25. Princess Esemeray
PRINCESS ESEMERAY
The chirping birds woke Esemeray from slumber.
She blinked, forgetting where she was, but one glance at the luscious forest through the glass pane windows quickly reminded her.
She had fallen asleep in the guest bedroom of Riggs' home.
The pounding in her head and rush of fog to her vision told her she had drank too much last night.
Is this how Mother feels every morning?
I need water.
The spring sun streamed brightly, beaming off the cherry wooden floors and causing shadows to dance along the cream walls.
Now that the room was full of light, she truly looked around the space.
Esemeray took note of the delicate floral trim around the ceiling, a sense of peace settling over her.
No art on the walls. Just intricate woodwork.
Stretching her hands over her head, Esemeray yawned.
Recalling her night, she stared blankly at the wood-paneled ceiling, her hand floating to her lips.
Riggs had almost kissed her in the garden before Zander interrupted them.
She sighed, fingers tracing her mouth, imagining how Riggs' lips would have felt.
She inhaled the sweet thought, her body warming and bowing off the bed.
What time is it?
It felt late.
And…
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Esemeray yanked the blanket off her, surprised the wooden floor was warm beneath her bare feet. She glanced down at her body and frowned.
She was still wearing the dress from last night.
She hadn’t remembered falling asleep or how she wound up in the bed in the first place.
Did Riggs carry me to bed?
In the corner of her eye, she spotted a folded note and a bundle of lavender on the white-painted nightstand beside her.
Esemeray,
I shall return later this evening.
Please make yourself at home.
-Riggs
Placing the note back on the vanity, Esemeray grabbed the lavender, bringing the bundle to her nose. The fresh, sweet aromas filled her senses and a blanket of calmness and peace overtook every thought in her mind.
Riggs left me flowers. She smiled, twisting the purple-and-white flower between her fingers. No one has given me flowers before. She tucked a stem behind her ear.
First things first: she needed water—and a lot of it.
The wooden floor groaned and creaked as Esemeray made her way toward the kitchen. Spotting a bowl of berries and a canteen, her mouth watered in anticipation. She sighed in relief when she picked up the leather-bound container and found it full. Thank the gods.
She unscrewed the top and gulped. The lukewarm water sliding down her throat settled the pounding in her mind, clearing her vision.
She swallowed another few sips before reaching into the wooden bowl, and popping a few berries into her mouth.
She hummed in delight. The berries were sweet and fresh, and the shears and gloves resting beside the bowl told her they were just harvested.
Her nails scraped the bottom of the dish as she piled more into her mouth. Her cheeks flushed; she may have just eaten half the bowl…
Oops.
Esemeray eyes roamed the counter, her heart skipping. Next to a feathered quill was a folded paper.
Another note?
Sorry I couldn’t whip you up some breakfast pasta…
I hope you like Hykleberries.
P.s don’t eat too many.
Stomach aches, and…
Just don’t do it.
-Riggs
Her stomach dropped.
She turned the note over.
Just kidding. Eat all you want.
Laughing, she drummed her fingers on the island, and assessed the distressed oak cabinets, curious if Rhidian built them from trees surrounding the property.
She preferred the wooden look within a home.
It was cozy and warm. The Whitlock house was…
She winced as she stared into the eyes of one particularly grizzly beast. Never mind.
She could do without all the decapitated renshee heads along the wall.
Opting to look at anything else, she admired Layalara’s painting once more, falling into a trance just as she did last night.
The piece appeared to be a replica of Calm and Chaos that hung on the castle walls in Dagon.
Esemeray was certain she recreated it, but she liked Layalara’s version better.
The way she sprinkled purple paint over the blue, cascading down the canvas like tear drops.
“Beautiful…” Esemeray breathed, approaching for a closer view, her heart swelling. She could tell Layalara put a lot of emotion in creating it, certain she had even cried.
At least Killian had her art. Esemeray’s features softened. In a way, she still lives through her work.
Glancing at the high wooden ceilings, she hummed. Even the chandelier hanging in the center of the living room looked like it had been made with tree branches and deer antlers.
It appeared the Whitlocks were not only successful, but extremely good with their hands.
Esemeray made her way to the second level of the home, where Riggs' room was.
Opening his door, sunlight streamed through the window, almost blinding her.
Does this man not own drapes?
Now that she had some time alone, she could examine his art. Esemeray inched toward his desk, assessing the many books. She knew it was wrong to snoop, but she couldn’t help it.
