Checkmate

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

As I'd predicted, the night air is chilly, too chilly to be without a covering as I am. My bare chest and throat are susceptible to the cold, easily surrendering to the bitterness of the night. The last of the warm draft closes with the front doors of the court building's ballroom, muting the lively sounds of the party as well. Above, the stars twinkle and dance like diamonds. Their glittering faces seem to laugh down at me, chiding from the sky. Another shiver rattles down my spine. They're right to laugh.

Here, grouped around the Palace-owned courtroom, the houses aren't quite that horrendous a sight: four sturdy walls, mud brick patios, hatted hay for roofs, clouds of grey smoke pluming from the windows, interior glowing with the orangey accents of warm fire. This is where the law enforcers live with their families. Law enforcers would've been a good choice if I had failed at tonight's masquerade. Fortunately, I hadn't failed; not in the slightest. The Prince's warm presence at my side reminds me of that constantly.

I feel his piercing gaze over me, though I blatantly refuse to make eye contact. Instead, I lift my chin and breathe in, as if enjoying the coming winter's chill for the show. Though I cannot hide my erratic shivering, I may as well face it with dignity. In the corner of my eye, I see Nathiel's hands stray to the buttons of his sleek black suit. The sight of them coming undone is unnerving. I turn with mute surprise as he shrugs out of his jacket, revealing an off-white shirt beneath. The masquerade mask on his face looks downright strange without its counterpart.

Nathiel holds the garment out to me, his face a stone mask. It dangles between us for a few seconds. Flushing, I snatch it greedily from his hands. The fabric is gentle to my skin. I find that it's still cozy with his heat as I pull the large sleeves over my arms. It's big on me, the chest a whole lot bulkier than what I could ever fit in. But the size makes sense, seeing his sculpted frame without the compromising jacket. Snuggling closer, I sniff at it as subtly as possible. It smells like flowery soap. Hmm. Not exactly a manly perfume, but it makes little difference to me.

Still as expressionless as stone, Nathiel extends an arm. I take it, stringing my elbow's nook through his. His arm is even beefier without the jacket. Shoving the sleeves up so that they don't hang over my hands, I lean against him, stroking his bicep with my other hand, relying on his stockiness. The Prince's breath turns into fog in the night, a silvery cloud that gusts into my face.

"Where to, my dear Omega?" he questions with a deep chuckle. His eyebrows play over his forehead, raising in accordance with the corners of his lips. "This is a very large city; we'd best be off."

"I couldn't agree more." I tug at his arm, smiling at him warmly. "This way, Nathiel."

My rough childhood is most affirmitively to blame for the fact that I know the city like the back of my hand. The moonlight bathes the housetops in an ivory glow, illuminating the slums on the hills below us. The courthouse had been built on high ground, with every reason; it's always easier to fight with higher leverage. The streets and alleys are a labyrinth, the stitching to the quilt. From high on the hill, I can see the distant burn of campfires struck up by the gangs. My house is somewhere off in the distance, not the last row of houses against the wall, but the second closest of them all.

The towering wall in itself is a massive feat, ringing around the city in an enormous and lumpy circle. The beige concrete is stained silver by the peaking moonlight. Raising high in the air at a whooping height of nearly a hundred feet, it was designed fifty years ago to hold out Genetics. It did hold out Genetics, and pretty efficiently, too, for the first decade after its building.