The sun had deserted the Earth. Only the snow capping the surrounding mountains remained to touch the sky, spreading their iciness into the air brushing against Esmera's cheeks.

The only thing protecting the rest of her from the wind's nip was a cosy coat she had scavenged from the wardrobe in the bedroom she had found refuge in. It smelt feminine, like light, fresh flowers, but unmistakably Milatanuran. Esmera hated how it kept her from escaping the last place on earth she wanted to be, even in her imagination.

She leaned over the edge of the balcony, staring out at the white-topped mountains and asking the stars for answers. There was none unless the mocking breeze that tugged at Esmera's curls as it blew past was a message she didn't understand.

She didn't want to be here, trapped with two insufferable men who thought so little of her. To think she had been proud of the living she had eked out after she left Stephan when stupid Tauram and his stupid friend had found it so laughable.

Esmera clenched her fists at the memory. Maybe she was ridiculous. Maybe her problems were amusing, but they'd had no right to judge her. They knew nothing about her, and they never would.

Esmera didn't want to be stuck in Milatanur, but the only portal to Arkosara was guarded by King Ruagu's men. There was no escaping through that, not unless Esmera wanted to pay with her life or a limb or two.

The goddess Jilhari had the power to transport Esmera between realms, but she had made her terms known. Esmera had no way back to Arkosara. Not unless she wanted to defy a king who was also a sorcerer who had betrayed his best friend, threatened the life of said friend's fiancée, and taken a whole palace hostage to secure a throne that didn't belong to him.

Esmera sighed. Whether she was in Arkosara or Milatanur, her life was equally hopeless.

Maybe it wasn't the place that was the problem. Maybe it was her.

She closed her eyes to ward away the thought, and the night came alive around her.

The wind sang as it dashed between the mountain peaks. Flowers Esmera couldn't see whispered all around her. There was the soft thump of a nocturnal predator's feet on the dirt as it sought prey not too far away and the spinning of a carriage's wheels as it hurried along a distant dust path. The starlight sounded like a sword being unsheathed.

Esmera went still at a sudden discordance in the night's melody. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at a creak behind her. It was closer than the big cat she had heard hunting his next meal.

Esmera could've sworn the whole house had fallen into a restful sleep when she came out onto this balcony. That was why she had dared to do so. She had no interest in seeing either of her rude, entitled housemates ever again.

She glanced behind her, but there were only the glass doors framed by wood, reflecting the night at her. She narrowed her eyes. The door she could've sworn she had closed behind her swung in the breeze with an ominous squeak.

Esmera froze, remembering where she was.

She was in a kingdom ruled by a murderer, in the land where her family had been slaughtered by an unknown attacker.

She wasn't safe here. She should've known better than to think she was safe anywhere. Wraiths from the future could chase her down. Ghosts from the past could haunt her because anything was possible in Milatanur.

Esmera's heart nearly stopped. Someone—or something—breathed not too far away from her.

If she ran, could she make it to the house before they got her? If she fought, was there any chance she could win?

Before Esmera could decide, a man solidified into being beside her. She yelped, letting out a curse more colourful than any of Tauram's, and shoved him away before she realised who he was.

One of the little bowls in the round brass tray in his hands overturned and splattered on his white shirt. It looked like a thin soup dotted with lentils. There was another little bowl on the plate that Esmera didn't care to look at.

Just a split second more, and she would've recognised the white-clad shoulders, the mussed, gleaming black hair, the dark eyes twinkling with ever-present humour.

Tauram's shirt was stained, possibly permanently, but he let out a breath and mustered up a smile for Esmera too charming for its own good. "I brought you dinner." He held out the tray. Beneath it was a folded sheet that might've been a tablecloth or a picnic mat.

Esmera didn't know, and she didn't care.

As difficult as it was, she turned away from Tauram. She didn't trust herself to speak to him while her anger still simmered within her. She didn't even want to talk to him.

Tauram spoke when Esmera didn't. "I called you to join us for supper earlier, but I guess you were asleep."

Esmera's jaw tightened. She hadn't been asleep. She had heard him knock on her door, heard him ask her to come to dinner with him and Belaren as if they hadn't insulted the one thing she was proud of herself for.

Esmera couldn't face them in that state, not when she knew what they thought of her. She wasn't even sure that she could face Tauram now.

She turned to leave, but Tauram grabbed her hand. Her breath caught at the softness of his hand against hers, at the warmth of his palm.

"Esmera, I know you're mad at us. You don't need to go on a hunger strike to prove that."

"I'm not on a hunger strike," she said, still facing away from him, her voice taut. "I'm just not hungry." At that moment, her stomach rumbled like a cavern collapse.

The truth was, Esmera hadn't been hungry until she saw the steaming white rice heaped onto the brass tray, smelt spices and aromas that were foreign and somehow also familiar to her, like so many other things about Milatanur. Like the man who held the tray out to her.

"It has been hours since you last ate."

Esmera swallowed the saliva that had pooled in her mouth. A headache was solidifying at the base of her skull. She didn't know whether it was from the vocal night or her hunger. The last time she had eaten was during her lunch break before her shift at The Buttery Croissant had ended.

Esmera did want to eat, but she didn't want to do it with Tauram.

She kept her gaze deliberately aimed over Tauram's shoulder. "If I take the food, will you leave me alone?"

"No."

"Then you have my answer too." Esmera rolled her eyes and turned away from him for the tenth time that night.

He still didn't get the message. "Esmera, Belaren wanted to make sure you got this because he's sorry. And so am I."

Esmera went still. Nobody had ever apologised to her for demeaning her. Bumping into her on the sidewalk, maybe, if she was lucky, but never for the cruelty of their words.

Tauram must've known Esmera was listening even though she wasn't looking at him. She would hear him whisper into his pillow in the middle of the night.

Tauram cleared his throat. "We were awful to you. It wasn't our intention to disrespect you, but that doesn't matter. It has just been the two of us for so many years that we've forgotten that the way we joke with each other can be offensive to others." Tauram sighed. "I know that's not an excuse, but I hope you can forgive us. Your life can't have been easy as an orphan, and we'll be more mindful of that in future. We'll do better next time."

Esmera wished there wouldn't be a next time, but she was stuck with these two idiots until she found a way back to Arkosara.

She let out a breath as the harsh line of her mouth relented. Despite everything, they were thoughtful idiots.

She turned to Tauram. His face was so open, his eyes as gentle as his little smile as he held out the tray like an offering and a promise.

It didn't change the fact that they had offended Esmera, but it did earn them a second chance she wouldn't have otherwise given them.

"Fine. Apology accepted." Esmera took the tray from Tauram, avoiding his eyes that would only soften her.

Never again could Esmera be soft. She needed to take the hard line because the last time she was soft, she had woken up on her bathroom floor with aching, bruised ribs and a bump on her head that she didn't remember the cause of. "Now will you go away?"

"Of course not. A promise is a promise."

Esmera sighed.

Tauram unfolded the blanket in his hands and spread it over the tiles. He gestured for Esmera to sit. The tray of food wobbled in her hands as she crossed her legs but stayed upright as she settled on the mat. Tauram sank beside her, sitting so close that Esmera could feel the warmth radiating from him.

She glared at him. "You're such a—"

"Esmera, stop arguing with me and eat your dhal bat before it gets cold. Orders from your monarch." He gave her a sideways look.