Lucette and Tristan stepped out of the Sanguinian palace into the fresh night air, and he draped his arm around her shoulders.
“He’ll make a good king,” Tristan said. “And now that his mother is locked up in prison, and drinking human blood is illegal again, lasting peace between all the kingdoms seems assured.”
Lucette’s heart swelled with so much love and pride. “Alex is so young to be ruling, I can’t imagine . . .”
Tristan squeezed her shoulders. “Oh, come on now. If you were suddenly thrust upon the throne of Xandra, you’d do just fine.”
She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Maybe, if I had you at my side.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” Tristan said, and then bent to kiss her.
They walked through the crowd of vampires and dignitaries from other kingdoms who’d assembled for King Alexander’s coronation, until they found a quiet place under a tree, near the edge of the stone-paved courtyard.
“Lucette”—Tristan took her hands—“there’s something we need to discuss.”
She nodded. “What is it?”
“I need to return to Judra.”
Her heart seized. “What? No. Really?” She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The idea of being separated from Tristan, even for a day, tore at her heart like she’d been staked. “Why?”
“As a member of the royal family—”
“What?” Her breath caught in her chest. “You’re a prince?”
He nodded. “I didn’t tell you before, because I worried it was just another complication in your life, and not really that important.”
“Not important?” Fear surged inside her. “Do you need to live in Judra? Are you going to be king one day? Because I think I need to stay here, and my parents are just starting to get along again, and—” How could she possibly choose between their two kingdoms?
“Lucette.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “Slow down. I didn’t say any of that.” He smiled broadly. “I have four older brothers, so it’s unlikely I’ll ever be king, and I want to live in Xandra, with you. I know you need time with your family, but I do need to go home for my father’s birthday. I was hoping you’d come.”
“Oh.” Air filled her lungs again and she felt as if she were floating.
Tristan cupped Lucette’s face tenderly with his palms. “Do you think you could come to Judra for a visit? I’d love for you to meet my family, and even if we’re both too young to get married right now, my greatest hope is that someday you’ll be my wife and, well, I want you to see my homeland.”
“Yes,” she said, breathlessly.
“Yes, to what?” he asked.
“All of it. I’d love to go to your dad’s birthday party, and someday, yes, I would love to be your wife.”
“Lucette? Tristan?” her father’s voice called out from across the courtyard, and she turned to see both her parents approaching—holding hands.
Lucette beckoned for them to join her and Tristan. Joy filled her heart. Her family was together, she’d found true love, she was no longer cursed, and—she turned to look into Tristan’s handsome eyes—she had truly found her happily ever after.
Answers
There are eight possible routes
through this book: 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 9
1, 2, 4, 6, 8, 9
1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9
1, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9
1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 9
1, 2, 5, 6, 8, 9
1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9
1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9
Become enchanted again with
another title in the
Twisted Tales series!
Will Cinderella ever escape her
stepmother’s spells and become
the warrior she was meant to be?
A thrilling twist on a classic!
sneak preview
CINDERELLA NINJA WARRIOR
Cinderella’s shoulders quivered with fatigue as she tipped the twenty-seventh wooden bucket of fresh water into her stepmother’s bath. The water, laced with sweet-smelling oils, sloshed up the tub’s sides, threatening to spill over the edges and onto the pristine floor that she’d have to mop again if the hot water escaped.
She brushed stray blonde hairs off her lightly freckled face, and then crouched to stoke the fire, which crackled as it heated the tub. Stretching her aching fingers toward the warmth, she rubbed the calluses on her palms and fingers. Along with her many other chores, the countless trips from the cellar to the upstairs bathrooms to fill three tubs twice a day had taken their toll on her body.
Cinderella had just turned eighteen, but her hands looked much older. Her real mother, one of the most powerful wizards in the kingdom, had died at her birth, and five years later her father died too, only days after he remarried. Her stepmother, also a wizard, treated Cinderella more like a servant than a daughter.
