Her Cleavage Allegiance | Peta Pledges

“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.

“Precisely,” Peta said, stepping closer. She was not flaunting; she was offering. “You have generals for your armies, spymasters for your shadows, and accountants for your gold. But who guards the heart’s antechamber? Who holds the loyalty that cannot be bought, but must be felt ?” peta pledges her cleavage allegiance

Peta didn’t care. Her cleavage, warm and steady, thrummed with victory. The pledge was made. The game had just begun. “Your Magnificence,” Peta said, her voice a silken

And she had found her weapon.

She knelt, the velvet pooling around her. “From this day forward, every beat beneath this bodice is a drum march for you. Every sigh, every sharp intake of breath when you enter a room, is a salute. My loyalty doesn’t reside in my head, where doubt can fester. It lives here.” She tapped the hollow of her throat. “And I have decided it will die here, for you, before it ever whispers a disloyal word.” It was a calculated gesture, theatrical and absurd,

“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.”

A long, delicious pause.