7

My Faerie godfather is lounging against the wall, dressed in a sparkling suit.

“Do you ever wear anything but purple?” I ask, still chewing the herbs.

“It’s my favorite color. What are you eating?”

“None of your damn business.”

“You were very nearly late tonight. I assume the ball was everything you dreamed it would be?”

I hesitate, feeling suddenly exposed in the thin nightdress. I’m wearing nothing beneath it, and I can still feel a faint stickiness on my inner thighs and a delicious kind of soreness between my legs.

“It was exactly what I needed,” I reply.

His nostrils flare slightly, and his lips curve in a smirk. “You fucked someone.”

“For Fate’s sake, shut up!” I glance nervously at the door, as if my stepmother might appear at any minute. “You don’t know that.”

“I can smell it. ”

“You can smell it?” I repeat, aghast.

“I can’t imagine His Royal Highness slept with you, so who had the privilege of nestling between those lovely thighs of yours? Oh wait—I forgot. No compliments.” He presses two ringed fingers to his mouth as if to shush himself.

“My sexual activities have nothing to do with you,” I say sharply.

His eyes narrow and his smile vanishes. “Your wellbeing is my only goal here.”

“Then you’ll grant me another request. I’m fairly sure my stepmother will allow me to attend the second ball tomorrow evening. I’ll need a dress and transportation. Can you make the gown last longer this time?”

He sulks a little. “If I were a full-blooded Fae, yes. But I have human blood from my mother’s side, and even though she was god-touched, it lessens the duration of the things I conjure.”

“That’s a pity.” I tug contemplatively at my lower lip, and his gaze drops to my mouth with undisguised interest. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He flushes and glances away. “If I were allowed to compliment you, I’d say you have a pretty mouth. It’s rather distracting.”

“Every time you break the rules and give me a compliment, you owe me another favor,” I say.

“A businesswoman at heart, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll agree to that bargain. Let’s seal it with a kiss.”

“Must we?” I grimace.

He draws back, pressing his hand dramatically to his heart. “What did I do to inspire such revulsion? Was my kiss really so terrible?”

I’m not about to admit I enjoyed it, so I shrug. “I’ve had better. ”

“We both know you have not.” He paces toward me slowly, his eyes pools of lavender light, glittering with purpose. I find myself retreating, my heartbeat high and quick.

“Stop backing away,” he purrs. “We need to seal the bargain.”

He seems prone to compliment me, and I need the favors from him. It’s a good deal, with a playfulness to it that I’ve never had with anyone. I’m not sure why I’m scared to let him touch me again. Maybe because I suspect how my body will respond, and I’m not ready to face the fact that I might be deeply attracted to two different men, neither of whom can give me the future I want.

My back hits the wall, and I shiver as the Faerie approaches. He smells delicately floral, like violets and warm spring air.

He bends his head, his breath lightly fanning my lips, but he doesn’t kiss me. He hovers there, one palm against the wall near my head, his chest nearly brushing mine.

“I like this,” he whispers. “The moment before the kiss. The suspended desire, the tension. It’s something to be savored, don’t you think?”

“Just fucking do it,” I whisper back.

With a soft smirk, he moves in, closing his lips gently over mine. The tip of his tongue nudges between my lips, and I greet it with mine, a brief exchange of wetness.

This kiss isn’t like the first one. It’s tentative, chaste, almost fragile. He pulls back, and for a second he’s glowing all over—white skin shining like snow under the moon, purple hair sparkling like jewels. But I must have imagined it, because when I blink, the glow is gone.

And so is he.

Just as well, because I hear the noise of my stepfamily coming back from the ball. They must have left the city center shortly after I did .

As I hurry to remove their shoes and help with their wraps, I notice that Gilda looks angrier than usual. The moment I take off her shoes, she grabs my chin and jerks my face up so she can look in my eyes.

“I thought you weren’t attending the ball tonight.” Her breath is hot, bitter with alcohol. “Yet the girls tell me you were there, in a beautiful gown. Where did you get it? How did you get to the palace and back? Tell the truth.”

I can share some truth without telling her everything. “I borrowed the carriage and the gown from an old family friend,” I explain. “I had to return them, but they said I could borrow another dress tomorrow if I need it.”

My stepmother’s eyes turn keen with interest, and I tremble because I know she’s going to press me on the subject and ask more questions about the “family friend,” and I’m not sure how I’ll dodge the inquiries.

But I’m saved by Amisa’s petulant interjection. “Family friend?” she scoffs. “Who would want to be friends with you, Cinders? You’re so ugly and selfish. Your head looks like a potato.”

