The Offering Read online

  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 presented it to me. “Charlie, I want you to have this.”

  Curious, I watched as he uncurled his fingers, revealing a brilliant sapphire pendant set in beautiful bronze that had darkened with age. Around the large, glittering stone the metal had been sculpted with a fine latticework of designs and symbols that were now archaic but had once held great importance to the royal line.

  More than one of the queens in my portrait gallery wore necklaces identical to the one he offered me.

  “It was my mother’s,” Max said, and I raised my eyes to his.

  I’d already guessed as much, but still I shook my head, my heart squeezing at the gesture. “Max, I can’t. Not yet.” The last thing I wanted was to deny him, to hurt him, but the timing . . .

  “Take it,” he insisted, his eyes glancing uncertainly to mine. He pushed it into my hand.

  I let him drop it into my palm, even though the feel of the chain against my skin felt like exactly that—chains. I couldn’t be bound to him, not in this way. Not until I was certain I was ready. “I’m not asking you to commit to marriage until you’re sure. It’s just a gift. Something that once belonged in my family but now belongs in yours. It belongs on a queen,” he said, and I knew he was at least partly right.

  “Right,” I agreed, a slow smile finding my lips. “But it’s also an engagement necklace.”

  The candidness of the smile he returned to me made me question my hesitation. “Consider it a gift, Charlie. Wear it or don’t. But I want you to have it. Every time I look at it, I think of you.”

  I blinked, determined not to cry, and reprimanding myself for being so sentimental even as I studied the intricate necklace in my hand. I wasn’t sure I deserved either the gesture or his patience, but I was grateful for both.

  “It’s beautiful,” I told him, letting my thumb trace the filigree design around the edges. I could make out tiny birds and a crescent moon, and a small flower design, all crafted from a single strand of bronze. There were other symbols as well, all interlocking and never-ending. Eternal.

  His voice dropped. “You’re beautiful.”

  My breath caught as I lifted my eyes to his. “Do you ever miss her?” I asked. “Your mother? Do you ever think about her? Wonder what happened to her?”

  I’d never asked him before, but if he was bothered by my curiosity, it didn’t show in his expression. I’d heard the story, about how Sabara had paid Max’s mother to leave after her husband—Max and Xander’s father—had died, and I couldn’t imagine what kind of mother would be so willingly bought off that way. How she could have agreed to take Sabara’s money and leave her two small sons under their grandmother’s roof.

  But Max just shrugged, as if the matter were inconsequential. “There’s not much to think about,” he answered. “What kind of mother abandons her children?”

  It wasn’t an answer, at least not to the questions I’d asked, and to be honest, I didn’t care about her. I cared about him. About the little boy he’d been—who’d lost first his father and then his mother, and had then been raised by a cold, heartless grandmother who’d cared about no one but herself.

  Within me Sabara didn’t bother to deny my allegations.

  I looked back to the necklace in my hand. A woman like Max’s mother hadn’t deserved a necklace like this, any more than she’d deserved to have sons like Max and Xander.

  “Fine,” I told him, a grin sneaking over my lips. “I accept your gift. I’ll even wear it now and then. As long as you realize that unti
l I say it’s an engagement necklace, it’s only a trinket.” My grin grew. “A really nice trinket,” I finished as I passed it back to him and swept my hair aside so he could fasten it around my neck.

  I raised my eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his reaction. “Well?”

  “It’s perfect.” His voice was rough, almost a growl. “You’re perfect.”

  Color sprang to my cheeks, and my own voice felt thick when it reached my lips. “You think so, do you?”

  The change in Max was instantaneous. I could see it in the way his eyes glazed and his beautiful, full lips parted. I never tired of those lips. Lips that could coax sighs from me. Lips that could make mine tingle in sheer anticipation.

  He was still on his knees before me, and this time when his hand curved around the back of my neck, it had nothing to do with the necklace. He drew me forward, and I followed his lead, my knees parting to make a space just for him. He studied my face, the way he always did, as if he couldn’t get enough of it, and I felt restless beneath the intensity of his stare as everything inside me went fluttery and molten all at once.

  When those perfect lips finally touched mine, so gentle and persuasive, my head whirled. I was both shocked and amazed that, even after all this time, he still had the same effect on me.

  My fists clutched the soft folds of his shirt as I tugged him up from the floor until he was buried between my knees. I wrapped my legs around him. I needed him to be closer, and I drew him back with me, shifting to make room for him on the settee. But there was hardly enough space for the two of us, and we became entangled together on the too-small sofa.

  I told myself I was doing this for Max, that this was a good distraction to keep his mind off what had happened today—the box, and worrying about Xander. But it wasn’t long before all I was thinking about was me and Max, and how I could get closer to him.

  I groped his buttons, my grasp clumsy, and I felt the fabric tear. Still, I didn’t stop until I’d stripped his shirt away and it was lying in a rumpled heap on the floor. I needed to touch him, and my fingertips outlined each sinewy muscle of his shoulders and arms, running the length of his back. I’d changed out of my training armor, and now there was just the thinnest of cotton blouses keeping us apart. It was a poor barrier.

  I pressed myself against him as close as I could get, basking in the feel of his skin so close to mine. My fingers sought his, and when I found them, I clung to him. And still we kissed, our tongues testing each other . . . delighting in the sensation, the movements, the longing.

  I arched my back, my entire body aching to be one with him. Max groaned into my mouth as his teeth bit into the tender flesh of my lower lip. “Charlie, stop,” he gasped. “Just . . . stop for a minute. There’s no door on the chamber. Anyone could walk in at any moment. Zafir . . . he knows exactly where you are. . . .” His words trailed away when I lifted my hips again, intentionally trying to distract him from his train of thought.

