The sun shone through the attic window. Cinder's muddy clothes from the night prior lay at the foot of his bed in a jumbled heap. The boy himself was sleeping happily in his bed, tired from last night's events, drunk on the prince's kiss, and so badly wanting to stay in bed and relive last night over and over in his dreams.
He opened his blue eyes slowly, staring at the old wooden ceiling over his head. He imagined the beautiful marble ceilings of the castle hanging over him when he woke up. He sighed wistfully. That night had made him even more hopeful, even more determined, to make his dreams come true. He thought he could give it up after he went to the ball, but he had the time of his life, dancing and eating and being free from his step family.
The clock chimed seven.
"Time to get up," Cinder sang happily, "I'm late, better get on with my dayyyy!"
He dressed quickly in his house clothes, washed his face and raced happily down the stairs.
The boy felt a rush every time he thought of the ball. His heart beat faster with the image of the dark haired man he had danced with. What is this feeling, the boy pondered, what is this racing feeling in my chest?
Everything went by in a blur, Cinder felt like things were going on without him. The chores did themselves, the animals found their own feed for the day, the breakfast was made by some kind of magic.
Sometime in the afternoon, Cinder was humming to himself, doing the dusting in the hall near the bedrooms.
Desmond watched the little boy dance and hum to himself. The ashen haired man narrowed his eyes at Cinder's tune. He knew it from last night, but how could Cinder? It was a song played purely at the ball in the castle. Suddenly, the step brother had a realization. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open with a gasp. Cinder! The beautiful, angelic boy from the ball last night was Cinder!
Desmond's eyes still felt wide, but he otherwise composed himself. There was going to be trouble. Cinder should not have gone to the ball. He had been left behind to finish his chores. Desmond remembered the prince leaving to the courtyard last night, and Desmond couldn't find the mysterious blonde boy anywhere during that time, though he had searched. Had they met together out there? Jealousy whelmed inside Desmond. The prince?
"Cinder!" Desmond called out to his young step brother. "Come here," anger was etched in Desmond's face; it wouldn't go away, no matter how much effort he pushed it with.
Cinder looked up from his chore and smiled, "What do you need, Desmond?"
"I need you to go to my room, right now," Desmond felt like he was going to punch a hole through a wall.
Cinder's eyes widened as he noticed the look on Desmond's face. It was so twisted, like he needed something to break. It had been a long time ago when Cinder had seen this expression last. At the wedding of Desmond's and Annabella's father to Cinder's mother, that's where the blue eyed boy had seen this expression, as Desmond watched the smiling faces of their parents together.
"Cinder," Desmond glared.
The boy scurried into Desmond's room. What could he have done to deserve the look Desmond was giving him? He had all his chores done; he had given Desmond's clothes back, neatly folded, early this morning. He hadn't forgotten anything, had he? The boy ran a hand over his face, his whole mind was a mess thanks to last night. Cinder's eyes widened. Had Desmond figured out that he had been at the ball?
The door to Desmond's room slammed. Master Tremané had gone out with Annabella for the shopping today. It was good or else he would have yelled at Cinder for allowing the doors to slam.
The blonde boy held tightly onto his feather duster. What would he do if Desmond really knew? Should he lie? Should he be rebellious? Should he be mad? Should he admit that he did go? Should he throw himself on the ground and beg for forgiveness?
"I knew there was something familiar about that face," Desmond was mumbling.
The older step brother was pacing. Cinder watched him worriedly.
"You went to the ball last night, Cinder."
The boy thought his eyes were going to spring forth from their sockets and fall to the ground with the pure shock of such a blunt statement.
Cinder did the first thing he could think of. He lied. "Dear step-brother," he stuttered a bit, "Whatever are you talking about?"
Desmond drew closer. He ripped the feather duster that Cinder was clutching so fearfully out of the boy's hands and tossed it behind him. "I know that was you," Desmond said, "That frightened expression on your face right now is the same one you wore last night when you entered the ballroom."
"Desmond," Cinder stammered, "You must be mistaken!"
The ashen haired man ran his fingers along Cinder's delicate chin. His gaze had softened and now held some kind of affection, some kind of warped lust.
"You were so striking last night," Desmond murmured, leaning towards a petrified Cinder and whispering in his ear, "Just as you have been every day since I've met you."
