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  The Stepmother

  A Seven Kingdoms Novelette

  Cordelia Castel

  Copyright © 2018 by Cordelia Castel

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

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  www.CordeliaCastel.com

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  I wrote this because I felt the endings of many old Cinderella stories were too rushed. Okay, she gets to the ball and marries the prince. But what happened to the stepmother and stepsisters? In many versions of the story, they weren’t even mentioned at the end, or Cinderella helps her stepsisters to marry noblemen.

  That was not enough for me. I wanted to see the stepmother and her daughters receive their comeuppance for treating an orphaned girl like a servant in her own home. Cinderella suffered for at least ten years, so I wanted their punishment to be equally harsh.

  And that’s why I wrote this little story. But as you have read, Mother’s misfortune has not yet finished. In Book Two, The Academy, you will discover what exactly Mother means when she says boons are the most powerful magical oath. It’s not until Book Three, The Witch-Hunt, where Mother will explain to Rilla her life story and how Rilla ended up in her care.

  I hope you enjoyed this story. If you haven’t already read it, I suggest you read The Magestaff. Some of the events in the newspaper article occurred at the end of that book, and it will set you up for the next books in the Seven Kingdoms Series.

  Chapter 1

  Candide Perrault’s first sign of trouble brewing was the burning sensation of bouillabaisse being poured over her head. She shrieked. The gloopy, brown liquid scalded her face, dripped down her neck and onto her lap. It soaked into the silk gown made by the finest couturier in all the Seven Kingdoms. Her daughters, Gabrielle and Angelique, froze in their dining chairs in wide-eyed horror.

  Cook, the wretched sow, threw the china tureen aside and glowered, pudgy hands on childbearing hips. Her complexion glowed as red as a spit-roasted hog. “That’s for selling an innocent child to a murdering brute!”

  Before Candide could muster up a witty retort, the rotund woman spun on her heel and stormed out of the dining room.

  “Mother,” cried Gabrielle. “Are you hurt?”

  Despite the hot liquid still trailing down her back, Candide managed a smile. “I shall be fine once I’ve put that woman in her place.”

  She strode out, keeping her steps brisk but elegant. Servants should never see their Mistress undone. And no mere domestic was going to unruffled her. Cook stood at the main doors, handing two carpetbags to Benoit, the footman.

  “And what,” Candide drawled, suppressing a wave of anxiety, “Is the meaning of this charade?”

  “Ain’t it obvious?” The woman nodded to Benoit, who opened the door. “We’re leaving.”

  Gabrielle and Angelique rushed past, like fawns chasing after a doe. Their lack of decorum made Candide bristle.

  Angelique grabbed Cook’s hand. “But who will take care of us if you leave?”

  “Please don’t go,” said Gabrielle through sobs. “We didn’t sell Rilla. It was her.”

  All three women turned, fixing Candide with frosty glares. And without a word of goodbye, Benoit snatched the carpet bags and walked out of the open door. It took all her self-control not to wilt under the hostility.

  Candide straightened, held her head high and ignored the cooling bouillabaisse sticking her underwear to her skin. “Cookie Palmiers, I will forgive this indiscretion if you turn back and submit yourself to discipline. However, if you walk out of that door and leave my employ, I will see you pilloried for the assault of a noblewoman.”

  The woman snorted. “You can try.” She pulled her hand out of Angelique’s grasp and stepped out of the house. “But if anyone deserves the stocks, it’s you, Madame!”

  Gabrielle’s lips trembled. “And how will we feed ourselves now that we have no servants?”

  Angelique gave Candide a withering look but remained silent.

  “We have enough gold to hire a platoon of servants and have you wed in splendor by the end of the month,” Candide replied. “With your beauty and this dowry, you could even marry the Crown Prince Armin.”

  Gabrielle brightened at this, and Candide retreated to her boudoir for the evening.

