11. Princess Esemeray
PRINCESS ESEMERAY
Esemeray paced, failing to ease her racing thoughts. No matter how many times she strode from her window to her bathing chamber, nothing lessened.
Aria stood a few feet away, surveying her turmoil with uncertainty. “Please talk to me,” she whispered, her tone gentle.
Esemeray ignored her. She was not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. Besides, Aria wouldn’t understand. An innocent man nearly faced execution because of her actions, because of her lies. She halted, forcing in a breath.
Esemeray stared at the clock and grumbled. Before she left the throne room, her mother had pulled her aside and announced they were to meet with the prince to discuss their marriage ceremony.
As if today couldn’t get any worse.
The last thing she needed was to share the same air as Peter. That cheese-eating fool could drown himself in a pile of curds for all she cared.
Esemeray trudged to the window. Her shoulders slumped as heavy rainfall fell on the grounds. Water pooled between the cracks of the cobblestone path, and with every passing second, it consumed the stone, drowning it.
“I’m assuming the hearing did not go well,” Aria said, blowing out a breath.
Blood rushed to Esemeray’s face. She didn’t want to talk about it—talk about him. Esemeray stiffly turned and met Aria’s gaze. “No, it did not.”
Walking toward her bed, a tiny squeak sounded.
Mr. Pebbles darted for her, ears pinning back.
The sight of his tiny paws working finally put her mind at ease.
Esemeray scooped him up, sitting on the corner of her bed, meeting Aria’s stare.
As painful as it was, she admitted, “The man I met last night was a Whitlock, and he was only here to gather information on Elora.” Her stomach tightened into a knot thinking about Riggs and who he really was.
Did last night mean anything?
Aria’s eyes grew wide, her hands curling at her sides. “The Whitlock brothers?” she stammered.
Esemeray hesitated, staring blankly at the carpet. “Yes.”
“The bounty hunters?”
Surprise dawned across Esemeray’s face, flushing her cheeks. She angled her head, meeting Aria’s gaze. “You know them?”
Aria’s smile was forced; Esemeray knew that much. She had seen the same smile many times in her mother's presence.
“No.” Aria laughed, throwing her hands out. “I’ve only heard stories.”
“Bad or good?” Esemeray’s pulse beat strongly against her neck.
Aria grimaced, her white, straight teeth gleaming in the gloomy light. “Both.”
Esemeray’s stomach plummeted.
“What was bad?”
“That they are crazy,” Aria admitted. “Well, at least one of them.”
Esemeray blew out a breath, hesitating before she admitted, “I shared a dance with one of the brothers in the library.” Her fingers brushed along Mr. Pebbles’s fur to keep her nerves from spiraling again. Mr. Pebbles made everything better—always.
It went silent, save for the powerful thud of her heartbeat.
Aria finally said, “You danced with one of them?”
Esemeray nodded. “It does not matter. I will never see him again.”
Aria interlaced her fingers, walking closer. “I see.” Her eyes gravitated toward the clock, then Esemeray. “I was told you have a scheduled gathering today with your mother. Is there anything you need from me until then?”
“No…thank you.” Esemeray’s voice was soft, her eyes burning with unwelcome emotion.
“I will see you later this evening. I have an errand to run.” Aria dusted her hands on her gown and walked out the door.
Errand? Aria never left. She was always here, and yet she was gone before Esemeray could question her about it…
A sad smile graced Esemeray’s lips, eyes catching on the wall. She knew that faint blue mark. It was all that remained of Elora’s drawing. Once a flowered, paint-speckled wall, now vapid just like her mother.
Speaking of?—
Esemeray looked at the ticking clock; every passing second was a painstaking countdown to the audience with her mother and Peter.
Her face warmed, and a pressure filled her lungs, begging to be released.
She couldn’t scream. The last time she did, she didn’t see Mr. Pebbles for a week. So, she settled for a long, long sigh.
Hands clasped behind her back, Esemeray braced herself for what was about to come. The servant holding open the frosted glass doors tossed her a reassuring nod, as if he noticed her sorrow.
A gush of lavender hit her in the face, the pollen thick in her nose.
She strode through the brightly lit dining hall with her chin held high, a violent sneeze threatening to fracture her composure.
The dining hall was where the queen held all her gatherings, and from the assortment of flowers scattered along the tables and on the backs of chairs, Esemeray knew her mother had ordered them specifically for Peter.
