Page 3 of Cinder's Trial

“I’d rather not be forced into marriage to a stranger.” I spoke the truth.

“Perhaps we can circumvent that aspect of your curse. After all, more than one thing can make you happy. Any suggestions, dear girl?”

I hesitated before saying, “I would have liked to expand my education after high school. I just can’t afford it.”

The suggestion pursed Godmother’s lips. “Generating money is the one thing I can’t do. Make carriages from pumpkins and other melons, yes. Transform rags into dresses, also doable, but cash…” She shook her head.

My shoulders slumped. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. Since when did good things happen to me? Look at how the ball turned out.

A snap of fingers drew my gaze to Godmother, who beamed. “I think I have just the thing for you. Tell me, have you heard about the new Fairytale Bureau?”

While it had been established only a few years before, I did know of it. They were supposed to help people caught up in the Grimm Effect.

“I’m familiar with them. Why?”

“What if I could get you into their academy?”

“I can’t afford it.” Like any other college, the tuition didn’t come cheap.

“It wouldn’t cost you a thing, and if you pass, it’s a guaranteed job that will pay much better than what you’re doing now.”

An education and a career? “In that case, yes, please.”

And so with a little magical help, I became a Fairytale agent, foiled the curse that wanted to marry me to a prince, and, years later, finally met the man who made my heart pitter-patter.

What a shame I also disliked him.

1

I sang as I worked in my kitchen, prepping some veggies for the salads I’d take in my lunches. Chicken grilled in a pan with butter and garlic gave me some protein, and fruit I’d already cubed and put into containers, a sweet finish. My little helpers scurried about giving me a paw, the troupe of mice—who’d been my constant companions since my teens—chirping in harmony with my song.

Some might question my allowing rodents to touch my food. To them I said nothing. I wasn’t the confrontational type. Let them have their opinion. My mice were family and no dirtier than anyone else. Possibly even cleaner than some people I’d met in my life.

A peek at the window showed more of my friends, the robins, hoping for some treats. I threw up the sash, the screen in it long gone, and dumped a handful of seed in front of them and got some happy chirps in reply.

Those familiar with the Cinderella curse would understand my affinity for animals and the fact they were drawn to me. Always had been, even before my unfortunate encounter with the prince. When I jilted the old royal, I’d worried I’d lose my woodland friends. However, despite beating my curse, my gift and friends remained.

Once I finished my meals for the week and stowed them in the fridge, I pulled out some cheese, already cut into chunks, and the mice cheered—which for the curious emerged as a higher-pitched chirp.

As I fed them and thanked them by name—Rosy, Dora, Lester, Orville, Petunia, and Fred—the air got a strange electric feeling.

Then poof!

A woman of mature years, her silver hair bound in a bun, her face aged and yet smooth, appeared in my kitchen, wearing a billowy gown and holding a wand.

My fairy godmother, whom I’d not seen since I beat my curse.

“Oh no, not you again.” Not exactly polite, but I couldn’t stop the complaint from slipping out.

“It has been a while,” Godmother agreed.

“Not long enough,” I muttered. I’d matured since then from a young girl of eighteen to one in her thirties.

My expression must have shown my displeasure, because Godmother huffed, “Most people would be happy to have a fairy godmother whose task is to make your wishes come true.”

At her claim, I frowned and shook my head. “I already got my wish. I graduated from the Fairytale Academy with honors and have a great job with the bureau.”

“But you’re still single.”

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