The Wronged Princess: Cinderella Series, #1

By Kathy L Wheeler

1 shy sister, 1 angry sister, 1 feisty sister, 1 confused prince, 1 evil stepmother. Welcome to Cinderella's real fairy tale.

Award winning author, Kathy L Wheeler, brings you the real fairy tale.

Finding his mysterious princess by trying her glass slipper on every maiden in Chalmers Kingdom sounded like a brilliant scheme until the silly thing slid quite easily on the foot of the wrong girl. Now Prince Charming is betrothed to one batty-eyed girl without means of an escape.

Cinderella is devastated when her shoe fits one of her evil stepsisters. 'Tis an unfair twist of fate. Was she destined to a life of slavery forever? But little do Cinderella and Prince Charming realize that his mother, the queen, and her feisty twin (Cinderella's infamous fairy godmother), leap on the opportunity to teach Prince, impulsive decisions do not a future king make!

"Sweetly Enchanting." – Double Rita Nominee, Amanda McCabe
"The timeless Cinderella tale travels in a whole new direction." Silver James - Two-time IDA Winner
"A delightful twist on a classic fairy tale." Award winning author, Alicia Dean

Read all the books in the Cinderella Series
The Wronged Princess - Cinderella and Prince Charming
The Unlikely Heroine - Lady Pricilla and Sir Arnald
The Surprising Enchantress - Lady Esmeralda and Comte Alessandro de Lecce
The English Lily - Lady Kendra and Joseph Pinetti, Viscount Lawrie
The Price of Scorn: Cinderella's Evil Stepmother

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathy L Wheeler
• Release date: Jan 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9780989279604

Kathy L Wheeler

Kathy L Wheeler loves the NBA, the NFL, musical theater, travel, reading, writing and karaoke. Umm, friends, networking... she'll let you know she's forgotten anything. :)

Book preview

Dear Reader:

This is a difficult note for me to write. When I began writing in 2006, I was totally clueless! My cluelessness begins with having the series under a different name. I’ve also been very lucky with the friends I’ve made in the industry and the knowledge. Oh, my gosh, the knowledge! That being said, and my Cinderella Series being my first books, reading back through them was difficult. The cumbersome sentences, the errors. Ugh, the list goes on. However, with time comes wisdom and I’ve gone through—(at this stage)—all but The Price of Scorn: Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother. I’ve also recreated the covers to portray, the spirit of a fairy tale rather than a spicy romance. . Again, all but The Price of Scorn… I will also say, that while The Wronged Princess definitely is a retelling of the original Cinderella story, the rest of the series, veers into a twist, that in re-reading, made me laugh and made me cry. They really are fun.

I hope you feel the same way. So please enjoy the re-edit versions under my actual name, Kathy L Wheeler.

Happy Reading!

Kathy L Wheeler

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Kathy L Wheeler

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Chisel Imprint Puyallup, WA

TOC

Dear Reader:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue I

Epilogue II

The Real Epilogue

The Unlikely Heroine - Prologue

Chapter 1

Books by

About the Author

Prologue

"She is very young, yes? Queen Thomasine, of Chalmers Kingdom, spoke in hushed tones to her twin sister—Cinderella’s illustrious fairy godmother. She cannot be more than all of seventeen, I vow." Her son, Prince Edric Osmond Thorn VIII to whom she lovingly referred to as Prince Charming since he’d been a chattering infant, had been struck with Cupid’s arrow.

She thought of how enamored her son was over the unknown beauty seen fleeing the ballroom at the stroke of midnight a sennight prior. A lovely ball she herself had staged. Are you certain this scheme of yours shall work? The chit managed to dislodge her glass slipper on the stair in her haste to depart. That silly boy of mine has the ridiculous notion of trying it on every maiden in the kingdom to find her. If that is not the most preposterous idea I have ever heard…

A suspicious snort sounded from her twin.

Thomasine glanced over quickly but there was nothing in her sister’s gaze, just intelligent gray eyes that mirrored her own.

