The Goblin Cinderella

by Lidiya Foxglove

  He was absolutely beautiful.

  Damn it. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of the prince. I wasn’t here for him. I was here to be the envy of my sisters.

  But he was. He was tall and graceful, with dark eyes that were, just now, beautifully shadows by the ridge of his lashes as he greeted a girl three places ahead of me. Those dark eyes offset his fair hair and pale skin. He was blonde in the way that only elves were blonde, like he was made of marble and moonlight. And he had those exquisite elven hands, with long expressive fingers, delicate enough to look suited to playing an instrument and yet too large and strong to be feminine.

  His clothes were a somber black and gray, and very simple, adorned only with silver clasps and an ornamental sword. He wasn’t wearing a crown or anything like I somehow expected of princes. The simple black was striking against his fair skin.

  I felt a traitorous little thread of giddiness worm through my body.

  I was next in line now. Soon, he would look me in the eyes. Bored Girl approached with a curtsey.

  “Greetings,” the prince said, his voice dry and disinterested. He sounded a little older than his years. “And what is your name?”

  “Rowena Mirel, your majesty.”

  “I hope you’re having a good evening.”

  “Yes—yes, indeed, your majesty. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Please, enjoy yourself.” He nodded. A guard waved for her to keep going.

  And that was that.

  “Miss?” another guard said to me. “It’s your turn.”

  I flushed, my heart suddenly exploding out of me. His eyes met mine.

  For all his strength and authority, he seemed a bit hollowed out when I stood this close to him. Shadows surrounded the fair prince, and I wondered if it was true, that he dabbled in dark magic. I barely remembered the death of the queen and the two eldest royal children. I was an infant when the black fever swept the land, claiming my mother, but the prince would have been six or seven. It must have devastated him.

  “Come on, miss,” Prince Ithrin said. “No need to be shy. They want to get the dance going soon.” He glanced behind me, finding the end of the line. I think he was relieved.

  I walked up to the prince, scrambling to remember what I was supposed to do. I was frozen between the curtsey and taking off my glove and ended up doing an odd half-bow before tearing my glove off.

  “Good evening,” he said, arching a brow slightly.

  “Prince Ithrin,” I said, remembering myself.

  His eyes widened a little when he saw my fangs, although I had been trying not to open my mouth too much. “A goblin?” he said.

  “Half-goblin,” I said. I held out my hand. He glanced at it. The handshake seemed to be a breach of protocol. How was I supposed to touch him, then? I would have to grab him. He wasn’t wearing gloves. That was fortunate, at least. But I couldn’t just grab a prince.

  “I just wanted to meet you and say that I hope we are able to do business together someday,” I said. “I am about to sail to Cabria to claim my stake in a saffron farm. My father used to import the best spices in Wyndyr, and I’d like to offer you superior prices.”

  I really had no idea where that came from, except that I knew people shook hands when you talked to them about business. I kept mine held out.

  He seemed a little puzzled now, but he took my hand. “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Ellara…,” I said, but I faltered.

  When his palm made contact with mine, it was like a firework exploding inside me. Something was happening to me. Something very strange.

  Chapter Seven

  Prince Ithrin

  I had almost made it through the reception, which was a miracle. Every moment I was tempted to stalk off. It was even worse than I expected. Father thought this was an ideal way to meet a woman—to just go down a line. He believed in love at first sight, the way Wrindel did, except Father was a little more inclined to monogamy than my hopeless brother.

  I didn’t believe in love at first sight or even love in an evening. Certainly not in these circumstances. The concept of a beautiful girl loses all meaning when faced with a hundred of them. (Or three hundred at last count, gods help me.) It’s like saying ‘a hundred desserts’—it sounds good on paper, until you try to taste them all. One hundred bites of dessert is about ninety bites too many. Then again, I had always been more for the savory course.

  The point is, none of them stood out. In fact, I think I only remembered the terrible ones. Either way, I would marry for money. If I had to make my choice in an evening, money was more faithful than love.

  Then, one of the last girls appeared. A scrawny thing, but strangely alluring, not like any elven girl I had ever seen. She had a wildness about her, a spark, like she belonged somewhere else, with her thick tousled hair and the golden sheen in her eyes. Even her dress was strange, the fabric light and semi-translucent as if conjured from magic.

  I don’t know what it was, why she stood out. It seemed to transcend her appearance. Or maybe I just wanted to think so. I didn’t want to think I was like Wrindel, lured only by a pretty face.

  Deep down, I wanted my wife to be the sort of girl who would make my family feel whole again. I remembered the sound of my older siblings running down halls, my mother singing, my father’s hearty laugh. When they died, all that was left of us was the facade of elven royalty. We looked the part, offering our people regal benevolence.

  When the girl spoke, her mouth was crowded with sharp teeth, and I realized she was a goblin. A goblin, daring to attend my ball! Goblins were rare in these lands and not the most popular of races—usually the goblins and faeries stuck together as the rogues of the realm.

  I knew I shouldn’t be intrigued, but at least it distinguished her from every other girl here. It showed that she was bold.

