Charm (15 page)

H
e came as she was dressing for dinner. She’d styled her hair as she’d worn it for the Bride Ball, her face was powdered and painted and she was perfuming her skin when the knock on the door came. She pulled a robe on and opened it. There he was. Heat rushed to her face and her heart thumped. She lifted her chin. She had nothing to be ashamed of. He was the one who should be embarrassed.

‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, looking at the footman livery he was wearing.

‘Don’t worry, no one got hurt,’ he answered, stepping inside. ‘Men in taverns, however, should be more careful where they leave their uniforms when they get distracted by a warm body,’

‘Have you got it?’ she asked.

He held up a small brown bag and flinched slightly. His injury was clearly still causing him a lot of pain and her heart softened slightly. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she nodded towards the chair. He did as he was told and she opened the bag and pulled the diamond shoe out.

‘You look like you’re getting ready to go into battle,’ he said, his eyes studying her.

‘Battle?’

‘All the war paint.’

‘Are you trying to insult me?’ Anger flared up in her stomach again. Why did she find him so confusing? He’d risked his life to save Buttons because she’d asked him to, and yet he could be so infuriating. She always felt so uncomfortable under his gaze. Why was that?

‘No, you look beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’m just curious about all this effort for dinner. And what you’re planning to do with that slipper.’

Cinderella sat at her dressing table with her back to him. It was just easier that way.

‘I know where the second slipper is,’ she said, fixing a diamond necklace around her neck. ‘And I need to get the key.’

‘Which he keeps on a chain under his shirt,’ the huntsman said dryly.

Cinderella’s back stiffened slightly. ‘That’s right.’

There was a long pause. ‘I see,’ he said.

‘I’ll wait until he’s asleep and then steal it. We can get whatever’s in there and then we’re done.’ She skipped over the meat of her plan. Why did she suddenly feel awkward? And – if she was honest with herself – more than a little bit scared?

‘You’ve got it all figured out then,’ the huntsman said.

‘Yes.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Anyway, you should go. I need to get dressed.’

Behind her, he pulled himself to his feet. ‘Why bother?’ he asked. ‘Clothes don’t seem to be part of your plan.’

His words stung but she didn’t turn round as he limped towards the door.

‘But as long as you know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘It’s not my business.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ she snapped. Tears sprung to the back of her eyes suddenly and out of nowhere. How else did he expect her to get the key from the prince and then return it without it being noticed? And he was her husband-to-be. It was hardly . . . well, hardly like the things the girls in the taverns – girls the huntsman no doubt spent all his time with – did.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said, and then the door closed behind him and he was gone. Cinderella stared at her reflection and her whole body trembled for several minutes; anger, unhappiness and something else she couldn’t quite figure out all roiling into a storm of emotion inside her.

War paint
. Maybe it was. She certainly didn’t recognise the woman staring back at her from the mirror. A lady of the court with tamed and lacquered hair and painted features. Still, she thought. Perhaps it was best to think of herself as someone else for this evening. It might work better that way. She peeled off her robe and pulled on a long green dress with a hem which reached the ground. It was perfect for disguising the fact that she would be wearing two different shoes.

The warm slipper fitted her perfectly, just as she’d expected, and on her other foot she wore another with a similar heel. She was ready. Her heart beat fast in her chest. There was no going back now.

E
ven though she was only wearing one magic slipper, she could see the effect over dinner. Instead of simply casting a bored eye over her before sitting down, this time the prince frowned slightly and then smiled, before coming round to her side of the table and pulling her chair out for her.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

He leaned down and spoke softly into her ear, his breath tickling the back of her neck. ‘You look beautiful tonight.’

She smiled and, when he sat down, lifted her glass to click against his but she only sipped at her drink, even though she longed for the bravery that came with wine. She needed to keep her wits about her for later. The prince, however, drank his.

