Checkmate

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Our footsteps are as silent as the shadows we dwell in, our breaths coloring the sky with silvery puffs. Gay crunches noisily on a stolen bar of compressed oats, his chewing obnoxiously loud. I can sense his piercing gaze roaming over me, but some primal instinct keeps me from meeting his eyes. Instead, I intensely study the suspicious rooftops and shadows of the alleys for any signs of movements. Most threats are either experienced enough to know not to follow Gay and me, and those that aren't are too green to know that stillness, not rapid movement, is key.

However, the eyes that were undoubtedly tracking me with the Prince were bound to have a few amateurs mixed in with the group. There always is that one abhorred idiot. But the true fear pulsing through my veins isn't for my own wellbeing, but rather for the absconding Prince. The accosting predators wandering the streets - whether they be beast or man - will impose upon any well-dressed man with euphoric pleasure. With his fickle world of false and fake, the idiot may not even realize the intentions of his assaulters. How strange it is, the idea that one of us is deluded into believing himself ruler of the others.

Because Nathiel isn't our leader.

Survival is.

Finally, Gay's motormouth cannot stay silent for any longer. He turns to me, head bobbing in cadence of our brisk pace, curiosity as readable as words across his face. "Right, know you're super pretty before we get this going. Heck, I would die for those cheekbones. I know, I know, they'd clash with my nose, but they look brilliante on you. Your dress was fabulous, and your mask was absolutely the best one there. But that was the fucking Prince." His eyebrows rise in unison. "How'd you manage to pull this one off, Omega?"

The shrug feels good. "I didn't really do all that much. I actually had my sights on a lord. He turned out to be a bitch, so I'm glad that it didn't work out. The Prince picked me for the first dance - probably because of my freakish height, I stood above all these Roanoke shorties - and he never really left me alone after that. Even when I was dancing with other earls and stuff, he watched me and dismissed any other women." I flip my braid over my shoulder. The greasy binding slaps against the skin on my back, but I purse my lips all the same. "I guess he couldn't resist my charisma."

"Charisma is a very nice word for it," snorts Gay gregariously, swallowing the rest of the bar in a gulp. My extravagant mask dangles from his fingertips, the dappled topaz feathers still neat and orderly. "But apparently, you attracted his attention. Boy, did you attract his attention." Gay glances at me sideways. "And did he attract yours?"

I grunt. "He's offered me a place to come with him on the train. Judging by his interactions with me tonight, I'd say a marriage proposal isn't far away."

Gay's abrupt laugh is amused, with a hint of lachrymose concern. "Mind of a soldier, I swear. You really are sure of this? You think you've got him that... that smitten? In just one night?"

Again I shrug. "You weren't there the entire time. We got down to first name level. Sort of. He was Nathiel, I was Omega. His attempts to hide his affection were truly pathetic. Half the women of Roanoke want my hide. That lord - the bitchy one - he said something about the Prince being treated like a god for his whole life. I sure as hell didn't treat him like a god. It interested him, then attracted him. My guess is he's a Mumma's Boy. Needs to be bossed around, but to a certain degree."

"This 'bitchy lord.'" Gay runs a hand through his oily hair and grins lewdly. "Tell me about him. Be specific. I want details."

"Aaron?" I groan with disgust. "Lord, Gay, stay away from Aaron. He's Hell's personal present, gift-wrapped in a lamb's clothing."