Closing her eyes, she tried to recall the details of the journal he used: brown leather with his initials carved on the front. Opening her eyes, she skimmed through the piles of notebooks and vials that lay scattered everywhere. She snorted, “Typical researcher.” Her eyes narrowed on R.W.
His sketchbook.
Her heart fluttered.
She picked up the journal, flipping the heavyweight cover and reading the first page:
Belongs to: Riggs Whitlock
If you’re reading this, mind your own and close my journal.
She would do no such thing. The second page was blank. Strange. She flipped to the next page. A page full of insects with descriptions of their names and details. Some were hand-drawn, while others were flattened carcasses. Beetles, bees, and moths, but most were butterflies.
Did he capture them or find them after death?
She traced her finger over a palm-sized green butterfly that looked older than the rest. Its wings were fragile and soft, delicate beneath her gentle touch.
Specimen- Nymphalidae.
Lifespan- 2-3ish weeks.
Details- Wing span- 4 cm, white dots along edges, gold trailing around the inner body, black legs.
–Even after death, life could be beautiful.
What a beautiful way to honor the fallen ones.
She flipped the page, and her breath caught. A woman posing, perched on a rock, her arms wrapped around her legs, staring directly at her. Her long, straight hair whipped behind her as if caught in a gust of wind. The scenery was covered in sand dunes and cacti.
Esemeray recognized this place—Starfall Canyon.
The woman’s eyes alone were a masterpiece and her cheeks sat high like an angel from the heavens. She was a goddess. Esemeray ran her finger along the sketch tracing down to Riggs' writing.
Izzy—If looks could kill.
If looks could kill? Esemeray cringed. Who is Izzy?
She gulped, bracing herself for the next page.
No more women—thank the gods—only drawings of renshees, and more odd-looking insects.
I’ve never seen a bug with that many eyes before.
She laughed when she read what Riggs had named the bug?—
Biting potato fucker.
Then another blank page.
Another.
And another.
Turning the parchment, her heart lodged into her throat. It was a sketch of her. But it wasn’t the drawing that made her heart halt, it was the writing underneath.
Princess Esemeray_ a true beauty.
In a sky full of stars, she burns the brightest.
Goosebumps spread down her arms.
Is this how he sees me?
He even drew freckles on the side of her cheek. Freckles she hadn’t ever noticed were there. What else could I have missed? Her long lashes were bold, her dark eyes full of mystery.
Riggs was dangerously talented.
Admiring the drawing for a second longer, committing each pencil line to memory, she repeated Riggs' written words in her mind, letting them simmer.
In a sky full of stars, she burns the brightest.
She let out a sigh and turned the page.
Another blank page, and another.
This man is unorganized.
She skipped through, flipping toward the end, and her stomach plummeted.
Many women were penciled on the pages. Some were just their faces, and some were…naked.
Her face warmed, stomach sinking even lower.
What a rake.
She nearly slammed the journal closed when the next page exquisitely detailed a woman’s thighs spread wide open, her finger buried inside of herself.
How long had she been in that position for Riggs to capture the detail of her folds?
How closely had he looked? Every line and curve of her was drawn with careful precision.
Gulping, her hands tightened around the journal, nearly slamming it shut before a thought caressed her mind: Does Riggs want me like this? Touching myself?
A heartbeat later, her sex was throbbing, mind drifting to fantasies.
Chewing on her lip, she propped the journal up on his desk and slipped out of the dress.
Her stomach fluttered as she lay down on Riggs' bed, spreading her legs wide.
Attempting the same pose, she slid her hand down her body, positioning her finger exactly where the woman had.
She swallowed her moan, inching further inside, and allowed her arousal to consume her.
She had pleased herself many times before, but never on a man’s bed. Never in daylight. Never like this. She rubbed against her sex, wondering what Riggs would do if he walked in and saw her sprawled across his sheets, touching herself.
Would he watch?
Esemeray’s body flushed at the thought, her breathing labored.
Would he touch me?
She dipped her head back, a gasp escaping her lips and she plunged deeper, harder. Her eyes fluttered closed, imagining her fingers were Riggs' instead, rolling her swollen bud, savoring the feel of her wet, tightening walls.
She thought of the question she had asked him… “What sorts of things?” His deep voice enveloped her mind, stealing her breath.
“Many, many things…”
She moaned, legs trembling. She cried out, her body withering, sinking deeper into the mattress. Euphoria washed over her, satisfying her completely. She stared at the ceiling and a slow smile spread across her face.