Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~8 min read
Day twenty. Midnight. Draven’s private study.
Raven stared at the chess board, trying to figure out how she’d lost three games in a row when she’d thought she was winning.
“You’re thinking three moves ahead,” Draven said, moving his knight to put her king in check. Again. “I’m thinking seven. That’s the difference.”
“Seven moves is impossible to calculate.”
“Not when you’ve been playing chess for four hundred years.” He smiled across the board. “Though you’re improving. Last week, you were only thinking one move ahead.”
Raven moved her king to safety, studying the board with frustration. “This is just like court politics. Everything has hidden meanings and consequences five steps removed from the obvious.”
“Exactly. That’s why chess is excellent practice.” He captured her bishop with a move she hadn’t seen coming. “In fae courts, every action has ripples. You learn to see the patterns, anticipate the responses. Chess is just politics with clearer rules.”
“And fewer people trying to poison you.”
“Usually fewer.” He gestured, and shadow-servants brought wine and the sweet pastries she’d discovered she loved. “Though I did once play a game where the pieces were enchanted to explode if you made a bad move. That was exciting.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It was both.” He took a sip of wine, eyes glowing softly in the dim study light. “Lost half my eyebrow to a poorly considered pawn advance. Took a week to grow back.”
Despite herself, Raven laughed. Twenty days in, and she’d learned he had stories like this—centuries of experiences that ranged from profound to absurd. She’d started asking him to share them, and he seemed to enjoy having someone who actually wanted to listen.
“Your move,” he prompted.
Raven studied the board, trying to think like he did. Seven moves ahead. What would happen if she moved her rook? He’d counter with his queen. Then she’d… no, that wouldn’t work. What if she moved her knight instead?
“You’re overthinking,” Draven observed. “Sometimes the obvious move is the right move. The trick is knowing when to be clever and when to be direct.”
“Is that advice for chess or assassination?”
“Both.” His smile was knowing. “You’ve been overthinking the contract. Trying to find the perfect moment, the perfect method. Sometimes direct is better.”
Raven moved her knight. He immediately countered, and she realized she’d just opened her king to attack.
“Checkmate in three moves,” he announced cheerfully. “Unless you can see the escape route.”
She studied the board desperately. There had to be a way out. Some clever maneuver, some unexpected counter.
There wasn’t.
“I resign,” she said, tipping her king over.
“Good instincts. Recognizing a loss before it completes is wisdom.” He reset the board. “Another round?”
“Maybe later. My pride needs time to recover.” She took one of the pastries, savoring the taste. “Tell me something.”
“Dangerous opening. But go ahead.”
“Five hundred years. You’ve lived five hundred years.” She met his eyes. “What’s that like? Really like? Not the exciting parts or the political parts. The everyday existence of being functionally immortal.”
Draven was quiet for a long moment, shadows dimming around him.
“Exhausting,” he said finally. “The first centuries were full of discovery and purpose. Building the court, mastering magic, learning what it meant to be fae. Every day brought something new.”
He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light.
“But eventually, you run out of new things. You’ve read every book, learned every skill, seen every sunrise. People you cared about died—fae live long, but not forever. Relationships that seemed eternal ended because even immortals get bored or change or grow apart.”
His expression was distant, haunted by centuries Raven couldn’t imagine.
“And then you’re left with endless time stretching ahead. The same political games with different players. The same trade disputes, same grievances, same court sessions that all blur together into monotony. You maintain what you’ve built because that’s what rulers do. But the joy of it fades.”
“Is that why you wanted me to kill you?” Raven asked quietly. “Because you’re tired of existing?”
“Not exactly. I’m not suicidal.” He met her eyes. “But I am tired of meaningless existence. If I’m going to die, I want it to be for something. To someone worthy. Someone who’d make my death mean something beyond just another ruler executed.”
“And if I don’t kill you?”
“Then I want to find purpose beyond just maintaining the court. Something—or someone—who makes the next centuries feel like living instead of just surviving.” His smile was soft. “You’ve given me that. Made existence interesting again. That’s worth more than five hundred years of bored immortality.”
Raven absorbed that, the weight of it. She wasn’t just a challenge to him. She was purpose. Meaning. The thing that made immortality bearable.
“I never chose this life,” she said suddenly. The words came out before she could stop them. “The Guild. The training. Being an assassin. I was five years old when they took me. I don’t even remember what came before.”
Draven set down his wine glass, giving her his full attention.
“They trained choice out of me. Every decision was already made—what to eat, what to wear, who to kill, when to sleep. I just executed the orders. Perfect weapon. No hesitation. No questions.” She stared at the chessboard. “And then you gave me choices. Made me question. Taught me to think seven moves ahead instead of just one.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t know.” She looked up at him. “Good because I’m finally learning who I am beyond the weapon. Bad because now I have to choose, and I don’t know how. The Guild never taught me decision-making that mattered.”
“What would you choose?” Draven leaned forward. “If the binding wasn’t a factor. If the contract didn’t exist. If you were completely free—what would Raven Storm choose to do?”
She’d been thinking about that for twenty days.
“I’d stay,” she admitted quietly. “I’d stay here. Learn more about court politics and fae magic and chess strategies. Read more poetry. Train in the mornings and have dinners with someone who makes me laugh. Be claimed by a prince who kills assassins to protect me.”
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“I’d choose you. This. Whatever this is.”
The study went silent except for the crackle of purple flames in the fireplace.
“Then choose it,” Draven said softly. “The binding will be broken in ten days. I’ve nearly solved it. After that, you’re free. Completely free. The Guild can’t touch you, the contract becomes void, and you can decide your future without magical coercion.”
“And if I choose to stay?”
“Then you stay. As my partner. My equal. We rule the court together, and you teach me what it means to feel alive, and I teach you what it means to have choices.” His smile was gentle. “No contracts. No obligations. Just two lonely people who found each other and decided loneliness is better shared.”
Raven thought about that. About ten more days and then freedom. Real freedom. The kind where she chose instead of obeyed.
“What if I kill you before then?” She had to ask. “The contract is still active. The binding is still threatening me.”
“Then you kill me, take my throne, and inherit everything including the responsibility I’ve carried for three centuries.” He didn’t sound afraid. “But I don’t think you will. I think you’ve already chosen. You’re just waiting for the binding to break so you can be sure it’s your choice and not magical coercion.”
He was right. She’d chosen twenty days ago and just hadn’t admitted it.
She’d chosen when she hesitated during the dance. When she laughed at his jokes. When she read poetry he gave her. When she felt safe because he’d claimed her.
“Ten days,” she said. “Ten days and then I’m free.”
“Ten days and then you choose.” He reached across the chessboard, offered his hand. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support it. Stay, leave, kill me, claim me back—any choice is valid as long as it’s yours.”
Raven took his hand. His skin was cool, fae magic radiating from him, but the grip was firm and real and somehow grounding.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For teaching me to choose.”
“Thank you for making immortality interesting again.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Now. Want me to teach you how I saw that checkmate three moves ahead?”
She smiled despite the heavy conversation. “Yes. And then I want to beat you at least once before the contract expires.”
“Ambitious. I like it.” He released her hand and reset the board. “Fair warning—I haven’t lost at chess in two hundred years.”
“Then I’ll be the first person in two centuries to beat the Shadow Prince.” Raven studied the starting positions with new focus. “Seems appropriate.”
They played until dawn, and Raven didn’t win. But she came close enough that Draven looked genuinely impressed, and that felt like victory.
Ten days left.
And Raven Storm had already decided her future.
She just had to survive long enough to claim it.
Reader Reactions