4. The Piss in the Boots
Chapter 4
The Piss in the Boots
CINDER
I wait until I hear Prince Charming’s footsteps fade away, then I lunge for the door.
Well, duck fucks. He locked it.
Retreating back into the shadows of the room, I can’t help but mentally kick myself.
Great, Cinder, trapped in a room by the Most Eligible Prince of Midnight. Way to stay under the radar.
My limbs still feel like lead weights. The familiar dizziness washes over me forcing me to sit again. I grip the armrest to steady myself. Another day of battling this damn anemia. I don’t love the combined effects of a large pumpkin spice latte, not enough food, and a whooping emotional shock that just about laid me out on the ballroom floor.
And considering why the Prince bothered to whisk me away to the safety of this room, hurts my brain.
Or maybe it’s the bomb he dropped about my father being murdered.
The prince is crazy. My father died of a heart attack.
Something niggles at my gut like a worm feasting on a corpse, eating away at the part of me that’s never felt right about his sudden passing. I’ve tried to convince myself that death is always sudden, always too soon. Now that the prince has said something out loud I haven’t been able to even admit in my own mind, the chomping worm of doubt is joined by a hundred buddies that wriggle and bite away at the fragile peace I built in myself.
Nope. We aren’t going there, Cinder. So I move to the more immediate issue.
Is the playboy prince going to come back and feed on me? Not willing to share a live meal with anyone else?
No, you know that’s not it .
There were all kinds of cues, like the way he protectively put himself a little more in front of me when his father showed up. The way he didn’t treat me like dirt, even joking with me. He didn’t seem to want to hurt me.
It doesn’t make any sense. He has to want something from me. No one helps someone else without wanting something in return.
But I don’t know what he wants. The serious-faced boy I barely knew as a child grew up to be a bit of a partying ho-bag who shirks his responsibilities.
That may all be according to the gossip, but he openly admitted it to me just now. Plus there was that vampire girl who clearly had a tryst with him and her mom.
A shudder of disgust rolls through me again.
Yuck. I take a second to lean against the fancy couch, to get a grip on my spinning head. In the few interactions I’ve had with the prince, I felt like I was meeting different people each time.
There is the cock-sure pleasure seeker who can joke about his sexual activities, but then there are moments when his expression darkens and I think something is lurking underneath that veneer.
But mostly, I remember the Kaison Charming of when I was eight years old. It was still several years before my father died, and I was often pushed to socialize with other kids in the castle while my father and the King met. Though hanging on the outskirts while the fairy children went about their lives was more accurate.
We’d all been shuffled outside. As the boys darted past me playing tag, their laughter ringing in my ears, the weight of my solitude pressed down on me like a leaden cloak. I hugged my arms around myself, trying to ward off the chill that seeped into my bones. The scent of Midnight grass and moon flowers enveloped me, filling my nostrils with their heady perfume.
The bright full moon filled the sky and cast brilliant silvery light over everything, a muted sun that was always present, always hugging the horizon, making it seem more massive.
I was pretty good at silencing the pang of longing deep within my chest. A yearning for connection, for companionship, for some sense of belonging. But in that moment, surrounded by laughter, I was painfully aware of just how alone I truly was. For once, I couldn’t keep to myself any longer.
Knowing the girls wouldn’t let me hang out with them, I asked the boys if I could join.
A white kid with impossibly blond hair and silvery eyes shot me a cruel smile that reminded me of a snake. “What do you know, boys? The meat snack wants to play with us.”
A shorter, pudgy boy with dark hair flanked me on the other side. The press of sweaty odors from the musky boys closed in around me. I immediately regretted asking.
“If we catch you, do we get to feed from you?” the pudgy boy asked, his expression hungry and mouth wet. His pale cheeks were ruddy from running around.
My heart jumped up to lodge in my throat. I’d made a big, huge, massive mistake.
They closed in around me with unsettling gleams in their eyes. The metallic tang of fear spread on my tongue.
“I’ve heard in the olden days when we chased our prey, it would make the blood more delicious,” the pudgy one offered.
“Y-you can’t,” I protested weakly. “My father is friends with the King.”
The blond one licked his canines. “I bet the King likes his blood fresh and that’s why he converses with a filthy human like your father. If we want to be kingly, we must follow his example, eh boys?”
