(Present Day)
Esme's POV
Tears and snot mixed together on his face while I raised my spear to stab again.
"No!! Please!!" the noble begged.
I stabbed into the flesh of the chicken and, in one quick movement, sliced the wings and thighs apart. Blood was everywhere, and his sisters ran to me like ducks and started tearing out the feathers hungrily. I stepped away to clean the blood that touched my dress.
The nobleman buried his head in his hands, sobbing. It was one of his many antics, hiding the celebratory hen for six days up until D-day.
He staggered to his feet, his eyes angled to glare at me.
I raised my head to look down on him since I was two inches taller. He could not seriously be mad at me for killing a chicken.
"Such a brute." he said with clenched teeth. "No wonder no man looks at you at almost nineteen. Do you want to die alone?"
His sisters gasped. I raised my brows, squeezing the rag I used to wipe my dress. His eyes followed the bloody water dripping out of it and he took a step away from me.
"You are twenty-three and got rejected by three ladies because you have the heart of a chicken. Literally. Isn't it better to not have a suitor than to try to be one and fail thrice?" I spat. "Or is this an desperate attempt at a proposal? Should I spit again?"
His sisters burst out laughing and he grew red, balling his fists. I looked down at his hands.
"Is that for me? Should I also ball mine?"
His fists loosened instantly and he cursed at me, adding while he walked away. "I am a man. I'd still end up with a girl whether they like me or not. But you'd actually spend the rest of your life alone with your stupid cat."
I turned away from him, but his words lingered in my head. Dying alone. Could that become my fate?
No eligible man in this town had ever made me swoon. My uncle had beaten half to stupor and, honestly, that's the actual reason I never get proposals. They deserved it though, and he had only saved me the time of doing it myself.
A familiar gentle breeze passed by, blowing hair into my face. I blew them out of my mouth. As usual, the wind tried to tease a smile out of me.
"That's right. I shouldn't be upset. Today's a good day." I dusted my dress and noticed the bloody stains were faint. "To the feast!"
It was the Baron's festival. I arrived just as Uncle Mark joined, carting baked snacks he made. His eyes travelled around the hall, but just before he noticed me waving, the Baron spoke to him. He turned with a fake smile and nodded at his thanks.
I lowered my hand and held the other arm. Apart from my uncle, there was no one else I knew and the place bustled with many gorgeous ladies and very few pretty gentlemen.
A sigh left me. The act of making friends was a useless skill when you were a villager among noble people and had a reputation of beating nobles.
I found a spot and stood, looking around the hall. The young ladies spoke faintly to each other and the young men ogled them like baked snacks on display. Some may have been.
The Viscount's daughter and her clique were easily the most impressively dressed here.
I glanced at the warriors gobbling down my Uncle's snacks that just landed on their table. I smirked. That was mine and Uncle's sleepless night.
"Esme!"
I jolted. Who dared yell my name? My uncle would never do that to me. My neck stiffly turned to my back, then loosened when I saw the fool.
"Levine… You!" He reached me, and seeing him tower over me made me weak.
How had this boy grown half a foot taller in five months?
His werewolf genes finally kicked in. His hair had also grown past his ears, covering his light brown eyes that reflected the chandelier above him. And as if growing taller was not enough, he was bulkier too.
"How are you doing, my battle angel?" he smirked, straightening my back that was still coiled from being called. His voice had also changed? Did I know this person? Where was my childhood friend?
I sighed and shoved his hand aside. "I have been alive and well, but who knows what would happen to me now that you're back. Would your giggly admirers maul me to death before my nineteenth?"
He chuckled, taking two glasses from a passing servant's tray. "I worry for the ones who'd dare come at you. And it's such a beautiful thing that I returned just before your nineteenth."
I reached a hand to take a glass I supposed was for me but he gulped it down, then the next. His appetite had also increased? "Just die." I leaned on the wall while he laughed. Would he grow shorter if he didn't tease me? I stared at another servant coming with a tray of cupcakes.
I nudged him. "Try them. Uncle made a new signature dessert," I said proudly.
He glanced at me and smiled. "I will. It seems you're in a better mood at the thought of dessert."
How did he know my mood was sour because of earlier? I rolled my eyes.
The servant stopped by the Delta's daughter and her clique, and the full tray disappeared. My hands fell to my side. "How could they! I wanted some too."
"Well, your uncle makes them. I bet he kept some for you and your sweet tooth."
He had better. "And you?"
"I'd try them when I visit home."
How audacious to call my uncle's house his home. I left the wall. It was about time to head home to the piles of dough-stained bowls, dried flaky spoons, and pieces of cake on the floor.
The thought exhausted me.
"I'll leave first," I said, but Levine wasn't listening now as his admirers spotted him. It took them long enough. I walked away to avoid getting swarmed but somehow got pushed to a table. I thought I was strong, but a young girl fawning over her interest would always be stronger.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a hand catch my arm before I hit the table's edge.
Warmth flooded my body we his hand grazed my skin, none threatening. I couldn't help but feel a cooler wind swirl around my frame. I felt his gaze on me, so I glanced up.
Eyes the colour of molten gold. His hair was a similar shade to mine—though more red wine. A scar cut under his cheek, and my breathing hitched.
That was the description of the Second Prince of Sin from those stories. Or was I overthinking this?
It was the Viscount's daughter, who bumped into me, froze. Her face paled as she bowed deeply.
That worried me slightly. Only an Earl or Marquess would make her do that.
I inched away from him, keeping my head down as well, but his hold remained firm on me.
"Are you alright, miss?" His voice was low, whisper. He felt familiar. His eyes were still on me and I saw his faint smile.
I breathed out in relief. "Yes, thank you, sir."
He released me after getting a response and the warmth vanished.
I sighted my uncle looking in my direction, but not at me. I couldn't read his expression. His jaw was locked. His eyes weren't on me—they were fixed on the man who had touched me. It was as if the place became quiet.
I fled to the stables, a cool breeze accompanying me. I untied our horse from the fence and rode off.
My nineteenth birthday will be here soon. A cold dread gradually slipped into my veins at the thought.
A part of me couldn't shake the tightening knot in my stomach that it would change everything. As if it was a deadline of some sorts.
"The Princes of Sin..."
It was just a story.
They couldn't be real.