The Wronged Princess - Book I

by Kae Elle Wheeler

  “W-what?” Cinderella waited for her stepsister to pinch her arm, berate her in fury, gouge her eyes out…

  “Was that not a kiss he touched upon your lips?” she asked, softly.

  Cinderella stopped and faced her, determined to brave the consequences of her unladylike comportment. “Oui,” she confessed, closing her eyes ready for the sting upon her cheek.

  “Was it so very nice?”

  Cinderella opened her eyes and met Esmeralda’s gaze, stunned by what she saw: genuine curiosity. Cinderella nodded. “Oui,” she whispered.

  “I’m somewhat terrified of the circumstance in which I find myself.” Esmeralda’s admission surprised her.

  Guilt clogged her throat. “Je suis desole, Esmeralda. I took liberties—”

  A lengthy silence ensued before Esmeralda professed, “You took no liberties that I witnessed. He kissed you.” Esmeralda grabbed her hand. “Come. We must make haste.” They slipped into the castle by way of Cinderella’s previous escape route.

  The door closed as quietly as expected. Just as they lifted their skirts for a quick dash to Cinderella’s chamber, she froze in her steps.

  Stepmamá barged into the hallway clearly having just alighting from Cinderella’s bedchamber, followed by her miniature replica. Pricilla.

  The same scowls marred their mouths. Lips pressed, brows drawn, and eyes flashing. It was quite remarkable. Comical, in fact. Had Cinderella not been at the mercy of their wrath for so many years she would have laughed at the picture before her. She wanted to draw herself up in bold defiance. She’d almost told Prince who she was, but for Esmeralda’s untimely interruption.

  She dare not take the chance right now, Stepmamá could be quite cruel. True, her cruelty mostly consisted of words. But early on, Cinderella quickly learned Stepmamá would not hesitate to drive her point home with physical action. Warranted or not.

  Fear rooted her into place.

  Esmeralda’s shrewd glance fed her courage. Taking a deep breath, Cinderella moved forward with an unnatural and determined resolve. “Stepmamá, you were looking for me?” She fought against the tremble but was unable to mask all of the fear in her voice. A stir in the air indicated Esmeralda’s eyes had picked up their pace.

  Tension emanated throughout the wide corridor.

  “Oh, oui, ma chére,” Stepmamá began.

  Cinderella was taken aback by her pleasant tone, but she’d already identified the evil in her expression. Stepmamá advanced toward her like a large cat bent on attack. She was here to thrash her, but good. The ‘why’ would not matter.

  But, by the grace of God, and miracle of all miracles, colossal relief assaulted her in a commotion commencing just beyond Stepmamá’s broad shoulders. Both Stepmamá and her clone whipped about sharply, dipping into deep curtsies as Queen Thomasine made her way toward their small entourage. Cinderella and Esmeralda quickly followed suit.

  With a wave of her hand, Queen Thomasine said, “Rise, rise, sil vous plait.” To Hilda, “My dear, it has occurred to me you and your daughters might enjoy an informal tour of the Royal Portrait Gallery. It has been some time since I myself have toured that wing of the castle and would very much enjoy conducting you through the gallery, as you will become family soon enough.”

  Cinderella tried to hold back her gasp. Without much luck, however. The queen was offering a tour to Stepmamá and her stepsisters, personally. Only the sight of Esmeralda’s open mouth had Cinderella snapping hers shut. She shrank back. This would not include her, of course. The candlelight in the sconces flickered wildly.

  Stepmamá drew herself up to an unprecedented height, the skin beneath her chin wriggling like a small animal. “That…that would be lovely, your majesty. Pricilla? Esmeralda?” she gasped. Stepmamá’s gaze swept to each. They both nodded their assents, eyes wide, no words spilling forth. Her gaze raked over Cinderella in acute displeasure. An expression Cinderella knew Queen Thomasine could not see from her vantage point. She flinched at the silent assault.

  The awkwardness of the moment became palpable. She had best be prepared to pay for this infraction later. An infraction inferred by her very presence. Because, although Stepmamá had never actually admitted that Cinderella was her stepdaughter, ’twould be nothing but social disaster were they to find she had blatantly slighted one under her own care. Cinderella had a feeling Queen Thomasine’s vehement approval would be for naught. An unforgiveable faux pas. However, one never knew where Royalty stood on these smaller domestic matters.

