“Your… cleavage allegiance?” the Sovereign asked, drawling the words as if tasting a strange new fruit.
She knelt, the velvet pooling around her. “From this day forward, every beat beneath this bodice is a drum march for you. Every sigh, every sharp intake of breath when you enter a room, is a salute. My loyalty doesn’t reside in my head, where doubt can fester. It lives here.” She tapped the hollow of her throat. “And I have decided it will die here, for you, before it ever whispers a disloyal word.” peta pledges her cleavage allegiance
A titter ran through the crowd. Lord Valerius, the Master of Whispers, choked on his wine. The Sovereign’s eyebrow arched, a flicker of genuine amusement crossing their angular face. “Your… cleavage allegiance
A long, delicious pause.
“My ears, my hands, my mind, and my voice are yours,” she declared. “But these?” She gestured to the smooth, alabaster curve of skin above her heart. “These I pledge anew.” Every sigh, every sharp intake of breath when
“Precisely,” Peta said, stepping closer. She was not flaunting; she was offering. “You have generals for your armies, spymasters for your shadows, and accountants for your gold. But who guards the heart’s antechamber? Who holds the loyalty that cannot be bought, but must be felt ?”
Peta smiled, slow and sure. “Only the right to stand close enough to use it. When the assassin’s blade comes, let my heart be your shield. When the poison is poured, let my instincts be your taster. You have a thousand people who would die for you from a distance, Your Magnificence. I am the only one asking to die against you.”