Joran maneuvered through the halls, dodging the working servants and guards of the inner keep. He slowed as he walked by the old throne room. Its wide, heavy doors were thrown open, showcasing the grandeur of the past.

  Glancing in, his eyes followed the path of the carpet, red like scarlet wine. It stretched deep into the vast room where servants cleaned with diligent focus.

  At the far side, a small set of stairs led to the empty throne, King Thios being the last to bring it warmth.

  The red velvet upholstery reflected a soft glow from the candlelight while the golden frame shimmered, designed to catch the eye of everyone in its presence.

  The city had wept when the king was murdered. It was said that the mourning lasted for months.

  Joran lowered his head, paying silent respects to the late king. No one, aside from his traitorous friends, had dared to inherit the true king’s throne through all the years.

  Footsteps approached behind him.

  “Lord Joran,” Brenden called, holding a stack of papers tight to his chest. “It’s good to see you well. A lot has happened.”

  “I’m glad you're still standing.” Joran turned on his foot and continued through the hall. “I looked through your updates, so I have the gist. Has Lord Tabaris returned by now?”

  “No, my Lord,” he said. “The last meeting he attended was three months ago.”

  “What in Staterra’s name could he be doing?” Joran’s nostrils flared. “His seat’s as empty as the throne these days.”

  “Also,” Brenden continued, “Lord Damian has already agreed to let the afflicted leave the city once the east’s army arrives.”

  Joran scrunched his nose, turning to Brenden.

  “He has, has he?” he asked. “Then why has he kept them prisoner all this time?”

  “If only we could ask Lord Damian himself,” Brenden said, rolling his eyes.

  Joran slowed as he approached an open door ahead, sunlight spilling into the hall.

  “That is exactly what I intend to do.” Joran veered into the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Damian sat at his desk, reading some documents. He glanced up as the door shut.

  “Welcome back, Joran. You wasted no time,” Damian said, his lips curling into a smirk. “I was expecting you to visit, but I only just opened my door.”

  “Evening, Damian,” Joran said. “I hear you’ve made some changes.”

  “Which are you referring to?” Damian asked, his eyes narrowed. “So much has happened. You’ve been gone for a long time.”

  “The amended law you pushed for, the caging and hunting of afflicted, the policy on exiting the city—start wherever you’d like.”

  Damian leaned back in his chair, hands folded.

  “Very well. You already shut the door, so let us speak plainly.” He stood and gestured toward a board across the room.

  Joran followed behind him.

  “Do you like chess?” Damian asked, pouring two glasses of red wine.

  “I have too many questions for games.”

  “We both have questions, Joran. Why not let the board decide who earns the right to ask?”

  Joran thought for a moment before sitting across from Damian, pushing his glass of wine out of the way.

  “Each check on an opponent's king permits one question to be asked,” Damian said.

  “And each question must be answered honestly and directly,” Joran added.

  “One lie each,” Damian said.

  Joran peered long at Damian before nodding in agreement. “Use it wisely…”

  “You asked the first question, so it’s only right that you make the first move.” Damian offered the white king to Joran.

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  Joran grabbed the black king from the table.

  “You’ve always preferred responding to others actions. I’m curious how you play on the offense.”

  Damian’s grin twitched at his refusal. He made the first move, claiming the center.

  Joran responded to the opening, his gaze focused on the board.

  “Check,” Damian said, sacrificing his bishop.

  He thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you know what Tabaris has been up to, or where he’s been?”

  Joran blinked.

  “No, but I would like to know as well.”

  They continued, advancing and trading their pieces.

  Joran checked Damian with his knight, his posture straightening as he thought.

  “Do you wish to eradicate all those afflicted?”

  “Those in the capital, yes,” Damian said, already taking his turn.

  Damian’s king retreated from a knight.

  “Why keep them locked in the city? One day of executions would have been enough to drive them all out.”

  Damian glanced up at him, his head lowered over the board. He went to speak but hesitated.

