Cinder: An MM Romance Fairytale Retelling, page 5
“Busy, yes,” Louise finished for him, dryly. She sighed, shaking her head. “There’s no time; we should have left half an hour ago. Next week, perhaps. We’ll look through your clothes first. Find something... adequate.”
Cin thought of his wardrobe—somewhat cleaner than this, but no less worn from all the work he’d done in them. He’d never bothered to save a specific outfit for anything more formal. It had seemed silly to keep an expensive piece of clothing for the sole purpose of barely wearing it.
As he stood there, the autumn sun heating his cheeks and his siblings complaining in the back of the carriage, Louise seemed to be waiting for something.
“Yes, Mother,” Cin croaked out. “Next week, then.”
And he watched the carriage leave.
Five
Cinder ran. He wasn’t sure where he was going at first: anywhere but that damned front yard, where he’d watched his siblings and stepmother leave for a ball he’d worked so hard—so hard and yet not hard enough—to attend. His feet carried him first toward the front door, tripping over the torn edge of his shoe every few steps. Tears blurred his vision and each attempt to fit the key back into the lock grew worse as his anger rose. Finally he flung himself away, back down the front path and around toward the side of the house. He stumbled past the kitchen—also locked—and across the garden where the drying lines hung empty.
How stupid was he to sob over missing a single night of revelry? Cin sucked in a horrid breath, his ribs aching against his bindings, and wrapped both hands over his mouth like he could strangle the misery out of himself.
It wasn’t the missing that felt like a boiling band in his chest, not just that, anyway, but the trying—the trying, and trying, and falling short, when two of the people in that fucking god-damned carriage hadn’t had to try at all. To be born entirely mediocre—was that Cinder Szule’s curse? Not good or pious, and not useless or cruel either. Something just a little stained, valuable enough to be measured but always coming up short.
Worse, too, he had seen the embarrassment in Floy’s gaze, the satisfaction in Manfred’s, the pity in Emma’s. He hated them for it. He hated them so much it made him want to tear his own eyes out to stop seeing the memory of them driving away.
Cin tripped over a garden rock, landing on both knees in the grass and dirt. Ash-lover, dirt-wench, cinder-whore—if he could reach between his own ribs, he’d pull the names out, rip free his breasts while he was at it. Above him, a gentle chorus of coos started. Two tiny feet landed on his head, then another two on his shoulders, a final set clinging to the back of his neck as he shook.
Gracelessly, Cin came back to himself. Through the clench and release of his lungs, he managed to wipe one eye, then the next. On the ground in front of him lay his mother’s gravestone. It felt only right. She might have been good and pious enough to have sacrificed for her family’s sake, but she would have mourned this too. As wistful and ridiculous as Cin remembered her to be, he knew that were she alive to take on the responsibility herself, she would have wanted him at that ball, done whatever she could to get him there.
The tree that grew over her resting place rustled as more and more birds landed in its branches. Cin had planted that tree on the first anniversary of his mother’s death: planted it from a stick he’d found at the base of the castle walls during a trip Father had taken him on to the city, back when his father still took any of his children on his trips. He swore it had grown into a sapling overnight, and yet no one had believed him.
“How absurd,” Louise had said. “Hasn’t there always been an oak there?”
“That’s an ash, Mother,” Floy had pointed out.
“Szule’s dumb,” Manfred had added, and Emma had cried in the corner as her doll’s head broke off from her terrible attempts at a braid.
Maybe they had been right. For years, Cin had believed so—believed that he was delusional. Irrational as his mother, his grief and anger lying to him. But after the fantastical ways his birds had acted today, he wasn’t so sure.
He stared up at the tree’s branches, the dozens and dozens of birds now clustered within them, and with his throat tight and his stomach twisted, he begged: “Please...”
A breeze whistled through the tree, so slight and soft that it sounded like a song, and suddenly, all Cin's birds rose at once. They descended upon him, their wings outstretched and claws wide, a menacing cloud of tiny bodies. Cin opened his arms to them. Please, he thought, the word so much a part of him that it seemed to fill his chest, make his soul too large for his current form, too bright with want.
The flock twirled and tumbled around him, their claws curling back to caress Cin with the tops of their feet, a swirling mass so tight it seemed impossible that they weren't careening into each other. They took over Cin's vision, the sound of their flapping wings nearly drowning out his laughter.
As he rose up from the dirt, layers of fabric flowed around him. With one last perfect spiral, his flock seemed to collapse: a hundred eyes and a thousand feathers coming together into one sparkling form. And just like that, Cinder Szule Reinholz was ready for the ball.
The capital city was alive with joviality. It wasn’t just the palace that was hosting the ball, Cin realized as he made his way into the city: it was every open plaza, every tavern and pub, every public garden and empty warehouse. Throughout the capital, the royals had carted food and dispersed musicians, along with what seemed like hundreds of lanterns with colorful exteriors, all lighting up the areas of revelry as though the chilly fall night was the middle of spring. But Cin had only one destination in mind.
