The Crowns Gambit

❦ Chapter Seven: Charlotte ❦

Elliot's gaze flickers with something—concern, frustration, maybe even regret—but he quickly masks it with his usual nonchalance. He picks up my torn dress fabric and tosses it aside with a slight shake of his head.

"You sure know how to get yourself into trouble, Princess," he mutters, half-amused but still winded.

I glare at him, more out of embarrassment than anger. "I had it handled."

He raises an eyebrow, glancing between me and the unconscious men. "Right. That was obvious."

I cross my arms, hating the heat rising in my cheeks. "I didn't ask for your help."

"And yet," he says with a slow, infuriating smile, "here I am. Your knight in scuffed leather."

Before I can fire back a response, Elliot's smirk fades, and he studies me more carefully, his eyes sharp and assessing. "You okay? They didn't hurt you?"

I nod, brushing dirt off my dress and ignoring the slight sting in my wrist where I'd been grabbed. "I'm fine. Just... not where I'm supposed to be."

Elliot's expression shifts into something softer, almost apologetic. "You shouldn't be out here, Charlotte. Not without—" He stops himself short, biting back the rest of his sentence. But I know what he was going to say: Not without protection.

The irony of it all makes me want to laugh. A princess—daughter of the rebellion's leader—being told she needs protection.

"I'm not helpless," I say firmly.

"No," he agrees, tilting his head. "But you're not invincible either."

The weight of his words settles over me like a blanket I can't shake off. It's an uncomfortable reminder that, no matter how hard I train or how tough I try to be, there will always be moments where I fall short. But what irritates me more is that Elliot, of all people, seems to see that.

Silence falls between us, heavy with words unspoken. Elliot turns, glancing up and down the street before motioning for me to follow. "Come on. This way."

I hesitate for half a second, unsure if I want to trust him. But what choice do I have? The streets are too quiet, too unfamiliar. At least with Elliot, I stand a chance of finding my way back—or figuring out what's really going on.

I fall into step beside him, and we walk in silence for a few minutes. The cool night air soothes my nerves, though my mind is still racing. Every step away from that building feels like a step deeper into a world I don't fully understand. A world that—despite my best efforts—still feels foreign to me. Rebellion. Betrayal. Danger. Things I've only read about, things that have always felt like distant legends. Yet here I am, tangled in all of it, with Elliot walking silently beside me.

Elliot glances at me from the corner of his eye, spinning my dagger lazily between his fingers again. "You're thinking too hard."

"Am I?" I ask flatly, masking my anxiety.

"Yeah," he says with a grin. "You've got that 'I'm-plotting-my-own-downfall' look on your face."

I let out a short laugh despite myself, and Elliot's grin widens, pleased that he got a reaction from me. But my amusement fades quickly. There's too much at stake for jokes. For careless smiles. For pretending like we aren't both in way over our heads.

"Why did you help me?" I ask after a moment, cutting through the playful banter. "Back there, with those men?"

Elliot shrugs, his expression hard to read. "Because I wanted to."

"That's not an answer."

"No, it's not," he says with a sly smile, offering nothing more.

I stop walking, frustration bubbling up inside me. "You could've just let them take me."