7. Princess Esemeray
PRINCESS ESEMERAY
Will this party ever end?
Esemeray had witnessed two men get hauled away tonight, but, unfortunately for her, the party never stopped.
Terror crept into her chest like hungry demons clawing from the pits of hell, eating at her soul, piece by piece.
Lips pressed tight in a grimace, she slumped further into the seat between her mother and her betrothed.
She hadn’t even had a full ten minutes to process what had happened with Leo before her parents announced the engagement.
If the night couldn’t get any worse.
It just did.
Words were exchanged, but she wasn’t listening, not as her empty eyes fixed on the dancing guests sweeping the ballroom.
Over and over again, they spun. Endless upon endless circles, loop after loop.
The only thing spinning faster was her head.
Will they ever stop dancing? Will anyone ever stop talking? Will Peter ever stop talking?
“Exquisite dancing,” Peter said, stroking his baby-soft chin. Esemeray fought the urge to roll her eyes. She couldn’t stand being near him and undoubtedly would not marry him. She didn’t care what it would take.
I refuse.
When her parents announced the news, she nearly passed out in front of the guests. Esemeray could still feel the weight of an elephant pressed against her chest as she eyed Peter bobbing his head to the orchestra.
Her back tensed, blood pressure spiking. I will not marry him.
He turned, his gaze sweeping dotingly over Esemeray. “My love, would you care for another drink?”
Wine, she wanted to say, but she knew her mother would scold her for it.
She took in his midnight-purple suit and slick, golden hair.
Her expression soured, bile rising to her throat as her gaze caught his shoes.
His hideous shoes. At least now she knew where to aim if she had to puke tonight.
Cringing, she flicked her gaze, meeting his blue eyes, and forcing a smile.
“Sure.” She didn’t want another glass of water, but would do or say anything to get him to leave, even for a minute.
Esemeray’s shoulders eased, her breathing calming as Peter walked off the dais.
Thank the gods.
Now she could think—could breathe.
Staring toward the center of the ballroom, limbs sinking in the chair, her thoughts roamed.
Eyes catching the fragmenting light of the chandelier, she sank deeper into the seat as she let her mind wander.
She could still feel Leo’s hand down her spine, still feel the phantom press of his hold against her.
But nothing compared to the moment when she saw his face.
She was certain she had stopped breathing.
He was dangerously handsome. The kind to break your heart from one stare alone.
Her lips parted, heart racing as she absently toyed with her dress.
“What is it that you are staring at, girl?” her mother questioned. “Close your mouth before you choke on a fly.”
Esemeray pinned her lips.
“Sit up. You’re slouching.”
She straightened and swallowed hard. “Sorry, Mother.”
Her voice was cold, riddled with hate. “Don’t be sorry, be better.” Her mother glanced to Colette, the handmaiden at her side. “Have you heard word on Lord Donnavan?”
Colette was her mother’s shadow, doing anything and everything she asked without question, but Esemeray could tell by Colette’s stiff stance that she hated her job—her life.
Esemeray scanned Colette’s royal-blue gown.
Much different than the usual blue the handmaidens wore.
Perhaps mother made her dress for the occasion.
Colette approached, leaning, but not too close.
Even though Colette could come off as annoying and a bit of a wretch, Esemeray didn’t mind her, though there was always something off about her presence in the castle.
She didn’t know if it was her big, blue eyes or if the way she walked irked her.
Esemeray always found it odd that, out of all places, Colette wound up working for her mother.
With her beauty, she could have done anything.
“He was found in a lot of pain.” Colette’s soft voice sounded distant beside her.
Esemeray wasn’t sure why her mother cared so much for Lord Donnavan in the first place. The man was a creep, always trying to hug her whenever he got the chance.
“Thank you; that is all.” Her mother waved her fingers in Colette’s face, dismissing her from her presence.
Colette’s throat bobbed, her shoulders stiffened.
Esemeray glanced at her father, who clearly couldn’t be bothered as he sipped his wine, though she didn’t miss the softening of his eyes as Colette walked past him.
“For you, my love.” Peter’s snarly voice broke her stare. She glared at him, her eyes falling on the glass of red wine and water he held in his hands. She reached for the wine, but Peter reeled back and clicked his tongue. “The water is for you.”
She said sweetly, desperate to avoid her mother looking her way, “Oh, I should have made myself clear. May I have the wine?”
“Take the water, Esemeray. Don't be a fool,” her mother snickered.
Her chest tightened, heat sizzling her from the inside out. Don’t be a fool. Esemeray almost laughed. Her mother was already on her sixth glass. The only fool here was her drunk, hypocrite of a mother.
“Please excuse me. I’m not feeling very well.” Esemeray stood, fighting a rush of dizziness. Sharp pain thundered down her arm as her mother yanked her back into her seat.
Her mother seethed, pointing in Esemeray’s face. “You sit.”
Esemeray swallowed the lump in her throat and gritted her teeth.
“Are you alright, my love?” Peter’s eyes were laced with worry. “You’re flushed, hun,” he added, barely above a whisper.
