2. Meet the Charmings
Chapter 2
Meet the Charmings
CINDER
I f I was forced to pick a fight between the tall, broad, beefy aide to the King, and King Charming himself who is a shriveled man who appears to be in his seventies, I’d take on the side of beef without a second thought.
The King’s features, though worn by time, still bear the hallmarks of his Asian ancestry, a remnant of the Midnight Realm’s origins before it seceded from the Common World.
Despite appearing as a wrinkled, white-haired man, I know better than to underestimate the ruler of Midnight. His skull seems ready to cave in trying to hold up that impressively large silver crown adorned with blood-red rubies, but King Valdor Charming, ruler of the Midnight fairies, is anything but weak.
Judging by the wild fear in the eyes of the couple who made the unforgivable mistake of questioning the King, they know it too.
“My King, of course,” the woman rushes, her tongue tripping over the words. “We harbor no doubts as to your power.”
The King’s silky voice drips with danger. “Only doubts as to my judgment, la?” he says, employing the Mandarin exclamation to punctuate his statement.
“My lady did not know what she was saying, Your Majesty,” the man interjects. “She has been imbibing too much on your generous spirits.”
“I do not believe spiked blood is the issue here, Lord Thornby.” The King's tone is deceptively soft, but it carries an undercurrent of menace that makes my skin crawl. “I believe the issue may be that she needs to be reminded how my judgment has served this kingdom the past two hundred and sixty-three years.” A sharp edge enters his last words.
Panic bubbles in my chest, suffocating me as I stand mere inches away from the most powerful and feared vampire in existence. I clench my fists tightly, trying to control the tremble in my hands. Every instinct screams at me to run, to flee, but I know that any sudden movement will only draw their attention. So I force myself to stand still even as fear courses through my veins.
What the fae fucks was I thinking coming back here? I've put myself in a stupid amount of danger.
Every muscle in my body tenses as I try to keep completely still, not even daring to breathe. I’m frozen, bracing for what I know comes next.
Despite not looking directly at him, I know how the King’s pupils expand to swallow up the irises until they are bottomless black pits. The King’s power builds, a crackling energy pressing against my skin. I instinctively close my eyes in an attempt to shield myself. But even though I’m not looking, I can feel the piercing chill as his words slide through the air like a deadly blade.
“Change out of that frivolous gown, Lady Thornby,” his voice has dropped into a layered, hypnotizing timbre, “and don the lowly attire of my familiars. You shall serve your peers as if you were nothing more than a human for the next fortnight, taking on the vilest, most despised of tasks. Use the time of servitude to remember your place. You do not think, you do not question. You are a servant. Your sole purpose is to serve your King and kingdom.”
Only when he is done speaking do I chance a look to the side. The woman stiffens, her eyes glazing over as she turns and walks away, a puppet on invisible strings.
The effect of thrall.
I want to run, to hide, to be anywhere but here. But I'm rooted to the spot, paralyzed by a primal fear that goes beyond reason.
“Do you wish to join your wife, Lord Thornby?” the King asks, his voice carrying a mocking edge.
There is a wrong answer and an even more wrong answer.
Any response is about to get Thornby thralled alongside his wife. Then they’ll both endure the humiliation of debasement in front of the fairy court.
Even after the Thornbys are released from service, the rest of the vicious bloodsuckers won’t soon let one of their own forget such degradation.
“I shall serve you however Your Majesty sees fit.” The male bows deeply.
The King dismisses him, and Lord Thornby scurries away like a whipped dog.
The one correct answer. The only answer when answering the Crown.
I’m half surprised he didn’t strip the Thornbys of their title before having them executed. That’s far more the King’s style. But he seems to be ruling with a softer hand.
A scary, all-powerful hand that can crush anyone with ease, but one that has definitely been moisturized.
Though some of the humans here are willing and grateful to serve the Midnight court, all familiars have been subject to the King’s unique ability to put others under his thrall. It’s what makes his reign so terrifying and impenetrable. He isn’t afraid to use it on familiars or fairies.
Then again, back when I was a kid, no one dared breathe a word against the monarchy. Apparently, some things have changed.
Charming isn’t just the royal surname, it’s what makes the King undeniably more powerful than any other. He’s the only one with the power of thrall.
It’s what has me trembling almost violently even as I pretend to be invisible. Without the protection of my father I’m as vulnerable as a lamb for slaughter.
I really wish I had my combat boots right about now. They’d at least give me the illusion of being a badass.
