In the kingdom of Aeziris, a rebellion is rising, but its reins are not in the hands of its citizens. With a fine string entwining her heart with that of its chieftain, Esméralda must walk a knife-edge while navigating her way through a palace of ma...
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E s m é r a l d a A l b y
I began early the next morning, two hours before the time Andros and I had decided, with arranging a shelf stacked with broken frames, imperfect artwork, dumped paintings of dead royals—storeroom stuff that made me wish like I could burn it instead of cleaning and keeping to avoid someone else after me feel the same way. That way maybe I could finish it before said deadline.
I sighed, wiping down the wet cloth over the cracked glass of a painting to reveal another face. Queen Amaya was the first person I identified amongst the stack I was done cleaning. King Darius had his arms around her from behind, hands resting on her huge baby bump. The two were gazing into each other's eyes, smiles on both faces, almost like the artist captured their natural, intimate moment in his head then gave it life on paper. I smiled too, theirs seemed contagious, but then it turned sad. They looked so in love, like Ma Orabella had expressed, like me and Aedric.
What could have gone wrong?
I shook off the feeling creeping in my head. Aedric and I would never go wrong. We weren't his parents. Maybe their smiles were falsity, their love a lie; maybe, the artist was too skilled. Our smiles were real, our love a truth. No artist would have to falsify it for the sake of it.
At the bottom of the painting, underneath the artist's signature, it was written—Welcome of a new dawn. King Darius Emsworth and Queen Amaya Emsworth. Winter, 1702.
My mind created Aedric's baby face, nose scrunched and crying, cheeks red, making me chuckle to myself. Considering the curve of Queen Amaya's stomach, he must have been a very healthy baby; cheeks fluffy, lips red, and huge amber eyes like his mother's. I'd love if our child too took the brilliance of his eyes—our child. It didn't seem so farfetched now. Maybe we'd paint ourselves the same, hanging it in what would be our chamber as a moment of our love frozen in time.
Come back, Aedric. Yesterday was too overwhelming. I need the sanity of your arms, of your strong words.
I didn't know if I should trust Charlotte or not.
"I didn't do it with ill intent, Esméralda, I swear," she began yesterday, in a more private place, a random bedchamber that probably was never occupied and never would be. Fat tears still crowded her face. "I knew nothing of whatever Lord Gabriel said to you—"
"You heard it all?" I said, unbelieving. "You saw him manhandle me—"
"I was shocked myself."
"You didn't care."
"I did, I do, I just—"
"Forgot what care means," Andros said, coming beside me. "I don't know why you're listening to her. She says she cares but didn't feel like talking to you before snitching to Lord Gabriel. She is an informat, why would she? Tell me again, why are we entertaining her at all?"
