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The game began in the aftermath of celebration.
When the glasses had been cleared away and the platters of food licked clean. When revelers had stumbled off to bed, driven to sleep by excitement’s end and the pull of a belly too full. If Claude von Riegan had possessed a mind like that, one easily dulled by a trying day, the game might never have started at all. But Claude von Riegan had a mind like no one else, and sleep eluded him as effectively as victory had in that year’s Battle of the Eagle and Lion.
He moved through the monastery’s empty halls like a wayward specter, lost in the whorl of tactical ploys and maneuvers that had unfolded over the course of the fight. Schemes that—if altered the slightest amount—might have resulted in himself as the victor instead of Edelgard. Yet no matter how he looked at it, no matter what angle he took to dissect the situation, he continuously arrived at the same conclusion: Edelgard had the professor, and he did not. And so he continued to ponder, his feet taking him wherever they pleased while his mind skirted sleep like a cat around a puddle.
It wasn’t until well after midnight that he saw her. She sat alone beneath the gazebo, a chessboard set on the table before her, the lustrous hair that spilled around her shoulders the envy of the moon. She appeared lost in thought, one hand hovering over the pieces, lips pursed in deep contemplation.
Edelgard’s eyes rose as Claude approached. Ever vigilant. Ever wary.
“I’ve heard this game is more enjoyable with an opponent,” he said, nodding to the chessboard. “Not that you aren’t providing yourself with excellent competition, I’m sure. Still, no matter what, you win. Seems pretty boring to be that assured of victory.” He winked at her. “Fortunately, I have a solution.”
Edelgard’s lips twitched, and a sparkle of amusement softened her steel gaze.
“Claude,” she said by way of greeting.
“Princess,” Claude responded, relinquishing a tiny bow that was more jest than mockery. He pulled out the vacant chair across from her own. “May I?”
Edelgard nodded. “Please.”
Claude grinned and sat down, setting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. “So, do you always engage in strategical midnight activities like this, or am I just lucky?”
Edelgard might have snorted, if future emperors did that sort of thing. She picked up a pawn and twirled it between her fingers, then moved it forward two spaces.
“This isn’t exactly what I would call normal, no,” she responded. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Ah,” Claude said, nodding slowly. “You should have had more of the mashed potatoes.”
Edelgard smiled. “Perhaps,” she said. “And what about you? Is this how the Alliance’s mysterious new heir spends his nights? Strategy games and midnight strolls?”
Claude winked at her. “I prefer to keep my midnight habits a mystery. It adds to my enigmatic reputation and I’d hate to mess that up.”
Edelgard moved another piece. “Not one for straight answers are you, Claude?” she asked, sitting back and gesturing for him to take his turn.
Claude leaned forward, his eyes not straying from hers. “Ask me a question and we’ll find out.”
Edelgard contemplated him. “Even if I did, I doubt you’d be honest with me,” she responded.
Claude’s smirk widened, his silence answer enough.
The game would not be finished that night.
As the first lines of gray brushed against the horizon, Hubert von Vestra came in search of his lady. Disapproval was evident in his eyes as he suggested the princess take her leave. Whether Hubert's distaste had been in regards to the late hour or the company that Edelgard kept, Claude wasn't sure. The threat the question posed to his health kept him from asking.
Edelgard looked down at the game, appearing just as loath to leave it as Claude himself was.
“To be continued?” Claude asked.
“Indeed,” was Edelgard’s response.
And so their tactical dance began.
The next morning, Claude hailed Edelgard from where she stood beside Hubert in the entrance hall.
“I believe it was my turn, Princess!” he called.
She turned to him with eyes narrowed in confusion. “Some clarification please, if you’d be so kind,” she responded, wearing the look of exasperation she seemed to save solely for him.
“You’re right, how rude of me,” he stated. “Let me start over.” Claude took a step back, cleared his throat, then dropped to one knee in an overexaggerated gesture of obeisance. “Good morning, Lady Edelgard! You’re looking quite resplendent despite the raincloud hovering over your shoulder.” He glanced up and cocked his head. “Oh, my mistake. That’s just Hubert.”