My back hit something solid. I turned to find the tallest, biggest boy with ebony skin leering down at me.
“Yeah fellas, let’s have a fun chase, shall we?” His voice cracked from hormones, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.
The beating of my heart thundered in my ears. My stomach turned sour. I should have run as far and fast as I could, but I was closer to vomiting on my shoes.
“You all are disgusting,” another voice interrupted.
The small gang of boys all turned toward the lanky, dark-haired prince who leaned casually against a tree. A tingle of fear and unease ran down my spine as the prince's gaze shifted toward me, causing my skin to prickle with a mix of excitement and dread. He’d never given me much of a second glance, but now his dark eyes seared into my skin. Even as a pre-teen, intensity and power radiated from him.
“Why would you want to drink from her ? That’s repulsive.”
The prince’s words cut through me like a knife, straight through my belly button. The way he said it made it sound as if they suggested drinking from a slimy toad-infested pond. While most of the kids usually treated me with cold, polite indifference, the prince gave voice to what everyone was thinking.
The boys nearly tripped over themselves agreeing with him before they followed him off to practice sparring.
In that moment our eyes locked and I saw something intense and raw in his gaze that took my breath away. Was it revulsion or was it something more? Something unspoken? My breath caught in my throat as I struggled to interpret the complex emotions burning in his stare.
Kaison Charming’s words ignited a fiery anger within me but also gave me a sense of relief. Because of his insult, the boys lost interest in torturing me and moved on.
But I never forgot how that moment made me feel. The fact that the child of my father's best friend openly scorned me hurt more than I wanted to admit.
It was then that I knew for sure that I would always be an outsider in Midnight, no matter how long I lived there. No matter what special concessions the King gave my father, I was too different. Repulsive .
The days following filled me with a crushing weight of loneliness that burrowed deep into my soul, gnawing and tearing at my insides until I was nothing but a hollow shell.
And now, over a decade later, Charming waltzed me around the ballroom in front of the entire Midnight court, chatting with me as if we were old friends who could joke about any one of his character flaws.
Old instincts kicked in as he led me onto the dance floor. I detached, the world blurring into a peripheral sideshow. I hovered somewhere above, my body going through the motions mechanically. I floated there, an observer of my own life, watching as if through a film projector.
Gradually, certain sensory details—the muscled shoulder under my hand, the firmness of his grip on my waist, the faint scent of his expensive cologne—seeped into my awareness, anchoring me once more to the here and now.
Even I can’t deny that my artist’s eye is drawn to the balanced proportions of his face that have successfully calibrated the sharpness of his father’s and his mother’s soft, round one. It perfectly straddles the masculine and feminine to create irresistibly androgynous features, making him universally appealing.
The golden flecks in his dark brown eyes pulled me back in further. Then there were the snakes of ink sneaking out from under his high collar. His Highness had neck tattoos.
Midnight Kingdom? More like I’d entered the Twilight Zone.
Then I began to have a stupid episode, my heart tripping over itself, a stupid bout of faintness, until Charming practically carried me on the dance floor. Prince Kaison Charming had saved me from an incredibly embarrassing moment and even made me feel almost. . . safe in my moment of weakness.
Pushing my consideration of Prince Charming’s true character out the window, I remind myself I came here for a reason. The Ember of Midnight.
I have two options. Option one: wait for Prince Charming to come back and be subject to his nosiness.
With that last look, I got the impression he planned for more than just an interrogation. I can’t imagine what, but I’m not sure I want to find out. The prince's plans for me could range from mild inconvenience to hideously fatal.
Not to mention, I run the risk of the fairies changing their mind and deciding to thrall or snack on me. The King said I was welcome, but I’m not stupid enough to believe what anyone says in this place. My father had the King’s favor, not me. And after what the prince said. . .
An invisible fist reaches in and grabs my guts, giving them a sharp twist.
Murder.
No, I can’t think about that. I have to focus on the present.
Option two: I cut my losses and get the hell out of here and try my luck another day.
The second option galls the witchtits out of me after I made such an effort to come all this way, but I’ve waited years to get the Ember. But it’s the only way. What’s a couple more days?
