I can feel his passion like a hot fire racing over a dry grassy plain.
Just as he leans into me and wraps his arms around my back, ready to take this to the next stage, I jerk away.
I look at him, bring up a hand, and pat my lips.
I smile. If Spencer wasn’t an idiot, he’d realize it was the smile of a Cheshire cat, not a satisfied queen. “I love you. Isn’t that enough?”
The passion still plays in his eyes, and I know he wants nothing more than to press forward and to continue where I left off, but I take a step back, cross my arms, and make it clear that I’m waiting for his promise. After a few more seconds, he gets the picture. His lips spread into a wide smile. “And I love you,” again his voice drops into that stupid kingly British tone as if we’re in some kind of drama and I’m meant to be the meek mistress of the powerful monarch. “And that is enough. Now go and learn – as much as you can. For,” he turns his head to the side, strides over to one of the huge picture windows, and stares through it as if he is, fittingly, a lord presiding over his domain, “the end will be soon. And this time, there will be no stopping us.”
I want to spit with derogatory laughter. He sounds like some kind of idiotic megalomaniac from a film. Is this really how he thinks I want him to act? Is this genuinely what he believes power is? Or is Spencer – and has he always been – just a child in an expensive suit? A man with enough money to play with the big boys, but no sense to realize it’s a waste of time?
Without another word, I turn on my foot, ensuring my hair fans out around me and dipping my hips until they sashay seductively.
I reach the door, drum my fingers on it, then turn, my lips wide in a smile. “I’ll be back after I’ve learned what I can. Wait for me,” I add. I stop myself from cringing at my own words. Wait for me? Now I sound like I’m out of some kind of superhero film.
It works on Spencer, though.
He stops just short of blowing me a kiss. If he did that, I really would snap and punch him. As it is, I hold onto my bile and stride out of the door and close it.
I remain close to it for several seconds, pressing a hand into the handle as I gain quick control of myself.
The top floor of Spencer’s office block tower isn’t the same as John’s. With John’s, there’s a reception desk close at hand. With Spencer’s, I have to walk down the hallway and through another door until I reach it. Spencer, after all, is only pretending to run a legitimate business.
It gives me all the time I need to gather my nerve, wipe the disgusted frown off my lips, and control myself. By the time I open the second set of doors and walk out, Spencer’s first and second are waiting for me.
Technically Spencer and I haven’t formally joined yet. I’ve managed to convince him not to absorb me as a piece yet. It was easy. He doesn’t know how to use me, and in the final battle, I’ll be too taxing on him. Learning how to play with me will take time. And just thinking that thought makes me want to retch. But fortunately Spencer agreed, and that’s the only reason I’m autonomous now.
Even though I’m not technically one of Spencer’s players and I don’t fall into his hierarchy, I’m still above these two.
Unlike with John when I nominally joined him, all of Spencer’s players know who I am.
The second actually snaps a salute. Spencer’s first? Stares at me with a barely concealed glare.
His name is Michael Winters. He’s a strong, athletic, brute of a man who looks like he could easily take on a bear.
He’s also, worryingly, smart.
While Spencer’s second looks as if he’s going to fawn over me, this guy nods once, then arches his head to the side. “Spencer called ahead. He said you have requested to be trained in the real world.” The guy doesn’t expand on that.
I force my lips to curl into a smile. “I’m glad to be in good hands,” I say. It’s not a flirtatious move. It’s a hardened one. It’s clear Spencer’s first doesn’t trust me. But I’m gonna make it abundantly clear that I’m above him, and his lack of trust doesn’t matter. I do so now as I whirl on my foot, my jacket flaring around my hips. I shove my hands into my pockets and stride forward. I may have only been living in Spencer’s tower for two days, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve already got a full blueprint of the place.
It will be all the better for when I start to steal Spencer’s powerful objects and mess with his pieces.
Spencer’s second, Andrew Fortuna, pushes off after me. Michael takes a few seconds.
I’m well aware of the fact that he will likely report back to Spencer about everything I do. But he’ll only be able to report what he sees. I have every intention of using every covert skill I’ve learned in the past several months to find out as much about Spencer’s pieces as I can. I will learn how they fight so that I can turn against them when it matters most.
We reach the lifts.
Without removing my hands from my pockets, I shove my elbow forward, catch the lift button, and call it.
Michael finally comes to a stop beside me. I can feel his eyes on the side of my face.
“Though I appreciate that you have… remained on your own for some time,” he really stresses the word remained, “I am to take charge during this mission. You are to learn from us, and not the other way around.”
I glance at him slowly as the lift arrives. I turn on my foot like a ballerina, my hands still in my pockets, and walk backward through the lifts. Yeah, I get it, it’s an idiotic move, but that’s not the point. I keep my eagle-eyed gaze locked on Michael until I see his cheeks stiffen. Then I let a smile spread my lips and hook high into my cheeks. “We’re not enemies here,” I emphasize the word enemies. “And though I get it – and you want to be careful – don’t forget I’m a queen. Whatever we face out there, I’ll see to it.” I yank my hands out of my pockets and actually salute.
