Chapter 79: Chess Grandmaster [II]
The applause died as quickly as it rose, leaving behind only the stench of perfume and tension. The pieces still lay scattered across the marble battlefield, and I could almost hear them whisper: one game is never just one game.
Dorian rose, stiff as a statue cracked down the middle. His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles bone-white, cufflinks flashing like embers of a fire that refused to die.
"An entertaining match," he said at last. His voice was velvet stretched over iron. "I commend your... audacity."
Audacity. Not skill. Not intelligence. That was how nobles rebranded losing: they didn’t lose, they simply humored you.
I let my smile linger. "Audacity is the essence of etiquette, isn’t it? To walk into a room where you don’t belong and leave everyone wondering if you do."
The jab landed. I saw it in the twitch of his golden jaw.
Around us, the nobles whispered. Some praised him for his composure, others snickered into their wine. Every word carried daggers.
Alaric shifted at my shoulder, still trembling, but now with a strange new energy. He looked taller somehow, his back straighter, as though my win had woven steel into his spine. Good. That was part of the plan.
Dorian inclined his head, the perfect host. "Perhaps we’ll play again. A longer match. Something... decisive."
I met his gaze, steady. "Perhaps. Though I find decisive things tend to end badly for lions."
A ripple of laughter darted across the hall before quickly dying, choked under the weight of unspoken rules.
Nyx licked his paw and spoke without looking up. "Yes, yes, duel later. But if we’re done measuring crowns, can we address the true crisis? I haven’t eaten in three hours."
A wave of scandalized gasps. A cat—talking, no less—daring to break the tense air. I could practically hear the nobles’ monocles cracking in outrage.
I rubbed my temple. "Ignore him. He’s on a hunger strike against my incompetence."
"I never said that," Nyx corrected. "I said if you lost, I’d abandon you. But now you’ve won, which is somehow worse, because I’m going to be dragged into whatever disaster this becomes."
He wasn’t wrong.
Dorian’s smile never faltered, but his eyes had hardened to molten amber. "Enjoy your moment, rat. But know this—the game you’ve stepped into has rules you don’t yet understand."
I tilted my head. "Wonderful. Then I’ll just cheat."
Alaric made a choking noise. The nobles whispered louder, their curiosity like a wildfire catching dry silk. Some were horrified. Others were delighted. All of them would remember.
And Dorian knew it.
He turned sharply, his cape flaring behind him, and strode from the hall without another word. His followers scrambled after him like ducklings chasing a wounded swan.
The silence he left was worse than his presence.
I stood, brushing nonexistent dust from my sleeve. "Well. That went better than expected."
Alaric gaped at me. "Better? Loki, you just humiliated one of the academy’s most powerful nobles! Do you know what that means?"
"Yes," I said calmly. "It means I won."
"It means he’s going to destroy you!"
"Eventually," I agreed. "But for now, he’s licking his wounds. And when lions lick their wounds, mice steal their cheese."
Nyx blinked. "That metaphor died halfway through."
"Shut up."
The nobles around us shifted, parting like waves as Alaric and I walked out. Some bowed slightly as we passed. Not to me, of course—they’d never lower themselves that far. But to Alaric, who now carried the reflected glow of my victory.
He didn’t notice, too busy muttering, "We’re doomed, we’re doomed, we’re doomed—"
"Alaric." I stopped him at the doorway. "Look at them."
He blinked, confused.
"They’re not laughing at you anymore."
His breath caught. Slowly, he turned. And he saw it—the glances, the half-hidden respect, the flickers of recognition. For the first time, he wasn’t invisible.
"They’re seeing you," I said softly. "Remember this."
He swallowed hard, nodding.
We left the hall, Nyx padding between us like a shadow with claws. The corridors outside were colder, quieter. My mind spun with possibilities. Winning the chess match wasn’t the victory—it was the bait. Nobles thrived on gossip, on shifting allegiances, on weakness and strength displayed like jewelry. Tonight, I’d made a display.
Now I’d see who came sniffing.
The next day, the storm broke.
Whispers followed me through the academy halls. "That’s him," I heard. "The attendant who beat Lord Dorian." "A commoner, wasn’t he?" "No, worse—he’s Alaric’s retainer." "Then what does that make Alaric?"
What indeed.
Alaric was glowing like the sun and wilting like a flower, depending on the moment. Pride warred with terror in his every step. I let him have it. He needed this trial by fire.
Nyx perched on my shoulder, tail flicking. "They’re going to eat you alive."
"I’ve been eaten before," I murmured. "It’s rarely permanent."
