𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞~short stories~

Esmeralda

Prequel short story part 4: Esmeralda

"Ladies and gentlemen," Aragon said in his booming voice that made the room tremor. He was a big, bulky man with dangerous eyes as sharp as the blades that left scars scattering his arms. The room went quiet at his request for attention and he smirked in a wicked way. "Tonight we have a little special something for our guests. A renowned ballerina who we requested be here tonight to represent the beauty of the monarchy. She is graceful as she is talented, please welcome, Esmeralda."

Slow, soft music rose from the orchestra as Aragon pushed the people back to make room for the performance. Right in the middle of the circle he'd shaped using his mind control, a swing slowly descended from the ceiling, holding a short girl in a black tutu. She leaned her head on a hand that held the rope of the swing, a solum expression on her features. She only lifted her eyes when she slumped onto the floor with graceful and rhythmic steps. She sauntered around effortlessly on her tippy toes to the beat of the music, playing the part of a sorrowing girl, mourning her dead father. She did twirls and pirouettes as the music became more intense, More sad, more lonely. The crowd watched in amazement as she filled the circle with her emotion and moved as if her body controlled the music. Suddenly she felt him, Aragon, the oldest brother of the five royals. His stare was on her again, the stare that sent chills down her spine. She hated it but she couldn't hesitate or falter, not now.  So she danced and danced, as her life did indeed depend on it. And she felt his power again, tearing into their head. He wanted her to love him, to worship him, to need him. Loosing concentration, she stumbled and made a wrong move with her foot that sent her to the floor. "No," she murmured to herself, panting.

Aragon raged toward her, feeling her resistance and hatred. He grabbed her up from the floor, her light body nothing in his strong, monstrous hands, dangerous hands. He raised his arm to hit her and there is stuck, raised and held by an unknown force. No, not unknown. His head snapped to his brother, Dathan, who was walking out into the circle. "Thats enough brother. Maybe if you left her alone while she was dancing she wouldn't have rejected you so. She needs to concentrate after all." He moved his brother away with a wave of his fingers and Aragon stumbled back. "She's my prize. You cannot tell me what to do with her."

"She cannot do as you ask if you ask things that contradict one another."

He gently took the hand of the dancer girl and Esmeralda held her breath in shock. His touch was gentle. And his eyes on her were kind. Her heart melted and for once she felt like she wanted hold him close to her heart, she had never felt anything like that. "Thank you, your majesty," she whispered.

. . . .

"No need to thank me," he said coldly to her, turning away.

"I was being sarcastic," Esmeralda snapped. "You Can read my mind, you should know what I really think. I think you're a lustful and corrupt pervert."

"What did I just say?!" He demanded, turning toward her again in rage. "I said that you should feel lucky to be among the women I picked to be good enough as my wives. Yet you are ungrateful. Even when I saved you from my brother, even when I let you live in the palace as my personal guest. Even then, you give me no appreciation."

Esmeralda didn't answer. Her chest was empty. With no heartbeat and no words to fight back with him. She was tired of fighting, tried of trying to return him to his former glory, to the man he was before it all went to hell.

"Well?!" He grabbed her arm and she snapped her eyes to his. His hands felt the same as her captor, his older brother. His touch wasn't gentle, and this wasn't the real him. She swallowed and kept her empty gaze on his blue eyes. "Thank you, your majesty." She deadpanned.