Page 39 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
“You don’t know?” I don’t mean to goad him, but it’s just that we came at each game from an equal position. It’s strange to realize there’s something I know about it that he doesn’t.
“I’ve been more interested in strategies for winning than the game’s history,” he admits drily.
“The queen used to be a vizier, advisor to the king. Male, of course.”
“I’ve seen those sets. I assumed it was a variation.”
“Those were the original pieces. They still play that way in some parts of the world. As the game migrated west, where women held more power as monarchs, some even ruling on their own, that led to the creation of the queen.”
“The piece with the most power,” he says.
“That depends on how you define power,” I say. “It’s the king who decides the game.”
He studies the rook. “What about this one?”
“The rook originated from the chariot, the kind used in battle. More akin to a modern-day tank than to a castle.”
“I didn’t know,” he says softly, his thumb moving over the black stone.
“And really, it makes more sense that way. Castles don’t move.”
His golden eyes meet mine, suddenly intense, blazing. “What did you say?”
“That’s not really part of the essay, which is more about the roles in society and—”
“You said castles don’t move.”
“Well, yes. They don’t.”
“God,” he mutters, standing abruptly.
I stand, too, unnerved by the energy coursing through the night. “What is it?”
“We’ve been looking everywhere, little virgin. All over the godforsaken city. And all along, castles don’t move. They can close their gates. They can fortify. But they don’t fucking move.”
“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “We can’t play tonight. I need to go.”
“Go? Where?”
He gives a dark laugh. “Don’t worry about that. I might be gone a few days.”
I feel like some kind of parrot, but he’s moving too quickly. He never leaves at night like this, not so suddenly and without explanation. “Gone a few days?”
With startling suddenness he pulls me to him. “Stay here. Promise me that.”
A shudder runs through me, the words echoing too close to my dream. Whatever you do, stay inside! It had been my mother screaming that, her final words to me before she died.
Without thinking my hands clutch Gabriel. “Don’t go. Please.”
His brows lower. I’ve never begged him, especially for something like this. “Why?”
“Please, I want to—” I cast around for something, anything. “I was having those thoughts you said. The ones about me and touching and the ache. And I thought—”
He leans close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re adorable.”
“No, I’m not,” I tell him earnestly. “I really had them, and—”
“But I do need to go. Once this is over, we can spend an eternity sorting out exactly what thoughts you have and where you ache.” He looks regretfully at the rook in his hand before setting it on the board. “We can spend an eternity on that.”Chapter Twenty-OneThe first three days pass in a strange blur, where I’m more afraid of hearing the voice again than of Gabriel being gone. Maybe it’s best that he give me some time to figure this out. On the fourth day I’m anxious for him to return, wondering if he’s run into trouble.
On the fifth day I have a terrible realization: I miss him.
Not his safety or even his sex. I miss the presence of him, the man himself. With all his secrets and flaws, every dark desire, every dangerous dream. He’s a wild animal, and I know I’ll never tame him.
More and more, I never want to.
I’m so distracted by his absence, so accustomed to Penny’s silent presence, that it’s shocking to hear her voice in the middle of breakfast.
“He’s not coming back,” she says over a bowl of steel-cut oats and brown sugar.
Surprise holds me breathless, and for a moment I can only focus on her—not her words. “Penny?”
She picks up her spoon like it was nothing.
Then the meaning of her words registers. “Why did you say that? What do you know?”
So maybe it’s not the best idea to demand answers from a girl who’s only just brought herself to speak, after a terrible trauma, but my heart beats too rapidly to ignore it. This is when she decided to say something. I have to believe she did it for a reason, even if she seems unconcerned.
“He never said goodbye.”
My head cocks to the side. “If you mean Gabriel, he’s coming back. Any minute now.”
“Him too.”
It’s almost strange that her voice sounds so clear, as if she had been speaking every day. I would expect her to be rusty, her throat roughened from disuse, but her soft voice rings out clearly.
“Penny,” I say. “Who didn’t say goodbye?”
“Damon.”
I try not to show my relief. “Do you want him to come back?”
One slender shoulder lifts. Even though she eats food at the table with me, it’s barely enough to keep her alive. She’s still thinner than when she arrived, pale and unmoving.