Thomasine sighed. I realize he is only nineteen, but I fear he may be following in his father’s stead. As much as I adore my husband and King—why I vow this monarchy would have long since perished without my brains and intuitiveness.

The smile her sister bestowed was condescending at best. It will be difficult, dear, but It’s all for the greater good, just as we discussed. You shall see. Her sister’s lack of concern was unnerving. It was all Thomasine could do to restrain from confronting her son to give her vexations voice. But young men rarely listened to their mothers, no matter how wise the action.

Hands fisted at hips, Thomasine considered Faustine’s petite figure and elegantly styled coiffure, so similar to her own. "You realize a skilled formula is necessary in camouflaging Prince’s powers of recognition, non? We would not want to hamper the outcome of our little undertaking. The whole purpose for this deception is in teaching him to think through his impulsive tendencies."

Yes, yes. Faustine stood quickly—poised, rather—to make her unusual exit.

Not to mention our future princess has seen you. Once she sees me—I am queen, you know—and, well, we do resemble one another.

"Have faith, Thomasine. Now, if you’ve no more obstructions to impinge my delay?"

Wait! Thomasine said. The frothy pink gown her sister wore reminded Thomasine of an overly sweet confection. Dotted with an egregious host of tiny diamonds—a bit much in her opinion—she thought the dress might better serve as a beacon in the eye of a storm. What of the powers bestowed by the mysterious Monsieur Pinetti?

What of them?

Thomasine studied her sister’s expression carefully. Still, not a twinge of concern marred her brow. How did she do it? Will he consider this an abuse of power?

Bah, how will he find out, my dear? Do not worry. What can go wrong? With a flick of the thin silver baton she held—Poof! She dissipated, leaving an air of sparkling shimmers in her wake.

What, indeed? Thomasine said to the now empty chamber.

Chapter 1

Cinderella could not believe it—she’d lost her shoe, and it was glass, too. Oh, Marcel, she choked out. Her sweet pet was nothing but a gray dormouse. What will Fairy Godmother say? She sniffed back irritating tears that refused to stop.

Marcel’s head cocked to one side. He perched on his hind legs and squeaked his moral support.

The answer is easy, of course. I shall be chastised on how irresponsible I was. She scowled. It was a shame her nature disallowed dropping to the floor in a bout of self-pity. There was no way back to find the blasted thing either. That ridiculous coach had morphed back into a big fat pumpkin at the stroke of midnight. It was only by sheer luck, she, herself, hadn’t been dwarfed into a seed.

Cinderella paced the floor from her own little corner to the cottage door and back, wearing a path on the gleaming worn-wood floors (by her own hand), and peered through cheerful red and white gingham curtains with each pass to the garden beyond. Luckily, she had a few moments to compose herself. What if her family recognized her as the unknown guest at the ball? Stepmama would kill her if she ever learned the truth.

"No. No. Stepmama would not kill me. Her words bounded, unfilled with confidence, through the cottage. Fairy Godmother would surely save me from a fate as dire as death." Wouldn’t she? Marcel scrambled over her skirts to her hand, squeaking his alarm. She absently ran her finger over his soft gray head. She was not all that convinced the entire evening was not one entirely wrought from her imagination.

Trundling carriage wheels rattled the window panes and Marcel scrambled down. Cinderella peered through a crease in the curtains, her heartbeat spiking, watching the vehicle make its way down the isolated road to their small corner of Chalmers Kingdom. Knots of trepidation coiled her insides. Mayhap she was not so ready after all.

Oh, lord. How had she allowed herself into such a predicament? She should have heeded the lessons she’d been lauded since the age of eight. Her fingers twined tightly within her apron fingers. This was what came of believing in fairy tales.

Heartbreak and fear.

With deep measured breaths, Cinderella made a concerted effort to crush her jangled nerves, but anxiety palpitated through her veins. With each passing second, the carriage drew closer, and her stomach roiled. She dashed to the wool-padded footstool and sat. Even that was not enough to soothe the mountain of apprehension. She rose again and wiped her clammy, trembling hands over her drab skirts.

