Stepbrother Prince : Cinderella Made Smutty Page 9

  I gasped. “What are you doing?” I lunged towards him, trying to get the letter out of his hand, but the prince moved too fast for me.

  He was gone from the bed in a flash and managed to rip the letter into smaller pieces. “You’re not going.”

  Seeing him release the pieces of paper into the air was like watching my own heart crumble anew, pieces of me that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back because only the prince could stitch them together again.

  “How?” I whispered. I had lost all sense of pride and shame. “How can you be so cruel to let us get this far only to throw me away?”

  “I didn’t throw you away.” The prince’s handsome face became shuttered. “I only said you are not to go to the ball---”

  “But it’s a ball for you to find a bride,” I cried out. “A bride, Your Highness! Not anyone’s bride but yours! How can I not want to come?” I nearly wept when the prince only looked at me, a stoic, noble figure that almost made me feel like I was talking to a cold and unfeeling statue. “Is it because I’m your…stepsister?” I stumbled over the last word but I forced myself to say it, needing to know the truth, if only to find a way to move on. “Is that why you don’t think I c-could be your bride?” I fought hard not to cry, but tears had clogged my voice in the end.

  And yet, instead of being moved to pity, the sound seemed to enrage the prince. “Stop crying.” His savage voice was like a lash against my heart, and my body shook at the greater effort it took not to cry.

  How can this be the same man who had loved me so tenderly a while ago, I wondered despairingly. How can be so tender one moment then so nasty the next?

  Telling myself it was a waste of tears to cry over him, I wiped my eyes dry and, lifting my chin, I said flatly, “You won’t stop me from coming to the ball.” I shook my head when he tried to speak. “But don’t worry, it’s not to be your bride.” Tightening my hold on the covers around me, I said in a brittle voice, “You can tear all of Prince Michael’s letters, but it won’t change a thing. I’m going to accept his proposal of marriage.” I smiled as my heart broke and I kept smiling even as I sealed my unwanted fate, saying, “And who knows? The king may even ask you to give me away on my wedding day.”

  The prince was in a cold rage.

  Even now, with dawn breaking outside his windows, he was unable to sleep, his mind tormented by recurring memories of Ella’s last words.

  I’ve decided to accept his proposal of marriage.

  Snarling out a curse, the prince threw his glass against the wall. It shattered into pieces, the small amount of wine in it leaving behind a purplish stain.

  Damn Dezza and her machinations, he thought furiously. Because they shared the same blood, the prince had always turned a blind eye to his half-sister’s greedy ways.

  But this – this goddamn mess she had created by bringing his Ella and Prince Michael together – was the last straw. She had forced him to show his hand too early, forced him to hurt his beloved out of necessity, and for that she would pay him endlessly.

  Once all this was done, her misguided ambitions about the throne of Kivr would be put to a definite end, and she would be made to learn her place.

  His decision made, the prince called his right-hand man Luke. “The traitor still hasn’t confessed?” They had found the culprit behind the stolen letters, an aide to the prince that his half-sister had bribed into doing her bidding.

  “No, Your Highness.”

  “That’s a pity then.”

  And yet, Luke thought with a shiver, the prince’s murmured words were the opposite of his merciless tone. It was a frightening reminder that the prince had not always led a charmed life and that, for a time, he had faced the perils of war with his own sweat and blood.

  The prince’s next words seemed design to affirm this as Luke’s master informed him, “My former sergeant will take over later today. It should take him only three days at most to break the man down.”

  “I understand, Your Highness.”

  “Once the traitor’s returned to your care, you can be sure he’ll be most cooperative.” The prince paused. “However, you may notice a few changes about him.”

  “Changes?” Luke echoed, puzzled.

  “A missing finger or two,” the prince answered casually. “Nothing that worrying, but I thought I should warn you beforehand.”

  Luke swallowed. “I a-appreciate the warning, Your Highness.”

