As though the likes of you had any claim to him.” Matilda tilted her head, which lost some of the dramatic effect since half her hair was missing. “You’d 84/431
better watch your tongue or he’ll hang you up with the rest of them. And why do you keep muttering the word
‘Chrissy’ under your breath? What is a Chrissy?” That was the first I heard of Prince Edmond, but it certainly wasn’t the last. Three days later a royal procession visited the estate.
Chapter 5
They sent notice they were coming, but only one day’s notice, which was something the servants complained quite a bit about when the WSM wasn’t around. It meant we all had to scurry around like panicked rodents trying to prepare the manor for royalty. Not that they were staying long. They were just resting here for the night, using us like a hotel stop on their journey to see some important noble in the south.
Since we not only had to provide food and quarters for the royals but for their knights, groomsmen, horses, and servants, the kitchen buzzed with activity all day long. When I wasn’t working to the point of exhaustion, I admit I was curious about Edmond, the blind date—er, life—Chrissy was trying to set me up on. Surely my stepsisters were wrong about him. He couldn’t be some tyrant who hanged people unnecessarily. Chrissy was supposed to find some wonderful, charming guy for me.
The question was, could he be so wonderful that he’d make living in the Middle Ages, make everything I’d gone through, worth it?
I am obviously a hopeless romantic.
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Late in the afternoon, Prince Edmond, his younger brother, Prince Hugh, and his sister, Princess Margaret, arrived in a procession of knights and carriages. The other servants and I crowded around one of the windows in a top room to watch them. When the royals descended from a gilded carriage, my stepfamily did a lot of bowing and fawning. Their colorful skirts swished and swayed as they moved. I had only soot-stained rags to wear, and I was embarrassed that Edmond would see me this way.
WSM ushered the guests into the manor and all of the servants went downstairs, ready to answer any whim or fancy of our visitors.
I recognized Edmond right away. He stood at least six feet tall—perhaps even a couple of inches more—a whole head taller than a lot of the men I’d met in the Middle Ages. He had sleek brown hair, a square jaw, and perfect teeth. Every time he looked in Hildegard’s direction she giggled. Matilda wore a covering over her head to hide her missing hair and kept tugging on it nervously as she watched him.
Prince Edmond’s younger brother, Prince Hugh, was no less handsome. Although he was not as tall and had a curl to his brown hair, he had the same flawless features and square jaw. The two of them walked, talked, and looked about the room with an air of haughtiness that 87/431
only those doubly blessed with looks and fortune could pull off and still be considered charming.
Their younger sister, Princess Margaret, looked to be about my age. She had the same conceited expression as her brothers, and their good looks as well. Her blond hair was piled on her head with blue ribbons that exactly matched her velvet dress.
She glanced around the manor and let out a sigh. “I suppose it will do for the night.” If her brothers noticed her rudeness, they didn’t say anything. They divided their time between talking to the WSM and ordering their groomsmen around.
Edmond, my Prince Charming, didn’t look at me. Not even once.
A dozen tables had been set up in the great room and the meal started as soon as the royals dressed for dinner. We, the servants, hauled in a never-ending supply of food for our guests. Roasted pig. Roasted lamb. Roasted swan. We also carried in breads, cheeses, pies, and a sugary gelatin-like statue that had been molded into the shape of a castle in their honor. The WSM had hired musicians to play and I tried to hear her orders over the music. She sat on the left-hand side of Prince Edmond, a fact that seemed to elevate her importance in her own eyes, and she gave orders with extra disdain thrown in.
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Once while I walked past the table with a pitcher of mead, Prince Edmond held up his goblet and said,
“Serving wench, my glass is empty.” When I didn’t move fast enough he snapped his fingers at me.
Real charming. I filled his glass and he turned away from me without giving me any more notice.
On his right side, Prince Hugh lifted his goblet to me as well. “Be quick about it, wench.” I bit my tongue and filled his glass too. Then I turned my gaze back to Edmond, who, for all of his impatience a moment before, hadn’t taken a drink yet. Really, I was so unimpressed.
Hildegard walked up beside me. She had apparently come to talk to her mother, or to flirt with Prince Edmond, but since she was watching him and not me, she bumped into me as I turned to leave.
The mead in my pitcher sloshed over the edges, spilling mostly on the floor but also splattering both of our dresses. As I steadied the pitcher, trying not to spill anything more, she reached out and slapped me.
“Oaf!” she yelled. “Look what you’ve done to my dress!”
The WSM turned to me, her gaze all spikes and dag-gers. “Ella, your clumsiness will not be tolerated.” The next moment she looked over at the prince and her voice 89/431
smoothed over with honey. “I’m so sorry, your highness.
Did any spill on you? I promise the girl will not go unpunished.”
Edmond wiped at his embroidered tunic, though I doubt anything had splattered there. “Very good. I find that servants are like dogs. Left undisciplined, they become worthless.”
The WSM turned back to me, her lips set in a tight smile. “Well, Ella, what do you have to say?” I knew she expected me to beg for lenience, to apolo-gize over and over again. But I’d had enough of these people, this life, and everything to do with it. “I am clumsy,” I said. “Constantly spilling things. In fact—oops!” I held out the pitcher and emptied its contents over my stepmother’s head.
She gasped, sputtered, then shrieked as the mead flowed from her hair down her face, and then soaked her dress. A group of the knights at the next table over laughed uproariously at the sight of my WSM wiping strands of hair out of her face and jiggling in her seat, as though this would stop the liquid from running down her back. But the only sound from the royal table was Edmond, who said, with a tone between smugness and reproach, “Undisciplined and worthless.” 90/431
I didn’t wait around to hear further critiques. I dropped the pitcher on the ground, hiked up my skirt, and ran. My WSM shouted, “Stop her! Stop her at once!” Neither Hildegard nor any of the servants did though.
Whether out of fear of me or admiration, they stood openmouthed while I rushed by.
I sped out of the manor, past the barn, and into the forest. I had nowhere to go and no way to live, but anger pushed me instead of fear.
How, even for a moment, could a fairy think someone could wish for this sort of life? And why wasn’t she answering me when I called?
I wasn’t exactly sure where fairies lived, but I had the vague idea that it was inside mushrooms. So I walked around stomping on every one I saw. When that didn’t do anything I kicked the trees. Since my boots had never been sturdy to begin with, this probably hurt my feet more than it hurt the trees.
“You’re supposed to be granting me wishes!” I called.
“You can’t just leave me here!” And then I heard Chrissy’s voice behind me. “You know, Cinderella is supposed to have a sweet disposition. I turn my back on you and you’re drenching your elders and kicking poor defenseless trees. Is that really keeping in character?”
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I spun around. She wore the same tank top and miniskirt I’d seen her in before, with her sunglasses in place even though it was dusk.
I clenched my hands into fists. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for three weeks straight.”
“I told you I was going shopping. I’m still not done and I get, like, forty messages from you on my godmother cell phone. Has anyone ever told you that you need to develop a little patience?”