Ch 3 Pieces on the Board

Chapter Three — Pieces on the Board

The hall emptied slowly, like wine draining from a glass.

Servants swept in to gather abandoned goblets and fold chairs back into neat rows along the wall. Courtiers drifted away in small clusters, each glance or whisper feeling like the brush of a blade along Serenya’s skin.

Kael stayed by the larger throne, speaking in low tones with an advisor whose robes trailed like ink across the floor.

The throne itself was a looming piece of blackwood, carved with curling designs that shifted in the light — one moment they looked like winding vines, the next like chains binding unseen prisoners. The high back rose in a sharp crown of spires, each tipped with a fleck of dark gold that caught the candlelight in sudden, spark-like flashes. The armrests were smooth from years of use, but the ends flared into talons clutching rubies the size of a thumb. It was not a seat built for comfort. It was a seat built to remind anyone who looked at it who had the power to put them there — and keep them there.

He didn’t call her over. He didn’t dismiss her, either.

She stood where he’d left her, fingers curled loosely at her sides, pretending she didn’t care that she’d been turned into decoration.

A flash of movement in the corner of her vision made her look up.

The knight.

The same one from earlier — tall, broad-shouldered, his polished armor catching the candlelight like water over stone. He wasn’t looking at Kael this time. He was looking at her.

Not in the way the other men had, with quick glances that weighed and dismissed her. His gaze lingered, steady and… searching. Like he was trying to place her in a memory.

She glanced away first.

A servant appeared at her side, carrying a silver tray with a single goblet of wine. “From His Highness,” the boy murmured, lowering his eyes.

Serenya took it because not taking it would cause questions she wasn’t ready to answer. The stem was cold between her fingers, the surface of the wine trembling faintly with her pulse.

When she dared another look toward the knight, he was closer. Close enough now that she could see more than the gleam of his armor.

His hair was dark brown — almost black — but when the candlelight caught it, she saw the deep chestnut underneath. A single lock had slipped loose from where it was tied at the back, brushing against his temple. His eyes were the color of worn leather, warm and deep, the kind that could pull you in and hold you there. A faint shadow of stubble lined his jaw, broken only by the pale curve of an old scar running from just under his cheekbone to the edge of his mouth.

He looked nothing like Kael.

Where the knight’s gaze was steady, Kael’s was a storm — restless, calculating, alive with things he’d never say. Kael’s hair was black as midnight without a hint of softness, each strand falling exactly where it was meant to, as if the darkness itself obeyed him. His eyes… she still wasn’t sure if they were grey or silver, only that they reflected the world back to her sharper than it had gone in.

The knight seemed carved from the earth. Kael, from shadow.

She didn’t know why she expected Kael to notice, but he did. His voice cut through the low hum of conversation — not loud, but sharp enough to draw attention.

“Vale,” he called.

Every eye turned.

She walked to him, the sound of her own steps too loud in her ears. The knight’s gaze followed her the entire way. She felt it, heavy and unblinking, like a question she couldn’t answer.

Kael’s hand closed lightly around her wrist when she reached him — a touch that looked casual, but felt like a chain.

“You’re learning,” he said, his tone unreadable.

“Am I?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “You didn’t run.”

Before she could answer, the knight crossed the floor. His steps were unhurried, deliberate, and they carried the weight of someone who didn’t ask permission to approach.

The air between the three of them tightened.

He stopped just short of the dais, bowed his head to Kael, and then — without looking away from Serenya — said, “Your Highness. I believe the lady is in need of an escort back to her chambers.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

Kael didn’t look at her. He looked at the knight, his grip on her wrist tightening just enough for her to feel the thrum of his pulse against her skin.

“She already has one,” Kael said softly. “Me.”

It was not an offer.

It was a warning.

The knight’s jaw flexed once before he stepped back. His gaze lingered on her for one last moment — and in it was something dangerous. Not threat, not desire, but a promise that this wouldn’t be the last time.

Kael let her wrist go only after the knight had turned away.

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The corridor beyond the throne room was quieter, but not silent. The distant echo of footsteps, the whisper of silk from passing servants — all faint, but present enough to remind her she was never truly alone here.

Kael walked ahead, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his stride the same as it had been in the hall: unhurried, deliberate, as if every step was part of some rhythm only he could hear.

Serenya followed a pace behind, her thoughts louder than the torches hissing along the walls.

The knight’s eyes still lingered in her mind — that steady, assessing gaze. Not cruel. Not warm. Just… fixed on her, like he was trying to map the edges of something he couldn’t quite see.

It had unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. Not just because he’d noticed her, but because in that moment, she’d noticed him back.

Kael’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“In the hall.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes catching the torchlight like quicksilver. “Who looked away first — you, or him?”

Serenya almost said what does it matter again, but stopped herself. She had the feeling he’d only repeat himself, or worse, explain it in a way that made her feel foolish.

“I did,” she said finally.

“Mm.” A small sound, not approval or disappointment. More like a player noting a move on the board.

They turned down a narrower hallway. Here the torches threw smaller pools of light, leaving shadows thick between them.

“You don’t like him,” she said.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Because he spoke to me?”

“Because he doesn’t move like the others.” Kael’s tone was mild, but there was a sharpness under it. “Knights are dangerous pieces, Serenya. Their strength isn’t in how far they move, but in how unexpectedly they arrive.”

She almost laughed at that, but the sound stuck in her throat. “And what am I? A pawn?”

His head tilted slightly, as if she’d surprised him. “Pawns survive by reaching the other side of the board. If they do, they become the most dangerous piece of all.”

The words landed heavier than she expected. Dangerous. Her? She barely knew the rules here. She barely knew if she’d be alive long enough to learn them.

They reached a carved door. Kael pushed it open and gestured for her to step inside.

The chamber was warm, firelight spilling over a plush bed and heavy curtains. But there was something almost… staged about it. Like every cushion and fold of fabric had been arranged for a guest who wasn’t expected to stay.

She turned back to him. “Why tell me any of this? You could have just ordered me to keep my eyes down and mouth shut.”

Kael’s mouth curved — not a smile exactly, but close. “Because you’re not stupid. And I have no use for pieces that don’t know they’re in a game.”

“And what happens to pieces that forget?”

“Pieces that forget,” he said softly, “don’t last long enough to regret it.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The fire cracked in the grate. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled the late hour.

Kael stepped back into the shadows beyond the doorway. “Rest. Tomorrow, we play for more than introductions.”

The door closed between them, but the game he’d spoken of stayed with her, threading through her thoughts long after she lay down.

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