  He didn’t blink.

  “They are rejects to the gods.” Damian leaned in closer, his hands pressed against his forehead, blocking his eyes from Joran. “Disposing of them can only earn me favor.”

  Joran studied his demeanor, marking the moment.

  The silence stretched for some time after. The tapping of pieces filling the room.

  Damian paused, his fingers hovering over a piece, before moving a different piece.

  Joran’s king had fewer squares now.

  Damian’s queen attacked.

  “You marched an army to our gates. You hope it pressures the Court,” Damian started. “But, what if your gamble fails?”

  Joran’s stare intensified. He didn’t allow himself to pause.

  “We’d protest at the gates until the afflicted were released.” Joran’s mouth went dry. He reached for the untouched glass of wine.

  Damian finished the rest of his own, eyes glued to Joran. He himself poured another, but he only poured half a glass.

  The room began to feel tight, as if it were shrinking. Pieces on the board thinned as Damian closed in on Joran’s king.

  Joran picked up his queen and sacrificed it.

  Damian doubled, holding back a laugh.

  “Did you expect, or want, blood to be drawn when the east arrives?” Joran asked.

  Damian tried to not react, but his expression shifted.

  “Of course not.”

  His reply sounded hollow.

  He didn’t blink.

  Damian stood, and took his final move.

  He slid his queen across the board, slow as if to insult Joran.

  “And that’s checkmate.” Damian smirked. “My final question for you is—why did you sacrifice your queen there? The game could have still gone either way.”

  Joran stood and walked toward the door.

  “When the rules of a game are changed, the win conditions change with it,” he said, grabbing the door latch.

  “You said we’d answer directly.” Damian’s jaw went tight as he spoke.

  Joran sighed.

  “I won the game that mattered. Staying only favors you.”

  Damian scoffed. “You always leave me amused.”

  Joran opened the door and left.

  Act Three

  Joran leaned back in his chair, taking his first quiet breath since he returned to the capital. Brenden poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Joran.

  “So,” Brenden said, settling into the chair across from him. “Did any of the rumors about The Shade ring true?”

  Joran took a sip. “More than you’d think. The architecture alone surprised me.”

  “I envy you. I’ve had my fill of listening to Lord Damian complicate every matter.”

  “You have my deepest sympathies.” Joran smirked. “Now you know the full extent of what I have to deal with.”

  Brenden chuckled, drinking from his glass. “Did they have good wine in the underground city?”

  “They had everything,” Joran said, glancing at the ceiling as if the memory was spread across it. “Everything but the gods, that is.”

  “The gods must be furious.” Brenden shook his head. “Their rejects living better than half the capital.”

  “I’m happy for them,” Joran said. “They are punished enough through their afflictions. The least they should have is a safe home amongst each other.”

  “Funny, your wife said the same thing before,” Brenden replied. “She also said you’d likely get lost on the way back.”

  Joran laughed. “She’ll be glad to see I’ve made it home then.”

  He stood up, finishing his wine and setting it on his desk.

  Brenden yawned, stretching before rising from his seat.

  “It is great to have you back, my Lord.”

  Joran exited into the hall, Brenden following, and then locked the door to his office.

  “It’s good to be back,” Joran said, placing a hand on Brenden’s shoulder. “Sleep well, my friend.”

  The halls were peaceful.

  Quiet.

  He wondered if Julia would be awake, and if she had a lecture prepared for him for not greeting her earlier.

  A smile touched his lips.

  He slowed as he approached his chambers, his eyelids becoming harder to keep open.

  “I’m finally home,” Joran said as he stepped inside. “I’ve missed—”

  Elise jumped off his bed and raced into him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “What’s this about?” He looked at Julia, her eyes red and puffy, as if she’d been crying herself.

  “I’ve missed you, love,” Julia said, sniffling between her words. “But I have terrible news to share with you.”

  Joran stiffened, already feeling his heart begin to ache.

  “It’s about the Neward family,” Julia said.