I refuse to let that happen.
I loosen my fist, rubbing at my face roughly. My stubble scrapes against my palm. I haven't shaved in a couple of days.
Sighing, I turn away from the window and walk over to the bookshelf, scanning the titles, more to pass the time than because I'm really interested. Work isn't holding my attention, so maybe I can find something else to distract me for now. I skip passed the biographies, the mysteries, the history books. I finally settle on Leaves of Grass. Walt Whitman.
I pull it out, careful of the fragile binding. Books are rare commodities these days and I treasure the collection I have. I could read a digital copy of whatever I want, but there's something about holding a physical copy of an Earth book that simply has no replacement.
Opening it carefully, I read the first passage my eyes land on.
I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable;
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
I close the book, shaking my head. I relate to that sentiment in my current frustrated state. Maybe if I shout my desires from the rooftops, my princess will come to me.
The idea doesn't sound as ridiculous as it should, which lets me know exactly how far gone I am. I'm willing to grasp at any straw, no matter how unrealistic. I can't keep going like this. I have to face reality. There are people counting on me to do my job. I should let go of my search, think of that night as a beautiful dream.
But I can’t. I simply cannot give up hope, cannot accept that this is how it ends.
Nobody has ever affected me like Elle has. No woman has been able to circumvent my jaded facade and actually touch the true me, make me care, make me feel. Ever. I don't think anyone else ever will.
My resolve strengthens once again.
I have to find her.
The book slides against my palm as I push it back into the shelf.
"There is but one for me and I will find her," I say, the words drawn out of me, a necessary declaration of my intent. They fill the silence of the room.
What do I know? What do I have to work with?
I know she must live near the park if she was walking there alone at night.
I know her foot must fit the crystal slipper I still have. I turn to the side table where I'm able to keep an eye on it while I work. I pick it up, the crystal cool and smooth against my hand. I find myself turning to it more and more, a reminder of her. Of the beautiful, intelligent, ambitious female who captured my attention so easily both times we met.
The only reminder I have of her.
She is the only one for me. I'm more certain of that now than at any time before. My resolve hardens as I stare at the delicate construction of the slipper.
I will go out and find her. Find the girl who owns this shoe, find the girl who will not allow me to sleep, who keeps me awake all night, burning.
I know I will recognize her no matter what dress she wears, what guise she is in. There will be no more near misses. No more brief encounters ending with my arms empty.
I will find her.
And I will make her mine.
Chapter 15
Elle
I slide the needle through for the final hem stitch and then shake out the fabric to check how it looks. It's slightly off somehow. Maybe if I add a contrasting bit of cloth here.… I consider the piece as I run through the possibilities.
As usual, I've turned to fashion and design to help me cope with the emotional turmoil of the last couple of days. No matter what happens, I know I'll never stop creating. It's too deeply ingrained in me, too much a part of who I am.
Hmm. Maybe the jumpsuit I'm working on needs some kind of shadow element to pull it together.
I bring up the design in my heads up display and start making adjustments, testing out what I think might look good. Sometimes I have to tweak the original design on the fly as I start to actually work with the materials. I sigh as I finish making the adjustments, looking at the fabric spread across the floor. It's something to keep myself busy, to keep my mind off everything.
I'm not completely successful.
The stupidest part about all of this is that I can't stop thinking about the prince. My Prince Charming. There’s a niggling voice at the back of my mind that keeps insisting that I'm missing something, that there was something familiar about him.
I need to focus on something productive right now rather than allowing myself to keep running in mental circles, driving myself insane with what could have been.
I will. Never. See him again.
I need to accept that fact, no matter how harsh it may feel.
I hear a loud knock at the front door.
Who could that be? We don't really get a whole lot of visitors, especially not this late. I don't get up.
Stepmother doesn't like it when I answer the door. Probably thinks I'm embarrassing since I usually spend my time in jeans and sweatshirts. Unlike everything else she doesn't like me to do, this suits me just fine.
If I wore any of my designs around her, she'd probably find something wrong with them out of spite and destroy them just like the dress. I'll stay in my jeans, thanks.
I keep an ear cocked to what's happening out there as I continue to work, figuring I'll find out soon enough. I hear the clicking of shoes walking towards the door, and then a gasp.
Why would she be gasping?
She had to have let whoever it is in...
The door opens quickly.
"Prince Herne!" I think I hear Stepmother exclaim. "Oh, what an honor! Please, do come in!"
Herne, a prince? What is he doing here?
"Thank you, ma'am," I hear a familiar voice say, then the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps entering the foyer.
Prince...Herne? The combination of the title and the name triggers something. A confused jumble of memories collides in my mind.
The man from the park...the way he touched me, his broad shoulders...those eyes.
His voice.
The same voice from the cotillion.
Could it be?
My heart gives a hard thump as I sit there, frozen in place.
I don't know what to do.
