11. Princess Esemeray #2
“Yes, yes. Give me a moment.” Her Mother slurred, conversing with Colette.
To pass time, Esemeray assessed her mother’s dress.
She wore a long, delicate silver gown with crystals beading down like falling rain, and rubies dripping down her ears.
The jewels nearly sparkled as bright as her diamond necklace—the one she always wore.
For a quiet moment, Esemeray grazed her fingers along the chain of her own, considering. Is Mother like Elora and me?
Her mother whispered something to Colette, then set her gaze on Peter and said sweetly, “As soon as we can get the invitations sent out, I’m planning as early as next week.”
The air in the room turned thick. With a hard swallow, Esemeray pushed down the bile rising in her throat. She needed to find a way to delay the wedding as long as possible. She would not marry.
Peter nodded, drumming his fingers along the table. “Very well, I leave at first light tomorrow, but as soon as the date is set, I shall return.” There was a faint red mark across the top of his hand. It took everything in Esemeray not to grin at the sight.
Her mother’s eyes gleamed with approval. “We will miss your presence dearly!” her voice rasped. “Won’t we, Esemeray?”
“Of course,” Esemeray lied. She could not wait for him to leave.
Tomorrow is not soon enough.
Her mother stood, swaying. “Well, that is all. I will leave you two to speak among yourselves.” With her glass in hand, her mother snapped her fingers at Colette, and they both strode toward the doors.
The nearby servants stood at attention, keeping a straight face as they waited to be directed. Esemeray didn’t miss the odd glance from the man on the far end as her mother disappeared down the hall, wobbling in her heels.
Typically, gatherings held in the dining hall lasted a few hours. Maybe she was in dire need of a nap before dinner time. After all, her father didn’t like it when she was sloppy during meals. He had made that very clear.
It was utterly quiet, save for the flow of water from the stone fountains. Esemeray chewed on her lip, trying to avoid eye contact with Peter; he did the opposite. Pervert. His new nickname would be: Peter the perve.
Dusting her gown, she rose to her feet. “Lovely meeting with you, but I must see to my studies.”
“Oh, cut the crap,” Peter snickered.
Esemeray scoffed, her eyes widening. “Excuse me? Cut the crap?”
Peter stood, extending his hand. “Come with me.”
“No, thank you.”
“Take my hand, Esemeray.” The slight smile on his hollow face was far from enough to assuage her. She knew his flattery had been an act.
Esemeray glanced at his hand and crossed her arms. “Why should I hold the hand of a boy who doesn’t know how to speak to a woman?”
“I need to show you something.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice, “To fulfill my agreement with my father, we need to start making this proposal look legitimate.”
Esemeray blinked, turning away and fixing her gaze on a painting. Unbelievable. She knew Peter was up to something; she just didn’t know what. She now received her confirmation.
Peter gripped her shoulder to face him, then bared his teeth, the bottom row yellowed. “Take my hand, or I’ll drown the pups.”
Her cheeks heated, and she shrugged his hand off her. “Now you’re threatening animals?” She glanced at the puppies and frowned at the precious twitch of their noses. Her eyes burned with disgust. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
She inhaled a shaky breath as she braced for his sweaty palms, cringing as their skin met.
“Good girl.” He clicked his tongue. “Now take me to your garden where we used to play as children.”
Esemeray’s body repulsed as he intertwined his fingers with hers. His hand gripped harder than she felt comfortable with. She pointed straight for the double glass doors across the room, her hand shaking. “The garden is beyond those doors. I am surprised you don’t remember.”
Peter yanked her closer to him. She could have sworn one of the servants flinched with his aggressiveness. “Look, I don’t want to marry you,” he muttered, “but I have no choice.”
Esemeray grimaced, his bony body pressed against her. “Then don’t. Save us both from a miserable life.” She pulled back her hand, but his hold only tightened, his fingers burning her skin. “Let me go. You’re hurting me,” her voice rasped.
Peter’s lips tilted. “Oh, grow up, Esemeray. You’re still the same whiny bitch.”
Esemeray planted her feet, fire erupting in her veins. “What did you just call me?”
“You heard me.” Peter turned toward the garden doors. “Move it!” With one hard pull, Esemeray almost slipped across the polished floors.
Boots squeaked throughout the space, most likely from a very brave servant who wanted to play hero. She knew no one was coming to save her. They knew better not to interfere.
Peter spat, “You are more pathetic than I remember.”
She gritted her teeth. “I said.” She shouted, “Remove your hand!”
His eyes went wide, his jaw dropping open. He made no move to release his grip as he seethed. “That is not how my wife will speak to me.”
Esemeray seethed back, matching his disgusting tone. “I am not your wife! Nor will I ever be!”
A hot flame ignited along her neck?—
The necklace.
“Ow…” Esemeray winced, reaching for her chain.
“Why are you making that hideous face?” Peter scrunched his nose, peering down at her. “What is wrong with you?”
She pulled the necklace from her skin, gritting her teeth as hot iron scorched her palm.
“Hello? Are you even hearing me?”
Peter’s voice distorted, and the world went quiet. There were no whispers from the servants, nor water flowing from the fountains.
Please stop hurting me. Please stop hurting me. Please stop hurting me.
She inhaled deeply, willing herself to remain calm.
Moments later, her necklace went dormant, as if her power listened. Inhaling the heavy floral scent, she steadied her breathing, regaining her composure. What’s happening to me?
Schooling her features, Esemeray met Peter’s empty eyes and motioned toward the door. “Well, I don’t have all day.”
A slow, wicked smile crept along his face. “After you, princess.”
She ignored him, still trying to process what was triggering her necklace, or what was being stirred within her…
A nearby servant rushed for the doors, his eyes wide, hurrying for the silver handles. The rain halted a while ago, but the stone was still damp.