Ambriella

Week Two. Day Three.

I'm still smiling to myself about that idiot prince. He checked himself out. I swear. I saw it. He checked himself out in my wineglass, fixed his hair. What a princess.

Not too long ago, Lucia and the girls took off. I've been laughing so hard that I almost forgot how annoyed he is with me. And he is rather annoyed, truth be told. I suppose it'd be enough to annoy anybody, how cryptic I've been. I'm nearing the Big Day, so I wouldn't normally care how anyone feels as long as Lucia and the girls are happy enough to leave me alone. But this does nag at my stomach a bit. He's the closest thing I've had to a friend in the last decade. And now I've gone and upset him.

So…should I go tomorrow? I mean…what would be the point if I'm not going to talk to him? It'd be awfully dreary and boring, floating through the motions of a ball when he's not around to keep me company. What would I do if not speak with him? Who would wonder with me through the gardens? Who would give me a smoldering smile as I walk through the doors?

I do confess I like his company. It's fun to watch him pick apart every word I say. It's fun to talk to him. It's fun to have him near, to joke with him. How long has it been since I've spoken to someone who didn't want me to do something for them? How long has it been since I've been truly happy to see someone?

Oh, get a grip, Ambriella. The prince is simply being a prince. Considerate and kind…and gentle…and sweet…

Stop it. You don't go for the prince, do you? You certainly didn't go to the balls in the first place so you could win over a prince. You went to silently say 'fuck you' to Lucia. Speaking of which, she's in a foul mood.

"You forgot to wash your face before you brought in my tea," she says angrily as she enters, and she pulls back her hand—SMACK!

I stagger backwards. That one was much, much harder than usual. Yep—she's definitely angry.

"There were cinders floating in my teacup, you deplorable urchin!" she empties the contents of the teacup on my apron and tosses the cup aside. Thank God the thing lands on the rug safely—I don't think she'll be able to afford all of the china that's been broken in the past month.

"I beg your pardon, Mother," I say, picking up the teacup quickly. "I'll bring you another one immediately—"

"It's no good now," she says. "It was supposed to be early evening tea, now look what time it is!" she pulls back the curtain to show that the sun has already set. "I have to go prepare for the ball. Keep that face of yours clean before you serve me anything, am I clear?"

"Yes, Mother," I say. The sting is particularly prominent today. I'm more on edge than I thought.

"Filthy little insect," she mutters under her breath as she disappears upstairs. I watch the skirts of her gown vanish from view.

Almost there, Ambriella. Stay calm. Don't kill her just yet. Her reckoning is almost here. She's done so much worse than slap me before. Why should this bother me? I can remember two years back, when I tripped with a cup of coffee and accidentally spilled it on Anastasia's arm. The burn wasn't even that bad—the coffee had gone cold. But Lucia didn't care. She had dragged me to the stable by my hair and hit me across the face with a horsewhip. It took months for the last of that mark to go away. She nearly blinded me, but by some miracle, her aim is horrible and she missed my eye.

Almost there, love. Stop your hands from shaking. She'll be on her knees soon, and if you kill her now then you'll never get to see her beg. Breathe slow. In. Out. You can do it. You're almost there.

"Ambriella," Anastasia calls from upstairs. "You left my tea tray here. It's just sitting here. Come collect it! I hate when she gets lazy like this…"

Almost there. Almost. They'll pay you back every last cent they've taken and they'll pay you back every last day of your life they've robbed you of. Almost there.

When they're gone, I make a crunch cake for tomorrow's tea. I debate for a while about slipping something into it to give them indigestion, but ultimately decide against it. Their glory days are almost over. I'll let them enjoy it while they still can. Under the radar, Ambriella. Stay nice and kind, like your mother taught you. Although your mother never had to deal with Lucia Tremaine or those great cows she calls children.

What's the good in being kind and nice when you're surrounded by evil? Why bother with politeness and manners when your stepmother is waiting for you to make the slightest misstep so she can drag you by your hair and whip you? Slap you? Kick you down the front steps? Throw a decanter and your head (and miss—her throwing arm is worse than her aim)? Toss you into the attic of your own home? Starve you? Watch you wither away into shadows? Spend your money? Mother never had to deal with any of that—she wouldn't have asked me to be kind if she knew what she was leaving me to when she died.

Nevermind, Ambriella. You've done everything that you can. You've been kind. You welcomed them warmly when Father first turned up with them. You stayed silent as they darkened your doorstep and polluted the shades of Royce Manor with their parties and their friends and their horrible taste in clothing. You are not to blame for the way things turned out. You've done your duty. Father was happy with you when he died. He was proud of how good you were to them. Your father and mother died happy with you—you don't need anyone else's approval.

Lucia can go rot in a dark, dark hole. I'll have her dig one herself soon enough and then I'll watch her jump into it. I'm going to the ball tomorrow and—for the trouble—I'll have an excellent time. As for the friend that I might possibly have lost yesterday evening…screw him. Screw. Him. I was perfectly content to go to the balls without his attention, and I'll continue to do just that. I've had enough of people disappointing me and acting as though I'm the one to blame. If he wants to be a spoiled brat, then fine. I deal with spoiled brats regularly—I've no interest in interacting with one on a night off at a ball.

So I tuck Lucia and Anastasia and Drisella and Prince Rainier in the back of my mind and try to focus on the crunch cake. Soon, Ambriella. You're almost there.