by Amy Sumida
“Not me.” Ava grimaced. “Braxton kicked me out of the auditioning room when that woman walked in. He'll know it's not me.”
“Fine, then we'll focus on your sisters,” Stepmother said harshly, and Ava's face fell. “Hazel, Kaylee, today we will begin primping you to appear more like the mystery woman. What did she look like?”
They looked blankly at their mother.
I poured their tea and backed away, hiding my smirk. I busied myself at the side table, too interested in their conversation to leave.
“Did neither of you see her?” Stepmother screeched.
“We didn't get a good look,” Kaylee huffed. “You were there, Mother, you saw how quickly she was taken in the back room, and then how she ran out. Did you get a good look?”
“Do not be disrespectful to me, girl!” Stepmother slapped Kaylee hard.
Kaylee held her cheek and cringed in her seat.
“I saw her,” Ava said smugly.
“Well?” Stepmother looked to Ava.
“As if I'd help you after you tossed me aside.”
“You will help me because if you don't, I will have you whipped!”
Ava paled.
“She had dark hair,” Ava whispered, “nearly black. And ...” she frowned as she tried to remember. “Pale skin that was so perfect, it glowed. Her cheeks were flushed with health, and her eyes were large; almond shaped, I think.”
I made an impressed face at the wall. Ava was more observant than I'd thought.
“Very good,” her mother purred. “We shall purchase some dye today.”
I glanced back at Kaylee and Hazel. They were both wearing horrified expressions. Kaylee had platinum blonde hair, and Hazel had golden brown. They both loved their hair and spent hours washing, brushing, and braiding it every day. I turned away to hide my smile.
“And we shall rub a mixture of lemon and salt into your skin,” Stepmother went on. “That will lighten your complexions.”
“Mother,” Kaylee whined. “We'd have to sit with that gunk on us for hours for it to have an affect.”
She was right; my stepsisters had olive complexions like their mother. Lightening their skin was nearly impossible.
“And your eyes”–Stepmother tapped her finger on the table–“easily altered with kohl. We shall have you mimicking this mystery woman in no time.”
“But I don't want to dye my hair,” Hazel said.
“Do you want brown hair or do you want to be queen?” Stepmother asked.
The girls shut up.
“Madelyn,” Stepmother called to me, “go and make a paste of salt and lemon juice.” She looked over her daughters critically. “Several jars worth. Then help my daughters apply it until it begins to lighten their skin.”
“Yes, Ma'am,” I said brightly, and then rushed into the kitchen.
The act of torturing my stepsisters, alone, made everything worthwhile.
Chapter Eight
I was taking a break from bleaching my stepsisters when I heard hoof beats. I looked up from the bucket of water I'd just drawn from the well and saw Prince Weston riding his horse into the courtyard. He dismounted with a jump and came striding over to me. I dipped my clay cup into the bucket of water and took a long sip as I surveyed him.
Weston was the most devilishly handsome of the brothers. His raven hair brought out the emerald of his eyes while the golden tan of his skin kept him from looking unhealthy. He was the most fit of the brothers too, with muscles that went on for days and a rugged jawline. I had sex with that man. A shiver rushed through me.
I took another sip.
“Madelyn,” Weston said with a voice reserved for bedrooms, “it's good to see you again.”
“Is it?” I asked him. “Would you like a drink?” I offered him my cup.
“I ...” Weston looked as if he'd refuse at first, but then a softness infused his features, and he reached for the cup. “Yes; it's been a hot ride.”
“I'll bet,” I huffed.
“Excuse me?” He asked after he took a long gulp.
“I said 'I'll bet,'” I repeated. “It's a warm day, and you're wearing velvet.” I motioned to his tunic. “Don't you have anything in linen?”
“Ah.” Weston looked himself over. “I suppose I'm unaccustomed to riding long hours in the sun. It never occurred to me to dress more appropriately.”
“Must be nice.” I chuckled.
“You know, now that you mention it, it is,” he said with amusement. “I haven't appreciated my life as I should.”
“That sounded like an epiphany,” I noted. “You get all that from a drink of water?”
“I got all that from a few words exchanged with you.” He blinked in surprise. “You're very easy to talk to.”
“You're the first person to say so.”
“How surprising.”
“What's surprising is the lack of sarcasm in your tone,” I said.
“And you're funny.” He frowned. “You remind me of ...”
“Yes?” I asked with lifted brows.
He eased closer and looked into my eyes.
“I have the strangest feeling that we know each other,” his voice dropped to a purr, “intimately.”
“Whoa!” I held up a hand and eased backward. “That's a little too much pressure on this country girl. Ease your intimacies out of my vicinity, Your Highness.”
“You have the strangest manner,” he said. “I think I like it.”
“You're looking for another woman, remember?”
“Yes”–he blinked in confusion–“perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” I asked him. “How fickle. Fickle and typical... typfick.”
“Typfick?”
“Well, you can't combine them the other way because although they'd be spelled differently, they'd still sound the same: typickle or fical.”
“You could remove a couple of letters... no, that would make it tickle and file or pickle and ick. Oh, never mind.”