  The next morning, a loud coughing awoke Candide from her slumber. Both girls stood over her, their pretty faces marred by frowns.

  “We’re hungry,” said Gabrielle.

  Candide closed her eyes and turned. “Then eat.”

  Those two could stand over her all they wanted. It would take Candide at least a few more hours of slumber to overcome the shock of being so viciously assaulted in her own home. And when she was ready, she would demand that Sergeant D’Armes drag Cook to the village square for punishment. She smirked. If Candide accepted him as a gentleman caller, she could make him arrest Benoit as an accomplice.

  “Mother,” said Angelique, her voice sharp.

  “Enough,” muttered Candide. “Go to the kitchen and slice some bread.”

  “We can’t.”

  Candide sighed. It had been a mistake toe make the girls so dependent of their beloved mother. “Why ever not?”

  “The kitchen is on fire.”

  With a gasp, and a good deal of spluttering, Candide pulled back her sheets, stumbled out of bed, then tripped over her bed curtains. The twins stepped back, neither of the ungrateful girls crying out in concern for their poor, misused mother. But now was no time to berate them on their lack of sympathy. She picked up the trail of her nightgown, made of the spun silk of Savannah spiders, and bolted down the stairs.

  The cold marble of the floors chilled her soles, and she regretted not having grabbed her slippers. But she ran on through the corridors, down the grand staircase, and through the heavy wooden door that marked the entrance to the servants’ domain.

  Candide stood at the top of the stairs, her heart in her throat. Plumes of smoke streamed from the kitchen door, gathering on the ceiling like a cloud of despair. Black residue, presumably from the smoke, already stained the stone walls. There was no need to proceed further. The heat radiated up to where she stood, and she was in no mood to battle an inferno.

  The twins caught up and peered over her shoulder. They immediately fell about coughing. Candide pushed them back through the doorway leading to the ground floor hall and shut the door. “How,” she said through gritted teeth, “did this occur?”

  Gabrielle sucked in a breath, a stalling tactic she’d used since she was a child.

  “Tell the truth,” Candide snapped.

  Both girls stepped out of reach. Candide turned and glowered at them. She’d never strike her precious daughters. They knew that, so it hurt her heart to see them so cowed.

  “Angelique wanted to make Johnnycakes…” her voice trailed off.

  “And?” Candide turned to her youngest.

  Angelique girl wrung her hands, her face twisted in a way that would cause premature wrinkles. She wore the pink gown Candide had commissioned for her trousseau, for when she’d secured a suitable union for the girl. The delicate, embroidered fabric was now a blackened mess. Candide would reprimand her later for having wasted such a valuable dress on the preparation of breakfast foods.

  “We hadn’t eaten last night, so we were hungry. Gabrielle made me spill the oil I was using to light the stove, and then the fire spread.”

  Candide sighed. Her revenge on Cook and Benoit would have t
o wait. “Fetch the buckets Cendrilla used to water the gardens. We will need to flood the basement, otherwise the fire will consume the rest of the manor.”

  After several hours of backbreaking work of drawing water, carrying it through the house like a pack of mules, and throwing it down the stairs, Candide felt certain she had contained the fire to the basement. She washed off the soot and sweat from her skin then doused herself with belladonna cologne from Metropole. Her purple silk gown with the puffed sleeves would convey her wealth, status and beauty to perfection. It was time to visit Sergeant D’Armes. She would add the fire to Cook’s list of transgressions against the house of Perrault and get the constables’ help in dousing the flames.

  Since Benoit had walked out on her, it was left to Candide to take the horses and hitch them to the carriage. This was a task she hadn’t done since living in Savannah with her sister, Branca. She wondered whether Branca was still alive. Her thoughts drifted to her youngest sister, Maria, whose family would have expanded by now, but she shook her head. Vengeance called.

  Candide checked her face in the small, gilded mirror she kept in her purse. Perfection. She led the horses from the stable to the front driveway, her feet crunching the gravel.

