Chapter 13 Esme
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ESME
Rue’s song is absolutely filthy. Not going to lie, I love it.
I don’t catch the full lyrics at first, just the chorus, which he belts out like he’s performing on some grand stage rather than sitting astride his horse, somewhere deep in the shadowed depths of the Kasamere Forest. The ancient trees seem to lean in closer as his voice echoes off their gnarled trunks, and I find myself leaning forward in my saddle, straining to catch every scandalous word.
When I begin to listen closer, my ears pick up the deliciously inappropriate verses that follow.
Oh, I once loved a stableboy, bold as a buck,
With hands on my hips and incredible luck,
He danced in my sheets with a bottle of gin,
Then cried for his mother when I did him in.
My head snaps up in surprise as he bellows the next verse into the canopy above, his horse ambling casually between mine and Locke’s like a traveling bard who knows damn well he’s causing trouble.
There’s something almost theatrical about the way he throws himself into the performance, one hand gesturing wildly while the other maintains perfect control of his reins.
He continues singing, his voice rich and resonant as it carries through the misty air,
‘Please, my dear Rue, don’t tell the queen!’
I said, ‘Sweetheart, I’ve bedded the whole bloody scene.
From the kitchens to guardsmen, the priest and the cook,
And the lad who once tried to rewrite my book’.
Locke groans beside me, the sound low and pained as one hand tightens visibly on his leather reins. The muscle in his jaw twitches with barely contained exasperation. “Rue.”
Rue turns in his saddle with a grin that could tempt saints to sin, his amber eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Come now, Brother! Where’s your sense of pageantry?
Someone’s got to keep spirits high before we reach whatever fate awaits us in these cursed woods.
Or is brooding silence and the promise of death all you lot know how to serve up for entertainment? ”
“I serve sanity,” Locke mutters through gritted teeth, though I catch the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Undeterred by his audience’s mixed reception, Rue continues with even more gusto than before,
But the stable boy cried, ‘You’re the devil in lace!’
Then begged me for more as he sat on my—
“Rue!” Locke barks, his voice sharp as the blade at his hip, cutting through the forest air like a whip crack.
Rue throws his head back and laughs, the sound bright and utterly shameless as it bounces off the moss-covered stones scattered along our path.
He slows his horse deliberately, letting it fall into step beside Locke’s mount with the practiced ease of someone who’s been needling his brother for years.
“Oh, come now. Just admit it. That particular verse is your absolute favorite.”
“I am not admitting anything.” Locke’s tone is stern, authoritative, but I catch the way his shoulders shake slightly.
“I will absolutely not admit to loving a song that catalogs your extensive and varied sexual exploits in excruciating detail.” But despite his protests, the corner of his mouth betrays him with the barest hint of a twitch.
A heartbeat later, his shoulders shake with what I realize is a dry, quiet laugh that takes me completely by surprise.
I pull gently on my reins, slowing my mare’s steady pace.
That laugh, it’s the first genuine sound of amusement I’ve heard from him in days.
The sound washes over me like a balm, unexpected and somehow beautiful in its rarity.
In all our time traveling together, I’ve seen Locke angry, frustrated, protective, even tender in his quiet moments, but never simply. . .amused.
He glances over, catches me watching him with obvious fascination, and his smile falters but doesn’t vanish entirely.
There’s something almost vulnerable in the way he looks at me, as if he’s been caught revealing more of himself than he intended.
Rue, ever the opportunist, reaches over and pokes him sharply in the ribs, breaking the moment as he launches into another verse with renewed enthusiasm.
Locke exhales deeply, the sound somewhere between resignation and genuine amusement, and to my complete shock, he actually starts singing along.
So, if ever you fancy a warm fae delight,
Find Rue in the shadows, I’ll make your day bright!
Their voices blend in a surprisingly harmonious duet, Locke’s deeper tone providing a rich counterpoint to Rue’s theatrical tenor. The contrast is striking, where Rue performs with wild abandon, Locke’s contribution is measured, controlled, but no less genuine for its restraint.
I can’t help it, laughter bursts out of me, loud and sudden and completely unguarded.
