The applause died as quickly as it rose, leaving behind only the stench of perfume and tension. The pieces still lay scattered across the marble battlefield, and I could almost hear them whisper: one game is never just one game.
Dorian rose, stiff as a statue cracked down the middle. His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles bone-white, cufflinks flashing like embers of a fire that refused to die.
"An entertaining match," he said at last. His voice was velvet stretched over iron. "I commend your… audacity."
Audacity. Not skill. Not intelligence. That was how nobles rebranded losing: they didn't lose, they simply humored you.
I let my smile linger. "Audacity is the essence of etiquette, isn't it? To walk into a room where you don't belong and leave everyone wondering if you do."
The jab landed. I saw it in the twitch of his golden jaw.
Around us, the nobles whispered. Some praised him for his composure, others snickered into their wine. Every word carried daggers.
