Glass: A why choose Cinderella retelling (Forbidden Fairytales)
Glass: Chapter 5

Rafe curses next to me as Anastasia crumples. None of us are fast enough to catch her as her head smacks into the solid stone floor, as her eyes close.

The room around us is abuzz. Every pair of eyes is focused on us, watching us with her.

So I step forward, casually leaning down to press my fingers against the warm skin of her neck. A throbbing meets my fingers, the steady sound of her pulse pushing down the roaring in my ears. I turn back to Rafe and Silas. “Pulse is fine. She’ll need her head checked when she wakes up.”

It’s an effort to step away from her, to leave her crumpled on the floor. Silas regards her silently for a moment before he turns to Crispin. “I assume we can take her now?”

Crispin blinks, his eyes flicking between us and the unconscious girl on the floor. “Oh – uh. Yes. I don’t see why not.”

My eyes flick to his choice of life partner. Ella Cooper isn’t paying attention to Stasi at all. Nor to her fiancé. She’s watching us, her eyes travelling over Silas, moving on to Rafe and then to me.

When our eyes meet, she offers me a soft, sweet smile. Then she bites her lip, her gaze flicking down to Anastasia. “Will she… will she be okay?”

She looks to me for an answer, but Rafe interjects. “Fine, Your Highness. Just a bump. You won’t have to worry about her anymore.”

She nods, slowly. “Yes. Because of… the house arrest.”

Her brow furrows, and she glances between us and Crispin in silent question.

“Indeed.” Silas’s voice is tight. “If you’ll excuse us, we need to get going.”

Ella regards us silently. “I see. Take care of my sister… gentlemen.”

I wonder what she sees when she looks at us. She looks down at her sister. “Try not to make it too difficult on her.”

Her tone suggests the opposite. It’s Rafe who responds, his voice cold. “The punishment will be fitting.”

And I see the way her lip curls. “I understand. I wish things were different.”

She doesn’t understand anything. But we turn our backs on them as Anastasia begins to stir. Her hand reaches for her head, and I glance over her auburn hair, matted and dull. Almost unrecognizable.

Yet this is definitely the Stasi we know. Her eyes blink open, hazy and unfocused as Rafe leans down. “Get up, Anastasia.”

Her eyes open further at his snapped command, awareness slow to seep back in as she shakes her head and then winces. “You’re… really here.”

She sounds out of it, and I glance at Silas. Jaw tight, he reaches down and grabs her arm, pulling her to her feet as she lurches. “Stay upright, or we’ll drag you.”

“No change there,” she mutters drowsily. But she takes a breath, her eyes clearing even as she clenches her jaw. She pushes herself away from Silas. His hands twist into fists as he steps back, leaving her to manage herself.

She glances around at us, not bothering to look back at the royal couple. “You want me to walk, then lead the way. I have no idea where I’m going.”

Nobody else would see the hesitation in Silas’s frame. The way he flexes his hands, as though shoving down the urge to reach for her.

But he turns away, brushing past me. “Bring her.”

Rafe and I flank her as she shuffles forward. Small, wobbly steps hampered by the chains between her ankles. She doesn’t look at us. She just pushes forward, walking past the silent crowd with as much dignity as she can muster.

She has more than she knows.

We walk out of the room, the doors closing behind us.

Slowly, steadily, we move closer to the main palace doors. And the closer we get, the more Anastasia drags her feet. She stares straight ahead, and I glance down at the small, darkening marks on her face, courtesy of the baying mob on the way in. “That won’t happen again.”

The words slip out, and Rafe frowns at me over the top of her head. She laughs, although it’s more of a croak. “I don’t think even you can control that group.”

I consider the options. Assess how fast we might be able to move.

The chains on her ankles clink as if in response. I press my lips together.

Silas is already through, holding his hand up to us in a silent request, and we wait behind the doors as he barks orders. It takes a few minutes before his fist bangs on the wood in a signal. “Time to go.”

My fingers brush Stasi’s arm as I move to wrap my hand around her arm. But she flinches away from me.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

My tone comes out more irritated than I intended. She stands still as I steady her. “Not yet, you mean. Not until we’re behind closed doors, right?”

She sounds resigned.

Rafe clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Hurry up.”

I wait to see what she’ll do. If she’ll try to shrink away, try to get out of walking through those doors.

But Stasi has never acted the way we’d expect. So I shouldn’t be surprised when she throws her shoulders back, lifting her head up.

“Open them.”

It’s not a request. It’s a fucking demand.

The men waiting on either side look to us for confirmation, and Rafe nods.

She doesn’t wait for us. She walks straight through with her head held high, the chains forcing her to limit her steps to a shuffle rather than a strut.

It doesn’t matter. Even through the filth, she still holds herself like a damn queen. Rafe and I watch her like fools, belatedly jumping to catch up with her once she’s through.

But the crowds have disappeared. Silas appears next to me, his eyes on Stasi. “We spread word that she was coming out of another entrance. But we don’t have long.”

She doesn’t give a sign that she’s heard us. She just keeps walking, heading straight towards the black car that sits at the end of the barriers, engine idling.

“Ours, I presume?”

Her voice is tight, and Rafe moves forward to open the door. He bows, mockingly. “After you.”

She can’t lift her feet enough to climb in, hampered by her chains. Silas slaps his arm against my chest when I go to help in a silent order.

Wait.

The seconds tick on as we watch her struggle. She tries to lift one ankle, then the other, testing the give. There isn’t any. Even her wrists are tied.

When Rafe snorts, she loses her temper. “Will we stand here all day, or do you plan on actually helping?”

Silas straightens. “That depends on how nicely you ask us.”

She turns, her voice icy. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He saunters up to her. “We own you now, Anastasia. Twenty years. And you will need to speak to us accordingly. Very, very nicely.”

I can almost see the glint of hellfire in her eyes. “Fine. Help me, please.”

Silas leans in, and his teeth flash. “I think you mean ‘help me, please, Sir.’”

Her head jerks back. “Like fuck am I calling you Sir, Silas.”

“Language,” Silas murmurs. “I see we have a lot of work to do, Anastasia. But we’re not going anywhere until you prove you can obey directions.”

There’s a shout from behind us. Stasi’s eyes flicker.

“And the crowd is heading this way,” Silas says, his tone bored. “So, what will it be?”

“Fine,” she grits out. “Help me. Please. Sir.”

“There,” he says coldly. “Was that so hard?”

He lifts her in before she can respond, but we all catch the hissed curse that echoes out. Silas turns back to us, raising an eyebrow at the looks on our faces. “What?”

Shaking my head, I push past him and climb inside, settling next to a silently seething Anastasia. Rafe slides in from the other side, Silas getting into the driver’s seat.

The door closes, and it feels like I can breathe for the first time in days.

Or maybe for the first time in ten years.

Because she’s finally here.

And she’s ours.