Esme – POV
I sat across from my father, his eyes blazing with hate. The sight twisted something deep inside me. Anger and sadness churned together — how could this man so easily cast my mother aside? Did he ever love her at all? Was her "bad background" really enough for him to despise her?
"Did you love my mother?" I asked.
"What kind of question is that?" he replied.
"A simple one, Your Grace," I pressed.
"I did. She was my fiancée, though she came from… and I loved her." He said it in the past tense.
"You didn't love her," I muttered.
His eyes narrowed.
"She came from the land of Eastbrone," I said. "She didn't do anything wrong — other people did. You act like everyone from the Western lands is a saint. Don't they kill Eastbrone people too? Or anyone they feel threatened by?" I paused. He glared. "You cast her aside for one stupid reason. I don't believe you."
"There was more to her. I hated it," he said coldly.
