Dare I say I even looked like a princess? So long as no one glanced under the hem to see my battered ballerina flats.

Since I couldn’t get the day off work—and I still needed to pay rent—I brought my dress with me and hung it in the employee break room. It led to questions and criticism from my coworkers.

“How did you get an invite?”

“I can’t believe they’re going to let you in.”’

“It’s probably because she slept with someone.”

I ignored them all. I’d spent a good portion of my childhood listening to the taunts of my stepmom and stepsisters. I lived by the mantra that being pushed in front of cars and shoved down stairs would break my bones but words couldn’t hurt me.

You know what did hurt? The jealousy someone exhibited at the end of my shift, which turned out to be a half-hour longer than everyone else since I got assigned kitchen cleanup when we closed at nine, an hour after the ball started. I didn’t let it bother me because, after all, didn’t everyone say it was good to be fashionably late?

I finished putting away all the dishes and scrubbed the stovetops before heading to the break room to change. At least I wouldn’t have to wait for a taxi. The hotel with the massive ballroom would only be a ten-minute walk.

Only it turned out I wouldn’t be going to the ball after all.

I stared in shock at my dress, ripped from the hanger and tossed to the floor, trampled and torn. The maliciousness shouldn’t have stunned me, and yet I found myself silently sobbing, fat tears rolling down my cheeks.

So much for having something nice for once.

As I lifted the rag from the floor and balled it up for the garbage, the air suddenly felt strange. Charged even, kind of like that weird sensation you got before a storm.

Poof.

I blinked my eyes, and yet the woman with gray hair in the bouffant dress remained floating a few inches above the floor.

“Hello, Cinderella. I am your fairy godmother, here to ensure you go to the ball,” a claim punctuated by the twirl of a wand, which emitted light sparks.

My mouth rounded. “A what?” Given my mom insisted on naming me Cinderella, I’d read the story that pertained to my name. However, I didn’t recall ever hearing about any fairy godmothers. In the original Grimm books, the woodland creatures helped Cinderella. “The original Grimm Story of The Little Ash Girl didn’t have a fairy godmother,” I objected. “In that tale, the tree planted by the heroine’s mother’s grave was the one granting wishes.” A tree I didn’t have since my mom was buried in a graveyard that only allowed grass.

“Because your curse is one of the few that includes some aspects from modern adaptations,” Godmother softly chided. “Now, just accept that I’m your fairy godmother, here to make your wishes come true.”

“How?”

“Magic, of course. Now we don’t have much time. Put on your dress.”

“But it’s ruined.” I pointed out the obvious.

“Not for long. Hip, hop. The clock is ticking.”

Despite living in a world where fairytales could come true, I remained skeptical as I put on the rag I’d worked so hard on.

“Shoes, too,” she insisted.

I slid the scuffed slippers onto my feet.

“Excellent! Now hold still while I do my thing.” The Godmother waved her wand and sang, the words not any I understood but the effect proved astonishing. My ruined gown transformed, pink and poufy but also shimmering with gold to match the shoes on my feet.

The magic also coiled my hair into ringlets atop my head, and a glance in the mirror showed a light layer of makeup to accent my eyes and lips. The crowning touch, the intricate gold mask that covered half my face.

“Oh my,” I exclaimed, stunned by the transformation.

“Perfect,” declared Godmother. “Now you just need to get to the ball so you can enchant your prince.”

Her use of “enchant” bothered. I’d seen pictures of the prince hosting, and he was old. So very old. I had no interest in catching his eye. I just wanted to dance and see all the beautiful gowns and tuxedos.

“Thank you so much,” I gushed.

“You’re welcome, dear girl. Off you go.” Before I could say another word, Godmother waved her wand, and poof, I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside the grand hotel.

My entrance didn’t go unnoticed. People murmured, and even the musicians playing paused, most likely because an old man with much gold braid and medals tottered for me.

“Ah, at last, a beauty worthy of a prince.” Prince Henrick leered at me with his yellowed and gray teeth, the wrinkles on his face too numerous to count.

