WARRIOR CINDERELLA: A DARK FANTASY RETELLING CHAPTER 2

Chapter 2: A World of Chains 

Dawn’s first light crept over the village, bathing the rooftops in pale gold as Ella slipped through the kitchen door, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her muscles burned from the night’s relentless training, every fiber of her body aching with exhaustion. Sweat clung to her skin, mixing with the faint scent of damp earth and morning dew. She barely had time to wipe her brow before a voice, cold and razor-sharp, sliced through the silence.

"You’re late."

Ella stiffened. The kitchen’s familiar warmth did nothing to soften the ice in her veins as she turned to face the speaker.

Lady Tremaine stood at the base of the grand staircase, her figure poised in the dim light like a specter waiting to strike. She was wrapped in a silk dressing gown, its embroidered patterns intricate yet severe, much like the woman herself. Her dark eyes swept over Ella’s disheveled form, lingering on her dirt-streaked hands, and the loose strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead.

For a brief, terrible moment, neither of them moved.

Ella’s pulse pounded in her ears. There was no point in lying. No hasty excuse would soften Lady Tremaine’s suspicion, and Ella knew better than to insult her intelligence. Her stepmother had long suspected she was slipping away at night, though she had yet to uncover why.

Lady Tremaine took a slow, deliberate step forward, the silk of her gown whispering against the polished floors.

"Perhaps I should lock you in your room," she mused, voice dripping with false sweetness. "After all, a girl who cannot wake on time is of no use to me."

Ella felt the weight of those words settles over her like iron shackles. A test. A warning.

Her fingernails bit into her palms as she forced herself to remain still.

The easy response would have been defiance. The fiery part of her, the warrior who had spent countless nights training in secret, wanted to meet her stepmother’s cruelty with sharp words of her own. To tell her she was not a prisoner. That she would never be tamed.

But defiance had consequences.

And Ella had learned long ago that survival required patience.

Lowering her gaze, she forced her expression into something docile, something obedient. "I won’t be late again," she said softly.

Lady Tremaine let the silence stretch, savoring the moment as though tasting a fine wine. Then, slowly, her lips curled into a smile—an expression as thin and deadly as a dagger’s edge.

"See that you don’t."

With that, she turned and disappeared up the staircase, leaving the air heavy with unspoken threats.

Only then did Ella allow herself to breathe.

Her hands trembled as she unclenched them. A faint sting told her she had pressed her nails too deep, small crescents of pain marking her palms. She exhaled through her nose, steadying herself, pushing down the storm of emotions raging beneath the surface.

This was the game they played. A battle of patience. A war of endurance.

But she would endure.

Because one day, Lady Tremaine would no longer have the power to keep her caged.

One day, she would break free.

And when she did, she would make sure she was strong enough to never be chained again.