Page 7 of Love Is A Draw
A beat of silence followed.
“You weren’t enrolled?”
Victor gave a short laugh, bitter and dry. “I wasn’t allowed to be. Not with my name. Not with my blood.”
The words settled into the space between them like iron weights.
Fave stared at him, the earlier lightness gone. “You studied mathematics at Oxford—unregistered, undocumented, alone?”
Victor nodded once. “I had no choice. I wanted to learn. So I made myself invisible.”
A quiet beat passed. Then he added, almost absently, “There was a chalkboard in the back of the lecture halls. I’d wait until the students were gone. Then I’d step out of the shadows and start learning.”
Fave sat back, stunned. “That’s…”
“Illegal? Yes.” Victor gave a tight smile. “But if I’d waited for permission, I’d still be waiting.”
The silence that followed clung heavier to him than mud on his boots.
Greg folded his arms. “Victor, why do you want it? My title?”
Victor didn’t need clarification. Greg was blunt enough not to veil his questions under layers of ambiguity.
He leaned against the mantel again, jaw tight. “Because it’s the only thing I can earn. No birthright. No crest. But this title,”—he gestured to Greg—“if I win it, it’s mine. No one can say I didn’t deserve it.”
Greg nodded slowly, understanding now. Even Fave’s earlier polish had dulled under the weight of Victor’s admission.
“You think that’s enough? A title?” Fave asked.
Victor turned to him. “It has to be.”
Fave chuckled softly, but it lacked humor. “There’s more. Life. Love. Friendship. A purpose outside of… well, chess.”
Victor held firm. “Chess is life. It’s rules and patterns and fairness—things the world doesn’t offer unless you take them for yourself.”
Even Fave paused at the conviction in his tone.
Greg tilted his head. “Then you shall play me.”
CHAPTER 4
The corridor lamps had dimmed, and the household had gone still for the night, but Gail moved quietly through the study’s threshold, the latest issue ofChessman’s Chroniclebalanced neatly against her apron. She meant only to return it to Mr. Pearler’s desk—he always left it there, folded open to the most recent analysis, and she was welcome to peruse it at her leisure. Her fingers lingered on the cover before she set it down.
She saw Rachel and Fave Pearler there, despite the late hour, and asked, “Did you read the articles? It was a mistake.”
Rachel stood near the hearth with her back half-turned, a stack of letters in hand. She glanced up, her smile easy when she saw Gail. “Pardon?”
Gail straightened, caught between retreat and explanation. “The match between Baumbach and Lebel. On page twelve, they wrote that Lebel had no choice but to push his bishop to e4. But Baumbach had already compromised his king’s defense. A shift to d3 would’ve pinned him entirely. The article never mentioned it.”
Rachel tilted her head, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “You spotted that? Fave just told me Greg mentioned it to him.”
“I… yes. Only because we once studied a similar line,” Gail answered quickly. “My grandfather used to give me both boards—accepted and declined. He made me work through the loss before he showed me the win.”
Rachel’s smile turned inward, thoughtful. “That’s not an error most would notice.”
Gail said nothing.
Rachel leaned toward her, letting the silence stretch just long enough before she murmured, “Gail, you’re likely the most skilled female chess player in this house. Perhaps in any house.” It wasn’t flattery—it never was with Rachel Pearler. She spoke softly but plainly, as if stating a weather report, which only made it harder to brush away.
