2. Princess Esemeray
PRINCESS ESEMERAY
Today had to be the worst day of her life. Another birthday without her sister. Another year of dressing up for noble guests and pretending like life was normal. Life’s far from normal.
Esemeray stood before the mirror, staring at her reflection, and sighed. She had begged for her hair to be cut. That was until her mother insisted her hair was all she had going for her. Evidently, she’d conceded, letting it grow another two inches, cascading past her hips.
Trudging toward the massive window in her bedroom, she gazed out. Despite the beauty, the rolling meadows made her feel hollow.
A cruel reminder.
She had been staring at the same hills for the past eighteen years, and the past eight without Elora. She knew it would only pain her to count the days, but she couldn’t help it. “Two thousand nine hundred twenty-two days.” She chewed on her lip, watching a bluebird ascend high above the castle.
Esemeray’s eyes watered, tears streaming down her face. Even the sight of the bird had her stomach plummeting. She closed her eyes, a small sob rising in her chest.
“We’re free!” Elora said, white owl wings flapping higher into the skies. “Promise we do this every birthday.”
“Look at the Emerald Sea, Elora. Hurry, look!”
She blinked the memory away. Unable to bear the heavy weight swirling in her chest—the sharp ache in her heart.
Only if she promised back, maybe Elora would still be here.
She took a steadying breath, willing her features into neutrality.
Her mother wouldn’t be pleased if her eyes were bloodshot from crying—not when she planned to parade her around so many unfamiliar faces.
Glancing down, she was careful not to splatter her tears on the open book below.
She wiped her face dry and shut the book on her oak nightstand.
Ruptured Lullabies found its rightful place on her bookshelf, as would the rest of the things left scattered around her room.
Mother will be arriving any second.
Her mother’s sharp voice sounded through her mind. “If I see another book lying around your room, I’ll smack you in the head with it. Do you understand me?” Reminding her to scan for any others that could be lingering. Hmm…
Noticing something that resembled the shape of a book on her pillow, she rushed to her bed, picking up the heavy object, and ran her fingers along the shimmering baby-blue wrapping paper.
A gift?
A small smile bloomed across her face. She had an idea who it came from. Peeling the thick paper, she removed the wrapping and gasped.
A new book—and not just any.
It was a romance novel from one of her favorite writers. The Past Of You. She beamed, her chest fluttering.
The door swung open.
The queen.
With quick movements, she hid the book behind her back, tossing her a sweet smile. “Hi, Mother.”
“Why are you not ready yet?” Her mother’s voice cut through the air like knives. “Where is Aria?”
Aria, Esemeray’s handmaiden, appeared around the corner, licking crumbs from her lips and dusting her hands on her white apron. Her cherry-red hair pinned into a bun, blue gown flowing behind her. “Your Majesty, my apologies.” Her ocean-green eyes gravitated toward Esemeray, offering a smile.
“You have scheduled lunches, Aria.” She pursed her too-thin lips and snickered, “We wouldn’t want Esemeray to starve due to your mistakes now, would we? Because I can simply demand that the kitchen staff stop all meals.”
“Apologies,” Aria said, without meeting the queen’s eyes. She threw Esemeray a sidelong glance that said, “Here we go again.”
Esemeray held back a laugh, fingers gripping her book as she glanced back toward her mother.
The queen was already dressed for the party, her exquisite red velvet gown hugging her every curve.
Milky fur frosted her wrists, complimenting her white, feathered mask.
Her mother’s blond hair wove around her diamond crown—a coronet in its own right.
No one would question her place on the throne.
Her mother met her stare and grimaced. “We don’t want the guests thinking you’re riffraff.
You look terrible, Esemeray.” She clicked her viper of a tongue.
“Aria, quick!” Her slender fingers snapped.
“Do something with her hair. You’ll need every second to make her look decent.
” She turned around, slamming the door as she took her leave.
Esemeray winced. She should be used to her mother’s words by now, and she should be used to her slamming the door like that, but the heartless dismissals became harder and harder to bear. She doesn’t remember her mother being so brutal…
There was a time when she was wonderful.
Right?