  To Cinderella’s absolute amazement, Esmeralda stepped forward. She rose to her graceful height, chin slightly tilted in a most…defiant manner. An intense charge simmered. Cinderella felt lightheaded as a twirl of stars seemed to swim above her head.

  “This is our oth…other sister, Cinderella,” Esmeralda stuttered to the queen.

  Oh non. No. no. no. Cinderella started shaking her head back and forth in abject denial stepping back. She would not be invisible with that statement and neither would Esmeralda after this brave stance. Stepmamá would kill her. If not Esmeralda, then most certainly Cinderella.

  “Our st-st-stepsister,” she corrected, when Stepmamá’s direct gaze seared her.

  “Ah, excellent,” Queen Thomasine responded without surprise. She bestowed a genial smile on Esmeralda.

  Cinderella gained her own bit of courage watching Queen Thomasine closely. She noted a small tilt to her lips and slight inclination of her head. The queen turned that piercing glimpse to her.

  “Of course, my dear. You shall join us as well.” Cinderella felt her face flame as her gazed blazed over her patched, worn clothing. “I am certain you will want to change clothes from your walk in the gardens this morning.”

  Cinderella swallowed with an audible gulp. How had she known about that? Had she seen him kiss her? Oh, saints! The prince kissed her.

  Then reality gripped her insides with rising panic. She had no clothes to change into!

  But Queen Thomasine had already shifted her attention to Stepmamá with a benign smile. “Shall we meet in the Grand Hall, Madame? Twenty minutes, say?” She did not wait for an answer. With a sweep of her full skirts, she made a magnificent exit. The swirl of stars seemed inclined to linger in the air.

  Alas, they were not out of the woods yet. As Queen Thomasine veered from view and earshot, Stepmamá turned on Esmeralda. Venom spewed from her, accented with sprayed spital, terrifying Cinderella for Esmeralda’s very life. It was a wonder Cinderella knees did not collapse from their quaking.

  “Ple…please, Stepmamá,” Cinderella stammered. “Es..Es…Esmeralda meant no…no…harm…” her voice trailed in a begged whisper.

  “Enough. Cinderella,” she hissed, her furious gaze still on Esmeralda. “There will be plenty of time to deal with you later,” she spat. “At the moment, we’ve no choice.” Her voice took on the cold vicious tone with which Cinderella was more familiar. Hands fisted at her large hips, foot tapping the heavy carpet, she demanded of Esmeralda, “What do you propose we do for clothes for her, my daughter?”

  “I shall find something suitable, Mamá,” she stammered.

  “Oui, darling,” she snarled. “You will be sharing your wardrobe, since you are the one who saw fit to arrange this idiocy!” She turned on her heel and stormed away, muttering. “Is it not enough that I have to contend your other afflictions? Now this?” Her tirade ended on a shriek.

  Cinderella met Esmeralda’s fast blinking eyes and knew at once something important and quite remarkable had just occurred between them.

  Esmeralda snatched Cinderella’s hand and led a wide birth round Stepmamá and a shocked Pricilla whose dropped jaw had not yet closed.

  They were careful not to run.

  *****

  Cinderella gazed around in awe as Queen Thomasine guided their small assembly down a corridor much wider than even the one where her bedchamber was located. Luxurious Oriental rugs in deep rich reds and greens topped shiny waxed wood floors. Heavy velvet draperi
es lined large beveled windows arching to the ceiling, reaching the very sky.

  The walk to the Royal Portrait Gallery took them through the most eastern wing of the castle by entry of the Grand Hall. Cinderella was hard pressed to keep up as curiosity had her entranced by brilliant landscapes and still life paintings that lined the halls between the spaced windows.

  Detail in the shapes of angelic cherubs with wings hovering above the tallest trees and over sheer and realistic waterfalls, made her fingers itch to hold a pencil. She did not even possess a talent for sketching. It was not long before they entered a vast room adorned with life sized portraits. Natural light filled the chamber where the windows bore no coverings and yet remained free of dust.

  Queen Thomasine entertained them with spectacular tales of the king’s rise to power in their tiny kingdom of Chalmers hidden in the depths of the Pyrenees Mountains. She spoke of a proud heritage and the tragedy in which His Majesty had been in line for his own small dominion within the Portuguese borders.

