Katherine studied her reflection in the tall mirror, hardly recognizing the woman who gazed back at her. A few weeks ago, she had been pale from confinement and worry, but days of wandering the gardens had lent her skin a sun-kissed glow. Tiny freckles now dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her dark hair fell in loose, glossy waves over her shoulders, and an ornate sapphire necklace glittered at her throat—a gift from the man who held her captive.

Slowly, she ran her fingers over the necklace's stones. Rumor had it that her captor preferred noblewomen, the so-called flowers of his court. Lured by his power, enticed by his handsome face, they willingly shared his bed. Katherine suspected that a man like him could choose his companions freely, no matter what ominous whispers surrounded his name. But the tales never hinted that he forced women to submit. If that was true, then why had she been chosen?

A brisk knock on the door tore her from her thoughts. She rose from the vanity, letting the midnight-blue folds of her gown settle around her feet like a restless tide. The door swung open to admit a maid, flanked by two of the Prince's black-clad guards.

"His Grace is expecting you, my lady," the maid said in a subdued tone.

Katherine inclined her head. "Very well. Lead on."

She followed in silence, the rustle of her gown and the gentle chime of her bracelets merging with the faint birdsong drifting in from the courtyard windows. If she closed her eyes, she could almost convince herself that this was just another stately palace, that she was just another courtier on her way to an evening engagement. But reality pressed in on her as they neared their destination, an ornate foyer of polished stone.

"We have arrived, my lady," the maid announced, coming to a halt.

Katherine's eyes fell on the elaborate mosaic in the floor—an ouroboros, its coiled serpent form encircling the Latin words Mors vincit omnia. Death conquers all. She exhaled, uneasy. At the far end of the room stood a set of towering double doors, each guarded by a soldier in the Prince's colors. The men offered no reaction, but at some unspoken command, they swung the doors wide and stepped aside, revealing a large, octagonal hall beyond.

Hesitating for a breath, Katherine forced herself forward. The doors shut behind her with a decisive clang, the lock snapping into place. The chamber she found herself in was spacious and gleaming, fashioned almost entirely of white marble streaked with veins of red. Fire bowls flickered along the walls, and the lofty windows stretched up to a vaulted ceiling that soared overhead. It felt like stepping into another realm altogether.

She saw him then, half-hidden in the shadows between two pillars. He wore black from head to toe, except for a crimson cloak trimmed in ermine. The starkness of his attire radiated a regal aura that made her skin prickle with apprehension. She dropped into a deep curtsey, her head bowed in submission, and waited.

Soft footfalls approached, reminding her of a cat stalking its prey. She braced herself, heart hammering. Then his boots stopped just in front of her, and she glimpsed his hand extended in silent invitation. Forcing herself to remain composed, she slipped her fingers into his and rose. Even on her feet, he loomed above her, an imposing silhouette.

"I'm not the gorgon monster," he said gently, a note of wry amusement in his voice. "Meeting my eyes won't turn you to stone."

Katherine felt her pulse flutter. There was no point in feigning indifference; he would sense her fear regardless. Summoning courage, she lifted her gaze and met his. They were green, she realized—not just any green, but the deep, rich hue of moss after rain.

"I seem to have stunned you into silence," the Prince remarked. "Surely you can speak?"

"I can," she replied, her voice subdued but steady.

"Good." He released her hand and turned toward a small round table at the center of the room. An unfinished chess game awaited, its pieces locked in a careful dance of strategy. "I've been told you're fond of the king's game."

"I enjoy it, yes," she said, following him warily. "But I doubt you summoned me here only for a match."

He gestured to the chair opposite his. "On the contrary. I'd like nothing more than to finish this game tonight, if you'll indulge me."

She lowered herself into the seat, swallowing back her anxiety. "I see. Then shall we raise the stakes?"

His mouth curved with genuine amusement. "Are you proposing a wager?"

"Yes."

A flicker of curiosity crossed his face. "You intrigue me, Katherine. And what exactly could you offer?"

"Whatever it is you want from me, here and now," she answered, summoning every scrap of composure she possessed.

"And if I demand your life?" he asked softly. "Would you wager that?"

"You don't want my life. Not tonight. If you did, I'd already be dead."

He tilted his head, regarding her with cautious admiration. "Confident, aren't you?"

"Perhaps you enjoy toying with your prey," she said quietly. "But I suspect you'd never have agreed to a game if you meant to kill me outright."

He let out a low chuckle, bowing his head in a faint show of concession. "Well reasoned. So what do you want in return?"

Her throat felt tight. "I want to know why my father betrayed you."

He lifted one brow, then gave a small nod. "If you win, I promise to tell you what drove your father to commit treason—and why he met his end. You have my word."

Katherine's stomach lurched at those words. The truth she'd been seeking lay within reach, if only she had the skill to claim it. "That will do," she managed, voice unsteady.

He settled into his seat, fingers steepled. "Before we begin, aren't you curious what I'll demand if you lose?"

She inhaled. "No. Because I don't intend to lose."

Amusement flickered in his eyes, but he merely gestured for her to make the opening move. "Then by all means, prove your resolve."

Katherine examined the pieces. The board was already in mid-play, each side missing a few key pieces but still balanced. Setting her jaw, she maneuvered her knight into position. The Prince responded by shifting his queen clear of her threat, and a charged silence followed.

A silver goblet sat at her elbow, filled with dark wine she was sure hadn't been there a moment before. Uneasy, she lifted it and watched the liquid swirl.

"There's no poison in it," the Prince remarked dryly. "But be warned—wine dulls the mind if you overindulge."

She set the cup down untouched, her gaze drifting to the matching goblet before him. It remained conspicuously full. A chilling thought crossed her mind: What if the rumors are true—that he needs no human nourishment, that he drinks only blood? She felt the weight of his stare and realized he must have guessed her thoughts.

"You're hesitating," he said softly. "Ask me what you truly wish to ask."

Katherine moved her bishop closer to his king, forcing him to respond. "If I were so bold, I'd likely end up impaled on a stake."

His lips curved in a small smile. "Then let me grant you an amnesty for the duration of this game. Speak freely, and if I choose to answer, I'll do so honestly. No reprisals."

She wet her lips, bracing herself. "Very well. Is it true you don't require normal food or drink?"

He laughed, the sound startlingly warm. "Of all the questions you might have posed, you ask that first?" With a contemplative hum, he advanced his rook, capturing one of her pawns. "Let's just say my appetite is...selective. I eat or drink largely out of habit, not necessity."

Katherine studied his next move and shifted her knight again, pressuring his pieces. "Then what of the other stories about you? They say you can kill a man with a single touch, or that you breathe fire, or that you're in league with the Devil himself."

He lifted his queen, an unreadable smile curving his lips. "So many interesting tales." With a decisive flick, he placed the queen near her king. "But it seems your inquiry arrives too late."

She frowned, glancing down to gauge the board's positions. Her eyes widened in dismay. She was trapped. He reached across and gave her king a gentle tap, toppling it onto the polished surface.

"Checkmate," he said quietly.

In that moment, the room seemed to close in around her. The stakes of the game—her father's fate and her own—hung in the air like smoke. And the Prince, calm and unruffled, simply waited for her reaction.