  The girls stood outside the front doors of the Manor, looking like a pair of identical angels. Candide smiled. Despite her misfortune, she’d brought up a pair of ladies worthy of any prince in the known world.

  Gabrielle scowled. “I’m still hungry.”

  Angelique glowered.

  “Get into the carriage and wipe off those ugly expressions,” snapped Candide.

  The girls huffed and obeyed. Candide climbed onto the driver’s seat and drove the carriage to the edge of the shopping district. From there, she and the girls walked to the town center. It would not do to let the townsfolk see her performing the menial work of a coachman.

  With her chin tilted up, she strode through the town square, flanked by Gabrielle and Angelique. As usual, all heads turned to admire her and her gorgeous children. Pride bloomed in her bosom. Now that she had the funds, she would broker the best unions for the girls.

  The jailhouse, a slate building with heavy wooden doors, stood in the corner of the square. Candide turned to the girls. “Stay outside. I refuse to expose you to the lesser elements of our society.”

  Gabrielle bit her lip, but Angelique nodded, still with that unpleasant glare. Candide would speak to the girl later about presenting herself properly in public. She sashayed to the jailhouse and rapped on the door.

  A young man she had never seen before answered. His eyes widened, and Candide preened with satisfaction. Even at her age, she had the power to reduce men to a stupor.

  “Yes, Madame?” squeaked the young constable.

  “I wish to see Sergeant D’Armes.”

  He opened the door, and Candide stepped in. The receiving room was not as she had imagined. Neither drunks, louts nor layabouts were anywhere in sight, only a wooden desk which spanned the width of the room.

  “Please wait here, Madame. I will fetch the sergeant.”

  Candide inclined her head and waited.

  In minutes, Sergeant D’Armes walked out. She forced a smile. The sergeant was not what one would call handsome. His beard resembled porcupine quills, and above small, squinting eyes jutted equally as horrific brows. His lip curled. “Madame Perrault.”

  Candide’s breath caught, and she stepped back. No one had spoken to her with such disdain since she was back in Savannah with Branca. “Yes?”

  He leaned over the desk, scrutiny written all over his visage. “Did you know the penalty for betrothing a minor to a magical foe is life imprisonment?”

  Her lips parted, but not even this seductive expression could melt the scowl off the sergeant’s face. “I’m not sure what you mean, Jean. I would never—”

  “It’s Sergeant D’Armes to the likes of you, Madame.” He spat the last word, and droplets of spittle glistened on the surface of the wood.

  “I came here to make a complaint, Sergeant,” she said. “Cookie Palmier has—”

  The man chuckled, but it wasn’t out of mirth. His look of glee seemed bestial. “What a waste of fine bouillabaisse. There will be none of that where you’re going. Lord Bluebeard is under investigation, and if we find out he is an ogre, both of you will be dragged here for judgement.”

  Candide clasped her hands to stop them from shaking. “I must protest at this treat—”

  Sergeant D’Armes slammed his fists on the desk, making Candide flinch. “Leave, or I will have you in stocks while we work out whether you sold a helpless girl to a flesh-eating monster.”

  A whimper sprung from her throat. She spun and fled the jailhouse, tripping over her feet.

  Outside, the sun bore down on her like an unforgiving deity. She bowed her head, avoiding its harsh glare. Sweat trickled from her hairline, making its way down her face like a centipede.

  “Mother. What in the Seven Kingdoms is happening?” asked Gabrielle, hysteria raising her voice to s shrill squeak. “Everyone hates us.”

  Angelique fanned herself. “I expect they disapproved of what Mother did to Cendrilla.”

  Candide pursed her lips. A small crowd of commoners gathered around her. She flashed her eyes at the girls, a warning not to speak of such things in public. But it was too late, as some of the people surrounding them jeered.

  “Disgraceful, it is, what some folk will do for gold,” said a withered crone.

