Sinderella (2 page)

The next day came early. I didn't rise and cook breakfast or fetch water. I lay in my
slumber,
frightened that if I left it, the truth of everything would hit me in the face. There, in my bed of hay and sheets, I could imagine I was preparing to meet my husband to be, but not be disappointed. I was excited because in my dreams he was a young man with a beautiful face and a gentle disposition.

I heard the house waking above me with shouts and anger, but I didn't care. Abbi came flying into my room, “They’re in something of a mood, Ella. The dinner party did not go well at all. Time to get out of bed and start the day. I shall tell them you were fetching fruits for their breakfast.”

I moaned, climbing from the warmth and protection of the sheets.

Abbi wasn’t
kidding,
they were in a mood all right. The king had decided to throw a ball for his son, the heir prince. They had only learned of it the night before, during the party. It was to be this night—no warning for all the ladies to find suitable dresses and accessories. It was to be an engagement ball. The prince would spend the evening meeting every eligible female in the kingdom. He would choose a bride or his father would choose one for him. He was nearing nine and twenty and his time as a roguish prince was coming to an end. I had heard mutterings about him as oft as I had the duke. It was said
the prince was known to many
a lady.

I didn't care about the prince or the ball or the crisis over the dresses or who he would marry. My days of consorting with royals had ended when I had turned ten and my father died. I wouldn't know the prince in a crowd if my life depended upon it. Not that it
mattered,
I became a servant the very day after my father’s burial at sea.

I wandered through my day, ignoring my family. I couldn't even remember
if I had noticed when Drusilla struck me with a stick. The mark showed up as a bruise that I noticed later. No, I floated through my day like I was stuck in a fog of tragedy, because I was.

I didn't even notice when the doorman answered the front door and introduced a man and his sister. Even though the voice of a man would have been an oddity in our home, I didn't hear it. I didn't notice when my hand was grabbed until it was too late. I was spun around as I carried logs to the fire. They fell from my hands, denting the wooden floors.

Drusilla gripped my arm but it was her stare that made me tremble. Her eyes were filled with malice. She seethed softly into my ear. “Ready yourself. Put on your best dress. Your future husband has arrived a day early. He wishes to attend the king’s ball; I’ll make certain he doesn’t wish you to come.” She shoved me towards the stairs to the lower level where the kitchen and my room were.

I was numb, disturbed actually. I pulled my filthy shift off and dragged on my best gown. It was hardly a gown and more of a church service dress. Tears streamed my cheeks, regardless of me not recalling at what point I started to cry. I couldn't seem to wake from the walking dream I was living. It was as if it were a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

The hopelessness of the situation was overwhelming. I washed my face and hands with the cold wash water from the day before and stumbled up the stairs. Drusilla grabbed my arm and dragged me to the front sitting room. A man I had seen only a few times, when I was a girl and my father was still alive, sat on our chaise. He offered me a smile that chilled the air in the room, and as a shudder toyed with my spine, I forced a curtsey and nodded my head, “My lord.”

His smile grew. There was something in his eyes that I could not be certain of. It was like watching a plump child stare at a cake. He licked his fleshy lips. “My dear, your beauty is far more than has been described to me. You have your mother’s face and eyes.”

I didn't move, just watched him admire me as if I were an object.

The whisperings I had heard of him had been wretched. It was said he did not leave his home often. I glanced at the woman in the room with
us,
fighting the curiosity at whether she was the sister he had made a wife.

Drusilla got a smile upon her lips fouler than any look I had ever inspired there. “Yes, welcome your husband-to-be with some wine, Ella. He and his sister, Rosemund, wish to become acquainted with you.” She held a hand in the direction of an elderly woman the likes of which I had never seen before. She was thin, not like her brother who was well muscled for a man of advancing years. Her face was wrinkled as if she too were aged beyond sixty. She smiled but not with her eyes. Her face was pinched, as though nothing she saw brought her any joy.

Their clothes were fine and expensive and their mannerisms were refined. I couldn’t entirely complain about the look of him. If it had to be any elderly man, at least it was one who cared for his appearance.

I could hope he was a kind man who would leave me in peace, though his look did not suggest that was his intention for me.

Drusilla clasped her hands together, “Well now, we shall leave you to get acquainted with one another. Cinder . . . uhm Ella will obey all requests. Girls.” Her daughters rose and followed her from the room. Bethany gave me a disheartened look where her sister gave me a satisfied smile and stifled a snicker.

I could swear when my stepmother closed the door, she too chuckled softly.

I turned and looked back at the duke and his sister. They frowned at me. After a moment the woman scoffed. “Fetch the wine, child. We ARE parched!”

I jumped towards the decanter, my hands shaking as I poured the glasses. I steadied myself and brought them their wine, taking deep breaths and trying not to cry. I didn’t know what to say to him or how to be engaged.

The duke stood, inspecting me like one would a horse being bought. He took his wine in one hand and raised the other to my lips. He lifted my upper lip. “Nice teeth. Open your mouth wide.”

With a trembling jaw, I opened my mouth as wide as I could. It made a smile creep across his lips as he nodded. “Excellent.”

His finger trailed down my neck. He brought his wine to lips, guzzling it back in one shot. I was distracted by the way his neck moved like a turkey’s, and missed it when his fingers made their way to my breast. He flicked a finger across my nipple, making me gasp like I had been struck by lightning. I tried to pull back but he tossed the glass into the fire, smashing it off the bricks. “I was expecting to see the obedience your stepmother spoke of.”

My stomach ached and my knees nearly buckled, but I stayed perfectly still as his hand cupped my breast and lifted slightly. His thumb dragged across it, sending a shiver down my spine. Seeing my response, he smiled wider and looked back at his sister. “She is pure, as pure as they come. I would almost gamble on it, if I were a wagering man.”

