Chapter 7 Esme #3
Lucelle’s eyes shift between my mother and me, cataloging similarities, making connections.
Then she freezes, her nostrils flaring like a hunting animal catching a scent.
Her pupils dilate as realization dawns, and her eyes widen with a mixture of fury and disbelief.
She sees it then, the resemblance, the family connection she’d somehow missed before.
“You bastard,” she breathes, then her voice rises to a shriek that echoes off the domed ceiling. “You’ve had a child! You’ve had a child all this time, hidden away like a guilty secret, and she’s a witch! A mongrel half-breed!”
“Enough,” Rhys growls, stepping forward with menace radiating from every line of his body. “You will not speak of her that way. Not now, not ever.”
“She is not one of us!” Lucelle shouts, her careful composure finally cracking completely. Her eyes gleam with manic fury as she gestures wildly at me. “She’s half-witch, half-mortal, tainted by lesser blood! The court will never accept her as heir. I will never accept this abomination!”
“Yes,” Rhys says, his voice cutting through her hysteria like a blade. “This is my daughter. My blood runs in her veins, and that makes her the rightful heir to the Night Court. That is not open for debate.”
Lucelle reels back as if she’s been physically struck. “You wound me,” she snaps, pressing a hand to her chest in mock pain. “You know I cannot bear a child—”
“This was before you and I were ever joined,” Rhys says sharply, cutting off her victim’s performance.
“You never knew what happened to me in the Mortal Realm, because I never told you. I came back half-broken, my memories scattered to the winds. I was changed by my time there. But that does not make her any less my daughter. And I will not stand here while you speak poison about what is mine.”
Lucelle trembles with rage, her beautiful face twisting into something ugly and vindictive. “You will regret this decision,” she hisses. “Both of you will pay for this humiliation.”
Sam steps forward, his protective instincts fully engaged, muscles coiled for violence.
Locke does the same, moving with deadly grace to flank my other side.
For once, they do not glare at each other with territorial suspicion.
Instead, they stand united, one beast, one blade, both ready to spill blood in my defense.
“You will both regret this moment,” Lucelle spits, her voice dripping with venom and promised retribution.
“You think this is the end of it? That you can simply declare her legitimate and I’ll bow down in acceptance?
I will scorch your precious legacy to ash and salt the earth so nothing can ever grow there again. ”
“Lucelle!” King Rhys shouts, but she’s already dissolving back into shadow and crimson smoke, disappearing in a burst of fire that scorches the obsidian stones beneath her feet and leaves the smell of sulfur and burned roses hanging in the air.
The silence that follows is like a vacuum, pulling all sound and breath from the room. We stand frozen in the aftermath of her fury, each processing what just happened and what it means for the days to come.
Then—
“Locke,” the King says, his voice steady despite the chaos that just unfolded.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Locke steps forward, his expression unreadable, professional. I can only imagine what he must be thinking, caught between his duty to the crown and whatever complicated feelings have developed between us.
“Take them to the East Wing immediately. Their chambers have been prepared and warded against intrusion. Esme is now under formal royal protection.” His voice hardens. “You will guard her with your life.”
Locke bows low, the gesture sharp and precise. “With my life, Your Majesty.”
Rhys turns to my mother, and I see the pain in his eyes as he prepares for another goodbye. “Cashira—”
She shakes her head before he can finish the thought. “I cannot stay,” she says, her voice heavy with regret but firm in its resolve. “You saw her face, heard her threats. You know she’ll come for me next, and my presence here will only make Esme a bigger target.”
“She wouldn’t dare harm you,” my father says, disbelief and anger warring in his tone. “You are my guest, under royal protection.”
I step toward her, panic rising in my chest. “But—”
“No,” Cashira says firmly, raising a hand to stop my protest. “As long as I am here, I will make everything worse for you. Your father can protect you within these walls, surrounded by his guards and his magic. I can protect you better from afar, watching for threats he cannot see.”
Her voice trembles slightly as she continues. “We cannot guard both fronts if we’re standing in the same place.”
My father nods slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes.
I think even he knows his queen is not to be trusted, that her rage will seek an outlet and my mother would be the most vulnerable target.
Even with her protective wards, she will be alone and who knows what lengths the queen will go to get to her now.
I want to scream, to beg her to stay and let me protect her for once. To demand that she not leave me alone in this strange realm with people I barely know.
I understand. I hate it but I understand.
Rhys dips his head in quiet grief and reluctant acceptance. “I will ensure her safe passage back to Kasamere,” he promises me. “She will be guarded until she’s beyond Lucelle’s reach.”
Cashira nods, then looks at me with eyes that hold years of love and sacrifice. “I will always be where you need me most,” she says simply. “That has never changed.”
I can’t help myself, I cross the short distance between us and pull her into a fierce embrace, memorizing the feel of her arms around me, the scent of earth and herbs that always clings to her hair.
I know I’m not leaving her forever, but I have a feeling it will be a long while before I can hold her like this again, before I can take comfort in her steady presence.
My mother kisses my forehead, her lips warm and soft against my skin, then pulls away slowly. She moves to stand beside my father, and for just a moment they look like what they could have been, partners, parents, a family.
Rhys turns back to me, his voice gentling as he sees the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks again.
“My daughter,” he says, and the words are like a warm cloak wrapped around my shoulders.
“What’s mine is yours now. Whatever you need, whatever you seek, whatever has been taken from you, I will help you find a way to reclaim it all. ”
I nod, unable to trust my voice as Locke moves to open the doors for us. The gesture is courtly and proper, but I catch the way his eyes linger on my face, reading the emotional storm I’m barely containing.
As we prepare to leave this room where everything changed, I allow myself one moment of pure hope. I believe him, believe for the first time since I fell from the sky that I have a real chance to be whole once more. To find the missing pieces of myself and forge them into something new and strong.
I won’t take my time here for granted, no matter how brief my stay might be. There’s too much to learn, too much to reclaim, and now, finally, I have allies in the fight to become who I’m meant to be.