At lunch, three nobles invited themselves to our table. Each with practiced smiles, each with questions wrapped in compliments.
"Brilliant play yesterday.""Where did you learn such... daring strategy?""Surely you’d consider joining our study circle—"
Alaric nearly choked on his soup. I fielded their words with equal measures of charm and obfuscation. Always smiling, never answering. If they wanted me in their games, they’d have to pay.
But not all attention was friendly.
Later, as we crossed the garden paths, a shadow fell across our way. Dorian stood beneath a marble arch, arms folded, flanked by two silent followers. His golden hair gleamed like a blade.
"Enjoying your new fame?" he asked.
"Immensely," I said.
His smile was sharp. "Good. Savor it. Because soon, all of it will burn."
Alaric stiffened beside me. Nyx yawned, unimpressed.
I met Dorian’s gaze without flinching. "Fire sharpens steel. Burn away what you like."
For a moment, we simply stared, the world narrowing to the space between us. A promise, a threat, a declaration.
Then he turned, sweeping away, cape trailing like a banner of war.
Alaric groaned softly. "Why do you keep poking lions?"
"Because," I said, eyes still on Dorian’s retreating back, "I’m not hunting mice."
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling of our dormitory. Alaric snored softly in the next bed. Nyx dozed at my feet, twitching in some dream of claws and shadows.
I replayed the game in my mind, each move a thread, each choice a stone laid on a path that now stretched forward into darkness.
The board had been marble and onyx, but the real board was the academy. The pieces were nobles, attendants, professors, alliances.
And I had just made my opening move.
A rook here.A pawn there.A lion’s pride shattered.
The game wasn’t over. It hadn’t even begun.
I closed my eyes and smiled into the dark.
"Checkmate," I whispered.
Not to Dorian.Not to the nobles.To myself.
Because this was never about winning one match.
This was about declaring war.
And tomorrow, the board would be waiting.
***
The next morning tasted different. Not the food—the academy porridge was still a gray, glue-like tragedy—but the air. It buzzed, sharp with whispers and watching eyes.
When I entered the dining hall, conversation faltered, just for a breath. Then it resumed, quieter, as though I couldn’t hear the way my name slid across silver spoons and gilded plates.
Alaric trailed behind me, stiff as a drawn bowstring. His hair was perfectly combed, his uniform pressed within an inch of its life. He’d taken to walking with his chin just slightly higher, the way nobles did when they wanted to look taller. It made him look like a goose. But a goose with backbone, at least.
"Everyone’s staring," he muttered.
"Good," I said, sliding into a seat. "It saves me the trouble of introducing myself."
Nyx hopped up onto the bench, curling against my side with the smugness of a king on his throne. "They’re not staring at you," he drawled, flicking his tail. "They’re calculating how quickly you’ll be gutted."
"Details," I murmured, spooning tasteless porridge into my mouth. "Attention is a weapon. The trick is making sure it cuts the right way."
Across the hall, I caught sight of Dorian. His golden hair gleamed as always, every strand perfectly in place. His followers clustered close, whispering like bees around honey. He didn’t look at me. Not once. Which told me more than if he had.
When nobles ignored you, it meant you’d ceased to matter. But when they performed the ignoring, like actors on a stage, it meant you were the only thing that mattered.
Alaric followed my gaze and went pale. "He’s planning something."
"Of course he is," I said. "That’s the point. If he wasn’t, he’d already be irrelevant."
"Which would be safer."
"Safety is overrated."
Nyx gave a short, amused huff. "You keep saying that. One day you’ll choke on it."
Maybe I already had.
The meal ended, and we stepped out into the courtyard. Morning sun painted the stones gold, and the spires of the academy rose like spears against the sky. Students drifted in little flocks, laughter like bright banners, gossip like arrows.
I felt the shift immediately. The circle was closing.
Three older nobles intercepted us before we could reach the lecture halls. They smiled, all teeth and polish, like merchants disguising knives as wares.
"Loki, isn’t it?" one drawled. "Quite the spectacle yesterday. You have... potential."
Potential. A leash disguised as a compliment.
Another leaned in, voice silken. "Perhaps you’d consider dining with us tonight. Private company. Exclusive company."
Alaric stiffened beside me. He knew as well as I did: invitations were never free.
I smiled politely, my favorite weapon. "I’ll consider it. But you’ll have to forgive me—I already have plans."
Their smiles tightened. The smallest crack, but visible.
As they withdrew, Nyx’s tail flicked. "Plans? What plans?"
"Simple," I said, eyes still on the retreating nobles.
I let the silence hang, then grinned.
"Stirring the board."