The Emerald Bishop

Kayla practically vaulted the rope ladder and scrambled over the wall in a blind panic.

As she ran for her life, she wailed inwardly that she never should have played that final game of chess.

With only herself left on campus, she was certain she would be found out in no time.

What kind of punishment will they hand down? Suspension? What if they send me home?

Even after she reached the dormitory, she could not sit still.

Dear God. Just this once. I'll never do it again.

But a day passed, and none of her fears came to pass. Could it be…?

"He didn't see me!"

For a while after that she tried to keep a low profile—until she discovered her tattered beret at the incinerator.

If I disguise myself, it should be fine, right?

Kayla hid her hair beneath the beret she had barely mended with her wretched sewing. Her reflection in the mirror, complete with riding pants, looked just like a boy.

With that resolute gaze she headed for the hideout. She hesitated on tiptoe, then finally climbed the wall again.

But contrary to her hopes, the pieces on the chessboard stood in their starting positions, as if nothing had ever happened.

Disappointment rose to her throat. She turned away with slumped shoulders at the clear rejection—then suddenly stopped dead.

What if… it's a new game?

Seen that way, the luxurious pieces seemed to wait quietly, sparkling. Hesitantly she approached the board, hopped the white knight across, and planted it in the heart of the opponent's territory before hurrying away.

Kayla's prediction proved correct.

Her opponent wanted a fresh board and had tacitly set the rules. Before breakfast was the only hour she could come and go; leaves tucked beneath the chessboard meant she was barred for as many days as there were leaves.

Without ever knowing who sat across from her, Kayla conversed with a single move, laughed at a single trap, and felt her heart flutter with a single counterattack. The presence beyond the invisible line was the only kindness the dormitory ever offered.

At last the semester began.

But the moment the true face of that kindness was revealed, her excitement turned to horror.

"Peach?"

In the chapel packed with every student, Kayla forgot how to breathe as she stared at the student council president who had stepped onto the podium at the principal's summons.

The girl assigned to her never stopped whispering, and so Kayla learned he was the young duke of the Maderson house—and that the place where she had secretly played chess was a space the royal family had granted along with hunting hounds.

The grandson of my patron, the Duke…

It felt as though the chessboard inside her mind had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Young Duke Niguel began his speech, sweeping his gaze across the assembly. When his eyes neared Kayla's forehead she hastily bowed her head.

She had hoped her chess partner might be some peach-faced boy, or perhaps a commoner like herself. That was why she had been so excited, so full of dreams…

But this was too much; the gulf was far too wide. Duke Gerard, eyes bulging as he glared at her, rose before her mind's eye.

And what about Father…

An ordinary child would have begun to tread carefully by now.

But Kayla never stopped the feet that walked the dawn dew. She had never learned to abandon a game midway and flee once it had begun. Even though she was terrified enough to die, the next morning the tips of her toes kept pointing toward the wall.

A season passed.

On a day when snow would not have been strange, she sat before the chessboard exhaling white breath. Blowing on her chilled fingertips, she lifted the white bishop.

Today was her turn to strike back. A small smile had just brushed her lips when—

"Did you hear? Young Duke Niguel is engaged to Princess Theophany!"

Someone's shout shattered the silence.

"If you know, get out here already."

"That's why we came first thing—to give him a surprise."

"So it ended up like that after all."

The sound of leaves being swept by many feet was unnervingly loud. Reflexively she backed away, searching for cover. The unfamiliar footsteps already seemed near the rope ladder.

Kayla hung from the railing meaning to jump, then had no choice but to drop her feet into the spring.

Splash!

Fortunately they were too busy laughing and chattering to hear the sound of her small body sinking. The spring water was ice-cold enough to stop a heart. She curled her limbs into a ball, pinched her nose, and held her breath.

Engagement. The word kept ringing in her ears.

Her head ached as if it would split from the freezing temperature; she felt she would die and thrust her face above the surface. The noisy boys seemed preoccupied with lighting a fire in a drum. In that gap Kayla crawled out of the spring and fled, completely soaked.