I could think of no polite way to refuse his demand we dance.

So I danced with the prince. Over and over. He seemed undaunted by the fact I kept moving his hands from my buttocks. Made no attempt to hide the fact he stared at my cleavage.

The evening I’d so looked forward to turned out to be not as wonderful as expected. Knowing the story, or should I say curse, I wasn’t surprised the prince proposed to me as the hour approached midnight.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” I stated, tugging my hand from his clammy grip.

“We will marry, and you will bear little princes,” he cackled.

Inwardly I shivered with revulsion, and when he leaned in to try and kiss me, I turned and fled. I ran out of the hotel and onto the sidewalk, clutching my bouffant skirt. As I fled, my heel got caught in a grate, but hearing shouts behind me, I left the shoe behind.

Once I kicked off the remaining transformed slipper, I put some distance between me and those pursuing. I sprinted all the way home and thought myself safe.

Only the prince wouldn’t accept my rejection.

A search began for the mysterious woman he’d fallen in love with.

Me.

He put out a call to all the ladies who’d attended to present themselves, stating that whoever fit into the shoe I’d left behind would become his bride.

I didn’t make an appearance at the public spectacle that had dozens of women, many who’d never even gone to the ball, trying on the golden shoe. To my relief, someone managed to wedge her foot into that golden slipper—“someone” being Marilyn, a coworker who’d never been nice to me and deserved the gropy old prince as far as I was concerned.

That should have been the end of it, only my fairy godmother had the nerve to visit me a few days later wearing a frown.

“Cinderella, what’s this I hear about you rejecting the prince?”

I arched a brow. “Can you blame me? He’s old enough to be my great-grandfather.”

My observation pursed Godmother’s lips. “The Grimm Effect doesn’t take age into account when pairing people.”

“Well, it should, or maybe it should let people fall in love on their own,” I huffed.

“Be that as it may, you appear safe from Prince Henrick. However, I’m afraid something must still be done with you.”

I frowned. “Meaning what?”

“My failure to give you a happily ever has agitated the curse, and it’s pressuring me to do something about you.”

My eyes widened. “Wait, are you here to kill me?”

Godmother’s eyes widened. “Goodness, no, dear girl. However, you and I won’t be done until I make your heart sing. Alas, I’m not aware of any eligible princes. Henrick was the only current, unmarried one. There is presently a worldwide shortage of eligible royalty.”

“I’d rather not be forced into marriage to a stranger.” I spoke the truth.

“Perhaps we can circumvent that aspect of your curse. After all, more than one thing can make you happy. Any suggestions, dear girl?”

I hesitated before saying, “I would have liked to expand my education after high school. I just can’t afford it.”

The suggestion pursed Godmother’s lips. “Generating money is the one thing I can’t do. Make carriages from pumpkins and other melons, yes. Transform rags into dresses, also doable, but cash…” She shook her head.

My shoulders slumped. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. Since when did good things happen to me? Look at how the ball turned out.

A snap of fingers drew my gaze to Godmother, who beamed. “I think I have just the thing for you. Tell me, have you heard about the new Fairytale Bureau?”

While it had been established only a few years before, I did know of it. They were supposed to help people caught up in the Grimm Effect.

“I’m familiar with them. Why?”

“What if I could get you into their academy?”

“I can’t afford it.” Like any other college, the tuition didn’t come cheap.

“It wouldn’t cost you a thing, and if you pass, it’s a guaranteed job that will pay much better than what you’re doing now.”

An education and a career? “In that case, yes, please.”

And so with a little magical help, I became a Fairytale agent, foiled the curse that wanted to marry me to a prince, and, years later, finally met the man who made my heart pitter-patter.

What a shame I also disliked him.

Chapter 1

I sang as I worked in my kitchen, prepping some veggies for the salads I’d take in my lunches. Chicken grilled in a pan with butter and garlic gave me some protein, and fruit I’d already cubed and put into containers, a sweet finish. My little helpers scurried about giving me a paw, the troupe of mice—who’d been my constant companions since my teens—chirping in harmony with my song.