  And then she started saying something about saffron farms and trading, speaking a little too fast so it was hard to understand her. She was trying to pretend she wasn’t here with the hopes of becoming my princess, like everyone else, but she hadn’t quite fooled me. She wasn’t composed. Her cheeks were flushed.

  Still, I liked her. Not enough to call it love at first sight or anything close, but enough to dance with her, enough to be pleased that I could see the hard outlines of her nipples beneath her thin dress. If I had to choose someone…she was a prospect.

  I took the nervous hand she offered me, and was hit by magic like a lightning strike.

  It spread from her hand straight down to my cock. Hot, all-consuming desire. For a moment, I was too overcome by it to do more than squeeze her little hand.

  I knew enough about magic to guess at this feeling.

  They called it a love potion, but you couldn’t really create love from a potion.

  You could create lust. A lust that might snare a man forever into marrying a goblin trickster.

  The little witch.

  I kept composed. I always kept composed. I broke into a cold sweat, my cock throbbing, every nerve in my body suddenly screaming to take her into my arms. She was even more flushed than before, her shoulders hunching slightly as the potion surged through her. I forced myself to remain still, although I felt the same.

  She was never going to know how well it worked. She was certainly not going to catch me in her trap.

  Chapter Eight

  Ellara

  I had no idea what was happening. I mean, objectively, it was magic. Definitely magic, and definitely it had something to do with the potion my aunt smeared on my hand. But I thought it was supposed to make him want to dance with me. Not—this.

  An absolutely dizzying feeling was coursing through me. My breasts were tingling and I don’t even know what was going on between my legs. I was throbbing down there as if he had physically touched me with one of those beautiful hands of his. And now I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I needed him to actually touch me with one of those hands.

  I could hardly breathe.

&
nbsp; “Wait for me on the ballroom floor,” he said, in a voice that had suddenly turned to cold anger.

  I was too bewildered to do more than nod. Had the enchantment hit me when it was supposed to hit him?

  It must have, but he didn’t look as if he wanted me the way I wanted him.

  The way my body wants him, thanks to a horrible spell, I corrected myself.

  Well, Ellara, maybe he does feel it and he’s just upset at being manipulated, I thought, because I certainly was. My body was betraying me completely. The guard waved me on. I walked down the stairs, a little unsteady. My nether folds were so swollen that I could feel them rubbing against each other with every step. I had never been so…aware of myself. I wanted to look back at the prince so badly that it took every drop of willpower just to keep going.

  I was very flushed and I didn’t want my stepsisters to see me. I saw tables arranged along one side of the room with towers of small confections and bowls of punch, and I found my way to the wall behind the tables. I could still see the prince from here, up on the balcony, but I was not visible to the dancers unless they came to get a drink.

  I tried to collect myself. My body was in a state of feverish desire and my heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Had my aunt done this to me on purpose? The more I considered it, the more I thought she had known exactly what she was doing.

  This was just terrible. Now the prince thought I had tricked him on purpose. And all I could think about was how much I wanted him to choose me. Choose me forever. Something deep inside my body said, Nothing and no one will ever satisfy you like that man.

  “Shut up!” I hissed aloud to my inner thoughts.

  A girl pouring herself a cup of punch shot a look at me, sitting behind the table. I had not even been aware of her. “Well, excuse me,” she said. “I wasn’t aware I’m not allowed to talk to myself.”

  “No, not you. I’m talking to myself.”

  “Oh. All right. Sorry. I’m just really nervous. You too, huh? The voices in our heads are always more cruel than real life.”

  “Yeah.” Or more naughty. Way, way more naughty.

  A drum began to pound, the dance music swelling into a theme of grandeur. The prince descended the stairs. I stood up so he could see me, almost against my will, like my movements were dictated by his. He approached me and held out his hand.

  “Your majesty,” one of his attendants said. “Some of the other girls have been waiting a long time. This girl was one of the last to arrive.”

  “I’m dancing with this one first,” he said. “Then, I will go in the proper order.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  I took his hand with apprehension. He looked at me with slightly lowered eyelids. I felt like I could sink into the darkness of his eyes—maybe not in a good way. He put a hand on the small of my back. His touch was like fire, every movement of his hands sending sparks to the core of my being. He pulled me against him, and I felt the hard length of his desire throbbing under his trousers and jacket. Gods. It was like Gwyn’s book, but it felt larger than I expected.

  “What have you done?” he demanded into my ear. Merry dance music started up, and he tugged me forward.

  “I didn’t mean to do anything. I—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

  The other dancers had pulled away from us. Hundreds of eyes were staring at us. They were all appraising me, the first girl the prince had chosen for his dance. I heard whispers and was self-conscious about opening my mouth anymore, to show my fangs.

  Besides that, the longer he touched me, the more responsive my body was to his presence. The spell had set something in motion that I didn’t know how to stop. My breasts ached. I felt like I could smell his skin. Little pulses of pleasure throbbed within me when his hands shifted. I felt his cock throb against the soft skin of my stomach, through my filmy dress, and I had some mad desire to stroke it.

  I knew it wasn’t me. It was the spell. But it was swamping my senses so that I didn’t care about anything else. I wanted his mouth on me, his hands on me, his cock inside me. I felt like I was losing my virginity inside my mind, right here on the dance floor.