Her mother sipped a glass of wine, legs crossed and threw her head back laughing. Mother’s already drunk. Esemeray fought the urge to roll her eyes at her mother’s flirtatious behavior toward the prince. This was simply embarrassing—all of it.
Rose-filled vases were peppered throughout the floors.
Many servants were standing around with silver platters full of appetizers.
Esemeray’s gaze landed on the wicker wrapped in a plaid, purple bow.
A basket full of sleeping puppies? Her heart surged with excitement, stomach fluttering.
Perhaps today wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Esemeray tilted her head, mouth opening.
“Esemeray, close your mouth.” Her mother threw her one of those tight, fake smiles Esemeray had seen many times. It was nauseating.
Her mother barked a slurred laugh. “It is simply not ladylike.”
“Hi, Mother.” Esemeray slammed her lips together, resisting the urge to run over and pet every single one of those puppies. She had always dreamed of having a canine companion.
Her mother didn’t meet her eyes as she glanced toward a floral notebook and demanded, “Sit. There is a lot to discuss.” With a slender hand, she pointed to the chair next to Peter.
Esemeray glared at Peter, unimpressed with his bright-blue suit and combed-back hair. It wasn’t a good look on him. The fashion in the Kingdom of Thrasher was questionable to say the least.
“Hi, princess.” Peter tossed her a charming smile, his eyes roaming her body. “You look delightful.”
She almost choked. Does he not remember what he said last night in the ballroom? Her curious gaze swept over his small, curved nose, thin lips, and dimpled chin. The last few times she had seen him, he’d been masked. He looked older. Mature even.
Esemeray cringed as she took her seat, careful not to brush her shoulder with his. “Who do those dogs belong to?” she asked, not carrying to speak with him, but she genuinely wanted to know. Did mother finally fulfill my wish?
Peter smiled. “Your mother gifted them to me.” His gaze flicked toward the basket. “They will make good hunters.”
Esemeray’s stomach plunged, heart thundering with betrayal.
She had begged her parents for a puppy, growing desperate after Elora disappeared.
Every time, her mother denied her over and over again, and every time, her answer had been the same.
“This castle will not have a dog roaming the halls. Absolutely not.”
The day Mr. Pebbles arrived was the day she stopped asking.
Peter turned, throwing her a smug smile. “I’m sure your mother gifted you with something.”
Despite the hollowness creeping into her chest, she managed to force a smile. “Of course.”
Her mother hadn’t given her anything. Nothing at all.
She never expected anything from her anyway.
Esemeray knew it was best to live life without expectations.
Expectations led to disappointment, which led to unwanted emotions.
Something Esemeray already carried too much of, and she refused to carry anymore.
Her mother threw Peter a wink. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, Peter, what sorts of food were you thinking?” Colette stood behind her mother, a notebook and pen in hand, furiously writing down every word.
Her blond hair was down and curled today, the midday sun reflecting off a stunning pink gown.
She twisted her lip. Aria was out on an errand, and Colette was all dressed up. Something was going on.
Peter grinned, crossing one leg over the other. “My father requests our delicacies, deep-fried catfish, and roasted duck.”
Repulsion twisted Esemeray’s face. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate meat. She preferred anything that didn’t once have a pulse.
Peter held up a finger. “And plums.” He ran his hands down his suit, picking at it. “Cannot forget those.”
Her mother half smiled, sipping from her crystal glass, her red lips staining the edge. Very well then,” she slurred. “Do you have any other requests?”
“Your daughter is enough.” Peter grinned, sliding his hand underneath the table, his fingers wrapping around Esemeray’s thigh.
Esemeray winced and slammed her hand over his, digging her nails deep into his skin. She bit out a whisper, “Remove your hand from me.”
Peter flicked his gaze to her and lifted a brow. “Oh, Esemeray, soon you will beg for me.” He threw her a wink, then slowly removed his hand.
She would never beg for him, or any man, for that matter. She was perfectly content finding her romance in books. Or perhaps, replaying her memory with Riggs Whitlock for the rest of her existence. That was enough. His gentle, respectful touch was enough.
“You do truly look ravishing,” Peter said, circling his fingers along her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss on her arm.
Esemeray cringed, her posture stiffening.
The queen smiled, sighing. “You two…”
Esemeray forced a smile to her mother, and stepped on Peter’s foot. What does he not understand?
She didn’t care how charming Peter pretended to be; it gave him no right to touch or speak to her with such filth. So much for a prince.
“How soon can we marry?” Peter asked, grinding his teeth.
Esemeray’s cheeks heated, disgust churning in her gut.