Excerpt of The Wronged Princess by Kae Elle Wheeler

Stepmamá flounced through the door with Esmeralda and Pricilla trailing like little ducklings. Little ugly ducklings, she amended, scowling. The door shut behind them in a resounding slam.

Despondent, yet defiant, Cinderella darted from her post inside the basement to peer through the curtains. It was a risk worthy of furious wrath.

She gaped in awe as Prince, her Prince, dismounted his horse in a graceful drop to the ground. He looked just as she remembered. Hand on her throat, a dreamy sigh escaped. Hair, black as midnight held at his nape by a velvet queue, firm determined jaw, strong teeth and corded muscles. Her fingers tingled remembering her hand swallowed in his as he'd guided her through the ballroom dance after dance.

"Mew." Without taking her eyes from her beloved she lowered her palm for Marcel's assent.

"Look at him, my sweet. See how wide his shoulders are? How graceful his hands?"

Marcel peeped an agreement.

She watched an entourage of six surround Prince. Another gentleman off to one side held a wooden box. He opened it with a show of spectacular theatrics—and then, she saw it.

She gasped. Her glass shoe.

Cinderella blinked away sudden tears. Prince knelt on bended knee before Pricilla, sending the breath rushing from Cinderella's body. How had she ne'er noticed the sun's brilliance glinting off Pricilla's silvery blond locks? A lightheaded sensation assaulted her senses shooting straight to her knees. She had to force short small breaths to keep from fainting in despair on the spot.

Instead, Cinderella concentrated on the dark curl falling o'er her love's brow. The considerable effort it took to not scream squeezed the heart in her chest as he reached for Pricilla's foot. He pulled it forward, a bit too gently in her opinion, and slipped the shoe on—or rather—tugged, shifted, wrested. Cinderella watched his face carefully, narrowing her eyes. He seemed quite determined, she thought with pursed lips. He risked a glance upward and a smile lit his face sending Cinderella's heart fluttering.

Alas, it did not work. No amount of manipulation could make Pricilla's exquisite foot slide into Cinderella's glass shoe. Triumph surged through her veins as he moved to Esmeralda's waiting foot.

Was it...relief she saw? Oui, she was certain of it. Especially telling in the stiffening of Pricilla's spine, as Cinderella's view consisted of her sisters' backsides, leaving her to gaze upon Prince's lovely features.

She was, however, able to observe the unattractive scowl cross Stepmamá's jaunty, over–exaggerated features as the chance for one of her daughters to marry genuine royalty suddenly drop by a colossal fifty percent.

Oh, how Cinderella would love to run out the door and demand Prince to try the slipper on her own dainty foot. The urge was most overwhelming. But fear held her back. That, and Stepmamá's violent temper. It could prove a deadly, foolish mistake.

Cinderella let out a soft breath of relief and settled her gaze toward Esmeralda. Prince bestowed the same ritual, slipping off her one shoe to replace it with the glass one.

Awe turned to dreaded astonishment, then stunned horror when the slipper slid on with surprising ease.

Cinderella choked on a gasp and fled from her veiled place at the window.

*****

Prince felt a surge of panic when the slipper in his hand glided neatly onto the foot he still held. He could not be certain, but like unmelting snow in the highest of mountains, he froze. With a mental shake he cast a cautious glance to the face belonging to said foot. Conscious of efforts that would otherwise allow his mouth to hit the ground he steeled himself to meet the eyes of this new and unexpected affianced. The color was quite impossible to discern with such furious blinking. Bright copper curls blew in a brisk breeze that were not all that unattractive. It's just that they were not deep rich mahogany.

In sharp sudden precognition he realized this is what he been bred for. That nineteen years of self–possession, impassive expressions and reinforce tactful negotiations were imperative when one wrestled with a terror building so deep within one's chest, one might expire on the spot. "It appears to be a fit," he said, not at all surprised at the composure he was able to project.

"Well, of course it fits!" The hideous mother said, benevolently.

Sainthood. After this disastrous journey, he'd surely qualify for sainthood.

"Do quit batting your eyes, Esmeralda. You could stir up the soil," her mother snapped.

Just beyond her shoulder Prince caught sight of a slight movement of cheery red and white curtains at the window.

Amazing. Her eyes did seem to create a wind. It took every ounce of concentration to fix an impassive gaze on his new betrothed, Egeld...Este...well, her name escaped him at the moment—to contemplate the situation at hand. A sense of dread settled over him along with a picture of his mamán's pained expression leaping through his mind.

He was not a religious man, by any means, but divine intervention would not be amiss in this moment.