"S-Striking," Cinder hesitantly repeated the word, "R-Really?"
"Oh," Desmond smiled against Cinder's neck, "So are you saying it was you?"
"N-No! Absolutely not," Cinder defended, "I would never defy step-father like that!"
The blonde boy took a step back. Desmond was getting suddenly intimate. Blue eyes scoured the room, the boy had to look anywhere but at his advancing step-brother. The curtains were drawn, making the room gloomy on such an unseasonably bright day. Cinder avoided Desmond's narrowed eyes.
The man wouldn't let Cinder get away. He couldn't seem to stop himself. His calm state of self control was suddenly shattered in this dim room. In this house where there was no one but himself and the one he wants most in the world. "Cinder, do you realize how badly, all these years… All these years I have wanted this." Desmond leaned in closer again.
Wide blue eyes graced Cinder's face as he tried to avoid his step-brother, "Desmond, I don't know what you're talking about. Are you sick? Do you have a fever?"
A small hand touched Desmond's forehead for reassurance. It wasn't hot with a fever, so Cinder's step-brother wasn't delusional. The older man grabbed Cinder's wrist and pulled it to his lips. He placed a kiss gently on one of the boy's finger tips.
Immediately Cinder pulled his hand away from his step brother. "I have to get back to my chores!" The boy scrambled around his step brother to pick up his feather duster. Desmond wasn't about to stop. He grabbed Cinder's wrist and threw him onto the gray and green sheets of his luxurious bed. The golden trimmed pillows that used to have a lustrous sheen were now dull and ugly in Cinder's eyes.
"Desmond, stop this right now!"
Cinder tried to get up, but the ashen haired man was on him in a second. "I saw you leave with the prince," Desmond mumbled into Cinder's neck, placing delicate kisses along it, "You can't even begin to imagine my jealousy."
"The prince," Cinder struggled against Desmond's body, "I never met the prince last night!"
Cinder thought incredulously, had he met the prince? Had that dark-haired man really been the prince? A whole new light was shining on Cinder's dream night.
"So you admit to being there," Desmond slid his hands down Cinder's body, bringing the boy back to reality, "I knew it was you."
"Desmond, stop this," Cinder said sternly and pushed the older man's hands away. "Let me get back to my work."
But the older step-brother didn't listen. He continued to run his long fingers over the pale skin on Cinder's stomach and chest. The little boy squirmed. "Desmond stop."
But still the man continued, grasping Cinder's chin and pulling the boy into a wet kiss. Cinder's eyes were wide open in the complete and utter surprise. Desmond's kiss was rough and demanding. He pushed Cinder down farther into the green sheets and dove his fingers into the young boy's pants.
"Desmond! What are you doing!" Cinder leapt up as much as he could. He wanted desperately to get away, to run from Desmond and the gray-green room that he would never be able to look at the same. "Desmond stop this!"
"I'm afraid I can't," Desmond trembled, "I want to hear you screaming my name, Cinder. I want to feel your body against mine, I want to know, and I want to touch, every inch of you."
Cinder pushed as hard as he could, he shoved Desmond away to no avail. The man with ash colored hair would not be hindered. But Cinder did not give up his hope of escape. He was sweating under his clothes. The room seemed to grow hotter by the second, more stuffy, more dangerous.
Desmond leaned in again and kissed Cinder for a second time.
The young boy broke it, "Desmond stop! I don't want this! Please, let me go! I won't tell anyone what you've tried here!"
The smirk that crawled across Desmond's lips made Cinder's heart stop. The boy's blood ran icily cold despite the heat he was feeling just seconds ago. "Cinder, I'm going to finish what I've started here. You can't stop me; no one is going to stop me. And when I'm done with you, you won't tell a soul."
Cinder screamed for dear life. That devil's face stayed planted in place as Desmond tore through the thin fabric of Cinder's shirt. "Desmond STOP!" Cinder pushed and screamed. Desmond leaned in for another kiss, Cinder bit his lip and the man pulled back in amazement. The little boy under him kicked and continued fighting. Desmond kissed Cinder again with renewed vigor. Cinder kicked harder.
Down slipped his pants. Desmond's belt buckle came undone.
Tears were spilled.
And the little boy's innocence was robbed.