A Grimm Curse: A Grimm Tales Novella (Volume 3) (4 page)

“That was funny.” Remi grinned at her with an irritating, knowing expression.

“What in the world did he want? I don’t believe for a second it was to take me swimming,” Cynthia said.

Remi hopped until he was directly in her line of vision and caught her eye with a sudden serious expression. “Cindy—“

“Oh, it’s Cindy now, is it?

He ignored her. “When’s the last time you looked in a mirror?”

Cynthia stared at him, trying to gain her
bearings
. Thoughts and feelings long buried darted about inside her like darting fish. Not even close to sorting herself out, she settled on an indignant reply.
“What does that have to do—“

“Stop stalling. When?”

She sighed and thought back. There wasn’t one in her room or the servant’s bathroom. There were several in the house that she would pass on occasion. Lady Wellington alone had three in her room. She’d seen her reflection in store windows and pools of water. But how long had it been since she’d stared into the reflection of her own eyes? Or even just used a mirror to arrange her hair?

“I don’t know. Years probably.”

“Come on.” Remi hopped to the floor and out of the pantry faster than Cynthia thought possible.

“Remi!” she hissed as he bolted down the hallway and into the closest bathroom. It wasn’t one of the servant’s bathrooms. Remi hopped on the toilet seat and into the sink, climbing with the sticky pads of his feet until he perched on the tap. Cynthia quickly closed the door and locked it, praying no one would come knocking.

“Look!” he said.

Cynthia watched the
insistent
prince for a second, wondering if being a frog had started to mess with his brain.

“Just look.”

She sighed and stared at the mirror. Thick lashed, big gray eyes looked back at her. Her face was pale and thin. She looked tired. She looked older than she remembered.

Remi jumped to her shoulder. “Take this off.” He tugged at her scarf.

“Stop that!”
S
s
he tried to swat him away.

“Just take it off,” Remi said.

When had he gotten so bossy?

She tugged the scarf away. Her curls bounced slightly with the sudden freedom. Her hair was the color of the ripe wheat fields when the low, dark sun hit them at sundown. They framed her face and made her eyes look enormous and striking.

“Happy now?” Cynthia attempted to sound irritated at him, but she wasn’t.

He just grinned at her reflection from his perch on her shoulder.

“You see it, don’t you? Remi said. “Now you know why that poor guy was throwing pebbles at your window.”

She did, although the knowledge brought her no comfort. Instead, a rock full of dread settled in her stomach. She was beautiful. Gorgeous. She didn’t know when she’d gotten this way. She didn’t remember looking like this when her father died.

But others were starting to notice too, despite her efforts at being invisible. Todd had noticed and it would only bring her trouble.

The window in
the
bathroom had been left open a crack. Squeaking wooden wheels and rattling tack wafted into the room with the breeze. She pressed her eye to the gap between the frosted pane and the windowsill. A carriage rolled to a stop in the middle of the dirt road that ran in front of the house.

The horses that pulled the bulky vehicle were unlike anything you would find on a farm or estate. Pure white, showy
,
but poorly muscled. Their tack was dyed red leather and gold. The familiar crest of a huntsman’s
arrow
piercing an apple on a field of red was carved on to the side of the opulent carriage and
stitched on
the driver’s uniform. That crest was a common sight in this part of Elorium. It flew on flags and was stamped on the bottom of every royal proclamation from the Hapsburg Palace.

“Now what?” Cynthia
muttered
.

She hadn’t seen a royal messenger this far from the castle since the announcement of the queen’s remarriage. That had been before her mother died.

She rewound the scarf around her hair, popped a protesting Remi into her pocket, and snuck out of the bathroom. Down the stairs and out the back door, she skirted the side of the estate and made her way back to the front. A trumpet blew. Cynthia huddled out of sight under a lilac bush where she could see and hear without being observed.

A box had been set in the street. The local foot traffic and every man, woman, child, and servant from the surrounding properties crowded around the man
perched
on it. To his side a footman stood at attention with his trumpet tucked under his arm. The man on the box was older
with a
thick set of gray whiskers
clouding his face
. He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform with so many tassels and
metals
medals
he clanked when he shifted his weight. Cynthia vaguely recognized him as one of the royal councilors.

Squinting at a
thick sheet of parchment
, he
began to read.