Some might question my allowing rodents to touch my food. To them I said nothing. I wasn’t the confrontational type. Let them have their opinion. My mice were family and no dirtier than anyone else. Possibly even cleaner than some people I’d met in my life.

A peek at the window showed more of my friends, the robins, hoping for some treats. I threw up the sash, the screen in it long gone, and dumped a handful of seed in front of them and got some happy chirps in reply.

Those familiar with the Cinderella curse would understand my affinity for animals and the fact they were drawn to me. Always had been, even before my unfortunate encounter with the prince. When I jilted the old royal, I’d worried I’d lose my woodland friends. However, despite beating my curse, my gift and friends remained.

Once I finished my meals for the week and stowed them in the fridge, I pulled out some cheese, already cut into chunks, and the mice cheered—which for the curious emerged as a higher-pitched chirp.

As I fed them and thanked them by name—Rosy, Dora, Lester, Orville, Petunia, and Fred—the air got a strange electric feeling.

Then poof!

A woman of mature years, her silver hair bound in a bun, her face aged and yet smooth, appeared in my kitchen, wearing a billowy gown and holding a wand.

My fairy godmother, whom I’d not seen since I beat my curse.

“Oh no, not you again.” Not exactly polite, but I couldn’t stop the complaint from slipping out.

“It has been a while,” Godmother agreed.

“Not long enough,” I muttered. I’d matured since then from a young girl of eighteen to one in her thirties.

My expression must have shown my displeasure, because Godmother huffed, “Most people would be happy to have a fairy godmother whose task is to make your wishes come true.”

At her claim, I frowned and shook my head. “I already got my wish. I graduated from the Fairytale Academy with honors and have a great job with the bureau.”

“But you’re still single.”

“I’m aware, but that doesn’t mean I want or need a prince.” Give me a normal man, one not bound to me by a curse.

To my surprise, Godmother smiled. “In that case, I’ve come to the right place.”

“Excuse me?” I blinked at her odd reply.

“I want someone who is willing to reject the prince.”

“I’m confused.”

“I realize this might sound strange, but I’m here to help you escape your curse, permanently. But it won’t be easy. The Grimm Effect has been more virulent of late.”

“I’m aware.” The escalation began a few months ago and I’d been one of the first to notice at the bureau—AKA the Fairytale Bureau, in charge of minimizing difficulties that arose as the Grimm Effect forced people to follow its stories. Many of those who’d managed to evade their Grimm curse had been finding themselves entangled in a new version, one darker than before—darker being kinder than saying bloody. A desperate edge had begun appearing as people, in the throes of magical compulsion, went to greater, more violent extremes to satisfy the terms of their curse.

Take my friend and colleague, Blanche Hood. She’d been embroiled in a serial murder mystery that resulted in her having to kill the huntsman, and now she lived happily with the wolf.

“It would seem the Grimm Effect isn’t done with you,” Godmother announced.

I shook my head. “But I’m not interested in completing my story. Hence you’re wasting your time. Surely there’s some other Ash Girl who’d welcome your aid?”

“Not any like you. And trust me, I’m not happy about my role. Like many people in this world, I am bound by the Grimm Effect and forced to do its bidding.” Godmother’s lips turned down.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

Godmother nodded. “There was a time when I thought by complying with the stories, I could perhaps put an end to it. Alas, the magic powering the Grimm Effect has only gotten stronger. But there is good news. Some of the tales have been eradicated and those caught in them freed.”

“Eradicated how?” I asked with a frown.

“I’m not sure. At first, I thought it a fluke, that the magic petered out for those particular tales. However, it appears that some have managed to counter their misfortune to the point it cancels the story entirely. For example, we recently had a Red Cap who somehow managed to wipe out that storyline entirely.”

