Stepsister(6)

Blood on the ground! Blood in the shoe!

This is a girl neither honest nor true!



The prince stopped talking. He looked at the dove, then at Isabelle. His eyes traveled to the hem of her dress, which was stained with blood, then to the dark tracks she’d left in the dirt.

Isabelle slid her foot out of the glass slipper and took a step back from it. It toppled over, spilling more blood on the ground. The front of her stocking was bright red. Shame flooded through her.

“You cut off your own toes,” the prince said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Isabelle nodded, frightened now as well as ashamed. She’d deceived him. God only knew what he would do to her. She’d heard grisly stories about palace dungeons, and heads stuck on pikes. Was that to be her fate?

But the prince didn’t order his soldiers to seize her. There was no anger on his face, only sadness. And something else, something Isabelle had not expected to see—kindness.

“How did you stand the pain?” he asked.

Isabelle looked at the ground. Maman’s words, spoken earlier in the kitchen came back to her.

Ugly … dull … lumpy as a dumpling …

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she replied.

The prince frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Isabelle lifted her head. She looked at his heartbreakingly handsome face. “No,” she said. “You don’t.”

The grand duke joined them, fury sparking in his eyes. “I know battle-hardened soldiers who could not do what you did, mademoiselle,” he said to Isabelle. Then he turned to the prince. “A girl capable of such an act is capable of anything, sire. She is unnatural. Unhinged. Dangerous.” He motioned at a pair of soldiers. “Seize her.”

Isabelle’s heart lurched with terror as the two men started towards her, but the prince stopped them.

“Leave her,” he ordered, waving them away.

“But, Your Grace, surely you will not allow a second deception to go unpunished,” said the grand duke. “One is bad enough, but two—”

“I said leave her. She has crippled herself. What more could I do to her?”

The grand duke gave him a clipped nod. Then he addressed Maman. “I don’t suppose you have any other daughters eager to cut off bits of themselves in order to marry the prince?”

“No,” Maman said bitterly. “I have no other daughters.”

“Then we shall be going,” said the grand duke. “Good day, madame.”

A fountain burbled in the centre of the drive. As the prince climbed into the carriage, the grand duke, who was still holding the velvet cushion, ordered a soldier to rinse the glass slipper off in the water. The soldier did, then placed it back on the cushion. Maman stood watching them, rigid with anger.

Isabelle, light-headed from her ordeal, sat down on a bench under the linden tree. She closed her eyes, trying to make her head stop spinning. She was dimly aware of the horses stamping, impatient to be off. Of bugs whirring in the afternoon heat. Of the dove, now cooing high above her in the branches.

But then a new sound rose above these others—urgent and piercing. “Wait! Don’t go! Please, please, wait!”

It was a girl’s voice. It was coming from the mansion. She was shouting. Pleading.

Isabelle opened her eyes.

The girl was running down the steps. Her hair was wild. Her dress was little more than rags. Her face and hands were streaked with soot. Her feet were bare.

But even so, she was astonishingly, achingly, breathtakingly beautiful.

It was Ella.

Isabelle’s stepsister.





Seven


The grand duke gave Maman a deadly look.

“Is this another of your tricks, madame? Sending out a filthy serving wench to try the slipper?” he asked indignantly.

Maman’s eyes narrowed as she regarded her stepdaughter. “Ella, how dare you!” she shouted. “Go back inside this instant!”

But Ella didn’t even hear her. Her eyes were on the prince, and the prince’s eyes were on her. He was already out of the carriage, hurrying towards her.

Watching them, Isabelle saw something she had never seen before. Not between her mother and stepfather, or her mother and father. It was raw and overwhelming. Powerful, deep, and true. It was love.

As Isabelle saw this love, intangible yet so real, she realized that Ella was the one the prince had danced with at the ball, that she was the one he longed for.

Envy’s fine, sharp teeth sank deep into Isabelle’s heart. Maman had done everything in her power to prevent Ella from going to the ball, yet Ella had found a way. Somehow, this girl who had nothing, had procured a coach and horses, a sparkling gown, and a pair of glass slippers. How? Isabelle wondered.

The prince and Ella stopped inches from one another. Gently, the prince touched Ella's face. His fingers traced the line of her jaw.

“It’s you,” he said. “I finally found you. Why did you run away?”

“Because I feared that once you discovered who I really was—just a common girl from the country—you would no longer love me,” Ella replied.

“There’s nothing common about you, Ella,” the prince said, taking her hands in his. He turned to the grand vizier. “Bring the glass slipper,” he commanded.