The Crowns Gambit

❦ Chapter Five: Charlotte ❦

I walk away from Elliot, my mind reeling, each step heavy with the weight of what I've just learned. My father—the leader of a rebellion? The thought keeps looping through my mind, over and over again, like I'm stuck in some nightmare I can't wake up from. How could I not have known? How could I have been so blind?

And worse—me as the leverage? The threat that compromised everything?

I glance around the room, taking in the scattered group of rebels, each one seemingly absorbed in their own thoughts, their own plans. They're watching me, I know it, but they're keeping their distance for now. Every step I take feels like it's being tracked, every movement calculated. I need to stay calm, but it's getting harder to breathe, harder to think.

Stay in control, Charlotte. You're a princess. You've dealt with worse.

I replay Marek's words in my mind—about the collapsing stratums, the kingdom on the edge of ruin, the rebellion trying to stop it. I've been raised in the palace, sheltered, but not ignorant. I know how fragile the balance of power is. But this—this is a level of deception I never expected, not from my own father.

The walls of this room, with its hidden corners and veiled agendas, feel suffocating. I need fresh air. I need space to think, to process, to figure out what I'm supposed to do next.

But as I make my way toward the far side of the room, I can feel Elliot's eyes still on me. I don't have to look back to know he's watching me, amused by my unease. Arrogant jerk, I think, gritting my teeth. My hands clench into fists at my sides, but I force myself to keep walking.

There's a door just beyond a dimly lit corner, slightly ajar. If I can slip out, even for a few minutes, I might be able to breathe, might be able to think clearly. My steps quicken, heart racing again—but this time with determination rather than fear.

Just as my hand reaches for the door, I feel a presence behind me.

"Running off already, Princess?" Elliot's voice is a low, teasing murmur, far too close for comfort.

I freeze, my hand hovering over the door's handle, resisting the urge to whirl around and snap at him. Instead, I take a slow breath and turn, fixing him with my most regal expression. "I need air. Or is that not allowed?"

Elliot chuckles softly, leaning casually against the doorframe, still twirling my dagger between his fingers. "You're free to go wherever you want. We're not your jailers. But I'd be careful if I were you. We're not the only ones interested in you."

I narrow my eyes at him. What's that supposed to mean?

"I'm well aware of my position," I say coldly, my voice steady despite the nerves rattling inside me. "I don't need your advice."

Elliot shrugs, still smirking. "Just trying to help. You might want to reconsider that attitude, though. The people here aren't your loyal subjects."

I hate how casual he's being, like he's the one in control of this situation when, in reality, he's just one of many players in a much larger game. And yet, despite his arrogance, there's something about the way he looks at me—those sharp blue eyes, filled with a mixture of amusement and something else, something I can't quite place—that makes me feel... unsettled.

And worse, I hate that my heart skips when he says my name.

"Thanks for the warning," I say, my tone biting. "I'll keep it in mind."

He doesn't move, just watches me with that maddening smirk still on his face. "You should," he says, his voice lowering. "Especially now that you know who you really are."