“So it’s true,” I murmured. “I’d noticed that the current Red Cap cases had pretty much vanished but thought perhaps we’d just not been very good at detecting new ones.”

“It and a few others are no longer of concern, but of more importance, it means the Grimm Effect can be beaten!” Godmother’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Which is great, but you said you don’t know how.”

Her lips turned down. “I wish I had a simple answer. I can only assume that those involved in those particular cases did something so completely out of the norm that the magic couldn’t handle it.”

“I rejected the prince, but that didn’t stop the Cinderella curse,” I pointed out.

“Because that’s obviously not the key to ceasing that particular tale.”

“Any suggestions?” Because I really didn’t want to have to fend off princes the rest of my life, which technically should be easy as long as I didn’t attend any balls.

“I don’t have any ideas, yet, but given the magic sent me here to force you back into that particular storyline, I’m thinking we have a chance to figure it out.”

I arched a brow. “We?”

“I’d like to help you.”

“Help me how, exactly?”

“That’s the problem. No idea. I’m afraid we’ll have to wing it, dear girl. But maybe together we can find a way to beat your curse.”

“I don’t know what you think you can do. I’m not even sure why you’re here. I haven’t been invited to any balls, and I’m not aware of any visiting princes.”

Knock. Knock.

I swiveled to eye my door, mostly because people rarely knocked. My apartment, a massive, converted attic in a triplex, had too many stairs for most to brave.

The mice chittered, and my pet iguana, Izzy, padded to the door and stuck his tongue under the bottom edge before making a noise. Those who didn’t have my gift would have heard a hiss. Me, I understood I had a delivery person waiting outside. Odd since I’d not ordered anything.

“Are you going to answer?” Godmother asked.

A part of me didn’t want to. I feared what lay on the other side. Unlike Belle, another friend and colleague, and Blanche, I lacked courage. I avoided conflict. Often said yes to things I didn’t want to just to appear agreeable.

Hence why I opened the door to see a man in uniform, not the kind used by the postal service or even any of the package delivery companies. The man at my door wore navy blue trimmed in silver with black knee-high boots and crisp, white gloves.

“Miss Cinderella Jones?” he queried.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

He held out a large envelope of white, embossed in silver and sealed in dark blue wax.

My stomach plummeted.

“This is for you.” He held it out, and I didn’t grab it.

“What is it? Who’s it from?” I asked instead.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Killian the First, is formally inviting you to his fortieth birthday ball.”

“No thank you.” I politely refused.

“I’m sorry, miss. I think you misunderstand. This invitation is an honor.”

“No, I understand perfectly and am simply not interested. Have a nice day.” I shut the door and leaned against it as if the courier would force his way in and make me take the invitation.

He didn’t. Instead, he slid it under my door so it could mock me.

My fairy godmother remained in my kitchen, sitting on a stool, feeding cheese to the mice, who didn’t care it came from a stranger.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked.

“No, because I’m not going.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m not,” I insisted.

“You know the curse won’t let you off that easily.”

Maybe not, but it was worth a try.

Chapter 2

Despite having the mice dispose of the invitation, it reappeared the following morning, sitting on my kitchen counter, mocking me.

Still no.

I didn’t know who this Prince Killian was, but he’d have to settle for a different Cinderella. A thought that reminded me of what happened the last time I’d rejected a prince. Old Henrick and my bitchy ex-co-worker Marilyn married, but she didn’t live happily ever after. From what I’d gleaned from the news reports, Henrick discovered her lie and murdered her by stabbing her with the heel of the shoe.

A horrifying thing to happen and I’d spent years riddled with guilt over it. It took Belle repeatedly telling me, “Play stupid games, win a fatal prize,” to help me overcome my sense of responsibility. It wasn’t my fault Marilyn lied, thus leading to her demise. Still… I felt bad.

I plucked the invitation—while wearing gloves to avoid skin contact—and took it to my kitchen sink, where I shoved it down the garburator hole and flipped the switch, grinding it to a pulp. Then I left for work.

