by Kaylin Lee
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Fated
Cinderella’s Story
Destined Series, Book 1
KAYLIN LEE
FATED: CINDERELLA’S STORY
Copyright © 2017 by Kaylin Lee
First Edition
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact:
Kaylin Lee
http://www.kaylinleewrites.com
Editing by Kathrese McKee of Word Marker Edits
Cover design by Victoria Cooper Designs
ISBN-13: 978-1973806196
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
There’s more to the story…
Sign up for Kaylin Lee’s new release email list at http://smarturl.it/torn-freebie and get the free prequel to Fated, a 12,000-word novelette called Torn. Torn is a short story set two years before Fated begins and can be read before or after Fated.
For my parents, who taught me to love stories, listened to my own crazy stories, and somehow always had time for another trip to the local library.
Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.
Machiavelli
Chapter 1
“Ella, they’ve set a date for Prince Estevan’s selection ball. It’s this summer!” Alba spread the Procus Society pages of the Herald across the breakfast table.
I dragged my attention away from my exam notes. “Already? Didn’t he just have one of those?”
My stepsister ran her finger under the words. “It’s right here. ‘Crown Prince Estevan is set to welcome all the young ladies of good Procus families in a summer selection ball, sure to be an extravagant affair, if last year’s selection is any indicator.’”
I sat at a rusty table with my family on the rooftop terrace above our bakery. Honey scones and coffee cups crowded together on the old white tablecloth, sharing the small space with inky pages of today’s Herald.
My stepmother Zel and my other stepsister Bri ate their scones and ignored Alba. They had both been quiet all morning, so I answered Alba again. “But I thought the whole point of a selection ball was that he’s supposed to choose a wife and be done with it. He’s not supposed to have a ball every year.”
“You can’t force true love, Ella! The prince just didn’t meet the right lady last year.” My twin stepsisters were not quite thirteen, but to hear Alba talk, she was an expert on love. “He needs another ball so he can have a chance at true love. Even you wouldn’t begrudge him that, would you?”
I bit back a smile. “Even me, hmm?”
The gossips at the Royal Academy whispered that the prince had found true love with at least six beautiful Procus ladies since last year’s ball. I didn’t want to wipe that sweet smile off Alba’s face, so I didn’t elaborate. She went back to drooling over the paper, and I returned to my notes.
I made it through a few more minutes of studying before I dropped my notes on the table, leaned back in my chair, and groaned.
“What’s wrong, El?” Zel nudged me.
I rubbed at my tired, burning eyes. “What’s the point? It doesn’t matter how well I do on the final exam. I’ll never belong at the Royal Academy, much less in a government apprenticeship. I don’t know why I’m trying so hard.”
Zel squeezed my hand. “Never say never. Besides, it’ll be that much sweeter to prove them all wrong, won’t it?”
I had to laugh. “True.” Zel had been the one to encourage me to apply for the scholarship when they first opened the Royal Academy to commoners. But it was one thing for my own stepmother to believe in me. It was quite another to convince my professors and classmates that I was worthy of a government position. “Even so, I wouldn’t mind being descended from a Procus line. Or at least looking like a true Fenra.”
Zel snorted. “There’s no such thing as a true Fenra. Ignore them, El. I’m serious. You’re beautiful. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”
Heat spread across my cheeks. “Not even these green eyes?” I kept my tone light, but from Zel’s gentle smile, she saw right through me.
“Definitely not the green eyes.”
I was fortunate to have the dark hair and bronze skin of the Fenra ruling class who had founded Asylia centuries ago, but I’d also been cursed with the light-green eyes of a Kireth descendant—the eyes of a mage. I was well past the age when any magical tendency might manifest itself. Without doubt, I was not and never would be a mage. But my green eyes suggested a different story to everyone who saw me.
Zel must have guessed my thoughts. “Even if you looked full Kireth like me, you still might not have inherited mage powers. Those Procus fools at the Royal Academy need to learn not to base everything on appearance. Besides, if you truly were a mage, you’d already be in the Mage Division, and they all know it.”
I nodded and leaned back in my chair. She was right. Anyone who did have mage powers—a natural tendency to either absorb or expel magic—was required to enter government service or Procus patronage. It was a public safety issue, as every Royal Academy student knew. The city government couldn’t risk letting mages roam free. I had to stop letting my classmates get to me.
Zel sipped her coffee and went back to her section of the Herald. I listened to Alba with half an ear as she rambled on about Prince Estevan and his ball.
“The article talks all about last year’s ball—who was there, what they wore, and which beautiful ladies the prince favored. Oh, I would give anything to be there!”
