Ugly: The Stepsister’s Story

Chapter 1

Iwas halfway through explaining the finer points of Avivian verb tenses to a group of twelve-year-old boys, who had all decided that today was the day to test my patience, when the classroom door slammed open.

“Truly!” Prince Curtis barreled in like a gust of wind, grinning from ear to ear. “Pops wants to see you. Now!”

My students erupted in whispers and smothered laughter. I raised my voice over their excited chatter. “Books closed, please. I expect the proper conjugations on my desk tomorrow.”

They bolted for the door, whooping down the corridor.

I gathered my notes, tucking stray pages into the pile, and slipped into the hall. Curtis somewhat fell into step beside me, bounding along because Curtis never simply walked anywhere. He talked at his usual breakneck pace like a monologue recited at double-speed.

His reddish-brown hair caught the light, his smile bright enough to make it impossible to ever stay annoyed with him for long. We’d been best friends for years, which was why I knew that twinkle in his eye meant trouble.

“Do you know why your father called for me?” I asked.

Curtis gave me an impish grin. “Something important, I think. But”—he tapped his temple with mock concentration—“details, details. All gone. I’m not a details person.”

I elbowed him lightly, pretending not to notice the way I tingled at the light contact. “You know. Just tell me.”

He gasped in mock outrage. “A lady shoving a prince? Scandalous! Careful, or I’ll send you to be tortured in the dungeon again.”

That pulled a laugh out of me. When we were children, we’d regularly sneak down to the abandoned dungeon, unused for more than a century, and play that we were prisoners or foreign spies sent to infiltrate enemy territory and had to withstand dreadful torturing techniques to protect our kingdom’s secrets.

“That was fun,” he said, bumping my shoulder.

“I remember.” And I was glad—so glad—that he remembered those times with as much fondness as I did.

As we neared the throne room, soldiers straightened and bowed to Curtis.

A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t even checked my hair, and I knew my cheeks were flushed.

I wished, absurdly, that I carried myself like my older sister or shared Curtis’s easy confidence. Why didn’t I have more poise and grace?

Curtis leaned closer. “Hold up—you’ve got a spider on you.”

I froze, then yelped, swatting wildly at my hair and skirts. My books toppled to the velvet rug in an ungainly heap.

Curtis doubled over laughing. “You should see your face!”

“Curtis!” I hissed, heat climbing my neck.

“Lighten up,” he said, gathering my fallen books and piling them neatly into a stack. “You looked like you were about to face an executioner. Pops doesn’t bite, you know.” He kept my books tucked under his arm and gestured toward the massive double doors. “After you.”

I straightened my spine and nodded to the doormen. The heavy hinges groaned as the doors swung open.

“I thought I heard you, Son,” King Edmont’s voice rolled across the crimson-carpeted hall. I stepped forward as sedately as possible while Curtis bounded ahead like a jackrabbit.

“I was just giving Truly some tips on how to ruffle your feathers!” Curtis announced, sweeping into an overly dramatic bow.

Prince Hubert, standing beside the throne, cleared his throat pointedly. Where Curtis was all movement and laughter, Hubert stood still as carved stone, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, every inch the crown prince.

“I’m sure you were,” King Edmont said, eyes crinkling with the ghost of a smile. “Did you also tell her why we summoned her?”

Curtis feigned shock. “And ruin your big surprise? Never.”

Hubert’s frown deepened.

“Lady Truly,” the king said, turning to me.

I stepped forward and curtsied. “Your Majesty?”

“Your father speaks very highly of your skill with languages.”

Warmth rushed to my cheeks. I didn’t trust my voice, so I kept silent.

“The Council has agreed to grant you an apprenticeship with the court linguist. Your first assignment will be in Avivia next week, should you accept.”

My breath caught. They trusted me, me, with this responsibility at just fifteen years old? This would be real, diplomatic work, not just tutoring younger children or standing quietly beside Father during his meetings to learn the nuances of court protocol.

“Th—thank you, Your Majesty,” I stammered. “It’s my—honorlege. My honor and privilege, I mean.” My blush deepened. So much for my proclaimed linguistic capabilities.

He smiled. “Congratulations. I’m certain you will serve the kingdom well and I look forward to hearing of your progress.” He shot a look at his younger son. “I’m sure Curtis will keep me informed.”

Curtis grinned and steered me toward the door. I floated beside him, my feet moving without my conscious consent.

“Hello?” he said, waving a hand in front of my face. “Anyone home? How do you feel?”

A shaky laugh escaped me. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it. You’ve always been the smartest one in class.” He squeezed my hand so my skin tingled again.

I glanced sideways. “You didn’t…put in a good word for me because we’re friends, did you?”

He gasped theatrically. “Who, me? Never. I might talk about you all the time, but that’s only because you’re brilliant. Besides, it’s convenient—your father already goes on these trips all the time and you accompany him all the time. But you earned this.”

At my family’s chambers, he finally handed back my books. “Better study up. I can never get those Avivian tenses right.”