“It’s not for you,” Stan replies. “You’re just there to be her butler.”
Sterling glares at him. “I’m herhusband.”
“Okay, fine,” Stan says, smirking. “Headbutler.”
Sterling grunts angrily while Stan simply keeps smirking. Elle laughs, the sound rather endearing. Lix sighs, fond and long-suffering.
While they carry on, Idris walks toward me. “Would you care fora match?” he asks, head turning toward the crystal chess table.
I follow his gaze, taking in the board where it stands, more suited to a gallery than a game.
Still, I say, “I would.”
Idris smiles at that, allowing me to choose which side to sit on. I take the one facing the people gathered nearby.
I look down at the pieces, noting how they’ve been arranged, ready for play.
Idris takes the first turn, fingers lingering above the board before selecting a piece. Soon, the game begins with measured movements, one after another in quick succession. Crystal meeting crystal with restrained sounds of light clicks.
I can’t catalog every exchange in this fast-moving chess match. My attention slips in and out, catching on conversations around me rather than strategy in front of me.
Even though I can hear Stan joke, while I watch Damon and Darius listen to Set, Idris is the closest to me, so I hear him more clearly.
“Oddly enough, I’ve found that family has a way of shaping the board before you even sit down,” Idris says at one point, while he moves another piece. “Lineage, more specifically. You think you’re playing freely, and then you realize you’re responding to what was set long before you arrived.”
He gives a brief laugh, shaking his head as we trade pawns.
“Listen to me. I must sound like my father, talking about leaving behind a legacy.”
The comment is light, nearly dismissive, but his hand hesitates over his next move.
“Being here around the Song-Smiths made me realize something,” he says. “They’re intentional about what they build.” His gaze lifts, following the sound of Elle and Kaye laughing somewhere behind him. “It makes you reconsider what’s worth preserving.”
I nod, though my focus slips again as I slide a piece forward, answering his move more by instinct than planning.
Behind Idris, Set’s voice carries across the garden as he addresses the group, his attention fixed on Damon and Darius, a glass held loosely in his hand.
“It’s important not to rush into important decisions,” Set says, smiling as he speaks. “Strength takes time. You have to slow down. Let things mature.”
My fingers glide, intercepting Idris’ line, his words about legacy registering only in fragments.
Stan joins Set, glass in hand, his laughter cutting through their conversation. “If you’re talking strength, I’m your guy.”
“Ah, Stanley,” Set says, his smile widening as he places a hand on the bigger man’s shoulder. “You have your mother’s smile. Has anyone told you that?”
Stan’s grin vanishes. He frowns, raising a brow instead.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” Set says, withdrawing his hand.
His attention drops to the amber liquid as he swirls it.
“Ah, I should slow down on the drinking and return to my earlier point,” he continues. “Take this whiskey, for example. Damon tells me it comes from your father’s side. Japan, fifty years. You can taste thepatiencein it.” He lifts the glass, reflecting the sunset. “A reminder that some things only improve when given time.”
Stan snorts. “Live slower. Real inspiring.”
Set chuckles at Stan, then stares at Damon. “Your mother understood that,” he says, voice warm despite the cold line of his smile. “She believed in letting things grow stronger over time. Kys, for instance.” His teeth gleam beside the glass. “She always knew when to wait, and when to make a timely return.”
The space around us tightens with tension at the mention of her possible waking. Idris has his back turned to them, still talking whilehe makes another move on the board.