I burst into laughter and then covered my mouth in shock. “I've never had anyone understand my word games.”
“I like words.” He shrugged. “Words carry weight, and each one can mean many different things depending on how you say them.”
“Yes! Exactly.” I smiled, and then it softened as I stared into his eyes.
“Madelyn!” Hazel shouted.
“I have to go,” I whispered.
Weston glanced at the house and then back to me. “Can I come by to visit you again?”
“You want to come back and see me?” I asked in surprise.
“Madelyn!” Kaylee added her shout to her sister's. “This stuff is starting to burn!”
Weston scowled at the house before looking back at me. “Yes, perhaps when you're not so busy with burning women.”
“Yeah, sure,” I huffed and headed inside.
“Madelyn,” he called out.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for the water.”
Chapter Nine
I was scrubbing dye from my fingers, bent over a bucket in the backyard when I heard another rider approaching. I smiled to myself as I dried my hands on my skirts and turned to the sound of footsteps.
“Back so soon?” I asked, expecting to see Weston. “Oh, hello.”
“Who did you think I was?” Braxton lifted a brow.
“Nobody,” I said evasively.
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Do you have a lover, Madelyn?” His voice was clipped.
“How is that any of your concern?”
He blinked, looking away, and then said, “I have no idea. My apologies.”
“It's forgotten,” I said airily. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”
“Well,” he fumbled for words, “I... we have been searching for Lily again.”
“Yes?” I smiled sweetly.
“Um, I'm not sure why I'm here.” Braxton sighed. “For some reason, you make me feel better, and I've had a very frustrating day. I rode here in a furious s
tate, but as soon as I saw you, I felt instantly better.”
“That's strange,” I noted. “Do you want to sit down?”
I waved a hand toward the garden bench, just a dirty, crumbling piece of stone, and he scowled at it. I hid my smile, thinking he'd surely refuse to sit on such a mediocre piece of furniture. I went over and took a seat, and his expression changed immediately. He hurried over and sat beside me.
I pressed my lips together so that I wouldn't smirk.
“Do you want to tell me about your day?” I asked him.
“I suppose,” he whispered as he stared at me. “You have this look to you ...”
“How are you searching for Lily?” I asked him before he studied me too closely.
“Uh ...” Braxton blinked rapidly and then suddenly remembered. “Oh, yes, the slipper.”
“The slipper?” I asked.
“Lily left a shoe behind. It fell from her foot as she ran away,” he explained. “It's quite unusual and also very small.”
“Small?” I huffed. “Why do you say that?”
“It is.” He shrugged. “We noticed right away. Lily is the most beautiful, delicate woman I've ever met, and her feet are just as dainty as the rest of her.”
“Really?” I chuckled, absently patting the weight of the slipper in my apron pocket.
“Yes, indeed,” he said earnestly. “I know how this sounds, but we've been taking the slipper to every maiden in the kingdom, asking them to try it on.”
“You've what?” I gaped at him. “Why the hell would you take my–er–the slipper to all those women? Can't you tell if you've found Lily just by looking?”
“Honestly”–he sighed deeply–“it's all become a bit of a blur to us. She was there, and we held her, and then she ran away. I can just remember the curve of her cheek if I concentrate... hard ...” he trailed off as he stared at my cheek.
“Prince Braxton?” I snapped my fingers in between us.
“Huh?” He looked up into my eyes.
Braxton's ultramarine eyes went even bluer as he stared at me. They distracted me for a moment, as did the angles of his cheekbones until I remembered that I was trying to stop him from staring and had ended up doing the very same thing.
“Why are you making these women try on the glass slipper?”
“Oh, because it's so tiny, no one can fit it.” He smiled brilliantly. “We're certain that our Lily will be the only one who can fit the slipper, and when we find her ...” he trailed off again. “I never mentioned that the slipper was made of glass.”
“Sure you did,” I said hurriedly. “Now, what were you saying? When you find her, you'll what?”
“We're going to marry her,” he declared.
“What; all of you?” I scoffed.
“Yes.” Braxton smiled again as he snatched up my hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Madelyn, you've given me a moment of reprieve that I dearly needed.”
He stood and strode off.
“Sure, anytime,” I huffed. “Take all the reprieve you need.”
Chapter Ten
That evening, I was dumping the dirty water from my mop bucket out into the grass when the final brother arrived. My hair was tied up in a kerchief, and I was sweaty from the day's labors. I looked down at my rumpled clothes and red hands and shook my head. He wouldn't be sticking around very long.
“Good evening, Madelyn,” Ashton said as he walked up.
“Your Highness,” I bobbed a curtsy. “Sorry, I didn't know you were coming, or I would have put on my good gown.”
He chuckled and lifted a satchel to show me. “Are you hungry? I've brought dinner.”
“For me?” I scowled.
“Of course, for you,” he said. “Do you see anyone else here?”
“Why is a prince bringing a servant girl dinner?” I asked him pointedly. “Don't you have servants at the castle you can cook for?”
Ashton smiled and shook his head. “How do you manage to lift my spirits while simultaneously insulting me?”
