The Crowns Gambit

❦ Chapter Three: Charlotte ❦

The air is suffocating, tension thrumming between every word, every breath. I glance around at the faces surrounding me, trying to hold onto the calm, composed demeanor expected of a princess. But inside, my heart is pounding so loudly it drowns out all reason.

Instinctively, I reach for the dagger strapped to my thigh—my favorite dagger, the one I always keep close. My fingers brush my skin, but there's nothing there.

My heart stutters. Where is it?

Panic claws at me, but I can't afford to show fear. I keep my voice steady, trying to distract them. "You know," I begin, forcing a casual smile, "my father's told me a lot about you. Said you've been quite the thorn in his side."

A blatant lie, but I need to buy time. I can't afford to show weakness, especially not now. I glance around the room, searching for a way out, my mind whirling with half-formed escape plans. But the group of armed rebels surrounding me leaves little room for maneuvering.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it—my dagger. And it's not where it should be.

A boy, no older than me—maybe a year older—stands a few feet away, spinning the dagger effortlessly between his fingers. He's tan, with light brunette hair that's messily tousled, as if he hasn't bothered to fix it. But it's his eyes that catch me off guard—piercing, brilliant blue eyes that lock onto mine as he spins my dagger.

The handle is unmistakable. Its intricate carvings wind their way around the silver grip, embellished with tiny gemstones that glint under the dim light. It's more than just a weapon; it's an extension of me, a part of my identity. Seeing it in his hands feels like a violation.

I suppress the surge of anger, keeping my expression neutral. "That belongs to me," I say, my voice icy but controlled.

The boy raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he flips the dagger again, catching it easily. "This?" he asks, feigning innocence. "I think I'm going to hang onto it for a bit."

A spark of frustration flares in my chest. How dare he? "Give it back," I demand, my tone sharpening.

"Not yet, Princess," he says, his voice smooth and controlled, the smirk never leaving his face. "You'll get it back when I trust you. Until then... consider it collateral."

My teeth clench, but before I can respond, someone else steps forward, cutting off the exchange.

"That's enough, Elliot," the voice commands, authoritative and firm. It's another man, older than the boy holding my dagger. He's tall, with sharp, angular features that make him look like he's seen his fair share of battle. He must be the leader, judging by the way the others defer to him.

Elliot, still twirling my dagger, steps back slightly, but doesn't stop watching me. The leader turns to me, his gaze appraising, as if I'm some puzzle he's trying to figure out. "We're not here to hurt you, Princess. Not unless we have to."

I raise an eyebrow, letting a hint of sarcasm slip into my voice. "That's comforting."

The leader doesn't react to the jab, continuing as if I hadn't spoken. "We need to know where you stand."

"And what exactly does that mean?" I ask, feigning ignorance while my mind races. How much do they know? What do they want from me?

The leader glances at his people before turning back to me. "Your father has been trying to fix the stratums for years now. He's been leading the rebellion from behind the throne, and you—whether you realize it or not—have become the focal point of the conflict."

The breath catches in my throat. Rebellion? My father?

He continues, his voice steady and calm, but his words shake the foundation of everything I've ever known. "King Rhys has been working to dismantle the system from within, trying to create a fairer society. But lately, his position has become compromised."