The Pledge (The Pledge 1)

Outside, in the street, I heard voices. They seemed far away, another lifetime from this moment.

When I was finished at last, I studied the emblem, wondering at it. It was beautifully carved; the woodwork was master

ful. But it said nothing, this etching. Just a design. A brilliantly intricate design.

I sighed, running my finger over its lovely, ornate surface . . . and that was when the world around me shivered. My vision blurred, and for an instant I was aware of nothing but the sensation beneath my touch. Time seemed to stop.

I moved my finger again, stroking the details of the carving, feeling my way around each groove as I realized that this was no ordinary design.

This was a language. A tactile language.

And it spoke to me.

I gasped as I drew my hand away, clutching it to my heart, which was pounding erratically within my chest. I suddenly wanted to take back that simple action, that light brush of my skin over the surface of the mended box. I wanted to unlearn what I’d just discovered.

Because it wasn’t just an emblem they wore in the photograph, these men who looked so much like my father, and like myself.

It was a seal. A crest.

Belonging to a long-banished royal family.

XVII

The noises I’d heard coming from the street were just outside the door now, practically right on top of me.

I was almost too stunned by the disturbance to breathe, let alone acknowledge that we—my sister and I—were no longer alone. My fingertip felt as though it had been blistered by the flames of a fire, but I knew that it was something worse that had burned it. Knowledge of something that should have remained hidden, buried beneath floorboards I’d walked upon my entire life.

Xander was right. Of that I was almost certain.

My father was a descendant of the throne. The original throne.

And that meant that I . . . that Angelina and I . . .

The first female children, wasn’t that what Xander had told me?

The door opened, and again, I cursed the fact that the lock had been broken. We were trapped in here, and I jumped to my feet, positioning myself in front of the sofa, reminding myself that nothing else mattered right now except keeping Angelina safe.

Behind my back, I clutched the iron fireplace poker that I’d kept close for exactly this purpose. I was prepared for anything, I tried to convince myself as I readied to fight my way out of here.

But as it turned out, I was not at all prepared to face the person who stood inside the doorway, filling out the frame.

He glanced at t K glat he photographs and papers strewn about my feet, his gaze falling to the crest atop the poorly repaired box. Then his eyes landed on me, taking in the defeated expression on my face, and the fireplace poker now hanging limply at my side.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

“You knew? How many more secrets have you kept from me?” I ducked out of his path, circling the table as he tried to approach, keeping it as a barrier between us. I didn’t want his sympathy or his compassion. “And where are your goons? I’m assuming since you travel in a pack that they’re somewhere nearby.”

But Max didn’t give up that easily; he eased toward me, taking slow, cautious steps. “I was worried about you, Charlie. How long have you been here?”

“I don’t want to hear how worried you were. I want answers. I want to know what you haven’t been telling me. Are we in danger now?” I tried to keep my voice low so I wouldn’t wake Angelina, but I felt hysteria creeping in on me. I had so many questions; they were all coming at once.

“I don’t think so. No one knows you’re here. The queen thinks you’re a member of the resistance. She doesn’t know that I . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence, but I wondered how he would have: Know you? Kissed you?

I was thankful that the queen knew neither.

“What about your guards, they didn’t tell her? Are they here now? Will they turn us in?”

“They’re right outside the door, making sure no one can enter,” Max explained. “They’ll tell only what I allow them to, which is only what you want to reveal. You can trust me, Charlie. I never meant to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” He stepped closer, but I shoved my hands against his chest, keeping him away and shaking my head.

“You have a strange way of showing it. So it’s true, then?”

I waited, needing to hear it from him. He didn’t move right away, and I wondered if he understood what I was asking.

Then he nodded his head. So slightly, almost imperceptibly. I closed my eyes. I’d needed his confirmation, more so even than Xander’s.

I was a princess. As was my little sister. My father was a prince, a member of the Di Heyse family—which meant almost nothing in a long line of male progeny, even those belonging to a royal bloodline.

Only the girls were born to rule.

“How did you know?” I finally found my voice again, and Max took another slow step toward me, closing the gap.

He shook his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure until now.” His eyes fell on the box again. It was the Di Heyse family crest that should have been destroyed more than two hundred years ago, along with everything else from that sovereignty. But it wasn’t. It was here. In my home. “I first suspected when I saw you in Prey.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy gold chain—a necklace with a locket, and on the outside, that same royal crest had been engraved into the antique metal. His thumb released the catch, and he revealed the minia J glen?se fture photo inside.