8. The Shitty Steps
Chapter 8
The Shitty Steps
CINDER
S tepping back into the Midnight realm is like slipping into a recurring dream that is as opulent as it is dangerous. Last time I was caught up in the spectacle, but tonight I'm a ghost moving through the crowd, dodging anyone who might notice me.
Ornate carriages drawn by pairs of elegant horses arrive at the castle gates, depositing finely dressed guests for the evening's festivities. I transported directly into the castle in a corridor I knew would be deserted to avoid the grand entrance space.
I’m back to my original mission—to find the Ember of Midnight and reclaim the family I lost the only way I can now that they are dead and gone. With an added objective— avoid the crazy Prince of Midnight and stay out of his insane plan at all costs .
Despite the logic of how our common interests could line up, there is no denying that sex, blood, and fame have turned his brain into warped mush. How else would he come up with such an idiotic plan?
Besides, I don’t like the way I feel when he’s near. My skin heats, my breathing trips, and I. . .
. . . want.
I want stupid things, like for him to keep teasing me, to keep feeding me attention like I’m the only being in the universe. I want to discover the full expanse of his tattoos. I want to press my lips to the curve of his grin.
Whoa, Cinder. What is that hot tingling between your legs? That special feeling is reserved for when we sweep brush over canvas and guzzle pumpkin spice lattes.
Both of which I did avidly after my shift last night, well into midmorning until I was dizzy and a little high from the fumes trapped in my small bedroom. I glance down at my fingertips, still stained with acrylic paint despite my attempts to wash it off.
Despite my base attraction to the prince, I’ve not forgotten what he is. Not for a second.
Once a bloodsucker, always a bloodsucker.
My throat tightens, choking off my breath as it grows heavy and labored.
I don’t want to be here.
Summoning every ounce of will, I shove aside the suffocating thought that I’m utterly surrounded, an island of isolation in a sea of glittering hostility. The last remaining piece of my family is hidden somewhere in these castle walls, and I’ll bring them all down if that’s what it takes to find it.
A part of me drifts away as I navigate the ballroom, watching from a chilling distance. Is the girl in the black ballgown really me? Fear seems to peel me out of my body, leaving only a specter in my place, detached and numb, hovering just out of reach.
Candlelight dances off crystal chandeliers, throwing shadows across the ancient stone walls that blend with the soft murmur of conversations and the rustle of silk and satin. It’s like witnessing a scene from another world—one where I don’t belong.
My gaze darts as I scan the crowd, searching for the source of my unease. For a fleeting second, I spot a familiar silhouette—a flash of dark hair framed by cruel, pink-painted lips. I blink, and she vanishes, absorbed by the swirling mass of gowns and jewels.
They aren’t here.
They can’t be.
After my father's death, my stepmother and her daughters fell out of favor with the King. King Charming’s disdain for my stepmother’s naked ambition had swiftly removed them from the circles of power, their invitations to court revoked. With no one left to impress, she turned her frustrations and cruelty upon me with renewed vigor.
An unexpected brush from a passerby’s shoulder jolts me back to my harsh reality. The simple contact sears like a hot iron, slicing through the haze of detachment. My heart slams and batters my ribs, trapped within the confines of my corset as fear spikes through my veins.
My shudder is a visceral attempt to ward off the flood of memories clawing at the edges of my mind. Teeth, blood, pain, submission. Cold iron cuffed around my ankle. Lying on the ground, looking into the fathomless depths of a fireplace long burnt out.
The past must remain where it lies—there’s too much at stake tonight.
Despite my resolve, I can’t shake the crawling dread that tightens my stomach. Each step forward is like wading through treacle, fighting an invisible force that threatens to pull me into the nightmares I’ve struggled so long to escape.
Every part of me is on high alert. Not only am I avoiding shadows, I’m also avoiding Charming’s crazy scheme of a fake engagement.
Like I’d be engaged to him in any universe.
Ha!
I skirt the edges of the ballroom, always moving, always watching. The women preen and pomp themselves up. They’ll all be vying to dance and charm the prince into a proposal.
Yet I’m the human girl he proposed to over any of them.
A strange slip of heat and smug satisfaction snakes through me. It's an unfamiliar warmth, a grounding force that pulls me slightly back into myself, towards the here and now.
I could be here playing the part of the doting fiancée right now. I could be on Charming’s arm, pissing everyone off with my general presence. Kaison would look at me the same way he did when we were dancing. As if he were intrigued and delighted, like I’m something truly unique and worthwhile of his attention.
The exact way I look at a pumpkin spice treat.
The memory of his words tethers me to the present moment despite my desire to flee. The way his voice turned rough when he promised no one would hurt me. . . my skin heats up as my belly flip flops.
With disgust. Definitely disgust.
The fact he grew up to be mildly amusing as well as drop-dead gorgeous means nothing. It means less than nothing.
That nothing is only made worse by the fact he’s tatted and wears heavy lethal jewelry.
And I have zero interest in finding more about that dangerous glint that passes over his face when his cocky playboy attitude drops for a moment.
I didn’t come back here to get tangled in his mess. I came for my family’s legacy. It rightfully belongs to me, not the Midnight fairies. The Ember is here somewhere, among all these gaudy displays of wealth and power. It has to be.
A hush falls over the room as the King makes another introduction like he did at the last ball. Everyone stills to listen, so I’m forced to slow my pace even as I back away from the dais where the royal family stands.
The Fairy Godmother dressed me again, and this time we used elaborate dark eye makeup under a lace eye mask to hide my features since the lace veil didn’t do the trick. Thankfully the narcissists in this room don’t give me a second glance despite my big reveal last time.
