Cinders & Ash: A Cinderella Story (Passion-Filled Fairy Tales Book 3) (10 page)

The ride back to the castle with Philip was a quiet one. Ashton did not speak to him the entire way, even though he generally liked Philip. It wasn’t Philip’s fault that his mother was overprotective and overbearing. Philip had to obey his Queen, only Ashton had been thisclose to finding out where she lived. It was an unexpected surprise to find her, to be with her, and he wanted to know more about her. He hadn’t been sure he could convince her to let him walk her home, but he had had been sure that, if she’d refused his offer, he could have followed her. He didn’t like the notion of not knowing how to find her, especially when she hadn’t shown up the night before. Only, Philip had dashed his chance by arriving when he did. Cinders had fled again. Though he was sure that she’d come to the castle as she’d promised.

When they arrived at the castle, he went straight to the throne room where his parents sat. They had just finished with the public court, where they heard the people’s grievances. His father had his eyes closed and was saying he had a headache while his mother was blathering lithely, as was her pattern.

“Mother,” he said, approaching them and interrupting her.

His mother turned and looked at him, her smile fading. “Ashton,” she said. “You can’t disappear like that. I was worried.”

“I can, mother,” he retorted. “You’ve got to stop this. I’m an adult and watching over me like I am two is both unnecessary and unappreciated.”

“I don’t watch over you when you’re here in the castle,” she said, a touch of defensiveness in her tone. She raised a hand and stroked her black hair, which was plaited in a single braid that hung over her right shoulder.

The King, Henry, opened his eyes. He was a robust man with light brown hair streaked silver. “What are the two of you arguing about?” the King bellowed, his mustache twitching.

“My freedom,” Ashton said succinctly.

Henry turned and looked at his wife. “Elizabeth, he’s a grown man of marrying age. You realize this must stop.”

She pursed her lips and stared at her husband. Though thin, her face was soft and the Queen generally appeared genial, even if she was feeling cross. Her look of pleasantness in most moments lulled people into a false sense of security that she was a harmless onlooker, but Elizabeth could be as cunning and vicious as a lioness. “It would be easy to let him go if there weren’t wicked fairies running amok. You heard what happened to that poor princess Briar Rose. Cursed not long after her birth, and then the curse took effect 17 years later. The entire kingdom, King and Queen alike, went to sleep thereafter. It was madness, and I shan’t ignore the warnings like Briar Rose’s parents did. We need to keep our son safe.”

Ashton shook his head. Not this again. Fairies were things of children’s stories, the kind Gertrude used to tell him, not real life.

“I am perfectly fine mother and will continue to be so without you hovering and sending guards after me,” Ashton said, choosing to ignore the entire bit about fairies and the ridiculous rumor about the sleeping kingdom.

“Yes, Elizabeth,” the King said from his throne. He leaned toward his wife. “Besides, you said that soothsayer told you John Ashton would be past any danger once he turned 20 and married.”

“I will be 20 in less than a month, mother,” he said.

She gave Ashton a nasty sneer. “Yet, you will still need to marry. The soothsayer was clear that you needed to be 20 and married. Yet you make such little effort to marry,” she said looking toward the north, through a little window in that area of the room. “We sent you for an entire summer to spend with your cousins, meeting debutantes and respectable women and you’ve come back alone. I fear you’ve come back worse off, having picked up your cousins’ baser habits. I’ve heard the rumors of how they treat women.”

Ashton’s mouth popped open slightly and he found that he was, for once, shocked by something his mother said. He wasn’t shocked by the fact that she’d heard the rumors, for she was one that always seemed to keep her eyes and ears on the pulse of things. However, that she actually spoke those words aloud to him, to his father, was out of character for her. He wondered if Gertrude had warned his mother that he’d picked up Chandler and Leith’s habits. Was that why she was giving him the extra scrutiny of having her guards search for him? He took a deep breath and resolved to put an end to his mother’s watchful eye. First, he needed to dispatch his mother’s claim.

“I’ve picked up no habits from my cousins that I am ashamed of,” he said, knowing it was entirely true. He had seen Chandler and Leith do some questionable things, but he hadn’t partaken in anything like that. “Besides, I could make efforts to find a nice girl if you didn’t always have guards afoot to wander after me. I saw a girl today who was simply stunning, but when I had to respond to Philip, she got scared off.”

His mother raised an eyebrow, a slight smile dangling on her lips. “Is she a courtesan? Perhaps I know her and could make inquiries for you.”

Ashton had hoped to guilt his mother into leaving him be, yet it wasn’t working. It was having the opposite effect. “Please, just let me roam in freedom a bit.”

“Done,” King Henry said. Elizabeth, her slender nose looking more pinched in reaction, turned to her husband, eyes squinted in anger, but said nothing. He stared back and eventually she turned away. “I will order the guards not to follow you, even if Queen Elizabeth requests it. In return, you are going to work on finding a wife.”

