Chapter 2 Esther
Esther
How to stay composed: first panic, then panic harder, then make a terrible decision with confidence.
“You only stabbed your finger three times today,” Lucy praised with a sympathetic smile. “But what exactly is this supposed to be?”
“A dragon,” Esther said, massaging her aching fingers.
“Looks like a slug,” Lucy hummed. Esther snatched the handkerchief from her judgmental friend with a huff. If she squinted really hard, it was obviously a dragon! Slugs didn't have horns or breathe fire. The orange thread was obviously fire. Lucy was too blind to see the masterpiece before her.
“Dragons are strong and powerful—”
“And majestic, unlike this slug.”
“And offer protection! Which I will give to my brother.” Esther anxiously rubbed the fabric between her fingers, feeling the loose, scratchy thread.
“May this valiant slug offer its slimy protection.”
“Just for that, you’ll be joining me for tea,” Esther said, sticking her tongue out.
Lucy froze mid-step. She turned slowly, eyes wide with dramatic horror. “Esther, please. I beg your forgiveness!”
“You are coming to tea,” Esther said, taking her by the arm.
Lucy placed a hand on her heart. “This is a cruel punishment for your faithful maid, who only told you the truth!”
“It’s just tea,” Esther insisted.
“With the Baroness,” Lucy hissed, while Esther dragged her by the elbow.
They walked into the sunlit sitting room. The Baroness stood waiting, tall and immaculate in dove-gray silk, her expression carved from authority. The table between them was arranged as flawlessly as a military presentation.
She surveyed them with the efficiency of someone taking inventory.
“There you are,” the Baroness said. “Late.”
Esther checked the clock again. “We are early.”
“You are late,” the Baroness repeated, pointing at the chairs. “Sit.”
Lucy muttered under her breath as she sat.
“More importantly,” the Baroness said, sipping her tea, “I heard the news that Lupin is preparing to travel to Kraggmar. Took your father and brother long enough to finally agree to the political marriage.”
“Marriage?” Esther sputtered, her fingers tightening in her lap. “To the orc kingdom surrounded by jagged peaks?”
Kraggmar.
The name alone summoned half-remembered images from her childhood lessons, jagged volcanic mountains clawing into stormy skies, and fortresses carved directly from obsidian cliffs.
Orc culture valued strength, honor, and endurance.
Esther valued… embroidery and crying quietly in hallways. Not exactly a promising cultural fit.
Somewhere in Basil’s endless scrolls, she had seen maps of Kraggmar’s northern valleys, howling with winter winds even in summer. Their king, stern, seasoned, rumored to have united the fractured clans decades ago, was respected across continents.
But to Esther, this didn’t feel like an alliance at all.
It felt like exile wrapped in ceremonial brocade.
“Oh, it appears I spoke out of turn. Act as if I said nothing.”
“You can’t just pretend you didn’t say anything!” Lucy shouted, slamming the table.
“Manners!”
“You can’t just pretend you didn’t say anything,” Lucy repeated, this time in a far more appropriate tone.
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“Did you—did she—oh, she’s a demon. A vile demon,” Lucy seethed.
“Well, look at the time. It’s getting late. Let us meet again tomorrow, after you talk with your father.”
Esther didn’t wait for another word. She raced down the hall, leaving Lucy to deal with the sputtering Baroness.
She imagined jagged peaks clawing at storm clouds, and the sharp, iron scent of the forges that crafted orcish armor, the complete opposite of Valedara, with its lush forests and clear rivers streaming through valleys.
She stood outside her father’s study, gathering the courage to knock. She wanted answers.
The council meetings had been changing lately. Esther could feel it in the way advisors bowed more quickly, spoke more quietly, and glanced at her for longer. Something had shifted in Valedara, something her father refused to name.
Lupin, despite his awkwardness, had begun to carry himself differently, too. Straighter posture. Sharper eyes. As if he knew more than he wished he did, as if he bore secrets heavier than armor.
Her father… he had always been distant, but lately, he looked exhausted. Not physically, but in the way people look when they are losing battles no one else can see.
Esther pressed closer to the door.
She didn’t want to be a pawn.
She just wanted to know.
Just as she was about to knock, her father’s deep voice penetrated the thick door. “This is the only secure way to establish our alliance with Kraggmar.”
Esther froze. She could barely make out the muffled voices beyond the door and seized the opportunity. She pressed her ear against the wall, straining to focus on the conversation.
