The sun had barely risen when the first report arrived, carried by a page with trembling hands. The parchment bore no seal—only the faint trace of an Oath ink I did not recognize.
I caught it mid-air, turning it over with a deliberate grace. The script pulsed faintly, as though alive, whispering of secrets already written and already broken.
Alaric hovered at the doorway, quiet as ever. "Another anomaly?" he asked. His voice carried equal parts curiosity and caution.
"Yes," I murmured, breaking the wax with a flick of my crystal-clad fingers. The seal shattered like frozen glass. "And this one is closer than we imagined."
Inside, the message detailed subtle movements of gold, hidden communications between nobles, and—most dangerously—a whispered plot to rewrite the allegiance of an entire district. The hand that wrote it knew the rules. Too well.
"Bishop's work," I said softly. The diagonal moves, indirect influence, the subtle redirection of loyalty. Someone was playing a hidden strategy within a strategy.
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "You know who?"
I shook my head, letting strands of silver hair fall over my face. "Not yet. But I will find them. And they will pay for every piece they touch without permission."
---
By midday, the council convened again. Shadows stretched across the chamber as I entered, crystalline shards reflecting in torchlight. Every noble's eyes lingered, assessing, guessing, fearing.
Cassian spoke first, his calm voice slicing through murmurs. "Reports from the eastern districts suggest unrest. Minor noble houses question loyalties."
I smiled faintly, imperceptible to most. "Unrest is predictable. Reaction, however, can be orchestrated." I let the words hang, a blade disguised as silk.
Alaric stepped forward, tentative yet assertive. "We could intervene… strategically. Use the Oaths to redirect loyalty without confrontation."
"Correct," I said, circling him. "But intervention without foresight can backfire. The Bishop moves diagonally—unseen, unanticipated. We must anticipate every diagonal, every misstep, every whisper."
Cassian's eyes followed my movement, noting each deliberate gesture. Even he could not ignore the precision of my observation.
---
The afternoon passed in a tense rhythm of council discussions, minor confrontations, and coded whispers. I observed every gesture, every shift in posture, every microexpression. Each was a move on the board. Each could be used. Each could betray.
By evening, I retreated to the palace's highest tower. The city stretched below like a living chessboard—streets intersecting, lanterns glowing faintly, rooftops catching the last amber light.
Alaric appeared silently at the entrance, as if he had always been there. The Knight learns to anticipate the Queen's path.
"You are… relentless," he murmured.
"And you are persistent," I replied, letting the corner of my mouth lift faintly. "Good. Persistence is useful in knights. Dangerous in pawns."
He did not respond. He did not need to. We both understood.
Outside, the wind tugged at my silver hair. Crystalline shards on my shoulders caught the fading light, reflecting fractured visions of the city below. Each reflection a possibility, a secret, a move unseen.
I touched the faint Oath under my wrist. Someone had moved again. Someone powerful, calculating, patient.
The Board had shifted.
And I would be ready.