Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER XXII

"By some ardent enthusiasts Chess has been elevated into a science or an art. It is neither; but its principle characteristic seems to be—what human nature mostly delights in—a fight." ― Emanuel Lasker

Harry captured Louis' pawn.

They lay stretched out on the four-poster bed in paisley dressing robes, the curtains of the canopy drawn shut around them so that the bed became a room within a room.

A silver serving tray sat beside the chessboard with crumpets, berries and tea. Louis lifted the porcelain cup to his lips as he contemplated his next move.

"You've left your king at the center of the board. He's unguarded. Not castling is very risky," Harry reprimanded. "I thought you said you played chess with your brother?"

Louis inched his rook forward. "We did, but I'm his little brother. He let me win."

Harry captured Louis' vulnerable knight. "You're not my brother. I'll do no such thing."

Louis frowned. He excelled at intuitive games, like poker, where he could deceive his opponent and conceal his hand. Strategic games like chess, where his pieces were on the board for his opponent to see, proved more difficult.

It was late morning. The sun pricked through the fabric of the canopy illuminating the checkered board and ivory pieces. It was light enough beneath the canopy to know a new day had begun but dark enough to pretend otherwise.

Louis was feeling amorous and tempted to forgo the chess game but thought it prudent to pace himself. He wasn't sure they could temper their passions. Harry's flushed chest betrayed his arousal but he too acted enthralled by the game.

"Your weakness, Louis, is defense. You underestimate your opponent. When calculating your move, and your opponent's possible responses, pretend you are he. Think of the best possible move for him in response to your next move, and assume he will play it."

"The best possible move..." Louis repeated.

Shared memories of the previous night flared between them and Harry looked down with a shy smile.

Louis moved his bishop. "Not the move you were anticipating?"

"I was hoping for another," he confessed.

Even lovelier than touching Harry was simply basking in the knowledge that he could. What bliss! He could see why Harry liked to collect coins: there was deep pleasure in possessing one so rare.

It was Harry's move. His thoughtful green eyes rested on the board as Louis turned to the tray to take another bite of his crumpet. When he turned back he saw that Harry had captured his rook. And slipped out of his robe.

Well played.

Harry lay on his side, head nestled in the crook of his arm.

Louis stared hard at the board and tried to ignore him. "You're sore," Louis reminded him, eyes fixed on his remaining knight.

"I don't mind," Harry sang, voice as lilting as the lark on the windowsill.

Louis stayed strong and ignored his pleas. "It's your move."

With the swoop of his arm Harry knocked over all the pieces. "Oh dear. I guess the game is over."

Minx!

Louis pushed the tray and chessboard aside. Harry was looking quite sure of himself but Louis was confident he could still make him blush. He rolled the boy onto his back. Harry's chest rose and fell rapidly with excitement.