“Isn’t this marriage a bit too sudden?” Lupin asked in a hushed tone.
“We’re out of time. Our borders won’t last much longer,” her father said, his words cold and final. “We need this union. Now.”
The air crackled around her, magic biting at her fingertips. This was a conversation she was not meant to hear. Just like always, it was about her, with no room for her voice.
Her stomach twisted. Kraggmar. The orc kingdom. The one with a fifty-year-old king.
Her mind spiraled. She tried to imagine her future husband, who probably had warts. And now, apparently, an arranged marriage to her.
She pressed closer to the door, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out their hushed voices.
Eavesdropping was wrong, but it was the only way Esther could gather information.
Her father would always say something like, “This doesn’t concern you,” or some other version of ‘stop asking questions’ when she tried to learn things directly.
She tried to get as close to the cracked door as possible, her heart thumping when the floorboard creaked beneath her. She stopped breathing, afraid she had given away her presence. But after a silence that stretched over several agonizing heartbeats, the conversation continued.
Her father sighed, his voice tired. “It’s the only way to secure peace. She will adapt. We’ll announce the engagement at the Harvest Ball.”
For a moment, she stood frozen, her heartbeat lodged in her throat.
It wasn’t just fear twisting inside her. It was betrayal.
They hadn’t warned her.
Hadn’t spoken to her.
Hadn’t even considered her voice.
A memory surfaced, her father laughing as he hoisted her onto his shoulders during the Harvest Festival. Lupin handed her candied apples. A time when she believed she could earn their affection simply by being good, quiet, perfect.
Somewhere along the way, she had slipped from daughter to duty.
Esther, useless princess of Valedara, was about to be married off to an old orc king with a wart. They’d finally found a use for her, a sacrifice for a treaty wrapped in silk—a stain scrubbed from their perfect view.
Her ears rang. The room tilted. Her already too-tight corset seemed to shrink two sizes.
She spun on her heel and bolted down the hall, skirts whispering furiously. Her shoes clicked on the marble floors that caught the orange light of the dying sun. The chilled air grew hot and suffocating and candles flared as she rushed by.
She cursed the architects who had designed the halls absurdly long. It felt like an eternity until she finally arrived at her personal chambers.
She slammed her door. Then, remembering her etiquette training, she opened it again to close it more gently.
She fell to her knees with ragged breath. She tried to catch her breath, but the air, heavy with polish and wax, refused to satisfy her lungs.
“Calm thoughts, gentle heat,” she muttered, quoting Basil. “No explosions.”
Maybe she had misheard. She had caused many explosions lately; perhaps it had taken a toll on her hearing.
A nearby candle flickered nervously.
“Calm thoughts, no explosions,” she repeated over and over in a trembling voice.
The candle responded by doing the exact opposite, and exploded. She wondered why there were so many candles in the palace and decided she wasn’t the problem. The problem was the unnecessary number of candles that could blow up.
Smoke curled up the walls. Esther groaned. “Of course. My life’s burning down before the wedding even starts.”
For a moment, she considered letting everything burn, letting her magic consume her until nothing remained that could be sold. Maybe then, she could be free.
Crack!
Esther glanced over and met her eyes in a mirror that cracked like a spiderweb.
Her reflection stared back: singed hair, red eyes, and a less-than-perfect posture—the disgraced princess of the Valedara royal family.
“Oh, fantastic,” she sobbed. “Even the mirror’s judging me.”
The pieces of glass tinked against the overly polished floor, almost like a sad melody, scratching the pristine surface Esther hated so much.
Basil’s favorite catchphrase surfaced as she looked at the previously flawless mirror. The beautiful golden frame remained perfect, as if to mock her, stunning on the outside, empty and broken on the inside.
She had never seen such a perfect symbol. Seeing it ignited something inside her.
Ambition.
She didn’t want to sit around and accept everything as she always had. She wanted to taste freedom, even if just for a moment.
She glared at the glistening shards of glass and made up her mind.
She recited a quote she had read at least a million times. “She’d never been allowed to choose a single thing in her life,” she whispered to the shards. “Tonight, she’ll choose freedom… even if it kills her.”
It was from chapter ten of Love, Lust, and a Locked Tower, the first forbidden book Lucy had ever smuggled to her when they were teenagers. It had been Esther’s first taste of secret rebellion, reading books unfit for a royal lady.