Since Esmera was abandoned on a stranger's doorstep as a baby, the only person who has looked out for her is herself.
Until a lark starts visiting her, leaving behind exotic flowers and iridescent pebbles that the internet doesn't recognise.
Esmera...
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"I agree that there's nothing wrong with being a barista, but it's not something I would've expected of a noblewoman, Esmera. Not when psychics whispered of her great destiny before she was even born."
Esmera may not have believed in the destiny Tauram spoke of if she hadn't heard about it from so many others, if his dark eyes hadn't caught hers and held them there, firm with certainty.
He terrified her, but she couldn't look away. He was capable of painting mountain ranges and destroying usurpers, and he could do both with the same beautiful hands.
Esmera should run. She should want to run, but all she wanted was to be close to him because she knew that no matter how fearsome his wrath, it would never touch her.
How she knew, she wasn't sure. She only knew that her fingers were weaving through Tauram's because nothing else would anchor him to himself, would fix him to the present when he wanted to hunt down the past. "Well, you've been taking better care of me since I arrived. You gave me a home. And food. We can't forget the food."
Tauram smiled wryly at that, but his eyes continued to bore into hers, as unwavering as a mountain was in an avalanche's path. "Esmera—"
"You took me to claim Jammas even though you knew that being caught in Parnakshi would mean your execution." Esmera interrupted Tauram because she refused to let him believe he had done nothing for her.
She had met him less than a week ago, and he had been kinder to her than anyone she knew. He had done more for her than the man she had been married to for two years.
"You apologised to me after you and Belaren teased me for being a barista." Esmera cast her eyes downwards, to the gleaming silver threads crisscrossing along the hem of her kurta. "Nobody has ever apologised to me before."
Certainly never for merely insulting her, and not even for striking her.
"Oh, Esmera." Tauram drew her to him, and, as if forgetting his embargo on her touch, he pressed his lips to her hair.
Tears still prickled at her eyes. She squeezed them closed as she rested against Tauram's chest, letting him steady her as he had been doing since the day he offered her his coat in the art museum he owned. "You annoy me, but you make me forget the things that terrify me, so I guess I can't be too hard on you for that."
Tauram laughed softly against her. Esmera was intoxicated by the smell of him, by the soft rhythm of his breaths and the captivating dance of his hastening heart as it beat in her ear.
Every single thing about Tauram Morghis intoxicated her. He made her dizzy in the best way, and for the first time, she understood why Stephan could never lay off his damn alcohol.
Esmera remained as she was, savouring the moment of closeness before Tauram inevitably came to his senses and withdrew from her as he always did. "You always have your hand on my shoulder, guiding me so I never feel lost. You pull me away from precipices when I'm about to hurt myself. You make me forget my pain sometimes, if only for a little while. You make me strong enough to face it again when I'm ready."
