Shut Up, Cinderella

No Time for Balls

"I said no!"

Slamming his hand on the table, Cinder pushed aside his dinner plate, glaring at his stepsisters and stepmother alike. "No!" he repeated. "I am not going to a ball no matter what you tell me! No!"

The girls rolled their eyes. "But why not?" Marietta burst out. "You're so stubborn!"

"Waste of time," Cinder answered, going back to his food. "Waste of money. It's pointless."

Izetta looked almost distressed when she said, "Why would you say that?"

"Why wouldn't I? Even if I dragged myself there, wasted a whole evening talking to strangers and dancing, the chances the prince would pick me are next to none." Cinder took a large bite from his bread. "I'm a guy, for a start. You two have much better chances, so stop bothering me."

"But you're the closest to him in age," said Marietta.

"And he's explicitly looking for a woman or a man," Izetta added.

Cinder took another bite, gulping down his food, barely chewing. "I have nothing to wear for a ball."

The second he had uttered this sentence, he realized it had been the wrong thing to say. The girls' eyes lit up with a frightening glee. "We can find you something!" Izetta exclaimed. "Just trust us!"

"Yeah," Marietta continued. "We'll make you the most handsome guy in all the kingdom, just you see!"

Cinder glared at them. "And who has the money for that?"

"It's an investment!" Izetta made a sweeping gesture. "If the prince marries you—or even some other noble," she added, noticing Cinder's doubtful scowl. "You'll have as much money as you could ever wish for! Sure, it'll be expensive now, but if it's worth it—"

"Well, what if it isn't?"

The girls flinched. Something about Cinder's tone and expression had changed. He was truly furious now, even if neither of them could fully understand why.

"You keep talking like it's so certain it'll happen like this," he snapped, his eyes dark and smoldering with barely-restrained anger. "You always do! Must be nice to be so optimistic and never have to care about a thing! Because Cinder will handle it! Cinder will figure it all out, even if it goes wrong! That attitude is exactly why we couldn't save—"

"Cinder!"

He froze. Little by little the reality of his words caught up with him, and he clapped an embarrassed hand over his face. "Never mind," he muttered. "Forget it."

Hestia, his stepmother who had spoken, pushed aside her plate and crossed her arms. "It's not nice to talk to your family like that," she said.

Cinder was silent.

"I know you're worried about money," she continued in the same cool tone, "but you're being paranoid. It's not like we'll have to starve to get you some nice new clothes."

Cinder didn't look at her. "I'm still not going."

"Any reason why, beyond thinking it'll be fruitless?"

"I'm not trying to marry a prince or a noble."

Sitting back, Cinder turned to look at the small room they sat in, the fireplace, the simple wooden chairs and table, the old window-shutters that blocked out the snowstorm and the night. All honestly bought and fairly paid for, with money he and his father had worked long hours to earn.

"I'm not trying to get rich through marriage," he said, "or live off money the royals take from the people who can barely afford their lives anyway. I want nothing to do with thieves who don't even know how to work."