A part of me wonders if it might be more than an illusion soon. Sometimes I swear I can feel something stirring deep within, waiting to be unleashed. Thanks to eating a magic cookie a powerful mage baked, it’s possible I could sprout a magical ability when I least expect it.
But for now, I’m terribly human.
“Your Majesty may want to remember that the ambassadors from the Common World are in attendance tonight,” the King’s aide reminds him quietly, giving me the opportunity to take my first hesitant step away from the threat.
“Pah,” the King huffs. “Those fools will not notice one of the court amongst the servants. The interfering beaters are too busy drinking our champagne and relishing their inside look into our way of life.” His words are dark, underlined with resentment.
I’m not the least bit surprised to hear the King use the derogatory name for beings who have beating hearts. My own big red organ does its best to thump its way up my throat and out of my mouth so it can splat on the marble floor and give me away.
Damn heart. I should have cut it out years ago.
“The rumors of your rule being unchecked and despotic, while untrue, are spreading.” The aide continues diplomatically. “We do not want the attention, Your Majesty.”
Whatever the King says next is lost to me as the two walk away.
I finally take in big swallowing gulps of air as I desperately attempt to feed my starving lungs.
I’m suddenly glad for the forced makeover I received earlier tonight.
When I would have phoned it in on the dress, the Fairy Godmother wouldn’t hear of it.
The Fairy Godmother, aka Dame Kiki Eleganza, the best drag queen in the greater Boston area, was my best bet at getting entry into the Midnight realm. I just hadn’t realized the deal would come with a makeover.
I glance down at the daringly low-cut neckline that frames my collarbones and is adorned with ornamental black flowers, hoping like hell my pulse isn’t visible. At least the black dress placates my goth girl’s heart. You can take the girl out of Midnight, but she’ll still have a weird affinity for Tim Burton aesthetics the rest of her life.
Sweat beads along my hairline as I navigate the crowded ballroom. The tight fabric encasing my arms covers the tattoos but feels like a straitjacket. My voluminous skirt brushes against a chair, the sudden squeak making me flinch.
As effective as the Fairy Godmother was at getting me here, I’m the only one who can get me home.
The need to get the fae fucks out of this ballroom as soon as possible grips me with a desperate edge. Even as fear claws at my throat, I remind myself I didn’t come this far just to run now.
So I force my feet forward, keeping my head down and my movements casual as I continue to search the fringes of the ballroom for what I came for.
A hush falls over the room, forcing me to stop. The King and Queen stand before the indigo velvet thrones that sparkle with something shiny like glitter to create the illusion of stars. The small, yet terrifying King is now poised on the dais at the far side of the room, his coal-black eyes sharply scanning the crowd.
Even shorter than her husband at under five feet, the Asian queen’s jet-black hair is now streaked with silver. She’s otherwise unchanged down to the same vacant expression she always wears.
“Greetings, my friends and fairies.” The King’s voice travels to the far corners of the ballroom. “I thank you all for attending tonight’s ball. The beginning of the Midnight fairy social season is of particular import. Not only have we opened our borders to host several esteemed ambassadors from the Common World,” he gestures to a small cluster of humans, mages, and even a fae elf with false graciousness, “but this is also the season in which my son shall pick his bride. The future princess and eventual Queen of Midnight.”
My fingers stiffen on the cold flute. Ascending the stairs onto the dais in a long-legged gait is Prince Kaison Charming himself. He stands next to his father, dwarfing him with over a foot of extra height. For some reason my heart pounds so hard, my ribs rattle under the impact of each beat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I’m not sure why seeing him has such an effect on me.
Okay, maybe I have some idea.
Prince Charming lives up to his name. The smirk that stretches one side of his mouth is as sharp as it is devastating. Like cocking a gun, he uses it on the crowd, holding them in suspense.
Everyone leans in.
I take a step back.
A hand has recently swept his jet-black hair away from his face, but rebellious pieces fall forward into his dark eyes. There is a mischievous glint and a devil-may-care attitude in the way he scans the crowd. As if we are all here for his amusement and indeed, he is amused. His features are angular, precise and so very pretty .
More unforgivable is that he knows it.
The luxurious form-fitting coat of black stops at his knees and features a high collar. It’s tailored to perfection, accentuating the wide set of his shoulders to his tapered waist. A subtle brocade pattern weaves through the material of his outfit, visible only at certain angles. Silver filigree buttons run down the center of his vest, ending at the belt buckle cinching his hips with the insignia of the Midnight Kingdom. A chalice of blood set against the stars.
“The playboy prince, find a bride?” someone to my right scoffs under their breath. “We’ve a better chance of turning vegan than he does of turning over his partying ways.”
