“Ella! My dress needs ironing. It got left on the floor last night, and now it’s all wrinkled.”
When Lady Tremaine installed an intercom system in the house, Ella knew it would be the end of any semblance of quiet time. Her stepsister’s voice was worse than a bullhorn—nasally and demanding as it was. Ella bit her tongue, but then let it loose to the squirrels that chased each other around her bedroom in the attic. “Shocking that when Anastasia leaves something on the floor, it stays there till morning.” It was the fourth irritated order in the past twenty minutes, but Ella did her best to keep her complaining confined to her bedroom, trusting the pitched ceiling of the attic to trap her negativity so it didn’t carry into the wind.
The squirrels paused and shook their fists in the air at her stepsister, swearing to avenge Ella and right all the wrongs done to her.
She smiled at the creatures as she tied an apron around her jeans and tank top. Her apron was a man’s flannel that had the back and sleeves cut off, leaving the high collar and front intact, with a ribbon to secure it tight to her waist. She adored her little creations that made her feel fashionable, as opposed to existing as only a functional being.
Memories of the night she’d shared with Prince Henry a week ago filled her heart, pushing out any frustrations she might otherwise dwell on. She pulled her curls into a messy bun, and then completed her ritual of pressing her hands on her closed door, shutting her eyes and repeating the last words her father had said to her before he passed. “You’re capable and kind. If you have those two things, you’ll never lose me, and you’ll never lose you.” Her lashes always pressed more firmly together when she pledged the last part of her father’s final commission to her. “In all things, have the courage to be kind.”
It had been just over two years since her father’s death, and she’d never failed to draw hope and solace from those three sentences. As she descended the stairs in the two-story home, she locked the mantra tight in her chest and prayed it would stay there, untouched, no matter how vexing her stepfamily became.
Anastasia’s voice was lower in pitch, laced with a constant whine. “Ella, I told you I needed you to pre-cut my grapefruit. I don’t understand why this is so difficult for you.”
Ella moved to the fridge and pulled out the bowl marked “Anastasia”. “This one’s yours, hun. You dug into mine by mistake. Yours is sugared and cut, just how you like it.”
Anastasia sniffed at the grapefruit in front of her and slid it over, eyeing the new bowl with equal disdain. Her thick arms were crossed over her squat frame, making her look like a spoiled toddler. “I don’t like grapefruit.”
“I know. But it’s on the list of things Lady Tremaine approved for you to eat.” Ella tapped the list on the fridge, not liking the fact that she was the one who had to enforce the diet Anastasia’s doctor laid out.
Anastasia’s round nose rose in the air. “You’re trying to torture me! You’ve always been jealous of my clothes and the fact that I have friends, and you don’t.”
Ella kept her sigh tucked inside. “Actually, I thought we could go on the same diet together. Then you have a friend going through the pain of it all with you.” Ella didn’t mention that Anastasia’s diet consisted of far more food than Ella was normally allowed to consume. She’d been looking forward to splurging on fresh grapefruit for breakfast, carrots with hummus for a mid-morning snack, tuna with apples for lunch, and an entire dinner of baked chicken, roasted vegetables and rice.
Anastasia rolled her eyes and scoffed, always sounding like a pig when she expressed her disdain. “Like I’d want to do anything with you. Next thing you know, you’ll have me cleaning the floors with you, spending my life on my hands and knees.”
“I would never ask you to clean,” Ella replied, keeping her voice soft and indulgent. Anastasia was the youngest, and Ella had given up all hope that the twenty-two-year-old might actually grow up. So she treated Ana like the child she was, sighing through her tantrums and cleaning up after her. She was ordered to do so by Lady Tremaine, whose daughters could do no wrong.
Ella stood at the counter with her grapefruit, cutting into it quickly before Lady Tremaine got a mind to take it away for whatever reason served her vindictive purpose that morning. She wasn’t allowed to sit at the table, so she kept a safe distance from the proper women, dining while standing, and keeping the counter between her and her stepsister to give Anastasia assurances that Ella wouldn’t ruin her breakfast by getting too near. “Are you ready for your photography class final?”
“I don’t know. Am I?” Ana asked, batting her eyes at Ella. Ana had short, stubby lashes that matched her mud-brown hair, framing her small, beady eyes to add only malice and feigned duress to her expressions. “You know I’m no good at photography.”
Ella stabbed into her grapefruit. “I told you when you enrolled for the semester, I’m not doing your homework for you. I certainly can’t take your finals for you. You do such a great job picking out your clothes in the morning. You have a real flair for colorful things. I’m sure that’s translated into your passion for photography, as well.”
It was true. Anastasia had stuffed herself into hot pink leggings (her signature color), a pink-and-purple polka dotted turtle neck, with a yellow scarf to match her groaning high heels.
Ana harrumphed and licked the sugar off the top of her grapefruit, blanching. “This isn’t sweet enough.”
