Princess Esme's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

Esme woke in a bed she did not know. The sheets were warm and soft. Sunlight fell across a room of pale stone, hung with flowers and blue silk. She sat up fast. Her wet gown was gone. Someone had dressed her in a clean nightshift. She did not remember any of it. Her heart pounded. Where was she? Whose bed was this? She swung her legs over the side. Her muscles ached from the fall and the cold water. She reached for the window, then stopped. Voices came from the hall. She backed against the headboard and pulled the blanket to her chin. Three soft knocks sounded at the door. It opened. A young maid stepped in first, carrying a tray. Her hair sat neat in a bun beneath a lace cap. Behind her came a butler with a slicked mustache, and a golden-haired man in a fine dark coat. The maid saw Esme sitting up and smiled wide. "You are awake, my lady," the butler said. His voice was smooth and grand. "We had begun to worry." Esme gripped the blanket. "Where am I? How did I get here?" The maid set the tray on a table. "You sleep two days," she said. Her words came slow, thick with an accent. "Our master, 'e find you by ze water. You are so cold. 'E carry you home." "Two days," Esme whispered. She looked from face to face. "Your master brought me here?" "He did, my lady," the butler said. "You were near death on the shore. He would not leave you there." The golden-haired man stepped forward and gave a graceful bow. "You are safe now. Nothing here will harm you. Eat, rest. You are our guest, not our prisoner." The word prisoner made Esme flinch. She had fled one castle already. She studied the three of them for cruelty, for the cold eyes she knew too well. She found none. The maid poured water and held the cup out with both hands. Her smile was plain and kind. Esme took the cup. Her hands shook. "Thank you," she said. She drank. The three of them relaxed, as if her thanks had lifted a weight from the room. "My horse," she said suddenly. "A black shire. He fell with me. Is he—" "Alive, my lady," the butler said. "In the stables, fed and dry. He would not be led until we brought him fresh apples." Esme let out a breath. Tears stung her eyes. She was warm. She was fed. Her horse had lived. For the first time in many days, no one wanted to lock her away or marry her off. "I would like to thank the master myself," she said. "May I meet him?" The three servants traded a quick glance. The maid's smile faltered. The butler folded his gloved hands. "Of course," he said carefully. "But Master is only available certain times."