“—and I encourage as many of you young ladies to court my son. Take a turn about the dance floor to impress him with your most charming. . . assets.” There’s a leer in the King’s words even as his eyes scan some of the younger attendees.
Gross .
The Midnight Kingdom really needed to get the smash the patriarchy memo.
Even as I think it, women pat their hair or adjust their breasts to push up further in their corsets.
Beneath my disgust for these outdated protocols, a dark coiling snake of doubt and anger begins to rise.
Is Kaison right? Was my father murdered? Is the killer here?
Is it the King?
If the King did it, why would he use my father’s art as the backdrop to the social season?
It was more than my father’s life that was stolen. I was thrust into a living hell after his death, and while I thought I’d moved on, a deep dark need for retribution still pounds in my blood.
With each violent throb of my heart, my hands turn slick with sweat and the promise of a headache kicks up at my temples. Trying to shut down the pain and emotions fueling my anger, I strain to twist the spigot closed. It only intensifies the feelings bubbling up inside me with relentless force.
A shift in a trio of women nearby draws my attention and the bottom drops out from under me. It’s as if I’m free-falling directly into hell. The sounds around me distort into a dull, incomprehensible roar. What started as clammy palms turns into a full-body cold sweat. Primal fear grabs me by the scruff of my neck, capturing me in a chokehold.
My focus snaps to the cruel, beautifully twisted faces of my former family.
There stands my stepmother, Marisela, in a gown as dark as her soul, its fabric clinging to her like a second skin. Her beauty, undiminished by the centuries, belies the malevolence lurking beneath. Her eyes sweep the room, cold and calculating. The way she holds herself with a Queen's disdain converts me back into that shy, unsure little girl.
To her right, my eldest stepsister, Anastasia, mirrors her mother's chilling elegance. The cascade of midnight blue silk slithers around her as she moves, seeming almost alive. Ice-cold blonde hair is pulled into an elegant updo that offsets her pale eyes. Her face has always reminded me of a snake, which is fitting to her personality.
And then there’s Drusilla, the youngest, who takes perverse pleasure in her own brand of sadism. Clad in a gown of inky black, she stands slightly apart, her head tilted in a mock show of innocence that doesn’t fool me for a second. Her colorless eyes match her sister’s, though her hair is a deep chestnut brown like her mother’s.
Memories of cold, hunger, and pain dance before my eyes. They took everything from me and left me with scars that no amount of time or distance can heal.
I thought we were family.
I was wrong.
Forcing my burning lungs to commence breathing again, I remind myself that I’m not that little girl under their control anymore.
Fuckity frog wads. This is a terrible time to remember I forgot to take my iron supplements. Faintness sweeps through me and I struggle to feel the floor under my feet.
They wear expressions of shock and displeasure at seeing me. Except for Drusilla. She looks as though she’s rediscovered a long, lost forgotten toy that used to be her favorite.
As I come back to my senses, a thought occurs to me.
Maybe Marisela killed my father.
The constant undercurrent inside me compacts into a dark ball of concentrated fury. Heat washes over me, and for a second I smell something burning.
Prince Kaison interrupts the King, drawing everyone’s attention. “I hate to disappoint the many lovely ladies here tonight.” He opens a hand to the crowd where women openly preen, including my stepsisters.
It takes everything in me to pull away from the hellish memories to calm my turmoil at being near them enough to focus on Kaison’s words.
“But I have an announcement,” he says, taking another commanding step forward. “I have made an unexpected love match and have chosen my bride.”
I briefly wonder what other perfectly unsuitable bride he’s picked out to piss off daddy. She has to be a real piece of work.
Then Kaison’s eyes find mine in the crowd, hitting me like an arrow connecting with the bullseye of a target.
Oh.
Oh no.
A gloved hand stretches out toward me.
I clench my fists into tight balls. Don’t you dare fucking do it.
“Cinder Park, daughter of my father’s dearest friend Byung-He Park, has agreed to join me in holy matrimony and begin a new era in the Midnight Kingdom.”
Outraged and shocked mutters race through the room.
I’m keenly aware of my stepmother and stepsisters wheeling around to look at me again. Even enduring their eyes on my skin makes my stomach turn into a boiling cauldron of discomfort.
My vision blurs as my head becomes so light I fear it will float off my shoulders. In contrast, my body turns heavy and unbalanced.
Oh no. Not now.
I refuse to let my body betray me in front of all these bloodsuckers. Focusing on my breath and my feet on the ground, I work to stay even and in the present moment.
Despite the uproar, Kaison wastes no time stepping off the platform and striding straight toward me.
What the hell do I do?
Scream out I agreed to no such thing?
Call the prince a liar in front of everyone?
Pick up my skirts and run like hell?
Oh right, I could smash one of my shoes against a table until there’s a jagged edge I could cut him with. That was my original plan if cornered, right? Shank my way out of this.
My brain is stuck on the possibilities, unable to reach a conclusion before he is right in front of me.
Prince Kaison Charming’s publicity-friendly smile drops for just a moment as his eyes ask the question.
Will you do this with me?
His gloved hand is open before me, an invitation to join him in his idiotic plan.
A plan that will help me find who killed my father. That will explain why my entire life fell to shit.
I notice the King temper his reaction to the announcement, mindful of the ambassadors' watchful gaze. A wrath like no other is being reigned in, and I feel it stab at me from across the room.
I can’t trust the undercurrent between us as the Prince proposes we join forces and share a secret, a lie, that will connect us. It would be us against everyone else in this ballroom, likely in this kingdom.
His fingers close around mine. His stage smile turns into a genuine grin that makes butterflies take flight in my belly.
Except all the butterflies are on fire.