Ella pretended she hadn’t heard her stepsister, knowing that any response would be the wrong one. If she gave her more sugar, Lady Tremaine would surely have something to say about it. If she refused her sugar, Ana would tackle her to the ground, sit on her and pull her hair—a punishment Ella had always hated.
She wolfed down her grapefruit and tidied up the kitchen as quick as she could while Ana huffed and complained about the lack of the pastries and thick cream she was used to.
Ella was grateful to get the kitchen in order before Lady Tremaine rose, her black hair in a tight bun that seemed to give her a miniature facelift. She was tall, but even sitting at the table, Ella felt like her stepmother towered over her. “Good morning, Lady Tremaine. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you for prying into something that’s none of your business.” She unfolded her emerald cloth napkin with a crack she insisted must be present, or else the napkins hadn’t been starched enough. “I need the house spotless today, Ella. None of your mindless daydreaming, and keep your friends out of the house. If I see one bird, so help me, I’ll snap its neck and serve it to you for your supper.”
Ella’s mouth tightened, but she nodded subserviently. “Yes, ma’am.” She set the grapefruit down in front of Lady Tremaine, along with the coffee she’d freshly brewed in a slow-drip contraption that was “all the rage” according to Drizella. Just like that, the reliable coffee maker had been sold. A ceramic grinder, as well as a new drip funnel, had been purchased. It took three times as long for the grounds to brew, and Lady Tremaine insisted that the beans had to be roasted and ground by Ella to maintain the right flavor.
Coffee had become the constant battle in the Tremaine household. It was never hot enough, and then it was never bitter enough. Ella had grown to hate the stink of the stuff, knowing that no matter how closely she followed the instructions, Lady Tremaine would never be pleased unless a new husband was serving her the beverage in a solid gold cup.
Ella wasn’t sure how her stepmother sipped the hot liquid without scalding her tongue. Her working theory was that Lady Tremaine had forfeited her taste buds long ago in pursuit of the hottest cup of joe. She leaned in slightly, waiting for either the scathing criticism or the blissful silence, which would mean she approved.
Lady Tremaine smacked her lips, took a second sip and set the cup down. “The drip method really is the only way to go. Still, I can tell you didn’t roast the beans twice. I don’t know why you insist on taking shortcuts, as if you think I’m an idiot you can hoodwink.”
Each word was chosen with great care to inflict the most damage, her tone acerbic and sharp. Ella had roasted the beans twice, as per the instructions, but knew better than to speak up in her defense. She made a mental note to roast the beans three times instead, and kept her feelings to herself. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I’ll get it right tomorrow.”
“That’s what you said yesterday, and yet still I’m stuck drinking slop. If you could just get one simple thing right, my world would spin so much easier.” Her bony shoulders lifted and lowered in exasperation. “Come here.”
Ella balled her toes inside her shoes and moved to her stepmother’s side, readying for the morning ritual of insult, and then battery.
She didn’t brace herself—that never helped. She merely closed her eyes and leaned in, offering up her cheek for Lady Tremaine’s hard slap. She knew her skin would sting for five minutes, but the pain would dull. Everything, it seemed, had a dulling point. The pain of her father’s death had dulled slightly over the years, though the sting was still there. The slaps across the face had brought out her tears in the beginning when she’d begun living with her stepmother, but all crying had stopped two years ago. She knew it didn’t help anything, and she’d never been one to dwell in a pit of sadness she had no hope of draining.
Ella looked forward to the slaps some mornings, because after Lady Tremaine got it out of her system, Ella was dismissed from her sight and could go about her day. When she didn’t get slapped, there was a slow, damaging needling regarding Ella’s figure, her attitude, her father, and even her Pulse that slowly wore her down.
Ella ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek as she moved quietly up the steps to Drizella’s bedroom. It was her task to wake her second stepsister only after Lady Tremaine had dined, since Drizella was difficult for even her own mother to deal with. Ella made sure to walk on the sides of the wooden steps, using only the balls of her feet. Lady Tremaine didn’t like reminders that Ella lived there, her temper flaring when she heard her stepdaughter walking through the house.
“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Ella sang lightly, as she did every morning. Though Drizella was neither sweet, nor did she value matters of the heart, Ella still called her the precious name in hopes it would someday rub off on her stepsister, and remind her that she was capable of kindness (even if there was no evidence to support that).
“Ung-mm-pffl,” Drizella spluttered, rolling around in her king-sized bed. She required seven down comforters to sleep atop, so every morning, she looked as if she was swimming on a series of cloudy waves that tangled around her long and Olive Oyl-like body.
“Get out of here!” Drizella finally managed to shout, throwing her phone at Ella’s head, as she did most mornings.
Ella caught the device, grateful they didn’t have to replace her phone yet again. She gently laid it on the nightstand and reminded herself to keep her shoulders rolled back. She knew that if the tiniest bit of tension crept into her body or tone of voice, the day would be shot. “Good morning, Drizella. If you don’t want to be late to your internship, you need to get up and get going.”