“But father, I’m still young,” he said.

“You are to be king one day, John Ashton, and you’ll need a queen by your side,” he said.

“Yes father,” Ashton said stoically. He wasn’t quite ready to settle down. He wanted more adventures, more women. More. But it didn’t matter, he had simply promised to try. It was entirely possible to try something and fail at it. Fail miserably. Ashton turned to leave, but his father called him back.

“Your royal portrait is complete,” the King said. Ashton tried to keep his expression neutral, but it felt like a small dagger to his heart. It meant that he would be recognizable soon. His mother, despite her nutty reasoning for it, had made his life much easier by keeping him away from the public. Most royal families had royal portraits painted and put in various locations so the people of the kingdom could see their rulers. But Queen Elizabeth had wanted no evil fairies to see what he looked like. They’d had the royal baby portrait, but that was when the mythical Briar Rose was 13. By the time the mythical girl had turned 17 and fallen into that enchanted sleep, John Ashton was 4 and his mother was convinced that evil fairies lurked in the distance to do him harm.

She’d kept a tight rein on him and allowed no more portraits. He almost never left the castle unattended. He always had a guard or Gertrude. He assumed his mother believed Gertrude’s supposition that she was a fairy. Perhaps a protective one, because his mother trusted him to Gertrude’s sole care, something he could say of no one else. Still, he was rarely allowed to leave and when he did, he was inconspicuous because no one knew he was prince. On those few occasions that he left the castle, no one would stare at him and say, “There’s the prince.” No one would run back and tell people they’d seen the prince doing this or that. It was liberating. And now it was about to end.

“Are you sure, Henry?” his mother asked quietly. “Is it really time for Ashton to be turned out on his own, unsafe?”

“Look at him,” her husband commanded. Elizabeth turned and eyed her son. “He’s a grown man, tall and strong. I’ve deferred to you for many years on this, but now it is time for our son to step into the light. He must start preparing to rule his kingdom.”

“And find a bride,” his mother added quickly. “That old soothsayer said he’d be well the rest of his life once he married. The danger could be avoided when he was younger, if he was kept mainly hidden away in good company, but now, in the time before he marries, that is where the danger lies.”

Henry sighed. “Enough, Elizabeth,” he said. “I don’t want to hear another word about the ‘evil in disguise’ that will harm him. Nothing that woman has predicted has come true, so I am sure there is nothing to this. I’ve indulged your superstition as much as I could allow, but now I must put my kingdom before my wife’s happiness. Our son is to take his place, rather than live the quiet life of a noble having fun.”

Ashton nodded. He agreed with his father, but he wasn’t quite ready to be thrown before his kingdom. Although he thought he knew a way to prevent that, at least for a little bit. “Father,” Ashton said, deferentially. “Why don’t we reveal the portrait in style?”

His father gave him a curious glance. “What do you mean?”

“Rather than just hanging it in the town square, why don’t we reveal it at my birthday ball?”

His father put his hand to chin and thought for a few moments. Ashton and his mother remained silent, for they knew the King did not like to be disturbed when he was making a decision. Then, King Henry smiled, very wide. “That is an excellent idea, son. We’ll do it on the eve of your birth and reveal the portrait at midnight. As the clock strikes twelve, and we commemorate your birth, we will unveil the portrait.”

Ashton forced a smile. He hated all the pomp and circumstance, but the ball had been scheduled for some time. At the very least, he could get the official portrait delayed until then. A few more weeks of freedom. He gave his father an admiring look. “That’s a brilliant plan, father,” he said.

His mother was smiling, too, but there was no joy in it. “Excellent idea, Henry,” she said. “And there will be many eligible maidens there at the ball. All the nobility are coming. You might do well to look for a bride that night.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow. “I doubt I’ll find a bride in one night.”

His father winked at him. “Stranger things can happen,” he said. “Even though your mother was supposed to marry some Duke from Wilshire, I saw her and fell in love at first sight. It can happen. And once a prince finds a woman he wants, there is no man who can compete with that.”

Ashton smiled agreeably and for some reason Cinders’ face popped into his mind. The suddenness of it shocked him, and he blinked to get her face from his vision.

“Something the matter, son?” his father asked.

Ashton shook his head. “No, father. I just think I’ll retire now that we’ve got that settled.” With that, Ashton turned and left the room.

Ella had decided to practice. The prospect of drawing Ash when she’d drawn so few people or things on a regular basis scared her. After she left the pond, rather than run home and start dinner, Ella ran to town, stopped at Faye’s and borrowed a portion of the money she’d received from the first night she was with Ash. Then she went and bought paper and drawing chalks. It was most of her money, but Ash had promised to pay her for supplies and she would earn more than enough for her journey by completing his drawing. It seemed drawing him was a much more honest occupation than the one she’d originally endeavored to perform with him. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed their time together, but doing that for money made her feel dirty, and possibly, more miserable. She was more at ease with the idea of being with him physically just because she enjoyed his company, not because she was his whore.

