The scent hit first as the usual maid, Mina, strode in—rosemary and char, rich enough to make my mouth water.
She padded across the carpet, her hands steady for only thirteen, even as the tray steamed between them—chicken roasted to perfection, vegetables blistered and sweet.
My stomach betrayed me with a growl so loud Fritz’s disapproving frown cut over his shoulder.
Elva’s palms came together, the clap light and eager. “Oh, how wonderful. Thank you, Mina. Please tell the chef I said so. He knows this is my favorite.”
Mina set the meal down on the low table beside Elva, curtseyed, and vanished through the door as quickly as she came.
Fritz remained, immovable, his hands tucked behind his back, gaze hawk-sharp on Elva’s every movement. He never wore the same uniform as the rest of the guards. No Day-Glo blue and lion crest for him. His attire was always a blend, dark cotton woven with steel, dignity sewn with danger.
He didn’t blink, barely even breathed, just watched as she lifted her fork, each bite small and polite, as though swallowing under his scrutiny cost her.
I sprawled back onto the chaise, legs swung over the edge, limbs loose. “You don’t have to eat like a bird, Elva.” My mouth curved in a grin that dared him to scold me. “Not when it’s just us.”
Fritz’s brow rose, the faintest incline of his head as she glanced at him, then lowered her lashes again.
I turned my attention fully on him. “Andyoudon’t have to stand here gawking while she’s eating. I pinky promise,” I lifted a hand, “if anything’s too big, I’ll cut it for her. I won’t let her choke.” I winked.
A sound dragged from his throat, from the depths of patience and years of enduring me as his hand slid into his jacket pocket. “Actually, I’m here because Princess Elvira has a meeting to attend.” He produced an envelope, its wax seal stamped with authority, and handed it to her with a bow of his head. “I am to escort her.”
Elva’s shoulders slumped as she scanned the letter. Her mouth parted, eyes glossing with tears that threatened to spill. She set the envelope down beside her tray, untouched food still perfuming the air, suddenly unwanted. Her fingers curled around the pendant at her throat, twisting it repeatedly, hoping its chain might tether her to calm.
Then the shiver came, so hard Fritz startled. He turned at once to the stained-glass windows, fumbling to shut out the breeze.
But it wasn’t the cold that shook her.
He didn’t see it. Couldn’t. He was so convinced he knew her best, what she wanted, what she needed, that he missed the truth unraveling right in front of him.
A curtain shifted, the sunlight blinking out in fractured rays. Elva didn’t so much as lift her head. Only threw her hand out, dismissive. “Leave it.”
Fritz froze at the balcony; hand braced against the glass. “Princess,” he said carefully. “The sun may sit high, but the cold will surely render you ill.”
He pushed the pane until a dull ripple of light caught his arm.
“You are dismissed, Sir Fritz.” Elva didn’t even look at him. Her regard stayed fixed on the chessboard, her hand still clutching the pendant at her throat. The faint glow of her magic burned against his skin, searing its dim imprint into his sleeve. “You may return in thirty minutes, when my lunch and match are finished.”
His jaw tensed, teeth gritting audibly as he shoved the glass back into place, rubbing a hand over his peppered hair and bending at the waist. “Very well.” When he finally turned toward the door, each step hammered with his displeasure. “Thirty minutes,” he muttered again.
Meant for her, for me, for the room itself. It didn’t matter. Because whatever was written in that letter had rattled the princess of Luamis enough to spark her fading magic.
And that alone was reason to worry.
The door closed, reverberating through the chamber, and I dropped before her instantly. “What did it say, Elva?”
I didn’t care if the crown forbade her to share. Rules didn’t frighten me. The look on her face did.
The pendant slipped from her fingers, hitting her collarbone with a hollow sound. She blinked, lashes long enough to fan away the daze in her eyes, the glaze finally receding.
Then she gestured toward the board, toward the carved pieces still frozen mid-battle. “Shall we finish?”
The king piece shone between us, its shadow stretching long across the ivory squares. And in that instant, I knew, whatever words had found their way into her chest, they were not about a match of carved pieces.
They were about kingdoms. About thrones.
About fate, already setting its pieces into place.
My fingers hovered over the knight, paused, then shifted, picking up the bishop instead.