“That wasn't insulting,” I huffed as I leaned against the doorway. “But if you want to stick around, I can try harder.”
He burst into laughter.
“Come inside then.” I waved toward the kitchen. “We can eat by the fire.”
“Thank you.” he followed me in.
I watched him as he looked around the tidy kitchen. I had cleaned everything and put it all away for the night. My pallet was laid out in front of a small fire, an old pillow and worn blanket spread over it. There was a jug of water on the heavy wood table, sitting beside a plate with some leftovers I saved from the meal I'd served my stepmother and stepsisters. Ashton looked it all over with a smile at first, but it quickly changed to a scowl.
“Is this your dinner?” He asked as he set the satchel down beside the plate of chicken scraps.
“Hey, I cooked that,” I huffed.
“I just mean that there's not a lot of it,” he said softly.
“Well, they don't exactly save me a portion.”
“I see.” Ashton stared at the pallet. “Is that where you sleep? In the cinders?”
“It's warmest there.” I shrugged. “The kitchen can get drafty.”
“But don't you have a room?”
I laughed, and he scowled deeper.
“Do the other servants have rooms?”
“What other servants?”
“You run this manor all by yourself?” He lifted his brows.
“We all do what we have to do.”
“But why? Why stay here if they treat you so badly?”
“This is my home,” I said. “I was born here. I know every corner of this place.”
“You were born here?” He frowned. “Then where are your parents? Did they work here as servants too?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I said as I gathered some plates and mugs for us.
I took a seat at the table, pulled the satchel to me, and started emptying it. There was a nice loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, a whole chicken wrapped in muslin, fruit, and wine. My stomach rumbled.
“I can't help it,” Ashton said as he sat across from me. “You interest me.”
“I'm not all that unusual.” I cut the bread and laid a slice on the plate before him.
“Yes, you are,” he insisted as he poured our wine. “You're extremely well-spoken, with a direct manner and an honesty that you don't find in servants. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a lady.”
“I'm no lady,” I whispered.
“Tell me more about yourself,” he urged.
“No, it's not a happy story; not good dining talk at all,” I said crisply. “Tell me about you instead. What was it like growing up as a prince?”
“What was it like?” He looked confused at first, then a little sad. “No one has ever asked me that.”
“I wouldn't have thought it would be a bad question,” I noted his expression. “Or that it would be difficult to answer.”
“It's not”–he swallowed roughly–“but it's also not the happiest of stories.”
“Being a prince isn't fun?” I teased him. “It seems a far cry better than my life.”
“It is a good life,” he admitted. “I'm not trying to complain, especially not to a servant. How horrid would that be?”
“Pretty horrid.” I smirked as I doled out chicken, then cheese.
“I was the first born,” he said. “I was coddled and spoiled, but I was also smothered. My parents didn't know if they'd have more children, much less sons, so I was treasured like an expensive pet. I spent all of my early years indoors.”
“Really?” I blinked in surprise.
“They couldn't risk me getting injured.” He nodded. “I wasn't allowed to play with anything that might hurt me either, not even allowed to sit on a rocking horse.”
“Ridiculous,” I huffed.
“Yes, just so,” he agreed. “It wasn't until Weston was born that I had any freedom. Even then, it came slowly. By the time Brax
ton came along, things were much better, but it's hard to get over the feeling of being imprisoned in your own home.”
“Now that, I can understand,” I whispered as I looked around the kitchen. “As much as I want to leave this life, it will be hard to leave this house.”
“So, you are going to leave?”
“Soon, I think.” I set my stare on him firmly. “One way or another.”
“Good for you,” he smiled, but it wasn't frivolous. Ashton smiled at me like I was a kindred spirit, one he was rooting for. “I will have a heavy heart when I leave tonight, knowing that you're sleeping on that stone hearth, but the thought that you shan't be there for long will help ease my mind.”
I stared at him, an awful feeling filling my stomach. A feeling that told me in no uncertain terms that I had been wrong about the brothers... in so many ways.
Chapter Eleven
“That's it, just like that, Duchess,” a male voice growled.
I stopped short, just as I was passing the library. The pocket doors hadn't been shut all the way, and a crack of sunlight spilled through them onto the hallway carpet. I crept closer and took a look through the crack.
“Now, get up and bend over,” the King said. “I want to fuck your ass.”
“No, Your Majesty, please, not there,” my Stepmother begged.
My eyes widened as I watched the King push her over the back of the loveseat.
“Do you want my sons to bring that slipper here or not?” He asked her.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she muttered.
“Good, and pull out your titties,” the King motioned someone forward. “I want Bernard to get a good look at them. In fact, Bernard, pull your cock out, man. You deserve a good sucking.”
The man smirked as he did as his king bade, kneeling on the loveseat before my stepmother.
“Your Majesty!” My Stepmother protested. “That is too much to ask.”
“Suck his cock, or my sons will pass by this house again,” the King said as he thrust himself into her. “Come now, Duchess, every mother is paying the toll. Don't you want your daughters to have a shot at being a princess?”
