Free A Grimm Curse: A Grimm Tales Novella (Volume 3) by Janna Jennings, Erica Crouch Page B

Portia blushed a deep red and curtsied to the crowd. Cynthia sat, still adhered to her bench, mortified. She wasn’t even sure where to look, so she stared down at her hands in her lap. She wasn’t about to look at Lady Wellington whose undoubtable anger at her behavior might make her head explode. And she certainly didn’t want to see Coriander’s triumphant face.
    “What’s wrong?” Remi asked in an undertone as the applause continued.
    “I’m stuck,” she murmured into her lap.
    Remi wiggle a
webbed foot
from her skirts and lightly touched the bench, his pads coming away covered in goo.
    “Oh no.”
    Lord Smithson was making his way toward them on the dais, still clapping—Lady Wellington and Coriander in tow.
    “Marvelous! Please, take a bow ladies.”
    Portia hadn’t stopped doing so. Cynthia smiled up at him, her mouth twisted in an apology.
    “I’m afraid I may have turned my ankle on one of the pedals,” she said in an undertone.
    “Really?” He blinked at her in an owlish way and looked lost a
s
t what to do about her. “Perhaps I could assist you to stand?”
    Over Lord Smithson’s shoulder, Coriander’s grin was full of malice.
    “I—
”
Cynthia had no idea how she was going to get out of this situation without a spectacle. At this point she was just hoping for the least embarrassing solution possible.
    “What is it now?” Lady Wellington had plastered a smile on her face for the audience, but her words were needles of fury.
    “She’s twisted her ankle,” Lord Smithson said in an attempt to be helpful.
    “Ridiculous drivel! Stand up!” Lady Wellington hissed, her false smile slouching.
    They were now attracting a lot of attention. The royal family took notice and rose from their seats. They climbed onto the stage. The small space was now crowded with people.
    Cynthia considered faking a fainting spell. That might be less humiliating at this point.
    Lady Wellington was at the end of her rope. She curtsied low to the king and queen, murmuring, “Your majesties.” Her hand latched onto Cynthia’s upper arm and jerked her to her feet.
    Her stepmother’s grip was like a manacle on her arm. The strength that desperation gave her lifted Cynthia bodily to her feet. The bench lurched up with her, launching Remi into the air like a catapult.
    Every eye in the palace was on the small, green frog summersaulting through the air. Cynthia wondered if anyone else noticed the look of utter terror on his face. He arced high, but not far, coming down in a windmill of legs directly on
P
rincess Snowdrop’s crowned head.
    As he landed, the back of Cynthia’s dress finally gave way with a loud
RIP

and the piano bench clattered to the ground. The only good thing about the situation was most everyone was watching with fascinated horror as the princess whacked her own head and shrieked. There was too much going on to really take in Cynthia standing there with no back to her skirt. The thought of how clean her underwear was flashed through her mind. She jolted into action, closing the back of her skirt the best she could with one hand, bounding the few steps to the princess, plucking Remi off her head and dashing down the steps of the stage. Commotion exploded behind her, but she refused to turn around. A loud chuckle rolled over the top of the sobs and angry voices—and somehow Cynthia knew it belonged to the crown prince.
    A sea of faces turned to her, blocking her exit through the ballroom. She clutched Remi to her chest one handed and ran in the only direction open to her. She dashed through an archway, past
passed
yards of tables laden with covered dishes in preparation for the feast, and through the first set of doors she came to.
    Cynthia burst into a kitchen that the entire downstairs of the manor house could have fit in. An army of servants in white aprons buzzed around the stainless steel tables and cook tops in a wash of noise. Chopping, frying, dishes clattering, and instructions