“You’ve already lost three pawns,” Caedin said smoothly, flicking one of her crystal pieces off the board. “I suppose that’s appropriate. Commoners are always the first to be sacrificed.”

  Ilyari clenched her jaw. “I’m still learning.”

  “Oh, I can see that,” he replied with a faux-polite smile. “It’s charming, really. The way you reach for rules like a dog pawing at the door—knowing there’s something important behind it, but no clue how to open it.”

  She moved her next piece, a bishop-tier glyph etched with shifting symbols. It hovered awkwardly between two tiers.

  Caedin sighed and adjusted it without asking. “That’s not a legal move. Again. You’re supposed to elevate your influence, not throw it into the void. Or perhaps voids are just where your kind feels more at home.”

  “Does insulting me help you win faster?” she asked quietly, not meeting his eyes.

  “I don’t need to win faster,” he said, leaning back, “just more thoroughly. Besides, I’m doing you a favor. Every noble in this room is watching. If you make too many mistakes, they’ll think you don’t belong.”

  “I don’t need them to think I belong,” she murmured, moving another piece. “Just to remember I was here.”

  Caedin’s hand paused over his next move. Something flickered behind his eyes.

  Then his grin returned, all teeth. “Your title may glitter, but it doesn’t fit. You speak like a market girl and play like a street mage with a stick and a dream. The Academy may suffer your presence, but don’t expect the court to lift a finger.”

  “Why would I?” Ilyari’s voice was sharp now, clear. “No one teaches enemies of the Empire, right? Just parades them out for entertainment.”

  His smile faltered—just briefly.

  Caedin narrowed his eyes as Ilyari reached for a mid-tier knight, sliding it through a shadow glyph and shifting three levels up into flank position.

  “That move’s illegal,” he said smoothly, sipping his wine.

  Ilyari paused, one eyebrow lifting. “Is it?”

  His lips curved. “Diagonal phase leap across a quadrant-bound glyph? Surely you’re not trying to challenge royal interpretation.”

  Ilyari’s hand hovered. Her eyes studied the board—not just her piece, but his. Seven moves ago, he had done the exact same leap. In fact, he had relied on it. Counted on it.

  “Not at all, Your Highness,” she said sweetly. “I would never question royal authority.” She smiled just enough to be noticed. “But I do find it interesting that I counted seven of your own knights taking that same route. Unless the rule changed in the last ten seconds?”

  He set down his wine.

  Whispers had started again. Nearby nobles began to lean in—not just because a princess was playing, but because now the Crown Prince looked… pressed.

  “I’m sure you’d agree,” Ilyari added gently, still not moving her piece, “that consistency is important in matters of honor. But if you’d prefer I withdraw the move, I’m happy to follow your guidance.”

  She looked up, eyes wide with innocent expectation. “After all, I’m told I lack the proper instruction for such things.”

  Caedin’s nostrils flared. A beat passed. Then he leaned back and gave a short laugh—sharp, performative.

  “Ah, well. Even a broken clock strikes truth twice a day,” he said dryly. “Play on, then.”

  The piece landed with a soft clink.

  And the game continued—on her terms.

  The game shifted.

  Not all at once—but enough that the tension in the air began to coil. Caedin’s amused smirk faded into something sharper. His pieces, once dancing across the board like they owned the planes, were now reacting. Retreating. Rearranging.

  Ilyari, for all her inexperience, had begun to anticipate him.

  She moved with careful, deliberate grace. Each play wasn’t flashy—but it cornered his bishops. Limited his knights. Her pawns, the ones he'd scoffed at earlier, had taken position across two tiers, controlling key glyphs.

  Caedin leaned in, frowning as he hovered over his next move. “You studied this?” he asked, tone still casual—but laced now with something else.

  Suspicion.

  Ilyari didn’t look up. “No. But I listen well when rules are explained.” She made another move—a gliding rook that split between levels and pinned two of his mid-line defenders in check range.

  A ripple passed through the watchers nearby.

  “You’re adapting,” he muttered. “Fast.”

  “Maybe I’m just playing to my station,” she said lightly. “I was told beggars make excellent scavengers.”

  Someone behind Caedin choked on their drink. Laughter followed—scattered, uncertain.

  He stiffened, placing his next piece harder than necessary. “You’re still losing.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Ilyari tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Perhaps. But I don’t need to win to show you that I’m not afraid of playing.”

  He stared at her, gaze unreadable.

  And then—he smiled. Not mockingly. Not cruelly.

  Curiously.

  “Interesting,” he murmured.

  She leaned back slightly, meeting his eyes fully. “I’m full of surprises.”

  “Mm. So I’m starting to see.”

  The air between them hummed. Tension. Challenge. A new respect—begrudging, perhaps, but growing.

  And all around them, the ballroom quieted further. Nobles edged closer. Even Vaelen now stood near the dais, watching the board like a hawk.

  “I suppose I’ll have to stop underestimating you,” Caedin said, resetting his shoulders.

  Ilyari nodded politely. “That would be wise.”

  His fingers danced over a pawn, considering.

  “You’re not what I expected,” he said quietly.

  “I hope not,” she replied.

  Then she took another piece.

  Check.

