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 absolutely love jam scones baked by Mrs. Clark," I moaned with a mouthful of scones and mischief. "Too bad, you've decided to go on a diet."
Mr. Clark didn't reply, nor did he look up from his drawing.
My brows bunched up in a quizzical look. Mr. Clark never had a morose morning in all the years I'd known him. But then, he never had a non-sugar day in forever.
I decided to stop teasing him. "Alright, ol' man, I won't—"
"Don't call me 'old man' like him," the way he snapped almost made me recoil back. My shoulders squared in defense, eyes wide as I kept a hand on my heart to calm it down.
Maybe he meant to say it in a playful way.
I observed him silently, not even keeping my mouth busy with the baked sweetness.
Mr. Clark looked... different. He lacked his usual radiance. His round cheeks were devoid of color, making him look as pale as the white shirt he was wearing. His eyes held conflicting emotions as if they were seeing an inevitable yet losing battle.
A constant, irritating sound filled the room. He kept tapping the butt of his pencil against his paperweight like he was waiting for one of them to break. He was walking a knife-edge between worry and rage, unsure which side he wanted to tip to.
"Alright, what's wrong?" I demanded, not even earning a glance, let alone a reply.
I swatted away his pencil and removed the paperweight from his reach. Like I expected, it gained his attention. I softened my voice this time. "What's worrying you?"
"Nothing."
"Is it the Queen? Did she reject tailored pieces?" I enquired possibilities. "Or did they dare to have stood you up at the palace yesterday?"
He stared at me like he'd never seen me before and slowly, his mouth fell into a frown. "You're not the kind of beautiful to turn heads at one glance or to command the attention of the room with nothing more than a look."
Where was this coming from?
"And even if I decide to be generous, I'd place you on the chubbier side," he looked deep in thought, "with a significant lack of specific curves."
Insult enveloped in concern, that was new.
"No thank you for voicing out the known." I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead, dissatisfied with the normal temperature. "Did you hit your head on one of the pillars of the palace or something?"
He smacked away my hand and glared at the polished oak counter. "Did you ever talk to him about your future, a marriage perhaps?"
The pronoun was a poisonous hiss upon his tongue, telling me who he was talking about. I fiddled with my thumbs in my lap, watching all their involuntarily movement. "No. He never once brought it up and I didn't have the guts to say that I want to marry now."