  Cinderella, unable to help herself, whispered, “What happened?”

  “It is a sad tale, indeed,” she said softly.

  “Cinderella,” Stepmamá snapped. “How dare you address the queen with such a question.”

  “’Tis quite alright, madam.” The queen spoke in that calm resolve Cinderella was learning to recognize. She turned stark vivid blue eyes on Cinderella. Eyes that still reflected long ago pain. “War had broken out and the entire empire was seized by the Spaniards.”

  Esmeralda and Pricilla’s gasps united with Cinderella’s.

  The queen cleared her throat delicately. “We prevailed, of course.” Then, continued. “He was such a young child he was when it all took place.” She shook her head, obvious in her memorable sorrow. “Close family friends hid him away in France at the age of two.”

  “Two!” All three girls sounded together.

  “Oui. Until his sixth year when his grandmamá was safely able to reclaim him. Unfortunately, his parents had perished in the Siege.”

  Enthralled, Cinderella could not imagine the fear of such a young child being stripped from the bosom of his family, too young to understand the dynamics surrounding him. She dashed a tear from her cheek, embarrassed by her show of emotion.

  At once aware of Stepmamá’s piercing scowl, and fell back a step. She carefully pasted on her usual blank expression.

  “It was at that time our marriage was contracted.”

  “Contracted?” Esmeralda exclaimed weakly.

  “Oui. A condition not so uncommon,” she smiled. “As you can see, it has not been an unhappy life. Ours was the family who sequestered him, you see.”

  Despite Stepmamá’s impending presence, Cinderella found herself captivated as Queen Thomasine moved from the king’s poignant past to describing in detail who was whom and how each member related to the royal family tree.

  Cinderella made a wide skirt round Esmeralda careful to maintain a reasonable distance. ’Twould not do to raise suspicion of their newfound, albeit, tentative relationship. She was encouraged, however, by their managed occasional eye contact. Cinderella caught an amused enlightenment in the twitch of Esmeralda’s lips. Her eyes never fluttered, even once.

  Stepmamá’s suspicious glare in Esmeralda’s direction was disturbing. Having included Cinderella as a sister did not serve in Stepmamá’s grand scheme of things, and she was afraid Esmeralda would pay dearly for these efforts on her behalf.

  Cinderella paused before the last picture to admire her beloved prince. The artist had portrayed him somewhere in the vicinity of his fourteenth year. He had cleverly captured the mischievous glint about the mouth and eyes. Not unlike what she’d witnessed this very morn. She smiled at the unruly black hair hanging over his brow in its familiar fashion.

  Unlike the other portraits in the gallery where the subjects were featured in straight-backed chairs and dark background, this picture presented her prince posing in the outdoors with a dog at his feet. His grace and nobility were quite evident, even at such a young age.

  Her hand drifted over her chest. She felt he could see right into her heart. From the corner of her eye she registered Esmeralda’s puzzled gaze. She looked about and started at Stepmamá’s suspicious study. Cinderella’s hand dropped abruptly and she made of show of meandering among the other portraits. She could feel the ice cold ire of Pricilla’s gaze on her back.

  Queen Thomasine continued as if nothing were amiss. Cinderella watched her smile fondly at the portrait as she explained. “When my son marries, a new portrait will be commissioned, of course, to hang in this gallery. One with his new bride.” Her gaze fell on Esmeralda, whose eyes started to flicker wildly under the unexpected scrutiny. The small updraft in the high-ceilinged chamber was unmistakable.

  Just as quickly Queen Thomasine maneuvered her attention to Cinderella, and said, “I am overjoyed to see you feeling better, my dear. You shall join us for supper tonight then.” It was not a request.

  There was no need to guess at Stepmamá’s sudden anger. A wonder the mythical gods did not erupt in a violent blast of red heat fueled by the brisk gust of Esmeralda’s eyes. An anger that filled the chamber evidenced in her direction to Cinderella, “If you are certain you are amiable, darling?” The menace poured from her, frightening.

  Completely intimidated, Cinderella opened her mouth to reply but Queen Thomasine stepped forward stifling her response.

  “Of course you are, dear. We shall hear no more about it.” She patted her shoulder with undue fortitude and continued with the tour.