  “It is nothing.” The prince’s voice turned hard. “Just be sure everything is ready come the day of the ball. I want it to be clear in everyone’s minds the lengths she had taken to prove her love to me.”

  The Plan

  “The first course shall be served,” the butler announced as attendants filed past him, each one tasked to serve a member of the royal family. The king was seated at the head of the table, the queen and the king’s daughter on his right while the Crown Prince and the king’s stepdaughter sat on his left.

  No one spoke as the plates were served, but Lady Dezza wasn’t fooled. While the king and queen appeared oblivious to the tension emanating from the prince and their new stepsister, she was not. The way they were so stiff with each other and the way they could barely meet each other’s eyes – all the signs were there.

  Her half-brother wanted to fuck their stepsister.

  She would bet her share of the kingdom on it, but because she was the type who liked to be sure, she decided to put it to test.

  “So, Lady Ella…” Dezza waited until Ella’s eyes met hers. “Are you coming to the ball?”

  The prince slowly leaned back against his seat at his half-sister’s words. And so it began, the prince thought. He had once hoped it would not come down to this, that he would be able to spare his woman from all the pain, but it wasn’t to be.

  The prince pretended not to notice the way Ella’s gaze slid towards him.

  He could almost hear her begging, but the prince remained steadfast.

  Finally, he saw her square her shoulders, as if willing herself to be strong. He watched Ella lift her chin up as she said, “Yes, I’m coming.”

  The answer had her mother beaming. “Oh, thank God you’ve changed your mind. It’s very important we present a united front on this occasion.”

  “I think so, too,” the king said heartily. “It’s unfortunate that the media made so much out of a harmful exchange of letters but do not let yourself be troubled by it.” He sent his stepdaughter a kind look. “You have not been raised according to our ways. We know there is no malice behind the exchange. We will weather this storm, and the ball will be our first step. We shall put an end to all the rumors.” He shared a look of determination with his queen wife. “Not just those involving Ella and the prince of Layla but also those nonsensical ones that imply there is something going on between my children.”

  The words presented Dezza another opportunity to create trouble, and she seized it eagerly, a triumphant smile on her face as she pointed out, “But the ball is for my dear brother to hunt for a bride. If she’s coming, doesn’t it mean people will think she desires to marry the prince as well?” Dezza slung a challenging look at their stepsister. “Do you, Lady Ella?”

  The words seemed to catch Ella off guard, and when she appeared at a loss for words, the prince interjected smoothly, “You must be joking, dear sister.”

  Dezza’s teeth gnashed at the taunting note in the Crown Prince’s words, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had always known she was no match for the prince, and that to go against him in a straightforward fashion would be suicidal.

  Letting out a shrill laugh, she backtracked, saying, “I apologize if I’ve caused any offense. I am only repeating what everyone says. It seems the whole world misunderstands our sweet little sister---”

  The prince only shrugged. “They misunderstand for they do not know the truth.”

  “The truth?” Dezza echoed skeptically.

  The prince bared his teeth in a dangerous smile. “Have you not
heard? Lady Ella is planning to accept Prince Michael’s marriage proposal.” He managed to keep his voice level despite the way his heart clenched at the mere thought of Ella marrying another man. The prince slanted a glance towards his stepsister. “Correct, ukhayyah?”

  A stricken look crossed Ella’s face, and the prince’s chest tightened with pain at how vulnerable and frail she looked right now.

  His fists clenched under the table, his every instinct urging him to protect her…but he couldn’t. His hands were tied, fate decreeing that his stepsister face her battles alone.

  As they continued to stare at each other, the tension between them became evident. When she still didn’t answer, the prince’s jaw clenched, knowing that he was about to hurt her again.

  “Do not keep us in suspense,” the prince said lightly, “lest you want everyone to think you are foolish enough to believe I will marry you.”