She inhaled a deep, shaking breath then hurried to the door and opened it.

Stepmama swept from the buggy with the aid of their only footman, much like a reigning queen. Ha. In Stepmama’s wildest dreams. Her nose was long and crooked and there were deep furrows in her forehead. Bitter lines framed her mouth aging her more than her actual years.

Papa and she had married when Cinderella was three. Papa must have loved her. A feat Cinderella still struggled to comprehend. Why else would he have married her?

Cinderella cast a quick glance to Marcel. He gave her an encouraging nod.

Having suffered at her family’s hands for so many years, Cinderella had learned when to speak and when to hold her tongue. She and her sisters had reached marriageable ages and she couldn’t quell the spark of hope twisting through her as she hugged her secret to her heart.

Prince Charming of Chalmers wanted her.

Cinderella donned her most earnest expression readying for her family even as panic quivered through her. Marcel, she gasped, Hide!

With a tiny mew he fled beneath the baseboard just as the door crashed back.

Was l? She gushed. Ugh. But survival in this quaint cottage remained vital.

The ball truly wonderful, Cinderella. Esmeralda spun in a circle.

Pricilla’s pert features pinched in a way that gave a hint of how she might someday fully resemble Stepmama. Sadly, so. Until that mysterious princess showed up.

Cinderella swallowed. Mysterious princess? Her pitch rivaled Marcel’s squeak.

Esmeralda’s shoulders dropped, her copper curls falling across her brow. "Once she showed up, the prince refuted any other marriageable prospects."

Cinderella’s mask of practiced blankness threatened to dissolve but as excruciating as it was, she was forced to languish through the next hour for any hope of learning what had happened after her departure.

Her sisters droned on with descriptions of dresses and ballroom decorations. Cinde picked up a dust cloth and swiped already spotless bookshelves. She wasn’t completely successful in stifling her eye rolls to the ceiling as they prattled on, and disguised her expressions by scrubbing the baseboards. She deserved the torture, she supposed with an inward sigh, having let curiosity get the better of her. The impulse to spill her secret had to be quelled moment after moment. Experience had given her the gift of patience, but it was trying at best.

What is with you, Cinderella? Stepmama’s gaze narrowed with penetrating suspicion.

Cinderella froze. No... nothing, Stepmama.

You seem almost—giddy, Stepmama accused in her nasal and high pitched grate. She sauntered over and gripped Cinderella’s chin, jerking her head up. Her beaked nose almost touching Cinderella's. Scrape those cobwebs from your hair, girl. If I did not know better, I might believe that was glitter covering your head. She paused as if considering such a possibility, then let loose a loud cackle.

Oh, it was difficult quashing the temptation to confess. It is glitter, Stepmama. You see, I am Prince Charming’s mysterious princess. That’s right. I am your future queen.

A sting landed across her cheek, jerking her out of the fantasy. Pay attention! With a disgusted huff, her stepmother rose.

Yes, ma’am. Cinderella smoothed a palm over her burning flesh. Tea. May I get you tea, Madam?

No. But my feet do desire a soaking. Fetch water for my tired and aching limbs. Cinderella knew an escape when one presented itself.

Certainly, Stepmama. Right away.

Stepmama dropped her massive frame into the one comfortable chair in the room and shifted her unnerving attention to Esmeralda.

Shudders skittered down Cinderella’s spine. Stop that incessant blinking at once, my girl. How am to I ever marry you off with that repulsive twitch?

Cinderella slipped through the cottage door to fetch the pail of water with Stepmama’s bellowing screech pealing against the walls.

Once beyond sight Cinderella bent over and shook out her long dark hair where, indeed, shiny particles floated like magic dust to the ground in a shimmering shower of sparkles. She lifted her face to the heavens, air cooling her hot face, and grinned. She was not destined for the life Stepmama had decided for her. This was not her fate.

Prince Charming reclined atop the red velvet coverlets on his royal bed. Arms folded behind his head, he crossed one shiny booted ankle over the other and contemplated the miraculous and disastrous results of the ball.