  Cinderella closed her mouth feeling oddly protected by Queen Thomasine’s reassuring manner. Cinderella would remain forever grateful for the kindness she’d shown.

  No matter what the future held.

  Chapter 13

  Merciful heavens, Thomasine had no idea what had possessed her to invite Hilda to her private sitting room. The sacrifices one made for one’s children. Well, it was magnanimous, to be sure.

  Through lowered lashes she observed the beastly woman. How she took in the rich comforting opulence. How she must itch to take her rightful place in the household once her hopes of Esmeralda snagging Prince came to fruition. Hah. Not bloody likely.

  But, of course, Thomasine sat quietly, courteously sipping her tea. Smiling in polite repose in all the appropriate places as Hilda prattled on incessantly over Esmeralda’s unfortunate red locks and Pricilla’s beautiful pale blond. Good lord, did the woman never take a breath?

  “Oui, Madam, they are beautiful young women,” Thomasine agreed. Or could be with a slight attitude adjustment, she amended. Though, in retrospect, the child Esmeralda had stepped up in her estimation. If Prince had not fallen so for his mysterious princess, Thomasine would actually have to admit a preference for batty-eyed Esmeralda.

  “My beloved girls have many, many accomplishments. Why, dear Esmeralda is a supreme embroiderer, has a wonderful singing voice, plays the pianoforte with astounding accomplishment. And, my beautiful Pricilla is, well…ah hem,” she coughed, her face turned an unbecoming blotchy red.

  “Oui, Pricilla?” Thomasine prompted.

  “Pricilla. Well, she…she is the very image of me.”

  An unconscionable thought. Thomasine reveled only a moment in Hilda’s discomfort as she scrambled to avoid discussion on the intellectual aspects of her daughters natures. Somehow Thomasine managed to not shake her head in disgust at how society looked ill on the brilliance in women. Apparently, their mother resided in that same medieval process of thinking. She finally took pity and let Hilda off the hook. “What of their father?”

  “He was a very attractive man,” Hilda said proudly. Her massive cheeks vibrated as she drew herself tall. “Quite esteemed.”

  “Would this be the same sire as Cinderella’s?”

  “W..we…well,” she sputtered, turning a dull red. Thomasine watched fascinated. “Alas, Charles was their stepfather. My own dear, Henry, expired just beyond Esmeralda’s sixth
year. At which time it was deemed I remarry straight away. The lands, you know.” She threw her hand out. “But dear Charles, bless his ever-loving soul, lavished his generous attentions on my girls.”

  And, so it went. With nary a kind word for her stepdaughter, scarcely a mention even.

  Thomasine’s mind drifted through the endless droning. What a dreadful life the poor child had been forced to endure after his death. Cinderella’s father must have been a brilliant man, she concluded. Thanks to Faustine’s informative knowledge, she’d related his specialty as cartography centering his interest on Greek Mythology. Thomasine made a mental note to check the library for his some of his writings.

  From the corner of her eye she caught the familiar glimmer of sparkles and resisted the urge to smile. At times Faustine’s wispy communications were quite amusing. Also reassuring, as her presence ensured that the carriage ride she’d insisted on for the girls must be going much better for them than this mundane company Thomasine was forced to endure. She inclined her head politely at Hilda’s constant rambling.

  She held back a sigh. Her task to occupy Hilda was proving extremely tedious. Someday she would be holding this over her son’s noble head.

  The thought lightened her mood.

  Chapter 14

  Cinderella could not believe her good fortune. The tenuous relationship with Esmeralda pleased her beyond her wildest imagination. And it could not have surprised her more. True, they maintained a care in their casual conversation. Only the guilt of Prince Charming’s fleeting kiss tarnished her complete joy.

  With Pricilla in tow, neither felt comfortable voicing their thoughts aloud at this juncture. But it still heartened her greatly to not fear every moment in their presence. She even found she could make small jests that would cease to be ridiculed at every turn. Leastways, where Esmeralda, Essie as she now thought her, was concerned.

  A light breeze teased the loose tendrils of her hair as she gazed about. Just as she knew they would be, the grounds were immaculate, the carriage ride perfect. Well, but for Pricilla’s constant antagonistic commentary. Two perfectly matched whites pulled their light open cariole. Cinderella eyed the mammals very nearly resembling the ones Fairy Godmother had conjured up out of two fat rats.