  “Hanging’s too good for her,” said Madam Beaufort, the gossipy cheesemonger.

  “Put her in the stocks,” yelled a drunk. “The treacherous peacock.”

  Candide grasped the twins’ wrists and hissed, “We’re leaving.”

  After a most distressing run across the town centre, they boarded the carriage and set off for home at top speed. Throughout the journey, the Sergeant’s words haunted Candide. Of course, she’d heard the rumors about Lord Bluebeard. But how else could she have mustered the vast amounts of money required for Gabrielle’s and Angelique’s dowries?

  The carriage trundled down the dirt road, its movements sending jolts of fear through Candide’s belly. It was only a matter of time before the gossips confirmed Lord Bluebeard’s status and she’d be dragged away with no one to fend for her daughters. She brought her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. There was only one option left: to take the gold and leave Moissan.

  As the girls disembarked, she said, “Pack a trunk. We’re leaving for Clement.”

  “Are we going to Metropole to meet Prince Armin?” asked Gabrielle.

  Angelique strode past without a word. Candide huffed. She failed to understand the girl’s attitude.

  While the twins packed, Candide carried the twenty-three bags of gold coins to the carriage’s strongbox, ignoring the hunger gnawing at her empty belly. She helped the girls load their trunks and was about to enter the Mansion to fetch her own when a fine carriage entered the driveway.

  Candide frowned. She had expected no gentlemen callers today, and the jailhouse used carts that doubled as cells. Perhaps whoever had come to call would ensure their safe passage to Metropole.

  “Get in the carriage, girls.”

  “But I want to see who’s come to visit,” said Gabrielle.

  Angelique climbed in, avoiding eye contact.

  Candide didn’t have time to ponder the mood swings of her youngest. She threw her shoulders back, pasted on a warm smile, and strode to the newly arrived carriage.

  “Welcome, My Lo—” Her words were cut off by a meaty fist that shot out of the open window and wrapped itself around her throat. It belonged to Lord Bluebeard, and his face was scarlet, prominent veins pulsing in his temple.

  “Where is she?” he roared. Lord Bluebeard shook Candide as though the answer would fall from her lips. Candide’s skin tightened, her windpipe collapsed, and her lungs struggled for air. Tears streamed from her eyes. She wanted to speak, but the man—no, ogre—had cut off her air
supply. Her mouth opened and closed, her throat making ugly, choked sounds.

  Lord Bluebeard threw her to the ground. “Where is she?”

  After several deep breaths, Candide felt able to talk, even though her throat burned and her neck as if it was still being squeezed by that giant fist. “Surely Cendrilla is with you?”

  “She ran away with that boy,” he spat.

  “Cendrilla didn’t come here. She is no longer welcome.” Candide struggled to her feet and soon wished she hadn’t. Her head spun like a wisp carried away in the wind.

  “You have reneged on our deal.” He emerged from the carriage, straightening to his full, terrifying height and stalked toward her. Candide could not help but stumble backward until she bumped her posterior on the carriage. “I have financed you and your wretched daughters for the past two years and paid off your debts, all for Cendrilla’s hand.”

  “And you have it, My Lord.” She shrank into herself, hoping that her daughters wouldn’t make a sound and get themselves noticed by the monster.

  He bared his teeth, which seemed larger than average for a human. “I didn’t pay her weight in gold crowns for one day of betrothal!”

  Candide nodded, trying not to crumble under his stare. Lord Bluebeard’s eyes blazed, and he looked ready to incinerate her, silk gown and all. “M-my Lord, I will find her for you.” She had to think fast, before the brute murdered her on her own driveway. “I suspect she may have gone to see an old fisherman who sells us lobster. His wife was once kind to her.”

  Lord Bluebeard’s nostrils flared, and Candide hoped he wasn’t smelling the lie. He grabbed her hair and yanked her up so their eyes were level. “Find me my bride, and I will forgive you for bringing her up as a servant in her own home.”