The Pledge (29 page)

“Why my body? Why can’t she find someone else to take her place?”

The answer seemed obvious, but I needed to hear him say it. “Because your blood is royal. Because you’re the only female heir she can find.”

I frowned. “But am I really? I mean, my mother isn’t royal. And my father certainly can’t be full-blood, can he? How strong can my blood really be?”

Xander seemed to know everything, and he answered smoothly, easily, without hesitation. “It doesn’t work that way, Charlie. A female’s blood, no matter how far down the line, is as strong and pure as if she were born to the first generation of royals. Her gifts will be just as powerful as those of her ancestors.” He raised his brows, begging for more questions, but I had only one.

My eyebrows drew all the way down. “And if I were to accept this . . . this
Essence
 . . . what happens to me then?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Max interrupted, gripping my shoulders and forcing me to look at him. “Because you’re not going to do it. You’re going to tell her to go to hell!”

But Xander ignored Max’s outburst, giving me the only answer he had. “My best guess is that there’s room for only one of you in there.”

No one spoke again as silence ate up the air around us. The queen was going to try to bargain: my life for my parents. She was cunning, Xander had said. Well, I would have to be
more
cunning.

“Max is right,” I declared, snapping my chin up and making my decision. “She can go to hell.”

They were still arguing when I left them, as they tried to decide how best to get a message to the queen. Max wanted to go himself, to ensure there was no miscommunication in the missive, and to force a promise from the queen that I wouldn’t be harmed. But Xander wouldn’t allow it; he still didn’t trust Max. In the end, it was decided that Claude would go, but that he must take one of the resistance fighters with him. Which fighter was going was still up for debate.

Because we were underground, and darkness ruled, I had no sense of day or night as I made my way through the passageways, but I knew enough to realize I was aching and bone weary.

When I reached the chamber, Angelina was awake, and I wondered if she’d slept at all. I dropped to my knees as she rushed into my arms. She smelled like sweat and sleep and dirt, and I inhaled deeply as I pressed her close to me. Her luminous blue eyes belied the nights of fragmented sleep and interrupted dreams. Looking into them, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that she was someone special.

My eyes, on the other hand, felt gritty and tender, and I rubbed them with the back of my hand in an effort to keep fatigue at bay.

I glanced longingly at the pallet on the floor, at the pillows and the scratchy blanket. Brook took Angelina by the hand to find some breakfast, while I fell into a restless sleep filled with dreams of soldiers and queens and lost souls.

It was the sound of water that woke me, the whooshing noise it made as it was poured from one vessel to another. It wasn’t loud, but I’d heard it nonetheless.

I blinked as I opened my eyes, hoping it wasn’t an illusion I was witnessing: the big metal tub with steam rising from it.

A bath. Someone had brought me a bath.

Eden held open the drape that had been affixed over the doorway, while two men carried in two more oversize buckets of water, adding them to the tub.

“Claude’s back. We’re leaving as soon as everyone’s ready.” Her black eyes met mine, and she raised one brow. “Xander thought you might want to get cleaned up first.” She turned to leave. “I’ll be right outside.”

“Wait! Where’s Angelina?”

Eden nodded, her countenance relaxed for the moment. It was easier to be around her when she was like this. She made me feel the same way, despite the fact that she’d just informed me I was about to meet the queen. “She’s already had her midday meal, but she wanted to stay and play with some of the children. I decided it would be okay. Time can move slowly down here with nothing to do.”

She was right, of course. I didn’t want Angelina to be stuck in this dark chamber all day. Or all night, whichever the case may be. “Okay,” I finally agreed.

The curtain fell behind her, and I eyed the water. Never had I imagined that a bath could look so enticing, especially one in a steel tub. But I undressed quickly and slipped beneath the water.

There was no soap, so I just soaked, enjoying the feel of the water over my bare skin. I felt bruises forming already on my
ribs, from when Xander had slammed me to the ground, and I prodded them gingerly with my fingertips. It was a tight fit in the tub, and mildly uncomfortable, but somehow I managed to lean all the way back, drawing my head and face beneath the surface. I ran my fingers through my hair, scrubbing as best I could. It was like a bit of heaven.

When the water was too cool to bear any longer, I finally stood, reaching for the threadbare towel I’d been left. It was then that I saw a pile of clean clothes stacked neatly on the end of the sleeping pallet. My clothes, from my home. There was also a set for Angelina. It seemed a dangerous risk to send someone back to our house for fresh clothing.

I dried and dressed quickly, sitting on the edge of the pallet as I toweled my hair and used my fingers to comb through the tangles.

It seemed like a lifetime since I’d been both clean and rested—luxuries that I’d taken for granted my entire life. It was hard to imagine it hadn’t even been two days since the night of the attacks.

A soft tapping came from outside the doorway. “Charlie?” It was Max’s voice, and I was suddenly aware of how very alone I was in here.

My pulse thrummed nervously throughout my body as I cleared my throat. “Come in.”

He stepped inside, and I smiled broader than I’d meant to. I wasn’t certain I wanted him to know how pleased I was to see him.

“May I?” he asked, pointing to the spot next to me on the pallet.

