12. Checkmate
CHECKMATE
Allora made sure she was the first one awake from the nap.
The servants would still be finishing their evening chores, Surian just beginning her meticulous routines, Luko likely still sprawled at his desk covered in drool and parchment.
It had to be today. She couldn't wait any longer inside this prison.
Evening had fallen, almost dinner time. The perfect moment to use the powder because no one would question why a household had slept through the night.
Her body was bare, pressed against Malec's heat.
He had taken his usual position in the bed, always closest to the door, always behind her.
His face was buried in the curve of her shoulder, her hair somehow draped across his cheek like a blanket.
He slept deeply, blissfully, his breathing steady.
One arm bent beneath his head, the other coiled around her torso, his hand cupping her breast with unconscious possession.
She whispered his name, barely louder than the brush of breath. "Malec… are you awake yet?"
He didn't stir. His lashes fluttered with the faintest twitch, his body caught in REM's hold. Relief slipped through her veins. Slowly, carefully, she pried herself from his arms, lifting her hair free from under him strand by strand. He did not move.
Her robe waited draped over the chair. The green one, stitched with a hidden pocket. She slipped it on, drawing the black packet from her sleeve as she reached the door. Pausing, she listened.
Soft voices floated down the corridor. Maids murmuring about rug cleaning day as she slipped through the halls like a shadow.
The kitchen was empty, just as she prayed it would be.
The servants still lingered in their quarters, ovens just beginning to warm, filling the air with the smell of ash and faint yeast. Pitchers sat waiting as they always did: evening wine, chilled carafe of juice, the communal water the servants and guards drank from.
Her fingers did not tremble as she opened the packet. The black powder poured like smoke. Half into the wine. A quarter into the juice. The rest into the servants' water. She could not risk them waking Malec and Surian too early; she needed enough time to get out of the city.
The powder dissolved at once, leaving no trace or scent.
She exhaled softly, as though she had only come for food. A wedge of cheese, a crust of bread, a glass of water for good measure. She arranged them neatly in her hands, forced her breath calm, her steps light.
Then she turned.
And nearly collided with Surian in the doorway.
"Up from your nap already?" Surian asked, her voice soft, curious.
Allora's heart leapt, but she masked it with a faint smile. "I just woke. Thought I'd get something in my stomach."
Surian's eyes drifted to the bread and cheese in her hands. "Dinner will be ready within the hour, you know. The servants just started the fire."
"I was too hungry to wait," Allora said lightly.
Surian tilted her head. "Then come wait in the parlor with me. At least sit somewhere comfortable while you snack."
There was no way to say no without raising suspicion. So Allora nodded. "Sure."
Surian led the way. The early evening light filtered through the high windows, golden and calm.
Allora sat curled on one end of the couch, her glass of water untouched, her food picked at like a bird pecking crumbs.
Surian sipped her tea, flipping lazily through a political journal, pretending not to watch her.
Then footsteps approached. Soft, hesitant. Luko stepped into the room, his shoulders hunched, his face pale and drawn with sleeplessness. His eyes landed on Allora, and he froze mid-step. Their gazes locked.
He bowed his head slightly. "Can I… speak to you?"
Surian looked between them, then gave a small nod and rose. "I'll go see if dinner has begun." She set her cup aside and left, her skirts whispering against the floor.
The door closed.
Luko lingered near the threshold before forcing himself closer. He stopped a few paces away, eyes on the rug instead of her. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. "I haven't gotten a chance to really get you alone so I can say this but here it goes. I am so so so sorry."
The words were barely audible. "I know it doesn't matter. But I am. I'm sorry for… for helping him. For holding your arm. For not stopping it."
Allora stared at him. She wanted to be furious. She wanted to scream until her throat tore. She wanted to throw the bread in her hand across the room and demand how he could smile at her one day and restrain her the next. But her voice came calm, quiet. "I understand."
His eyes lifted, startled.
"I forget sometimes," she added, bitterness threading through her tone. "That you're all on his side."
The words hit him like a blade. His face fell. "I didn't want to be," he said, voice small. "I still don't."
Her gaze dropped to her lap. "But you are."
