Page 36 of The King's Pawn
Now he stands there like a courteous statue, posture straight, hands folded loosely in front of him, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the marble floor.
There is something almost apologetic about the way he watches me, as though he understands this isn’t how things are supposed to be but lacks the authority, or perhaps the courage, to change it.
Not that it makes any of this easier.
It’s been weeks of this.
Weeks of being managed rather than spoken to. Of being escorted everywhere, even to places within the estate I could find blindfolded by now. Monitored so thoroughly that privacy feels like a distant memory, something I once had in another life. Meals arrive at their scheduled times perfectly prepared. Conversations are clipped, functional, stripped of anything resembling familiarity.
And perhaps worst of all, and the part that gnaws at me when the nights stretch too long and the days blur together, is Sasha’s absence.
He’s been gone for days now.
Since our disastrous dinner, there have been no signs of him. It is a strange thing to miss the presence of a man who frightens you, stranger still to notice the hollow he leaves behind when he vanishes.
There have been no subtle indicators of his proximity. No low, commanding voice drifting down the corridors, no faint shift in the air that always seemed to announce his presence before he even appeared. It is as if he has been erased from the house entirely, leaving behind only the architecture of his control.
The estate still runs with ruthless efficiency, of course. Guards rotate on their schedule without interruption. Staff deliver meals on time and keep this place running without batting an eye. But the gravity at the center of it all, the man around whom every rule quietly orbits, is gone.
And that absence is deafening.
At first, I told myself this weird feeling coiling in my chest was relief. After all, I should feel grateful for the reprieve from his measuring glances. I no longer had to deal with battles being fought with words that quickly sharpened into weapons. No more sitting next to him at that long table, trying not to flinch beneath the weight of his attention.
Instead, all I’ve been left with are questions I can’t stop asking myself. Where did he go? Why now? Was his disappearance intentional, a calculated punishment meant to remind me how small and powerless I am here? Or was it something worse… something happening beyond these walls that I am not meant to know about?
I find myself listening for him without meaning to, pausing mid-step in the hallway on my way to the dining room, convinced I’ve heard his voice behind a closed door. Or glancing up instinctively whenever footsteps echo from the foyer, only to be met with disappointment when it’s just another guard passing though, another staff member upkeeping the estate.
All of it is just another reminder that he is not here.
I hate that I notice. I hate that his absence unsettles me more than his presence ever did because it forces me to confront a truth I don’t want to examine too closely.
I push my plate away at last, the scrape of porcelain against wood sounding too loud in the stillness. Lev’s attention sharpens, subtle but immediate, like a dog reacting to a whistle only it can hear.
“I’m done,” I say quietly.
He nods once, already stepping forward to clear the untouched food away from my place setting, his movements efficient and restrained. He doesn’t ask if I’m still hungry or suggest any alternatives to my still-full plate.
This routine of ours has already accounted for my refusal to comply.
It occurs to me as I’m being escorted back to my room that perhaps I’ve let myself wallow too far. The thought comes unbidden, sharp enough to make me slow my steps for just a fraction of a second.
Lev notices, of course—he notices everything—but he doesn’t comment. He simply adjusts his pace to match mine. That careful, courteous vigilance never wavers. The hallway stretchesahead of us, familiar now in a way I never wanted it to be. I’ve had every turn memorized for weeks now.
Somewhere along the way, I allowed myself to sink too deeply into the absence he left behind. I let it fill my thoughts, let it unsettle me, let it matter when it never should have in the first place.
And that is my mistake.
His absence should not bring me discomfort. If anything, it should be encouraging me to push back harder than I ever have before.
I fought Sasha so hard in the beginning because I understood, instinctively, that he is not the kind of man you allow to get into your head. He dominates by presence just as much as he does by force.
Making him the axis of everything has made me complicit. Letting his absence gnaw at me and allowing myself to miss the tension and conflict and the harsh certainty of him means I have already ceded ground I can no longer afford to lose.
What I should be doing while he’s gone is using this time to plan my escape.
I’ve tried and failed to break the rules outright, throwing myself against his cold authority as if brute force or indignation alone might free me. But that was never going to work. Breaking Sasha’s rules only tightens them.
Bending them, though… that is something else entirely.
