LORD BLOODTHORN HAD DECREED LONG ago that he would not stand for my ghastly human presence at mealtimes, so I didn’t find out about the invitation until mid-morning. My oldest stepsister, Acantha, waved it like a flag as I came into the parlor after breakfast. She and my other stepsister, Rose, were clustered together on the sofa next to my stepmother, vibrating with excitement.
I read the invitation: The Lord of the Golden Wood invites the House of Bloodthorn to the Thrice-Held Ball.
“It means the king is choosing a bride!” Acantha said.
“It does?”
Acantha huffed at me. “King Tawhiri has been putting it off for years, playing the houses against each other, but his time’s run out. He must choose a bride from amongst the twelve houses by the final night of this ball, or he loses the throne. And he is going to choose me.” Acantha wrapped a lock of dark hair about her finger, as if she were contemplating how she might do the same to the king.
“And if he wants a meek, self-effacing sort of bride?”
Acantha batted her eyelashes. “Then I will feign meekness for three nights, and he’ll be in for a lovely surprise after we exchange vows.”
“Lucky king.”
Acantha just grinned and extended her claws. The gold of them caught the morning light, forming bright flames briefly at each of her fingertips.
“Acantha!” Lady Bloodthorn reprimanded. Acantha’s claws were the only thing about her that betrayed she wasn’t pure sidhe, and her mother was always after her to keep them hidden. It seemed both sad and foolish to me, since Lady Bloodthorn’s own mixed blood was clear enough in her daintily hooved feet and curling ram’s horns.
Acantha rolled her eyes but dutifully retracted her claws.
Rose laughed. “You can have your crown, Acantha, only please say you’ll invite me to the Golden Hall’s libraries when you are queen. They have one of the finest collections in all Faerie.”
“I still expect you to make an effort for your house,” Lady Bloodthorn told her youngest.
I looked down at the invitation again and couldn’t stop myself. “So, when do we go to this ball?”
The expected awkward silence, the hint of reproach that I had insisted on making it.
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to come. Humans are forbidden to enter the Golden Hall,” Lady Bloodthorn said eventually. She even managed to sound apologetic. “You’re not upset, are you, dear? You understand how these things are.” She looked at me hopefully.
I smiled weakly back. “It’s fine. I’m not upset.” One upside to being human is the ability to blatantly lie. Fae have to get creative.
Rose piped up. “Actually, there have been humans at the Golden Hall before, or at least once before. A human princess visited King Tawhiri’s grandfather.”
“Royalty may be granted any number of exceptions.” The cold voice of Lord Bloodthorn from the doorway froze us all. As usual, he looked past rather than at me. His eyes glittered with malice. “And our Cinder-girl is no princess. If she proves an obstacle to this family forming royal connections yet again …” The threat hung unspoken but no less sinister for it.
“The king won’t even know she exists,” Acantha promised, stepping forward. Hurt flashed through me, though I knew she was only trying to help.
Lord Bloodthorn narrowed his eyes, but at least he looked at Acantha directly. He never did with me, the daughter he’d been swindled into adopting. Acantha met his gaze without flinching, shoulders high and defiant. With her claws sheathed, she was every inch an aristocratic pure-blooded sidhe, tall and willowy with pointed ears, perfect waves of ink-dark hair, and gold-brown skin.
“See that the king is pleased with you,” he said eventually.
Acantha gave a tight nod, like a general preparing for battle.
Lord Bloodthorn’s gaze fell on Rose, who flinched. “Don’t embarrass your sister. Make sure she covers her horns.” This last was directed to his wife, who touched her own horns nervously and nodded. Lord Bloodthorn turned to leave, and I let out a silent breath of relief. Too soon, for he took a parting shot, lips curling. “Even if you weren’t a worthless baseborn, you could not go, Cinders. The dancing will likely go past dawn.”
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