“From her Majesty Queen Gisela and King Ferdinand. Four days hence, a feast shall be held at the Hapsburg Palace to celebrate the occasion of Crown Prince Wilhelm’s coming of age. After a prodigious feast of three days, on the prince’s twenty-first birthday, he shall select his bride
,
and
the future queen.”

A
n incredulous
ripple surged through the crowd. The women began to murmur. Cynthia rolled her eyes and stood, dusting her skirt. She thought it might be something important.

The councilor’s voice trailed her to the back of the house.

“This maiden will be of his own choosing. She is not required to be of noble birth, but only to win the heart of the prince.”

Chapter
6

“How am I supposed to go looking like this?”

“AREN’T YOU EVEN A LITTLE bit interested?” Remi asked, glued to the window in the butler’s pantry.

“Nope,” Cynthia said. She put
a
knife in its felt lined drawer and laced her fingers together
,
and
stretch
ing
ed
her sore fingers. Almost done.

“The crowd’s thinned out now,” he said.

“Hmmm.”

“They’ve nailed the declaration to a tree across the street,” Remi continued.

“You’ve already said that.”

“The councilor’s trying to leave but Lady Wellington
has
’s
snagged him.”

Cynthia spared him a brief glance. His froggy nose was squashed against the glass.

“Sounds about right.”

She counted the remaining silverware. All forks. She hated forks. Impossible to get between the tines.

“Looks like she’s offering him an éclair.” Remi
said,
confused.

Cynthia
chuckled
. Lady Wellington was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She hadn’t met a man yet who could resist Ann’s cooking.

“She’s got him by the elbow… she’s leading him inside…” Remi hopped off the windowsill and sat at the door like a whimpering dog.

Cynthia sighed and opened the door a crack before going back to her polishing. Remi thrust his nose into the corridor. Indistinct snippets of conversation drifted up the stairs for several minutes. There was a pause and a violin began to play.

Lady Wellington had insisted on music lessons for her girls when she had married Cynthia’s father. ‘Accomplished’ was the word she’d thrown around. Neither girl was particularly musically inclined, but the piece Portia was playing now, Cynthia had been hearing daily for about a year. It wasn’t bad. Determination and practice could accomplish some things.

The notes hummed to a close. A brief pair of clapping hands, a few more murmured comments, and the door opened and closed again.

Cynthia placed the last piece of cutlery in the drawer. She stood,
arching
her back and wonder
ed
if she dared sneak into the kitchen for a bite to eat. If she got caught, Lady Wellington was sure to assign her more chores. If she laid low, her slightly water damaged copy of fairy tales was waiting for her in the barn.

Her grumbling stomach made the decision for her.

“Hungry, Remi?” She put her hand on the floor and waited for him to hop on.

“What do you suppose they were up to?” he asked.

Cynthia shrugged and held open her pocket for him to jump into. “Working an angle. She usually is.”

She padded down the stairs and darted into the kitchen without seeing anyone. It was that lull between meals. The lunch dishes were just being put away and the dinner preparations just beginning.

An entire chicken breast had been left over from lunch. Cynthia smiled at her luck and grabbed the heel of a loaf of bread for Remi. Chicken was one of those foods that didn’t seem to sit well with him as a frog. Her plate piled high, she swung out the kitchen door and froze, the smile sliding off her face.

Lady Wellington loomed in the archway to the main room. Hand tucked under her chin, toe tapping, it was almost as if she had been waiting for Cynthia.

“Where are you going?” she asked, a touch of acid in her voice.

Cynthia bobbed a quick curtsy. “The silver is done. I was just bringing this to Coriander to see if she might be hungry. She hasn’t been down to the dining room lately.”

In her pocket, Remi froze.

Lady Wellington’s gazed zipped over Cynthia with a
quick
shrewd
, calculating
look.

“Good. Let’s go see her then.”

Cynthia had no choice but to hold on to the plate for dear life and follow her stepmother up the stairs.

She rapped smartly on the door. “Kitten? Sweetness? It’s Mummy.”

“Go away!”

There was a howl, a crash, and silence.

“Goodness sakes!” Lady Wellington shouldered open the door.

The room looked like it had been ransacked. Clothes were shredded and littered throughout the room. The nightstand
was
tipped over and the heavy vase with the dried flowers was shattered, the glass marbles treacherous underfoot. The drawers of the vanity had been removed and the mirror
smashed
. One door of the wardrobe was torn away.

