Glass Slippers & Jeweled Masques (an Erotic Cinderella Fairytale) (Twisted Fairy Tales)

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A Twisted Fairytale

By

Denysé Bridger

GLASS SLIPPERS &
JEWELED
MASQUES

(Cinderella for a new age)

Copyright © 2011 Denysé Bridger

Dedication:
For Sara, who gave me Prince Charming long before I ever knew I'd need him!

"You can't be serious?"

"Amerasha needs stability," King Alenzo Coranthaos reminded his only son. "Our future lies with you!"

Michel Alexandros Coranthaos, heir to the island nation of Coranthis, turned from the castle window to look intently at his father. He tried to keep his voice even and free of the irritation that was coursing through his veins like a living thing. "Father, you are in the prime of your years, hardly on the verge of dying of old age. I fail to see why you think it so necessary for me to marry and produce offspring!"

His father's shoulders stiffened. Michel sighed inwardly. He schooled his expression to careful neutrality and waited for the rebuke he sensed coming.

"Why do you think it so necessary to remain unmarried, Michel?"

Startled by the calm question, he took a few moments to seriously consider. He could be flippant about it, or he could, for a change, be honest. The expectancy in his father's eyes decided him and he crossed the distance between them.

"I don't think it's unnecessary, father. I simply choose to wait for a woman I can love and respect, someone I can share my life with, as you did with mother."

Alenzo looked at his son, and nodded, expression grave.

"I wish to see you happy, Michel." He held up a hand to ward off Michel's reply the reply Michel was about to make and smiled, albeit with sadness. "You have played the carefree prince for many years, but there is emptiness in your life that needs to be filled. Tell me this is not truth? If you can?"

Michel stared, genuinely surprised by the turn of the conversation. He'd answered his father's summons with the expectation of another of their increasingly frequent arguments. Instead, he'd been accorded direct honesty, which had once been the core of their relationship, but had been lacking these past few years. He sat down and for a few moments, he remained silent, then he leaned back in the comfortable chair and nodded.

"There is no sense denying what you say, father. I am not a happy man," he admitted, then laughed with real bitterness. "I don't lack for attention, but it feels very hollow."

Alenzo nodded. "It's time to bring a bride to you, my son."

Michel frowned, and waited for the trap to spring. He should have recognized the change in tactics. His father was a supreme manipulator.

* * *

The Lancourte mansion was alive with the usual activities that passed the days for those of wealth and privilege. Cindi looked around the kitchen, quickly assessing what needed attention next. Her stepmother was expecting guests in less than an hour, and she wasn't really in the mood to listen to the shrill complaints heaped on her for oversights, real and imagined. She sighed inwardly as she checked on the dishes that were being prepared, offering words of encouragement to the new maids and conferring with the cook.

The late Richard Jordan Lancourte had been well respected and popular in social circles all over the world. He'd been honest, dedicated to charity and research, and a man of charm and intelligence. His death almost a year ago had left her bereft all over again, a mere two years after she'd lost her mother.

"Why isn't everything ready?"

The shrill demand sliced through Cindi's reverie like a blade, and she schooled her features to polite calm. Turning to her stepmother, Alana, she offered a small smile.

"Everything will be ready when you require it, madam," she said. "Timing is involved in some of the dishes you've requested."

Alana's irritation grew more evident as she stared at Cindi with visible disdain. "If you mess this up, you will be looking for a new home, Cynthia. Your father's not here to persuade me to overlook your attempts to sabotage me."

It was an old argument, one Cindi had long ago learned to ignore. Her father had never been one to step in with any argument that involved his wife and his illegitimate daughter. He'd finally acknowledged Cindi a few months after her mother's death, when his own wife had died, and less than a year later, he married again. Alana Denier-Lancourte didn't like sharing her husband's attention. She and her daughters had done all they could to make life hell for Cindi.

"Madam?"

The imperious and faintly disdainful voice of the butler prevented Cindi's answer. She looked past Alana to the tall, forbidding presence, who waited patiently.

Alana's expression darkened further, but she forced a false smile into place and turned to look at Xalvador Deschamps, the faithful friend, companion, and valet to Richard for most of his life.

Xalvador's eyebrows climbed and he nodded as he came into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. "Sit down, Miss Cindi. This should not be your job."

Cindi accepted the coffee and asked him to sit with her. From their vantage point at the edge of the kitchen, seated at the small nook in the corner, they could oversee anything that went on.

"My job is to make myself scarce as often as possible. Invisible would be perfect, and you well know it, Xalvador."

"Master Richard wanted more than this for you," Deschamps noted, voice stern.