“I need my pleated skirt I wore last week. The purple one. Did you think about that? About the chores that need to be done? Or did you just talk with your birds all day long—eh, Birdbrain?” She sniggered at the nickname she’d dubbed Ella with years ago. “Birdbrain. Because no one will talk to you, except for the birds.”
“In all things, have the courage to be kind,” she reminded herself, quoting her father’s prayer for her.
“What are you yammering about? Stop being annoying.”
Ella hummed a song in her head, her hips swaying as she opened up Drizella’s curtains and motioned to the laundry basket in the corner filled with folded clothes. “It’s right in there, sweetheart. Let me get it for you. What top did you want to wear? I thought you looked lovely in your white sweater.”
“That’s because you’re simple and fat. The white sweater didn’t hang right. The yellow blouse. The one that shows off my boobs. I’ve got a date tonight, and I want it to go well.”
“Gary?” Ella asked, trying to keep the dread out of her voice.
“Gary Herchon,” she corrected Ella, drawing out the last name to sound exotic. “He’s best friends with Calvin, the Baron’s son. Can you imagine? If Mama marries the Baron, and I marry their close family friend?” Drizella tumbled out of bed, stripped her nightgown off and flung it onto the floor, narrowly missing knocking over the lamp on her nightstand. She waited like a princess in the center of the room for Ella to fetch her clothes and dress her in them. Her long nose pointed up in the air while Ella threaded her arms through the blouse and buttoned it up for her. “You can’t possibly understand how big a deal this is. Gary’s father is one step away from being on the council. Like, on the council! The Baron’s only got to appoint him, which he plans on doing once the council is cleared of the useless lame ducks. Any day now, I’ll be dating the son of a councilmember.”
Ella rarely paid attention to Drizella’s posturing, but there was something in her smugness that worried Ella. “Cleared how?”
Drizella’s grin widened, making her look like a vindictive cat. Then she drew her thumb across her throat with a wicked gleam in her eyes, evoking a gasp from Ella. “If they don’t step down, the Baron has ways of making people bend. If they won’t bend, he’ll break them. He already knows how he’ll do it.”
“How?” Ella asked, her mouth dry.
“Surely you don’t think all Lethals are as reformed as Sleeping Beauty’s husband. Most can’t get employment anywhere. Some would do anything the Baron asked for a quick buck.” Drizella’s pointy nose crinkled, as if talking about a woman who was prettier than her had left a foul stench in the air.
Ella knew that if she wanted Drizella to keep talking, she would have to get her relaxed. “You work so hard. I can’t believe how well you’ve done at Hipristine Industries. You’re the best social media consultant they’ve ever seen, I’m sure.”
“Can you believe they want me to keep a schedule? They’re not even paying me, but they want me to clock in hours. Ridiculous.”
“Would you like me to rub your shoulders?”
Drizella bristled with self-importance. “My feet, actually.”
Ella bit down on her lower lip as she descended to her knees before Drizella’s vanity chair. She waited until her stepsister was comfortable, and then rubbed a dollop of peppermint oil into her palms, gearing herself up to do one of her least favorite tasks. “Is that better?” she asked politely, swallowing hard as she ran her fingers over the foot fungus that never seemed to go away. Drizella’s toes were big, hairy, scaly, and smelled like rotting onions. Still, Ella kept her politeness around her neck like armor, offering up an unbothered expression while she massaged. The only thing that would get the stink off her hands after the task was rubbing them in the cinders from the hearth, followed by a thorough handwashing.
“I do work too hard,” Drizella mumbled, her eyes closing while she slumped in the chair.
Ella eased up on the pressure, not wanting to relax Drizella too much, and impede on sharing time. “Do you really think the Baron’s going to have members of the council killed by Lethals, all so he can get a few more spots for his friends?”
Drizella’s eyes opened. “That’s what Gary said. And why not? Lethals have to be good for something, right? We’ve got a dinner date set for after the meeting the Baron’s holding to finalize everything.”
“When would you like me to have your dress for your date ready? I mean, if the meeting’s nearby, then that doesn’t give you much time to prepare. I know how you like to look perfect.” Ella tried her best to keep her prying evasive.
“Oh, I’ll have plenty of notice. The meeting’s at that stinky old cigar shop closer to the capital. That’s easily forty-five minutes away.”
Ella rubbed Drizella’s feet for five more minutes, but all her sister wanted to talk about was how good Gary was in bed. If there was one thing Ella deemed more disgusting than Drizella’s feet, it was Gary Herchon.
“One day, when you find some lowly servant to give you the time of day, you’ll see what I’m talking about. Gary sure knows what he’s doing between the sheets.”
Ella could spot Drizella’s bravado and lies a mile away, but she was barely listening anymore. Her mind was focused on the potential plot that would eliminate a sizeable chunk of the council if she didn’t intervene.