“My mother.”
Sunlight caught his spectacles, making it difficult to read his eyes.
Nin clicked her tongue under her breath as the duke moved to capture the first pawn. The servant dressed in white—a feathered cap perched atop his head—clutched his chest andcollapsed dramatically when the opposing pawn swept a wooden sword through the air. The fallen piece groaned theatrically as two attendants hurried forward to drag him from the board.
Across the lawn, Adelina’s smile grew smug at her country’s first victory.
The crowd applauded politely.
It had been years since she thought of chess and her mother who spent many evenings mastering the game. Back then, the board was simpler: sixty-four squares and thirty-two pieces. There were no hidden rules or agendas, only clear rules.
Nin studied the board, her brows pinched as both sides played each piece. The duke played aggressively, sacrificing pawns to force open the center. Otto murmured something in his ear, but the duke dismissed it with a haughty wave.
He would do well to listen to the ambassador, perhaps.
“You seem to be observing the game quite carefully, Your Highness,” a baron next to her said, intrigued. “What are your thoughts?”
The question piqued the interest of the other noblemen, who subtly leaned in to catch her response. Cedric watched with a sidelong glance, his brow rising with interest.
Despite becoming the unexpected target of their curiosity, Nin didn’t hesitate. “The duke is forcing the attack. Aggressive players often assume their opponents will panic under pressure.”
“Do you believe the count is panicking?” the baron askedin amusement.
“No,” Nin said. “But the duke is overextending his knight.” She lifted her fan toward the pieces. “The count has an opening there. If he uses his bishop, the duke will lose his knight. Then… a check.”
She glanced up, her eyes meeting Rodrigue’s, and a slow smile spread across his face. Had he overheard her? He whispered into the count’s ear, and for a long moment, the count stared at the board before lifting his hand.
“Bishop takes knight on e5.”
As directed, the bishop, with a white, ornate miter towering above his white wig, stepped diagonally, the cross dangling from his shepherd-like crook. He paused before the black knight in a dark metal helmet. With a slash of his ivory crozier, the knight toppled in a heap, keeping one hand to his heart with melodramatic flair.
“Check!” the herald’s voice rang across the lawn.
Applause exploded on Nin’s side of the lawn as the crowd celebrated the count’s advantage. Her smile stretched, unable to contain the pride swelling in her chest.
Several noblemen nearby turned to her.
“Well now,” the baron said, his brows raised in surprise. “You successfully predicted the outcome.”
The noblemen murmured their agreement, their heads bobbing with approval.
“Impressive foresight,” an earl added.
Rodrigue laughed lightly, raising a glass from a servant’s platter in salute. A hint of a smile lit Cedric’s face.
Warmth bloomed within her as she nodded modestly at the praise. For once, the attention on her ceased to press an invisible blade to her throat.
“It appears the princess is equipped with hidden talents we were unaware of,” the baron said.
“Perhaps chess suits her better than singing,” a marquis quipped.
Laughter followed, brittle and biting all around her.
Nin’s hold on the fan grew firmer, while their mockery froze away any pride or warmth.
“Let us hope she rests more before she graces us with another song,” a baroness said behind her fan.
“It would be such a shame if she lost her voice forever,” another whispered.