I can’t help smiling at the juvenile quality of the insults. Amisa has never been good at bullying me. Her attempts usually cause me more amusement than harm.

“She’s laughing at me, Mother!” squeaks Amisa indignantly. “Make her stop!”

“Shut up.” Vashli elbows her. “You’re just jealous because Cinders gave the Prince to me, not you.”

My stepmother is still gripping my jaw, but her fingers relax a little. “Vashli said you gave her topics of conversation for her time with the Prince, and that you introduced the two of them.”

“I did.”

“She also said the Prince seemed enamored with you for the first part of the evening. ”

“I got close to him, as we discussed,” I reply. “And then I directed his attention to Vashli.”

“I liked him,” says Vashli. “He knows so much about everything.”

The genuine enthusiasm in her tone makes me glance her way in surprise. Her cheeks are pink, and when she catches my gaze, she looks away, blushing deeper.

“I never got to dance with him,” complains Amisa. “Mother, make Cinders introduce me to the Prince tomorrow night. It’s not fair that Vashli got a turn when I didn’t. She always gets everything. She’s your favorite, isn’t she? I always knew it! You both think I’m stupid, that I’m not capable of anything, but it’s only because I’m never given a chance !”

She bursts into theatrical sobs and runs away upstairs.

My stepmother sighs and releases me. “What else did you learn?”

“The King wasn’t feeling well this afternoon,” I tell her. “Apparently he likes to give his bodyguards the slip and wander about on his own. I suppose he’s eager for the freedom he’ll have after he yields the crown to his son. He’s giving the Prince free reign with the choice of his wife, so we don’t have to worry about much interference on his part yet, although I assume he’ll want to meet Prince Brantley’s chosen bride before the engagement is announced.”

Gilda nods, tapping her lips with her finger.

Vashli is still lingering in the foyer, her plump fingers clasped nervously together. “I had such a good time with the Prince, Mother. He’s not at all what I expected. He’s such a fascinating—”

“Go upstairs and take your hair down,” orders Gilda. “Cinders, help the girls get ready for bed. No need to assist me tonight, just go to bed when you’re done and get some rest. I’ve decided you’ll attend the ball tomorrow night as well, provided you can secure the Prince’s attention for Amisa this time. ”

Vashli casts a shocked, despairing look at her mother. At first I think she might argue, but where Amisa overreacts loudly to everything, Vashli tends to keep her feelings inside. After a second’s hesitation, she continues upstairs.

“Wouldn’t Vashli be a better choice to secure the Prince’s affection?” I say quietly. “Amisa is quite volatile, but Vashli—”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” snaps Gilda. “Obey me at once. Get the girls ready for bed.”

I know what her strategy is. She’s thinking that Amisa, despite her tantrums, will be easier to control. Amisa doesn’t think for herself. She obeys without asking why, whereas Vashli, if she’s emotionally invested in the Prince, might question and resist Gilda’s future plans.

I don’t care which sister gets the Prince. I must pursue my own interests and secure my future.

When I’ve finished helping my stepsisters prepare for bed, I pass by my stepmother’s room. Her light is still on. Doubtless she’s in there pacing and scheming. In that way, I suppose, she and I aren’t so different.

The next day is a flurry of activity. I have to help two grown women clean their teeth, scrub their skin until it glows, condition their hair with Madam Lentula’s Hydrating Hair Mask, wax their bodies, trim their nails, and countless other little tasks, not to mention preparing brunch and an early dinner, keeping the house spotless, and ensuring that the gowns for tonight have been steamed or fluffed appropriately. Then there’s the care of the animals, who are far less picky and demanding than their human counterparts.

The hours pass quickly, and by the time my stepmother and the sisters are flouncing out the door to their carriage, I’m exhausted. There’s no talk of me accompanying them—they all assume that I’ll fend for myself, as I did last night. I think Vashli hopes I’ll be very late so she has a chance to seize the Prince’s attention before I direct him to Amisa .

My stepmother seems rather distracted—she has been invited to another soiree, and I would guess the ladies she’s planning to see share her propensity for games of dice and cards. I’m sure she’ll do her best to worsen our financial situation this evening.

If I can escape her—escape this city—none of that will be my problem anymore. It will break my heart to leave Eisling House and the animals, but I can’t let my affection for them hold me back from regaining my free will.

Even if my stepmother lets me live once the anklet is off, I can’t trust her not to regret her mercy. With the Crown Prince in the palm of her hand, she’ll be able to send men after me anytime. The moment the anklet leaves my leg, I must run far, far away.