While Edelgard did not outwardly laugh, her fingers rose to her lips as if to hide a smile.
“Did you have a point amidst all the prattle, von Riegan?” Hubert seethed. “Or do you just like to hear yourself talk?”
“I do find my dulcet timbre quite fetching, yes,” Claude stated. He rose to his feet, dusting the dirt from his knees. “But as I said, it’s my turn.”
“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Edelgard responded, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip.
“Don’t tell me you forgot already,” Claude said, feigning hurt. “Here, maybe this will remind you.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, picturing the way the chessboard had been set when they'd left it the night before. He opened his eyes.
“Knight to King’s Bishop three,” he told her.
There was a special sort of pleasure in observing the consternation that passed across Hubert’s face at the same moment clarity dawned on Edelgard’s. Claude grinned at her, and she smiled back as understanding passed between them.
“If you are quite done wasting our time,” Hubert growled.
“Of course!” Claude responded, his eyes flicking to the man before returning to Edelgard. “See you around, Princess.” Then, without waiting for a response, he gave her a two-fingered salute and sauntered away. He wasn’t sure if she had accepted her role in this tactical dance, but he was a patient man. All that was left to do was wait.
The next day his patience was rewarded. In the bustle of activity that always followed lecture's end, the Imperial Princess made her move.
“Claude!” she called, drawing his attention from Hilda who had been ranting about the benefits of resin in charms, and how the traders at the market just ‘weren’t being careful enough, Claude!’ For once, Edelgard’s persistent rain cloud of a retainer was nowhere to be seen.
“Ah, Princess!” Claude exclaimed, flashing one of his most winsome smiles. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Oh, stop with the flattery,” Edelgard said. “I only came over to say, 'Pawn to Queen’s Bishop four.'”
A heartbeat passed as Claude stared at her. Then, his coy grin was replaced with a genuine smile.
After a moment, Edelgard returned it. “Your move,” she said. Then, with a flip of her moonlight hair, she strode away.
“What in the world was that about?” Hilda asked incredulously.
“That, my dear Hilda,” Claude said, “was the beginning.”
The game continued in this fashion, each player taking advantage of stolen moments between classes, or a pause in dinner debates. They never made more than one move per conversation, and never did either of them suggest continuing the match with a proper board. There was something thrilling about this game, this waltz of strategy and memory.
More than once, Hilda asked if each play was actually legitimate, or if Claude was simply making his moves up on the spot. “I’d believe that of you,” she would say. “But how did you get Edelgard to go along with it? She seems like the last person to have a sense of humor…except for maybe Hubert.” Claude would merely grin, more than happy to let her—and everyone else—believe what they wished. Besides, it was interesting to listen to his classmates’ speculations—not to mention the wonders that it did for his ever-important reputation.
It didn't take long for Claude to realize that the match was a great way to keep his mind appeased, particularly when useless tomes threatened to get the better of him. He would snap his book closed, seek out Edelgard, and implement the latest move in his carefully crafted strategy. Pieces would be captured—or not—and the unlikely pair would continue about their business.
It was convenient that Edelgard was one of the few individuals who burned the midnight oil as often as Claude himself did. He had to pass by her room on the way back to his own each night, and despite the late hour, light would almost always still be sifting beneath her door.
On one such occasion, Claude grabbed a spare piece of parchment from his desk and scrawled the words, ‘Bishop to Queen’s Rook six.’ He then stepped back into the deserted corridor, strode softly to her room, and slipped the note beneath her door.
An hour later found him seconds from extinguishing his bedside candle, when a scuffling sound in the hall caught his attention. He glanced toward the door in time to see a scrap of parchment slide beneath it, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. His lips twitched, and he padded across the floor, bent down, and unfolded the slip of paper.
‘Knight captures Bishop’ had been written across it in elegant script.
He should have been annoyed.
Instead, he smiled.
It wasn't long before the game had woven its way into Claude’s every day, and he found he looked forward to these little moments with Edelgard. They were a consistent bit of calm in an otherwise turbulent year, particularly as the torrent of unfortunate occurrences showed no sign of relenting.
