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Rook Sanda was dead, killed by Rook Datcu.
I’d hoped to cause a rift in the Black Court ranks, and I’d succeeded. The problem was I’d also brought something dreadful upon myself.
With Sanda dead I had to fight to become a Rook.
If I lost, I was dead. And if I won, I would have to drink vampire blood.
Against all my expectations and wishes, I had to fight the Second Quadrant’s First Pawn.
The Board must be complete.
This rule was respected while others were ignored, especially those meant to protect Acedrex’s citizens.
I stood in the Challenge Hall in front of Horasiu Skullflare, my opponent. He was about five inches taller than my six-foot height but appeared much taller. He was a massive beast of a man, thick as a barrel. The sides of his head were shaved and a deep scar cut across the top of his skull to his right ear. Multiple others marked his forearms, and the ring finger was missing from his left hand. He was battle-hardened, more than anyone I’d faced so far.
Skullflare slowly made fists as we waited to pull a chess piece from the Challenge Vessel. His fingers cracked audibly in the large hall. The spectators—Knights, Pawns and the only surviving Rook, Datcu, sat quietly in the gallery, observing the proceedings.
King Maximus was here, too, sitting on his fancy chair at the dais. No one seemed surprised by his presence anymore. They expected him to be here any time I fought. He was smiling from ear to ear, as if he couldn’t wait to feed me his blood.
The mere thought made my throat constrict as if I were about to vomit. I’d already had a taste of vampire blood that ill-fated night when I tried to rescue Timotei. Maximus had force-fed me from his torn wrist with the intention of showing me what it was to be a creature of the night.
He had used my own brother to tempt me. His Trove blood had smelled sweet and had stirred a terrible hunger in me. Still, I had been able to resist, had proved the Black King wrong. I was better than him.
That was the night when Maximus decided to make me his “favorite,” and today he would get another opportunity to try to break me. He looked so satisfied with himself. He’d been waiting for a chance to feed me a sizable dose of his blood, one that would permanently change me. That night, he’d only given me enough to heal my broken hand and put that horrible blood-hunger in me. He had thought it would be enough to undo me, to prove I was weak, but I’d made a fool of him, and I guess he hadn’t liked it.
Bishop Dragoslav and Bishop Balan stood behind the King. Maximus had brought them. It was the third or fourth time they’d been present at a challenge. Their presence sent shivers down my back, even though they wore heavy cloaks and hoods that kept their features hidden.
Rumor had it they wore the cloaks because their faces were hideous, because the vampire blood made them look like monsters, but that made no sense. Maximus didn’t need a cloak, and he had pure vampire blood running through his veins. Why would the lesser amount in the Bishops’ systems cause such a side effect?
The King had also brought Talyssa. She sat at his feet on the floor, wearing an elaborate peach-colored gown that was more appropriate for a ball than a violent confrontation. He hadn’t brought my brother, however, for which I was endlessly grateful.
I didn’t want Timotei here. Not today. He didn’t need to see what would happen, how his big brother had failed and had decided to die rather than become the monster capable of drinking his blood.