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“Back to reality,” she said. “Right now, that’s on the other side of the castle, just above the servants’ quarter, on the other side of the nursery. Come find me when you come to your senses.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
She was ruined. Esme understood how a kiss would ruin girls in the Victorian age. How being caught out on a balcony alone with a gentleman was grounds for instant matrimony. She wished she could suffer the consequences of marriage. To leg-shackle Leo into a wedding and have him kiss her like that every night and then on into the day and another taste at lunch.
But they hadn’t been caught. Then she had walked away. And he hadn’t come.
Not later that night. Not early the next morning. Not at all.
Because she wasn’t good enough. Her blood wasn’t royal blue. Just her shirt collar. Esme tugged at the collar of her blouse and dabbed the corner of her eyes with the fabric.
He’d taken just a taste of her, he said. Just a sip to know what it would be like. A morsel to savor in his mind for the rest of his life.
She should’ve been flattered after he’d uttered those words under the moonlight. But she was devastated and bereft in the bright light of a new day.
And teary. Her eyes burned. Her vision fogged. Her nose itched.
Was something burning?
In answer, the pan she had been minding went from smoking hot to engulfed in fire. Esme reached for the pan’s handle. Luckily, before her bare hand could reach the metal, a mitten-clad hand swatted her away in the nick of time before she could add third-degree burns to the list of her complaints.
Jan tossed salt into the pan, ruining the mixture. Then she clamped a lid over top of it. “Esmeralda, why don’t you take a break."
Jan never called Esme by her full first name unless she was exasperated. It was the day of the pie competition; the reason they were there. Esme was meant to be a help, but she was making a mess.
“No, I’m not abandoning you during your time of need,” Esme insisted.
“You’re not helping, sweetie. The way you’re going, you’ll burn the castle down.”
Would a kitchen fire bring Leo down to this level of the castle? Perhaps he’d come to her rescue again if she destroyed a wing of his home. But no, she couldn’t add arson to her list of failings. And so, she took off her apron and headed out of the kitchens.
But once outside the kitchens, she didn’t know which way to turn. Esme looked up at the vaulted ceilings of the palatial estate. For the first time since her stay, she noticed the cracked paint on the walls, a few tiles were missing here and there, and the draft along the corridor told her that new windows would be a welcome addition.
The facade of the castle was the stuff of dreams, but she wanted the reality. She didn’t want to be secluded in a high tower. She didn’t want to be a damsel in distress. She wanted to pick up a sword and go and charge ahead and take back her king.
This tale didn’t need a hero. It needed a heroine. Leo was the one being forced into a marriage he didn’t want because of duty. But that’s not how the fairytales went.
Esme marched up to the first group of people she saw. They were dressed in the uniforms of the maid staff. “Excuse me? Would you happen to know where the king is at this moment?”
“Likely in his office, ma’am.”
Esme nodded. “And which way is that?”
“East wing, second floor.” The maid pointed.
Esme picked up her feet and marched on. Determination in her strides. Dragons guarded treasure. Witches cast spells. Parents imposed harsh rules. Knights in shining armor came to the rescue. In this story, Esme would come to the rescue. She knew enough stories to make this work.
The trek to the east wing was long. Once there, she faced her first obstacle. Instead of dragons or witches, there stood a single guard at the door of Leo’s office.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “You can’t go in there.”
“I just need a word with the king,” she said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but it’s gravely important.”
The man looked unmoved.
