The Real Cinderella by S. G. Ricketts (good short books txt) 📖

your property nearly dying.”

“You are not my property.” I cringed at the sharpness in his tone. He leaned forward. I could just see his steepled fingers. “You are not my property,” he repeated firmly. “Property is a chair or a book or a horse. You are not property. Do you understand?”

I nodded quickly, not sure what he was trying to say. “Yes, m’lord.”

“What’s more, I know what Aaron is like. He isn’t one to give the respect due even to property, especially not when it comes to his slaves.” I nodded again, feeling wooden. “You were lucky I was there looking for a scullery maid.”

Startled, I met his eyes. “You mean you aren’t the master of a pleasure house?”

He looked as shocked as I felt. “A pleasure house? A brothel? By the King, no.” He snorted, running his hand through his hair. A lock fell rakishly in front of his face and he swept it away. “If Aaron had bought you, it would have been something similar. But no, I am a humble Royal serving the King.”

I must have looked amusing, mouth hanging open and eyes wide, because he smiled slightly. “So then, you know the Prince?” My voice squeaked. I could see that face so clearly in my mind’s eye, almost feel the weight of the cheese in my palm.

His smile broadened, proud. “Aye. you might say I’m a lesser son. Which makes him my-”

“Brother.” I leaned heavily against the wall, overwhelmed. “I’ve been bought by a bloody prince.” I closed my eyes and swallowed. By the Three, what have I gotten myself into? I swallowed, mouth dry. A prince. Of Zyonn, no less. Not merely a Royal, but a true Royal. A royal Royal. “So that’s how you had five royes to spend on a slave.” I peeked at him.

He ran his hand through his hair again and leaned back, frowning. “Aye. And therein lies my problem.”

I squeezed my eyes shut again. “I’m sorry I cost you so much, my lord. I’ve been thinking, but I don’t know how I’m worth it.”

“Foiling Aaron was worth the five royes, but otherwise I agree.” I winced, bracing for a return to those horrid pens. “At that price, I could have bought five decent stewards, let alone a scullery maid. No... Aaron will expect you to be placed high in my servants or he will cry foul.” His finger tapped on the table. I held my breath, not daring to hope. “If you were an ordinary woman, that would be simple enough. But a rebel I cannot-”

My eyes snapped open and I stared at him incredulously. “A rebel?”

He nodded. "Your lashing suggests so." He pointed to my hand, clenched tight in the sheet. "You're obviously a builder, probably from the Western region by the color of your skin. Most of the rebels come from those parts. And it isn't unusual for a woman to be part of a revolt." His brows furrowed and he paused. "Although, your whipping is remarkably light for a rebel."

Surprised as I was by the accuracy of his guess, his assumption angered me. His slave or not, I was no rebel. "If refusing to be raped is rebellion, then yes my lord, I am a rebel," I ground out, trying to keep my temper at bay. He didn't seem convinced. "I'm not so foolish as to join their suicide plot. I've lost too many people I love to stupid revolts and I've seen the ‘change’ they bring." I stared at him hotly. "They're only playing into the hands of the overseers. The rebels are useless."

He watched me for a moment, my back painfully upright and proud. "Well..." His face relaxed and the tension eased out of his face. I glared at him, still furious that he had even considered me a rebel. He unclasped his cloak and swung it over the back of the chair. "In that case, my instinct is still flawless. Thank you. I was beginning to doubt myself."

Confusion began to replace my sudden anger. “...Instinct?”

He stretched, boots pressing against the ends of the bed, and poured himself a glass of water. “Thirsty?” Without waiting for a response, he poured another glass and handed it to me. Warily, I took the proffered cup. Did he think I was lying? Was he crazy? He tapped the table with a long finger, watching me. I suppressed a shiver. Their black depths were virtually impossible to read. “Joshua told me I’d find what I needed.”

“Joshua?”

He waved a hand dismissively, taking a drink. “You’ll meet him eventually. As it is, my current manservant is due to be given his freedom soon. He’s nearing his fifties, and a place in stewardship would suit him much better. His joints make moving difficult.”

I sipped my glass, watching his face shift from casual comment to compassion. Whoever this servant was, he seemed to have some importance with my master. It was reassuring. “What does your manservant becoming a steward have anything to do with me” I set the cup in my lap, meeting his gaze. “You’d need to replace him with a man, not with me.”

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Says who?”

I frowned, fighting the urge to smile back. This man owned me. We weren’t having a friendly chat over tea; we were discussing my new position as his slave. My frown deepened. “I don’t know who. It just seems reasonable. I mean, you being a man makes it somewhat improper for a woman to attend you. Unless Cardeas is different.”

