12. Princess Esemeray #2
Esemeray’s limbs shook, and her skin blanched. The wind drifted, and she coughed. Definitely a cigar. With careful movements, she pressed herself against the stonewall, waiting for the servant to emerge from the castle door.
Any second now.
The servant banged on his chest, coughing, and waving his hand in the air, most likely to clear the cloud he just puffed out. He walked toward the bird bath, splashing water on his face, and in his mouth…
Gross.
Esemeray tilted her head, staring at the servant with disgust. Does he not know how much bird feces were floating in there half the time? Maybe he will be the one to serve Peter tonight. She smiled at the thought. Serves Peter right.
The servant strode back into the castle doors.
Sucking on the corner of her lip, she crouched, careful not to crush Mr. Pebbles in her pocket. When he peeked his head out, his whiskers twitched anxiously. “Bad idea,” Mr. Pebbles seemed to warn, before springing back into her pocket and curling into a ball.
She bit down, copper flooding her tongue.
The gravel dug into her palms, cutting into her knees—sharp and incessant.
She had to stay hidden and out of sight from the window, though part of her wanted to see what they were doing without her.
She knew she shouldn’t look. She knew it would only hurt her.
Unable to fight the urge, she glanced through the glass, eyeing her mother laughing with Peter. Her breath caught, betrayal flushing her face. Her mother’s eyes were so soft and full of love. The way the edges of her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled.
Pure. Real. The way she always wished she’d look at her.
Esemeray exhaled, chewing on her lip. Never in a million years.
Peter threw her mother a wink, and she reached for his arm, stroking him with her nails.
A small gasp escaped Esemeray’s throat. Never mind.
Disgust crashed through her like a tidal wave, leaving confusion in its wake.
Her father was not sitting where he usually sat.
Esemeray’s brows bunched. It is a bit late for a meeting.
Pulling her gaze away, Esemeray crept, unseen, along the beige cobblestone wall.
All the viny foliage provided a decent cover until she reached the garden steps.
The castle had been built on a very steep hill, and the stables just happened to be at the bottom.
She shook her head. “Of course…” Esemeray dipped her chin, staring at her blue slippers.
“Should have chosen different footwear…”
She descended the stone steps, her legs trembling over the cracked foundation. She almost tripped as she reached the last step, stumbling along the lawn.
Glancing toward the entrance, she hummed. Typically, a few guards patrolled the castle gates at all times. Right now, there were none, and she wasn’t about to question her luck.
Delaying a second, she ran, her too-thin thighs groaning with every sprint, but she willed her legs to move faster.
It had been a long while since she had last run; heck, it had been a long while since she had been this far outside alone.
After Elora went missing, her parents made it nearly impossible for her.
Small squeaks sounded from her pocket. She cradled Mr. Pebbles to her side and continued on.
Esemeray reached the stables and braced herself on the wooden siding. She stood there for a few minutes, gulping in as much oxygen as her lungs would allow, wiping her brow with her sleeve.
Finally calm, she slid open the doors softly, careful not to make a sound. It was nearly pitch black. She inhaled with a grimace, cedar pine mingling with horse manure stinging her nose. Who covered the windows with a tarp?
Brows bunching, her face twisted as a woman’s moan ripped through the stables. Is she hurt? She followed the cries, squinting her eyes to get a clearer view. She almost gasped at the sight of two figures, naked, making love.
Is it Aria and the captain?
Esemeray knew she shouldn’t look, but her curiosity sparked.
She ducked, inching closer, peeking her head around the stable door.
She slammed her hand over her mouth with distaste at the promiscuous, sloppy encounter.
Instead of the cherry-red hair she had hoped to find, this woman’s hair was golden blond.
Her curls bounced, beads of sweat dripping down the curve of her spine. The woman moaned, “You feel…so good.”
She knew that voice and who it belonged to.
Colette.
But who was the man she was grinding her hips against? The man with hungry hands gripped on her ass, guiding her up and down with every powerful thrust.
She hadn’t been aware that Colette had a lover in the castle. How could she when she was with her mother at all times? Apparently not today.
Esemeray braced herself on the wooden stable and balanced on a haystack. It was difficult to make out who the man was with the position of Colette’s arched back. If Colette could just move an inch to the right, and maybe, just maybe, she could make out his face.
“Harder!” Colette yelped, rocking her hips violently. “Fuck me harder!”
Blood flooded Esemeray’s cheeks with embarrassment, but she continued watching.
She needed to know who the man was and why he sounded so familiar.
There was a flash of gold on his ring finger and a tattoo of a lion crest on the man’s knee.
But that zig-zag scar above the ink…she’d seen that scar a hundred times.
Her stomach sank lower than the ocean floor of the Obsidian Sea.
Colette wasn’t riding any man—she was riding the king.
Her father.
Esemeray slammed her eyes shut, and with shaky arms, she brought herself down, almost losing balance. Feeling acrid bile rise, she forced it down with a hard swallow.
Does my mother know about this?
Holding her breath, she carefully tip-toed toward the doors without making a sound, slipping through the gap without bothering to close it. She inhaled deeply, horribly failing to catch a full breath.
She made it ten steps before her knees slammed hard into the ground. She fisted the dirt and grass, desperate to take one breath—just one. She could feel the sheer pressure of the dirt embedding beneath her nails as she dug harder into the soil.
She gasped, air rushing down her throat and filling her chest. Fire erupted, searing her neck. She swallowed her screams as her vicious pendant glowed red.
Mr. Pebbles thrashed, clawing out of her pocket and scratching at the top of her hand. It was as if the mouse endured the pain with her.
“Please stop hurting me. Please stop hurting me. Please stop hurting me,” Esemeray murmured, begging the power within her.
The pendant soon felt like ice, soothing the burn along her skin.
Slowly, she stared down at the once jade gem, now nothing more than a hollow swirling mist. Esemeray blinked, hardly understanding, refusing to believe her necklace had gone dormant.
The first time in eleven years, with one hard tug, she ripped the necklace off.
And then she could feel the aggressive rupture in her veins, the thrumming beneath her skin.
Her power.