"Girls! We have company!" I hear Stepmother call out, the urgency and command in her voice clear even as she tries to disguise it in fake sweetness. "Please, why don't you and your men follow me to the parlor? I'll have refreshments brought out."
The simpering rubs me the wrong way. I wonder how Prince Herne feels about it.
Prince Herne.
"Prince Herne," I whisper to myself.
Is this real?
"You are too kind," I hear him murmur. "I would like to speak to all of the young women in the house, if you don't mind. I am here to solve a mystery, if you will. Or at least find an answer to a question."
I hear them start making their way to the living room.
"Well, of course! My daughters should be here any moment. Girls!" This time the call is sharper, her true self peeking through.
"Coming, Mother!"
"Yes, we're coming!"
I hear my stepsisters furiously bickering as they scurry to the living room.
"Ah, here they are," Stepmother says. "My lovely daughters. Prince Herne has something to ask you, my dears." It's unsaid, but the warning in her voice is clear. They’d better give the right answers.
"Thank you for receiving me on such short notice," I hear that smooth, deep voice say. It sends shivers down my spine even from rooms away.
That's the same voice that murmured to me while expert fingers touched me, caressed me.
While he moved inside me.
I force myself to focus on what he's saying.
"You see, one of my guests at the cotillion forgot her shoe—this one here to be exact." The rustle of tissue paper. He must be unwrapping it. "I'm attempting to find the owner of the shoe. Perhaps you might know who it might belong to?"
He has my shoe.
I rise to my feet, feeling my heart start to
race.
Me.
He's here looking for me!
"Oh, that shoe is mine!" I hear one of my stepsisters exclaim. "I've been looking all over for it! I don't know how I could have lost it! Thank you so much for returning it to me!"
"What she means is that it's my shoe," her sister counters in a sweet voice, a thread of steel going through it.
Of course they would stab each other in the back.
"Well, my sister was ever so gracious to lend it to me that night," her sister retorts, the sweetness dripping from her voice like poison.
I feel anger start to rise up inside me.
No.
I stride to the door, determination in every step. I won't let them do this. They won't ruin everything for me this time.
As I reach the door, Stepmother appears, her face hard.
"Where do you think you're going, you little brat?"
"He asked for every young woman in the house," I retort, trying to walk around her.
But I underestimate the lengths she'll go to hurt me. It's a mistake. I cry out as she shoves me back into the room. I'm not ready for it and I stumble back, shocked at the physical blow.
She closes the door quietly, making sure it doesn't draw attention.
I hear it click shut. And then the sound of the lock engaging.
"No," I gasp, rushing towards the closed door and trying the knob. "No!" This can't be happening!
"Far be it for me to doubt a lady's word," I hear Herne say. The words are polite, but there's a clear warning in his tone. "But I do believe neither of your feet could fit in this shoe."
"Of course they could!"
"We have very dainty feet!"
I can’t believe the absurdity of that claim. Do they think he doesn't have eyes?
A long pause.
"I believe the shoe belongs to someone shorter. And more...slender," he says gently, but firmly. "Are you certain you have no idea to whom it might belong?"
"I can prove it!"
"Let me try it on!"
They're still trying to convince him? While I'm stuck here?
I cry out in frustration, smacking the door with my palm as I rest my head against the cool surface.
Anger and helplessness war inside me, tearing me up and leaving me raw.
I know life is unfair. But it can't be that way all the time!
Am I destined to always lose out on everything?
Can't it go my way at least once?
Chapter 16
Herne
I try to maintain a polite expression on my face as the young females fawn over me.
Tall and built along broad lines, their clothing might be fashionable, but the cut and the colors do not suit them at all. Coupled with their garish makeup and the greed in their eyes, they are beyond off-putting. I know with complete certainty that neither of these women are the one I am looking for.
I sigh.
We've been going from door to door all day, the shoe carefully nestled in a box that I maintain hold of. I've been carting it around with me, but I haven't seen anyone yet that I think could be Elle, so nobody has tried it on. I'm being almost paranoid with it.
It's the only physical connection I have with Elle. I regret breaking the other, but I'm careful to keep this one intact.
I check the time. It's getting late. Almost too late to keep going from door to door.
My hope is wavering.
There aren't many more buildings that border the park or that are close enough that a young woman might make the trek there at night. If I don't find her soon, I might have to try another avenue. I will find another way to search for her if need be.
"I believe the shoe belongs to someone shorter. And more...slender," I say diplomatically, not wanting to waste any more of my time here, but not wanting to be impolite when they've opened up their home to me.
"I can prove it!"
"Let me try it on!"
I close the box and take a step back, grimacing as the sisters start bickering. I have no patience for this. When I open my mouth to take my leave, I hear a muffled sound coming from somewhere nearby.
Was that a woman's cry?
I listen intently, but I don't hear anything else. I look over at the mother as she enters the room, her dark, white-streaked hair perfectly in place, her dress simple and understated, unlike her daughters' ensembles.
