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  Cinder

  An Adult Fractured Fairy Tale

  J.E. Taylor

  Cinder © 2018 J.E. Taylor

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  © 2017 Cover Art by Cora Graphics

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Cinder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About J.E. Taylor

  Cinder

  Elle must escape a life of despair to find magic in a Prince’s arms.

  Elle Seeley’s world turns upside down when her mother passes unexpectedly. Her father brings her into his business, teaching her the art of negotiation in the marketplace and how to defend herself against attack.

  All his training and grooming comes to a halt when he brings home a new wife and the woman’s daughter. Elle’s father makes her promise to listen and obey.

  The minute her father leaves, her new step-mother transforms into a monster with one goal—to humiliate Elle into submission.

  When news of a ball is announced, Elle wants to escape her mentally unstable captor, but she is forbidden to go.

  Will Elle find a way to escape a life meant only for despair?

  Chapter 1

  The soft kiss on my forehead should have brought forth a warning.

  Instead, it was the usual, mundane good night routine I had had with my mother for the last seventeen years. She tucked me into bed and placed that sweet, comforting kiss in the center of my forehead before she took leave to meet up with my father at the latest social event. She was dressed in a golden gown that would put the rest of the city’s women to shame.

  I wish I had known that would be the last time I saw her.

  Had I known, I would have asked for more.

  More hugs, even though it would have wrinkled that beautiful dress.

  More stories, even though another one of her tall tales would make her woefully late for the party.

  More time for her to stay with me instead of leaving me alone with my grieving father.

  Three days after she died, I stared out the window at the fields drenched in the morning sunlight, wishing for my mother once again.

  “Elle!” My father’s voice echoed up the marble staircase.

  I turned, pressing the fabric of my mourning dress into place. My eyes stung from the unrelenting cascade of tears. No matter how many times my father told me to stop crying, I could not staunch the fountain. At least I was silent now, without the accompaniment of the wailing loss that had gripped me when I was first given the news.

  I climbed down the stairs into the grand entry, avoiding eye contact, but my sniffling caught my father’s attention.

  “Girl, you need to get yourself together. The entire city is coming out to extend their condolences, and I cannot have you sniffling like some small child.”

  I nodded and sniffed.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered and handed me a handkerchief.

  I dabbed my nose, and folded the fabric in the palm of my hand. I would need it for the funeral and the procession to the pyre, where they would honor my mother by reducing her beautiful form to dust.

  Such was the way of the elite. Only royalty had their bodies bound and stored in crypts under the castles. I never understood the fascination of being put in a marble casket with my likeness carved in the elaborate stone, and my essence trapped in the same dark space.

  The funeral pyre cleansed and reduced the human body to ash which traveled on the wind, partnering with nature once again.

  My thoughts kept turning these two disparate forms of internments over until I stood in the front row of the great chapel next to my father. He remained stoic, and I continued my silent sobbing throughout the service.

  I was unsure how my legs held my weight from the church to the pyre built on the hill in our back yard overlooking the king’s valley. As the flames engulfed my mother, my knees weakened, but my father caught me, steadying me. I glanced sideways with a nod of thanks.

  He clenched his jaw and remained standing tall despite the stench of burning wood mingled with charred flesh that hung on the air. A single tear crested and slid down his cheek like a drop of molasses first tapped from a tree trunk.

  The king’s emissaries rode up the hill, stopping a distance away to pay their respects. My father crossed his left arm across his chest and bowed, showing his allegiance to the crown even in this difficult time.

  I wasn’t as diplomatic as my father and couldn’t have given a rat’s ass that the king’s people were here. All I wanted was my mother.

  My father cleared his throat. I curtsied as best as my shaking knees would allow given the circumstances. They didn’t seem to mind my obvious lack of attention, but I knew I would get a stern talking to later that evening from my father.

  “ELLE, YOU MUST REMEMBER your manners, especially at such trying times as these. It is what differentiates us from the beasts.”

  I stared at Father. I knew he was right. I also knew my mother would have been sadly disappointed with my behavior, but my father had the decency not to bring my mother’s expectations into his berating.

  “The prince was with the king’s guard,” he said.

  I blinked and shrugged. “What would you have had me do? It was my mother’s funeral, and honestly, I wouldn’t have cared if the king himself had shown up.”

  My father’s lips pressed together, and his cheeks flushed. He turned and walked out of the room without another word.

  OVER THE NEXT FEW MONTHS, Father and I found a comfortable rhythm. Between my daily chores, he showed me how to maintain the property books and where all our finances were held. He taught me how to barter with the local shop owners and how to defend myself if I ever found the need.

