Shadows from the ruined tower dipped low into the courtyard, its ancient sandstone walls dwarfing all who came before them, even as they crumbled under the erosion of time. For those unafraid of the history the tower bore, its shade provided an oasis against the Hemmi desert’s baking heat. Serai had ordered a patio laid at its base, perfect for a morning chess match. Marble scraped against stone as she made her move, then settled back into the pillows of her chair. Her opponent, Lord Karim Yan Kasani, chewed his lip as he glared at the board. On Serai’s left, Malek’s fingers twitched and his eyes followed the path Serai’s opponent could take to shatter her true strategy. Serai had made a gamble, but she knew how her opponent thought.

As expected, he took the bait, sliding his rook through the gap Serai left in her lines to take the opposing knight. In two moves, he’d be able to threaten Serai’s king, and there weren’t many defensive measures left to her. Lord Kasani puffed up, began to curl his lips into a smirk, but his merriment dissolved when Serai resurrected her fallen queen in perfect position to take his own king. She didn’t need to look behind her to feel Malek cringe and Taras grin.

Lord Karim was one of Shenait’s most decorated offensive War Singers in his heyday. Aggressive strategies worked when one had the power to set an entire battlefield alight with a flick of a sword. True to form, he’d focused his attention on battering away at Serai’s defenses, completely forgetting the lowly pawn that had slipped through his own. Serai had stretched her lines thin, and he’d left himself defenseless. It took him a few minutes of clenched teeth and false starts to admit defeat, but he eventually slumped.

            “It seems your skills have improved even further since I visited you last, young Serai.” A smile, oily enough to keep out the bitterness, pulled itself onto the lord’s lips. Serai placed a hand over her collarbone and bowed her head in false demureness.

            “You were truly a worthy opponent.” Serai’s own smile showed none of the satisfaction swirling in Serai’s chest. “Taras will take your portion of our wager.” She tilted her head and Taras stepped forward from the right side of her chair. The handmaid slid open the catch of a beautifully carved chest and held it open to the old man. Lord Karim ran an appreciative gaze over Taras and Serai clenched her fist beneath the table. “You are able to pay in full, yes?” Serai widened her grin to show just a hint of teeth. “Or, has some horrible misfortune befallen your house?” Kasani ripped his eyes back to Serai and blanched. “If a terrible act of the gods has emptied your coffers, then you know I’d be willing to-”

            “No, perish the thought.” The old man shook his head and gestured to one of his servants to bring forward a silk bag bulging with coin. “The Kasani household will always keep its promises.”

As he placed the bag in the chest, Taras gently shut the lid on the lord’s hand. She opened her mouth, probably to demand he address Serai by her true title, but Serai lifted her hand in a staying gesture. “Formalities can be softened for our esteemed guest, Taras.” Serai set her hand on Taras’ arm and, in deliberate view of Lord Kasani, rubbed a soothing thumb across her bicep. “He does come to visit me so very often.” The lord’s eyebrow twitched at the reminder of his constant losses and he stood up a little too quickly.

“Today’s visit has been wonderful, Princess, but the affairs of my household call.” The old man gathered up his robes and waited, making the occasional fussing motion. Lore Kasani expected Taras to be ordered to lead him to the exit, where he could make further nuisance of himself.

Serai disguised her annoyance by tucking away a shiny black curl that had come loose from her elaborate braids.  “I’m sure the esteemed Lord Kasani would be above attempting to steal from me. So, why don’t you show yourself out.” The lord opened his mouth to protest, but closed it. If he argued, he would be insinuating himself a criminal. He turned and shuffled off, casting a last appreciative glance at Taras over his shoulder.

Serai made a mental note to demand a far higher penalty for losing the next match—and to be more explicit about the nature of her relationship to Taras, since the dirty old goarse couldn’t take a hint. After sharing a disgusted look with her paramour, Serai shook her head and began counting her winnings. Taras started the process of clearing away the pillows that had been scattered about the patio, so their fine fabrics didn’t fade in the sun. There wouldn’t be any replacements.

