Night had already descended on the House Valemortis, bringing with it a silence different from the usual. The stars barely shone behind a faint mist, and the polished stone corridors were empty except for the soft echo of distant footsteps. After dinner, the Marquis's entourage was accommodated in one of the east wings of the property, away from the main quarters.
Elyandra, however, did not go straight to her room.
She glided through the aisles like an elegant shadow, his light, precise steps guiding her to a destination she had already chosen before dessert was even served. And, as he had predicted, he was there. The hostage boy, alone, standing in front of an arched window in the corridor of the winter garden. He watched the overcast sky with an expression that was difficult to decipher, part melancholy, part calculation.
"Nice view for someone who is not at home. Elyandra said softly, a few steps away from him.
The boy was not startled. He just turned his face in her direction, without answering immediately.
"Are you lost?" Or just pretending to be? She insisted, now approaching with a slight smile on her lips.
"I'm not lost. He replied at last, his voice low and controlled. "Just... Watching.
"How poetic. Elyandra leaned on the window sill next to him, leaning in a little. "Do you have a name, observer?"
There was too long a pause for such a simple question.
"Callen. He replied at last. "Just Callen...
"Hm. Short, mysterious name. It would match a spy. Or a renegade heir. She joked, but with a watchful eye on his reaction.
Callen didn't smile, but his eyes shone for a moment, as if it had provoked some thought.
"And you're always like that?" He asked, crossing his arms. "Invading other people's conversations, forcing dialogues?"
"Only when I'm bored. Or curious. Elyandra shrugged. "And you're interesting enough to get me out of dessert early." Congratulations.
Callen arched an eyebrow, but said nothing more. Elyandra interpreted the silence as an invitation.
"Let's walk?" The mansion is big and full of places where no one hears what we say..." She said, starting to walk.
He hesitated just a second before following her.
The corridors stretched in white marble and antique tapestries. Elyandra spoke casually, as if she were just talking to an old friend. Callen, on the other hand, kept short answers, but no longer sounded so rigid.
"And then, Callen... Where do you come from?
"From a cold place. He replied, evasively.
"Cold as mountains or cold as hearts?" She spun on her own axis with a slight laugh. "I'll bet on both.
"Maybe." He said, with a slight shrug.
They arrived at one of the external balconies. The garden, plunged into darkness and illuminated only by a few magic lanterns, stretched out before them like a living tapestry of shadows and dark vegetation.
Elyandra picked up a swordsmanship from training, left by one of the servants in the small marble arena next to the courtyard.
"Do you like fencing?" She asked, taking her first elegant steps, the blade drawing strokes in the air with lightness and precision.
"I've never practiced. He replied, now leaning against a pillar, watching.
"I like it. It has something of... Straightforward, yet elegant. Like certain types of conversation. She delivered a fluid sequence of blows against the air, her body moving as if dancing.
Callen watched her in silence, but not with disdain. His eyes analyzed, measured each movement, as if they wanted to understand more than the technique. "They wanted to decipher the person behind that wooden sword.
"You know..." Elyandra said between one blow and another. "You don't exactly seem scared to me. Nor submissive. This is rare in someone who has been... Brought.
"And you don't look like a child. He replied, without hesitation.
She paused, lowering her sword with a satisfied smile.
"Very well observed.
The two stared at each other for a moment, the night breeze ruffling Elyandra's silver hair and Callen's dark hair.
The tension was different now. Not of hostility, but of mutual recognition. Two players who, although on different sides of the board, understood the game.
And Elyandra knew: Callen wasn't just a hostage.
He was more than a piece. Perhaps a threat. Or a future blade.
Elyandra rested her training blade on the stone wall, her eyes still fixed on Callen. The light mist of the garden enveloped the two of them like a subtle curtain, muffling sounds and amplifying silences.
Without missing a beat, she approached him naturally, stopping next to him, as if there were just two acquaintances enjoying the night air.
"So... a cold place. She repeated, as if savoring the words. "Curious." Because his skin is too tanned for a country of blizzards, and his accent... Well, you try hard to sound neutral, but it's not enough.
