At the foot of the throne stood Peta.
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. peta pledges her cleavage allegiance
She rose, the velvet whispering against the marble. And as she took her place at the Sovereign’s right hand, a whisper slithered through the court: Did she just win, or sign her death warrant? At the foot of the throne stood Peta
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.” The Sovereign’s eyebrow arched, a flicker of genuine
Then the Sovereign laughed—a real, unguarded laugh that startled the court more than the pledge itself. “Rise, Peta. Your allegiance is… accepted.”