  I didn’t want to be rational, not when every part of me was begging for more. To be impulsive and reckless, and wild and imprudent. Right here, right now, door or no.

  Max wanted it too. I knew he did.

  And then I heard him howl. He shoved me away from him, his face a mixture of anguish and confusion.

  My breath coming in sharp gasps, I blinked several times. “What’s the matter?”

  “What do you mean what’s the matter?” he accused. “Why would you do that?” He rotated so I could see what he was talking about, showing me the angry red marks on his shoulder.

  Scratches.

  I glanced down at my fingers and saw his blood on my nails.

  “But I . . .” I didn’t do that, I wanted to finish, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, because obviously I had.

  I closed my eyes as a sensation overwhelmed me, something close to satisfaction.

  No. I fought against myself. This can’t be happening. She can’t have this kind of control over me.

  But I knew I was lying to myself, that the line between her and me was blurring. That she was just showing she could still manipulate me if I let my defenses down.

  And that’s what I’d done. I’d let myself be distracted.

  “Max . . . I’m so sorry,” I offered, hoping it was enough, that he wouldn’t make me elaborate. “I guess I . . . got carried away.”

  He grimaced. “Carried away? Is that what you call it?” He inhaled deeply, and then his shoulders relaxed and he grinned. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  I groaned at his conceit, but I was glad he was so easily letting me off the hook. Glad he was so willing to believe it had been his skills and not something darker and more sinister that had caused me to react so savagely.

  He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to mine, reigniting that spark that had been so jarringly extinguished, and just like that I was under his spell once more. I knew with that kiss that all had been forgiven.

  He eased away from me then, ever so slightly. I followed, moving with him, meaning to settle myself on his lap. I still wanted to be close to him. I still craved his touch, the feel of his skin . . . the beat of his heart.

  He grinned down at me as he firmly gripped my hips, setting me away from him and making his intentions clear. “I don’t think you should sit there. Not a very good idea at the moment.”

  I couldn’t help the small swell of arrogance I felt at the fact that I could affect him so tangibly, especially since I could never hide the way he affected me. My skin glowed, from head to toe, awash in the fever Max had stirred in me. I leaned my head against his arm.

  When I finally dared a sidelong glance his way, my chest tightened. Max’s features were strained as he closed his eyes and exhaled audibly.

  My thoughts flashed back to earlier, to what had happened today with the messengers from Astonia. Shame flushed my cheeks as I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Max. You’re right. This isn’t the time or place. There are far more important matters than . . .” I glanced at him again, a different kind of flush spreading over me, and I grimaced. “Kissing.”

  Max grinned over at me, his arm dropping heavily around my shoulder. The gesture was chaste, and I realized he was still struggling with his control. “Damn, Charlie. There’s nothing wrong with kissing,” he muttered, pressing his lips to the top of my head and sighing. “But we do need to figure some things out. Brook’s ready to fire the first shot. She’s tired of diplomacy. In her mind the war’s inevitable. In fact, to hear her tell it, it’s already begun.”

  I already knew as much. Despite our differences—or rather, despite the fact that Brook was still keeping me at arm’s length—I knew her feelings on the matter. She believed I’d been too lenient when we’d discovered that Queen Elena had infiltrated our country with her spies. The fact that one of them had turned out to be Brook’s own father had only galled her more, spurring her desire for vengeance against the Astonian queen.

  Now this with Xander . . .

  “What do you think, Max? Xander was—” I stopped midsentence and corrected myself. We had no way of knowing whether Xander was dead or not. “Is your brother. What do you think we should do?”

  Max didn’t hesitate. He’d already considered this matter. “It’s not about whether he’s my brother or not. It’s not about Xander at all. It’s about whether peace can be reached. Xander believed it was possible—”

  “But look where that got him.” It was Brook who’d interrupted him, startling me, and I shot upright. I guess my “private place” wasn’t as private as I’d assumed it was.

  I glanced at Max, who didn’t seem to notice that he was still shirtless. He stretched his arms casually across the back of the settee, leaning back as if he didn’t have a care in the world, even though we all knew we were discussing whether or not to go to war. “Xander knew the risks when he went,” Max retorted. “Besides, we can’t be certain it was really Elena who sent us that message. What if it’s a
ploy to incite a war between our nations? What if some outside force is behind this?”

  Brook strode forward, her boots kicking up dirt as she stomped across the chamber. She plopped down on a stack of crates, settled on the edge of them and leaned forward, her eyes filled with fervor. “We both know this was her doing, and Xander was a fool to believe that Elena has any integrity. You know it too, don’t you, Charlie?” Her eyes met mine, and something about the way she said my name and not “Your Majesty” made me hesitate. I wanted to open up to her, right then and there, about the message, but I stopped myself.

  Because I still didn’t know where she and I stood.

  I longed for us to go back to the way we used to be, to when we were friends and I could trust her to keep me safe.

  That wasn’t entirely fair, though. We might not be friends anymore, but I could still trust Brook. I knew as much as I stared into her bottomless brown eyes. She was still loyal. To me. And to Ludania.

  “Who else could it have been? They were her messengers.” I didn’t mention the letter I’d found, the one with her unmistakable red seal.

  She gave me a quick nod, and I realized it was a start. Not a smile, but an acknowledgment that she was still with me.

  Brook stood abruptly. “That’s it, then. My forces have been ready for weeks. I can send word and have units deploying by dawn. We can have our first troops at her border within a day.”

  I stood too, already shaking my head, unwilling to accept that this was the only option. I couldn’t let others risk their lives when there was still a solution remaining, even if I couldn’t share with them what that solution was. “Not yet. Let me have some more time to think.” I looked at each of them, first at her and then at Max. “And I guess I need to start looking for a new place to be alone.”