She barely managed to shut the dormitory door and collapsed onto the floor.

Thud. Something slipped from between her loosened fingers.

Trembling, she looked down weakly. Something the exact color of her own eyes was mocking her—a white piece set with a green gem.

The Emerald Bishop.

I took it.

Her mind went blank white.

"Good morning."

Unlike yesterday, Carlo greeted her cheerfully in front of a compact vehicle. Kayla, startled by the unfamiliar sight, hurriedly climbed in.

Then she spoke with open dissatisfaction to Carlo, who settled beside her and shut the door.

"You don't have to go this far."

"We need to save time. Especially—there was an order from the Marquis that your face must not become known."

Matt turned his head in greeting, then craned his neck to reverse; only after reaching the cobblestones did he swing the car around and begin to drive.

"From now on you'll travel in this car."

"What?"

"We're looking into a knight as well."

Carlo, speaking without pause, held out a sheaf of stiff documents. Kayla's eyebrows twitched at the title.

I'll need an alias.

As she vaguely thought that and turned the page, her hand paused. A salary rivaling a decent civil servant's annual pay had been set down. The burdensome sum wrapped her back in matching pressure and fear.

For a moment, watching Carlo and Matt—who listened quietly to their exchange—she wondered who knew of this contract marriage, and how far she herself was allowed to speak of it.

She swallowed the question and turned her attention to the pre-drafted agreement that would automatically dissolve the marriage after one year.

She wondered why they had gone so far, yet the further she read the more she felt crushed by the clear intent and thoroughness that sought to cut off any further designs at the root.

"This is the settlement agreement proposed by the Duke regarding alimony."

In the event of divorce the alimony was set as Magar Castle on the frontier—yet the proviso was bizarre. It notified that should a child be born of her union with Niguel, custody and the duty of support would rest solely with Kayla.

Since such a thing would never happen she could simply ignore it, yet a hollow laugh escaped her. Was this what it felt like to have one's unwelcome presence converted into money? And yet refusing to sign would be equally ridiculous.

She felt Carlo's gaze assessing her expression.

"For the sake of any eventuality, as they say."

The coaxing tone only irritated her further. She deliberately did not examine which part, or why, grated so sharply.

In any case, this confirmed that Duke Gerard also knew of the contract marriage.

"Give me a pen."

Her smile might almost have seemed gentle, yet Kayla's eyes were utterly rational. Carlo drew a pen from his inner jacket pocket and handed it over.

Her hand signed carelessly until it paused at the beneficiary line, then swiftly filled in Gemma Darin Moss.

By the time the signatures were complete the car had crossed the drawbridge and was entering the city quarter that held the National Library.

Already exhausted before even starting work…

Carlo neatly arranged the papers and inquired politely,

"You'll submit the resignation today, won't you?"

She rarely failed to answer at once; her gaze turned to the window instead.

Carlo spat a short curse.

"Damn it. Matt, pull over a moment."

The car stopped five hundred yards short of the library. Matt, who had been silent throughout, furrowed his brow and glared at the reporters thronging the sidewalk.

"They'll be camped at every entrance."

The mere thought of that cloud of people descending was so dreadful she turned her head—and suddenly a familiar face filled her vision.

Mother?

Reflexively she reached for the door handle; Carlo's hand clamped over hers.

"You must not get out now."

He laid a blank sheet atop the document case and pressed the pen into Kayla's restless fingers.

"Write the resignation. I'll handle it."

Kayla stared distantly at the paper before her and at the woman on the corner watching the library and the reporters, then scrawled the resignation.

When she lifted her head it was already too late. Madam Gemma, climbing into a private carriage, swept swiftly past them.

Not long afterward Kayla felt, with bitter clarity, that nothing since yesterday had gone as she wished—judging by the fact that she had been deposited at Archerfield without anyone so much as asking her opinion.