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, stepping closer. His hands fidgeted at his sleeves, wringing the fabric. "I hate the way this feels and that I can't do more. That I couldn't protect you. But… I do care about you, Allora. I want you to be happy."
She didn't answer. Because she didn't know if she believed in happiness anymore. And deep down, she wondered if anyone would ever truly choose her over Malec.
Between them lived neither anger nor forgiveness, only the hollow weight of what had been left unsaid too long.
Luko's throat bobbed. "I never wanted to be part of this," he said, almost defensively. "But… I work for him. For the House. It's not that easy to walk away."
Allora let out a soft, humorless laugh. "You think I don't know that?"
His shoulders slumped. "I just mean…" He shook his head, sighing. "I know you think I chose him. And maybe I did. Maybe by not stopping him, I did. But that doesn't mean I wanted to hurt you."
She finally looked at him. The disappointment in her eyes made him flinch.
"You didn't stop him," she said, her voice low. "You could've. You saw my face, you heard me cry."
"I froze," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I froze, Allora. I was afraid. He's not like anyone else. When he gets like that… it's like the world bends around his will."
Her jaw clenched. She turned her gaze away. "That's not an excuse."
"I know," he whispered, the words hanging in the heavy morning air.
They stood in it for a long time, the ugly truth stretched taut between them like a rope neither dared cut.
"I still meant it," Luko said at last, his voice breaking the silence. He stepped closer, his eyes searching hers with a kind of desperate honesty. "When I said I care about you. You're… you're the first person who made me feel like I wasn't just a tool. Like I could be more."
Allora's throat tightened. She fought to keep her expression steady, but the ache in her chest betrayed her.
His mouth curved into a sad smile. "You treated me like I mattered. Even when no one else in this world did. And I didn't protect you."
"You didn't," she said softly, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.
He nodded, accepting the blow. For a moment he looked so small and almost human, that it made her want to look away.
"But," she added, lifting her gaze to meet his, "thank you."
His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his features. "For what?"
"For not pretending you did the right thing."
It was the closest thing to forgiveness she could give him. And they both knew it. Deep down, they both understood this fragile truce wouldn't last beyond this stolen moment. She was leaving. He would stay.
Luko shifted, perching on the arm of a nearby chair, his fingers worrying at a loose thread on his cuff.
"I keep thinking," he murmured, "what if we could've all met differently?
Before the virus. Before the politics. Just…
you and me. You'd be the brilliant scientist. I'd be the quiet lab tech trying not to spill anything. "
A faint smirk tugged at her lips despite herself. "I'd be yelling at you to double-check your measurements."
"And I'd be making you tea and sneaking you snacks during long shifts," he said, almost wistful.
The corner of her smile faltered. "That world doesn't exist."
"No," he said quietly, his eyes heavy with longing. "But sometimes I wish it did."
For a heartbeat, her expression softened. "Me too."
They sat together, friendship intact but not uncomplicated — Luko caught between what he owed Malec and what he knew Allora deserved, and neither of them pretending otherwise.
And through it all, Allora felt the acute weight of the black packet hidden in her robe, a silent reminder pressed against her side. Time was slipping through her fingers.
The table was set in the glass atrium, golden sunlight streaking through enchanted windows, scattering across crystal goblets and polished silver. Servants moved like shadows, laying out steaming golden bread, soft cheeses, roasted fruits glazed in honey, and trays of delicate pastries.
Allora sat with Surian and Luko, their plates not yet filled, the warmth between them calm and almost domestic as she yawned, stretching her arms.
Luko caught it and smirked. "What are you tired for? You don't have a job. No duties. You've got it easier than any of us."
Allora plucked a grape from the dish in front of her and tossed it at him. It bounced off his chest, and he laughed, leaning back smugly.
"Allora," Surian scolded, her voice crisp as she shook her head. "Must you behave like a child?"
"I mean, compared to you two, I basically am a child," Allora shot back. "You're all ancient."
That earned a chuckle from both Surian and Luko, the sound echoing lightly in the glass-walled room. For a brief moment, Allora let herself bask in it, the illusion of family, of belonging.
Then the doors opened, and he appeared.