Black Forest: Kingdoms Fall Read Online Free Page B

would be the cook, my friend Salle the assistant, and the butcher's son and a boy Chezz would
    be the butchers. Salle's little brother Toam, he would play the pig. He was so excited to be included, sprawling upon the ground with his eyes closed."
    Lost in bittersweet memory, a pained smile flashed over Akasha's face, barely visible. "It was so funny," she said. "Then, the butcher's son slit Toam's
    throat. It was a real knife. We did not understand, you see, that you cannot play at that."
    As she stopped talking, Akasha's words weighed down the darkness. Feeling it sinking against her chest, Cinderella sucked at shallow breaths, unable to
    imagine such a thing. "What happened next?" she breathed.
    "Some passing hunters seized us, and took us to the officials. In the chambers, they laid Toam limp on the floor. We thought he was still playing." When
    Akasha's voice broke, Cinderella felt safe enough to let the tears roll at last down her cheeks. "They offered the butcher's son the choice of an apple or
    a gold piece for the meat he had carved. When he chose the apple, they knew he did not understand what he had done. Now..." Akasha lifted her head, looking
    across the room, and there was just light enough for Cinderella to make out the shapes as she followed Akasha's gaze to the eunuch, who slept upright in
    his chair, vigilant even in sleep.
    "He will not even run his father's trade," Akasha continued, dropping her head back down next to Cinderella's. "We did not understand. Then, one day, we
    did."
    "You cannot believe you deserve to be punished for that," Cinderella returned.
    "I cannot believe that I do not," Akasha countered. "But," she sighed, "enough talk of past sorrow. Tell me something interesting. How did you end up
    here?"
    Glancing to her in the darkness, Cinderella could see only a swath of Akasha's face turned toward her, eyes focused as she awaited her story, but, if
    Akasha did not want to hear of past sorrow, Cinderella did not know what story she could tell.
    "I do not know exactly," she said at last, beginning at the end. "There was a ball."
    "A ball?"
    "Do you know of them?"
    "Yes," Akasha said wistfully. "Though we are never in attendance."
    "But you live at the palace," Cinderella said.
    "That does not mean we are welcome at its festivities," Akasha stated, and Cinderella did not understand.
    "The entire village was invited," she continued. "The prince, it was rumored, was looking for a wife. It was going to be the grandest festival Troyale had
    ever seen, but I... I could not go."
    "Why not?" Akasha prompted with a smile. "More important things to do?"
    Surprised at her own laughter, Cinderella clapped her hand to her mouth to keep from waking the others. "No, it was my family. They did not want me to
    attend," she responded simply, sparing Akasha the sadness as per her request. "But I went to the tree where my mother was buried, and a dress came down."
    "From the tree?" Akasha eyed her curiously.
    "I know it is hard to believe." Cinderella cast her eyes to the blanket.
    "I know there is magic," Akasha replied gently. "It has just never come to me."
    Taking the statement as belief in her tale, Cinderella went on. "I went to the ball, and the prince approached me at once. He asked for a dance, and I, of
    course, obliged him, for he was the prince. After that, he held my arm. Every time another asked him to dance, he would say, 'This is my partner,' again
    and again to everyone. 'This is my partner.'"
    "He was taken with you," Akasha surmised.
    "I suppose," Cinderella responded, for it must have been true, but still made little sense. There was no explanation for it, no real moment between them.
    Just the show of the prince and a girl. He did not even know her.
    "You were not taken with him?" Akasha asked.
    Returning to the ball in her mind, to the strange feel of it, to the dances shared, to the prince's unshakable attention, the feel of his hand always on
    her arm, as possessive as her stepmother's were