And her story, of course.
Sighing, Ella takes a step closer. “You really have brought this on yourself, you know, Anastasia.”
I slide my eyes towards her incredulously. “Feel free to explain how. This, I have to hear.”
She only blinks back at me, the picture of innocence. “If you and your mother hadn’t treated me the way you did, we might have been sisters in truth. That’s all I ever wanted; you know.”
I choke on my own dry, rusty laughter, the sound dragged from my throat on a wheeze.
“Are you truly that deluded?” I force out. “Truly, Ella. Do you actuallybelievethe bullshit you come out with?”
She moves closer again, until she’s nearly on top of me. Her head leans down until I have to crane my own to meet her eyes.
“I don’t have to,” she murmurs, her lips stretching into a smile. “Because everyoneelsedoes, Anastasia. How does it feel, to be the most hated person in Sorelle?”
I stare back at her, stoic and silent. I watch as the mask slides away, revealing the rotten creature underneath.
There you are.
“You are alone,” she croons. “Your mother is dead. You have no friends. Nobody at all who will stand and speak for you. You know, Crispin actually tried to find someone to stand as a character witness, in the interest of afair trial. But not a single soul in Sorelle would stand up for you, Anastasia Cooper.”
It shouldn’t hurt. And I suppose it doesn’t, really. Not a sharp pain at least, the way it feels when you’re first injured.
No. Not a new pain. But a dull ache. Arememberedpain.
“And why would they?” Ella laughs, her voice soft. “For such an ugly,toxicperson. Yet the whole country would drop to its knees formewithout even needing to ask. So, you tell me,sister. Which of us is telling the truth?”
“When you spend years as an indentured slave, friends become a little thin on the ground. As you should apparently know,Cinderella.”
She grins then, delighted at her nickname. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Almost as good as yours.”
The ugly stepsister.
I press my lips together, done with her. “Feel free to leave me to my imprisonment at any time. It’s an improvement on the last ten years.”
She laughs, the sound tinkling like bells. “Oh, no, Anastasia. That would be far too easy.”
As my shoulders stiffen, she reaches down, her fingers lifting my chin. Gripping it.
“Did you know that Sorelle still maintains execution as a form of punishment?” Her words are softly spoken poison, unable to hide the delight. “Quite barbaric, really.”
“And yet incredibly useful to dispose of any unwanted witnesses.” Brave words, but I can barely force them through thesudden panic gripping my throat. Ella’s grip on my face tightens painfully, and I reach up to grab her wrist and pry her off. “How convenient for you,sister.”
I push her back, and my eyebrows raise as she stumbles away dramatically. Then I blink as she collapses to the floor with a wail, clutching at her wrist. The door bangs open, guards flooding inside. “My lady!”
I watch in disbelief as they carefully lift a weeping Ella from the floor. She holds her wrist carefully, her fingers covering the lack of marks as she throws me a pitiful, tear-filled glance.
“I tried,” she whispers sadly. “I really did.”
I have to roll my eyes.Honestly.
They usher her out, and I flinch as one of the men smacks his baton hard against the wall next to my head. His meaty face twists in hatred for the woman who enslaved his precious future queen.
“Bitch. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
None of them bother to look at the marks on my own face. At the indents left by Ella’s nails in my skin.
No, they only see what they want to see.