And I would do anything to avoid such a spectacle. Good thing neither of us would ever attend a royal ball.
I stretched in my chair, tired from studying for the final exam all morning and most of last night. Fragrant herbs and raised, wooden vegetable beds filled the rooftop so tightly we barely had room for a table, but it was warm and breezy in the late spring sunshine. The scent of lemonburst and mint nearly
blocked out the smell of rotting garbage in the street below.
“The gowns, the music, the food … Did you know that last year they invented a new drink, just for Prince Estevan’s first selection ball? It’s called chry … chro … chrysos, I think. Sparkling liquid gold that tastes like sweetened frostberries. Can you imagine?” Alba feigned a swoon in her seat.
I made a face at Alba, and she giggled. Then I shuffled my notes together and shoved them to the side to make room for a second honey scone on my plate.
“Oh, Ella, do you mind that I borrowed your ribbon?”
“Ribbon?”
Alba fingered her long, wavy black hair and bit her lip.
Ah, that one. She’d tied a glossy red ribbon around her head, and it was quite pretty, setting off her rosy cheeks and lips and highlighting her soft, pale skin. I thought about saying so but kept quiet. Her pale skin was the only thing that kept her from looking Fenra, and she read enough of the Procus Society pages to know that everyone who was anyone wanted to have bronze-colored skin. “That’s not my ribbon,” I said instead.
“But I found it in your room. It was right there on your bed this morning when I went to put away your washing.”
I raised my eyebrows and gave the ribbon a closer look. “Definitely not mine. I don’t have anything like that.” All of my possessions were either serviceable, stain-hiding brown or part of the Royal Academy uniform. There was no place for a red ribbon in my life.
Alba looked confused. “But it was right there, on your—”
“Don’t worry about it, Alba. Wear it if you want to.” I stood and picked up my plate. “I have to make a few deliveries before school, so I’m going to go get ready now. Have a good day.”
“Be careful!” Alba waved the newspaper at me. “There was another Crimson Blight attack yesterday.”
“On a trolley?”
She shook her head. “A market in the River Quarter.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll be fine.” I blew her a kiss and smiled to reassure her. Alba gave me a troubled smile. Zel waved to me but didn’t speak, and Bri only glanced at me before returning to her breakfast. Everyone was feeling off today. Maybe they’d feel better by the time I came home after school to open the bakery shop.
~
Back in my cramped bedroom, I changed out of my house dress and put on my worn school uniform. The shirt was as white and crisp as I could make it, and the navy skirt, let out too many times to count, hung just below my knees. The length was barely within dress code regulations. Good thing I hadn’t grown much in the last two years, and that I only had to wear it a few more days.
I splashed water on my face and hands for a makeshift bath and twisted my hair back into the neatest bun I could manage, then paused for a moment in front of the small mirror above my sink. A tired, green-eyed girl stared back at me, her dark hair already sticking out from her bun. I grimaced.
At least my hands and face were clean of cinderslick’s telling golden glimmer. Who had time for the three hot water washings it would take to remove the sweet, fiery odor of cinderslick from my hair? I rolled my eyes at my reflection. Certainly not me. My time was better spent studying and working.
I slung my battered book bag over my shoulder, walked into the kitchen, and shoved my school texts and pencils out of the way on the big wooden work table. The loaves were ready to go, neatly wrapped and waiting for me on the kitchen shelves, but the scones still needed wrapping now that they’d cooled.
I took a long whiff of the fresh, buttery scones, but then the distinct scent of burnt cinderslick made me cough. Cheap, government-made cooking fuel. As I baked and studied in the early hours of the morning, the smell of cinderslick would cover me, clinging to my hair, skin, and clothes the rest of the day.
My Procus classmates at school hated the smell. After all, I doubted any of them had ever set foot in a kitchen, and their families certainly had no need for cheap cinderslick rations. Quality cinderslick didn’t have such an overpowering smell.
They claimed my stepmother hated me so much, she refused to heat my bedroom and forced me to sleep in front of the kitchen oven to soak in warmth from the cinderslick. Cinderella, they called me. As if I cared.
I shouldered the canvas delivery bag, careful not to squash the wrapped loaves inside, and stepped into the front shop, only to stumble to a halt. A young man stood by the door with Zel. My stepmother never spoke to strangers. Had we been discovered?
I surged forward to rescue her, forcing myself to take slow breaths and trying not to appear as tense and terrified as I felt. “Stepmother, Alba has been asking for you upstairs,” I said. It was the script we’d planned years ago, but my voice wavered as I pushed the words out. I kept my eyes downcast subserviently like I was the defeated, weak-willed stepdaughter everyone assumed me to be. “Please allow me to help this gentleman with whatever he may need.”
