I was born seven minutes before my brother, though the world seems to have forgotten that. In those seven minutes, I breathed first, cried first, existed first. But no matter how many times I remind them, they still look to him as heir. As if time itself bent to the shape of a boy and discarded the girl who came first.
I sit across from Lord Henrick, my father's oldest friend and staunchest ally, in the sun-drenched corner of the west parlor. Between us, a chessboard-checkered and worn from years of being passed between kings and children alike. Today, it is my battlefield.
He strokes his greying beard thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the board. "You remind me of your grandfather," he says. "He was precise. Ruthless, even."
I arch a brow, fingers hovering over the bishop. "Ruthless is such a crude word, my lord. I prefer... deliberate."
He chuckles. "Spoken like a queen."
I don't smile. Not because I disagree, but because I've learned that smiles are often taken as surrender. In this court, I smile only when I want something.
The king's annual ball is tonight. A gilded affair veiled as a celebration of his children, but everyone knows its true purpose: to parade us before the realm. Most especially me and my brother. The twins of the crown. The spare and the heir.
Or rather the one who happened to be born a girl.
I glance at the white queen, her slender marble body standing tall amidst the sea of pawns. The queen, though not the head of the game, is the most powerful piece. She moves in all directions, unbound. And yet, in the real world, queens are little more than ornaments. Used. Displayed. Married.
Love, they say, is the prize for women like me.
But I have only ever seen love as a game of tactics, not tenderness. Like chess, it is a sequence of sacrifices. Knights to protect kings. Bishops moving diagonally, quietly, until they strike. I learned early on to use affection like a blade. Smile like a rook-quiet, lethal in the right position. Use men like pawns. Disposable. Useful. Forgettable.
I've never loved anyone. Not really.
Not since it happened.
(But I don't think of it, not here. Not in daylight. Not where my father's old friend watches me like a mirror of my mother.)
I slide my knight into place forking his queen and king. Lord Henrick sighs.
"A bold move."
"A necessary one," I murmur. "Sometimes you have to feign vulnerability to draw your opponent out."
"Is that how you see this court? A
battlefield?"
I meet his gaze. "Isn't it?"
He doesn't answer, but the corner of his mouth lifts. Approval. Curiosity. Fear. I've seen them all on the faces of men like him.
Outside the window, the palace gardens shimmer in the fading afternoon sun. Girls in silk practice curtsies. Boys learn to wield swords. I once asked why girls weren't taught to hold blades.
My governess smiled gently. "Because, my lady, you were born to be protected."
I learned instead to wield words. To study every pause, every glance. To listen with silence sharp enough to wound. If I cannot have the throne, I will learn to control those who sit upon it.
The revolution of women began long before I was born. Whispered in the halls of queens who bore daughters with steel spines. Now, a few duchesses sit in councils. A countess commands an army to the north. And yet, I-the firstborn twin of a king-am nothing more than a decorative political pawn.
But not for long.
"You seem distracted," Henrick says. "Thinking about the ball?"
I shift a rook. "Thinking about how many hands I'll have to shake. How many lies I'll have to smile through."
He laughs. "You sound like a statesman already."
I don't tell him I plan to be something greater.
Let them keep looking at my brother, let them dress me in lace and pearls. Let them think I dream of love and courtship.
Let them think I play games for sport.
But this game-this kingdom-is mine to win.
With one final move, I slide my queen diagonally.
Checkmate.
Henrick blinks, then leans back, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Remarkable. You truly understand the board."
I rise, smoothing the creases in my pale green dress. "My lord," I say, voice soft, almost musical, "I am the board."
He nods, perhaps not fully understanding. But it doesn't matter. He will. They all will.
Tonight, they will dress me in silk and set me among candles and kings. But I am not a girl to be displayed.
I am a queen in waiting.
And I never lose at chess.