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Anteros raised a brow and said, “Yes.”
“Can I go to the library?” Her clear-water eyes were big and so bright, but her thick lashes were a constant shadow. “Not the public one,” she hastily added. “The one in your house.” He leaned over and she scrambled against the headboard as if she could escape him. He settled just above her, nose inches from her own, inspecting her more. There was absolutely no imperfection marring her skin, not even freckles. With her fingers grasping the white cotton tightly, holding it up to her nose, she looked childlike. She blinked, heavy lashes falling across her cheeks.
“What do you want from there?” he eventually asked. She rolled her eyes but he caught her chin. She looked to the side, jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. It was another moment before she responded.
“I just mean I want a book.” Her gaze flicked back to his. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Anteros let go of her chin. “You like to read.” It wasn’t a question. He took the information inside, processing. He assumed she didn’t like to read. She was so beautiful, he couldn’t imagine what purpose books had for her. She could get by on looks alone.
The night before when he’d watched her in his library, she’d pulled out a book and had only read it for a few moments before stuffing it back on the shelf. He thought he’d seen his assumptions verified then.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Very much.” He pushed off the bed and faced the window again, staring out at the cold city.
“It occurs to me, Frankie,” he said, “that I have something you want.”
She scoffed. “You have everything I want. Food, water, shelter…”
“No, you need those things. You want this.”
She sighed, exasperated. “God, fine! What do you want in return?”
He smiled as the snow began to fall, slow and thrifty, and turned her question back at her. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Chess?” Frankie asked. She picked up the black queen and rolled it through her fingers. “You want to play chess?” Anteros smiled at the incredulity on her features. He played chess so often he’d had a table placed in his room. It was a short walk from her room to his, and now they both sat against his window. Even though the room was heated, the chill from outside froze the glass and made the spot cooler and raw.
The table was elegantly done so it appeared like furniture. Unless you were looking for it, you wouldn’t notice it was a chess table. The design was etched into the glass and each of the pieces was hand carved. They were modern, the pawns perfect metal circles, the king and queen pointed triangles, the rooks hard blocks.
“What did you think I meant?” Anteros replied, a slight teasing to his voice. Frankie set the shiny, pointed onyx piece down on the table and scooted forward on the chair, looking uncomfortable. Anteros couldn’t really blame her. When she’d asked what he’d wanted in return, she’d probably had no idea this was what he’d had in mind. In truth, he hadn’t really either. He’d planned to leave her and go to The Council meeting. He glanced at the clock, noting how the further he indulged the odd, pressing want inside of him, the more of a shit storm he created.
The Council wasn’t exactly high on his list of people he gave a shit about. They never let Anteros forget where he came from. In their mind, he was an orphan and Lucio had given him a second life. Without Lucio, without them, he would be nothing, he would be dirt. When Lucio got sick, he was second in command, technically their boss, but you’d never hear them admit that.
They expected him to lick the dirt off their shoes.
As if they had given him something.
They’d given him a ride to America and that was it. The dirty little secret that none of them wanted to admit was they never expected him to rise so high. Lucio found an orphan and expected him to stay a slave, but he rose higher.
They were still scratching their heads.
While they fought amongst themselves, while they fucked whores and pretended their rules m
attered, he made friends with the people at the bottom. He slid through every crack in the system until suddenly he was by their side and it was too late to acknowledge him because doing so would mean pointing out the holes, would mean saying maybe everything wasn’t as perfect as they pretended.
So he stayed.
And they ground their teeth because hubris was more comfortable than humility. A knock at the door cut through his thoughts, and Anteros realized that Nikolai had come to get him for the meeting. The boy wasn’t aware that anything had changed.
“Come in,” Anteros said. A second later Nikolai’s yellow-gold hair came through the door. When he saw that Anteros hadn’t dressed and was at the chess table with Frankie, confusion twisted the scar on his face.
“Sir…” Nikolai trailed off.
“I’ll find you.” Anteros waved Nikolai off and the boy quickly exited without another word. When the door shut with a soft snick, Anteros turned back to Frankie. Her eyes were still on the door.
“Is he a slave like me?” Frankie asked after a moment, slowly looking back to him.
Anteros thought about it, then said, “I saved him.” Frankie’s eyebrows drew inward and her lips parted as if wanting to press further. Instead she blinked and turned back to the table, lifting the spiraling black piece that denoted the bishop.
“Are we going to play?” she asked. “I assume you’ll want to go first.” She nodded her head toward the white pieces on his side. As the pieces were carved from metal, the “white” wasn’t white, but rather bronze. Shaking his head, Anteros rearranged the pieces. He always played the black pieces.
