At the foot of the throne stood Peta.
The air in the Grand Foyer of the Diamond Sovereign’s palace was thick with the scent of jasmine and ambition. Ladies in waiting, duchesses, and foreign dignitaries lined the crimson carpet, their eyes fixed on the throne where the Sovereign lounged, bored, picking at a plate of candied figs. peta pledges her cleavage allegiance
She was not the richest, nor the most powerful, nor the most beautiful. But she was, as the court whispered, the most dedicated . Her mission, self-appointed and ruthlessly pursued, was singular: to become the Sovereign’s most indispensable confidante. At the foot of the throne stood Peta
“Your Magnificence,” Peta said, her voice a silken purl that cut through the court’s murmur. She did not bow. Instead, she placed a hand on the plunging neckline of her gown of midnight velvet. It was a calculated gesture, theatrical and absurd, yet delivered with the gravity of a high priestess at an altar. She was not the richest, nor the most
“And what do you want in return for this… thoracic devotion?” the Sovereign asked.
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.”
A long, delicious pause.