Malek was able to contain himself just long enough for Serai’s guest to leave the Moon Keep before he exploded. “You will need to apologize for the grievous insult you dealt just now.” He crossed thick, darkly tanned arms over his chest and glared at Serai when she glanced over. “That man is a well-respected, decorated member of the aristocracy who has laid his life on the line for our kingdom for forty-three years. And you don’t even give him enough face to politely send him off. Do you have no sense of propriety?”

“Considering that Lord Kasani has lost to me enough times to fund an orphanage, I figure that he knows exactly where the door is.” Not that another orphanage would do anything to stop the flood of war orphans. “Furthermore,” Serai snorted as she slid the last of the coins back into the pouch. “I’ve afforded him the same amount of propriety he displayed while eyeing up my lover.”

“He would never actually touch her,” scoffed Malek. “My grandfather has a wife that he cherishes.”

“Then he shouldn’t be staring at my boobs,” Taras interjected as she picked up the platter of dates that Serai had been snacking on. Malek ground his teeth and muttered about how improper it was for a noble lady to consort with her maid, but fell silent at Serai’s glare.

A thousand years ago, Serai’s ancestor, the Divine king, had founded the Shenaise Empire and taken a farmer’s daughter for a wife. True love had been considered sacred enough to surmount class lines even back then. Despite this fact, certain families clung to the nonsense that one’s ancestry translated to quality of character. Still, Serai was a princess; she should be free to kiss anyone she pleased.

“Serai, your chair’s done charging.” Taras tilted her head to the motorized wheelchair that Serai moved about her home in. The panel embedded in the wood of its arm displayed four lights—all ready to go after a few hours soaking in the sun’s mana. When not in use, the device had to be stored in the ruins of the tower to accommodate the illegal solar panel that powered it. Most would flee from the place where Jahan the Trickster had lived and died for fear of the unquiet dead, or in fear of the Trickster’s greed infecting them, but Serai had lived near the tower since she was nine. If the princess’ spirit was going to haunt her, it would’ve done so already.

“I’ll carry your crutch in,” Taras said. Serai gave a grateful nod and allowed the maid to help her stand. Typically, Serai would’ve taken pride in using her crutch to walk unassisted, but the rare gift of rain that Shenait had received last night made the stump of her right leg ache.

Once Serai had risen to her foot, she grasped onto Taras’ shoulder for the wobbly trek over to her chair. Taras set Serai down gently then twisted the ring that connected the solar panel’s cable to the chair’s wheel. The glowing cable darkened as the flow of raw magical energy cut off and the chair disengaged with a hiss. Nodding her thanks, Serai pushed the handle forward and the chair’s tiny engine began to whirr.

As Serai rolled across the large courtyard, Malek moved with her, always just behind and to the left of the chair. Though his stance seemed relaxed at first glance, there was a coiled tension in his limbs and his storm cloud eyes were ever watchful. Meanwhile, Taras padded along to Serai’s right. Sweat glistened on the olive skin of her biceps and her blue eyes carried that same alertness, but without Malek’s deadly glint. Serai smirked to herself. The maid that wished to be a bodyguard and the bodyguard that wished to be elsewhere. Forget a princess’ retinue, this sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. Not to mention that the strangest member of Serai’s inner circle wasn’t even there. Still, Serai reminded herself, having servants at all means I am fortunate.

They reached the exit to the courtyard, but before Serai could enter her chambers, Malek held up a hand. Knowing what he wanted, Serai came to a stop. Malek stepped in front of Serai and put his body between her and the door before opening it. Elitist prick Malek may be, but he was also a consummate professional. As Malek surveyed the sitting room, Serai rolled her eyes. Ever since her accident unofficially stripped Serai of her royal birthright, most of the assassination attempts had been reserved for her siblings. There hadn’t been an incident in years. Though it was Malek’s job to be paranoid, Serai sometimes wondered if he would ever just—

“Back away from the door, Princess.” Malek’s low command jerked Serai from her thoughts. Taras moved to Serai’s side, fists ready. Serai backed her chair up, fingers sweaty on the controls. It might’ve been years since anyone had bothered with Serai, but that didn’t mean it would never happen again.