  All his attention helped fill the emptiness in my chest every time I picked up one of Mother’s knickknacks. When her loss overwhelmed me, I wandered into her closet to touch her silk dresses. The soft fabric brought back more happy memories, and I felt closer to her when I shared the quiet of her dressing room.

  When the holiday season started, I climbed up into our attic and started going through the trunks looking for the decorations Mother used to hang. I had already pillaged through a half dozen chests filled with linens and other mundane household items without luck.

  I crossed to the opposite side of the attic. The third trunk had what I was looking for, but as I gathered the decorations, a breeze tickled my ankles. I turned. In the far corner sat a dust-laden trunk. Drawn to the ancient sigils on the side, I placed my armful of ornaments down on the holiday trunk and traversed threw the boxes to the old one hidden away in the corner.

  Standing over the ornately carved wood, vibrations
filled me. I reached for the lock.

  “Do not touch that trunk!”

  I jumped at my father’s stern voice, spinning towards him with my heart thumping in my throat like I had done something terribly wrong.

  His wide eyes gave me more of a start than his reprimanding tone. They were eyes of a man filled with fear.

  I blinked and stepped away from the trunk, even though every fiber in my body craved to open it. It called to me in a way nothing ever had, but I obeyed my father.

  “I was just looking for the holiday decorations.” I pointed to the pile I had put down before I got sidetracked with the ancient chest behind me.

  “Well, get what you came up here for and come back downstairs.” His features smoothed out, but his tone remained clipped.

  I grabbed the pile and headed back downstairs with him following close behind. The moment I put the decorations on the table, he turned me around, placing his hands on my shoulders.

  “I want you to promise me that you will never go near that trunk.”

  The seriousness in both his tone and his expression wiped out any plan I had to sneak up there and open that chest. However, curiosity tickled my skin.

  “Why?” It wasn’t uncommon for me to ask questions, especially given the training my father had given me over these last few months.

  His lips pressed into a frown. “Because I am ordering you to stay away from it.”

  I cocked my head and studied his blue-green eyes. There was no leeway there, so I nodded assent. “Can you tell me what is inside that has you so scared?”

  He let out a laugh and stepped back, putting distance between us. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  I got the distinct impression he was avoiding my question, but I remained quiet, waiting for him to answer.

  He sighed. “It’s just some old things from before I met your mother. Things unsuitable for a young lady.”

  I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. However, both Father and I knew I would not go against his word, no matter how interested I was in seeing what could possibly be hidden away in that box.

  Chapter 2

  The following June, I was sparring with Nathan, the neighbor’s squire, while my father watched from the balcony. I bested him for the first time since I had started training, and with my sword to his throat, and my heart pumping with the glory of the win, I glanced up at my father.

  He stared down at us with a scowl, dampening my mood.

  I bowed to Nathan before handing him the training sword. When I stepped out of the courtyard, I wasn’t in the frame of mind to confront my father, so I went for a walk on our lands, heading towards the winding brook.

  I sat on the rock near the long, straight portion of the stream, skipping pebbles across the surface. I had been so pleased to win the sword match with Nathan, but my father looked as though I had killed the squire instead of besting him.

  The next rock skipped five times before it plunged beneath the surface.

  “Impressive.”

  The voice startled me, and I was on my feet before my brain registered who was on the other side of the brook. Prince William’s dark eyes sparkled in the bright spring sunlight, and his lips turned up in a whisper of a smile.

  “My lord, forgive my manners.” I stumbled over the words and attempted a curtsy, which almost made me tumble off the boulder. I caught myself and glanced at him. Heat filled my cheeks.

  Deep dimples appeared, and he looked away as a smile captured his lips. I had never seen the prince this close. I had to agree with the gossip that he was quite the looker. Prince William was handsome enough to make my heart flutter, especially when he was trying to hold back laughter.

  “My lady, I wager I can skip a rock farther than you can,” he said.

  I cocked my head. “And what exactly are we wagering?”

  He blinked and his eyebrows rose. Prince William glanced at the waterway with an open mouth, like he didn’t quite know what to request. He licked his lips and looked back at me. “How about a kiss?” he asked, his voice hushed enough so I barely heard him over the rushing water. His cheeks reddened and he grinned.

  I bit the side of my lip and reached down to pick up a pebble I had saved for last. “And if I win?” I palmed the smooth rock, waiting.

  “Anything the lady desires,” he said and bowed. The mischievous glint in his eyes made me smile.

  “Anything?”

  He nodded.

  “I desire a true swordsman to spar with,” I said and let my rock fly before he could speak. When it skipped eight times before plunking in the water, I turned towards him with a satisfied cock of my head.