“Your Highness, let’s get you ready.” Aria motioned to the vanity, tapping the purple, cushioned chair.
Esemeray glared at her, uninterested in preparing for tonight’s ball. Placing her newest and latest book on the shelf, she called out, “Mr. Pebbles?”
Her mouse ran out from under the bed, bringing a genuine smile to her face. “There you are!” She picked him up, cradling him close.
“Do you know what would happen if your mother caught you playing with mice?” Aria asked, reaching for the hairbrush resting on the marble vanity.
“He is my friend,” Esemeray said, petting him. His round pink ears twitched as he stood on his hind legs and waved as if saying hello. She chuckled. “Did you miss me?”
“I’ve never seen anyone bond with a mouse, or a mouse wave to a human.” Aria bunched her brows and threw her a look that said, “You’re crazy.”
Esemeray wanted to tell her that she taught Mr. Pebbles that trick, but she just said, “He is not just any mouse. He is my bestest friend.”
“I think it’s sweet. Now sit, we need to get you ready for Prince Peter.”
A low curling disgust settled in her belly.
She and the prince had grown up together; his father, King Tharuq, met with her father every few months, leaving Peter to play with her and Elora.
Every year on her birthday, Prince Peter came to join.
She’d rather not see him tonight, ideally, not for the rest of her life.
He’d once smeared jam in her hair, for gods’ sakes—poured glue all over her precious paintings.
And then there was the time he blamed her for a vase he shattered.
She could still remember the burning on her cheek and the embarrassment when her mother struck her for it.
She’d slapped her right in front of him … and he had laughed.
Laughed.
Insufferable man-child.
The worst of it? Her mother made her dance with him in front of everyone.
Esemeray’s body recoiled, thinking about last year.
She changed her mind. The worst was when he tried to kiss her on the balcony.
She’d pretended to trip and fall—would’ve flown away that very moment if not for the necklace around her neck.
“I’d rather not dance with him tonight,” she grumbled, sinking into the cushioned chair.
Aria ran the brush through her thick hair, knots catching. “Every girl dreams of dancing with a prince.”
Not me, Esemeray wanted to say. In fact, the thought of it made her want to scratch her eyes out. “Peter is obnoxious, and quite frankly, not my type.” Esemeray stared at Mr. Pebbles. “I wish I could turn you into a prince.”
Aria snorted a laugh. “Who would be the perfect prince?” She grabbed two front pieces of Esemeray’s hair and effortlessly braided them.
“Someone intelligent with a sense of humor, I suppose.” Esemeray had based her dream man on her favorite book character, Mr. Davis.
He was a carriage coach in love with a barmaid, and also a secret assassin.
A deeply flawed character who’d still managed to steal her heart with humor, wit, and abs.
Her stomach erupted with butterflies thinking about him. Mr. Davis.
Aria nodded, her cheeks turning pink as if the description meant something to her, something more.
Esemeray wanted to ask her who her dream man was, but she could tell Aria’s energy was lowering, so instead, she counted the many freckles on her face to pass time.
“Is something wrong?” Aria asked, finishing the last final touches.
Esemeray inhaled deeply. “I wish my skin were like yours.” She stared at her reflection, her gaze trailing her moon-white skin.
“I’m so pale.” Maybe if she saw the light of day now and then, she could get some color, but her mother hardly ever let her go outside.
She longed to feel the sun’s gentle kiss on her skin.
Pointless meetings clearly took priority.
If it were up to her, she would be basking naked on the rooftop with a glass of wine and slipping between the pages of her book.
Aria set the brush down and knelt before her. “Look at me.” Her stare deepened. “You are beautiful.”
Esemeray gestured to her hair, twisting her thick ends. “This is all I have going for myself.”
Aria clicked her tongue. “Even if you had no hair, you would still be the most beautiful woman in this castle.” Her eyes softened. “Your dark-brown eyes hold mystery, and your nose is as cute as a button.”
Esemeray almost didn’t believe it, but she let the words simmer, stirring warmth in her chest.
“Thank you,” Esemeray said. “For the book, too.”
Aria winked, standing. “I don’t know what you're talking about.” A small smile formed before Aria departed for the closet.
