The Ugly Stepsister (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 1) (8 page)

“Why, it’s Monsieur Etienne, of course. We couldn’t ask for a better hairdresser to put the finishing touches before you present.”

Wow. I knew the presentation was important, but I didn’t expect that it would be taken so seriously.

“We’re here,” Bianca says. She looks calm and serene, but I detect a tremor of excitement in her tone.

“Along with about a hundred other landaus and broughams,” Lady Bradshaw says, peering out the window. “Bianca dear, keep in mind that you must allow your smile to blossom slowly when you meet the queen’s eye, and answer concisely if she questions you. It is of utmost importance that you make an impression. As for you,” she glances at me like she just remembered I exist, “don’t trip up.”

I step off the carriage, keeping an eye on my train. Once I get both feet firmly planted on the ground, I look up.

Oh.

My.

God.

It’s like the Disney castle that appears before every Disney movie. A great white marble structure rises before us, with numerous windows and balconies gleaming in the sun. Flags wave atop every tower and turret, which are capped with blue roofs. The entrance, a huge gate of iron and bronze, stands at the end of a long path paved with smooth white stones.

My hand creeps to my pocket, finding only a handkerchief. Too bad my compact camera wasn’t transported along with me. I SO want to bring a picture of this castle when I go home.

“Quit staring, Katriona.” Bianca’s voice pulls my mind back from the clouds. “You act like you have never been here before.”

I barely notice the condescending note in her tone. For a moment, I forget about my worries. With my right hand, I take a handful of my gown, grasping the folds near my thighs so I can walk without the hems getting caught round my ankles; with my left, I pick up my train and drape it over my arm, and start down the stone path.

I’m living in a dream. Wow.

Miraculously, I reach the entrance safely. Four burly guards open the entrance gate, and we find ourselves in a grand courtyard.

“Bianca! Katriona!” An excited voice rings through the air. Poppy, attired in a dress of pale buttercup yellow, runs toward us. She trips, but quickly rights herself.

“So you are presenting today.” Bianca nods at her.

“Auntie managed to adjust my schedule.” Poppy grins widely. “I’m so glad to see you both. I was thinking of giving up waiting and going inside, but then you showed up! Oh, I’m so thrilled to have come. Mama told me stories of the castle, but seeing it with my own eyes—doesn’t it beat everything?”

“Yes, it’s awesome,” I say heartily. “I can’t wait to go inside.”

Bianca raises her eyebrows as though I’m a country bumpkin.

Poppy tucks her hand under my arm and beams. “Come, let us go in together.”

The castle’s interior does not disappoint. We enter by the double doors into the castle, and I’m half dizzy from drinking in the surroundings. Huge rooms that are ten times bigger than the living room back at home. Crystal chandeliers hanging from painted ceilings, carved and polished furniture with gilt edges, velvet carpets stretching from room to room, winding staircases, tapestries that reach from ceiling to floor, servants dressed in neat, uniform colors of blue and silver, courtiers decked out in magnificent clothes which look like they came straight from a movie set.

“Good gracious,” Poppy gasps. We pass through this enormous room two stories high, with a vaulted ceiling and balconies running on the second floor. Tall, narrow windows line both sides of the room, offering an excellent view of the gardens outside. Our slippers click loudly on the polished marble floor. I’m tempted to holler and test if the room echoes.

“This is the ballroom,” the servant who escorts us says tonelessly.

It dawns on me that this is where the ball will be held. In the story, Cinderella commands the attention of everyone by descending a staircase. But there’s no staircase in this room. I look around—the central balcony should do. If she needs to shine in the limelight, she has to stand where the prince can behold her beauty. I ponder on how to get Elle up there.

Then, finally, we’re brought to a place that looks like a sitting room. Bianca tells Poppy it’s called an antechamber. Lady Bradshaw is told to wait outside, in another room, with the other sponsors. She orders Bianca and I to conduct ourselves “with impeccable manners” before the queen, though she barely looks at me. Bianca’s the only daughter that counts.

A dozen other young ladies, all wearing similar dresses of white or cream, wait in the room. A few wear haughty expressions, others look nervous, and some appear bored.