He smiled and I decided that he should never smile again. The blush raced up my neck. His smile widened but I held is eyes. “No, Cardeas is not different. Matthew’s grandson will undertake my more personal needs.” I dropped my gaze and stared at my hands. He sat forward, chair creaking. “You will assist me with everything else.”

My hands almost blended into the deep earthy color of the cup. “Like what, my lord?”

A boot tapped against the floor. “Choosing clothes, handling my schedule, cleaning my private quarters, assisting me out on the road, serving guests.” He ticked them off on his fingers.

I laughed. “You must not have been to Builder’s Brooke, m’lord. We aren’t well known for our servant attitude, let alone our ability to do half those things.”

His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. “So I was right.” He tapped his finger against his lip, thinking. “And yet you have remarkably good English. Even better than Martha, who was born in Cardeas.” The sheet became immensely interesting. “Care to explain that, my curious little servant?”

I didn’t care to explain. “My father had been a servant before being sent to Builder’s Broke. He taught us.” He waited me out, ignoring my terse tone. I wrinkled my nose and he grinned. “He taught us a few other useless things, too.”

“Useless to builders or useless to me?”

I sighed. “Useless to builders. I can read fairly well, and he taught us our basic sums.”

“Joshua never is wrong.” I made a mental note to figure out who this Joshua was. Perhaps another servant? “And to think Aaron almost had you.” He stood abruptly, chair squealing as he pushed back. The scent of pine and soap wafted over me as he slipped his cloak on and tingles ran down my spine. I had the faint feeling of strong arms around me. If I blushed one more time while he was here, he’d think I were permanently red. “Well, my little maidservant, I will leave you in the good care of Miss Martha. She will see to it that you heal properly and that you are fully trained by the time I come to fetch you.” He opened the door, then turned around again. “I have yet to know your name. It’s hardly polite to call you ‘maidservant,’ isn’t it.”

I blinked, surprised. Wasn’t that how I was to be called? “Kathryn, but, if it... if it pleases my lord, I prefer Kat.”

He gave a short bow. “Kat, it is a pleasure to have you in my service. I am Liam Rexus, thirteenth son of the King and rightful heir of Zyonn.”
Chapter 5

“Takes ye by surprise, doesn’t he?” Martha pushed the door open, carrying a tray loaded with something that smelled delicious. “The quiet ones always do, ye know.”

I frowned and nodded, still a little shaken from my lord’s visit. She set the tray down and began setting the little table for tea. Porcelain chinked, the blue filigree catching the firelight. “Is he crazy?”

Martha snorted and I relaxed a little. “Crazy? Liam? By the Queen, no.” Her body jiggled as she laughed. The kettle sloshed and she dabbed at the spill, still chuckling. “No, girl. He’s still young. They don’t start going crazy until they’re at least two hundred years old.”

“T-two hundred?” I knew the Royals were immortal, but it had all seemed like a fairy tale. Everyone aged and died. Even the overseers, who claimed Royal blood. “So...it isn’t just a story?” I curled my legs up underneath me and settled against the wall. Cardeas suddenly seemed so much more magical.

“Oh aye, girl.” Martha set the final piece down, a tray of cookies, and settled in the chair. Her green eyes twinkled in amusement. “Not sure how old the original Three are, but the second son is nearing his 494th birthday.”

“494th,” I breathed. Dazed, I handed her my empty water cup. “But...that’s older than Zyonn, isn’t it?” She replaced it with one of tea. “And how old is m’lord, then?”

Martha leaned forward conspiratorially. “They say the second son is actually the last king of that first kingdom. When the Three arrived, he bowed before Their magnificence and was given the gift of true Royalty, adopted by Them and beginning the kingdom of Zyonn.” I’d never heard that story. Father had taught us our history, but he’d known nothing of the beginnings of the kingdom. Mistress Martha was an interesting person, to be sure. She tapped her nose, eyeing me shrewdly. “Och, I suppose I can tell ye. After all, he is yer lord n’ master, isn’t he?” I took a sip of tea, hanging on to her every thread. Peppermint and honey swirled on my tongue but I barely noticed, so ensorceled by my healer lady. “Liam just passed his 139th birthday.” I choked on my tea and she beat me solidly on the back while I struggled to breathe again. Her belly shook with her laughter. “Oh... Oh, by the Queen, that was good.” She wiped tears off her cheeks and I glared up at her.

“139?” I took another sip to cover my surprise. “But he hardly looks older than thirty himself.”

The woman nodded, still laughing. “And ye look nought older than sixteen,