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The board was a Stirling heirloom. Given to Richard by his father, who had inherited it from his father, who had inherited it from a king or a nobleman or something. Either that or he had won it in a game. Handcarved cherry wood, squares stained (not painted), and polished pieces in the traditional silhouettes of the knights, kings, and queens. It packaged away into a neat little box that Richard used when he moved rooms at the start and end of each year, but mainly it was always out, positioned on a table in some corner of the room, pieces lined up like soldiers ready for war, or sometimes frozen in the midst of battle.
In a way, Oliver had once mused aloud one night, they were all a little like the chess pieces. Players on the edge of a stage, waiting for hands to reach down and move them around, killing each other, protecting each other, all in a complicated game of cat and mouse. And just like on stage, they all had their parts to play. It was clear who was the queen, who was the king, the knight, and the rook, the bishop, and of course, the pawns.
The Black Rook sat across from the White King, chewing on the edge of his sleeve. It was an impossible situation, one that he should’ve seen coming. But now, moves down the line from the point of no return, there was no path to victory. But the White King hadn’t won yet, and any opportunity to drag it out as long as possible was welcome. Maybe he’d even mess up, much as that was wishful thinking.
Alexander slowly twisted the pawn between his fingers and pushed it to the next square. Richard crinkled his eyebrows like he wasn’t expecting it. Alexander flashed him a smirk. As if he too has a plan. He did once, but that was ten minutes ago. Besides, he was always the best at improvising.
Filippa sat between the Queen (curled up with a glass of wine, watching her boyfriend) and the Bishop (pouring over a copy of the Much Ado, less annotating, more doodling in the margins). She has watched this scene play out many times before. She knows how it should end: Alexander holds on to whatever he might have while Richard dances in circles until Alexander finally concedes and claims it would be fairer if they played by Philadelphia rules, which Filippa is convinced are made up and not actually a thing.
Over by the window, Oliver waited for his White Knight so longingly it was almost cliche. Alexander had already remarked twice that evening how much the picture resembled Penelope waiting for Odysseus or Emilia waiting for Egeon. The truth was, James was supposed to have arrived yesterday, just like the rest of them. Fourth-year was a milestone - no more purges, just one more year and two more shows until a degree and an oyster of a world - and they had all agreed to meet up at the Boar’s Head the night before move-in, get as wasted as they could as they all got caught up on summer plans, and sleep in Richard’s car if they decided to sleep at all. But 9 o’clock came and went and only six of them had arrived - Wren and Richard, Filippa and Alexander, Meredith, Oliver. No James. They were all worried, naturally, but they knew he’d show up at some point. After two hours, Oliver started to wonder what could’ve happened to make James Farrow, the scholar, the hero, the punctual-to-a-fault student, late. It wasn’t until the next morning, as they were all setting up their rooms in the Castle for the first time, that they heard from him. James, breathless, apologized over the receiver a hundred times, mainly to Filippa who had organized the whole thing, and explained that a flood on his parents’ property had kept him there a couple more hours than he intended, and he had missed his flight and there was a whole ordeal getting a ticket for the next plane to Chicago. He’d be there that night, he’d promised.
Naturally, none of them could relax. How could they when they were supposed to be seven, and yet only six? They had to stay up to wait, even if they had a big day tomorrow planning for the first party, registering for classes, forms and forms, and all the lovely bureaucratic stuff they had to do before they could start the year.
Wren yawned next to Filippa and shut the book.
“How long are they going to be at this?” she asked softly.
Meredith shrugged as she lowered the wine glass.
“Who knows? But it’s not like there’s anything better to do.” Meredith brushed her hand to the back of her lips, wiping away the cherry-stained residue lingering there. “When does Buffy come back?”
“Next week. Monday.”
Wren sighed.
“That feels so far away! I don’t think I can survive.” She gestured suddenly to the two boys. “Especially if this is the only entertainment until then.”
“And the same ending too,” Filippa agreed, “Perhaps it would be more riveting if Richard lost every once in a while.”
“He’s not going to. Alexander’s not nearly as good.”
Filippa shrugged, raised the mug of coffee to her lips.
“He could.”
Both girls turned to look at her simultaneously.
