So This is Love (Disney Twisted Tales) - Elizabeth Lim Page 0,13

his pocket and handed Lady Tremaine a heavy pouch of coins.

“No, please,” Cinderella pleaded with her stepmother. “Don’t do this!”

But Lady Tremaine ignored her and pocketed the coins. “I trust you’ll take her far away.”

“Oh, I’ve a place in mind. It’s so far Aurelais isn’t even on their maps.”

A small smile touched Lady Tremaine’s mouth. “She’s a wicked child. Find her a household that works her to the bone. Better yet, have her thrown into the mines. She deserves nothing better.” With a satisfied nod, she departed the room, leaving Cinderella alone with Mr. Laverre.

Cinderella cowered in a corner, her hands scrabbling behind her for something, anything to fend off Mr. Laverre. Her fingers closed over her hairbrush, and she swung it wildly as he advanced toward her.

Mr. Laverre batted her brush aside, grabbing her arms. Cinderella struggled, lunging for the pile of glass debris on the floor, but she’d barely managed to grab one shard when he threw the rope around her, securing her arms to her sides and her wrists together.

“Let me go!” Cinderella screamed. “Let me—”

Mr. Laverre clamped her mouth with his hand. “Don’t worry, it won’t be forever. A girl like you will pay off her debts, eventually.”

Terror seized Cinderella, and her muscles tensed with fear.

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” Mr. Laverre tried to pry her hand open. “A chip of glass isn’t going to stop me, lass.”

Before he could take it from her, Cinderella threw her elbow into Mr. Laverre’s ribs. He staggered back, stepping into the glass slipper’s remains, and let out a cry. She started to flee, spiraling down and down the stairs. But the ropes around her arms unsteadied her balance, and she didn’t get very far before Mr. Laverre caught up, seized her by the waist, and hoisted her over his shoulder.

“A good effort, lass.” He pitched a pillowcase over her head. “But not good enough.”

Cinderella struggled, trying to use the glass in her hand as a weapon, but it was no use. The bindings restricted her movement, and her feet hit the walls instead of her captor when she tried kicking. Each thump of Mr. Laverre’s boots down the tower steps, then through the corridor and down into the main hall, thundered in her ears.

When the front doors swung open and the crisp chill of the wind bit at her cheeks through the pillowcase, she heard Bruno barking.

“Bruno!”

The bloodhound was already on his way. Scrambling toward Cinderella, he leapt to attack Mr. Laverre. But the man grabbed his driving whip from his carriage and swung it at Bruno, flinging him into a puddle. As Bruno whimpered, Mr. Laverre threw Cinderella into the carriage.

“Hiyah!” he shouted. His whip cracked against the backs of his horses, and as the wheels rattled to life, Cinderella rolled violently from side to side.

The shard of glass tumbled out of her hand, and she floundered to get it back. Her fingers grazed its edge, and she bit back the pain as it nicked her palm.

It was sharp. Maybe sharp enough to cut her free. With renewed determination, she gripped its blunt side and started picking at the ropes.

Not an easy task. Every time the carriage hit a bump, Cinderella nearly dropped the shard. Finally, when the thick twines loosened and she freed her hands, she threw the pillowcase off her head.

There was nothing around her except the carriage cushions, most of them ripped as if someone before Cinderella had tried clawing her way free. The doors were bolted shut from the outside, but the window . . .

In his haste to get away from Bruno, Mr. Laverre hadn’t properly closed it. The strong winds had pummeled it open, the wooden board creaking as it swung back and forth.

Rain washed into the carriage. The storm had swelled in strength, the pitter-patter now a constant drumming against the carriage roof. Mr. Laverre’s horses slowed, fighting the powerful winds, and prepared to make a sharp turn.

This is my chance, thought Cinderella, bolting toward the window.

The carriage started again, picking up speed and throwing her back. The world rumbled beneath her, every turn of the wheels throwing her from side to side in the carriage, making it hard for her to catch her balance. She gripped the underside of the seat to steady herself.

Fear made her hands shake, her knuckles bone white. Gathering her courage, she inched her way to the edge of the carriage and clutched at the open window. Rain battered her temples, and a violent