  His words had her sucking her breath in, as if his words were a punch to her guts. After a moment, she said tightly, “No, Your Highness. I’m not so foolish to want to marry someone who’s only a prince in name.”

  The subtle dig had the queen gasping while a frown marred the king’s face as he looked at his son and stepdaughter.

  Ella burst to her feet, as if only realizing how much she had given herself away. “Excuse me,” she choked before running out of the dining hall.

  His stepsister’s departure left an awkward, edgy silence in her wake, which was only broken when Dezza asked ever so innocently, “Are you not going after her, Your Highness?”

  The prince shrugged. “Should I?”

  Her half-brother’s tone was entirely casual, but the sudden pallor on his face was unmistakable. Triumph filled Dezza. While she wasn’t completely sure if it was all love or lust on the prince’s side, the truth was immaterial.

  Ella loved the prince, and that was all she needed to know. Now, the only thing left to do was for the world to see how this American nobody was such a good whore she had two princes hankering after her. Once that happened, Ella would be exiled and the Crown Prince disinherited for being terribly weak, leaving Dezza’s son next in line to the throne.

  The Gown

  “Thank you so much,” I told the courier as he handed my package. I waited until he was gone and left alone with my lady’s maid before I hurriedly unwrapped it.

  “You’re opening it here, milady?” Jane asked in surprise.

  “Yes.” I understood her concern. We were at the palace’s servants’ entrance, and it was definitely not a place I should be seen at. “Please keep this a secret. I don’t want anyone to know about it before I see it for myself.” I finally managed to tear off the last piece of wrapping paper from the box.

  Jane gasped when I opened the box and revealed its content.

  “Oh, milady, that’s so beautiful!”

  I didn’t let up my breath, asking nervously, “You mean it?” As part of the royal family, I was required to buy only locally designed gowns. Unfortunately, the rumors had made all fashion designers in the kingdom unwilling to work for me.

  This dress was my only chance, created by the dressmaker from our old hometown. I was only allowed to wear any old dress from my closet, and our hometown’s dressmaker was the only person I trusted not to reveal the truth about my gown.

  The maid touched the gown with seeming reverence. “I’m not lying, milady. I’ve worked in dozens of royal balls and this one is more beautiful than most gowns they wear.” She snorted, adding primly, “Or shall I say what little they’re wearing, since most of their gowns are too provocative.”

  I laughed at Jane’s affronted tone, knowing it was more the maid’s upbringing talking now than her actual taste in fashion.

  Holding the gown up, I studied it one more time, trying my best to be objective as I imagined myself wearing it. The gown was feminine and modest, with a round neckline, long sleeves made of silver lace, and a full skirt made of ice pink silk. The fabric should make my complexion look rosier while the silver lace matched the shade of my eyes.

  All I need now were shoes, I thought, and I’d be ready---

  “Oh, how becoming that dress is,” someone exclaimed from behind.

  Whirling around, I was shocked at finding myself facing Lady Dezza. What was she doing here?

  My stepsister walked towards me, her smile full of admiration as she gushed, “Is that what you’re wearing to the ball?”

  Unsure whether to take her friendliness at face value or not, I nodded cautiously.

  “Do I know its designer?” Lady Dezza inquired as she circled around me.

  “No, I---”

  As I spoke, Lady Dezza tripped, her foot catching at the hem of my dress.

  “Aaaah,” my stepsister cried out as she started to fall.

  I paled, immediately reaching out to help her, but Lady Dezza seemed to dodge my hold. She took a step back, managing to right herself in time but not before the heel of her shoe dug into the fabric and tore out a large piece of the skirt.

  Lady Dezza straightened.

  The maid gasped.

  Following her gaze, Lady Dezza and I saw the ruined result of my dress.

  “Oh my God,” my stepsister gasped. “I’m so sorry.” But even to my ears, she sounded more gleeful than repentant. “What are you going to do now?” She touched her eye, as if wiping a tear away, but she looked more inclined to laugh than cry. “I’m truly sorry about this. Perhaps you’ll find another suitable dress in your closet?”

