Fiorella
“You don’t understand, sire.”
Her mother’s voice, accompanied by the rapid clicking of high-heeled shoes. A second set of feet thudded to the door. Spurred boots.
Only one person in the kingdom could afford to wear spurs.
“What is there to understand, Lady Georgia? Was your daughter wearing this crystal shoe or was she not?” A soft voice, fit for a knight in shining armor, slithered inside the dark room, prompting her to smile.
“Yes, sire, but-”
“I want this door opened now. This girl is my future wife and your soon-to-be queen.”
“But-”
Something on the prince’s face must have made her mother swallow her tongue. Fiorella was dying to know what, but, if she didn’t play this well, she’d be stuck in the foul-scented cell for the rest of her life.
And it would be a long life; her father had made sure of that.
“As you wish, sire,” Georgia’s voice faltered under royal scrutiny.
A pair of keys rattled in the doorknob and Fiorella struggled to position the handcuffs in front of her. She could hardly wait to see the look on the prince’s face when he would notice how her stepmother treated her.
It took ages for the door to creak open, and when it did, blaring light shot through her eyes. With both her hands in cuffs, there was nothing left for her to do but squint against the light, hoping she would see enough of the prince’s expression.
“What did you do to this poor girl?”
A man blocked the light with his back, allowing her to open her eyes. The Prince stood before her, a scowl marring his symmetrical face.
“She received the treatment she deserved.”
“Deserved?” Indignance curdled the prince’s pleasant tone. “Lady Georgia, I demand you release this girl at once.”
“I’m sorry, sire, but I cannot do that.”
Fiorella watched the showdown, certain the prince would win. Not even Lady Georgia could have her way when the heir was in the house.
“Why is that?”
Georgia’s mouth opened and closed a few times, as the woman hesitated to tell the prince the truth about her stepdaughter.
The handcuffs chafed against her wrists as she rubbed them silently until they drew blood. Then, as any proper lady would do, she feigned a faint.
“Fio,” the prince shouted as she fluttered her eyelids. “Look what you did.” He smirked at her mother, pointing to the beads of blood staining her dress.
Georgia scowled but knew better than to show His Majesty a piece of her mind.
“You will release this girl immediately,” Philip enunciated every word with the poise of a gentleman and the indignance of a common thief accused of being a liar. “I demand it.”
“Very well, sire. But do not say I did not warn you.”
The keys jingled once more as Georgia extricated them from a hidden petticoat pocket. Fiorella struggled; if the prince were to be fooled, then she had to make sure she was seen as a victim. Tears sprung in her eyes and she sobbed quietly, hiding her face in his shirt.
“It’s okay,” he crooned, petting her hair as if she were a prized bloodhound. “You’re safe now.”
The cuffs were unfastened and Fiorella’s veins throbbed with new blood rushing in. And something more, something she had to make sure Philip would not see until it was too late. His strong arms helped her up and supported her as they exited the chamber which had become her prison cell only a few weeks ago when Lady Georgia saw something she shouldn’t have.
Fiorella should have been more cautious. Were it not for that crystal shoe, she would have rotted away in that cell.
“We are going to the palace,” Philip whispered in her ear as he carried her out of the house.
She kept her eyes shut, so the warm sun wouldn’t blind her altogether. The sweet scent of hibiscus, her favorite flower. A smile flowered on her face.
Philip did not miss that smile. “Remember the ballroom?”
“Yeah,” she croaked and forced a cough, for the sake of drama.
The weaker she appeared, the more in love would he be. He hoisted her up the carriage stairs and helped her get inside, closing the door and drawing the blinds. Only then did she open her eyes, grinning at his worried stare.
He grinned back. “Hi.”
“Philip,” she threw herself at him and hugged him until he couldn’t draw air in his lungs.
“Fio,” he wheezed. “You have no idea how many weeks I spent searching for you.”
“How did you find me?” Fiorella was thrown back into her seat when the carriage began moving, wheels screaming at every turn.
“Well, you know…Knocked on every door,” Philip blushed and gazed at the orange curtains.
“You’re serious?”
She had never stopped to consider he was so in love.
“Yeah,” the blush spread to his neck.
“Come here,” Philip sat next to her and her head drifted on his shoulder. “My knight in shining armor,” she cooed, reining him in.
When they reached the palace, she’d finally get what she wanted; what her father had trained her to achieve. She had spent a decade learning the poise of a lady, the sweet voice of a damsel forever in distress, the swaying hips of a belly-dancer, the batting eyelashes of a seductress. She had also learned poisons and their cures; her skills with bow and knife were unmatched.
Philip didn’t know what she could do. He never must. If Fiorella were to become the sole ruler, Philip had to disappear.
And, of course, his death would be an accident.