Drawing him would be much better, but she definitely needed to practice. After finishing in town, she hurried home, just barely beating her stepmother and stepsisters there. The dinner was going to be late, and when Lady Kenna found out, she looked murderous. Had the woman not been trying to impress Lord Angleton, she would probably have taken another switch to Ella. But, she was trying to stay in Angleton’s good graces. So, her stepmother simply asked, venom in her tone, if Ella had been lazing about all day. Ella made up an excuse about not feeling well, a stomach ailment, but Lady Kenna was unsympathetic.

Once the supper had been prepared and eaten, Ella went about her chores: cleaning and getting the house ready for bed. Bathilda had gone upstairs to look through a book on fashions her mother had apparently purchased in town. It listed some of the more prominent styles, along with pictures. Books were expensive, as was paper, so it must’ve cost quite a lot, yet Lady Kenna had said she would put nothing toward Ella’s dowry. She wanted to scream, only there was no point. Screaming would do no good. Lady Kenna had all the power at the moment, and Ella had to deal with that. Still, if Ella could just escape after finishing Ash’s painting, she would be free of these people. She just needed to get 50 miles south to the port city. Then she could sail away from here, and her stepmother wouldn’t find her.

Ella went into the sitting room, where she found Marigold alone reading a book. Marigold had been a fairly poor reader when their parents married. When her stepsisters first moved in, Ella tutored Marigold, encouraged by her father. But when Edward died, Lady Kenna eschewed any friendly relations between the girls. Still, Ella always thought Marigold had appreciated her help. For now, whenever Marigold finished a book, which wasn’t often as Lady Kenna was not super encouraging of idle reading, she would give the book to Ella to enjoy. Lady Kenna had sold most of Edward’s books after he died, so Ella enjoyed the opportunity to have a new book. Marigold’s tastes were different from Ella’s, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Marigold,” Ella said in a whisper, and Marigold looked up. The girl’s hair was a dull brown that naturally wound tightly into curls. She had an angular face with a particularly pointed nose and flat cheeks that did nothing to show warmth. In girth, she was the opposite of her sister: rail thin. Like most people, she looked better when she smiled. It seemed to perk up her cheeks enough that she looked rounder and kind, rather than a tangle of harsh angles. Marigold looked around the room for signs of her mother or sister. Marigold might’ve been kinder at heart than either her mother or sister, but she wanted their wrath no more than Ella did. Marigold always treated Ella according to their desires rather than her own when they were around. Satisfied her mother and sister had retired, Marigold whispered back, “What is it, Ella?”

Ella walked over and sat next to Marigold on the sofa. “I need a huge favor,” she said.

Marigold was shaking her head. “Ella, mother is already mad at you. I can’t do anything for you right now or else she’ll turn that anger on me, too.”

Ella knew exactly what Marigold meant. With Lady Kenna, you were either with her or against her. There were no shades of grey. “It won’t get you in trouble. It will help,” she said. “I want you to suggest that I draw a picture of you and Bathilda to give to Lord Angleton’s son, sort of a gift for his kindness of coming over. If I draw it and it includes you and Bathilda, it’s like a gift from the three of us, but it puts you and Bathilda in Lord Angleton’s sights for the lovelies you are. And perhaps it will keep Charles thinking of you, as his father decides if he wants to pursue a marriage.”

Marigold sat in silence for a minute, her lips pressed tight together as she considered what Ella was saying. She turned back to her stepsister. “Why both of us? You know mother wants Charles to marry Bathilda.”

Ella took a deep breath and said her idea quickly, for she’d thought of this answer earlier and knew it was the only explanation that worked. “Because it would be unseemly to give Lord Angleton solely a picture of one girl you hope him to choose for a bride for his son. It would be almost as if you were bartering her like bread, or other merchandise in a catalog. However, a portrait of two sisters, drawn by a friend, is the picture of decorum and yet accomplishes the same goal of getting him to see Bathilda as part of the family.”

Marigold breathed out, then gave a curt nod. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it, but can I ask why you want this.”

Ella told the truth, partly. “I miss it,” she said, her voice a whimsy. “I miss the feeling of the charcoal in my hand, the etching of soft shapes onto the paper, Mari.” She looked up at her stepsister, trying to convey to her just how much drawing meant to her. “My father and I used to go and draw birds and trees, and even little foxes and toads, and it gave me such joy. When he died, I still got joy from it, but your mother, she stopped buying me materials. She stopped letting me have the freedom to let my imagination soar that way. I just want a chance to do it again for a bit, and I thought this way, we’d all get something from it.”

Marigold patted Ella’s hand, and said, “Alright then. Just don’t say anything about it yourself. I’ll mention it to her, and you’ll know soon enough if she likes the idea or not.”