“Bianca,” Claire calls to us. She looks absolutely stunning in a white satin gown, her golden ringlets curling softly on her shoulders. “I’ve been wondering when you’d arrive.”

“How long have you been waiting?” Bianca asks, settling into a chair next to Claire. They are undoubtedly the prettiest girls of us all—one dark and one fair. Damn. Bianca’s competition enough and now there’s Claire, and God knows how many more gorgeous girls out there.

“An hour already.” Claire whips out a fan. I wish I had brought one as well; a dozen girls in long swishing gowns huddled in the same room—it’s suffocating. Once this presentation is over, I am so going outside.

“Wish they’d hurry up,” another girl grumbles. She has a mass of chestnut curls pinned closely together.

Poppy sits down, but she keeps twisting her fingers. I itch to pull off my gloves.

After what seems like another hour, we are summoned to see the queen. Two footmen remove a pair of carved wooden hurdles, which brings us to another room, where we can only stand. By this time, we’re all too nervous to even speak or whisper. Another man dressed in red-and-gold livery—I later learned he’s called a flunkey—spread out our trains. A third man has this roll of parchment that he reads off. We are to go in, one by one.

When my name is called, my heart starts beating ten times faster. I try to breathe calmly, tell myself this is Story World and it doesn’t really matter if I trip and fall. But I don’t want to make a fool of myself. Story World or not, I can smell, hear, and touch everything around me.

The queen is a resplendent blur where she sits, her dress elaborate with numerous folds and embroidery. A heavy necklace of gold beads hangs down her front. Behind her are several people dressed in similar fancy clothes; they must be members of the royal family. A red carpet leads to the queen’s throne, and upholstered chairs are placed on both sides of the carpet. Bianca, Poppy, and those who have gone before me occupy those chairs, hands folded neatly on their laps and backs as straight as a cutting board.

I clench my hands and shut my eyes. Okay, here goes.

I go slowly down the aisle, one step after another. Pain gnaws at my heels, but I do my best to ignore it. I have done a lot of walking since I got off the carriage, and now my feet are suffering for it.

Breathe in. Breathe out. There. Easy does it.

I reach the queen. She has a round face, broad cheekbones, and hazel eyes. I expected her to be gorgeous, magnificent—as befitting a monarch, but actually her looks are only above average.

Now it’s time to curtsy. Trying to remember everything that Pierre taught, I sink to the floor as low as I can. My knees feel like cracking.

“Your Majesty.” My voice comes out in a squeak. At least I haven’t toppled over—a miracle considering my klutziness.

“Lady Katriona Bradshaw,” the queen says. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Er...same here, Your Majesty,” I stammer. Please, please don’t ask me anything about any previous meetings.

Fortunately, she only smiles and gives a regal wave, the diamonds on her fingers glittering. “You may rise.”

I can’t help exhaling a sigh of relief. Keeping a respectful smile on my face, I begin that perilous journey of walking backward with that awful train.

Halfway through, I decide it’s rude to keep staring at the queen, so I avert my gaze slightly. A familiar face catches my eye.

Holy crap. Darcy Guy, standing right behind the queen, wearing the same royal colors.

I let out a small gasp. My foot catches my train; I lose my balance and land on the floor in a tangle of silk.

Someone kill me. Now.

NINE

Poppy gasps. I can literally hear the sharp intakes from most others. A snort of laughter comes from some lady in the crowd.

I scramble to my feet. My face is burning, my heart sinking to the soles of my aching feet. I don’t dare to look at the queen. Or Darcy Guy. I should have finished the journey, but I can’t risk it. I gather my train in my left hand, brush my veil aside with my right, and slink away to the nearest seat.

Even though I’m keeping my head down, I can sense Bianca’s glare, directly across the aisle, sharp and piercing. Her performance must have been flawless, but I, on the other hand, couldn’t have been worse. Well, I
had
made an impression, though not what Lady Bradshaw expected.

The queen pretends that nothing happened, bless her.

“Let the next lady be presented.”

Claire proceeds down the aisle; she is perfect as the quintessential blonde beauty. Her hair trails down her back like a waterfall of pure gold, her crystal blue eyes are luminous and fringed by thick lashes, her skin pink and glowing. She executes the curtsy in a movement as smooth and graceful as a ballet dancer.