The me from several months ago who’d just found out she was a queen wouldn’t have been able to imagine what I’m doing now. The arrogance and power locked in every move. It’s antithesis to my personality. Or at least, it’s antithesis to who I once was. Now? I’m having to change. Every second. Every minute. And I will keep changing, never stopping myself, until I do what I have to to end this game.
And that?
That’s a promise.
Chapter 2
Ah, the streets.
It may have only been several days since I was on them, but that’s enough to have made me jittery.
For some reason, I associate the streets with my power. Possibly because I spent so long before I understood what the game was trawling through them and fighting the pawns. Back then I kind of viewed myself as some kind of glorified superhero. I would save people’s lives – I would make a difference in a city that didn’t even know I existed.
Now I don’t have the luxury of that innocence. But the streets still mean something fundamental to me.
They remind me that when I’m out here, I can still make changes.
And that’s all that matters. When I’m cooped up in some building – whether it’s John’s tower or Spencer’s tower – all that power slips away. The raw, inherent magic in my form is always twisted, manipulated, and turned in on itself until I feel as if I have no power whatsoever. And worse – as if I’ve never had a say in how my life will run.
I’ve already changed my appearance. That was the very first thing Michael made me do.
He watched me while I was doing it, too. I won’t say his gaze was lingering, just sharp. And more than anything, judgmental.
It made me feel as if I was changing my clothes in front of him, and not just my appearance.
I was forced to take the exact appearance of one of Spencer’s pieces. I get it. If I take any random disguise or just invent one, it will be suspicious. I know for a fact that John and his pieces will be watching Spencer with everything they’ve got. If they find a new piece has joined him, they’ll be able to deduct it’s me.
I’m a man in my mid-twenties, and I
have burly, broad shoulders that barely fit into my suit.
I’m walking along with Michael and Andrew, and I feel exactly like I’m some kind of gang member, or we’re in some kind of bully squad.
And hey, we are. Because that’s all Spencer and his pieces ever were.
If I ever get too far ahead, Michael growls at me to return. Sure, he’s giving me a leash, but it’s about an inch long.
The more time I’m forced to spend with this idiot, the more I promise myself that when it comes time to fighting Spencer, I’m going to settle my attention on Michael first. And, hey, that would be the smart thing to do, because he’s Spencer’s new first.
I can’t stop myself from planning the final battle, over and over again. It’s not just because it’s the smart thing to do – it’s because it’s the only thing keeping me sane.
Yeah, it feels nice to be out on the city streets again. You know what else it feels? Wrong.
My heart keeps beating at the wrong moments whenever we walk past a man who looks like John. My stupid emotional self tells me that John’s mastered a disguise spell, and he’ll turn around, recognize me, and… do something. Anything. He won’t walk away like he did during the fight with Spencer. This time, he won’t give me up so easily.
But of course we don’t find John.
“I told you not to get too far ahead,” Michael growls once more as I drift forward, hands in my pockets as I tilt my head into a laneway. I catch the scent of magic. Sharp, quick, darting. Those errant charges and zips are like minnows darting before a shark.
Though Andrew seems all too ready to defer to Michael, this time at least, he takes a quick step toward me. “What is it? You look like you’ve discovered something?”
Whenever Andrew looks at me, I can see the wonderment in his eyes. I get it – to pieces who have been in this game a long time, a real, live, breathing queen would be a fact of utter astonishment.
I turn my attention to Andrew. I shrug. “There’s something down this alleyway. Magic. It’s strong. I think it’s something trying to hide itself. We should investigate it.”
Before I can dart forward and do my own thing, Michael is by my side. He’s not just a big man; he’s a quick man, and those are two very dangerous things.
Usually large men are slow. But when they’re fast, they can be the equivalent of fighting a goddamn jet plane fully loaded with nukes. “I told you to follow my lead. Even if something’s down there, that’s not what Spencer told us to do. We are to observe.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. I ensure the move is strong, slow, and direct.
Just before I can open my mouth and tell him what we’re going to do, magic blasts out of the alley.
It’s not enough to knock any of us off our feet, but it sure as hell is enough to get our attention.
Instantly, my battle brain kicks in, and I jerk forward. Fortunately, I’m fast enough that as Michael tries to loop a hand forward and catch my arm, he can’t. His fingers scrape past the fabric of my suit.
Though I’ve gotten pretty used to assuming different people’s body shapes, sizes, and faces over the weeks I’ve had to disguise myself, I have to admit, there’s something to be said of walking around in a massive, huge body. Every single step I take rings out, and though I don’t exactly shake the whole city like I’m Godzilla, it’s close enough that I feel powerful.
Which is a good thing, because as I spin to the side, looping around this twisting alleyway, I have to duck back as a vicious kick is aimed right at my head.
I slam onto my back, roll, stand, and plant my feet. I round my fists, getting ready to fight.
And that’s when I see him. Antonio.
I have just a moment where surprise registers over my face, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
But that would be when Antonio takes the opportunity to plow into me once more. This time, I don’t duck, and he wraps an arm around my middle, locking a hand onto my elbow as he forces me onto my back.