  I shook my head dully. I had a lot of dresses from the king and queen, but none of them were suitable for a ball.

  “Oh, dear. That’s too bad. I’d have lent you something but we are not the same sizes. I’m afraid you’re too short, too fat.” She released a sigh. “I guess it only means one thing.”

  When she fell silent, I slowly lifted my head to look at her.

  “You’re not going to the ball.”

  It was midnight when Ella, alone in her bedroom, heard something crick. Bent over her sewing, she looked up, her neck protesting at the sudden movement. Her eyes widened in alarm when she saw the wall next to her bed start to swing open.

  What the---

  About to scream, she found herself falling silent in confusion and shock when the wall revealed the prince standing behind it. He was as beautiful as always, but his hair was badly mussed, and he looked like he had come straight to her room upon arriving.

  “Ella.” The mere act of saying his stepsister’s name brought relief to the prince, who was still breathing hard as he gazed intensely at her. With her honey blond hair left unbound, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, and a worn-looking cotton gown covering her curvy body, she appeared already dressed for bed.

  The prince had more eyes than the king did in the palace, and he had been close to strangling his half-sister when he had watched the CCTV footage and saw how she had deliberately destroyed Ella’s dress to the ball. The moment he heard about what happened, the prince had not hesitated, practically running all the way to his stepsister’s room. He had come here, intending to give her some kind of comfort, but he was the one who ended up surprised instead. He had expected her to be crying over her dress or perhaps even cursing his half-sister to perdition. What he would never have expected was for his Ella to be a picture of determination, an old gown on her lap and a needle on her hand.

  Shame burned in Ella’s cheeks when she realized what the prince was staring at. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was furious, but it was only to hide the humiliation churning her insides.

  Although the prince meant to appease her anger with a few well-chosen words, all such thoughts were forgotten when he saw the plasters covering all ten of Ella’s fingers.

  “What is the meaning of this?” When he saw Ella flinch, he knew that she had mistaken his fury for condescension or even pity. He knew he should soften his tone, but he was unable to, his rage knowing no bounds at the realization of the lengths she had gone to, just to have a dres
s for the ball.

  Ella furiously blinked back tears at the prince’s tone. “It’s none of your business!”

  “It is my business when you’re clearly acting like an idiot,” he snapped. His rage increased when she actually started trying to sew again. “Stop that!”

  “No!”

  “Will you look at your fucking hands?”

  “I don’t care!” She nearly jabbed herself as she forcefully pushed the needle into the fabric. “I’m going to the ball and you’re not going to stop---”

  “I said, stop it!” This time, the prince’s words came out in a savage hiss.

  It had Ella jerking, and her hold on the needle slipped, its sharp tip pricking her finger.

  A cry escaped Ella, and she paled when she saw a drop of blood falling to her dress. Over her head, she heard the prince curse and knew he had seen the same thing.

  “I’m sorry.” Self-loathing made the prince’s voice harsh.

  In the corner of her eye, she saw the prince step towards her and she shook her head. “Don’t.” Her voice shook with emotion. “I don’t want you near me.”

  The prince whitened. She had never talked to him like this before, and he found himself suddenly assailed by a mixture of doubt and terror. What if he had pushed her too far? What if she had truly given up on him? Would he be able to let her go? Could he be selfless enough to step aside and let a better man than him take his woman away?

  “Ella.”

  The prince’s voice was as abrupt as ever, but there was something in it – a strange note that made her body tremble and apprehension skitter down her spine.

  But before she could try to understand where her fears were coming from, the prince was speaking again, and this time what he had to say had Ella catching her breath.

  “Be honest with me, ukhayyah. Do you truly mean to marry the other prince? Do you believe you will be happier with him? You only have to say ‘yes’ and I shall…” The prince drew a breath sharply. “I will never bother you again.”