  Caedin’s smile began to crack.

  Ilyari’s rook slipped across the third tier with quiet precision, forcing his bishop to retreat. He moved to counter—and hesitated. She’d baited him. And he’d taken it.

  Again.

  “Interesting,” he said dryly, placing his piece with more force than necessary. “A stray dog learning to fetch. How… endearing.”

  She didn’t rise to the insult. She moved her knight—clean, sharp, tactically sound.

  More nobles gathered.

  “I wasn’t aware they taught war games in the slums,” Caedin said, leaning back. “Tell me—was your tutor a rat or just a corpse you talked to for practice?”

  A low chuckle rippled from the crowd. Ilyari smiled tightly. She placed a pawn on the fifth layer.

  “That’s an illegal move,” Caedin said smoothly.

  She looked at the board. Then at him. “No, it isn’t.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You question me?”

  She tilted her head, voice honeyed and low. “Is this a test of etiquette, or royal obedience? Because if it’s the latter, I will, of course, defer. But if it’s strategy—” She gestured delicately at his flank. “Then I’m simply following your example. You’ve made seven identical flanking plays since turn ten. If that’s permitted, I assumed so was this.”

  A murmur went through the watchers. Caedin’s smile tightened further. “Clever. For a beggar.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Even beggars learn to watch where the boots fall.”

  He moved his piece silently.

  Then, another pawn was taken. His.

  Then another.

  Her knight danced between platforms, forcing his queen to backtrack.

  He looked at the board—and saw the trap springing into place.

  His jaw ticked.

  “You know,” he said slowly, his voice dropping to a sharper register, “the last princess of Nyameji who thought herself clever ended up splattered across cobblestones. Your mother—wasn’t it? Or was it your father whose lungs were still twitching when the dogs tore into his spine?”

  The air went still.

  “I heard your elder brother—the one who was supposed to rule—pissed himself before the Emperor took his head. He screamed for his mother. She couldn’t answer. She was already pieces.”

  Ilyari’s fingers twitched—barely.

  Tazien stepped forward from the crowd, voice hoarse with fury. “That’s enough.”

  He was trembling. Not with fear—but grief. Raw and ugly. His eyes shimmered, and tears spilled unchecked down his cheeks.

  “Say what you want about us,” he choked. “But don’t you dare spit on the dead.”

  Some nobles gasped. Others averted their eyes.

  Caedin didn’t look away. “Ah. The orphan speaks.”

  Tazien’s fists were clenched so tight his nails had drawn blood.

  “She was winning,” someone muttered from the crowd.

  “Is he punishing her for that?”

  Caedin’s voice didn’t waver. “I’m reminding her of her place.”

  “You’re showing us yours,” Ilyari said quietly.

  Caedin turned back toward her—face flushed, fists balled. “What did you say?”

  She moved her queen.

  Check.

  “I said,” she whispered, “that the board remembers. Even if you don’t.”

  Caedin stared at the board.

  At the gleaming crystal piece that now trapped his king.

  Silence hung thick around them. Nobles leaned in closer, stunned, breathless.

  But before he could recover, Ilyari rose.

  She adjusted her skirt calmly, hands steady, and stepped back from the board.

  “I believe it’s too late for an unwed minor noble to be out unsupervised,” she said, her voice light—but it cut like silk over steel. “And the game, it seems… is over.”

  Caedin blinked, fury blooming in his eyes.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, standing so sharply his chair nearly toppled. “You don’t walk away from me.”

  Ilyari paused, then turned slightly over her shoulder.

  “I already did.”

  She smiled—graceful, aloof.

  “And thank you, Your Highness. For saving me from the worse of your court,” she added coolly. “Though your company left much to be desired.”

  And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, unbothered by the tension she left in her wake.

  The nobles were frozen. Even Venth and Darnell stood stone-still as she passed them without so much as a glance.

  Caedin’s hands clenched.

  Then—with a growl of raw frustration—he flipped the chess table.

  Crystal pieces scattered like shards across the marble. Gasps echoed through the ballroom.

  From the dais, Vaelen let out a low whistle and leaned toward him with a smirk.

  “Well done, brother,” he murmured. “You just made the Empire’s prisoners look like martyrs.”

  Caedin’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing, his fists trembling.

  The Emperor let out a single grunt of disapproval. His face was unreadable—but the tick in his temple was visible. He said nothing to Caedin.

  Vaelen stepped down from the dais and sauntered toward the hall’s side doors, calling back lazily, “I’ll be sure to let the court painters know you were defeated in a dramatic flourish. It’ll make a great mural.”

  Caedin seethed in silence.

  Behind him, Empress Vaeyra stood slowly, her face drawn with panic. “She tricked him,” she whispered. “She manipulated the scene. That girl—she—”

  The Emperor rose next, robes rustling like thunder.

  “If you had raised our son to think before striking,” he said coldly, “he might have understood restraint.”

  The Empress paled, her mouth opening—but no words came out.

  The Emperor said nothing more. He turned, descended from the dais, and walked away without looking back.

  All around the ballroom, the murmur began again.

  And Ilyari, though gone from the floor, had never stood taller.

  Post-Author’s Note:

  And now, the court knows it.