Tears stung Cynthia’s eyes. Her mother had selected the furnishings for this room.
Her
room. Cynthia tried not to think how many times her mother had curled up in the overstuffed chair to read to her. She took a deep breath and willed the tears away.

The bed was the only thing that looked normal. Rumpled with a Coriander sized mound buried under the blankets.

“I said go away!” The voice from the mound on the bed was muffled.

Lady Wellington tisked softly and began plowing a path through the mess with her kitten heels. “Start cleaning this up!” she snapped over her shoulder.

Cynthia swept a ruined dress from the top of the dresser and set down the plate. So much for dinner. She silently sorted through the disarray.

Lady Wellington perched on the edge of the bed and patted the lump briefly. “Now, kitten. I know you must be feeling rotten, but I’ve got just the news to cheer you up.” Her hand faltered when Coriander shied away from her. Lady Wellington reached up to pat her teased hair. “We had a visit today from Royal Councilor Smithson.”

That’s right. Cynthia remembered her father talking about Smithson. She had begun collecting and sorting Coriander’s clothes into two piles—trash-it and try-to-repair-it.

The blankets grew still.

“Our young prince has come of age and there’s to be a feast in his honor,” Lady Wellington said.

“So. We haven’t been invited to anything at the palace since
F
ather died.”

Cynthia winced to have Coriander refer to her father in such a familiar manner. She’d never gotten used to it when he was alive.

“But we’re invited
this
time,” Lady Wellington said, letting the words hang in the air like a tantalizing smell.

Coriander took the bait. “Why?”

“Because he’s looking for a bride,” her mother said with smug satisfaction.

Coriander sat straight up in bed. The blankets tumbled away and Cynthia got her first look at her stepsister since the day she’d visited the apothecary. Her hair was still the color of a garish sunset and it stuck to her head in greasy, unwashed clumps. Her hands were buried in the bedclothes, but her skin had darkened a shade or two, and coarse brown hair had begun to peek out of the neckline of her nightdress. Cynthia felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

“A bride?” Coriander whispered. She threw back her head and let out an inhuman howl, tearing at the fur sprouting from her collarbone. “How am I supposed to go looking like this?”

“Calm yourself!” Lady Wellington snapped. She stood and began to pace in the space Cynthia had cleared. “You still have time to break the curse before the feast. What’s more, I’ve managed to arrange for you and Portia to give a concert for the royal family on the first night!” Lady Wellington quivered with excitement. “You both play so beautifully, one of you will win him over for sure.”

They both played tolerable, in Cynthia’s opinion. She took a broom out of the hall closet and started sweeping, making sure to keep her head down.

“I. Can’t. Go. Like. This.” Coriander’s voice was deep and guttural. Her eyes flashed a feral yellow.

Lady Wellington leaned both hands on the edge of the bed and snarled directly in Coriander’s face. “You will go, whether the curse is lifted or not. Do you know why?”

Coriander jerked her head from side to side, watching her mother with wide eyes.

“Because this may be
the
family’s only opportunity to get back in royal favor, to have any kind of power and prestige. So unless you want to spend the rest of your life as the stepdaughter of a dead man who once sat on the king’s advisory board, I suggest you get out of that bed and beg
i
n practicing.”

Lady Wellington straightened up, smoothing the front of her tailored silk shirt. “We’ll make sure you have gloves and a high collared dress if they’re needed. No one will ever be the wiser.”

At least Remi’s curiosity would be satisfied. She was sure the frog had hung on to every word that filtered into her pocket.

“Schubert’s
Fantasie
.”

Both women turned to stare at Cynthia like the wardrobe had started talking. She cleared her throat, unsure of why she’d opened her mouth except for Remi’s voice that seemed to be playing on repeat in her head.
Perhaps you can provide an opportunity for her.

“It’s always been your best piece,” Cynthia said. She bowed her head and returned to her sweeping.

Lady Wellington turned to Coriander with an overly bright smile. “There, you see? Even your stepsister knows how good you are.”

She turned on her heel and tapped out of the room. “I want you on that piano bench in half an hour.” She paused long enough to bark at Cynthia. “Help her get cleaned up.”