The Wronged Princess - Book I

"You little twit! You have never ceased to amaze me with your vile manipulative skills. You have turned my own daughter from me and you shall pay." To Cinderella's surprise, Stepmama sauntered away, her aim toward the dying fire in the hearth. "There is no one to save you now, is there, sweet?"

Oh, non. There wasn't. Ceasing the opportunity, Cinderella slid down the side of the bed her feet hitting the ice cold floor. Mayhap, she could make it to the door.

'Twas too late.

Stepmama whipped around. Cinderella chose her only other recourse and dropped to her knees, diving beneath the bed.

"Auck!" she screamed. "You little sorcerer. Out with you, do you dare to disobey me?"

Cinderella thanked the heavens and the queen for her massive bed. Stepmama raised the bed skirt. Cinderella could not make out Stepmama's features for the darkness, but they were etched in her mind. That fierce anger in bulging eyes, quivering chin and flush cheeks, veins protruding from pulsing temples. All forever ingrained.

"Come out, child." Her voice took on a cajoling timbre, but Cinderella would be a fool to trust her. Freezing to death fared better than the alternative. "I only wish to talk, oui?"

The bed skirt dropped and complete darkness surrounded her, both comforting and disconcerting. She could not even make out the flickering light of the candle, only the rustling of Stepmama's night rail touched her ears. Cinderella followed the noise about the chamber, praying Stepmama would give up and leave her be. Something scraped against the grate. Marcel's nervous twitter did nothing to calm her. But at least she had his presence.

"Stay clear, my sweet."

A scrape of metal tapped the hearth, and a foreboding of horrifying magnitude surged through her Cinderella. Before she had time to consider how deep Stepmama's depraved malevolence went, the skirt on the bed flew up from the opposite side. Cinderella scurried across the floor barely missing the stroke of the fireplace poker. It snagged the edge of her nightgown, ripping the delicate fabric.

Stepmama brandished the poker beneath the bed like a broom. Marcel darted forward and nipped Stepmama's forearm. She did not seem to notice.

"Come out, child. I am waiting."

"Stepmama, non. Please," she begged.

"There is no one to hear, my dear. You know 'tis worse if you fail to obey, non?" Another swipe of the poker missed her arm by mere inches.

If she came out now, Stepmama would likely kill her. "Why?" she sobbed. "Why do you hate me so?"

"Maman?" Pricilla's voice echoed through the chamber, clearly startling Stepmama, the poker clattered to the floor. "What are you doing? Is there a mouse beneath the bed?"