“I’mtrying.” I head for the door, and I wish this conversation hadn’t felt so heavy.
The rest of the afternoon I spend in my study, staring at a flickering fire while documents pile up on my desk. Reports sit untouched because every time I pick up my pen to sign something, I find myself replaying the conversation I had with Addison Cross at the gallery.
By seven o’clock, I’ve given up trying to be productive. I move toward the east wing again because I need to know if my mystery opponent responded.
The hallway is still, the air cooler as the day fades toward evening, and when I approach the board, I see a new piece has moved. I unfold the note with steady hands.
Someone who’s going to beat you.
A grin spreads across my face.
“Arrogant asshole,” I say while enjoying the words more than I should.
The ivory bishop has moved into a position that threatens my knight while opening up the diagonal for their queen. They’re not playing for a draw. They’re playing to destroy me.
I consider my options and know I could play defensively, but that’s not the game I want with someone who’s literally declaring war. Imove my bishop in response because it puts pressure on them, and then I pull out my pen.
You’ve met your match.
I leave the paper face down beside the board and step back to admire the position, pieces tangling in the center as we both refuse to give an inch.
That night, dinner is served in the small dining room my parents use when there are no guests to impress. The table is set, and candles flicker between us while I push food around my plate without interest.
“How was the trip?” my mother asks.
“Educational,” I say, taking a bite of grilled fish.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I didn’t connect with any of them.”
She exchanges a look with my father that I pretend not to notice, then speaks in the careful tone she uses when she’s trying not to apply pressure. “Louis, the council is expecting?—”
“I know.” I set down my fork. “It will be done.”
“It will.” My father’s voice isn’t angry, which somehow feels worse. “We will choose for you if necessary.”
“I’m aware,” I say, not needing the reminder again.
“You seem distracted tonight,” my mother says while cutting open a potato. “Something on your mind besides the obvious?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
“You’re a terrible liar, darling, and you always have been.”
I think about New York, subway paintings, tilted handwriting, and a chessboard in a quiet alcove. “I’m tired from traveling. A good night’s sleep will cure it.”
She must hear something final in my voice because she lets it go.
After dinner, I return to my quarters and change into loose pajama pants. I open the windows to let in the sound of the waves below. The bed has been made with fresh linens that smell like lavender and sea salt, and I slide between them while the manila folder sits unopened on my desk.
I stare at the ceiling while moonlight shifts across the room. The water crashes against the rocks in a rhythm that usually puts me tosleep, but tonight, it does nothing. I shift onto my side, then my back, then to my other side because my mind won’t stop spinning.
The women who I’ll meet have all been vetted and are ready to commit to an eternity with me. I should be grateful. I should be studying their backgrounds and preparing thoughtful questions for our dinners. Instead, I’m lying here, obsessing over a stranger’s handwriting and the cocky promise that they’re going to beat me at chess.
I throw off the covers and walk to the window, gripping the stone ledge. The sea stretches into the dark.
My grandmother would tell me to focus on what mattered and to stop indulging in distractions. She was training me to be king. I wish I could ask her what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.
