Every eligible female *must* attend the ball by decree of the king. On account of my tendency to suddenly turn from a woman into a wolf, I'd really prefer if I wasn't being forced into attending. Anger burns in my throat, making me growl. Stepmother covers my hand with hers, gently squeezing my fingers. That's my stepmother. Grace above all; even under fire... or the threat of a noose. She's a better woman than I. What? You thought the rumors were true? That she's my wicked stepmother, who's kept me as her indentured servant under the stairs? Oh my friend, you don't know the half of this story. To tell it, I'd best begin at the beginning. **Note: This is a 28K word Short Story standalone romance for readers 18 and up with Explicit language and situations.