After my step-family leaves, I sink to the floor with my back against the front door, utterly worn out from doing the work of three ladies’ maids, a housemaid, a cook, and a farmhand all by myself, all in one day.

My head tilts back against the door and my eyes close. I don’t realize I’ve dozed off until a delicious smell wafts under my nose—warm bread, cinnamon sugar, and vanilla.

I blink and rub my sore neck, conscious that I was dozing with my head at a very uncomfortable angle.

Before me crouches my Faerie godfather, holding a small plate. On it rests a decadent cinnamon roll, drizzled in vanilla icing.

“You’re tired,” he says sympathetically. “Eat this. It will help.”

I eye him suspiciously. “I’ve heard horrible tales of Faerie food.”

“This is my father’s recipe, with a twist of my own. It will heal you and give you energy.”

“ How does it heal?” I ask. “Is it like what you did with the cow? ”

He winces. “Not exactly. To heal a human, a Faerie must contribute certain—physical essences.”

“Such as?”

He sighs. “Can’t you simply eat it? Do you have to ask how it works?”

“Yes, I do, because judging by the look on your face, I’m not going to like the answer, and I would prefer to know what I’m consuming.”

“Fine. Physical essences include blood, tears, saliva, sweat, piss, and cum. Full-blooded Fae don’t typically sweat, so that one is difficult to obtain. Usually it takes three of those vital essences from a Fae to achieve a healing effect on a human, but my case is unique. None of my essences provide healing, except one. That essence, when consumed, has a powerful restorative effect.”

“Which essence?”

He clears his throat and glances at the creamy white icing drizzled on the cinnamon roll.

“Oh my gods… are you saying what I think you’re saying? That your cum is in that icing?”

The look on his face answers the question for me.

“Fucking hell!” I leap up and walk away from him, toward the kitchen.

He follows, carrying the plate. “It will taste delicious, I promise. You won’t notice a thing. Your weariness will disappear and you’ll have energy for tonight.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m worried about you.”

His words jolt through my heart like a searing arrow. I spin around to face him, but I don’t have words to express what I’m feeling. No one has ever worried about me. Not since my father died.

I’ve been working myself too hard, and it has caught up with me. My bones ache, my muscles feel liquid, and all I want to do is sleep for twelve hours. Yet I’m supposed to go to the palace and dance. I have to go, because I must speak with the Prince again, and I must get into the library vault. There’s so much riding on this night, and I simply don’t have the strength to see it through.

My gaze drops to the cinnamon roll. “You said I won’t notice a difference?”

“I swear it. I taste like vanilla icing. Unless it’s a full moon, and then there’s a distinct peppermint flavor—”

“I don’t want to know any of that.” Steeling myself, I pick up the cinnamon roll. “It’s just vanilla frosting,” I tell myself aloud. And then I take a bite.

He’s right. It’s delicious. If I don’t think about the slight texture difference with the “icing,” I could be eating a cinnamon roll I bought at the bakery. Actually, it’s ten times more flavorful than any of Master Durson’s baked goods.

Don’t think about it , I tell myself as I take another bite. Don’t think about the fact that the handsome Faerie who’s watching you eat this cinnamon roll stroked his cock and then came all over it… Don’t wonder what his cock looks like. Don’t meet his eyes when you take your third bite—oh fuck, you licked frosting off your lips and now he looks absolutely feral. Don’t do that again.

His lean frame is rigid, every muscle tense, a ravenous light in his eyes. “How do you feel?” he asks in a stiff, strained tone.

I pause to contemplate, still chewing the last bite.

The exhaustion I felt has disappeared, replaced by a wholesome sense of strength and energy. My skin and hair feel as clean, smooth, and fresh as if I just bathed. When I glance down at my hands, my scars and calluses remain, but the redness and swelling of hard work has receded.

Best of all, my lungs are no longer tight and tired. I suppose I hadn’t realized how often they feel that way—how frequently I have to repress the urge to cough. There’s no such urge now. Whatever damage was done to my lungs has been completely reversed.

“That is amazing,” I breathe. “I feel amazing.”

He flashes a gleeful smile. “I knew you would. And now, before we move on to your dress for tonight, I’d like to try something.”

Skittishly I back away from him, bumping into the table with my hip.

He shakes his head, a touch of sadness in his gaze. “I won’t harm you. It’s nothing terrible. Please… show me your ankle. You know which one.”

Biting my lip, I pull my foot out of its battered leather slipper and hold it out to him.

He goes down on one knee and props my foot on his thigh before taking a small vial from his pocket. “This water is special in my realm. It has the power to break curses.”

