Checkmate

"Care to play a game?"

The maiden stopped and stared at the chess board, mesmerized by the hauntingly enchanted scene unfolding before her. Where once there was an empty, dusty attic, there were now swarms of strange people and figures. Men and women lined in perfect formation along the middle of the room, separated by the chess board and divided by black and white cloaks sweeping down their shoulders and puddling like liquid onto the floor. They were still as statues but breathed in a way that told the maiden of life. Every glassy eye gazed blankly ahead, except for one pair of midnight eyes that gazed into her soul.

The owner of these unfathomable eyes had asked the question. She was a tall woman, situated behind and at the center of the black-cloaked formation to the maiden's left. She wore no cloak, unlike her brethren, but her hair fell in luxurious sheets of ebony down her back and pooled on the ground like a waterfall of ink. Her face was too sharp to be pretty, angled and gaunt enough to send shivers down the maiden's back.

When the maiden said nothing, the mysterious woman tilted her dark head toward the other end of the room. The maiden looked and beheld a single empty space, directly across from the woman. Puzzled but intrigued, she went to the spot and sat upon the marble throne that awaited her.

And then the game began.

...

The Black Queen surveyed the board with a familiar laziness that set the White Queen's teeth on edge. She studied the lone white pawn wedged deep in the midst of the dark chess pieces with an unreadable expression.

The White Queen waited for her to make her move. There were only a handful of pawns remaining on her opponent's side. The ebony bishops had long since vanished from the board. Many moves ago, the White Queen had picked away at the rooks, nonchalantly flicking them out of sight like a pair of bothersome dust mites. The Black Queen had precious few allies, and even fewer moves left to make.

Still, the Black Queen scrutinized the board.

And then her gaze shifted. Her black eyes landed on the white knight waiting expectantly in the center of the board, surrounded by pawns. Something subtle and foreboding glinted in her face. The White Queen held her breath.

She picked up her last remaining knight and set it down with a soft clack a few spaces away from the white knight piece. It was directly in the white knight's range of attack, as well as several pawns, and even the queen piece.

The White Queen blinked. "Why..." But the Black Queen was silent and still, like a stone angel keeping sentinel over a grave.

She scanned every space, hunting for any sign of a trap. But as the minutes ticked by, she was still at a loss. Any number of her pieces could take the knight, and then the Black Queen would be left unprotected.

Is this a sign? Is she giving up? Or is she testing me to see if I will take the bait? But if I don't take it, her knight will take one of my pieces next turn... Why? WHY?

Finally, she exhaled and made her move. The White Queen was courageous and ambitious, and never one to back down from a challenge. If the Black Queen was daring her, she would answer with a battle cry. If she was announcing her defeat, it was only right to take seize the victory herself. She pushed the white queen across the checkered floor and tossed aside the black knight. She giggled a high, girlish, silvery laugh.

She never tired of victory.

...

"Your Majesty, I think that's enough."

She rose, heaving deep, gasping breaths. Her knight handed her his handkerchief. He was always so vigilant, so prepared, her white knight. He stood in the darkness beside her, a stark contrast to everything in view. His body was a cool, brilliant white, carved from marble, void of imperfection. He was tall and graceful and calm and whole. The knight at the queen's feet was broken and messy and chaotic and... wrong.

The White Queen took the offered token gratefully and dabbed at her face. It came away with speckled crimson stains.

"I had to be sure I did it right. It was my first."

"I know, My Queen."

"I couldn't let him get up."

"Of course, My Queen."

"He would have hurt me."

"Yes, My Queen."

She inhaled deeply to calm her rearing adrenaline. The night chill was tearing through her silken summer dress and seeping into her sunkissed skin now. It was time to return.

"Come. I cannot bear this filthy hellscape a minute longer."

She turned around and held out the bloody handkerchief for her knight to retrieve. He did not budge. Irritation flared within the White Queen, who never liked to be kept waiting.

"Knight! Retrieve your token and escort me back to the castle."

Silence. She exhaled sharply. Then she tossed the fabric to the ground and began marching toward the white knight's horse a few yards ahead. She would not deign to even look at her insubordinate servant until she could do so from atop his own steed. She smiled, imagining herself in all her regal glory, chastising the foolish man from above.

But a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She bristled and turned.

The White Knight had his sword drawn and was holding it casually in his right hand, tip pointed toward the ground.

"You dare to touch your Queen—"

"You are not my Queen." he said calmly. His voice was barely softer than the rustle of the wind in the grass beneath their feet.

"Excuse me?" The White Queens eyes widened indignantly.

He shrugged. His eyes were glued to the White Queen's throat, and a hungry sheen glazed over them. The hand clutching his blade twitched.

The White Queen's pulse quickened in a fear that she didn't understand. This was her knight, her loyal servant, her right hand, her—

"Do you remember when you lost your first knight?"

"What? I never lost—"

"You did. I was there. I saw the life fade from his eyes. But it seems that you forgot the rules of the game. You cannot take back your play once you take your hand off the board."

"What is this nonsense—"

"You have done terrible things, Your Majesty. Your hands have spilt so much blood."

"That's a lie! I was only defending myself tonight, you saw! No one would—"

"You did terrible, terrible things, Your Majesty. You did them to me. You did them to many. And still, you refuse to see what you have done. You cannot see what is before you."

She gazed in horror as her beloved knight began to morph and shift before her very eyes. She watched as his pupils swallowed his eyes until they were solid black. She watched as all color faded from his skin until he was cloaked in obsidian. She watched as his hair began to bleed like ink. She watched and then, too late, she remembered.

"You..."

He smiled.

"Checkmate."

...

"Your Majesty!" cried the bishop as he burst into the inner chamber. The entire court had been in uproar ever since this morning, when the Queen was discovered missing from her bedchamber. Servants and nobles had been sent out to every corner of the castle to track down their lost leader.

He had remembered the room in the North Tower that was forbidden to all but the Queen herself and thundered up the staircase to check. He paused in the doorway, gasping for breath—and then halted at the sight of a lone dais occupying the center of the room. Atop it was a chess board, apparently abandoned in the middle of the game. Curious, he stepped closer to examine it.

Odd, he thought, there are no King pieces.

Instead, there was a black queen piece supported only by a handful of pawns on the opposite end of the table. They huddled around their queen like a swarm of jet black bees, frozen in time as they clung to one another in a desperate attempt to shield their master. Nearly all of the white pieces were still in play, spread across the board, except for a few pawns and the white queen piece.

The white queen piece... It was resting in the middle of the board, broken neatly in half as though a child had snapped it in a fit of pique. Occupying the space the queen must have previously held was a white knight.

Or...no, it was not a white knight. The bishop picked up the piece and held it close to his eyes to get a better look at the raised foreleg of the intricate figure, which was marred by a small, black swatch. The bishop scratched at the leg and a chip of white paint fluttered to the ground.

Hmm. Strange. Why would anyone paint over a chess piece? 

This wasn't worth his time. He set the piece back down on the table and turned to exit the room when he heard a soft, midnight voice speak from behind him.

"Care to play a game?"