Callen did not immediately respond. She just kept her eyes ahead, staring into the void as if it were more interesting than Elyandra Valemortis.
"It turns out I'm pretty good at deciphering lies." She continued, with a quiet smile. "And even better at breaking silences. Which way do you prefer?
"You ask a lot of questions. He replied, dryly.
"You don't answer any." Which only makes me more curious. She replied, leaning with her back on the short wall, facing him. "And you can't imagine how dangerous it is to make someone like me curious."
Callen finally turned his face to face her. There was a spark in his eyes of caution, perhaps even irritation, but nothing that would break his composure. Still, Elyandra noticed the slight stiffening of her jaw.
"I have nothing to hide. He said.
"Then why do you try to escape the conversation as if I were going to disarm you with words?" She laughed. "You look like you're in a game. But I don't know if you noticed..." Elyandra placed herself in front of him at a fluid pace, intercepting the route he intended to leave. — ... I'm very good at games and I love intriguing things.
Callen stopped, his body stiff. They were close now, close enough that he could see the analytical glow in her golden-colored amethyst eyes.
"Are you afraid of me?" Elyandra asked, in a neutral tone, without looking away. "Or are you just not used to people who see beyond what you pretend to be?"
For a moment, the silence seemed too dense. The boy averted his eyes, his breath a little deeper.
Elyandra softened her tone, without moving away:
"Why does the Marquis of Sorell keep you around." Are you a prisoner? A gift? A shield? Or just... A bomb waiting to explode, are there many possibilities?
She spoke with an almost paranormal serenity and tranquility, at no time did she get excited and did not even raise her tone.
He clenched his fists for a moment. Then, without looking directly at her, he murmured:
"You're not going to stop, are you?"
"Oh, finally. Elyandra said, smiling from the side. — Verbal capitulation. But don't worry, we can negotiate your surrender.
She stepped aside, making way.
"How about a game of chess?" I promise not to play seriously... unless you play badly.
Callen hesitated. His eyes went back to hers, trying to measure how much it was a provocation and how much it was an invitation.
"Do you play well?" He asked.
"I wouldn't say I play well, but I'm not insufficient either. She replied, as if declaring an indisputable truth.
"After all, these archaic games are the only means of entertainment similar to the games of my last life."
"Then it's okay." He nodded, almost resigned. "A match. Just one.
Elyandra gave a slight turn, satisfied.
"As in any practice, only one game is what we need to decide which of us is the best strategist here.
As they walked back inside the mansion, Callen kept his gaze ahead, but his expression was no longer so impassive. Elyandra smiled to herself. She had already won the first game and the board had not even been assembled yet.
The game room on the second floor of the mansion was large, shrouded in soft shadows, and filled with precision-laid out luxurious pieces. But there, under the golden light of the hanging chandelier, nothing was more important than the ebony and ivory board resting on the central table.
Elyandra settled down gracefully, crossing her legs like a young aristocrat bored with the world but hungry for a worthy challenge. Callen sat in front of her, stiff as if he was about to sign a treaty, not playing a game.
"White or black?" She asked, her eyes twinkling.
"Black." He replied calmly.
"As you prefer." She smiled, touching the white tower and subtly repositioning it. — E1 to G1. Short castling.
Callen tilted his head. They started early with security guards.
— D7 to D6. He announced. "Pirc Defense?"
"Hm... bold. Elyandra advanced her pawn from square C2 to C4. — C4.
"English lady." He murmured, recognizing the structure.
The pieces danced.
Knight for C3. Pawn for G6. Bishop for G5. Horse F6. Tower for C1.
Each movement was followed by a measured gaze, a tense pause, as if each one was carving destiny with wood and silence.
"You play in a very withdrawn, maybe somewhat relapsed way. Elyandra said casually, as her lady moved from D1 to D2.
Callen looked at her for a moment, and then countered with the same coolness with which he moved his bishop to G7:
"And you speak as if you need to be heard..." so as not to drown in his own silence.
"What a wrong way to see me. She replied. "That's not how I work, I just like challenges, overcoming them is in a way, exciting.
He moved his queen to D7.
Elyandra smiled sympathetically. Played knight for D5.
