Morning in the palace was a symphony of gilded lies.Silken curtains fluttered.Servants bustled with smiles painted on their tired faces.And everywhere, nobles whispered behind jeweled fans — mouths sweet, hearts poisonous.
I strolled into the garden court with my usual languid grace, every step measured.Eyes followed me, as they always did.Some with fear.Some with desire.Most with thinly veiled contempt.
Let them look.Let them think I was still the same foolish prince-to-be.That was the beauty of this game.The sharper their sneers, the deeper I could plunge my knife when the time came.
And then, like fate twisting the dagger for amusement, she appeared.
Evelyne.
Clad in a pale violet dress that shimmered like morning mist, her every step was poetry wrapped in steel.Her hair fell in loose waves today, softening the sharp angles of her face.But her eyes…Those violet flames burned hotter than ever.
Our gazes locked across the garden, and in that charged instant, the entire world seemed to hush.
She was the queen without a crown.I, the king without a throne.
And we both knew — only one of us would claim the seat at the end of this bloody path.
"Your Highness," Evelyne greeted coolly as she approached, the perfect noblewoman's smile curving her lips.Deceptive. Deadly.
"My lady fiancée," I replied, voice smooth as silk, smile sharp as broken glass."How radiant you are this morning. One might think you've just committed treason before breakfast."
The faintest flicker crossed her expression — gone in a blink — but I caught it.Oh, I always caught it.
"How droll," she murmured, eyes glittering."I could say the same, my lord. I hear certain… disgraced knights have been seen near your estate. Strays you've gathered, no doubt. For charity, of course."
A beat.My smile widened."And I hear merchants long thought bankrupt are suddenly finding their coffers full again. Providence must be generous this season."
The dance had begun.
We circled each other in polite conversation, every word dipped in poison, every smile barbed with unspoken threats.The courtiers watching saw nothing but a sweet betrothed couple exchanging pleasantries.But beneath the surface, blades flashed and shields clashed.
She moved closer, just enough that only I could hear her next words.Her voice dropped, velvet and venom.
"I will not let you win this time, Leonhart.I will not kneel to you again."
My pulse quickened — not from fear, but from exhilaration.This was the Evelyne I remembered.The one who could match me blow for blow.
I leaned in, my lips near her ear, my own whisper threading between her words like a silk noose.
"Then stand, Evelyne. Stand and fight.But know this — every step you take forward, I will already be three ahead.Every piece you move, I will turn against you."
Her breath hitched, just a fraction.Victory?No.Just the first note in our duet of destruction.
Later, after the dance ended and we withdrew to opposite ends of the palace, the ripples began to spread.
My loyal shadow, Killian, emerged from the corridor."Your orders, my lord?" he murmured, eyes glittering beneath his hood.
I turned to him, grin still lingering."Send word to the Broken Blades. Tell them it's time to awaken old debts.And inform the Nightshade Syndicate that they'll have my patronage — for now.Also…"I paused, savoring the weight of my next move."Leak rumors. Let it slip that certain noble factions are conspiring with foreign powers. Frame it well. Subtly.Let's see which rats scurry first."
Killian bowed, vanishing like smoke.
Meanwhile, Evelyne stood before a cracked mirror in her chambers, peeling off the layers of polite nobility like armor.Her hands trembled — not from fear, but from fury and adrenaline.
She turned to her own loyal shadow: a woman named Maren, sharp-eyed and merciless."Begin phase two," Evelyne ordered, voice cold as ice."Contact the dispossessed eastern clans.Promise them lands and titles if they back me when the storm comes.And send a gift to the king's spymaster — something to make him… suspicious of Leonhart's recent visitors."
Maren smirked. "With pleasure, my lady."
The pieces moved.Quietly.Deadly.
And somewhere deep in both our hearts, we knew:This was no longer a simple game of succession.No longer just a lover's spat wrapped in courtly titles.
This was war.War written in silk and whispers.In poisoned cups and fallen pawns.A battle where love and hate blurred until they were one and the same.
As night fell again over the capital, both Leonhart and Evelyne, in separate towers, whispered the same word into the dark:
"Checkmate."