Kushiel's Mercy
positioned so that I would be playing white. “The opening move is yours.”
I sat opposite her and moved an ivory pawn. “So it begins.”
The princess mirrored my move with an ebony pawn. A heavy signet ring glinted on her right hand. I marked it, remembering she’d worn it yesterday, too. “Tell me, Leander Maignard, how do you spend your days when you’re not entertaining bored royalty?
What business is it that his eminence of Cythera wishes you to conduct?”
I slid a second pawn onto the board in a deliberate gambit. “Lord Solon merely wishes me to obtain assurances of Carthage’s goodwill.”
She gave me a sharp glance. “Does he fear he has cause for concern?”
“Your husband is an ambitious man,” I said ambivalently. “His eminence is merely being cautious.”
“I see.” She declined my gambit, advancing a second pawn of her own in a countering move. “Believe me, Astegal has no ambition beyond securing the peaceable future of both our nations, and Carthage did not seek this quarrel with Aragonia. Once it is settled, he will look no farther.”
I said nothing.
“You doubt me,” the princess observed.
I glanced past her at the Amazigh guard. Between swathes of blue cloth, his eyelids flickered. This one, I thought, spoke more than Punic. “Of course not,” I lied. “Indeed, I have received similar assurances from one member of the Council already. I’m simply seeking to concentrate on our game.”
She sighed. “A courtier’s reply. Very well then, let us play.”
We played for a time in silence.
I found myself thinking about Sunjata’s advice. I watched the princess contemplate the board. The contrasts in her face elevated what might have been mere prettiness to beauty.
Her features were fine-cut and delicate, but her eyebrows were drawn in a firm line. Not heavy, not by any means. Only strong enough to offset the delicacy, to create a suggestion of determination and vulnerability combined. A captivating contrast, like the one between her gilded fairness and those night-dark eyes.
“Messire Maignard,” she said. “You’re staring at me.”
Hot blood scalded my face. “Oh, gods! I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
“Again?” she asked in amusement.
“I’m a chef’s son,” I said helplessly. “I’ve spent almost all my life on Cythera, and yes, I’m staring at you like a provincial rube. Please.”
“All right, I forgive you.” There it was again, that brief, wicked smile. Honey and gall.
“Only because you blush so prettily. It’s your move.”
I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for forbearance, then bent my attention to the chessboard.
On the boat, when I’d found the chess set listed in the manifest, I’d entertained some idea of flattering her by losing a-purpose. Playfully demanding a rematch, mayhap. I’d envisioned myself very much in control, smoothly cajoling while the hapless young princess giggled and blushed. Instead, I was blushing like a maiden, while the princess uttered barbed witticisms. And I very much suspected if I didn’t best her in this game of wits, I’d seal her impression of me forever as a tame lap-dog.
She played well, but she played a cautious and meticulous game. I’d been doing the same, trying to draw out my time with her as long as possible. Now I went on the offensive and played boldly, giving the impression of being rash and distracted. Several moves later, I made a ploy that appeared careless. This time, the princess took my gambit and walked into a trap.
“Ah.” Realization dawned on her face before the endgame was played out. She studied the board for a moment, seeking an avenue of escape, then reached out and tipped over her king. “You’ve won.”
My brow was sweating. “You underestimated me.”
“So I did.” She continued to study the board, retracing her steps and committing her misstep to memory. “Will you give me the courtesy of a rematch?”
“Of course.” I began gathering pieces to reset the board.
“It grows late.” She touched my hand. “Tomorrow, perhaps.”
A spark leapt between us.
I felt it, and I knew, I knew she felt it. Her eyes widened, their darkness blurring. I wanted to close my hand on hers, pull her to me. Scatter the chess pieces, drag her to the floor.
Pull the pins from her hair until it fell in glorious disarray, tear every scrap of fabric from her body. Rip the necklace from her throat, the earrings from her earlobes. Lay her bare, break the
Weitere Kostenlose Bücher