Rosemund laughed and sipped her wine. “Well, get on with it then so I may ready myself for the ball. I so want to meet with our cousin, the king, again.” She folded her skirts and looked like she was getting herself comfortable.

I was aghast. They were cousins to the king? These people?

He held a hand out to the chaise, opposite his sister. “Please, lie back. I will check your virtue before I make you my wife.”

My lips pressed into each other, making a tight line.

He shoved me slightly, making me stumble back. “I will force you if I have to. But that will involve asking your stepmother to come back in and hold you down—I imagine that would be less than desirable for you.”

I swallowed hard, sitting back on the chaise. I gripped to the sides of the fabric with my sweaty hands. He put his fingers on the arm of it and lowered to the ground, settling himself next to my legs. He bent forward, touching his hands to my shoes.

“Do you always dress as a peasant?” He lifted my dress hem.

I fought the urge to kick at him as his hands lifted my skirts even higher.

“Do you? Answer me.”

I nodded, taking short breaths as the skirt passed my knees, leaving them bare to the warm air of the room. What was happening? Why was he checking my virtue? Did a nursemaid not do that? Did we not show the bloody sheets? I had never heard of such an act, but maybe young ladies never spoke of it.

He shrugged, “Well, your manner of dress shall change. Surely that is of great excitement for you?”

I didn't know what he was talking about, but I knew I wanted no part in it. I nearly shook my head, watching his elderly hands run up the smooth skin of my upper thigh. The contrast in our skin was remarkable.

He gripped hard, biting his fingers into the meaty part of my leg. “Does that excite you, nice clothing and being the mistress of a fine castle?”

I looked into his harsh, blue eyes and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

His hand gripped either thigh, spreading them hard and fast. I cried out, swearing again that I heard my stepmother chuckle from the other side of the door.

He pushed his hands up my legs, spreading my thighs more and wiggling himself between them.

I shook my head, “Please, sir. Please.
I swear, I am a virgin.”

He smiled but his eyes looked like that of a dead fish. They were so cold that I could see my fearful face in them. “I know you are.” He lifted the skirts more, revealing my nickers.

He grabbed at the top of them, untying the laces and tearing with
a fierceness
I never imagined his old hands capable of. I tried to squeeze my thighs but his body between them prevented it. I cried out again as he tore even more, ripping my nickers down the middle. The cold air brushed against my most sacred parts, as did his waistcoat. My hands flew at him but he grabbed them, pinning them to the back of the chaise. “Shall I request aid or will you permit me my survey of your virtue?”

I trembled against his strength. When he felt my defeat, he released my arms. He sat back on his heels, still between my legs. I could feel the coarseness of his clothing brushing against the inside of my knees. My sex was bared to his view. I looked away, refusing to acknowledge the very deed that was being done.

“Look sister, see how fine her cunny is.
So pink and pure.
Makes one crave a fresh peach.”

My cheeks blushed and my legs trembled, but I forbid myself to look or acknowledge the moment.

His sister’s words were laughed, “Yes, brother. She has fine fruits. Have your dessert so we may retire to ready for the ball.”

My eyes shut, desperate to block out what was about to happen as his hands slid up my thighs. I jumped when something, one of his fingers I would imagine, brushed the outer lips. It tickled and the disturbing part was it tickled nicely. The horror of the man I would marry brushing against my cunny was troubling. I should have been excited, knowing I would marry and that someone beyond myself would finally be touching me. I always rubbed myself before
sleeping,
sometimes imagining it was my future husband doing it. I loved the release I got.

Now that it was happening, I wanted death or abandonment more than I wanted anything else. But as his fingers pried my lips open and exposed me to the room completely, I knew it could actually be worse. Drusilla could be in the room, instead of pressing her ear against the wooden door. She could be holding me down as he tested my virtue.

I was trapped.

I felt warmth, as his face was lowered between my legs. Something warm and wet slid up me. I
gasped,
it wasn't a horrible feeling, but imagining his old face buried between my thighs was a horrid image. He lapped me like a dog would his dinner, running his tongue up and down my slit.

“You taste like fresh fruit. I can taste the innocence on you,” he whispered into my wet, part lips. His hot breath brushed against my lips. It felt astonishing, and yet I had never hated my body’s natural responses so.

He licked next on my nub, flicking it. Heat rushed my body and I moaned, “Please stop.” But he did not. He licked faster, swirling his tongue around it over and over. Suddenly the image of the beautiful man I imagined in my dreams was there. Behind my eyes he was there. It was his beautiful face I imagined bent between my legs, swirling around my nub. He sucked and the warmth covered my body. I tensed my legs, almost wrapping them around his face. My stomach twitched and it happened. I released. It was so
sudden,
I hadn’t even noticed the build up.

I shuddered and moaned, grinding my pelvis into his face. The feel was wondrous for all of a second. I opened my eyes to see his aged face instead of my beautiful imagination.

He licked his plump lips and smiled, “She has a whore’s cunny, Rose. She cums like you used to.”

I nearly gagged.

His eyes darted to his sister, “Remember how you like it?”

She got up off of the chaise she was on and sauntered over to us. The look on her face was disturbing. She dropped to her knees next to him and ran her hands up my thighs. Her long nails scratched lightly on my thighs. She almost purred like a cat, “I do remember, Hedrick. I remember it like it was yesterday.” Her blue eyes that matched his landed on my cunny. “I guess it was only yesterday.”

I watched her hands, distracted by the nails and rings. But it was his hands I should have paid more attention to. I didn't notice them until it was too late. He had slid them between my legs and entered my maiden hole. I clenched but his sister’s nails dug into my leg, “It is better if you relax and let him in there.”