A wave of dizzying hope washes over me, and I grip the table behind me for support.

With a pensive frown, the Faerie applies drops of the water to my anklet. It doesn’t react, and when he tries to remove it, nothing happens.

“Well, fuck,” he says, putting the vial away. “Now we know it isn’t cursed. You can’t tell me anything about it, or what it does?”

I shake my head.

Gently he thumbs the scars that peek out around the edges of the anklet. Then he lifts my foot and places a kiss first on my scars, then on the band itself.

The instant his lips touch the metal, he jerks back with a low cry of pain. His lips are seared black where he kissed the anklet.

“Why would you do that?” I exclaim.

“I’m trying a few things to see if I can help you,” he mutters through his wounded mouth. “Kisses have power sometimes. It’s all right, I’ll heal. Slower than usual, because there’s iron in that thing, or maybe something worse.” Gingerly he touches his lower lip, and a piece of charred skin flakes off, leaving bloody raw flesh beneath.

“Stop hurting yourself!” I order him. “Sit down, and don’t touch it anymore. Let me see it.”

He sits meekly in one of the kitchen chairs and tips his face up so I can inspect his mouth.

“Ridiculous Faerie,” I mutter. “You should have known it would cause you pain. It hurt you yesterday, the first time you touched it.”

“I thought if a kiss worked, the pain would be worth the reward.” He smiles at me, but as his lips stretch, he yells in agony.

“For Fate’s sake.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t smile. Don’t talk. Just make me another dress, and a carriage.”

“You’re so rude,” he murmurs, blinking dark lashes at me. “Even when I’m terribly injured.”

“And you’re pathetic.”

Why is a smile teasing at my heart, demanding to be allowed on my face? If I smile, he’ll smile, and I don’t want him to be in pain. His eyes are already glinting with humor, and another smile is sure to appear if I don’t distract him.

So I provide a distraction by removing my work dress and standing before him in my underthings again. Only this time, after a moment’s hesitation, I remove my chemise as well.

There’s no humor in his eyes now, only a stunned appreciation for my breasts. He stares at them like a man entranced, until I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Wake up! Honestly, don’t they have breasts where you come from?”

“They do.” He swallows. “Yours are better.”

“Ha! A compliment. I get another favor.”

“Granted. Name it.”

“I’ll save it for later, thank you. And now, my gown? ”

He rises and snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me blink. When I look down, I’m clad from head to toe in a dress of ivory and gold.

“Have a look,” he drawls, condensing the air in front of me like he did last night, until it is solid enough to reflect me from head to toe.

My blond hair is upswept, held in place by golden pins with amber jewels. My father’s watch and chain are glamoured as a series of delicate golden necklaces and one large yellow diamond. I don’t miss the fact that the neckline of the gown is lower tonight, revealing more of my breasts.

“If you want more coverage, say the word,” comments the Faerie.

It’s uncanny how well he can read what I’m thinking. But I don’t mind the revealing gown, especially since I’m planning to see the King again. The more enticing I look, the more likely he’ll be to let me enter the library vault.

“It’s perfect,” I say.

“Your carriage is outside. It’s pure gold tonight, with gold horses. And I took the liberty of creating the illusion of a driver this time—I overlooked that little detail last night. He is merely a glamour, though. If you speak to him, he won’t answer.”

“I understand.” I swirl back and forth in front of my reflection, enjoying the way the light plays over the rich golden fabric and the foamy lace.

“Listen.” My Faerie godfather steps through the air-mirror, dispelling it. He touches the underside of my chin lightly with his forefinger to get my attention. “The food I gave you acts a little like wine. You won’t lose your inhibitions, but you may feel more daring than usual. Remember to watch the time. You must leave by midnight, preferably a little before then. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, you explained it all last night.” I do a flourishing curtsy for him. “Now may I go? ”

“You may.” He starts to smile with those burned lips, then catches himself. “Have fun. Be a good girl.”

“Never,” I reply over my shoulder, and I start to run outside. But as I open the front door, I realize that my toes are still bare. “You forgot the shoes!” I call.

“Oh fuck,” he replies, and within a split second, my feet are encased in gold heels.

As I dash down the path toward the golden carriage, a silken wrap swirls around my shoulders, protecting them from the cold evening air, and I smile to myself at my Faerie godfather’s consideration. He’s sweet, in more ways than one. And I am more joyous, hopeful, and energetic than I can ever remember feeling before. My weariness, my anger, and my anxiety have faded, leaving enthusiasm and courage in their place.

I feel as if I could take on the world.