Page 5 of Cinder's Trial
The mice chittered, and my pet iguana, Izzy, padded to the door and stuck his tongue under the bottom edge before making a noise. Those who didn’t have my gift would have heard a hiss. Me, I understood I had a delivery person waiting outside. Odd since I’d not ordered anything.
“Are you going to answer?” Godmother asked.
A part of me didn’t want to. I feared what lay on the other side. Unlike Belle, another friend and colleague, and Blanche, I lacked courage. I avoided conflict. Often said yes to things I didn’t want to just to appear agreeable.
Hence why I opened the door to see a man in uniform, not the kind used by the postal service or even any of the package delivery companies. The man at my door wore navy blue trimmed in silver with black knee-high boots and crisp, white gloves.
“Miss Cinderella Jones?” he queried.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
He held out a large envelope of white, embossed in silver and sealed in dark blue wax.
My stomach plummeted.
“This is for you.” He held it out, and I didn’t grab it.
“What is it? Who’s it from?” I asked instead.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Killian the First, is formally inviting you to his fortieth birthday ball.”
“No thank you.” I politely refused.
“I’m sorry, miss. I think you misunderstand. This invitation is an honor.”
“No, I understand perfectly and am simply not interested. Have a nice day.” I shut the door and leaned against it as if the courier would force his way in and make me take the invitation.
He didn’t. Instead, he slid it under my door so it could mock me.
My fairy godmother remained in my kitchen, sitting on a stool, feeding cheese to the mice, who didn’t care it came from a stranger.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked.
“No, because I’m not going.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m not,” I insisted.
“You know the curse won’t let you off that easily.”
Maybe not, but it was worth a try.
2
Despite having the mice dispose of the invitation, it reappeared the following morning, sitting on my kitchen counter, mocking me.
Still no.
I didn’t know who this Prince Killian was, but he’d have to settle for a different Cinderella. A thought that reminded me of what happened the last time I’d rejected a prince. Old Henrick and my bitchy ex-co-worker Marilyn married, but she didn’t live happily ever after. From what I’d gleaned from the news reports, Henrick discovered her lie and murdered her by stabbing her with the heel of the shoe.
A horrifying thing to happen and I’d spent years riddled with guilt over it. It took Belle repeatedly telling me, “Play stupid games, win a fatal prize,” to help me overcome my sense of responsibility. It wasn’t my fault Marilyn lied, thus leading to her demise. Still… I felt bad.
I plucked the invitation—while wearing gloves to avoid skin contact—and took it to my kitchen sink, where I shoved it down the garburator hole and flipped the switch, grinding it to a pulp. Then I left for work.
Upon entering the bureau, I greeted the very pregnant Luanne, who was due to birth her yet another son any day now. Poor woman. While actually in love with her husband, they were under The Twelve Brothers curse. Meaning, if Luanne had the prerequisite dozen boys, followed by a girl child, all her sons would die. The plan was to get her tubes tied before she reached that number. She insisted she’d stop at ten to be safe, but I had my doubts. Luanne loved having babies.
Personally, the idea of birthing that many children horrified. I wanted one, maybe two max, if I ever met the right person—which, as the years passed, got less and less likely. It wasn’t that I was picky, but I attracted the wrong sort. Men who leered and thought me a pushover. Males who wanted to treat me as a fragile damsel, good for looking pretty and keeping house. None recognized that, despite my affable nature, I did have a strong sense of worth and was intelligent enough to know what I wanted.