If the queen were an Olympic judge of gymnastics, she would have held up a card with full marks on it. Whereas I would get a big fat zero.

While I’m staring at Claire’s back, I notice Darcy Guy looking over at me. His eyes—hazelnut like the queen’s—gleam like a flashlight in darkness, and he gives me the tiniest of nods.

I don’t respond. I’m mad at him, even though it isn’t his fault. Judging from his attire, he must be a close relative of the queen. Holy guacamole, he could be the prince!

I told him the royal family were imbeciles. What if he tells the queen? He asked my name, and they announced it just now, so he knows who I am. Oh God, what kind of trouble am I in?

Someone kill me again.

At the dessert buffet that follows the presentation, I avoid talking to others. Which isn’t hard; no one bothers to talk to me. Except for Poppy, who tries to offer a few sympathetic words. Maybe, after seeing how I humiliated myself before the queen, everyone figures it’s best to leave me alone.

I pick at my food and sigh. They have arranged chocolate muffins, cranberry scones, and lemon cream puffs into pyramids on huge silver platters, along with glass pitchers of chilled fruit juice. But right now I’d have no appetite even if I were at the Ritz. I screwed up my presentation.

Bianca’s chatting with some other girls. Poppy is occupied with her aunt and Claire. I poke my fork at the food, then reach for a glass of water. I really wish I had a fan.

So I do the most logical thing available. I stand up, wipe my fingers on the napkin, and get out of the chair.

“Katriona, where are you going?” Lady Bradshaw says sharply. Nothing escapes her eagle eye.

“I just need some fresh air,” I say. “It’s stuffy inside. I’ll be back soon.”

“You’re supposed to remain indoors.”

“If I don’t get out now, I will faint away and make an even worse spectacle. I’ll just be gone for a second, and no one’s going to miss me anyway.”

She purses her lips and glances at the crowd in the room. Everyone’s conversing and having a good time.

“Very well then. But do not wander too far. It would be dreadfully embarrassing if you lost your way and required assistance to be brought back.”

I slink away, glad for a chance for temporary relief. When meeting difficulty, I escape. In the modern world, I’d hide in my bedroom and cry, or delve into books, as if they could ease the pain.

I ask a servant to show me the way outside. Soon I find myself in the gardens. There’s this maze of tall green hedges that looks like the one they depict in
Alice in Wonderland
. It’s pretty cool, and just what I need at the moment.

I duck into the maze and remove my slippers. My feet ache terribly. Angry red boils have sprung on my big toe, and my heel is blistering. Blissfully barefoot, I find a bench right at the end of the maze, beside a rose bush.

Urgh. Thank God the presentation is over. I look up at the sky. Wispy clouds float in a sea of blue. So carefree, so relaxed...unlike me.

Brisk footsteps head in my direction. I jump up and look for my slippers, but it’s too late. Darcy Guy appears in his full royal glory—swirling red cape, leather boots, white shirt, and a sword hanging from his belt. He looks totally different from the plain-suit guy that day—if he had worn his medieval prince outfit, I would have guessed who he was.

“Miss Katriona Bradshaw.” He sketches me a bow. “A pleasure to meet you again.”

His gaze falls on my slippers, which I’m still clutching like an idiot. He smirks, and suddenly I’m filled with anger. For a moment, my Clumsy-When-Meeting-Hot-Guy-Syndrome fails to surface.

“You’re the prince, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were? Look what you’ve done to me.”

“Precisely what have I done?”

“You...” I glare at him. “If you had told me who you were when I first met you at Elle’s house, I might have expected you’d be at the presentation! I wouldn’t have freaked out and landed on my butt, right before everyone!”

The prince cocks an eyebrow. “Pardon me, but you were in a hurry to leave that day.”

Fair enough. But still...

“Aren’t you supposed to be like, in the palace? Why were you in the city? And why did you wear those ordinary everyday clothes? I can’t believe I took you for a…a middle-class gentleman.”

“Wait.” He holds up a hand. “As the daughter of the late Earl Bradshaw, have you not seen me before? Even if I generally do not like to make my presence known in public.”

Uh-oh. I look down on the ground. “I...I didn’t pay attention before.”