Most days, they returned home looking like outcasts—orphans who belonged in the work camps—rather than the offspring of respectable vendor families.

It was kind of incredible to imagine that those same kids had grown up to visit palaces at the invitation of foreign queens.

Vannova was a far cry from sewer drains and waste bins.

Yet here they were, still playing games, he realized, as he turned the corner and stopped short.

She was there, as beautiful as he’d remembered, dressed all in black and clutching the gloves she’d stripped from her hands in a fit of anger. But she wasn’t alone. She was with Ambassador Bartolo from the Third Realm. They stood facing each other, their gazes intense. Even from as far as Aron was from them, he could tell that Brook’s words came out like a purr.

She was flirting.

Aron clenched his fist, wishing he hadn’t bothered coming after her at all. He should have known. Nothing had changed; she was the same old Brooklynn. The same girl she’d always been, still trying to ditch him as she searched for someone better to play with.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been this.

He watched as Bartolo reached out and stroked her cheek, and Aron could’ve sworn he saw Brook’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. Ever so provocatively.

He turned then, spinning on his heel, and stomped away.

xvii

I stood before the large mirror, framed in hand-carved ebony, and stared at my reflection.

“Is she kidding? I can’t wear this,” I repeated for the hundredth time as Brooklynn dug through the gowns spread across our bed, trying to make the perfect selection.

What I lacked in enthusiasm, Brook more than made up for. She plucked up a delicate moss-colored dress and draped it across the front of her uniform. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about—you look beautiful.”

As if she’d even know. She hadn’t even glanced my way since the footman—whose uniform was, in fact, almost identical to her own when they were side-by-side—unpacked the multitude of new gowns Queen Neva had had delivered to my room for the gala.

“It’s too much.” I’d tried to tell him. “I can’t possibly accept them all.”

“Nonsense,” the man said in some form of broken Englaise. “Her Majesty insists. Consider them gifts to the new queen.”

Brook hadn’t argued. In fact, I got the impression she couldn’t wait to strip out of her uniform and start trying on my “gifts.”

“It’s practically invisible,” I complained, turning to face her. I was grateful that Zafir, at least, had noticed and was pretending to be preoccupied by something outside the window. “Look at this,” I said, pointing at the sheer fabric across my chest. “You can see right through it.”

Brook glanced up then, looking at my br**sts, which were indeed covered by the thinnest, sheerest fabric known to humankind, and she covered her mouth. “I think you’re wearing it wrong.”

I followed her gaze. “I don’t think I am, that’s the problem. I’ve seen what Queen Neva wears, Brook, I think this is normal for her.”

Zafir stifled a chuckle and I glared in his direction. “It’s not funny, Zafir. It’s not. I’m nervous enough about doing things the right way, without having to do them chest first.”

This time it was Brook who giggled.

“Ooh! You two are like children.” I turned my back to them as I feverishly dug through the pile, searching for something a little more . . . substantial. “Help me find something suitable. All I need is one.”

Brooklynn’s hand touched my shoulder. “Charlie. Relax. Stop worrying so much.” I lifted my flushed face to hers. “Enjoy the party. There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow for business.” She held up a gown that fell in cascading scarlet waves and thrust it out to me.

I let my fingers trace the fabric—the nearly transparent golden threads woven through it gave it a burnished look. Yet it was so delicate. So much softer than it looked, so much more pliable. “You think?” I whispered.

Brook set it aside and reached for the fasteners at my neck. “I know,” she insisted with so much conviction that I couldn’t help believing her.

She helped me change into a dress that fit like my own skin from just below my neck to the tops of my thighs, hugging my body so closely it was a wonder I could so much as breathe. But I could, almost as if the gown had become a part of me. Strategically placed embellishments woven into the sheer material along the torso sparkled, covering just what needed to be covered, and nothing more. Everywhere else, however, the scarlet fabric was just as translucent as the other gowns had been. Except for the skirt. Shirred silk created a soft, full effect, just a shade darker than the red that followed my waistline, and ended in bold trim that matched the embellishments that covered my chest and wrapped all the way around my hips. My arms were bare, and a simple crimson collar wrapped around my neck, fastening the dress in place.

“Wow.” I breathed at my reflection.

Brook grinned from behind me, staring at me over my shoulder. “I told you. Now, let’s fix that hair so I can go and make sure Aron and the others will be ready on time. We don’t want to keep the queens waitin’, do we?”

Brook was waiting for me in the hallway when I stepped out of our shared bedroom, and if it had been my first time seeing her, I would never have believed she was the commander of an army. It would be impossible to imagine she was a soldier at all, that she was capable of killing with her bare hands.

Tags: Kimberly Derting The Pledge
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