Breathing hard, Cinderella barely heard her stepsister. The sight of her shattered slipper stung, and a sharp ache rose to her chest. The shoe had been her key to finding the young man from the ball again, to making a new life for herself outside Lady Tremaine’s domain. Now that it was no more...
Cinderella gritted her teeth. Now that it was no more, her stepmother couldn’t use it to her advantage.
“Mother!” Anastasia cried. “How could she?”
“I don’t understand how she got the glass slipper in the first place—”
“Silence!” Lady Tremaine cut in. Then her voice became lethally soft. “Girls, step outside, please.”
“But, Mother!”
“I will not repeat myself.”
In a huff, Drizella and Anastasia paraded out of the room and shut the door. Once they were gone, Lady Tremaine stepped over the pile of glass shards and regarded Cinderella with an icy gaze.
“So. You lied to me.”
“Stepmother, you can’t possibly think that I stole—”
“I don’t care where you got the dress or the shoes,” Lady Tremaine interrupted. “Or how you managed to go to the ball.” Her pale green eyes narrowed. “You have overstepped your place for the last time. Look at yourself—you are nothing. An orphan and a servant. Who would want you? Certainly not His Royal Highness.”
The words cut deep, and Cinderella struggled to keep her tone steady. “I—I’m my father’s daughter. Your stepdaughter. I’m a member of this family.”
Her stepmother gave a hollow laugh. “A member of this family? Your imagination is to be commended if you truly believe that.”
Cinderella’s lip quivered. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“Hate you?” Disbelief, then amusement glittered in Lady Tremaine’s eyes. “What makes you think you’re worthy of my consideration, let alone hatred?”
“But—”
“Have I ever beaten you, Cinderella? Or starved you, or publicly shamed you? That’s what they do to girls at the orphanage.”
Mutely, Cinderella shook her head.
“I locked you here because you were deceitful. You lied to me and my daughters.”
“I never lied,” Cinderella argued, gathering her courage. “At every turn, I’ve done what you have asked. I’ve cleaned, I’ve cooked, and I’ve never complained. All I wanted was for you to think of me as one of your daughters—”
“How could I think of you as a daughter of mine?” Lady Tremaine barked. Calming herself, she went on, “Until the day I met you, you’d never done a day’s work. Do you remember what you said to your father?
“ ‘Papa! You brought me a mother.’ ” Her stepmother scowled. “As if I were a thing to be brought, an object to be shopped for.”
Cinderella did remember. In her joy at seeing Lady Tremaine, the words had gushed out of her mouth. She hadn’t meant them as an insult. “I was happy to meet you. I didn’t mean—”
“I remember how you looked down on my daughters. You, with your fine dresses and music lessons. Your riding clothes and flowers and little songs for the birds and thatdog.” Lady Tremaine scoffed. “The first thing you did was mock me and embarrass my daughters in front of your father.”
“I didn’t—”
“Of course you didn’t know. You presume ignorance is innocence. I’ve had to build my life from nothing. Give my daughters a place in this society. But you, you scoffed at our old clothes and Drizella’s teeth, Anastasia’s hair.”
At the accusation, Cinderella’s brow furrowed. Had she? She could remember the day her stepmother had arrived so clearly. They’d come during her music lesson, and she’d raced out of it as soon as she’d seen her father’s carriage outside the window, trundling toward home. No one had told her about Lady Tremaine, so it had jolted Cinderella to see her: the heart-shaped hair piled high, making her seem even taller than her father, her long neck and unforgiving posture. She’d been wearing a wine-colored dress with a high collar. One daughter on either side, both with evenly curled ringlets, neither smiling.
“She’s a lady,” one of the servants had said, passing Cinderella, who hid by the stairs. “Best not run to your papa and hug him as you always do. Keep your chin up, and curtsy when you greet his guest.”
That she’d done. But maybe she’d held her chin too high or curtsied too low. Her papa had never required her to be on such stiff behavior before, and she’d so wanted to impress her new mother. She had been so nervous.
“Lady Tremaine,” Cinderella had said in greeting, with her deepest curtsy. Papa chuckled, gently pulling her up.
