The Offering (The Pledge 3)

His fingers, however, ignored my clothing altogether. They slipped beneath the hem of my skirt and traced a path to the back of my knee, making my pulse quicken and my breath catch. His hand moved higher, finding its way up the back of my thigh as the rhythm of our hearts beat dissonantly. He leaned in close, until our lips nearly touched and our breath fused.

Fire flared in the pit of my belly as my fingers clamped into a ball and I clutched his jacket, clinging to him for balance. My head swam in dazzling confusion. He didn’t kiss me right away. He just stared at me, his eyes devouring me, and the hunger in his eyes was nearly enough to undo me completely. He willed me, with that steel gaze as firm as the fingers that stroked the flesh beneath my skirt, cupping my skin, making me quiver and ache, to close that minute distance between us. “I . . . I . . .” Breathlessly I held on, not sure what more I could say.

And then, from the front seat, Zafir cleared his throat, and even though I knew he couldn’t see us, facing forward the way he was, I was sure he’d sensed our restlessness. Our impropriety. Zafir always seemed to know what we were up to.

“We’re arriving at the palace,” he said, his voice insinuating none of the censure that his simple throat-clearing had.

I glanced at Max, and hoped he could tell from my expression that this wasn’t finished.

He didn’t release me right away. His hand stayed where it was, hidden beneath the folds of my skirt, and he gave me one more distinct squeeze, letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that it most definitely was not.

max

Max had grown accustomed to watching Charlie sleep. It was his favorite pastime. Well, one of them, anyway , he thought as he grinned at her still form in the shadows of her bedchamber.

She had no idea the way her skin sparked in her sleep. The way her dreams made it glimmer and glow and sometimes blaze, like a torch that set the room aflame.

She also had no way of knowing the way those illuminations affected him.

Even now, seeing the barest of sparks swirling far beneath the surface, almost invisible as she delved into the deepest recesses of sleep, he wanted to climb back into bed beside her. To feel that warmth. To curl against her and guard that fire so it would never go out.

That was his greatest fear. That Charlie would burn out. That this was all too much, this responsibility—the pressure put on her by those around her and the pressure she put on herself. She expected perfection. She expected to make grand, sweeping changes. And she expected them to be immediate.

She didn’t understand that change—the kind of change she intended—wasn’t just about intention and resources. They would take time.

But Charlie was impatient.

She wanted to see her country in a better place, and Max admired her for that. But it was taking a toll on her. She was putting too much of herself into it, working too hard. She couldn’t keep up this pace indefinitely.

Already she’d managed to abolish the work camps—abhorrent places where unwanted and neglected children had once been carted to, only to then be victimized by wardens who’d tortured and abused them. She’d begun efforts to get those from the Scablands who’d served their time and no longer belonged there—and those who’d never belonged there in the first place, like Avonlea—integrated back into society. Those who still remained in the Scablands were being trained to work the resources in the wasteland regions—mining for ore and ranching.

She believed that everyone could be useful. Everyone had a place in Ludanian society, even those who’d committed crimes.

Max believed she was amazing. And fiery. And beautiful.

Yet he knew she’d been damaged by the attempts on her life—and by the fact that she’d had to kill to save herself and Angelina—despite her best efforts to hide her pain.

He crept closer, kneeling on the carpet beside her bed and sweeping a curtain of her hair from her face. He watched as her eyelids fluttered.

“I love you, Charlaina di Heyse,” he whispered, saying the words as silently as his voice would allow. “I’d follow you to the ends of the world and back if you’d let me.” And he meant it. From the moment he’d met her, he’d belonged to her.

Silently he got to his feet, not wanting to disturb her, and not wanting to give anyone reason to gossip about his being there in the morning.

Just as he was turning to go, her hand shot out to stop him. “You don’t have to follow me anywhere.” Her voice was rough with sleep. “You just have to stay.” And when he hesitated, her fingers tugged at him. “I insist. You can’t deny a queen, you know.”

Max grinned when he saw she was already pulling the blankets back for him. And then he bowed low. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

II

“Your Majesty! Your Majes—” I almost hadn’t heard the boy’s voice above the clash of steel, but when I finally heard his shouts, I whirled in time to see him come crashing through the trees.

His sudden presence in the clearing startled me. We were normally alone, Zafir and I. We’d never been caught training before. No one but the two of us knew that I’d given up learning to ride horses altogether and had focused solely on learning the ins and outs of battle. I was determined to learn to fight.

More so since I’d first discovered that my country—and I, in particular—had come under threat from Queen Elena.

The boy’s round face was red and blotchy, and sweat beaded along the edges of his hairline. I could see that he was panting, and his eyes widened as he caught sight of me standing there, dressed in full battle armor, wielding my sword against my own guard.