved.”

  The fury intensified. “You’re right. My mistake.”

  Such a rumbly voic
e. One side of me shivered, the other shuddered. Both sides of me had heard his unspoken vow: A mistake I won’t make again.

  “Why did you have to approach me at the funeral? If you’d just stayed away—” I pressed my lips together, going quiet. Yelling my grievances wasn’t the way to get him to hear me. He’d only go on the defensive. Moderating my tone, I told him. “I bore you no ill feelings. Yet, even as my mother’s body burned, you glared at me, as if you were enraged. What possible reason could you have to attack a fourteen-year-old girl who’d just lost the only parent who loved her?”

  “I never attacked you.” He moved to inspect one of the potted plants and crossed his arms over his chest, a pillar of resentment. “As for my rage...you know why.”

  “I don’t!”

  He flicked his tongue over an incisor before looking at the plant as if it were one of his guards and demanding, “Are you hearing this?”

  Um...

  Scowling, he abandoned his plant companion, dragged the trunk directly in front of me, and sat down, careful of his wings. “We have a past, you and I.”

  He said no more, yet flutters erupted in my belly. I drew in a deep breath. I meant to clear my head, but I drew in his scent. He still smelled like a summer rain, and I wanted to close my eyes and savor. “A past? What kind of past?”

  Ignoring my question, he stretched his legs in my direction. “Remove my boots.”

  I gaped at him. Had he really...? “Is this my second task?”

  “This is you fulfilling your duties as my servant.”

  “Don’t you mean palace liaison?” I folded my arms, not removing his boots. “This supposed past of ours. Are you referring to a time before our encounter in the royal garden?”

  “Why? Have you recalled a time before our encounter in the royal garden?” He cocked a brow, so arrogant he offended me on every level. Almost every level. Some levels. One or two, surely. “The boots.”

  Fine. For reparation, for my father, for answers, I would do what Saxon asked. Forcing a smile, I moved closer to work on the strings. “How long before our encounter in the garden?”