"To give up everything..." the baby bird worried, feet at the edge of its nest.

"Yesss," the snake smiled from the ground. "For how else does one gain anything?"

- Fables of Imperia, collected by Lord Wile a'Cye

The game is nearing its end now. Despite the Garden heat, cold grips the tips of my fingers, as if the blood doesn't dare go there. One wrong move, and the game is his.

Usually, I win with half my brain elsewhere. Usually, a bet on Crests and Banners is a downpayment on the future, a sealed assurance. But usually, I'm not playing Veidan h'Dairr.

Three turns are left. Banners flank all three sides of his Crest, ready to join, and he's carefully maneuvered them away from mine. If you simply count points right now, I'm technically winning, but it won't last long. I only have ten Banners in my Crest; just outside the borders of his wait twenty.

A twisting feeling grows in my gut, worry twining with wonder. If there were nothing riding on it, I would rather lose a hundred games like this than win a thousand the usual way. In fact, those weren't games at all—they were paperwork, mathematics problems, trivia. This desperate, dynamic, spirited fight—this has been a game.

Our pawns have fought battles still yet to come as we moved them not where the threat was or where it would be next turn, but where it might be ten turns from now. It feels like dancing with no choreography, stepping into the future and trusting he's smart enough to step with me.

And despite our mental gymnastics, this whole time, he has talked: teased me, flirted with me, reversed, retracted, spoke of the weather. He never hesitates, and his watching eyes dare me to do any less.

One of his coins clinks into the cup. "How many years do you think it will take you to regret it?"

"Regret what?" I watch the board carefully, for he has more than once tried to make a move while I wasn't watching. Not, I think, to cheat, but he's quick and sly, ready to bend any lapse of attention to his advantage.

"Disavowing your family." He raises a brow at me, as if that should be obvious. With barely a glance at the board, he moves one more Banner into his Crest.

"I'm not disavowing them," I say heatedly.

"Ah, I see. So we can tell your father your plan then."

I roll my eyes. "You're being rather naive. Just because I'm not swearing them off doesn't mean they'll agree with me."

"It also doesn't mean they won't swear you off. Your move by the way." He leans back and drums the arms of his chair. "I just don't want you to blame me when things don't turn out the way you want."

"My plans," I say as I trigger a trap to Blacken a few of his pawns, "always turn out the way I want."

"I see that," he says dryly. Despite the tiny setback, the game still fully favors him. I'm going to lose and we both know it.

Frugally, he opts to only pull a couple more pieces into his sector, saving the precious few chips he has left for his final turn. We're in the endgame phase now, so no more payouts will be made. We have to finish these last few turns with whatever political influence we accumulated throughout the game, and it's rapidly drying up for both of us.

A sweat breaks out on my cold hands. I cannot afford to lose this game, to give Veidan his prize. I can not afford to let him drag me to who knows where, escortless, at his mercy. My reputation will not survive it. Worse than that, I'm not sure whatever relationship is left with my father will. It is one thing to marry without his consent—it's another thing to do things only meant for marriage outside of it, or at least appear to do so. One is my prerogative; the other is my shame.

And, I worry, catching another one of Veidan's roaming gazes, perhaps not entirely safe.

Fear bubbles up in my throat, that primal, childish instinct to scream, to run, to throw a fit. The thought 'what am I doing?' grips me like a mother snatching their child before they run beneath an elephant's feet. But I am not and never have been a child, and my mother is a fool who counts herself a wise woman.

I go all in.

It's not something done, and Veidan's brow rises as I drop every last one of my coins into the bowl. I won't get any more next turn, which means that during the last, most crucial part of the game, I'll be entirely defenseless. I won't get to make any moves. Veidan will get the last word.

But there is no glory in playing it safe.

My flood of coins lets me reposition many of the pawns, Blackening some of the army that had been crouching on his border and blocking what I can't destroy. In one turn, I've radically changed the face of the board. But now I'm at his mercy.

"Hm." His tongue runs over his teeth. "You don't hold back, do you?"

"Not anymore. No."

The set of his jaw is grim. A lock of hair slips over his eye as he surveys the board. He spends longer searching it than he has any of his other moves—for the first time, I've stymied him. The grasshoppers in my stomach dance. I fold my hands in my lap, leaning to the side of my chair like a self-satisfied cat. I might win this after all.

A stray note, higher than the rest, sparks in his aura. The corner of his mouth curls up. As he reaches to pay, my eyes whip over the board, analyzing. A pit opens in my stomach.

My hand shoots out to block the opening of the bowl before he can drop any chips in.

His head tilts reproachingly. "Excuse me."

"Which game do you want to win?" I say.

His brow simply rises.

"Which game," I repeat, "do you want to win? Because this has been a good game, an excellent game, and I'm sure you could make it yours if you wanted."

"As I intend—"

I place my hand around his. He frowns at being cut off, but I tap his fist of coins. "But this can only buy you a moment's victory, a few minutes' satisfaction. This," I say, putting my other hand to my chest, "can buy you the world, if you treat me well, Veidan. Show me you can take care of me. Prove you're willing to sacrifice for me. I'll give you anything you want, as long," I say, pulling his fingers back one by one, "as you don't try to pry it from my hand."

Carefully, I pluck one of his coins free and, meeting his dark, watchful eyes, lower it toward the bowl. He doesn't stop me, and I drop it in. I move his pawn accordingly, then pay another coin from his palm and move again. He holds his hand still, indulging me as I play for him.

I move him through the loophole we both spotted at the last minute, the complicated set of maneuvers that would have let him overturn my last minute coup. Then, as I pay the final coin that should have assured his victory, I move a pawn out of his Crest instead of into it.

Ten Banners fill my sector. Only nine fill his.

"Good game," I murmur, drawing back my hand.

"Good game indeed," he says slowly, setting down his empty hand as well. His fingers drum the table. "Remind me," he says, "what my lady wanted as her prize?"

"Cover," I request. "In the form of a date."

His brow rises. "And when this cover is ripped away, and the truth exposed?"

I shrug lightly despite the weight of his eyes. "It will be too late then for anyone to do anything about it."

"Some might have said that about you winning our game."

I frown. "What exactly is it you fear?"

"That you'll get what you want." He shrugs. "Only to find out it's not what you wanted it to be."

"You care so much for my feelings already?"

"I care for your dedication. Are you sure, absolutely, that this is what you want? Because it'd be rather inconvenient for both of us should you up and change your mind." He steeples his fingers, waiting, but I don't need a moment's thought.

"I'm all in." I wave my hand at our game. "With both my chips and everyone else's."

His lip quirks. "Then so be it."