Upon entering the bureau, I greeted the very pregnant Luanne, who was due to birth her yet another son any day now. Poor woman. While actually in love with her husband, they were under The Twelve Brothers curse. Meaning, if Luanne had the prerequisite dozen boys, followed by a girl child, all her sons would die. The plan was to get her tubes tied before she reached that number. She insisted she’d stop at ten to be safe, but I had my doubts. Luanne loved having babies.

Personally, the idea of birthing that many children horrified. I wanted one, maybe two max, if I ever met the right person—which, as the years passed, got less and less likely. It wasn’t that I was picky, but I attracted the wrong sort. Men who leered and thought me a pushover. Males who wanted to treat me as a fragile damsel, good for looking pretty and keeping house. None recognized that, despite my affable nature, I did have a strong sense of worth and was intelligent enough to know what I wanted.

I wanted love, true love, and respect. Apparently, too much to ask for.

Upon arriving at my desk, I noticed the invitation to the ball sitting atop my keyboard.

My lips pinched. Bloody magic trying to force me to its will.

Too bad. I still wasn’t opening it. By lifting my keyboard, I dumped it into the waste bin beside my desk. With it out of the way, I went to work. The Grimm Effect had been in overtime of late, as we’d been seeing a surge in cases.

Pigs, swans, rats, and a bevy of creatures had been spotted in our city causing trouble. We had some Rumpelstiltskin wannabes making bargains for babies. Rapunzels looking for princes. Fiddlers fiddling and sly foxes scheming. We’d even had to ban apples since they kept putting people into magical comas.

In the early years, it used to be that only the original Grimm stories and some adaptations were re-enacted. But no one could deny anymore that the repertoire of curses had expanded to include more stories.

So many stories that at times I wondered why we even bothered.

My gaze went to the corner of the envelope peeking from my trash bin. Given most of the field agents were currently handling cases, and I had no new data to work with yet, I found myself doing a search on Prince Killian. Ruler of Corsica, a small European island that separated from France in the early 1900s, he was the only heir to his mother’s throne.

To my surprise, the image on file showed he wasn’t hideous. On the contrary, his golden hair went nicely with his olive skin tone and brilliant green eyes. A fit prince, he played polo, swam, jogged. Or at least the paparazzi had posted pics of him doing those various physical activities. They also had him in uniform, inspecting his army.

Someone snuck up on me to remark, “Oh good, you’re already studying Prince Killian.”

Surprise had me whipping around in my seat to exclaim, “I wasn’t studying him.”

“You should be since he’s your next assignment,” Hilda, my boss, stated in that no-nonsense tone she liked to use with her staff.

“Excuse me?”

“Prince Killian is arriving today and will be conducting some meetings with government officials to hammer out some treaties between our countries. As well, he will be the guest of honor at a ball being thrown for his fortieth birthday at the Classica Hotel. To ensure his protection while on U.S. soil, we’ve deployed the Grimm Knights.”

“Alright.” I nodded. The Grimm Knights were Grimphers—people caught by the Grimm curse—who’d been turned into heroes and now thrived on saving the world while working for the bureau. “Do you need me to do some reconnaissance?”

“No. I’m assigning you to act as the liaison between the prince and the bureau.”

“You can’t be serious,” I huffed. “He’s a bachelor royal.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you aware I’ve gotten a very insistent invitation to his ball?” I pointed to the garbage can, where the edge of the envelope peeked.

“Well, of course you are invited. How else would you be able to assist him?”

“Assist him doing what?” I squeaked.

“Making sure none of the attending Cinderellas snares him in a trap,” Hilda explained with a slight roll of her eyes.

“Wait, he doesn’t want to get married?” That would be a first. Most princes loved the adulation and attention of prospective brides.

Hilda smiled. “Like a certain employee of mine, he’s determined to escape the curse. However, that won’t be easy. For one, the ball was his mother’s idea. Apparently, she wants some heirs.”