Out of all the women in the castle, Aria had been the most alluring among them. Her energy was hard to explain … Soft yet fierce, as if she could burn the world down with a snap of her fingers—as if she had power.
Staring at her reflection, Esemeray fidgeted with the jade pendant around her neck.
No one in Dagon possessed a drop of magic, or they would be sentenced to death. Any exception to the rule ceased to exist.
Not in her father’s kingdom.
Perhaps it was the only thing she saw eye to eye with her mother on. Though it imprisoned her—trapping her in her own body—the necklace kept her powers dormant.
Kept her safe.
It was why her father never knew about her and Elora. It was why no one knew.
Not even Aria.
“You look gorgeous. Let me grab your mask.” Aria’s words faded as she walked away. Esemeray’s heart pounded. I’m not ready to face a crowd. All she wanted to do was wipe off her makeup, rip off her dress, and hide from everyone.
She fussed with the dress surrounding her body and frowned.
It was handpicked by her mother, as always, but even she had to admit it was beautiful.
Tracing her fingertips along the royal-blue gown, she forced a smile.
Mother went all out. Pulling at the lavender, diamond collar, she assessed the fabric around her wrists, a twin design.
As elegant as it was, the choker and cuffs made her feel like she was wearing invisible chains—a prisoner, bound to her mother.
The queen had designed the dress this way for a reason.
Wincing, Esemeray traced the midnight, sheer fabric connected to that collar.
A perfect layout to cover her gruesome, thick scar on her neck—caused by the necklace.
I can do this. I can do this.
“Esemeray, your mask awaits.” Aria beamed, holding up the feathered purple masterpiece.
Esemeray stiffened as Aria concealed her identity. She let out a heavy sigh. Can this night end sooner?
“What bothers you?” Aria asked, adjusting the tiny jewels cascading down Esemeray’s collarbone.
“I…don’t want to disappoint anyone tonight,” Esemeray admitted, her expression crumbling.
Aria smiled. “This night is about you; it is your birthday. Do not worry about anyone but you.” Aria squeezed Esemeray’s shoulder. “Be who you wish to be tonight.”
Esemeray could feel tears welling in her eyes as Aria stood before her. She cleared her throat. “I do not know who I am, nor who I wish to be without Elora.” Her stomach swirled into an endless pit of despair.
“Oh.” Aria’s eyes widened, her voice soft. “I know today is difficult for you.”
Esemeray tried not to let her features fall—tried not to make a face.
Aria could never understand.
No one could.
She thanked Aria for her comfort. With one final glance in the mirror and a deep breath, she braced herself for the hungry lions of Dagon.
Reaching the ballroom stairs, Esemeray halted, her sweaty palms gripping the cold railing as she stared at the guests below. Her breathing rasped, the edges of her vision growing dark. “I cannot do this.”
Aria brushed her hand along her shoulder blade, rubbing in slow, comforting strokes. “I wish I could be with you every step of the way, but I will be watching you from afar.”
Esemeray nodded, understanding why she couldn’t—her mother would have her head for it. She faltered for a heartbeat. With a hard swallow, she descended the red-carpeted stairs toward the ballroom.
It was tradition to watch the princess make an entrance, and Esemeray hated every second of it. Elora was always better at the royalty game.
I can do this.
Her mother, sitting on her throne, met her eyes, and she could hear her cruel voice fill her mind. “You are an abomination.” She willed another step, her legs trembling as a sea full of masks turned to face her.
Esemeray awkwardly nodded to a glaring couple. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe, and everyone’s mask blurred into one. “You are a pathetic waste of space.” Esemeray winced, but she took another step, and another.
I can do this.
Her mother smiled toward her, but all she could hear were those dagger-sharp words, plunging through her mind. “It should have been you, not your sister.”
Four more steps. Her ankle wobbled as she took another one and another one. “You will never amount to anything.”
She reached the last and final step. Her heels clanked on the marble floor, and she nearly collapsed. She didn’t miss her mother’s cruel stare, but she quickly regained her composure and became the princess her mother wanted her to be.
I can do this.