The Offering (The Pledge 3)

So, I could fight. What did I really plan to do with that skill now that I had it?

I shrugged, biting my lip and stuffing down the desire to tell him yes, that I would like nothing more in the entire world than to fight, to prove my mettle in battle. “Of course not,” I said quietly instead, my words feeling like a betrayal of my own heart. “What good would a queen be on the battlefield?”

III

When winter had first settled over our region, and the palace grounds—the gardens and the calm, canopied woodlands surrounding the estates—had become too cold and inhospitable as an escape from the duties that sometimes overwhelmed me, I’d gone in search of a new place where I could be alone with my thoughts. I’d scoured the castle, spending hour after hour, long after the others had retired for the night, combing hallways and searching chambers and passageways—even those that were hidden behind the walls and beneath the floors—until I’d finally found a space. One where I felt safe, and free to be myself.

Now, alone in one of many dank underground storage chambers that were brimming with crates and paintings and musty furniture from dynasties long forgotten, I curled myself tightly into the corner of a settee that I’d rescued from the treasures that had been carelessly packed in on top of one another. To me, these vaults were wondrous. Treasure troves that I’d spent days on end exploring, as I’d unearthed relics and art and—yes—junk, too. But incredibly fascinating and thought-provoking junk.

Once, I’d uncovered an intricate glass sculpture of a colorful bird with plumes as varied as a sunrise, while in yet another crate, I’d discovered a gorgeous drawing of the sea, with sandy knolls and great, frothy waves—a place that seemed mythical, despite the knowledge that it existed. More often than not, however, the crates were simply filled with garbage, rotting mounds of molded papers that might have been something once but now just stank as they decomposed.

It had taken me several of these expeditions to choose this particular room to make my own, and many hours more to rescue the settee from the wreckage once I’d realized it smelled the least like mildew and still had most of its cushions intact. I’d positioned it just so in front of a carved wooden table—another rescued treasure—with feet like lion’s claws. I’d arranged candles in holders of varying sizes and materials—ornate irons, heavy carved woods, and golden gilts from indefinable eras—all over the table’s surface to stave off the blackness that seemed to engulf everything belowground.

I stared at the portraits I’d gathered, my own private gallery. I had no idea who these women were, but there was something haunting about their images, especially in the candlelight that flickered and danced over the brush-stroked surfaces. As always when I studied their faces, I was keenly aware that these were likely rulers who had come before me, presiding over Ludania in succession, only to be swallowed up by Sabara.

Sabara, of course, heard my musings. And not one was half as fortunate as you, Charlaina. You, it seems, have swallowed me.

I grimaced at her words. I could’ve been happy with my lot in life, as a vendor’s daughter, but I was a different person now, and I was still getting to know the new me. I wasn’t just a queen, or a vessel to carry Sabara from one place to another, or even someone’s daughter. I was unsure, exactly, who I was, or who I would turn out to be. I was still growing and changing. Evolving.

“There you are.” The low timbre of Max’s voice interrupted my thoughts and made me forget Sabara altogether. His words were muffled by the damp stone that encircled us, and they sent a shiver along my spine that had nothing at all to do with the chill of the room. “Zafir said you’d slipped away again. He said you needed to be alone. I hope it wasn’t because of me.”

I knew Zafir’s confidence in letting me stray had nothing to do with my newly developed fighting skills but more to do with the fact that he knew exactly where I was, even when he pretended to turn a blind eye. Knowing I was simply seeking a few moments’ respite within the palace walls made it easier for him to give me the space I so desperately craved.

Frowning, I picked at a stray thread of the ancient fabric on the arm of the settee. “Why would you think it had anything to do with you?” I didn’t want him to see how close he was to the truth. It bothered me that he’d questioned my need to train in the art of battle. I’d felt mocked for my desire to be something other than a girl wearing a crown.

The candles shivered as Max approached, casting new and different shadows over the worn woven rug I’d positioned on the slab of stone beneath our feet. He knelt on the floor before me, putting his finger just beneath my chin but not forcing it up. “Charlie, please. It’s me. You don’t have to pretend.” His eyes, when I finally dared meet them, were liquid gunmetal that brimmed with so much reassurance, they were hard to ignore. “I’m a horse’s ass, of course.” He smiled then, and I did too. Partly because he was right, partly because he was so damned beautiful.

“You sort of are,” I agreed, nodding, and that scant motion brought me just the slightest degree closer to him. My pulse fluttered as he leaned closer to me as well.

“I should never have questioned your motives.” I could taste his breath, warm against my lips. His scent made it hard to concentrate, as suddenly all these words seemed pointless, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted him to close the gap and kiss me already. “You can do anything you want to do. You’ve proven it time and time again.” When he paused, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, then held it out to me. “Charlie, I want you to have this.”