Next time, I’ll be more careful and put a wide berth between the prince and myself.
I lift my skirts and stare down at my feet, still encased in the glass slippers.
The slippers shimmer in the dim light, a mesmerizing blend of silver filigree and deep, amethyst hues that dance along the glass like living shadows. Delicate yet sturdy, the intricate dark roses etched into the glass weave around my feet, holding them securely in place.
Each step I take in these heels is a balance between fragility and strength, a reminder of the thin line I walk. I can almost feel the magic thrumming through the glass.
These babies are my ticket home.
The Fairy Godmother’s instructions come back to me. Just picture where you need to be.
So simple, yet. . . not.
My brain suddenly transforms into a doomsday machine, thinking of all the places I don’t want to end up.
Don't teleport into a volcano. Boston. Boston. Not a volcano.
More scary bizarre intrusive thoughts crowd their way in.
I could teleport to the bottom of an ocean, to the middle of an underground supernatural fight club where I’d be mauled. Or worse, to that horrifying Build a Bunny shop where they hang the empty skins for children to fill with the fluff equivalent of viscera. Stuffed animal fun, my ass. And people think I’m morbid.
Calm down, Cinder, you are freaking yourself out.
Taking a breath, I try to rally my scattered thoughts, aiming for Boston. My dingy apartment never sounded so good. I think of the smell of acrylic paints that practically suffocate my small bedroom and the dirty cereal bowl I left in the sink this morning.
I concentrate on the slippers, envisioning my escape. Nothing happens. I glare at them. “Come on, you glorified paperweights, do your thing.”
I take a hesitant step, and suddenly, the room blurs.
Oh, it's working!
Or I'm having a stroke.
The slippers light up like a disco floor, and I feel that unmistakable tug in my navel, the one that says, You're about to go on an unplanned trip. Hope you packed clean underwear .
But in my disorienting walk forward, my foot snags on. . . something. Knowing my luck, it's probably a priceless rug.
There's a weird sensation of being pulled in half, like a magician's assistant in a particularly gruesome trick.
And then, just as quickly, I snap back into one piece. I find myself standing in my apartment, staring at a very confused cat who seems to be questioning my mode of entry. Sitting back, its hind leg is stuck up in a near-seductive pose.
The stray black cat with malicious, glowing green eyes keeps finding its way into my apartment, no matter how many times I lock the windows. Its long fur sticks out at all angles, making me wonder if it doesn’t stick its little kitty claw into a socket to shock itself just for the fun of it.
I’m convinced the feline belongs to Satan himself because the cat loves pulling out our garbage on the kitchen floor, hissing at me, scratching up the furniture, and peeing on my sheets.
Therefore, I dubbed thee Lucifer.
I look down. One slipper on, one slipper very much not on.
Fantastic. I've left a shoe behind like an intoxicated pop star.
I flop onto my thrift-store couch in a pouf of skirts, trying not to hyperventilate.
The night was a disaster.
“So much for flying under the radar,” I mutter to the cat, who returns to avidly licking its privates. A comforting thought cuts through the fog of my disastrous evening. “At least I’m back in the land of pumpkin spice.”
It's a small, almost laughable thing to find solace in, yet the idea of savoring the treat at my favorite time of year is a lifeline I can cling to. A modest pleasure, but it may be the thing I love most in the Common World. Right after my friends.
Or it might be a tie.
My girlfriends probably wouldn’t be too offended by the hierarchy.
But I better not tell them.
Snow pads in barefoot from the second bedroom. The mass of pure white hair is bound up in an oversized, messy bun. My petite roommate wears a set of worn pale blue sweats that contrast and complement her ebony skin. The logo of Grandma's House, intricately embroidered on her shirt above her right breast, matches the brand of the chocolate snack cake she holds in her hand, already half-eaten.
“Hey Cinder,” she greets me though her focus is on the phone in her hand, “can I borrow your leather mini skirt for work tomorrow night? I haven’t had a chance to hit the laundromat this week.”
When Snow finally looks up, crystal blue eyes widen. “Well shit, I’m not sure I’m ready to level up to your fashion game.” A quick glance at the cat has the corner of her mouth turning down. “By the way, Lucifer pissed in your boots again.”
What a fantastic finish to a spectacular failure of a day.