“Wait, she wants him to follow the story?” How appalling. You’d think his own mother would want him to choose the woman he’d spend his life with.

“Oh yes, Queen Melania is quite determined to see him wed. And she might get her wish. According to the most recent reports, the number of Cinderellas suddenly showing up in our city has been increasing daily. The curse is transforming them left and right. The office that handles legal name changes can’t keep up.”

I blinked. “Exactly how many Cinderellas are we talking about?”

“At last count, the curse has invited one hundred and thirty-six.”

My jaw dropped. “That many? That’s insane. There aren’t even that many bachelor princes in the world.” Princes didn’t stay single for long these days, given they were in short supply.

“Hence why the prince requested aid.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Exactly how do you expect me to somehow keep more than a hundred hopeful ladies from trying to trap him?”

“Not easily, which is why the Grimm Knights will be assisting.”

“And will they be killing the Cinderellas that get too frisky?” The Knights had a reputation, especially their oversized, dour leader, Levi.

“Their orders are to detain and-or remove problematic hopefuls.”

I waved a hand. “Why is the ball being held here? Shouldn’t this prince be celebrating his birthday at home?”

“Unfortunately, given the time-sensitive nature of some of the goods the treaties will be covering, it had to be now. And, as mentioned, his mother saw an opportunity she didn’t want to miss.”

“Fine. However, can’t someone else act as liaison? You know the curse has been reactivating toward people who’d already evaded it, and apparently, I might be next.” I pointed to the trash bin. “I’ve gotten rid of that invite several times already, but it keeps popping back up.”

Hilda glanced briefly at the bin before looking back at me with a regretful expression. “About the whole reactivation thing, there’ve been a few video meetings with the higher-ups in the bureau about that matter. The consensus by some of the scientists studying it is that those experiencing a resurgence didn’t actually beat their curse so much as cause it to go dormant until the right situation presented itself.”

“Doesn’t that make it even more risky to use me as his liaison? I don’t want to have to reject him like I did Prince Henrick.” Who ended up in front of a firing squad because, despite being a prince, murdering one’s wife and throwing her corpse from a parapet remained illegal.

“You needn’t worry about Prince Killian. Like you, he’s very determined to not succumb to the Grimm Effect trap.”

My lips pursed. “Thought by many a person who fell victim. I really would prefer it if you sent Belle or Blanche. Even better, what about Rory and Tom?” As straight men, they wouldn’t be tempted by the male prince.

“Rory and Tom are dealing with a family of bears squatting in the west end. Blanche is a touch too abrasive for someone this important. As for Belle, she met the prince when he got off the plane, and let’s just say, it didn’t go well.” Hilda’s lips pursed.

“What did she do?”

“Mistook him for a thief when he grabbed his suitcase from the luggage carousel. She tackled him to the ground.”

“She arrested the prince?” I couldn’t help an incredulous note.

“In her defense, he didn’t look very royal in his jeans and rockband T-shirt.”

I almost grinned at the thought of the prince being taken down by Belle. “I’m surprised she got close enough, given he’s being protected by the Knights.”

“The Knights didn’t expect a threat from Belle. Luckily, the incident amused the prince. However, I still thought it best to reassign her.”

I sighed. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Then, because maybe it would help, I murmured, “My fairy godmother visited me last night.”

Hilda’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”

“Exactly. So you can see why I might be leery about accepting this task.”

“Or you could look at this as a chance to put your story to bed for another decade or two.”

My boss wouldn’t be swayed, and as she left me to stare at my screen, I wondered what I could do to ensure this prince never looked at me twice.

Maybe if I didn’t shower and showed up sweaty? A little too gross.

I could dress in ugly, shapeless clothes and find something atrocious to wear for the ball. I would make sure I didn’t wear slippers but tightly laced boots. I’d refuse to dance with him. I’d use my words and say no.

“Excuse me, are you Agent Jones?” a deep voice asked.

I said, “Yes,” before I turned around to see the very pretty prince standing by my desk.