The Pledge (The Pledge 1)

The grinding of a thousand feet seemed to stop right in front of us, but Max held my gaze, sharing my breath.

“Get up.” Claude’s voice cut through the silence that had settled in the air while everyone in the tunnels watched. Then, impatiently, without waiting for a response, he spoke in a language that I doubted anyone around me had ever heard before. “Get up now, or I’ll drag you up. The queen won’t like this when she hears of it.”

The queen? Why would the queen need to hear about the desertion of one soldier?

But I didn’t get a chance to ask the questions that buzzed within my head.

Max just sighed, still not turning to face the others. He held my face between his hands and pressed the gentlest kiss to my lips—reminding me of my dream, of the kiss I’d imagined in my sleep. I told myself that this wasn’t the time to indulge such fantasies, that this was serious. Max was in trouble.

But he didn’t seem to notice.

I watched as he stood, his demeanor too casual for the situation at hand. “How did you find me?” he asked Claude, who was scowling at him.

Claude raised his lantern, illuminating Max’s face, and I watched as the light danced over Max’s handsome features. I could still feel his lips against my skin as if he’d scalded me with his brief kiss. My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Every muscle in my body tensed as I waited to see what was going to happen to Max.

“You’re not that hard to track. People notice you. One of the guards at the door knew exactly who you were,” was Claude’s gruff response.

And then, from somewhere in the distance, I heard one of the soldiers barking an order to the people in the tunnels. I wanted to know what he’d said, but his command was swallowed by a chorus of gasps, first one . . . and then another. And another. The whispered utterances that passed from person to person rose to a deafening roar as the soldier’s words spread throughout the crowd. A command that still hadn’t reached me. A command I had yet to hear.

I glanced to Sydney, to see if she understood what was happening, but she looked just as confused as I was.

Then all around us, people began to fall to their knees, and I wondered what was being said that made them suddenly too feeble to stand.

The other giant of a man, Zafir, smirked. “How long did you think you could remain hidden?” he asked Max, his voice nearly as thunderous as Claude’s.

Max looked down at me, his expression serious now. He reached out a hand and I took it, letting him help me to my feet. “Long enough,” he answered, this time in Englaise.

I frowned at Max, wondering why they were all acting so strangely. Why he wasn’t being arrested. Why they were standing there, chatting, while everyone around us was suddenly unable to remain on their feet.

And then, from right beside me, the man and his family knelt down, and I heard the man utter as he dropped to the ground, bowing low, “Your Highness.”

It took far too long for those two simple words to register. And even when they did, I couldn’t imagine who he could possibly be speaking to.

But as soon as they were out there, Max turned to watch me, scrutinizing me. Awaiting my response.

And it came. Far too slowly, but it came nonetheless.

The secret language. The fact that Max seemed to come and go as he pleased despite being a member of the military. The mention of the queen.

Everyone in the tunnel being ordered to their knees, forced to bow low out of respect.

Not to Claude or Zafir, or to any of the men in uniform.

But to Max.

They were bowing down to Prince Maxmillian, grandson to Queen Sabara.

His Royal Highness.

I turned around in a circle, gravel crunching beneath my feet as I stared at the people on the ground. Angelina stood beside me, watching me, watching everything.

Silence filled the underground caverns; hush echoed off the walls. Not even the soldiers made a sound.

My tongue felt thick in my mouth, as if it might choke me should I attempt to swallow. Or speak. The air in my lungs felt too warm and arid as I stole shallow breaths to sustain myself.

Time seemed to stand still.

I blinked once, my eyes feeling gritty. I frowned at Max, pleading at him with that stare to tell me that I was wrong, that they were all wrong, that he was no one . . . just a young man who’d deserted his post.

I’m sorry, he mouthed, no sound escaping his lips . . . lips that had just touched my own. Lips that had lied and betrayed me.

Max was royalty. That was who he was. That was why I’d never heard his language before. It was the language of the Royals . . . a language very few would ever have the occasion to hear.

Especially a simple merchant girl.

I reached for my sister’s hand and pulled her down with me as we, too, dropped to our knees. We couldn’t afford to draw any more attention to ourselves than we already had. We couldn’t afford to appear disloyal.

I wondered how I hadn’t seen it before, how I hadn’t recognized him for who he was. But how would I have? He was a prince—a male. There were no monuments constructed in his honor, no flags or monies depicting his likeness. And I had no particular interest in the royal lineage. There was no reason for me to recognize his face.

In a rush, the sounds around me were back, as if they had never been absent in the first place.

Claude reached for my arm, gripping it too tightly as he hauled me up to my feet once more and began dragging me toward the entrance.

I jerked away from him, suddenly furious. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying right here.”