“What? He’s not a chess god . Everyone has to lose once in a while.” She looked away, knowing smile dancing on her lips. “Even if it’s by more… unconventional means.”
Meredith narrowed her eyes, twin smile appearing on her own face.
“Pip… what are you thinking?”
Filippa gestured them in close, and the three witches met, whispering excitedly between them. Not that the other fourth years in the room noticed.
Richard finally moved his knight to the fated square. It was done. All over. Alexander had not been able to pull himself out of this one. With a smirk, Richard used his thumb and forefinger to knock over the ebony wood in the shape of a crown. It clattered to the board with a sickening crack and Alexander let out a sigh.
“ My King. Tush, that’s a wooden thing!” He scooped up the pieces he had lost and started to replace them on the board. “ Well, I’ll be revenged as I may.”
“Ah,” Richard mused, “Henry IV and Much Ado. You’re already mixing plays as I see. Still reeling after last night?”
“Fuck you, that was not my fault. You’re an enabler.”
Richard chuckled, low and throaty. His signature king laugh. Alexander suddenly wonders if it sounded like that before Gwendolyn instilled those tyrannical traits in him. He’d have to ask Wren later.
“Rematch?” Richard asked, mirroring Alexander in replacing the pieces to their rightful places.
“I thought that was clear from the whole revenged thing.”
And thus the stage was set again. The curtain raised, the lights flickering to life, the whole scene to be played through again… save for Meredith. Who was out of place.
Any one of the seven could tell you, if you were to ask, exactly what moves each piece could make at any given time; the rules had been instilled among their troupe from the first weeks of living together, from the countless chess games Richard had roped each of them into at some point (only Alexander still consented to be tormented so). And therefore any one of them could tell you that the Queen could move in whatever direction she wanted, however many squares she wanted, as long as it was a straight line.
And so the Queen did move. Straight from the couch, diagonally across the room to where Richard sat, only stopping to set down her wine glass. Perching on the side of the armchair, Meredith slowly, stealthily unbuttoned the top of her silk pajama shirt.
“Oh, hello, darling,” Richard mused, carefully making sure all of his ivory pieces were in line with each other. “What are you doing over here?”
“Thought I’d get a closer look,” she answered slyly, hand playing with the hair behind her boyfriend’s ear. “If that’s alright with you… darling.”
Richard glanced up at her, confused. As he should be. She’d never taken this much of an interest before. In fact, most often her reaction to these chess games had been standoffish eye rolls and declarations of fine, you do that, i’ll be up in bed .
But she simply smiled back and turned her gaze to the board.
“Let’s make it a little more interesting,” she announced to the room. Filippa and Wren, already watching the scene with giddiness, grinned at the prospect of what’s to come. Oliver finally tore his gaze away from the window. The players eyed this new character to their scene warily. But nobody stopped her. So she continued: “Anyone want to place bets on who will win?”
Richard let out another laugh. Alexander huffed. And Oliver sighed. The girls said nothing.
“That doesn’t sound like a fair bet, darling.”
“We all know, Mer, you don’t have to rub it in…”
Oliver stood up and advanced towards them, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatshirt.
“I’m not betting against you, Meredith. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He yawned and the girls looked towards each other. Did he know? Oliver, who was often the last to figure things out, did he know?
“I wasn’t going to play. You all know who I’d be behind anyways,” she said, letting her arms fall lazily around Richard’s shoulders. “Fifty dollars? Loser has to pay?”
“Alexander,” Pip blurted out. The others looked towards her, but she held strong, same unamused, unreadable expression on her face. “I’d like to see Alexander win.”
“Me too,” Wren echoed, “I’ve always enjoyed an underdog.”
Alexander cocked an eyebrow, a best friend what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-i-appreciate-your-support- but-really-what-the-actual-fuck eyebrow, at the two of them. Oliver let out a laugh.
“Alright. Suit yourselves. But underdog stories don’t actually happen in real life. I’m sticking with Richard. And if James were here he’d do the same thing.” He crashed into the armchair, still wrapped in his sweatshirt, but at least now he’s thinking about something else to pass the time.
“So that’s two for Alexander, two for Richard?” Filippa leveled her gaze at Oliver. “If you and James are betting, it seems only fair that both of you are held accountable to the bet when you lose.”
