Chapter 50
JACOB
MAIER MANOR
Ella’s father, stepmother, and stepsisters are all waiting for us in the front room, but Ella is nowhere in sight.
The father is slouched in his chair, passed out with an empty teacup tipped over beside him.
When Prince William parades in after being announced, the women gasp, covering their faces with fans.
Marianne glances at the two of us, her face peaceful as ever.
As if she doesn’t know who we are. I smile deviously at her, and she narrows her eyes back at me.
“Keep a close eye on the witch,” I mutter to Wilhelm.
“Where’s Ella?” Wilhelm whispers.
“Obviously not here.” It’s concerning. “Maybe she saw us coming and is going to get the witch’s book.”
“I have the most beautiful feet in the land,” Bertha proclaims, promptly removing her own slippers and reaching for the glass one balanced on the pillow held by the footman.
“Let me try it first, Bertha.” Marianne pushes her sister aside, who crashes to the floor. Marianne flashes the prince a stunning smile that chills my skin. In a purring voice, she says, “I’ll never forget all the lovely dances we had together, Your Highness.”
“Err…” Prince William’s forehead bunches in confusion. Waves of magic ebb from Marianne. Her spell wraps around our entire group, its tentacles clawing its way to my chest.
“Why aren’t you writing this all down?” I snap at Wilhelm, fear suffocating me. “We need to get rid of this despicable witch before it’s too late.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Wilhelm shakes his head and rubs his eyes before slipping behind the royal guards at the desk.
Marianne produces her stockinged foot for the footman. He kneels before her and holds out the glistening shoe. The witch grunts, pushing her foot into the delicate slipper, a frown ruining her perfect complexion.
“Something isn’t right, Mother.” Marianne bites her lip. “My slipper appears to be too tight. What did you do to my shoe?” she demands of the footman.
“I—I did nothing,” the footman stutters.
“Not to worry,” her mother says smoothly, and then draws Marianne up from the chair. “We’ll be right back. I need to see if something got stuck in her stockings.”
“Of course,” Prince William says, gazing rapturously at Marianne. “We’re happy to wait.”
The two hurry into the hall, whispering.
“What do you think that’s all about?” Wilhelm asks, coming to my side.
“Perhaps she will cut her toes off.” I grin wickedly. “Then her foot would fit nice and snug.”
“Snug indeed.” Wilhelm shakes his head at me.
We peer around the corner. Marianne is wrapping her foot in golden thread. Or is it yarn?
“I don’t like the looks of this,” I whisper. “It reeks of magic.”
“Let me try!” Bertha demands and snatches the slipper from the footman as we wait. She grunts and groans as she jams her foot into it until she’s red in the face.
“It does not fit you,” the prince says.
“No surprise there,” Wilhelm murmurs.
“I’m just going to behead the witch and get it over with.” I palm my sword’s hilt.
“You can’t do that,” Wilhelm says. “I need to finish the story the proper way.”
“Where is Ella?” I ask, looking out the window. “She should be here by now.”
“You don’t think the witch—” Wilhelm’s words break off, and he swallows as if he doesn’t dare say what he’s thinking. Then he rushes back to the desk and starts writing again.
I pace along the wall. Do I go look for Ella or stay here and keep an eye on the witch? Bertha suddenly squeals in victory.
“It fits!” Bertha proclaims and displays her foot, beaming in triumph.
“Ah, yes!” the footman says with a relieved sigh. “Our hunt has finished.”
A trail of blood drips over the edge of the heel of the golden shoe, and then it pops off Bertha’s foot, smacking the footman in the face. He cries out, rubbing his nose.
“Oh, Bertha!” Marianne titters as she waltzes into the room, limping ever so slightly. “You are too cute, but you know that’s my slipper. Truly, you didn’t expect the prince to marry you?”
Bertha’s face falls, lips pouting as she retreats to the couch while Marianne snatches the slipper from the footman’s hand, who quickly darts backward as if to avoid another facial casualty. She tucks the glistening shoe right onto her foot and flourishes her hands over her raised leg.
“It fits!” Marianne claps her hands over her chest. “Oh, Mother! I’m going to be a princess. And then queen.”
The stepmother beams. “As you have always been destined to be.”
“My darling.” Prince William rushes to her, arms outstretched. “How happy I am to find you.”
I cross my arms, frowning, and go to Wilhelm. “I refuse for the story to work out this way. Ella needs to marry the prince so she can live the rest of her life in wealth and privilege. The witch must have put a spell on those threads.”
I follow the couple outside to where the coach waits. Prince William announces to the entourage that he has found his princess. The trumpeter plays while the couple heads to the carriage. It’s all happening so fast. I can’t seem to think straight.
Swooping down from above, seven ravens line up on the bough of one of the trees, gazing down at the proceedings with their typical disapproving glare. Suddenly, one of them speaks as if it’s human.
“Turn and peep, turn and peep,” it says, shocking me. “There’s blood within the shoe, for it’s too small for her. The true bride waits for her prince.”
“Wait!” I race to Prince William. “Your Highness, you’ve been tricked. Look at her foot. Blood is streaming out of the slipper.”
Marianne’s dress covers her feet, but when the prince demands she show him the shoe, it’s no longer tinted with gold. A greenish tinge with veins of blood streak down its sides. Strands of golden hair fall off Marianne’s heel. My stomach turns at the sight. It’s the same color as Ella’s.
“This is treason!” The prince pulls out his sword in anger, turning to the father, who had stumbled out of his half-slumber to send off his stepdaughter. “What’s the meaning of your daughter’s treachery?”
“I uh—do not know,” the father stutters, clearly still incapacitated.
I clench my fists, anger burning a storm inside me. “But you have another daughter, do you not?”
“Of course not!” He pauses, confusion flickering in his eyes. “There is a little stunted kitchen wench who my late wife left behind after her death, but she cannot possibly be the bride you seek. She’s betrothed to Dr. Wissen.”
“Dr. Wissen is dead. Therefore, the betrothal is nullified. Where is she?” I yell. “Tell me this instant.”
“In her room.” The vile man points to the top of the turret. “Up there.”
“I’ll fetch the maiden for you, Your Highness,” I said with a bow.
I take off into the house, hating every footfall, every stride, but I love her too much not to give her everything she deserves. And if it’s a prince she wants, I’ll move heaven and earth to give that to her.