Esme Adalacia Kinnaird

a thoirt gu buil

Esme danced with Dominik, oblivious to his true nature.

“So, Princess, how is Caldonya? Your father?” Dominik started, twirling her around splendidly.

“Caldonya is well, the highlands aglow with flowers right now. My father is fine, thank you for asking,” Esme nodded cordially, not interested in idle court chatter.

“I was there last winter and the mountains were quite enchanting,” He continued, checking to make sure his palms weren’t sweating profusely. Dominik never got nervous around women but she, she was different, wasn’t a brainless doll, unlike most of the debutantes.

“Ah yes your father is Lord Faudree. I remember now. The Faudree have been close friends with my country for generations,” Esme turned her attention to Dominik, her interest piqued.

“Yes, I fall in love with Caldonya every time I visit,” Dominik continued on, his nerves settled.

“What do you think of our cuisine?” Esme raised her delicate eyebrow, knowing the likely response.

“I am not overly fond of haggis, Your Highness,” Dominik leaned in, making her heart race.

Esme burst out in laughter, earning glares and stares alike.

After her sides stopped hurting from laughter she smiled with half a face. “That is the most honest response I’ve ever heard.”

“And I hope that is good,” Dominik replied, as the dance ended, secretly relieved that he remained a cool picture of grace. As Esme walked away he found himself wanting her to stay, no matter that his father-his father would love to be in the Caldonyan Royal family! Lord Fletcher was notorious for being picky, he nearly killed Dominik when he tried to marry Reagan Linford-Dover. If Esme loved him then maybe he could convince his father that it was a good match, for heaven’s sake he’d be a King!

Esme was replaying her dance with Theodore, shaking her head when his smell sent her heart racing, the way his smile sparked a thousand treacherous thoughts blazing through her mind.

“Esme, could I take this dance?” Asher called the frown from his brother’s comments still in place.

“Why it would be an honor Your Majesty,” Esme replied, entering a deep overly done curtsey. Asher raised his eyebrows.

Asher led Esme to a place near the band, so the music was at its loudest.

“You know he is still in love with you,” Asher said casually, making Esme lose her place.

“I know,” She nodded her demure head, hiding her shock thoroughly. Asher had caught her stumble.

“Then why were you so distant?” Asher’s voice hardened.

“I am not allowed to love him. My father threatened to have him and your entire family killed if I spent too much time with him, even considered him. Asher, I’m trying to protect him,” Esme spoke in scattered french, making sure no one was near.

Asher’s expression darkened almost immediately. “Your father threatened my brother?”

“Yes, I and I will do anything to prevent all-out war, and the loss of such a dear friend of mine,” Esme’s back straightened, alerting Asher that they were no longer alone.

“Asher, Reagan went rushing out of the ballroom not five minutes ago,” Anja, his little sister called, tapping on his shoulder, not realizing who he was dancing with. Anja’s eyes widened.

“Anja, how are you?” Esme ventured after Asher left running for Reagan. Anja had been twelve when Esme had left, leaving Theodore thoroughly heartbroken. Anja never really forgave her for turning her brother’s life upside down.

“I am very well, thank you,” Anja nodded curtly and they both stood, looking anywhere but each other’s eyes.

“How are you and Lord Acton faring?” Emse inquired, not letting silence drag on too long. The women moved to the buffet table grabbing small plates.

“James and I are doing well, we are just taking time to know one another,” Anja’s voice constricted, clogging with underlying emotions.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Esme dropped the topic, reaching for the shrimp tongs while Anja snuck glances at her. Anja noted her perfect auburn curls, her warm chocolate eyes and her delicate lips. They were thin as mother’s, Anja thought as Esme’s eyes flitted up to her. Anja blushed slightly, embarrassed Esme had caught her.

“Anja, I don’t mean to hurt him,” Esme whispered as Lord Humphrey waddled away with an overflowing plate of macaroons.

“Well, why are you here then?” Anja shot back venomously, shocking even herself.

“I am here because of my father’s orders,” Esme paused, not wanting to reveal the threats he held over her head. She didn’t want to burden Anja with something out of any sane person's control.

“The Esme I knew was never one to follow rules, or orders for that matter,” Anja grabbed the biscuit platter fork and served a modest amount. Esme plucked a few grapes from the fruit platter and moved to stand beside the younger princess.

“I have changed much Your Highness,” Esme picked a grape and threw it into her mouth, earning a gasp from the older, much more sophisticated Countess Hembrow.

“As must we all, as must we all,” Anja nodded, looking at the sea of nobility, recognizing so very few faces, smiling at her mother and father who were for once dancing. From across the room, Atalia Harlow was staring at her, glaring rather.

“Who is that?” Esme asked, motioning to the furious Atalia. Anja chuckled.

“That is James’ old interest, and Reagan Linford-Dover’s cousin,” Anja turned her head slightly to the side, smiling at Esme’s face.

“Anja, would you give me this dance,” None other than Lord Acton himself asked, bring both women out of their gazes. Anja nodded and walked with him to the dance floor, her face immediately brightening in his presence.

Esme made her slow way over to the disgruntled Atalia brushing a few people’s elbows as she did.

“Are you Atalia Harlow?” Esme called, drawing Atalia’s reproachful gaze.

“What’s it to you?” Atalia sneered, not recognizing Emse. It wasn’t Atalia’s fault, Esme had purposefully not been announced and worn an expensive, but simple gown today.

“I just wanted to make conversation,” Esme moved to stand to her left, taking the position of lower ranking.

“I have no time to converse,” Atalia snapped, making Esme’s blood rise.

“I thought since you were-”

“Don’t you get it? I do not wish to talk, certainly to one of your ranking,” Atalia jabbed, taking a cruel look at her.

“How dare you speak of me in that way? My name is Esme Adalicia Kinnaird of Caldonya, Princess Esme Adalicia of Caldonya! I am far above your ranking, so far above that, you will never come close to seeing where I am!” Esme spat in quick French, making Atalia lose all her color.

“F-f-forgi-ive me your highness,” Atalia went into a quivering bow, fear unmistakeable in her face. Esme got her anger from her violent father, King Brodric, who was known for anger at the slightest insult.

“Then why do you cause yourself this unhappiness?” Esme touched Atalia’s shoulder. Atalia looked, up, the tears nearly spilling out of her evenly spaced eyes.

“I don’t know Your Highness,” Her voice cracked and Esme knew that she was about to cry. Esme pulled her from her bow and rushed her to the not-so-secret balcony, just as the tides of heartache overcame Atalia.

“I, first I pushed Reagan away and then James left me for that little child-princess Anja,” Atalia sobbed on Esme’s bare shoulder, the tears sliding to her necklace.

“Well, I think it’s deeper than that. We women are groomed to be perfect and then we slip in the slightest, we are ridiculed beyond reason. When I was younger I was a wild, innocent girl. My mother, Well, let’s just say something forced me to grow up, and be perfect, but perfect isn’t real, no one is perfect. You grew up already expected to be an adult, it's not fair, now is it?” Esme removed her stifling necklace and sighed. The way Anja described Atalia, Esme has expected a raging monster at this point.

“Thank, you but your life seems much harder than my own, Your Highness,” Atalia curtseyed, her hair bobbing from all the bobby pins that had loosened.

“We are all put through only what we can handle, and what we need to be a better person,” Esme readjusted her dress and walked off, smiling to herself. She had made a friend, hopefully, that wouldn’t use her power.