Since Esmera was abandoned on a stranger's doorstep as a baby, the only person who has looked out for her is herself.
Until a lark starts visiting her, leaving behind exotic flowers and iridescent pebbles that the internet doesn't recognise.
Esmera...
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Esmera sat on the dead princess's bed she had taken for herself, her brass plate still warm on her lap as she mindlessly licked curry off her fingers. She hardly tasted it even though she knew it must be as delicious as anything else Belaren had cooked. The maroon curtains were closed in the face of the afternoon sun shining behind it, turning it to blood. They imprisoned Esmera in the shadows with her thoughts, and she liked it that way.
She didn't spend enough time with her thoughts, especially not since arriving in Milatanur. There had always been something else to draw her attention away, some exciting and important mission, some fascinating tale, some enthralling man who had broken down her walls and taken aim at her heart.
If only Esmera had spent more time in the dark silence of her mind, maybe she'd have known better than to rush into this thing with Tauram. Maybe they would still be friends instead of former lovers. Maybe she wouldn't be in this much hopeless agony.
Esmera glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was 1:45 p.m. Less than a quarter of an hour until it was time to attack, assuming Queen Ghallia and her moth would be on time.
The mere thought of the queen gritted Esmera's teeth. And then it passed, leaving her filled with an emptiness. She should've known that she and Tauram were doomed from the start. She should've remembered that, that every flower she had ever touched withered.
Jammas hovered above Esmera's head, anxious as if he sensed her agitation as she stood, set her plate on the dresser, and went to the window. She parted the curtains by a crack to peer out at the hostile outside.
The sun worshipped the angles on Tauram's face as ardently as the fairy lights had the night before, and Esmera hated him for it, that he could be such a beautiful, wicked heartbreaker. He looked away from her curtains as she opened them, but she couldn't deny that his eyes must have been fixed there until he glimpsed her. But why? If he still wanted something from her, it would be in vain because she had nothing more to say to him.
Esmera gazed at him for just a moment before her throat closed and her eyes prickled. She turned away from the window before she crumbled again, rubbing at her eyes to preempt her tears.
Where was Belaren? Esmera refused to step onto that balcony until he was there too. Being alone with Tauram was too hurtful, too dangerous. It had led her to places she should've known not to venture once before, and she couldn't let that happen again.
A brisk knock sounded on the door, the same one that had roused Esmera from the sleep she had cried herself into earlier. She opened it to find Belaren standing outside while Jammas made himself at home in her hair.
Belaren glanced up at the little lark before bringing his eyes to Esmera's. "Have you finished eating? If so, I can take your plate." He held out a hand that was as smooth and well-manicured as if he hadn't spent the last week feeding and serving himself and his two housemates.