Where has she gone?
I didn’t even noticed she left due to her daughters' unbecoming antics. She smiles at me, polite enough, but there's something about her that just rubs me the wrong way. She's done everything right, but I've been around long enough to recognize her kind. Her politeness is a front, a way to get what she wants.
"I thought a heard a sound," I say slowly, watching her face. Her expression flickers slightly, confirming my suspicion. "Is there anyone else in the house?" I ask directly.
She draws herself up, her back ramrod straight.
"No, Prince Herne. There is nobody else, though I really must apologize for the cat. He seems to act out whenever we have company. Nothing to worry about, I've closed him away so he won't bother us. Now, I'm sure we can help you with whatever it is you need."
She's lying.
I have no desire for any more games. If she won't tell me the truth, I shall find out for myself. I stride past her, ignoring her cries for me to stop. I know the general direction I heard the sound come from. There's only one closed door in this area.
The lock has been engaged from the outside.
"Are you worried your cat knows how to unlock doors?" I ask archly, looking at the mother over my shoulder.
She looks away, her nostrils flaring with anger, but she doesn't reply as everyone gathers behind us. I take another step towards the door and she mirrors it, her hand coming out to stop me.
"Ma'am, I wouldn't do that," one of my guards murmurs, stepping between us.
Her face tightens, but she takes a step back. She really doesn't want me to open the door. So of course, I have to see why.
I hit unlock and shove the door open, not daring to hope.
My heart stops as I see a woman facing away from me in that small, cramped, closet-like space.
She whirls around at the sound of the door opening, her beautiful face surprised.
"Elle," I breathe, stepping inside.
Somehow, the distance between us disappears. I have my arms wrapped tightly around her, my face buried in her hair as I breathe in her scent.
Elle.
I've found her.
Now she's right where she should be. She wraps her arms around me just as tightly, her heart hammering against mine.
"Herne. I didn't know you were my Prince Charming," she murmurs, her voice thick.
I chuckle, basking in her presence.
"Then we're even. I didn't know either. Not until later, when I had a chance to think, to put two and two together." I lean back so I can see her face. That lovely face that I haven't been able to get out of my mind. I'd started to wonder if she actually was as beautiful as I remembered. She isn't. She's even more gorgeous, here, in front of me, her hair caught in a messy ponytail, dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans. "Is that your mother?" I ask, frowning.
I really hope not. Perhaps I should try to arrange my face in a more neutral expression, though it might be too late for that now.
"Stepmother," she explains quietly, her eyes glancing over at them for a moment. "And stepsisters."
Ah.
That explains why they look so different. And why they behave so terribly when Elle is not like that at all. I couldn't imagine her being related to these people.
I pull her in against my side and turn to face her stepmother.
She's standing there with a tight expression on her face, glaring daggers at Elle, as if this is all her fault.
"Why was she locked in this closet?" I demand, even as my eye lands on a small bed.
Is this where that woman made her live? This apartment is big enough for he
r to have a room to herself!
"You ungrateful brat," the woman hisses at Elle, her face turning ugly as her true self emerges. "She just does the cleaning here, Prince Herne," she continues in that same venomous voice, attempting to dismiss Elle even though I have my arm wrapped around her. Does she take me for a fool? "I don't know what she's told you, but that's all she is—a terrible maid." Her face is full of hate as she stares at Elle, the emotion so strong I wonder at the motivation of it. I cannot imagine that Elle could have done anything to warrant such a strong negative emotion. "You're worthless," she says quietly, taking a step towards her. "Just like your mother, that low-class slut."
I don't think she even realizes that she's given away that Elle is more than just a maid.
"She had more than you ever will," Elle retorts, her eyes locked with her stepmother's. "Including Father's love."
"You little bitch!" She moves as if to grab her, but one of my guards easily detains her.
I've had enough of this.
"Step aside," I say firmly, stepping past the woman, with Elle safely on my other side. "I've seen enough here. More than enough." I look over to see the stepsisters watching Elle in shock, hate starting to seep into their expressions as well. The apples don't seem to fall far from the tree. I usually try not to judge children for their parents' actions, but it's clear they're cut from the same cloth. I look back over at the mother. "You do not deserve what you have. And you most certainly do not deserve any more than this." These vipers need to be put in their place. And I know exactly how to do it, judging by their simpering earlier. "Your daughters will never marry well," I say quietly, meaning every word. "I will see to it."
"What?" she gasps as her daughters cry out in dismay behind her. Her face instantly transforms from hate to one of contrition as I usher Elle out the front door, my men blocking her when she tries to grab me. "You can't do that! What kind of spell has that little bitch cast on you? Don't believe a word she says!"
I cast her a disdainful look. Does she think I will take her word for anything?
Prince: A Filthy Sweet Fairy Tale Romance Page 9