My love.
Peter set the wine down, and ran his hands up her arm, massaging her shoulder.
She cringed. She knew Peter was putting on an act.
The prince was hardly friendly or caring.
He was doing this for her parents, trying to please them for his father.
She rolled her neck, body locking from his touch.
Just an act. She reminded herself—just an act.
Peter’s cold, clammy hand brushed her forehead. “You’re burning up!” he exclaimed, eyes wide.
Oh, how pathetic. Grinding her teeth. Is that the best you can do?
“Honey, should we call for a doctor?—”
His words blended, the music disappearing into nothing. She couldn’t do this anymore. Screw it. Her hands shook as she grabbed the wine glass and chugged, not stopping until she finished the last drop. She gagged. Mother ordered the cheap wine.
“Esemeray, what has possessed you?” her mother chided with a frown. “What did I tell you about drinking?”
Take your own advice.
“My apologies.” Esemeray stared blankly, evading her mother’s gaze, but she could feel it burning into the side of her head.
Peter backed away, taking the hint. Thank the gods.
After a few moments of silence, she could feel her gums numbing, her mind clouding. At least the wine got her buzzed. She deepened her stare at a couple dancing, watching them laugh. Her chest felt heavy, and her mind drifted back to Leo.
The first, and only person she wanted to talk to, her mother had him thrown into the dungeon.
Crossing her legs, Esemeray readjusted her gown to cover her exposed ankles.
She chewed on her cheek, drumming her fingers on her arm.
A part of her wanted to wander off to the east wing and sneak down to see him, while another part had to be realistic.
It would be too risky. It was heavily guarded.
And impossible without the key to the dungeon. It was pointless.
Peter leaned over. “Tell me, princess… How do you like it in bed?”
Blood flooded her cheeks. Slowly, she turned and scoffed. “With you not in it.” She dug her fingers into her palms, hard.
His eyes gravitated toward her mother. “One day, you will have to accept me…accept us.”
Just an act.
She swallowed the bile rising to her throat. In the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Peter extending his hand toward her.
“May I have this dance?” His voice was nasally, like he needed to blow a mound of snot from his nose.
She glared at him. She wanted to tell him no, wanted to tell him to piss off, but her mother was too close to say any of those things. Suck it up.
The guests in the room stopped, turning and staring at Esemeray and Prince Peter as they descended to the floor.
She’d rather rip her fingernails off than dance with him.
Hundreds of eyes were glued on her. Her stomach heaved, and a bitter tang flooded her mouth.
She faked a smile, nodding to the guests as her mother had taught her. “No matter what, always smile.”
The orchestra played a slow symphony, each warm, feather-light note drifting from the piano, a cold reminder of the part she must play.
He spun her three times before pulling her into his chest, resting one hand on her lower back and guiding her with his other.
She could admit he was good at this. Too good.
She held her chin high, moving with him just like she had practiced, keeping pace with his aggressive lead.
They went up and down a line, elbows high. Meeting back in the center, he slowed.
Esemeray stared at his green, feathered mask, fighting to remain neutral. It looked like he had plucked a poor chicken to death, then glued the mangled mess to his face. She swallowed her laugh.
“What is it, my love?” he asked, swiping a finger over his blond eyebrow.
“Oh, nothing,” she admitted. “You are good at dancing.”
Peter smiled smugly. “Of course I am.” He arched his brow and declared with enthusiasm, “As a wedding gift, I will pay for dance lessons for you.”
She nearly scoffed. “Is there something wrong with my dancing?”
“You are rusty. I cannot have my wife dance the way you do. You will simply embarrass me.” He slowly shook his head, his eyes falling to her feet, as if critiquing her footwork. “I remember your sister was much better. It’s a shame they have not found her yet.”
Asshole. Her smile faltered, jaw tightening.
“It’s a shame…” Esemeray’s voice weakened, hands trembling. “That I am dancing with you.” She loosened her grip, then ripped it away entirely. “Excuse me.”
His hand shot out and he gripped her again, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “You will leave when I say you can. The dance is not over.”
Heat coursed through her veins. She could feel her power pulsating beneath her skin, begging to be freed—oh no.
Her necklace burned her neck like a hot coal melting into her skin.
Why is it burning?
She grimaced from the pain. Reaching down for the chain, she pulled her lips in a sting. Even the chain burned. Her brows knitted in confusion. The pendant only reacted this way when she tried to remove it.
“Please,” she pleaded, breathing shallow. Her eyes darted around the room, looking to make eye contact with someone, anyone, but no one was looking.
Peter didn’t care, not as he moved her around like a rag doll.
She tried to steady her breathing but failed. “Please, let me go.” She couldn’t even hear the words coming from her mouth.
The room spun, and Peter began to morph in front of her eyes. Her vision faded in and out, everything becoming a darkened blur.
“Help. Somebody help.” But the music was too loud for anyone to hear. “Please, somebody.” Her eyes felt heavy as she slowly blinked in and out. No one heard her. No one came for her.