Chapter 1: Cookies and Promises

In the governor’s mansion, folks say if you hand me a brownie or a leftover sandwich, I’ll do anything you ask. That’s just how it goes: feed Maddie, and she’ll fetch, fold, or follow you to the ends of the earth.

That’s my reputation, anyway. I never made a fuss about it—if you slip me a treat from the kitchen or share your lunch, I’m your most loyal sidekick. Everyone from the head chef to the janitor’s figured it out: for a cookie, I’ll run errands, wash cars, or fold napkins until they’re sharp enough to impress the governor himself.

Mr. Sanders, noble as a storybook hero, once handed me a cookie, and I pretty much became his shadow after that.

He always looked so perfect—tall, crisp suit, carrying himself like he was born for it. The day he found me hungry on the stairs and handed me a cookie, it felt like the world had given me a gift. After that, I trailed him everywhere, hoping for another treat and trying to help any way I could. The other staff joked about me being his shadow, but honestly, I didn’t care.

I didn’t realize until much later that behind my back, he’d call me shameless, or say he wished I’d just throw myself at him already.

I’d hear the whispers in the laundry room—how Mr. Sanders rolled his eyes and called me desperate. People would mimic his voice, sigh, and laugh. They’d use words I didn’t get—shameless, throw yourself at him. It sounded bad, but I only knew it made my ears burn.

Those words never made sense, but I figured anyone who handed out cookies had to be good. I liked Mr. Sanders and wanted to pay him back, somehow.

The world felt simple: people who shared their lunch or smiled kindly were good. I didn’t get adult words or their games—I just wanted to be good back, to help Mr. Sanders if he ever needed me. It was my own way of keeping score with the universe.

That was, until the day the whole house buzzed with news of defeat on the western border, and Dad’s favorite, the Third Daughter, was about to be married off for a political alliance.

Everything flipped in a single afternoon—one minute the kitchen was all talk of a lost battle, and then everyone was whispering about the Third Daughter’s fate. I watched from behind the pantry door as the house fell silent. Dad’s golden girl, Emily, the one everyone said was destined for greatness, was about to be shipped off to marry someone she’d never met, all for peace.

Mrs. Wright, the Third Daughter’s mom, showed up in person with a whole box of cookies, begging me to take her daughter’s place in the marriage.

She knocked on my door, looking more tired than I’d ever seen her, clutching a fancy tin. She pressed the cookies into my hands with a shaky smile and asked me—me!—to do her family this favor. It felt like a plot twist straight out of a soap opera.

I wiped the crumbs from the corner of my mouth and waved her off. My heart beat wild in my chest, but I grinned anyway, hoping she couldn’t see how scared I was. “Mrs. Wright, don’t worry. It’s just getting married. If the Third Daughter doesn’t want to, I’ll go in her place.”

I didn’t understand how big a deal it was, but if someone was willing to bribe me with sweets, I figured I could do just about anything. I grinned, crumbs on my cheek, and promised to take her daughter’s place. It felt like giving up your seat on the bus—a good deed. Only later did I realize what I’d signed up for.