Still folded beneath the drapes of his simple brown cloak, he directed his magical steed through the crowded lanes. A normal horse would have crushed someone by now, but the delicate gray beast Cin rode upon seemed to dart and dance through the people like a flock of birds, never quite touching anyone, not even in the most overwhelmed of roads. Still, the congestion made it flick its head in annoyance. Cin slipped his shimmering gloves out from under his cloak to pat its withers.
Almost there, he wanted to tell it. Almost.
Near the castle, the party attendees grew fancier, commoners giving way to rich merchants and craftspeople, and finally the lesser nobility, all dressed in glittering gowns and fitted suits and flowing capes that gleamed as they danced in the rainbow of lantern-light. Members of the crown’s watch moved between them, armed and alert, but even they seemed to be enjoying the night, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. Cin caught glimpses of the castle’s high walls between the buildings, but the towers themselves always seemed hidden by one more row of fancy houses and wealthy shops. He followed the young and eligible as they climbed the path to the great arched double-door in the castles walls. Half of its metal blockade had been swung open.
More of the crown’s watch meandered in and out, surveying the regular guards in their plain green uniforms as they spoke with each expectant guest. One watch member with the ornate gilding of elevated status occasionally stepped in to speak with the guards or guests, resulting in the guest’s dismissal, sometimes alongside the removal of a hidden weapon. Cin felt the little knife he’d hidden in the back of his chest binding like a second spine.
He fidgeted as he waited in the line, telling himself that if the Crown had connected him in any way to their Plumed Menace, they would have come for him at his home. They had no better reason to suspect him now—except, perhaps, that he was currently covered in feathers. But the look had been fairly common among the nobles in recent decades, and few seemed to care enough about the Plumed Menace’s calling card to remove such extravagances from their closets.
When Cin reached the door, though, the guards seemed to see him little more than any strangers ever did, as though the pigeon feathers in his outfit doubled as a disguise of another sort. The guard confirmed his age and marital status, glancing at his waist and inside his cloak, before requesting he dismount. He began to relax as his steed was led off to the royal barns, and the way cleared for him to ascend the castle’s steps. He took them slowly, reveling in the glory of the night and the colors that bounced across the castle’s deep gray stone, its towers piercing the sky high above him.
“I’m here, Mother,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure that it was God smiling upon him, but this moment was still something magical; something miraculous.
Cin stepped through the entrance of the castle, and he could almost feel his whole world change. The paths of the ball-goers led him through the majestic entry-chamber, its high ceiling lit by a dozen lanterns, and past the throne room, down a spacious hall toward a sea of music and laughter. A servant took Cin’s simple outer cloak, and he stepped inside.
The massive room spread out like a layered gem before him, lit by a hundred central lanterns in a mix of vibrant colors and sparkling whites, arranged to leave the edges of the room still cloaked in mystery, as though the party space might never end. Dancers twirled on the lower central floor as musicians played from a platform against the far wall, their jovial waltz seeming to hum through Cin’s very bones. Along one side of the room, giant flawless windows mirrored the ball back at them, and along the other, internal balconies swept out as though they were in a theater, their shadowy occupants watching from seats or tucked behind curtains for private rendezvous. Amongst the party-goers, Cin spotted a number of castle staff serving as hosts, as well as a few of the crown’s watch stationed in the shadows near the room’s edges.
As Cin made his way inside, the whole world seemed to turn and look at him.
It was like being seen for the first time, a hundred gazes rolling down him, from the feathered crown braided into his white-blond hair to the sweeping length of his feathered half-cape, to the exquisite embroidery of his white and gold suit and the tall gray boots his pants tucked into. Beneath the glamorous frills, he could still feel the flaws of the clothing he’d been wearing back at the garden before his pigeons had swept around him in a spiraling tornado to leave a sparkling masterpiece in their wake, but even the tear in his shoe and the tight pressure of his chest binding seemed like they couldn’t hurt him now. He was alive, and he was here, jealousy and delight on the faces of everyone who looked upon him.
This time, he was being measured, and he was the one they all wanted to be or to beat.
Lucky for them, Cin wasn’t here to challenge anyone’s claim on the prince.
As he thought it, he remembered to scan the room for Floy and his siblings, but they hadn’t arrived yet—unlike him, they’d have to drive their carriage around to the few streets that had been cleared of pedestrians in order to make their way up to the castle. That meant he had a quarter-hour, perhaps even a half, to enjoy himself here before absconding to one of the less prestigious parties outside the castle proper.
As much as Cin wished otherwise, he had known the moment his birds descended on him that he couldn’t share this glory with his family. There would be too many questions, too many demands. And Floy had already been acting suspicious with his pigeon feathers that morning...
Tonight was for him, and him alone.
Cin made a lap around the massive room just to take in the scene, letting himself wonder at the motions of the dancing guests while counting the observing watch members in the back of his head. They seemed no more interested in him than the guards out front, however, and after his second sweep through the room, he let himself breathe out the little fear he’d been harboring of them. They were here to protect the royal family and their castle, and Cin meant harm to neither. He was safe.
Safe to enjoy himself.