Things only got worse after the Remire Village tragedy. Even Edelgard had begun to look paler of late. Her usually bright eyes were tired, and her proud shoulders wilted, as though bending beneath some unfathomable weight. Still, she played the game, her sharp mind capturing Claude’s pieces even as he captured hers.
As the days wore on, the shroud of Remire was lightened by the promise of the coming ball. Excitement returned on wings of anticipation as students and faculty alike began to hope that, this month at least, things might be better.
The only downside of this new, jovial air was that Edelgard was now in the constant company of Hubert and Monica von Ochs. The three of them could often be seen together, speaking in low voices with their heads pressed close. Claude had taken part in enough schemes to know what planning one looked like, though he knew better than to ask Edelgard about it. She hadn't sought him out nearly as much since these hushed meetings had begun, and he had to content himself with slipping scraps of paper beneath her door. These at least, she continued to respond to.
The eve of the ball found Claude with another piece of parchment in his hand, taking a moment away from his research to implement the next move in his strategy. He was surprised upon reaching Edelgard’s door to see only shadows creeping beneath. His steps slowed, and his lips pressed together. It was very late, though she had been up this late before... Well, there was nothing for it but to slip the paper beneath her door and trust she would find it in the morning.
Claude knelt down, then almost fell over when a sudden exclamation nearly knocked him off his feet.
“No! Don’t!”
Claude’s eyes snapped up, the paper slipping from his fingertips. The cry had come from the other side of the door, inside Edelgard's room.
A sob followed, and then a second cry sent goosebumps crawling across his skin.
“Please stop! Stop! Save them!”
“Princess!?” Claude knocked on the door. When he received no response, he threw it open and rushed inside. Pale moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the imperial princess as she writhed in her bed. Alone. Claude had suspected some sort of attack, but there was no one else in the room. He crossed to her bedside, all thoughts for decorum forgotten.
“Hey,” he whispered. "Edelgard!" He hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder.
Edelgard sat bolt upright, her eyes wild as they stared through Claude at horrors he could not see.
“No!” she cried. “Let me go!"
A glint of moon-kissed metal was the only warning Claude got before a dagger arced toward his head. He moved without thinking, managing to get a hand around Edelgard's wrist moments before the blade would have bit into his skin. She wailed, her free hand clawing at him with a desperation that bordered on feral.
“Edelgard! It’s me! Wake up!” Claude barely managed to grab her other wrist, keeping those lethal nails away from his eyes with difficulty. Edelgard's frenzied gaze at last met his, her usually perfect hair unbound and falling around her face. It made her look vulnerable and so very, very young. She froze, her shoulders heaving.
“Claude?” Edelgard’s voice was a tremulous whisper. Tears streamed down her face, and Claude found himself resisting the urge to wipe them away.
“Hey there, Princess,” he said quietly. Gently.
Slowly, so slowly, Edelgard’s eyes moved to the dagger in her hand, the one still poised above his head. She gasped and pulled her arm back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t…” She was trembling, an aftereffect of whatever visions had plagued her mind. Claude released her wrists, and she seemed to shrink in on herself. Goddess, had she always been so tiny?! He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with this version of Edelgard, so he did what he always did, and fell back on wit.
“It was my fault. I’m the one who strode into your room,” he said. “I’m sure there will be quite a scandal in the morning if anyone saw me.”
Edelgard merely stared, and Claude wondered if she had heard him at all.
“Why?” she asked finally. “Why…did you come in?”
His smile faltered. “Honestly? I thought you were being attacked,” he admitted. When she didn’t respond, he tried for humor. “I promise I don’t usually barge into ladies’ rooms in the middle of the night… Particularly ones who keep such fine daggers beneath their pillows.”
Edelgard blinked at him—slowly, lethargically—and Claude found himself wondering if part of her mind was still caught in the hell that had haunted her dreams.
“It was a gift,” she murmured, and it took Claude a second to realize she was referring to the dagger.