"Alana feels the need to run this house now, and it is her right, old friend. In another few months, I will be able to leave. I remind myself of that, often." She smiled. He clearly understood, and she laughed at his bland expression.

"It can't happen soon enough, Miss Cynthia, not soon enough!

* * * * *

It was early evening when the doorbell drew Cindi's attention from the book she'd been immersed in. She was in the library, a room rarely used by her stepsisters or their mother, a place that had become her sanctuary in recent months. Alana emerged from the lounge, her three daughters in tow. Cindi stood in the library doorway and watched as Deschamps handed a large, thick, white parchment envelope to Alana.

"What is it, mother?" The youngest, Delia, asked.

Alana walked to a nearby table reserved for mail, picked up the gold letter opener, broke the seal and opened the heavy missive. She read the note, and smiled.

"It's an invitation for us all," she announced in delight, waving the invitation like it was a coveted prize. "To a Masquerade Ball!"

Cindi watched, amused and sad in the same moment. Her sisters all tried to take the invitation from their mother. She frowned at them, and as expected, they quickly settled and waited for her. She read the parchment:

King Alenzo Coranthaos

will be hosting a Grand Masquerade Ball

Prince Michel Alexandros Coranthaos,

heir to the island nation of Coranthis,

will be in attendance and wishes the presence

of the lovely women of Lancourte Manor.

Squeals of delight and excitement resounded in the vast entry hall as the three girls joined hands and danced around, chattering about dresses and princes all at once. Cindi caught her stepmother's eye. Satisfaction gleamed in Alayna's ice-blue eyes.

"When is the Ball?" Ruella, the middle girl in Alana's trio of daughters, and the quietest by far, tried to peek at the invitation.

"One week from tomorrow." Alana frowned. "That doesn't give us much time, but we will make it enough. Come girls, in the morning we'll go shopping."

"A masquerade sounds lovely." Cindi understood she'd been totally forgotten in the excitement.

"I'm sure it will be, Cynthia," Alana replied, her voice cold. "But you can hardly think royalty would be inviting you to an affair like this?"

It was the answer she'd expected, but it still hurt deeply. Cindi nodded and turned on her heel, returning to the library.

* * * * *

The following few days were a flurry of activity in the Lancourte household. Dressmakers came and went, their arms loaded with dresses, and numerous assistants in tow. One of them had made the mistake of selecting a lovely amethyst gown and suggesting Cindi try it because it would be perfect for her. Alana had stopped short of burning the dress, and the unfortunate assistant had been banned from returning.

The week went by in a blur, and the afternoon of the ball arrived to shrieks, squeals of excitement. The staff scrambled to keep up with the demands of four shrews who'd become the bane of their working existence.

Deschamps came into the kitchen as Cindi was pulling fresh baked Cinnamon Buns from the over. She smiled at him, then laughed when his features screwed up into a snarl.

"The hell you weren't!" Deschamps tone was uncharacteristically snide. "She
wants
to think that, the invitation reads differently!
All
the women of Lancourte Manor were invited, and that
does
include you!"

She patted his hand and smiled. "Thank you, old friend, but in this case, I believe you are mistaken. The illegitimate daughter is not on the guest list." She went back to the cooling racks, and returned with coffee and warm cinnamon buns. They ate together, stealing a few minutes peace.

* * * * *

"I can't believe you did this, Father!" Michel snarled. "Why didn't you just hold an auction?" His voice rose to a shout, and everyone cleared out of the suite's sitting room.

Alenzo's infamous temper rose. Though he contained it with admirable effort, and replied in a voice tight with restrained annoyance, "Michel, you agreed that it was time to find a suitable mate, what better way than to host a Ball?"

Michel was furious with the turn of events. His father's false passiveness notched his anger up another degree or two. "I knew you were up to something, but this! This is underhanded even by your rich standards, Father." Disgusted, he turned to leave.

"Michel, you will attend this Ball, and be damn gracious while doing it, my son, or by morning a new heir to Coranthis will be decreed."

The words struck him like the lash of a whip, and halted his exit. Alenzo's words rang like shots from a gun, the volley ripping through Michel's protective armor of indifference. He turned and met his father's calm gaze. In those horrible, silent seconds, he felt his freedom curtailed, and his chest was tight with fear and rage.

"You can't do this to me, Father." Desperation tainted his words. "Why?"

"Because it's time!" Alenzo's dismissal was in his curt statement. He turned his back. Heading into the adjoining bedroom, he glanced over his shoulder. "Michel, this is not a punishment. One day you will thank me."

"Not fucking likely, old man," Michel muttered. The door slammed behind his father and he collapsed into a chair as his knees started to shake.