Cinderella often wished she were a ninja warrior—no, make that a ninja and a wizard. A wizard could break her stepmother’s entrapment spells, and a ninja, well, a ninja could give her stepmother what she deserved.
But hard work and determination carried more power than if-onlys and wishes. Her stepmother’s magic was powerful, and it seemed as if she’d thought of everything to keep Cinderella trapped. That was no excuse for Cinderella to sit back and do nothing, though. It was better to practice the few innate magic skills she had inherited from her mother, and to develop her self-taught ninja training. Sometimes the best offense was a good defense.
Enough of this whining, thought Cinderella. There would be no time for training if she lazed about staring at the fire and daydreaming. If captured, real ninja warriors didn’t sit around thinking about escaping—they took action. She sprang to her feet and grabbed the empty buckets, ready to make the much easier trip down the three long flights of stairs to her cellar room. Her stepmother had used black magic to cast entrapment spells that kept her confined to the cellar, except to do chores during the day and to garden at night.
Twisting sideways, she squeezed through the tiny entrance at the top of the servants’ stairs that were dark and narrow in places.
On reaching the bottom, she gripped her buckets and moved into a crane stance to prepare for a side kick. “Ha-ya!” she shouted, and then her bare foot struck cleanly against the heavy wooden door.
The door swung open, hitting the stone wall with a bang, to reveal the cold room that doubled as a bedroom for her and storage space for everyone else in the house. She’d moved into the cellar at age five, right after her father died. The damp, chilly room no longer scared Cinderella; she had much scarier things to face every day—like her evil stepmother.
Turning to the cupboard on the wall opposite the fireplace, Cinderella reached a hand toward her pewter goblet on the top shelf, above the beautiful crystal and bone china dishes that were reserved for the rest of her family.
Concentrating, she focused on connecting her hand to the goblet. Come to me, goblet.
Her fingers tingled and the goblet wobbled, but it didn’t move off the shelf. She dropped her arm in defeat.
Who was she kidding? Her magic wasn’t that strong. To do something that purposeful, she needed a wand and instructions.
She carried her stool from the side of the planked table to the cupboard and, after tucking the bottom hem of her torn skirt into the waistband of her pantaloons, climbed onto the stool’s scratched seat. Balancing barefoot on the wobbly stool, she stretched up to reach her goblet.
She snagged it, the stool tipped, and she shot one leg and her arms to the sides to catch her balance. Still on one leg, she let the stool tip to one side, then the other, as her body stretched out in all directions.
Striving to keep her balance, she found her center, brought her limbs in, leaped high into the air, tucked her knees into her chest, and executed a perfect somersault, landing on her toes without a sound.
Holding the goblet in front of her, Cinderella bent her legs to lower herself into a crouch, and then spun and leaped, kicking and chopping at an imaginary foe as she crossed the room to reach the pump. Once there, she pushed down on the handle until fresh water flowed from its spout, and then eagerly set her goblet under the stream to catch the crisp, ice-cold water from deep in the well, her reward for the past twelve hours of grueling work.
Not seeing her stepmother or her stepsisters for four hours had been a fine reward, too. It was unusual for them to leave her alone for so long. She glanced at the single window of thick glass that she’d long ago given up trying to break. The pane was too thick and probably enchanted to give it extra strength. Given the angle of the shadows on this long spring evening, she figured there was less than two hours before darkness set in, the back door opened, and the wolves came out.
But what if something had happened to her stepmother? She had been gone a long time. Would the entrapment spells be broken if her stepmother was killed? Maybe one of the doors out of the house would open before nighttime arrived.
Cinderella set down the goblet and dashed to the cellar door that led up the steep, damp stone staircase into the garden. Taking a deep breath, she pulled on the iron handle.
It didn’t move an inch—not even a wiggle. The garden door was sealed as it always was when the sun was up, just like every other exit from the house. She slumped against the door. As impossible as it seemed, she believed that someday she’d find a way to escape.