All through the meal he talked to her, attentive to her every need, asking about how her music lessons were coming and telling her how excited he was for the wedding to come quickly. It was all the conversation Cinderella had wished for when she first came to the castle but now, somehow, although she smiled and laughed in all the right places, it bored her.
He
bored her. She thought of the picture she’d kept on her wall in their old house, how she’d dreamed of meeting her handsome prince and falling in love, and now, as he talked of the hunt and his friends and various balls that were being arranged in their honour, she realised that his personality had about as much depth as that picture.

The king and queen smiled approvingly – if not without a little surprise – at how engaged their son was with his ill-chosen bride and when the meal finally drew to a close the king suggested that perhaps the prince should walk Cinderella back to her apartments. The prince didn’t argue and the young couple left the dining room arm in arm.

‘I was wondering, your highness,’ Cinderella started, her heart racing so hard in her chest that she was sure he must be able to hear it, ‘if you still had my other shoe from the ball. I want to wear them with a new dress.’

‘Yes, of course I do,’ he said, looking down and smiling at her. ‘It’s in my apartments. We can go there now if you’d like.’

Her stomach came up to her throat as she nodded. There was no turning back now. Why was she suddenly so nervous? He was handsome. She’d wanted him for such a long time. Maybe when she had the other shoe on, all the passion she’d felt at the ball would come back. Maybe if she
kept
the shoes on, he’d love her forever and she’d live happily ever after with a husband who adored her. It was an empty thought. Who really wanted an enchanted love? She hadn’t, even before the ball. She’d just presumed they’d fall in love if given the opportunity, as if love was something easy and took nothing but a pretty face and a longing for it to achieve. She realised she felt nothing for him and, in a way, that was worse than if she hated him.

Her mismatched heels clicked down the corridor below her dress as they drew closer and closer to his rooms. His arm pulled her tighter to him; a rare gesture of affection. He was talking softly to her of their future, but it was drowned out by the hum of blood and the thumping of her heart.

A footman with his back to them was polishing the silver arms of a decorative chair just past the prince’s door and she suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to talk to him if just to delay stepping inside. She bit the inside of her cheek instead. There was no point in delaying. She needed to get the key and discover the contents of that room. Delaying now wouldn’t prevent the inevitable. At least the prince was a little hazy from wine and if everything went well would soon be asleep.

She took a deep breath and stood tall. She was no longer a foolish little girl. She was a woman and it was time to start behaving like one. She’d got herself into this – it was her responsibility to see it through.

T
he effect was almost instant. He’d retrieved the shoe from the top of the wardrobe and as soon as she’d slipped it onto her other foot she saw the change in his expression. The lights were low in the room and his eyes glazed as he looked at her.

‘How could I have forgotten how beautiful you are?’ he said softly, more to himself than her as he walked towards her. Her heart thumped as his hand slid round her waist, his arm pulling her tight. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She lifted one hand and rested it on his arm. It was muscular and firm and his chest was broad and strong. He smelled of light cologne and body heat. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and the patch of skin she could see was pale and hair-free. Suddenly, she felt as if she might cry.

‘Oh, Cinderella,’ he breathed as he slid one hand into her hair and tilted her head back, exactly as the huntsman had done, but this time she felt nothing. His lips lowered to hers and kissed her, gently at first and then, as she felt him becoming aroused and pressing against her, with more urgency.

Her spine stiffened. She waited for the rush of passion she’d felt before, but none came. Instead, she began to squirm in his arms, trying to twist her head away and break their embrace. He held her tighter, mistaking her movements for excitement. His breathing was coming hard and he was lost in his lust.

‘No, look . . .’ she started to say as he broke away for air, but then his mouth was on hers again, and one of his hands was tugging at the laces of her dress as he turned her around, moving them towards the bed.

‘No, we shouldn’t . . . I don’t—’

He wasn’t listening to her as he pushed her backwards and started tugging at his trousers. He was murmuring under his breath, no doubt sweet nothings, but Cinderella didn’t want to hear them. She no longer cared about the key or the room upstairs, she just wanted to be free of his grip so she could run away and keep on running. She tried to push him off her but he grabbed her arms and held them down with one hand as his mouth moved down her neck and towards her breasts. His other hand reached under her skirt, and he groaned as his fingers felt their way up her leg.

