Latia's fingers lingered over a soul piece, her eyes calculating its trajectory across the board. In the hour since we'd begun playing, neither of us had gained significant advantage. The game state reflected our matched intellects—complex, strategic, and refusing to yield ground.
"You play defensively," she observed, finally moving her piece to capture one of my shadows. "Surprising for someone with your reputation."
I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. "What reputation would that be?"
"Impulsive. Bold." The corner of her mouth quirked upward. "Reckless, some might say."
"People see what I want them to see." I countered her move, sacrificing a minor piece to strengthen my position. "Just as you do, Latia."
The study had grown darker as evening settled in. I'd lit several candles rather than brightening the magical illumination—the dancing shadows created an intimate atmosphere that suited our game. The golden light caught in her hair, making the blue tips shimmer like sapphires against gold.
"This game lacks something," she said suddenly, capturing another of my pieces.
"Oh? Not challenging enough for you?" I moved a powerful soul piece into attacking position.
"Not consequential enough." She studied the board, tapping her closed fan against her palm. "Games are more interesting when something real is at stake."
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a wager, Lady Astaroth? How scandalous."
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. "A simple one. The winner may ask anything of the loser."
"Anything?" My interest piqued immediately. "That's dangerously open-ended."
"Are you afraid to lose?" She opened her fan partially, hiding her expression. "Or afraid of what I might ask?"
"Neither." I leaned back, studying her. "I'm simply curious about what you might want from me."
"Then agree to the terms." She closed her fan with a snap. "Unless you doubt your abilities."
"I never doubt my abilities." I grinned, unable to resist the challenge. "Very well. Anything the winner wants, the loser must provide."
"Within reason," she added quickly.
"Define 'reason.'"
"Nothing that would cause lasting harm, violate fundamental ethics, or create political scandal." She moved another piece. "Beyond that... no limits."
The air between us changed, charged with new tension. What had been an intellectual exercise transformed into something more primal—a contest with real stakes. My competitive nature surged forward, hungry for victory.
"Your move," she reminded me, sipping her tea.
I studied the board more carefully now. Latia was good—better than I'd initially assessed. Her strategy revealed itself gradually, like a complex spell unfolding. She favored subtle maneuvers over obvious power plays, building toward advantage through seemingly innocuous moves.
"You're quite skilled for someone who claims to play rarely," I observed, advancing a shadow piece.
"I didn't say I play rarely. I said I haven't played in a while." She countered immediately. "There's a difference."
"Semantics." I tracked her move, seeing a potential vulnerability in her right flank. "Your uncle taught you well."
"Uncle Ajuka believes games reveal character." She arranged her pieces into what appeared to be a defensive formation. "He says my playing style is too structured—that I need to embrace creative chaos occasionally."
"And what did you tell him?"
"That structure creates its own opportunities." As if to demonstrate, she suddenly shifted from defense to attack, placing my king piece in check. "Like this one."
I blinked, surprised by the move I hadn't anticipated. "Impressive."
"Thank you." Her smile held genuine pleasure at the compliment. "Your move."
I extricated my king from immediate danger but recognized that she'd gained significant positional advantage. Time to change tactics. If I couldn't win through pure strategy, perhaps distraction might prove effective.
"Tell me, Latia," I said casually, "what would you ask of me if you win?"
Her fingers hesitated almost imperceptibly over her next piece. "That would spoil the surprise."
"Not even a hint?"
"Focus on the game, Dante." The way she said my name sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. "You'll need all your concentration to avoid losing."
I loosened my tie further, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt. The room wasn't particularly warm, but creating that impression served my purpose. "It's getting rather hot in here, isn't it?"
She glanced up, her eyes briefly tracking the movement of my hands before returning to the board. "The temperature seems perfectly comfortable to me."
"Must be all the thinking I'm doing." I ran a hand through my hair. "Strategic planning generates heat, I find."
"An interesting physiological response." Her tone remained clinical, but a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Perhaps you should focus that mental energy on your next move. You're in danger of losing your archbishop."
She was right—I'd missed a vulnerability in my position while focusing on my distraction strategy. I corrected quickly, but the near-mistake bothered me.
Two could play at the distraction game. As I contemplated my next move, she reached up to adjust a strand of hair, letting it fall slowly through her fingers. The gesture drew my attention to the elegant curve of her neck, exposed by her upswept hairstyle.
"You mentioned your uncle earlier," I said, forcing my attention back to the board. "Does he know you're here?"
"Why would that matter?" She moved another piece.
"Just curious about the political implications. The Beelzebub's niece consorting with a Valac."
"We're hardly consorting." The blush returned, slightly deeper this time. "We're engaged in academic collaboration."
"Over an intimate game with personal stakes?" I captured one of her minor pieces. "Some might call that consorting."
"Some should mind their own business." She retaliated by taking a more valuable piece from me. "Check."
I extricated my king again, but my position was deteriorating. Latia played with ruthless precision, each move advancing her strategy while countering mine. The game had shifted decisively in her favor.
Time for more direct methods.