The sound seems to surprise even me with its force, echoing through the forest like music.
I don’t try to hold it back or make it more dignified.
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, something light and joyful bubbles up from deep inside my chest. I needed this moment of levity just as much as they did, maybe more.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see that even Sam is smiling, his usually serious expression softened by genuine amusement. The sight of his grin, rare and precious, makes my heart lift even higher.
Sam urges his horse closer, falling into step beside mine as the ridiculous song finally comes to its bawdy conclusion.
He raises an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with humor.
“Is that the same stoic, barely-speaks-unless-spoken-to warrior who hasn’t said more than a few necessary words these past couple of days? ”
“Apparently he has a secret career as a traveling minstrel,” I reply, grinning widely and shaking my head in amazement. “Who knew?”
“I would pay good coin to see Rue perform that in a proper bar,” Sam admits with a chuckle, “but Locke. . .” He trails off with another shake of his head, clearly still processing the sight of the usually stern fae warrior actually singing along to such scandalous material.
Locke meets my eyes once more, and for a moment the connection between us feels electric, charged with something unspoken.
Then he spurs his horse forward with sudden purpose, the impromptu concert dying on his lips as the forest trail narrows ahead of us, forcing us into single file.
Rue flashes me a theatrical wink and trails after him, humming softly under his breath.
I nudge my mare forward with gentle pressure from my heels, urging her to quicken her pace so I can fall into step beside Locke once again.
Something tells me that if I let him put too much distance between us now, we’ll lose this precious bit of peace and camaraderie that Rue’s outrageous song has somehow gifted us.
“You’re good with him,” I say quietly, my voice barely carrying over the soft sound of hooves on the forest floor. “With Rue, I mean.”
His eyes flick toward me briefly before he focuses his attention back on the winding path ahead of us, scanning for potential threats even as we talk.
“We grew up together. He was orphaned during one of the particularly brutal border wars between the Night Court and the Light Court. My father took him in when Rue was barely more than a child and raised him as if he were his own blood.”
There’s something in his voice when he speaks of his father, respect, certainly, but also a complexity I can’t quite parse.
“He is my brother in every way that matters, closer than blood could ever make us.” Locke’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“He’s everything I’m not. Loud where I’m quiet, reckless where I’m cautious, emotionally impulsive where I’m controlled. ”
“Charming,” I offer with a small smile, and Locke actually huffs out what might be amusement.
“That too,” he concedes, and I catch the fondness in his tone despite his apparent exasperation.
I study the way his hands rest on the reins, loose and relaxed despite the rigid control he maintains over every other aspect of his posture.
There’s an inherent contradiction in him that fascinates me, the way he can appear so steel-straight and formal while still moving with the fluid grace of someone completely at ease in the saddle. “You trust him completely.”
“More than anyone else in this world or any other.” The certainty in his voice is absolute.
“Rue might act like nothing more than a flamboyant court jester, but he’s actually the king’s most effective spy.
Sharp as any blade and twice as deadly when he needs to be.
Unfortunately, he also serves my father in an official capacity, which sometimes creates.
. .complications.” His expression darkens slightly before clearing. “But his true loyalty is mine.”
That last word, mine, spoken with such quiet possessiveness, hits something deep inside my chest like a physical blow. There’s an intensity in the way he says it that makes my breath catch.
“I never felt like I had a real family until I met Micah,” I find myself admitting, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
“Until all of them, really. Even though they’re completely psychotic in their own special ways.
” I can’t help but smile at the memory. “Gods, they’re all a little unhinged, but I care for them deeply.
In their own twisted way, they care for me too.
We all went through so much chaos together, so fast. Everything was madness and violence and pain, but it was also the first time in my life I didn’t feel fundamentally alone. ”
He watches me in silence, his eyes unreadable but attentive, as if he’s cataloging every word I speak.
“My Tether to Micah is still there,” I continue, touching the center of my chest where I can feel that connection like a warm pulse. “Frayed and stretched thin from the distance between our worlds, but I can still sense her presence, Locke. Even now, even here.”