‘No, please stop . . .’ Cinderella said again, aware that sobs were beginning to choke her throat. This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t how she’d thought it would be. She desperately tried to free herself of the charmed shoes, but they were fixed tightly to her feet. She closed her eyes and tried to withdraw into herself as her body continued to struggle against him. His hand reached higher and higher, pushing her skirt up and . . .

. . . and then the weight of him was gone as someone hauled him off the bed with a grunt and the prince cried out in surprise. Cinderella looked up dazed, her vision bleary.

‘How dare you!’ the prince hissed at the footman as the two men faced each other at the end of the bed.

The footman punched him hard, sending the prince reeling.

‘Shit,’ the attacker said and winced, touching his side, before punching the recovering prince again and sending him to the floor clutching his mouth.

Cinderella’s eyes widened. This was no ordinary footman. It was the huntsman.
Her
huntsman. She scrabbled to her feet and without even straightening her dress ran to him and flung her arms round his neck. He reeled back slightly and put one hand around her.

‘Thank you,’ she said, looking up at him. His skin was rough and he smelt of the forest and she felt a rush of warmth tingling through her body.

‘You’re welcome.’ He looked down at her. ‘But just so you know, this plan stank.’

‘You!’ The prince was on his feet, his bottom lip was bleeding. ‘I thought you were dead.’ His face flushed as his passion mixed with anger.

‘You never bothered to find out,’ the huntsman said.

Cinderella looked from one to the other. ‘You know each other?’

‘That’s a story for another time,’ the huntsman said. He pulled a knife out from under his jacket. ‘And now I think we’ll take that key around your neck.’

‘You’ll never get away with this,’ the prince hissed. He looked at Cinderella. ‘My darling, step away from him. I love you. I—’

‘Oh, take those bloody shoes off, woman,’ the huntsman cut in. ‘We’ll never get any sense out of him until you do.’ Cinderella did as she was told and the prince’s face immediately fell, confused. He stared at her as if he was looking at a stranger.

‘What do you want?’ he asked. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘You tell us,’ the huntsman said, nodding at Cinderella to tie the prince’s hands behind his back. She rummaged in the wardrobe and found a grey silk necktie and used that, pulling the a tight knot around his wrists. Then she reached around his neck and undid the chain. The gold key hanging there shone brightly.

‘Got it,’ she said, smiling.

‘You can’t go into that room,’ the prince growled, his face darkening. ‘No one knows what’s in there. It’s mine. It’s private.’

‘Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,’ the huntsman said, grabbing the prince by his arm and holding him close, the knife pressed under his ribs. ‘And private it might be, but it doesn’t belong to you.’

‘You’ll take the Troll Road for this,’ the prince snarled. ‘You’ll—’

Cinderella thrust a screwed-up flannel into his mouth turning his words into muted grunts.

‘That’s better,’ she said, and then smiled at the huntsman. ‘Shall we?’ She picked up the diamond slippers and crept to the door. She peered out. The corridor was empty.

With the knife held firmly so close to his vital organs, the prince didn’t struggle but let the huntsman and Cinderella lead him. They crept past her apartments into the darker, quieter core of the castle and then started up the cool winding stairs. The moon was in hiding and the steps were simply ghosts in the darkness beneath her feet. Cinderella’s heart thumped in her chest. There was so much she didn’t understand. How did the huntsman and the prince know each other? How much did the huntsman know about what was hidden in the room, and why did the fairy godmother want it so badly? And she couldn’t help but wonder how to get herself out of a lifetime married to the odious man now snivelling behind his gag, snot running from his nose.

All her wondering stopped as the huntsman froze just as they rounded last corner. He raised his hand and she stopped where she stood. Her scalp prickled as she stared into the black musty space. She didn’t need to ask him what was wrong. She could sense it herself. They weren’t alone up here. Beside her, the huntsman was tense, ready to spring into attack, and then, from deep within the gloom came the delicate tap of silver on stone.