I leaned forward, deliberately entering her personal space as I studied the board. "You smell amazing," I said quietly. "What is that? Something from the human world?"
Her eyes widened slightly. "Vanilla and night-blooming jasmine. And yes, the perfumer is human." She hesitated before adding, "I'm surprised you noticed."
"I notice everything about you."
For a moment, her composure slipped. Something vulnerable flashed across her face—surprise, pleasure, uncertainty—before her diplomatic mask returned. "Another distraction technique, Dante?"
"Is it working?"
"Not in the slightest." She moved her soul queen into attacking position. "Check again."
My king was running out of escape routes. I needed to regain control of the board—and the conversation.
"What if I forfeit?" I suggested. "Skip to the part where you claim your prize?"
She shook her head, blue-tipped hair swaying gently. "That would be unsatisfying. I want to earn my victory properly."
"Of course you do." I smiled, recognizing a kindred spirit in her competitive nature. "Nothing worth having comes easily."
"Precisely." She watched as I made my move, buying myself a few more turns at best. "Though your resistance is futile at this point. The outcome is mathematically certain."
"Never underestimate the power of an unexpected move." I shifted one of my remaining strong pieces, creating a temporary threat to her position.
She countered without hesitation, as if she'd anticipated my desperation tactic. "Like your attempt to distract me with compliments and personal questions?"
"Was I that transparent?"
"Crystalline." Her smile held genuine amusement. "Though I appreciate the effort."
Our fingers brushed as I moved another piece, and neither of us pulled away immediately. The contact sent a pleasant warmth up my arm, and I noticed her breath catch slightly.
"Your move," I said, my voice lower.
She withdrew her hand slowly, eyes locked with mine. The game continued, but something else was being played across the board—a different kind of strategy, with stakes neither of us had acknowledged.
"What would you ask for if you won?" she inquired, turning my earlier question back on me.
I considered several responses—some provocative, others playful—but settled on honesty. "I'd ask you to show me your private research notes. The ones even your uncle hasn't seen."
Her surprise was evident. "Not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Something more... personal." The blush returned, spreading delicately across her cheeks.
"Your research is personal. It's where the real Latia exists, beyond the Astaroth heiress." I moved my king away from immediate danger. "I find that version of you fascinating."
Her eyes softened, the calculation in them momentarily replaced by something warmer. "That's... unexpectedly insightful."
"I have my moments."
The game progressed, our conversation flowing naturally between strategic observations and personal revelations. Despite my best efforts—both on the board and in attempting to distract her—Latia's position grew increasingly dominant.
"Check," she said for the third time, her voice gentle but firm. "And I believe... mate in three moves."
I studied the board, calculating possible escapes. She was right—all paths led to defeat.
"Well played," I acknowledged, not bothering to prolong the inevitable. I tipped my king piece over, the traditional sign of surrender. "The victory is yours, fair and earned."
"Thank you." Her smile held genuine pleasure, not gloating. "You were a worthy opponent."
"High praise." I leaned back, stretching slightly. "So, Lady Astaroth, what will you claim as your prize?"
She closed her fan, tapping it thoughtfully against her palm. The candlelight accentuated the delicate structure of her face, casting half in shadow while illuminating the other in golden light. She was beautiful in that moment—not just physically, but in the quiet confidence of her victory.
"I've decided," she said finally.
"I await my fate."
"I want..." She hesitated, then met my eyes directly. "I want you to tell me the truth about yourself. The part you hide from everyone else."
The request caught me off guard. I'd expected something academic, political, or even mildly flirtatious. Not this direct strike at my core.
"That's... not what I anticipated," I admitted, keeping my expression neutral despite my surprise.
"Too personal?" Her voice held a challenge. "You did agree to the terms."
"I did," I acknowledged. "But may I ask why? What makes you think there's something to tell?"
She set her fan down, placing both hands on the table between us. "Because I recognize the signs, Dante. The careful construction of a public persona. The strategic revelation of certain traits while concealing others. The occasional slip when something genuine breaks through." Her eyes—now decidedly emerald in the low light—held mine. "I know because I do the same thing."
I studied her, reassessing everything I thought I knew about Latia Astaroth. She was more perceptive than I'd given her credit for—dangerously so.
"What specifically do you want to know?" I asked carefully.
"Start with why you pretend to be less intelligent than you are." She leaned forward slightly.
"That's a dangerous question, Latia." I matched her posture, leaning forward until our faces were uncomfortably close. "Are you sure you want the answer?"
"I wouldn't have asked otherwise." She didn't back away from my proximity. If anything, she seemed to welcome it.
"Very well," I said softly. "But not here."
Her eyebrow raised questioningly.
"If we're going to have this conversation, I need somewhere more secure." I stood, offering my hand. "Will you trust me enough to follow?"
She regarded my outstretched hand for a long moment, weighing options and calculating risks in that brilliant mind of hers. Finally, she placed her hand in mine, her skin warm against my palm.
"Lead the way, Dante Valac." Her voice held both caution and curiosity. "I've won my prize, and I intend to claim it."
I helped her to her feet, our bodies momentarily close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her. "Then let's find somewhere suitable for secrets."