Free The Ugly Stepsister (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 1) by Aya Ling Page A

She looks absolutely stunning in a white satin gown, her golden ringlets curling softly on her shoulders. “I’ve been wondering when you’d arrive.”
    “How long have you been waiting?” Bianca asks, settling into a chair next to Claire. They are undoubtedly the prettiest girls of us all—one dark and one fair. Damn. Bianca’s competition enough and now there’s Claire, and God knows how many more gorgeous girls out there.
    “An hour already.” Claire whips out a fan. I wish I had brought one as well; a dozen girls in long swishing gowns huddled in the same room—it’s suffocating. Once this presentation is over, I am so going outside.
    “Wish they’d hurry up,” another girl grumbles. She has a mass of chestnut curls pinned closely together.
    Poppy sits down, but she keeps twisting her fingers. I itch to pull off my gloves.
    After what seems like another hour, we are summoned to see the queen. Two footmen remove a pair of carved wooden hurdles, which brings us to another room, where we can only stand. By this time, we’re all too nervous to even speak or whisper. Another man dressed in red-and-gold livery—I later learned he’s called a flunkey—spread out our trains. A third man has this roll of parchment that he reads off. We are to go in, one by one.
    When my name is called, my heart starts beating ten times faster. I try to breathe calmly, tell myself this is Story World and it doesn’t really matter if I trip and fall. But I don’t want to make a fool of myself. Story World or not, I can smell, hear, and touch everything around me.
    The queen is a resplendent blur where she sits, her dress elaborate with numerous folds and embroidery. A heavy necklace of gold beads hangs down her front. Behind her are several people dressed in similar fancy clothes; they must be members of the royal family. A red carpet leads to the queen’s throne, and upholstered chairs are placed on both sides of the carpet. Bianca, Poppy, and those who have gone before me occupy those chairs, hands folded neatly on their laps and backs as straight as a cutting board.
    I clench my hands and shut my eyes. Okay, here goes.
    I go slowly down the aisle, one step after another. Pain gnaws at my heels, but I do my best to ignore it. I have done a lot of walking since I got off the carriage, and now my feet are suffering for it.
    Breathe in. Breathe out. There. Easy does it.
    I reach the queen. She has a round face, broad cheekbones, and hazel eyes. I expected her to be gorgeous, magnificent—as befitting a monarch, but actually her looks are only above average.
    Now it’s time to curtsy. Trying to remember everything that Pierre taught, I sink to the floor as low as I can. My knees feel like cracking.
    “Your Majesty.” My voice comes out in a squeak. At least I haven’t toppled over—a miracle considering my klutziness.
    “Lady Katriona Bradshaw,” the queen says. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
    “Er...same here, Your Majesty,” I stammer. Please, please don’t ask me anything about any previous meetings.
    Fortunately, she only smiles and gives a regal wave, the diamonds on her fingers glittering. “You may rise.”
    I can’t help exhaling a sigh of relief. Keeping a respectful smile on my face, I begin that perilous journey of walking backward with that awful train.
    Halfway through, I decide it’s rude to keep staring at the queen, so I avert my gaze slightly. A familiar face catches my eye.
    Holy crap. Darcy Guy, standing right behind the queen, wearing the same royal colors.
    I let out a small gasp. My foot catches my train; I lose my balance and land on the floor in a tangle of silk.
    Someone kill me. Now.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    NINE
     
     
    Poppy gasps. I can literally hear the sharp intakes from most others. A snort of laughter comes from some lady in the crowd.
    I scramble to my feet. My face is burning, my heart sinking to the soles of my aching feet. I don’t dare to look at the queen.