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.”

“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.”

“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.

A long, delicious pause.

Then the Sovereign laughed—a real, unguarded laugh that startled the court more than the pledge itself. “Rise, Peta. Your allegiance is… accepted.”