Cinderella Is Dead(80)

“Her name was Liv, and she had a family that loved her. I loved her.” I stare him straight in the face and take a few steps toward him. “Your terrible nightmare will end tonight.”

“And exactly how are you going to stop me?” It isn’t a question I have a solid answer for. I glance at his neck. The place where my dagger had wounded him is a purple color, but the skin has somehow pulled itself back together. He laughs. “I’ve spent more years in this land than any other living creature. I’ve molded it, shaped it into everything you see before you. Every man from here to Chione bows to me because I will it to be so.”

“Did Cinderella bow to you when she found out what you really are?”

A quiet rage sweeps over him. It’s the kind of anger that only comes from hearing a truth he can’t accept.

“Even she bowed to me in the end.”

Lies.

“You may rule this land,” I say, pushing down the swell of terror that threatens to consume me. “But you do not rule me.”

“You came here on my orders!” his voice thunders. “You and every other wretched girl in this kingdom, my kingdom, will do exactly as I say.” He steps closer, his teeth clenched, his black eyes wide and unblinking. “Your father, and his father before him, and all the generations before that have sent their daughters to me in droves so I can have my fill and throw the leftovers to the men who come here like vultures to pick at the broken, rotted pieces of flesh.”

“You bring them here to fill the void Cinderella left in your blackened heart,” I say defiantly. “Your bitterness, this anger, it only comes from having your heart broken. Was that her crime? That she didn’t love you?”

“I deserved her love!” he screams. He is unhinged, his eyes wild. “I took her out of her mundane existence and made her a queen. She should have loved me all her life for it.”

“You couldn’t control her. You couldn’t force her to love you as you loved her.” I suddenly understand what’s driving him. He has convinced himself that he was entitled to Cinderella’s love. He cannot see how his own actions turned her against him.

Manford is only entitled to one thing. The truth. “Did you know she came here on that night all those years ago to kill you?”

His mouth opens as if he’s going to speak, but he doesn’t. He clenches his jaw tightly and closes his eyes, drawing a long breath. He sweeps in, reaching his hand behind my back and twirling me around. I struggle to keep my footing as he leads me in a soundless waltz.

“You think you can hurt me with your words? I had hoped you’d be smarter than that. At least make this little game a challenge.” He grips my hand. “I will take what I want from you and leave your corpse to rot in a ditch like your pathetic friend, like so many of the wretched girls of Lille.” émile’s words flood my mind. He is feeding on the girls of Lille like a monster. I picture him prowling the countryside, leaving a trail of corpses in his wake.

As he leans in, I wrench my arm free, rearing back and striking him with my open palm. He stops but does not let go. I look him in the eye. I know my voice will waver if I don’t measure my words, but I want to be clear in what will undoubtedly be the last moments of my short life.

“If you are going to kill me, do it, and spare me your insufferable rantings.”

“You can pretend to be brave, but I see right through you. You are racked with fear.” He leans in close and breathes me in. “I can smell it on you.”

I jerk my body to the side and manage to break his grip. I stumble back, and he grabs my dress. It splits up the side, and I watch in awe as it mends itself before my eyes. The king lets go. He grins, grabs my arm, and pulls me close, crushing me to him. I claw at his face as he presses his forehead against mine.

He opens his mouth wide and presses his lips over mine. I scream but the sound is muffled. I taste his rancid breath and feel his damp skin, his fingers like knives at my back. Then, everything becomes still. A light hovers between us, a cloud of translucent fog that seems to be coming out of me.

I can’t move, can’t speak.

I fight to keep my eyes open. A rush of cold ripples across every inch of my skin. I catch a glimpse of my dagger tucked into his belt. I reach for it, but he bats my hand away.

I’m dying. I feel the life being pulled out of me in long, rasping draws. A fire ignites in my chest, burning away any feelings of hope or love or happiness. Something tugs hard at my waist, and suddenly I’m sliding backward across the ballroom floor. I lie still for a moment as my senses flicker on and off. My vision blurs, and a high-pitched ringing fills my ears. I am exhausted, like I haven’t slept in days, and a crushing sadness hangs over me. My side aches. I roll over and blink.

A familiar figure stands in the middle of the room.





36





“You meddling wench!” the king screams.

My vision clears enough for me to see Constance standing with her dagger drawn and her eyes narrowed, a large book tucked under her arm.

“Stay away from her,” Constance says.

Manford’s face seems to shift as he glares at Constance, like his skin is too loose over his bones. “Put that dagger away, you stupid girl. It will do you no good here.”

Constance glances at me. “Sophia, I—”