Princess Esme's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

Esme slipped out of the ballroom. The music faded behind the pale stone walls of the castle. She crossed the courtyard and found a stone bench near the garden wall. She sat and pressed her sore feet flat. She had danced with every prince and felt nothing. Her mother wanted a choice tonight. Esme had none to give. She stared at her red slippers and wondered how she would ever find the love her books described. A voice broke the quiet. "I am late." Esme looked up. A young prince stood at the edge of the garden. His hair was slicked back, neat and dark. He wore traditional royal garments trimmed in gold. He smiled and spread his hands like a man caught in a joke. "I missed every dance. Now I find the one worth finding sitting alone in the dark." Esme did not smile back. "The dancing is over." "Good." He sat beside her without asking. "I hate dancing. Everyone spins and boasts and says nothing." He tilted his head toward her. "I am Conrad. Youngest of three brothers. Which means I inherit nothing at all." The honesty caught her off guard. Every other prince had bragged. Conrad shrugged at his own small place in the world. Esme found herself listening. "You left the ball too," he said. "Why?" "I was tired of strangers." "So was I." He looked at the dark garden, not at her. "They all wanted a princess. I wanted a person. There is a difference." He said it simply, as if it cost him nothing. Esme's chest tightened. He had named the exact thing she longed for. She thought of the men in her books, the ones who saw the woman and not the crown. For nineteen years she had waited to hear a man say those words. Now one sat beside her in the cool night air. What she could not see was how carefully Conrad chose each word. He watched her face for every small reaction. He said what she wanted and buried what he wanted. He was the youngest of three. He would never rule his own house. But a princess had a kingdom, and a kingdom needed a king. He hid that hunger behind an easy smile. "Tell me your name," he said. "Esme." "Esme." He repeated it like it mattered. "May I sit with you a while? No dancing. Just talk." She should have gone inside. Instead she nodded. "A while." Conrad settled back against the wall, pleased. Esme did not notice the pleasure. She felt only relief, sharp and warm, that someone had finally spoken the words she waited for. She smiled at him, the first true smile of the night. She had come to the garden with no choice to make. She left it with her heart bent toward a man who had said exactly what she wished to hear. She had found her prince. She did not know she had found her next danger.