“Is that right?” He kept his tone soft. She nodded—or at least gave the semblance of one. Claude studied her, something deep within him whispering that this was his chance to peek into the mind of Edelgard von Hresvelg. To prod at the secrets she was undoubtedly keeping from them.
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
“Well, you’re clearly not being attacked, and I really don’t have another reason to be in here,” he said, leaning away from her. “Besides, the longer I stay, the more likely it is that Hubert will find me, and that is one headache I would gladly do without.” He rose to his feet and graced her with his usual crooked smile. “Have a good night, Princess.”
Claude turned his back on the woman. On her secrets. On the potential of a glimpse into the thoughts that spun behind those haunted eyes. Before tonight, he never would have thought of them that way. Before tonight, he might never have believed that Edelgard was entirely human. Not with that mind. Not with those features—as sharp and beautiful as freshly cut crystal.
He made it two steps before her voice stopped him.
“Claude.”
He paused and turned around, glad to hear a little of the usual Edelgard in her tone.
“Yes?”
Edelgard tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone else,” she said. “It is… unbecoming of one in my position.”
Claude regarded her. Leverage, the tactician in his mind whispered. Use this. Learn something.
Instead he said, "Consider my lips sealed."
The discarded slip of parchment waited for him in the hall, reminding Claude of why he had been walking past her door in the first place. He turned back a final time. “Ah, before I forget…”
The words got stuck in his throat. Edelgard was framed by the rectangular windows behind her, and above her head, the crescent moon arced like a crown. It was striking. She was striking. Like moonlight given corporeal form.
The princess raised an eyebrow. The gesture was entirely herself, proof that the shadows in her mind had retreated. “Yes?” she asked.
Claude cleared his throat. Focus. “Knight to King’s Rook five,” he said. “Your move.”
The ball proved every bit the elegant affair that had been promised.
There was dancing, flirting, fraternizing... Everything Claude had expected to see in such a grandiose gathering of nobles. Despite the plethora of gorgeous ladies in attendance, each one glittering like a captured star, Claude still couldn't keep his eyes from Edelgard. And he could have sworn he felt her eyes too. It might have been his imagination, but he doubted it. He’d always harbored a particular penchant for observance. Surviving multiple assassination attempts did that to a person.
The pair kept their distance—each one juggling enough dance partners to keep them occupied. It wasn’t until much later, when Claude finally extracted himself for some much-needed air, that he stumbled upon the imperial princess entirely by accident.
Edelgard stood beneath the stars, and the look in her eyes was as far away as the heavens themselves.
She turned as he approached. For a moment, he could have sworn she’d been crying—such was the sorrow he saw on her face. Yet when she smiled at him, the expression was gone, as though it had never been. Claude was left to wonder whether he had imagined it entirely.
They exchanged pleasantries, and he asked her to dance—a proposition she graciously accepted. The two swayed to a melody of rustling leaves and cricket song, their only witnesses the stars above.
She might have rested her cheek against his shoulder, and he might have pulled her close. The scent of her hair was more alluring than the most succulent greenhouse bloom.
But the moment could not last, Claude knew. Sooner or later, one of the Golden Deer would wonder where he’d gone off to, or Hubert and his unceasing disapproval would wander along.
Claude looked down at Edelgard, and she looked up at him. He wasn’t sure when something had shifted between them, but he couldn’t be the only one who'd felt it. Not when she was looking at him like that.
“Claude…” Edelgard began.
“Hm?”
“I…” she began, hesitating. “...Thank you for this year. It has been more than I expected. More than I deserved." That last sentence was a whisper. A breath. As soft as a kiss of moonlight. "But this game that we’ve been playing…” she trailed off, and Claude got the impression she wasn't talking about chess at all, but something else entirely. Something more. Something deeper. She'd called it a game. He'd called it a shift. Whatever now rested between them had many titles, and yet Claude still couldn't name it. Not out loud.
“...It's going to end."
A breeze picked up as Edelgard spoke the words. Her hair glittered silver as it drifted around her face. Silver like the stars. Silver like the dagger beneath her pillow.