His initial sweep finished, Cin sampled every morsel of food presented on the long, elaborately decorated royal tables before returning for his favorites. He slipped tiny meatballs between his lips and savored the sweet burst of strawberry cakes as he sipped on a warm glass of spiced wine. He basked in the music and exchanged a few short words with other singles at the ball, mostly over the beauty of the place and the quality of the food, staying to the sidelines and avoiding any conversation where it seemed the gossip might turn to talk of the Plumed Menace.
The more he watched, the more he realized that not all the eligible individuals were there solely for the prince either. Some seemed just as distracted by their wonder as he was. Others hounded each other for conversations of business or danced as though they were committed to coming home with a partner whether the prince wanted them or not. It was beautiful and unreal and so gloriously perfect.
He only spotted the man he assumed to be the newly crowned Prince Lorenz a few times, each from a distance—once only the top of his dusky brown hair and elegant silver circlet as he danced through the bobbing crowd, and later his back, as he was walking out of the central ball-space with a guest on both arms, one of the ornamented watch members trailing dutifully behind him. It left such a sense of mystery that Cin almost wanted to see him up close before he left. He was casually scanning the room again when instead his gaze caught on the entrance: on three specific people arriving there.
His heart ricocheted, and he took a few steps back, sliding into the shadows along the room’s edges. Besides the entrance, there were two great doors out to the gardens, but that would require Cin to move back through the well-lit spaces to reach them. A few other doors and spiraling stairwells led to the upper level where the shadowy, theater-style balconies were, but he had managed to find himself spaced equally far from any of them.
Maybe if he just stayed here, his siblings wouldn’t notice him?
But that wasn’t a chance he wanted to take.
Cin glanced to his left and right again, then up to the balcony. If he could get there without stepping through the brighter parts of the room, then none of his siblings would be able to spot him from below...
Grooves ascended along the wall where an ornamented pillar curled up under the edge of the nearest balcony. Peeling off his gloves, Cin slipped his fingers into the pillar’s lines. This could do fine.
Cin gave one final look toward the watch members in view of him, but none seemed to be paying any attention to his shadowy balcony’s underbelly. Taking as deep a breath as he could manage beneath his binding, he pulled himself up. The centralized lantern-light would have barely glinted off his outfit, and as he climbed, the magic overlaying him seemed to shift in color. The silvery gleams in his feathered coat went gray and the folds in the fabric flared and swirled, casting him in a ghostly haze. He slid his fingers along the curves of the balcony, tucking the sides of his toes against the frame for support, and hand over hand, Cin rose above the crowd.
As he reached the top, the tear in the side of his boot—the ordinary one, beneath the magic—snagged. He slipped, catching himself at the last moment with both hands on the banister. A sharp reminder of the state of his ribs speared through his sides as he swung himself up to the balcony’s safety. He landed with the tiniest sound: the pop and tear of another stitch in his boot.
Cin grimaced. He didn’t have much time to think about the repercussions this would have on his regular life, though, because the balcony wasn’t as empty as it had appeared from below. And the couple already occupying it were grunting.
One of them swayed against the other with an energy far too frenzied to be following the moves of any dance, his hands on their hips as he pressed them against the wall and— Oh. They were fucking.
They might have still been fully—more or less—clothed, but they were definitely fucking.
Shit.
The couple seemed to notice Cin at the same instant he realized it. They slowed, and Cin’s eyes had adjusted enough to the low lighting to make out the blush on the face of the probably-woman as she held to the lifted edge of her dress with one hand and what she could reach of the very edge of the balcony railing with the other. The probably-man pulled back just enough for Cin to catch the silhouette of his hard cock between the folds of fabric around the couple’s legs—and he was a man, Cin knew, because Cin vaguely recognized him.
As the man’s dark gaze settled on Cin in the low light, his eyes narrowed, scanning up Cin’s body like he was devouring him, adding up every glimmering piece of Cin’s facade and measuring it against his own want... and somehow, not finding Cin lacking. Not yet, at least, not draped in magic and shadows.
“Why, hello. Aren’t you a pretty little dove?” Prince Lorenz smiled, the flash of teeth in the low light so similar to that of his circlet: cold and arrogant but breathtakingly beautiful. “You want in?” he asked. “I think we can make room for a third.”
Six
Prince Lorenz, most eligible bachelor in the kingdom, soon to-not-be a bachelor at all, was looking at Cinder and... he was...
Oh no, oh fuck, oh fuck.
Cin felt his mouth turn to cotton and a burn shoot across his cheeks. His head went light in a rush of nerves. It made the room spin, and suddenly Cin’s legs weren’t quite underneath him. The banister was, though, then empty air, then—
A pair of strong hands circled around the collar of his suit jacket, pulling him back onto the balcony with a sureness that Cin had not felt from anyone’s touch in ages. The prince helped steady him, one arm slipping around Cin’s waist. His breath was warm against Cin’s forehead.
Cin yanked his hand off Prince Lorenz’s chest as he found his footing. Had he grabbed Prince Lorenz back? The heated embarrassment in his cheeks doubled.
The little smile, so smug and dazzling, appeared back on Prince Lorenz’s lips. He stepped away, shifting to take gentle hold of Cin’s wrists, like he was worried if he let go entirely that Cin might launch himself back over the railing. “There now. If you wish to reject my advances, there are easier ways, you know?”
