The Crowns Gambit

❦ Chapter Twelve: Charlotte ❦

The first thing I do when we get back to the castle is look for Atlas.

All the tangled emotions from the past few days—the games, the nights spent with Elliot, my father's return—fade away as I move through the halls, searching. I know, deep in my bones, that I want to end this charade of the Crown's Choice. There's only ever been one person for me, and nothing I've done has changed that. I'm going to choose him. It's not even a choice, really. It's a truth that I've carried with me through everything.

When I finally find him, he's in one of the castle's private sitting rooms. He's slouched over a table, an empty glass loosely cradled in one hand. Shadows cling to his face, hollowing his cheeks, making his usually bright eyes look sunken, red-rimmed. The sight of him—so worn down, so utterly defeated—stops me in my tracks. It's as if he's carrying the weight of everything on his shoulders, and it's crushing him.

"Charlotte," he says, his voice hoarse, weary, and I almost don't recognize him.

"Atlas... what's wrong?" My voice is barely a whisper as I step closer.

He looks at me, his expression haunted. "Oliver's dead."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, winding me. "Dead?" I manage, feeling a rush of cold wash over me.

Atlas nods, his gaze dropping to the table as if he can't bear to look at me. "There was nothing I could do." His voice is thick with pain, with a guilt that digs deep.

I move toward him, my own heart aching at the sight. I place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled there, and for a moment he flinches before allowing himself to lean into my touch. I want to say something, anything, to take away even a fraction of the pain he's feeling, but words feel hollow.

"I'm so sorry," I say, my voice trembling.

He lets out a bitter laugh, one that doesn't reach his eyes. "Sorry doesn't bring him back."

The silence that follows is heavy, pressing down on both of us. I've seen Atlas face danger with a calm resolve, but this is different. This is grief, raw and unfiltered. It's tearing him apart from the inside.

"Atlas, you did everything you could," I say softly. "You can't blame yourself for this."

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he fights to keep his emotions in check. "I thought I could protect him... protect all of us. But I was wrong. I failed."

I tighten my grip on his shoulder, willing him to feel the conviction in my words. "You didn't fail. You did more than anyone else could have. You fought for him—you fight for all of us."

He meets my gaze, and for a moment, I see the conflict in his eyes, the mixture of anger, grief, and something else—a helplessness that feels foreign on his face. "It doesn't feel like enough."

"You're more than enough," I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. I mean them, every word, and I can only hope he understands. "You don't have to carry this alone."

He takes a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight he's been carrying is finally too much. "Charlotte..." he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

His words settle over me, warming me in a way I can't explain. This is why I've fought so hard, why I've held on to the hope that someday this would all be over, and it could be just the two of us.

"I'm here," I say softly, leaning closer. "I always will be."

For a moment, we sit there in silence, the world outside the room falling away. There's nothing but the two of us, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his hand as it finds mine. It feels like an unspoken promise, one that's stronger than anything I could put into words.