Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Nin would have preferred to lock herself in the princess’s chambers for a decade than face any noble again.
To her chagrin, the next morning, she was forced to stand with half the court in the gardens with Cedric at her side.
An immense board stretched across the lawn, its smooth pattern of black and white squares lustrous in the sunlight.
Servants dressed in elaborate costumes stood upon the spaces as the pieces—some in black, others in white—each painted with garish makeup.
Their cheeks were an exaggerated rosy red, their brows painted dark with sharp edges, and their stiff postures mimicked the figurines of a chess set.
A herald stood in the center and signaled the start of the match.
On one side, a visiting duke from Ehrenmark commanded the black pieces.
Opposite him, a count from Rodrigue’s country directed the white.
Ambassador Otto stood a step behind the duke, leaning close to murmur occasional advice, while Rodrigue lingered near the count’s side of the board, arms folded as he studied the opening moves.
Nin fanned herself from the sidelines, despite the pleasant, spring breeze tickling her curls. The action helped occupy her mind from the knots tightening in her stomach. She prayed no one would mention the disaster of her performance the night before.
Nin sweat through her silk gown despite the perfect weather.
Lucille selected a seafoam green dress for her to wear that afternoon, adorned with pink roses on the hem and sleeves, and matching ribbons cascading down the stomacher.
As a final touch, a lacy choker with a huge pink bow nestled against her throat.
It itched with every swallow, strangling her like a dog collar.
It was her least favorite fashion choice. Nin refrained from scratching, lest her expression betray her discomfort.
“Are you savvy on the game’s particulars?” Cedric murmured beside her. “Because Princess Marianne knows just enough to understand the gist of it.”
“I do, actually,” she said mildly as the duke moved a pawn forward.
“You do?”
Nin glanced at his surprised expression with a tug of her lips.
“Is that so surprising?” she asked.
He ignored the question. “Where did you learn?”
“My mother.”
Sunlight caught his spectacles, making it difficult to read his eyes.
Nin clicked her tongue under her breath as the duke moved to capture the first pawn.
The servant dressed in white—a feathered cap perched atop his head—clutched his chest and collapsed dramatically when the opposing pawn swept a wooden sword through the air.
The fallen piece groaned theatrically as two attendants hurried forward to drag him from the board.
Across the lawn, Adelina’s smile grew smug at her country’s first victory.
The crowd applauded politely.
It had been years since she thought of chess and her mother who spent many evenings mastering the game. Back then, the board was simpler: sixty-four squares and thirty-two pieces. There were no hidden rules or agendas, only clear rules.
Nin studied the board, her brows pinched as both sides played each piece. The duke played aggressively, sacrificing pawns to force open the center. Otto murmured something in his ear, but the duke dismissed it with a haughty wave.
He would do well to listen to the ambassador, perhaps.
“You seem to be observing the game quite carefully, Your Highness,” a baron next to her said, intrigued. “What are your thoughts?”
The question piqued the interest of the other noblemen, who subtly leaned in to catch her response. Cedric watched with a sidelong glance, his brow rising with interest.
Despite becoming the unexpected target of their curiosity, Nin didn’t hesitate. “The duke is forcing the attack. Aggressive players often assume their opponents will panic under pressure.”
“Do you believe the count is panicking?” the baron asked in amusement.
“No,” Nin said. “But the duke is overextending his knight.” She lifted her fan toward the pieces. “The count has an opening there. If he uses his bishop, the duke will lose his knight. Then… a check.”
She glanced up, her eyes meeting Rodrigue’s, and a slow smile spread across his face. Had he overheard her? He whispered into the count’s ear, and for a long moment, the count stared at the board before lifting his hand.
“Bishop takes knight on e5.”
As directed, the bishop, with a white, ornate miter towering above his white wig, stepped diagonally, the cross dangling from his shepherd-like crook.
He paused before the black knight in a dark metal helmet.
With a slash of his ivory crozier, the knight toppled in a heap, keeping one hand to his heart with melodramatic flair.
“Check!” the herald’s voice rang across the lawn.
Applause exploded on Nin’s side of the lawn as the crowd celebrated the count’s advantage. Her smile stretched, unable to contain the pride swelling in her chest.
Several noblemen nearby turned to her.
“Well now,” the baron said, his brows raised in surprise. “You successfully predicted the outcome.”
The noblemen murmured their agreement, their heads bobbing with approval.
“Impressive foresight,” an earl added.
Rodrigue laughed lightly, raising a glass from a servant’s platter in salute. A hint of a smile lit Cedric’s face.
Warmth bloomed within her as she nodded modestly at the praise. For once, the attention on her ceased to press an invisible blade to her throat.
“It appears the princess is equipped with hidden talents we were unaware of,” the baron said.
“Perhaps chess suits her better than singing,” a marquis quipped.
Laughter followed, brittle and biting all around her.
Nin’s hold on the fan grew firmer, while their mockery froze away any pride or warmth.
“Let us hope she rests more before she graces us with another song,” a baroness said behind her fan.
“It would be such a shame if she lost her voice forever,” another whispered.
The space around her was suddenly too tight, like the choker around her neck.
The game continued on, as did the whispers. Nin could no longer follow the pieces moving on the board. Her stomach twisted into knots as her disastrous performance last evening bore down on her.
