Glass Slippers

Chapter 4

Sang's POV:

I shake my head, desperately trying to dispel the lingering fog of sleep that clouds my mind. It's the fifth attempt today to concentrate on the task at hand—sewing. Last night's restless sleep earned me a series of unique punishments for my perceived lack of focus and I doubted my battered body could handle any more. I had multiple bruises along my ribs a nice accompany for the scattering of cuts that littered my knees and lower legs from where I had been forced to kneel on glass, but thankfully nothing was broken.

My eyes snap open as I feel a sharp prick on my finger. Glancing down, I release a sigh at the sight of a small droplet of blood welling up. Abandoning the blouse, I've been tirelessly working on for the past two hours, I check the dark wooden clock on my wall. Dinner needs to be prepared in a few hours if I wanted it to be finished in time to eat tonight, and I still need to make a quick trip to town for supplies.

Standing up, I stretch my stiff and weary body, relishing the sensation of my bones and muscles clicking into place. Kneeling, I open the door to my attic space, retrieving a small metal box. Inside, Father had left me some money for shopping, something he was sensible enough not to leave to my mother as she would likely spend it on one of her many gambling affairs much rather than to buy food. I discreetly tuck the money into my bra, closing the box and returning it to its place. Rising to my feet, I dust off any traces of dirt from the long skirt of my dress.

Descending the stairs, I no longer bother to move silently. My stepmother and siblings have ventured to a neighbouring town to visit friends and indulge in afternoon tea, intending to spend the night there. They departed about an hour ago.

Grabbing my coat from the rack near the door, I slip it on and step outside. Our house stands alone, separated from others by a long driveway that cuts through a small section of the forest before emerging onto a slightly overgrown lane. The surroundings consist mostly of wheat fields and fruit orchards. Following the lane to the right for a while leads me to a crossroad. Continuing straight, the road widens, guiding me into the heart of the bustling town with its cobblestone streets teeming with busy individuals hurrying from one place to another. Occasionally, I spot the royal guards patrolling the streets, blending in with the crowd. Navigating through the flow of people, I make my way toward the little shop where I prefer to do our shopping. Its sign proudly displays "Quinn's Green Grocer and Bakery" in vibrant red paint. Adjacent to it is a two-story building called Taylor's Inn, where the most delectable scents of food always waft through the air.

As I open the door to Quinn's, a bell tinkles, alerting the short, silver-haired man behind the counter of my arrival. His gaze meets mine.

"Good morning, Sang dear. How are you on this fine day?" he greets me warmly.

"I'm well, thank you, Mr. Quinn. How are you and Mrs. Quinn?" I reply, genuine interest lacing my words.

"All good, thank you, dear," he responds, a fond sparkle in his eyes.

I've always held a fondness for Mr. and Mrs. Quinn; they have been kind and helpful beyond measure. Walking over to the first row of shelves, I suddenly realize my oversight—I've forgotten to bring a basket or anything to carry my groceries home. Returning to the counter, I give Mr. Quinn a sheepish grin. "You wouldn't happen to have a basket or something I could borrow to carry my food? I promise to return it next time I visit."

He chuckles, his kind smile accompanied by dimples in his cheeks. "That won't be a problem, dear. Just make sure to bring it back next time. I swear Mrs. Quinn has a peculiar attachment to that basket, no matter how many times she denies it. But I'm certain she won't mind lending it to a sweet girl like you."

"Thank you," I say, relief washing over me as I take hold of the handle of the sturdy straw basket, he hands me.

Ten minutes later, the basket brims with everything I need, including a freshly baked loaf of bread and a pot of strawberry jam that I anticipate savouring immensely. I stand at the counter, engaging in idle chatter with Mr. Quinn as he rings up my items. When he finishes, he recites the total, and I hand him the money. To my surprise, he also slips a small brown paper bag alongside the receipt. Opening it, I find a mouth-watering cinnamon twist inside. I glance up at him, a grateful smile spreading across my face.

"A little gift on the house," he kindly states.

"Thank you!" I exclaim, my smile growing wider.

"No problem, dear. You make sure to take care of yourself."

"You too, sir," I reply, stepping out of the store and onto the bustling street.

Making my way along the street, I pause to inspect a shopfront I've never noticed before. Rows of delicate animals and objects made of paper adorn the display. The store is called "Amazing Origami Creations." I've heard of origami when Wil taught me about the world's history, but I've never witnessed it firsthand.

"Owen, look, aren't they beautiful?" an enthusiastic voice exclaims behind me. Before I can turn around to see who it is, a sudden yank on my basket startles me. Whirling around, I find a man dashing away through the crowd with my belongings, pursued closely by a royal guard. But it's not just any guard; the blue and gold clad uniform suggests it's a high-ranking royal guard, the kind usually assigned to protect important palace officials. And that would mean...

My thoughts halt as I feel a hand settle on my shoulder, accompanied by a voice speaking.

"Don't worry, miss, he will retrieve your items for you."

Slowly turning around, I trace the hand's path upward to a perfect grey suit, a crisp maroon tie, a chiselled jawline, meticulously styled hair, and piercing grey eyes hidden behind square-framed black glasses. However, what truly widens my eyes and steals my breath away is the realisation that I know this man. The entire country knows him. He is none other than Owen Blackbourne—one of the two council members specially chosen by Prince Victor and the youngest member of the royal council. That would explain the guard.

"Don't look so shocked, pumpkin. We won't bite," the same cheerful voice from earlier chimes in.

I shift my gaze to the source of the voice, discovering another well-known palace official. It's Dr. Sean Green, Prince Victor's personal physician and healthcare advisor. It strikes me as rather amusing that all these important individuals are out doing their shopping today. It seems I never considered that even those in the palace might seek a brief respite from their duties.

Snapping back to reality, I hear Owen Blackbourne speak again. "Not to be rude, but it might be better if we save the introductions for somewhere more private. We can also wait for Mr. Ravenstahl, our guard. Perhaps we could grab a bite to eat if that suits you, miss."

Noticing the crowd beginning to gather, their whispers swirling around us, I nod and follow Owen Blackbourne and Sean Green as they walk alongside me. I start to wonder what my stepmother would think of me following these men the most I can hope is that no one takes notice enough of me to realise who I am. I take one final glance to see if I can see the guard who ran to retrieve my basket, but he is nowhere in sight. I hope he is able to retrieve my shopping or at the least Mrs Quinn's basket, I would feel terrible for loosing something she had such a strong connection to. Deciding that what will be will be I face forward again and head toward Taylor's Inn. It seems I'll have the opportunity to taste if the food is as good as its tantalising aroma suggests.