  He stared at me with his jaw hanging ajar.

  “Well, my lord, it is your turn.” I waved towards the water.

  He picked up a pebble at his feet and swiveled, flinging the rock close to the surface. My heart pounded in my chest as I silently counted each skip.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

  And then the rock disappeared under the surface.

  He stared in the direction of the rock as his smile slowly melted away, and then he turned to me. I swear, he looked disappointed.

  “It looks as though we are at a stalemate,” he said.

  The sound of hoofs beat in the distance.

  He sighed. “I would love to continue playing this game until I won, but I have to get back before the king’s guard finds me and drags me back to the castle.” He bowed and turned into the thick grass.

  I hopped down and started back towards home. Just before I stepped into the woods, I glanced back. The prince had disappeared into the wheat field. The chaotic beat of my heart settled.

  The interaction with the prince made me forget my melancholy, and I walked back home still feeling as if I were floating on clouds. My euphoria ended when I saw the servants carrying my mother’s fine china out of the dining room and up the stairs.

  I rushed into the dining hall and stopped, staring at the nearly empty hutch. I spun on my heels and marched into my father’s den. “Why are the servants moving Mother’s china?”

  Father looked up from his books and leaned back in the chair. “It is about time I cleared out her things. The constant reminder of her everywhere I look still makes my heart ache for her.”

  “Having her things near gives me peace,” I said, trying not to let my voice rise, but the thought of her things disappearing left me hollow.

  “I am not throwing them out. I am putting them in the attic so when you finally agree to a betrothal, you will have a nice dowry to go with you.”

  My eyebrows rose. He had never once talked to me about marriage. I was aware that my parents had spoken to several of the families in the village, but my mother knew I believed in love and I didn’t want to be saddled into an arranged marriage. Since my mother passed, there hadn’t been any talk of betrothals or dowries in any of my conversations with my father.

  “What makes you think I’ll agree to any betrothal?” I put my hands on my hips, challenging him.

  His eyes narrowed at my tone. “When I find you the right man, I expect you to obey my wishes. I don’t want you to become an old maid.”

  I bit my lip on my response. I would rather be an old maid than marry a man I didn’t know. “I want what you and mother had. Your marriage wasn’t arranged.”

  His expression softened, and he sighed. “No. It wasn’t. But it also wasn’t without sacrifice. I want to spare you hardship.”

  “I don’t have an issue with hardship, Father. I do have an issue with moving Mother’s things into the attic.” I crossed my arms.

  All the softness in my father’s expression vanished, and he slowly stood, his face reddening. “I am still the lord of this manor, and you would do well to remember your place. Your mother would be very disappointed in you right now.”

  For nearly a year, my father had never brought up how my mother would feel about my behavior. I had never pushed him that far. My stomach plummeted
at the dig. I dropped my gaze as shame heated my cheeks. Humbled, I nodded, waiting for him to say more.

  “Days like this, I regret giving you the knowledge and means to stand on your own, but I never expected it would give you the audacity to question my authority.” His hard gaze blazed at a spot on my forehead and was just as damning as his words.

  “I’m not questioning your authority,” I whispered. A part of me bristled at the meek tone, but he was right. I pushed him too far and deserved his stern demeanor.

  “Be thankful I am not giving everything away,” he muttered and pointed at the door.

  My chest tightened, and I gave him a nod before taking my leave. I went to my room so I didn’t have to see the exile of my mother’s things.

  Chapter 3

  The next few days were quiet. I wandered from room to room surrounded by emptiness. My mother’s things were relegated to the attic, including all her silk gowns, shoved into trunks like they were old linens, or hung haphazardly to wrinkle and collect dust. My father didn’t acknowledge my sadness. Instead, he went about things as if nothing had happened, with one exception. He was absent for hours every late afternoon, coming home long after dark.

  He had been out late several times before he moved Mother’s things from all the rooms, but I never questioned it. Now, I noticed a pattern. By mid-afternoon, he kept looking at the candle and out the window at where the sun was in the sky. When he left, I had nothing to dote on, I noticed his absence.

  On the last day of the week, I woke to him still gone. The servants said he hadn’t come home the prior night, and no one had information as to where he might be. The same panic that had filled me after my mother died constricted my chest. As my breath wheezed and my head spun, one of the servants informed me that our carriage had just arrived.

  I ran towards the front door and came to a halt halfway down the hallway. My father escorted a dark-haired woman into our home. His attention was solely on this woman, and the way his gaze lingered tightened my stomach. I had only ever seen that sparkle in his eyes when he looked at my mother.