Antonio isn’t exactly the biggest man, and in my current form, I’m a good several inches taller than him and far broader shouldered, too. That doesn’t matter. With the force he hits me with, I swear he could take on a raging bull. As my body slams against the pavement, my head cracks against the asphalt.
Blood doesn’t start trickling out of the back of my skull or anything, but it’s a good enough blow to daze me. It gives him the opportunity to bring up his hand, which is electrified with magic, round it into a fist, and send it snaking toward my jaw. But before it can slam into it, Michael reaches him.
Or at least, Michael’s magic reaches him. I can see it out of the corner of my eye as a chunk of electrified energy blasts into the asphalt by Antonio’s feet. It sends bitumen spewing out in every direction, one chunk more than large enough that it strikes Antonio on the side of his head and sends him scattering backward.
I let out a yelp of pain, almost as if I was the one who’d been struck.
The yelp doesn’t fit my current form, and it’s way too high pitched.
Fortunately, in the frantic activity of the fight, nobody hears. You see, it’s not just Antonio. As Andrew streams into the alleyway, his hands aflame with magic, I see two pawns drop down from behind Antonio. Where they were hanging on the sides of the building, I don’t know.
I’ve never really seen John use too many pawns. Though I know he has them at his fingertips, he tends to prefer the expertise of higher players.
Now, as I hear yet two more thumps, and two more pawns join the fight, I realize something.
The way John is playing the game has changed.
Antonio gets to his feet as three of the pawns protect him.
Me? I linger on the ground staring up at him.
… There’s a part of me that just wants to see what John will do. I know how childish that is. And honest to God, it’s a small part. The rest of me knows what the point of this exercise is. I will get to that original game board, and I will destroy the game completely. There will be no more innocent players like me drawn into this mess. There’ll be no more pain. Hell, there’ll be no more magic. I’ll destroy it all.
But yeah… there’s still that little grain somewhere buried deep inside my heart and mind that wants to find out how far John will press to get me back.
You see, though it’s kind of nice to have a gentle, calm, kind king, at the same time, if he doesn’t fight for what’s important to him, what’s the point?
I’m not one of those sappy girls who need somebody to fight for them just to convince them that they’re important.
I know my worth.
But….
“Get to your feet,” Michael growls as he spins past me, tugs me up, and yanks me into a standing position.
He instantly takes point in front of me. He squares off his massive form, and though I’m truly big, he’s bigger. He also knows how to use his muscles. Unlike for me, his form isn’t new to him. He’s had a whole lifetime of using it, and he knows exactly what position to take to make the most of his massive broad chest.
Antonio, however, does not look scared. He lets a sneer spread across his lips. “If Spencer thinks for a second that we will not be proactive, he’s wrong. You’re coming with us.”
Michael brings up his thumb and drags it slowly across his nose. There’s dirt on it, and it transfers across his skin, but he’s way too much of a macho man to care.
Andrew is just beside me. He’s a hell of a lot more alert than Michael. That is to say, he’s got the kind of look of a bird scanning the horizon for a hawk. His head keeps darting around, so much so that I’m starting to worry for his neck.
Then again, his neck is one thing. Antonio and his four pawns are another. Even on paper Antonio and four pawns do not match Spencer’s first and second. But with me thrown in?
He has no chance.
And I won’t have the opportunity to hold back. If Antonio has some kind of secret weapon in his pocket, and he uses it to try to win this figh
t, Spencer will expect me to use my full range of skills. If I hold back, he’ll be suspicious.
And that’s the last thing I can afford.
I can’t access the ancient final board without him.
So I need to ensure we win.
But at the same time, I can’t kill Antonio and John’s other pieces. I know how much his pieces mean to him. Just thinking about that makes me want to screw my eyes shut and slam a hand onto the center of my head, anything to stop a specific image from entering my mind. The image where John was sitting at his desk, when he leaned forward and locked me in his gaze and told me in no uncertain terms that I was never to do anything to threaten his pieces. They’re the only thing that matters to him.
“You overestimate your skills,” Michael snarls. “You’ve got four pawns, boy, and there are three of us.”
“That was always Spencer’s problem.”
“What was always Spencer’s problem?” Michael demands as he squares off further in front of me, really curling his fingers in tight until I can hear the sound of tendons grating over bone and muscle. It’s that specific sound like mooring ropes grinding over metal. In other words, the sound of powerful tension like a loaded spring getting ready to explode.
“He always underestimates his competition. He’s arrogant,” Antonio really lets that word spit from his lips, and spittle flies over his chin. He doesn’t make a move to dry it off. He simply locks his dead-even, practically blasting gaze on Michael.
“It’s better to be arrogant than weak. You chose the wrong king, idiot.”
Wait… hold up, Antonio chose the wrong king? That suggests that, somewhere back in his history, he had to choose between Spencer and John.
… I can’t imagine that. Antonio is easily one of the most moral pieces I’ve met. After all, he still thinks that I killed Walter, regardless of the fact I’m the last queen. He’s never been in awe of my power, and he’s never been willing to kowtow to me like everyone else. He’s just been suspicious.
And that’s what I like about him.
But it seems as if he, like every other person in this twisted game, has a history.
The Last Queen Book Five Page 2