"What about you?" She said, watching him. "A neutral name, manners too refined for someone raised as some servant.
Callen did not immediately respond. But his eyes didn't move from the board as silence trickled between them.
— Leonhart House, from the Leonine Empire. He said at last. "We are the third lineage below the Crown. The Marquis demanded guarantees of direct trade with our magic salt. In return... they sent it to me.
Elyandra didn't feign surprise. He just straightened his posture, with a dangerous twinkle in his eyes.
"A prince of salt sold as currency..." She muttered, moving her tower to D3. "It doesn't seem like we're on different sides of the same coin then.
Callen advanced his horse to E4, pressing his center.
She felt the tension rise.
"You're very valuable to him then." She said, calmly. "Strategic. Maybe a passport. A key. A symbol.
"A play?" He gave it back.
"A precious piece. Which can only be moved by third parties. She countered, firmly. "It doesn't seem very fair to me, not that I can say anything in my position." She pointed out as she slid her finger over the earring that was the mark of those who carried the ancient blood, Callen noticed it at the same moment.
For minutes, the board went on in absolute silence. Callen sacrificed a bishop. Elyandra exchanged checkers. The balance tipped over. He was misled by pedestrian movements. They locked diagonals. They stole columns.
When he promoted a pawn, she counterattacked with a hidden check.
Callen elegantly retreated his king.
And then, Elyandra advanced her final rook from H1 to H8, protected by a knight on G6.
"Checkmate." She announced, her eyes twinkling. "The walls have collapsed, the general has fallen, and the king... Ah, the king tried to flee where there was no way.
Callen was silent, watching the board for long seconds.
"You played with me like you were building a fortress. He commented.
"No. Elyandra replied, leaning forward slightly, resting her chin on her hands. "A fortress would not be the right one, but an empire, impenetrable and stronger than any other, you were a good opponent, for a few moments I doubted my own strategies."
For a moment, the tension was sustained, firm.
And then, something Elyandra didn't expect: Callen laughed.
Not an open laugh. But a contained, brief laugh, one of those that escapes even when you try to hide.
She accompanied him, also laughing, a sweet sound with poison between the lines.
"We'll never play just for sport again, will we?" He asked, looking at her as if accepting a cold war.
"I never played for sport. She replied. "But who knows..." One day, we will play for something bigger.
He stood up, adjusting the lapel of the formal uniform he wore, and said with a faint smile.
"If it's to lose, let it be to someone with enough ambition to beat the whole world.
"So..." she replied, staring at him as if the world was already hers. "I'm glad you chose the right side."
Before he could answer, firm footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door opened.
He was the Marquis de Sorell, impeccable and with a face full of slight distrust wrapped in courtesy.
"Callen, it's late." We must return to our quarters. He said, with a short nod to Elyandra.
The boy bowed respectfully to her.
"Good evening, Lady Elyandra.
"Good evening, Mr. Callen." She replied, with a smile too slight to be just courtesy.
He left her there, with restrained steps, returning to the side of the man who had brought him as a coin. Elyandra watched him disappear through the corridors. His eyes twinkled with satisfaction.
Alone again, she turned to the large window of the hall. The moon poured through the curtains, silvering the furniture and drawing a soft line to its shadow on the floor.
Silently, she went up to her room. He closed the door. He sat down in front of the mirror. And there, the sweet smile crumbled into a more... genuine.
"It's almost touching how immune the proud think they are to games..." He murmured to the reflection. "But deep down, even the most resistant want to be heard.
She ran her finger over her chin, analyzing her own image.
"A boy of noble blood. In a future whole deck of possibilities. Oh... how easy it is to plant seeds in fertile soil.
She rested her hands on her knees, dangling her feet in the air like an ordinary little girl. The contrast with the words he said only made it stranger. More charmingly wrong.
"Revolutions are not born from battles, they are born from jumps. Small steps, in small nights. And when they realize... It's already too late.
And then, she laughed.
Not as a villain of tales or crazed dictators.
She laughed like a girl.
Fluffy. Cheerful. A little manic.
And behind that laughter, the world turned... exactly as she wanted.