A ball Mother had insisted upon to facilitate finding a bride. A bride for which he’d had no desire—until now.

Candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls that competed with the roaring fire in the grate. Ten and nine was too young for marriage. Even for an heir apparent. Modern men married much older these days just as he’d been set to enlighten Mother after the last debutante had trod his boot and patience, but the words all but dissipated when the vision in creamy ivory silk appeared atop the grandiose staircase, far above the ballroom on the pedestal she deserved.

The light of a thousand candles blaze her path to him. He needed no introduction—she was the one. He hadn’t been the only one stymied by her. Stunned silence rumbled through the ballroom then buzzing snippets rippling around as he made his way to her.

Who is she? they’d breathed.

Where did she come from? they’d whispered.

Such a beauty. They’d murmured.

Star-struck gazes riveted their attention. But they focused—not on him—no. It was the most unusual sensation.

Mouth dry, he tried to swallow. Nothing short of death could tear his eyes from the white velvet-trimmed gown and bared shoulders that accentuated her graceful neck but for the sliver of her delicate gold chain adorned with its single teardrop diamond.

The room shimmered an iridescent glow, her arrival holding the population enthralled—and to him? The entire kingdom ceased to exist.

Prince surged forward. His path narrowed to a precise and sharp focus that led to her and the magic of the evening to come.

Long, slender fingers slid along the massive balustrade, stealing his breath, constricting his chest. He dared not blink lest she disappear. Step after step, the folds of her graceful gown billowed teasing him with a peek of fragile glass slippers—until that moment—the moment she’d glided into his waiting arms.

They twirled through the ballroom with one perfect waltz following another. Knowing he’d stepped, or danced, past the stricture of protocol, yet helpless against its pull. Rich mahogany locks piled high on her head, in a sophisticated twist clasped into place with a small and elegant jeweled crown. No curls to mar its thickness or beauty.

He was breathless, speechless, captivated.

Whomever this mysterious princess was, she was his now. Or soon would be. He must remember to thank Mother for her insistence on searching out his bride. He stared at the frescoed ceiling, remembering the air that shimmered around her like the halo of an angel. Eyes of the darkest, most decadent chocolate one could only dream, devouring him. Full lips that trembled with a timid smile.

He was caught.

Will I love you because you’re beautiful? He’d whispered softly against her cheek. Or will I love you because you’re wonderful?

I am but a dream, she whispered back. Her voice matched her—soft, enticing, mysterious.

Perhaps, he agreed. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. The urge to sing from the rooftops soared through him. It was a defining moment, he decreed. Because now he knew…he’d found…

Princess Charming.

The evening raced past in a whirlwind of dancing. No words were needed. There would be a lifetime to talk. Right then It was enough to revel in the feel of her hand in his, the scent of her hair. She floated like the whisper of a cloud, the mist of a ghost.

It was a lovely night. One he knew he’d never see again.

The stroke of midnight rang out from the tower clock: twelve bongs.

It seemed only ten minutes since he’d met her.

What’s that noise? She’d asked. Her voice was as soft as feather down, her smile disarming. Distracting.

He smiled back. Just the tower clock, he’d responded, mesmerized by those luscious, full, red lips. It’s only midnight, the night is still young. He could not decide if the fragranced blooms inundating his senses came from the surrounding gardens, or the flower in his arms.

Midnight, she breathed. Then blinked. Then stilled—there in the midst of the dance floor—alarm marred her lovely features, panic colored her voice. I-I must go.

Before he’d realized her intentions, she’d spun and ran from the garden. The throng of dancers cleared the way, stunned by her haste. Into the ballroom, she flew. Up the stairs, the doors parting as if on command, allowing—no—assisting her escape.

Dumbstruck and bewildered, he’d stood, his limbs like thickly-coated molasses or heavy leads of steel.

He jerked to the present, torn from the enchantment-turned-horror of this night.

Prince bounded from the bed and paced his large, opulent chamber. He was a man who had never wanted for anything in all his nineteen years, he reasoned. Of