  I could see him battling it, too. His hand lowered a little, to my tailbone. He kept me pressed close against him, dancing slowly.

  “You don’t know how to dance, do you?”

  “I’m—afraid not.”

  “Of course you don’t…” His voice was a little husky. The sound of it in my ear made me feel as if I’d heard that voice a hundred times before. Like I knew him, and I knew everything he might do to me, and it was all I had ever wanted. I felt that hand of his, so close to my ass, and I wished he would reach deeper. Touch me, oh gods…

  Not that I really wanted him to touch me in front of the whole court. But the thought of it…

  The waves of pleasure were starting to come faster. They shimmered down my whole body and twisted in my core, and it felt so good I think my eyes rolled back a little. Wet heat trickled down my leg. I gripped his sleeve. “I’m scared. I don’t know what’s happening.”

  “Are you—having an orgasm—from a dance?”

  “I don’t know what that is. I’m—I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I swear. My body is doing strange things. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

  His cock throbbed against me again. It was too much. I clawed at his jacket, breathing strangely. The longer I stayed close to him, the more overstimulated I became, and I knew I should break away, but I couldn’t.

  He put his hand on the back of my head and pressed my face against his jacket, hiding me from the crowd. I shut my eyes and for a moment I hardly knew where I was, except in his arms. I stumbled along where his steps led us, barely able to walk with the sensations coursing through me. It was torture to move; it only seemed to draw it out longer. “Ohh,” I breathed. I clung to him, my breath quick as the pulsing feeling quickly built. Then it passed through me in another moment, leaving me spent and yet unsatisfied. And definitely confused.

  And really embarrassed.

  My grip on his jacket loosened. I realized people were murmuring louder now. We must have looked very intimate. My cheeks burned.

  And then I noticed my stepsisters, mouths hanging wide open. Their faces crackled with such fury that I would not have been surprised if they electrocuted anyone they touched, their hands clenched around folding fans. How had this looked from their perspective? I knew they must have seen the prince lead me to the dance floor before anyone else, seen the prince wrap his arms tight around me, seen him hold my head against his chest. Whatever the true circumstances, it must look like he had chosen me.

  For that, it might have all been worth it.

  “Are you quite done?” Ithrin asked.

  “I—“

  “You really don’t have any idea what that spell was, do you…? You’ve put me in a terrible position.”

  “I’m sorry. If I could explain…”

  “If you can explain, then you do know what you’ve done.”

  “No, I really don’t. I mean, I have an inkling. That’s all. I never meant for that to happen.”

  He frowned, and grabbed my wrist. “Stay close to me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Prince Ithrin

  When I saw Ellara’s face flush and her eyes glaze like that, it was all I could do not to rip her clothes off right there in the center of the dance floor and fuck her in front of the entire court.

  Which was definitely not a thought that came from my rational mind.

  It wasn’t as if I didn’t have sexual desires, as Wrindel seemed to think. It was just that I didn’t advertise them to the entire court at all times, nor hand them out to any blushing young lady, bored widow, attractive housemaid, or convenient courtesan I could find.

  I had to break this spell before I did anything else. Otherwise, I wasn’t going to be able to dance with the other girls or really, do much of anything. I hadn’t succumbed to the spell to the degree Ellara had, but—most likely t
hat was only because I had experience exerting control over a spell. I wasn’t about to let this damned enchantment get any ideas. I knew how spells like this worked. In some kingdoms, they were used habitually with arranged marriages to ease apprehensions. If I had sex with this girl, it would all die down, but it would never go away. I needed an actual antidote.

  Wrindel tried to catch my eye as I hauled Ellara off the dance floor. I ignored him. He was the last person I wanted to discuss this with.

  I knew every secret passage and servants’ corridor in the place, so I rushed off toward the hall and immediately ducked through a hidden door, hopefully deterring anyone who might follow us. I ran down the hall, dragging her behind me, up the stairs. Even through the stone walls, I could faintly hear the waterfalls.

  We emerged in my own bedroom. I locked every door.

  Now she was panting from exertion, but she looked around with wide eyes, taking in the high ceilings, the bookshelf, the large table where I practiced my secretive spell work, strewn with more books and candles with wax dripping everywhere. “Is this—your room?”

  “Yes.” I chose a spell book from the overstuffed shelf.

  “You don’t have servants?” she asked, looking at the rumpled bedcovers.

  “I don’t like the servants to come in here,” I said. I kept the door locked and kept the room tidy—such as it was—myself. “I’m a very private person. Just—have a seat. I need to find an antidote.”

  “It must be hard to be a private person and a prince,” she said. “All those girls swooning over you today. I felt uncomfortable just thinking about it.”

  “I don’t think anyone swooned harder than you,” I said.

  “It wasn’t me. It was a spell.” She looked down at the ornate rugs, up to the guardian animal heads carved into the stone ceiling.

  “I suppose you’ve never seen such a place,” I said.

  “My house isn't too shabby either,” she fired back. “It’s only…my position in it that has changed.” She looked at me. “Please let me explain.”