Esme—POV
It had been a week, and still no word from Lendra on whether she would take the test to become my lady-in-waiting. In the meantime, I kept busy. Studying, memorizing court customs with Viscountess Emerald, and preparing myself for the role everyone expected me to fill.
Today, I wandered out into the snow-covered gardens. The air was cold and clean. Everything was dead, wilted under layers of white. Except one.
Snowdrops.
Tiny, fragile, stubborn. They bloomed like they didn't know they weren't supposed to. I knelt and brushed the snow from their petals, letting my fingers linger on the cold softness.
"Empress Esme, you shouldn't be out in the cold."
I turned. Duke Edward stood a few steps away, snow dusting his shoulders. Not even a cloak. I was learning that nobles here wore winter like armor—never letting it touch them.
"Duke Edward," I said. "What brings you to the Empress's Palace?"
"I came to speak with you," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "No appointment? Must be important."
"Yes, Your Majesty. Apologies for arriving without notice."
"Let's go inside," I said.
Lily brought tea and fruit pastries. Edward kept glancing toward one of the palace guards. He looked… distracted.
"Feel free to speak," I said.
"You asked Lady Lendra to be your lady-in-waiting."
"I did." I set my teacup down carefully.
"Even knowing her background?"
I nodded once.
"You're aware, of course, that Eastbrone nobility is built on bloodlines. Royal lines. Illegitimacy doesn't... ascend." His words were measured but sharp.
I looked at him, and for a second, I didn't answer. Then softly, "I know."
I knew more than he thought. I knew what it was to be born into the wrong branch of a noble line—to be resented before you could even walk. To be told you didn't belong. Like your very existence was an insult.
"I don't care about that," I said. "Everyone deserves a chance to show their worth. That's why I'm creating an exam. Noblewomen—legitimate or not—will be allowed to compete for the role."
Edward's jaw tightened. "The nobles aren't happy. They're questioning King Liam. Your decision is… controversial."
"My decision is final."
He didn't argue. Just sighed.
"Is that all you came for?" I asked.
"No," he admitted. "There's more."
He paused, then said, "As you know, your knight Benedict… he was the assassin. He took his life before he could say who he was working for."
My stomach twisted.
"King Liam has asked me to serve as your personal guard until the threat is neutralized."
"And what is the threat exactly?" I asked.
"That's confidential."
I sighed. Typical.
"Will you be starting today?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Just then, Lily peeked in. "Your reception gown is ready."
"I'll take my leave," Edward said. I walked him to the door.
As it closed behind him, Lily smirked. "Isn't Duke Edward cute?"
I rolled my eyes. "He's a control freak—but still more tolerable than my husband." I thought to myself.
I turned to the gown. "Who made this?"
"A new seamstress," she said softly.
The dress was deep violet velvet, lined with golden chain embroidery along the waist. Regal. Sharp. Heavy in all the ways that reminded me I was being dressed for a role, not a night.
Tonight would be my formal introduction to the nobles and royals of Eastbrone. My family wouldn't be there—and thank the gods for that. I wasn't ready to see my father. Or Merina.
The palace buzzed with preparations. Maids fastened the cape over my shoulders and adjusted the long train. I walked beside Duke Edward toward the banquet hall.
At the doors, King Liam waited—dressed in black from head to toe, save for the gold cape. He looked… striking. Cold. When his eyes landed on my hand resting on Edward's arm, his jaw twitched.
"Take my hand," he said curtly.
I hesitated, then slipped my hand from Edward's and placed it into King Liam's.
"Announce us," Liam said.
The doors swung open. Warm light spilled out. Chandeliers shimmered above a crowd of nobles dressed in silk and arrogance.
"King Liam Girrasion and Queen Esme Baredon Girrasion!" the gatekeeper declared.
We descended the steps slowly. Every pair of eyes tracked us. My palms sweated, nerves tightening like a string pulled too taut.
You've got this, Esme. They're just people. They won't eat you.
At the end of the aisle, Liam ascended his throne. I stood before him. He placed the crown gently on my head and reached for my hand.
His eyes found mine. My fingers trembled. I looked away.
"All nobles of Eastbrone," he began, "your Queen and Empress will now take up her duties—to protect and care for this land as her own."
The words felt rehearsed. Meant for them, not for me. Still, I kept my head high.
"Queen Esme," he prompted.
I took a breath. "I, Queen Esme, vow to look after this land as my own. I will rule with fairness, and in the light of the goddess Faye."
Applause rose like thunder. We toasted with champagne. The night dragged on with introductions, stiff smiles, and the weight of watching eyes.
Then came the part I'd dreaded.
The first royal dance.
"Queen Esme, may I have this dance?" Liam asked, offering his hand.
His expression was unreadable. I nodded, and placed my hand in his.
"You're nervous," he whispered as we moved onto the floor. His breath tickled the back of my neck. I caught the scent of spice—his cologne.
"I don't know how to dance," I admitted.
I stepped on his foot. I winced, expecting a glare—but he didn't even flinch.
"Follow my lead," he said.
I tried. Slowly. He twirled me, caught me, turned me again. My movements were stiff, but I did my best. When I landed in his arms, he murmured, "I'm going to dip you. Trust me."
Before I could respond, I was dipped low. His arms steady, his breath warm against my lips. My heart thudded wildly—not from romance, but from the sheer closeness.
Then I saw his gaze shift.
He wasn't looking at me.
I followed his line of sight.
A woman with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes stared back. Expression unreadable. But the look in King Liam's eyes?
Familiar. Personal.
So it's true.
He has someone else.
"Your Majesty," I said quietly.
He blinked and looked back at me.
"I think I'm done dancing," I whispered.
He nodded, and with one final spin, we exited the dance floor.
I excused myself for air. Outside, I sipped champagne alone, letting the cold settle into my bones.
In six months, I'll be gone.
I'll gather money. Find the right people. Disappear from this palace. From this marriage. From this life.
Let King Liam have his true love.
Because I won't keep pretending I belong here.