“This is our chance,” a woman murmurs to her daughter off to my left.
As the prince waits for the chatter to die down, my stomach begins folding in on itself like origami. I look down into my drink at the minuscule bubbles rising to kiss the surface. An irrational fear grips me that his roaming eyes will find me.
It’s a ridiculous thought. I’m in a crowd of at least two hundred, with my face half obscured. Not to mention, he hasn’t seen me since I was twelve. He’s filled out since I last saw him, but I knew that already from the social media pics that show he missed his calling as a model.
While I managed to get away from Midnight, Prince Charming has haunted me through the years. With such a public persona and his university years spent in the Common World, I can’t scroll fast enough to avoid his gorgeous, infuriating face on my own damn phone.
Every time I see him, there’s the familiar burn of shame and humiliation heating my skin. That familiar bad taste seeps into my mouth whenever I think of him. He had no trouble making it known what a waste of space I was in our youth. He wouldn’t recognize me even if I were stark naked and strutting around.
Yet that’s how I feel right now. Naked.
I lift my head and my gaze connects with the prince’s dark eyes which are trained directly on me.
A jolt of electricity shoots through me, igniting a fire in my belly that I’ve never felt before. I try to look away, to break the connection, but I can’t make myself.
The entire room around me turns hazy, almost fading into the background while my heartbeat booms loudly in my ears. In this moment there is only him and me, a connection pulsing with an undeniable magnetism.
The prince’s cocky grin doesn’t disappear but slips slightly. A dark calculation crosses his face, belying the playboy carelessness he exuded a moment ago.
We are practically strangers yet his gaze bores into me as if he knows me better than anyone ever has. I feel an undeserved sense of familiarity, as if he’s letting me see the real him. As if I’m the only one who gets to see the real him.
The only thing I should be is disgusted with his playboy prince routine—oh, and the fact he sucks blood from zombified people. Yeah, disgusted, not tingly, hot, or thrilling.
I finally force myself to look away. My heart rate doubles when I notice the gloved hand flexing at his side.
No. He couldn’t know it’s me. There’s absolutely no fae fucking way. He must be lost in thought and only appears to be looking directly at me.
Suddenly, this whole plan is the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.
The fae fucks am I thinking, crashing a ball for blood-drinking fairies? If I get caught, I’ll be thralled, imprisoned, or worse.
I didn’t even tell my friends I was coming here. They wouldn’t know where to look for my body, that is until the Fairy Godmother squeals on my dumbass.
The King clears his throat and Prince Charming’s smile is back on full blast, the invisible tether in my direction now broken.
“Thank you all for coming,” he echoes the King’s sentiment in a rich, resonant English accent. “Allow me to present my mother, the Queen.” He takes his mother’s slim, pale hand into his leather-clad palm and pulls her forward. Prince Charming directs his mother between him and his father as he introduces her. “Queen Mei-Ling Charming.”
We all bow or curtsy in her direction, but I don’t take my eyes off the royal family.
I’ve rarely seen the Queen even when I was a child. There’s an emptiness to her expression that used to make me wonder if she was under thrall as well. But seeing her now, I know exactly what her deal is. I’ve seen it in the mirror too many times to count.
Disassociation.
It’s the only way I survived those four years. Disconnecting from myself so I wouldn’t be fully aware of what was happening to me.
The Queen doesn’t walk, she floats as Prince Charming leads her to her throne. I can’t help but wonder if she even knows what’s going on, or if she is completely in her own little world.
Just then, she connects gazes with her son and gives him a slight nod of the head and a kind smile, which he returns. I guess there’s one person she’s willing to break the surface of her mind for. But just like that, her expression glazes over and she’s gone again. To somewhere that is not here.
The orchestra in the corner strikes up the music and couples take to the dance floor. I turn on my heel to hightail it out of the ballroom. My heart pounds in my throat, and heat rushes through my veins until my skin burns.
The way the prince found me in the crowd leaves me unsettled.
Nope, he didn’t see me. He doesn’t know me. I’m just being a paranoid squirrel because I want to get out of here.
I turn my attention back to my father’s massive paintings that adorn the walls. All I need to do is follow the display until I find the one .
Once I do, I’ll find a way to grab it and get the fae fucks out of here. Before I get dead.
I turn to make my escape and nearly slam into a solid wall of muscle. The scent of frosted pine needles and leather envelops me. The prince dips his head, more hair falling forward. “Hello Cinder,” he practically purrs, “May I have this dance?”