“Her name is Ellie,” my stepsister pipes up out of nowhere. She casts a sly glance at me. “We like to call her Cinderella.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I cast my gaze to the floor in shame.
“Is that a play on her surname?” the king asks with evident boredom. His nurse assists him into his seat. Stacia flops into hers, nodding eagerly.
“Ellie fell into the fireplace once. Covered in ashes, with that red hair, she looked like a soot goblin!” She giggles, but the sound slowly fades when no one else joins in. She sits up straighter. “Is Cilla joining us?”
Alistair takes his place at the far end of the table, opposite his sire. I wish he sat closer to me.
“Your sister is in the infirmary, where she will remain until she is able to walk again,” he says.
“Willshe be able to walk?” Stacia asks, her eyes flaring wide as if she’d just realized her sister might be maimed for life.
“With a cane, yes. We don’t have the healing magic of the fae,” says Alistair. “We can set the broken bones but we cannot repair everything.
“She’ll hate using a cane.” Stacia evidently takes great satisfaction that her older sister is permanently maimed. “Is Papa with her?”
No one answers.
“I’d like to show you around the castle after dinner, Lady Scinder. If you’re not too tired.”
“I will be Ellie’s chaperone,” Stacia says primly. I find Alister’s gaze across the table. His slight eye-roll sends fluttery, warm bemusement through my belly. We’ve already known one another intimately. I doubt he will want to postpone a wedding. There must have been plans in place before the ball—the entire point was for him to choose a bride, after all. What does it matter if we spend time alone together?
I suppose my reputation must be guarded closely if I am to become queen one day. Judging from the king’s cough, Alistair won’t answer to the title of prince for much longer.
The cozy feeling of sharing a secret with my husband-to-be fades instantly. If anyone finds out what Tremaine did to me, they’ll blame me, not him. I should never have mentioned what happened.
I won’t allow my past to stop me from having a family to love. I want children. He needs heirs. Our babies will be enough to keep us happy.
Won’t they?
Or will he seek solace in another woman’s arms when I can’t respond enthusiastically?
I couldn’t be happy with infidelity. Sudden misgivings sink in my stomach. What if I’ve been freed of one bad situation only to be cast into an even less tolerable one?
Alistair offers me his hand. “Shall we?”
I place my palm in his, enveloped in warm roughness. One might expect a prince to have soft hands. Alistair’s are callused. One more detail that fooled me into thinking he was an ordinary man the night of the ball.
When I brush my thumb over his knuckles, I feel a raw wound. He flinches.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.” He brushes me off, then turns to the king and says, “Father, we will take our leave now.”
“Make sure you discuss the wedding. You need a gown,” the king wheezes. “Take her to the seamstress and have her pick something out.”
“I know just the one,” I clap, then grab Alister’s arm. It can be mine. The beautiful frothy pale-pink one I saw at the modiste’s would make a perfect wedding dress. We need one quickly. I clutch Alistair’s arm. “Please. I loved it the minute I saw it.”
He chuckles and busses a kiss against my temple.
“Anything you want, my dear. Provided it is suitable for a princess.”
“It is.” Perhaps wearing it will make me feel like one. “Now, tell me where you got these cuts? They’re fresh. We should have them bandaged.”
“There is no need, Elinor.” Firmly, he guides me out into the hall. Stacia trails after us with Othmar, Alistair’s ever-present guard. Perhaps he can keep her occupied.
Another hint of doubt creeps in, slow poison to my joy. Where could Alistair have gotten those cuts? Where is my stepfather? While I could not care less if I ever saw him again, I don’t wish him ill, even after everything he’s done.