Instead of leaving me to deal with him, Zel said, “Ella, I’d like you to meet someone.”
I dragged my gaze from her to the man. Disaster.
He had to be a mage. He appeared to be a little older than me, and was tall and broad-shouldered, with blond hair hanging over his forehead and nearly reaching his gray eyes. No one with such clear Kireth heritage and fine, rich garments could be anything other than a mage. But where was his gold mage service armband? His brown slacks and plain white shirt were crisp and clean, and he wore the latest fashionable cut. His head had an arrogant tilt as he looked me up and down.
A mage, right here in our bakery. We were in trouble. I nodded a greeting as he took my small hand in his large one. Something about his gaze had my cheeks growing hot, as though he liked what he saw and wanted to keep looking. What was wrong with him?
“Weslan, this is my stepdaughter, Ariella. Ella, this is Weslan Fortis,” Zel cast him a smile and looked back to me. “He’s going to be staying here and helping you with the bakery now.”
He was— Wait, what?
I dropped his hand like a hot stone and glared at my stepmother. “I don’t need any help.”
“You’re about to graduate from the academy, and who knows what your apprenticeship will be like? Don’t you think it will be nice to have someone to help with the baking and deliveries so you don’t have to do it all yourself?”
I willed Zel to understand, so I wouldn’t have to say anything that might give us away. “But that’s beside the point, Zel! Do you really think that someone like … him … should be here with us?”
Zel only smiled at me and placed a calming hand on my bare arm.
Weslan took a reflexive step backward. Did that mean what I thought it did?
“Weslan is exactly the right person to be here with us.”
I stared at her, silently begging her not to speak the words I had dreaded hearing for so many years.
“He knows.”
Chapter 2
The floor rocked under my feet. How could she have told him?
“Weslan’s mother knew that your father sometimes used the bakery to shelter mages who found themselves in need, like I did so many years ago.” She stared at me meaningfully. “Weslan has found himself in a difficult position, so his mother sent him here until things … get sorted out. And I’ve told him he can stay.”
It was clear there would be no more disagreement on the matter. Beside us, Weslan shifted back and forth on his feet.
I shook my head, dumbfounded. “I’ve got to get to school.” I gripped my bookbag’s strap with the tight fingers of one hand and clutched the delivery bag with the other hand. Keeping my eyes fixed on his broad chest because I couldn’t force myself to meet his eyes again, I said, “If you’re going to be helping, I guess you could start by sanding down the front door. Someone left me a little note this morning.”
Zel flinched.
Guilt washed over me, but I shouldered my way out the door, averting my eyes from the CINDERELLA IS A TRAITOR carving that had appeared this morning. I had sacrificed so much to protect Zel�
��s secret, and now she was flinging the doors open for some conceited, blacklisted mage? Nothing made sense anymore.
~
When I was eight and the girls were almost three, Zel was nearly captured by the trackers.
I’d been watching the twins for her in the living quarters above the bakery, making play houses with bedsheets and tall towers with Zel’s books, anything to distract them from the hunger in their little toddler bellies. Zel had left early that morning, hoping to reach the market and return home with more victus before the twins woke for breakfast. The gritty, clay-like porridge created by the city’s healer mages to feed common families tasted horrible, but at least it was free. Unlike the cinderslick, we didn’t even need a rations certificate to pick it up at the market. Toward the end of the plague years, before things got better, picking up more victus meant waiting in line if you didn’t arrive at the market before dawn. But she’d been gone for hours, and I was worried. I didn’t understand the magnitude of her secret back then, but I knew keeping it was more important than anything else.
A loud thud came from the ceiling over our heads, and the door to the roof swung open. Zel rushed down the narrow stairway, her eyes wild and her hair in a halo of tendrils around her long, golden braid. “Ella,” she’d said, her voice shaking. “Downstairs. Now. I want you to clean the whole kitchen and the shop. The stairs to the living quarters too. Every inch of it, with liquid expurgo and a brush. Scrub it well, do you hear me? And don’t come upstairs until you’re done.”
I stared at her, frozen and confused, as the twins ran toward her, crying and shouting to get her attention. But instead of looking at them, she met my eyes steadily, her face a mix of fear and sorrow. “Now, Ella. I’ll stay here and feed the girls. You can have victus when you’re done.”
“Y-yes, Zel,” I said. I paused, wondering if she would explain or offer to help me, but she was silent. I’d walked toward the stairs in a haze, turning back once to see tears glistening on Zel’s cheeks as she watched me go. From that moment on, everything had changed.