Whenever Claude didn't know what to say—on those rare moments when words eluded him—he would find himself smiling. He smiled now. It was all too easy to pretend they were still talking about chess. “You must have quite the strategy,” he said.
“I do,” Edelgard responded. The ghost of a smile lingered on her lips. Just for this moment, she was pretending too.
The moment ended when Edelgard took a deliberate step back. “Thank you for everything, Claude,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Claude shrugged. “It’s your move,” he said. "Let's see this grand strategy." His smile swallowed all the words he wanted to say.
“Yes,” Edelgard answered. “It is.” She turned her eyes to the heavens, as though seeking something there that she couldn't find in Fodlan. “Queen captures Rook,” she said to the stars. Then the Imperial Princess walked away and did not look back.
Claude let her go.
The next day, Jeralt Eisner died.
The game had not finished when the world fell apart.
Claude should have been outraged upon discovering who's face had lurked behind the Flame Emperor's mask. Instead, all he felt was grief. And while he hadn't known the truth, he was not surprised to learn of it. Perhaps that was what startled him most of all.
Then there was no time to think about anything else. No time to dwell on the fact that the professor had left with Edelgard, and would now face them on the opposite side of a battlefield. No time to consider that Claude had been one move from victory in the game he and Edelgard had played. But while he'd been ruminating on this impending success, she had been raising an army.
Perhaps he had been nothing but a pawn to her the entire time. Perhaps he had been a fool for thinking otherwise.
The game ended in the aftermath of bloodshed.
The once pristine streets of Derdriu were choked with smoke and debris, while corpses clogged the thoroughfares and alleys. Edelgard had claimed her victory with the intellect of Byleth Eisner and her own willingness to bathe her hands in blood. Now Claude knelt in her shadow, Failnaught supporting most of his weight as his eyes bore into her own.
“Come, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said, his dark silhouette blending with the angry plumes of smoke devouring what was left of the port. “Let us be done with this.”
Edelgard wore crimson armor, though the colored plate did nothing to camouflage the blood that coated its surface. Her eyes were twin pools of steel as they regarded Claude, as cold as a tomb in Faerghus. This woman was a far cry from the girl Claude had seen tangled in her bedsheets five years ago, her eyes brimming with the ghosts of relived horrors. He wondered if she still had those nightmares, or if all the blood had washed those away too.
Edelgard had picked her path, and forced the rest of Fodlan to kneel in its wake. Claude’s own aspirations had drowned in the tidal wave of her ambition, and now she held the final say in whether he lived or died. Hers would be the stroke that fell… Or didn’t. There would be no Goddess-wrought miracle to save the Alliance today. The deity had abandoned them the moment the professor had. For Claude, this was checkmate. But he had one final trick up his sleeve.
He wondered if she would remember. He wondered if she would care.
“Claude…”
While so much else had changed, her voice had remained the same. It transported him back to a night when the stars had remained unsullied by smoke, and the wind had hummed with song, not screams. She had been so close to him then, as close as she was now. Closer. Yet they had never been further apart.
Edelgard’s hand tightened on her relic, and a glimmer of indecision flickered through her eyes.
“It looks like the game is over.” Claude's voice was raspy with smoke. With grief. The weight of those who had fallen today lay heavy on his shoulders. “You told me you had an effective strategy... You were right. But it should come as no surprise to you that I have one more thing to say.”
Edelgard’s eyes narrowed scrutinizingly, as though unsure if he was jesting or not. It was such a familiar expression for such a familiar scenario that Claude’s chest tightened.
“Then choose your next words carefully,” Edelgard finally said. “I'm sure I don't have to tell you that your life rests in my hands.”
Claude knelt in the heart of this broken city, his dreams for Fodlan shattered as thoroughly as the bodies that surrounded him. Yet even now, when the world was at its darkest, he held fast to the final card he had to play. To the small victory he'd managed to wrangle for himself.
“Knight to King’s Bishop three," he said.
For a moment, Edelgard simply stared at him. Then her eyes widened as understanding dawned.
Claude smiled. “Checkmate.”