Of course, they remembered.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she announced, but did not wait for anyone to respond. Nin schooled her features despite the prick of humiliation stinging her eyes. The rustle of her skirts was her only defiance against the murmurs behind her.
But someone else followed.
Cedric easily kept up with her stride, the steady rhythm of his footsteps a grounding anchor to her erratic heartbeat. In his silence, hot needles stabbed under her skin, pinching at her throat.
How often would she be humiliated like this?
Nin had no destination in mind. Every nerve in her body flared to life, wishing to escape and distance herself as far as she could from any living soul.
Yet Cedric continued to walk beside her, following the paths she chose at random. Beyond the hedges and gardens, and beyond any place she had tread before, the trees clustered closer together, offering shelter from the ever-present judgment of the court.
The path came to a dead end, with a single iron bench under the cover of the treetops. There, she resigned herself to sitting, not wishing to look at her guard, let alone know what he was thinking.
A pair of yellow birds with red faces twirled in the air and darted into the bushes.
The air around her was alive with cheerful chirps and twittering, each song belonging to a different bird hopping among the branches.
Lavender sprang through the grass, their calming fragrance filling her senses, the breeze on her face a welcome respite against the lingering humiliation searing her skin.
Peace sank into her deep breaths. If only she could stay here forever.
“Your mother taught you well,” Cedric said, breaking the silence.
Nin shook her head. “She tried. My mother was much better than me, though,” she said ruefully. The memories stirred around her heart, reminding her of quieter times.
Cedric lowered himself onto the bench next to her, his silence a permission to continue if she wished.
Nin regarded the branches above them, squinting when the harsh sunlight dappled her face.
“Some evenings, after working all day as a laundress, she still taught me everything she knew—from reading, writing, cooking, and playing chess. Her hands were cracked, sometimes bleeding from the lye, but she still made time for me.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “She said the game was simpler than life—than people, really.”
Cedric braced his elbows on his knees, glancing at her. “What happened to her?”
The question hung in the air as she swallowed. Her sight remained on the trees, on all the knots in the bark, and the ants marching up the trunk. “She died when I was fourteen,” she said. “Frostlung. My dad followed soon after.”
The words were said matter-of-factly, but the memory pricked a wound she had buried eight years ago. Some old injuries, it seemed, were bound to ache when touched.
Cedric stiffened beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said.
To anyone else, it wasn’t much, but his words were more than anyone else had offered when they knew the truth. She steadied her exhale, attempting to steel herself from the emotions she had locked away for many years.
“It’s all right. I haven’t thought about it in forever—couldn’t really when I had my nine-year-old brother to feed. And let me tell you, little brothers are always hungry.”
She chuckled softly at her own joke. Cedric’s mouth twitched—an almost smile in her books.
“None of our neighbors helped us. And the only family we had was miles away. So, I worked whatever job I could get my hands on: laundry, kitchen work, chamber pots—” she shuddered at the unpleasant memory. “Anything I could find.”
Nin lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
“But they never lasted long. People don’t trust desperate orphans, it seems,” she continued. A pause stretched against the birdsong and shivering leaves above them. “So, I figured instead of making coin, I’d steal it. It paid better anyway.”
Her grin grew wistful. Finally looking at Cedric, she rubbed her neck sheepishly, her fingers disturbing the frilly choker around her neck.
“I suppose you know the rest.”
Cedric looked down at the ground, his brow creased in thought. A part of her wondered why she had revealed so much to him—why she would expose herself to him. But a part of her whispered that his presence steadied something inside her.
He would safeguard all her secrets.
“You were a child,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”
Nin sighed, shrugging. “It kept Alain full. Can’t worry about what I can’t change—crying about it didn’t put food in our bellies.”
Cedric straightened, shifting his body to face her. His expression hardened, but she sensed it wasn’t directed at her, nor the tick in his jaw. An intensity swirled behind his spectacles in his deep, dark eyes.
“They have no idea how strong you are,” he said.
Nin blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. It took her a moment to realize whom he referred to.
She chuckled under her breath. “The court thinks I’m a fool.”
“They are fools.”
A quiet laugh slipped out before she could stop it. She hadn’t expected him to sound so sincere or protective.
The coiled knots in her stomach loosened, and warmth stole through the cracks of her pain.
“They will pay for humiliating you,” he said.
Her smile stretched to her cheeks. The man was entirely too serious. “And how do you suppose you will go about doing that? Challenge them to a duel? You’ll lose your position by the end of the day.”
His voice had gone quieter, rougher somehow. “If it’s necessary.”
Instead of knots, her stomach performed a strange flip at his candid answer. She bit her lip, averting her gaze. “Don’t lose your job on my account,” she said, then after a pause she added, “I still need you…”
Cedric shifted beside her. The heat of his fingers brushed against her hand, and her pulse quickened at his touch. When she peered up at him, the emotion—the sincerity of his expression—sent a strange flutter behind her ribs. She became suddenly aware of how close he was—how alone they were.
“Then I will ensure I stay by your side.”
The moisture fled her mouth when she swallowed, unprepared by the gentleness of his voice. She pretended not to notice how his proximity pressed against her senses, how hery gaze lingered on his mouth a moment too long.
She averted her eyes and fondled the ruffles on her dress, a slight smile on her lips. She believed him, and she hadn’t been able to believe anyone for many years.
For once, the laughter of the court disappeared.