Strike at Midnight(101)
If my glare could have penetrated flesh and bone, then he would have a large hole in his face right about now.
“They were awful to you. Horrible. And they treated you every day like you were nothing. But they only did that because you are something. And one hell of a something. They hated the fact that they couldn’t break you, and they only tried because that was the only way they could deal with being in your presence.” He dropped his hand from my lips. “They will never understand kindness, or forgiveness, or happiness. But they will understand this.” He moved his hand up and down in front of me. “You’ve always been above them, Rella. Always. But they never saw it. At least not until now. Now you’re a princess…” He let the words hang in the air as I tried to understand his reasoning for what he had done.
“They will understand that I now have the power to squash them like the bugs they are?”
“You’ve always had the power. Only this time you’ll be able to show them in a language they’ll understand.”
I looked at him long and hard as I tried to determine how I felt about them being here. Part of me wanted to run in the other direction rather than be reminded of the hurtful things they had done on a daily basis. And part of me wanted to go out there and take a sword to their damn heads. But he was right. The only way they would ever understand that their petty games had been futile was to see me in this light. They would try to demoralize it, put it down, and try to convince themselves that I had done something dirty or underhanded to get this position. But when they went to sleep every night, they would do so with me on their minds as having something they would always crave, but could never have.
A few things came to light from his words as I realized that for all those years I had made them secretly yearn for something they couldn’t even understand. Like the simple things that made me happy: my books, the love for my father, my kindness to others. They had hated the light that shone from me because deep down I was a good person who didn’t only think of myself, and they couldn’t understand that when they were selfish to their very bones.
He was right. They had tried to extinguish my light and failed. Now it was time to show them that because of their evil and nasty ways, I now shone brighter than ever.
“Let’s go,” I said, turning so I could link my arm through his. If we were going to do this, then I needed to do so before I changed my mind.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, looking at me with concern, and I raised an eyebrow as if to say Are you fucking kidding me right now?
“Of course you are,” he added quickly, and he dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “I’m extremely proud of you,” he said in low tones, and I squeezed his arm in reassurance.
“Save that last comment for after,” I said as we made our way out of the door. “You can be proud of me when we’re sure I won’t kill the bitch.”
*
Flanked by both my husband and my new father-in-law, I made my way over to the edge of the ballroom.
The celebrations were in full swing, and I couldn’t help but draw in confidence from the revelry that was still carrying on into the evening. It gave me the courage I didn’t even realize I needed when I laid my eyes upon my stepmother, but I needed every bit of help I could get.
The bitch who was standing there as if she were her own version of royalty looked like she had aged quite a bit. I couldn’t help but be satisfied with that knowledge as we approached.
She was wearing a headdress that looked like two horns stuck together—which was fitting, I suppose—and her graying hair had been braided down her side. Her gown looked luxurious, but even I knew that style was outdated. The evidence that step mummy dear was having financial problems was more gratifying than I would have expected.
My so-called stepsisters looked like aging spinsters in matching gowns as they chattered away. Their ratty, mouse-colored hair looked like the result of too many DIY dye jobs, and their makeup was ridiculously overdone.
The younger sister, Salmonella—or should I say Sara-Maya if you wanted to be picky about it—batted the hand of an elderly gentleman from her shoulder. The action gave me a glimmer of a wedding ring on her hand, so I could take glory in the fact that this appeared to be my stepsister’s dear husband. Oh, this is getting good.
“Ariella,” my stepmother said as I approached. Her tone was crisp as she lifted her chin slightly, and I could see the look of envy in her eyes.
“Greta,” I said, using her real name, and I was glad when she flinched. She had insisted all that time ago that I call her Mother Dear. And not out of affection. “Thank you for coming.”
“We received the invite. How could we not come?”
“I believe you know the king and his son?” I asked, noticing that my so-called family hadn’t even attempted a curtsy once royalty had come upon them. “They were the ones who invited you. Not I.”
Greta’s eyes shone with an evil that I was all too familiar with, but even she had been raised better than that. She curtsied and batted her daughter’s arms so they would do the same.
“Our apologies, Your Highnesses,” she said, and she straightened as if ready for battle.
“I hear Kaleb died of a nasty affliction,” I couldn’t resist saying. “My sincerest apologies.”