Prince Ansel's rooms were decorated in a simple way that was still somehow resplendent. The walls bore only one painting, a portrait of a woman with dark hair, a fine dress, and a striking pair of deep green eyes. She was holding a flower, and though she was smiling, Neala saw sadness in the woman's eyes.
It was the only decoration in the entire room. There were no tapestries, and the bed was uncurtained. The wooden frame was indeed finely carved, but the sheets, though silken, were plain and a deep, steely gray, unlike the bright colors and canopies that adorned the beds in the other rooms that Neala had cleaned. A finely carved wardrobe sat in the corner, which was beautiful and matched the bed, and a desk in the same style rested just under the window with a plain chair beside it. A comfortable-looking but plain couch sat at the foot of the bed.The only other significant item was a small table that sat in the middle of the room, carved out of wood as with the rest of the furniture, a soft chair on either side.
On the other side of the room was the small door that no doubt led to the prince's private drawing room, and beyond that, no doubt, the privy. Neala found herself enjoying the understated luxury around her, finding it a tasteful change from some of the more dramatic flourishes throughout the castle, though personally, she would have enjoyed a little color. Despite liking it, though, something about the room felt off, and she couldn't place her finger on it.
Then it hit her. The room was clean. No, not just clean:pristine.It looked almost as if nobody even lived here. The sheets were neatly in place, the pillows and cushions straightened, and there were no signs of clothing or personal items anywhere except for the painting on the wall. The little bedside table bore nothing, and the desk was clear of paper.
The door opened behind her and Ansel entered. "Ah. You found it," he said. "Good."
"What did ye do with the guards?" she asked.
"Never ye mind." He headed over to the wardrobe. "Get on with yer work, then."
She stared at him, wondering what mess he could see that she couldn't. To her shock, he ignored her, heading straight over to the wardrobe and in one swift move, whipping off his shirt. She had to smother a gasp at the sudden sight, which was stolen away a moment later as the opened wardrobe door obscured him.
Feeling her cheeks flaming, Neala turned her back, hoping to find something else, anything else, to keep her attention. She could not be caught looking at him in a state of undress. She didn'twantto look at him, of course not. Her eyes fell on the table and chairs she'd noticed in the middle of the room, andshe noticed for the first time a sign that someone might live here after all.
It wasn't just a table. Now that she was looking carefully, she saw it was an ornate chessboard, probably at least a century old by its style, but so polished and well-kept that it may well have been brand new. Distracted by the unexpected sight, she took a step closer to the table, leaning over to inspect the board and the carefully created figures that were spaced across its squares. It was clearly a game in action, perhaps played out over time, and the tableau in front of her presented a troubling situation for the white king, with one of the black knights looming a little too close.
"Are ye interested in chess? Nae very common for a maid," a voice said in her ear.
Neala let out a quiet yelp and jumped in place, whirling around to see Ansel watching her carefully. He tilted his head as if studying her for a moment, then walked away to the other side of the chessboard, where the black king stood tall and proud. She turned slowly, following him with her eyes until she was facing the board again, standing on the white side opposite him.
He continued to watch her, obviously waiting for a reply. Neala had trained for many years to be able to come up with a smooth answer in any situation, but for some reason her tongue felt tied at that moment, so she stayed silent.
After a moment, Ansel clasped his hands behind his back and leaned down to examine the board again. He glanced up at Neala and said, "Nae answer? Give me another, then—what would be yer next move?"
"I… I wouldnae want tae mess up yer game," she said in her best humble maid tone, wondering how she had managed to get herself into this situation.
"I insist," Ansel told her, straightening up. "Move a piece. Go on, I'm curious tae see what ye'd do next."
She didn't see that she had much of a choice. She analyzed the board for a moment, thinking back to the hours she'd spent over games with Laura, who'd insisted that chess was one of the best ways to sharpen a young person's mind. Hesitantly, Neala reached out and picked up a white piece, moving it a few squares, safely blocking the black knight's access to the white king, while simultaneously placing the black king in danger.
Neala looked up, and her world was overwhelmed by a pair of piercing green eyes. The prince was staring at her so intently that she felt she might melt. His eyes were not the deep green of the leaves of the forest, but closer to the shining intensity of a northern emerald dragonfly, and she was enchanted—spellbound—as he turned their full power upon her.
"Ye play well," he said in a smooth voice that nonetheless contained a hint of surprise. "There was only one move ye could have made tae escape the trap that piece was in, and ye found it. Nae only that, but ye've put me king in danger as well. Well done."
She shivered, dropping her gaze, unsettled by how her body had reacted to the praise. Her heart beat a little faster, and a prickle of unexpected, unwelcome joy and pleasure traveled down her spine. "I–me father taught me tae play."
"Oh aye?"
Neala thought of Laura again, who, along with Morag, was the only parent she could truly remember. She thought of her true father, and her mother as well, both of whom had been taken from her before she was able to know them. All because of the False King. The thought steadied her, breaking the spell of Ansel's eyes and voice, reminding her why she was here.
"Aye," she replied, not looking up. "Me father was a clever man."
"Play on, then," Ansel said. He moved a piece of his own. "Consider it a command rather than a request, if it makes ye feel better about nae doin' what the head maid told ye."
She was wasting time, and the thought increasingly frustrated her, but Neala knew there was no way around this. Besides… the thought of beating the prince at his own gamewasappealing. So, without another word, she moved her next piece, thinking quickly. Perhaps she'd be able to find a way to trick him into talking. Perhaps she'd be able to turn this to her advantage, maybe even get some information after all.
They played silently for some time, countering each other's moves, not really getting anywhere. Then, with a thrill, Neala noticed something. They were approximately midway through the game, and she was playing better than she had expected. In fact, if she continued to keep her wits about her and moving straight ahead, she would have his king in check in just a few moves.
She looked up and saw a strange half-smile on Ansel's face. "Yedoplay well," he repeated, though she sensed something else behind it this time. "May I ask ye a question?"
Neala nodded, unsure where this could be going.
"What do ye think is the most useful piece in a game of chess?" Ansel asked.
She was growing used to his odd comments, and so instead of wondering about why he was asking, she focused on finding an answer that would satisfy him—and perhaps also launch the conversation that she needed from him. "The queen," she said immediately. "Many would say the king because he's the one whose defeat ends the game, but the queen is the most powerful."