I nodded, my expression earnest, my heart racing as he sat down beside me.

“How are you holding up? You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I’ll be okay,” I insisted, but still, I bit my lip. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Was Xander right not to send you? Can we—can
I
—trust you?”

His smile was unexpected. He reached up and moved a damp tendril of my hair from my cheek. “You can trust me, Charlie. And so can Xander, even when he makes me want to put my fist through his face. He knows as much; he just doesn’t want to admit it.”

His lazy smirk was pure enticement. I wanted to be immune to his brand of temptation, but I wasn’t, and I found myself leaning toward him. The lamp in the corner flickered, casting shadows over his face, changing shapes and colors, but no matter what dance they did, he was still beautiful to look upon.

His mouth inched toward mine, and I watched it, my gaze frozen on his lips, my breath stuck somewhere between my lungs and my throat.

“What time is it?” I asked, hoping it would stop him from coming any closer.

He smiled, and I could see his teeth, every detail, including a tiny chip that would have been indistinguishable from any decent distance. His breath was warm and smelled of promise. “Why? Is there someplace else you’d rather be?” His voice was
rough and gravelly, and filled with something I didn’t quite recognize but that made my toes curl.

When his lips reached mine, my heart stopped beating, its cadence lost on our kiss. I closed my eyes, telling myself to pull away from him, but I was incapable of following through with that one simple action.

It was tentative at first, just the slightest encounter of our lips as they brushed ever so lightly together. A feather’s touch . . . lighter even. My thready pulse spoke its own recognizable language.

But then I moved—closer, though, not away as I’d warned myself I should—answering his tender request with my own. Telling him that I wanted more.

His fingers laced through my still damp hair then, hauling me against him until we were chest to chest and mouth to mouth. I reached for his shoulders, clinging to him as I parted my lips, unsure of my actions, but needing to be closer. His tongue slipped inside my mouth, and my veins were infused with liquid fire, making me shiver with both need and fear.

Never had I wanted something so badly in all my life.

Never had I been so frightened of my own emotions.

I was still shaking when I finally turned my head away, ending the kiss. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. My lips felt swollen and raw, and achingly cold in the absence of his.

Max’s eyes were glassy, as I was certain were mine. I’d never seen the face of interrupted passion before, but without a doubt it was the look I was witnessing now. Disappointment weighed heavy in my heart.

He was quicker than I was to recover, and within moments
he was breathing normally again. It made me angry that he could compose himself so quickly, as if he was well practiced in a skill that I was not. I glared at him, ignoring the stab of jealousy that such a thought had delivered.

“What are we doing?” I asked on a shaky breath.

“I thought we were kissing.”

“
Shhh,
” I insisted, covering his mouth with my hand and trying not to think of what that mouth had just done to mine. I didn’t want Eden to hear what he said.

“What’s the matter, Charlie? Are you angry that I kissed you? Or that you kissed back?”

I lowered my voice and my eyes. “I just don’t know how this can possibly end. What good can come of this? Of us?”

His finger lifted my chin, a gesture that made my stomach flutter. “Who says it has to end?” His thumb rubbed my lower lip.

I closed my eyes, so I couldn’t see his fathomless eyes, so I couldn’t imagine staring into them forever. “I’m a vendor’s daughter, Max.” The heartbreak in my words was nearly painful to my own ears.

Max nudged my chin, forcing me to look at him again. When I finally did, he answered, “You’re a princess, Charlie.”

The world around us froze as Max watched me. Hearing those words out loud was something I would never get used to. It was one thing to talk of meetings with the queen, or to imagine my sister and my father as members of a distant royal blood line. It was something else altogether to hear myself referred to as such. It was far too easy for me to overlook that fact.

He was right, of course. I
was
a princess. In his arms, I’d allowed myself to forget. In his arms, I’d merely been myself.

“Is that what this is about, then?” I didn’t want to ask the question, but I needed to know the truth.

Max looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

I clenched my jaw, bracing myself. “This. The kiss. The reason you found me
intriguing
in the first place. Is it because you suspected I was a princess?” Who else would be suitable for someone of Max’s birthright?

He disarmed me by smiling. Then, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his voice rumbled low, caressing my heart. “I would have found a way for us to be together even if you’d been a servant’s daughter, Charlie. You
do
intrigue me, but not for any of the reasons you suspect.”

He leaned in then and kissed me again, sweet and soft and tender, silencing my arguments and stealing my breath, making me wonder how one simple gesture could be so tragically lovely.

the queen

The queen held back her smile, a
real
smile, as genuine delight coursed through her. “You’ve located their base? The heart of their entire operation?”

Baxter nodded. “We have, Your Majesty.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re certain? I’ve no patience for another failure.”

His head dropped at the reminder of his shortcomings, his stout frame trembling. “Of course not, my queen. This time we’re certain. The rebels sent a small group of soldiers out into the city, an escort of sorts into the east side. One of our scouting parties just returned with word that they were able to track the rebel contingent all the way back underground.” He met her gaze, grinning. “This time, we’ve got ’em.”

She was practically quivering with anticipation. Her next words were the ones she’d waited so long to ask. “How long until you can be ready to attack?”