“Sure,” Oliver laughed, “but we’re not losing.”
“Fifty dollars… per person.”
“Whatever suits you.”
Filippa stuck her hand out and Oliver took it. They shook and the deal was done.
Alexander shook his head and turned back to place his knight in its rightful square. The girls were crazy if they thought he could win. It had only happened once ever in the three years these games have been occurring. And at that point, Richard was burning up, coughing, sneezing, and so delirious, he referred to the other fourth years solely by their characters from Midsummer for lack of memory and brainpower. Even then, it had been a close game.
As he looked up at Meredick again - a name he was incredibly proud of coming up with last year - he caught sight of Meredith whispering something to Richard, lips turned up a mischievous smirk to rival her own boyfriend’s. Alexander couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he knew from the glint in her eyes it was something salacious and dirtier than half of the Shakespeare he’s read. If he didn’t look closely, Richard seemed to be unresponsive to Alexander, carefully straightening the pieces with a neutral face as Meredith’s breath ghosted over the shell of his ear. But as she whispered what Alexander would have to assume to be the most provocative of the line, Richard’s knee bumped the table leg with a jolt. The pieces shook and stilled in an instant, so fast Alexander barely registered it had happened. He almost wondered if he had imagined it.
But a single pawn stood slightly out of line, and Richard had neglected to fix it. That, plus a quick wink from Meredith, was all Alexander needed to know.
The game’s afoot, he thought, reminded of a certain speech that sure as Hell applied: Once more into the breach, good friends, once more.
White went first, as he always did. His pawn right of center moved forward twice, settling on a light space in the middle of the board. Alexander bit back a laugh. King’s Gambit. How fitting. Now to accept or not to accept... that is the question.
He glanced up at Meredith again, moving his own pawn to mirror Richard’s move. She still perched on the arm, doing nothing except toying with Richard’s hair. She met his eyes, and they stared at each other for a second as Richard slid the next pawn in line to meet its friend.
Oliver yawned and pressed his face into the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“I don’t see how this is more interesting,” he sighed to Filippa and Wren.
“Give it a minute.” Filippa grinned into her coffee as she took another long sip. Oliver glanced over.
“Are you up to something?”
“Why would you ask that?” Wren giggled back. Oliver narrowed his eyes, trying to read them like a particularly dense soliloquy, then turned back to the game.
Meredith waited until they were well into the game to do anything. Once Richard had finally made to move his knight, she reached over to wrap her fingers around the long glass stem of the vodka bottle positioned between the opponents and pressed the lip to her mouth. With the new bubbly warmth sitting in her chest, Meredith popped the next button on her nightshirt and leaned further into Richard. Her thumb reached out to trace his jawline, which tensed and released under her touch. Richard cleared his throat with a grimace and set down his next piece, but Meredith was far from done. For the final act, Meredith let her fingertips brush Richard’s cheek, turning his head towards her, and met his lips in an open-mouthed kiss.
Despite all her acting skills, Filippa failed to suppress a smile as Oliver shifted back, thrown off by this sudden turn of events.
“Oh.” He breathed. “Well...”
Filippa laughed. “Yeah.”
Wren giggled again, giddy but slightly uncomfortable, and snuggled into the pillow she was holding.
After watching the couple lock lips for an agonizingly long second, Alexander managed to tear his gaze away and settle upon Filippa - no, not Filippa; the knowing grin painted across her face. She raised an eyebrow at him, expectant, waiting for him to do... something.
He should know by now that this was all her doing, but he was still in awe of how effortless this trickery seemed to her. God, if only he liked women that way… They would’ve been such a powerful couple. Honestly, why was Richard ever cast as the tyrant, he thinks, when Filippa could probably stage a coup in a matter of minutes with a single look... Wait, why was he thinking about this? There were more pressing things to attend to, like… the GAME.
Alexander quickly turned back to the board and scanned the pieces. He mentally kicked himself for almost missing the opening, but in a flash, he’d moved his piece and had his arms folded across his chest.
Richard pulls back practically gasping for air, flustered and shellshocked. What the fuck had just happened? And what was happening to him? He and Meredith have kissed before… Hell, they’ve done much more than kissing… so why was that time any different? He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, and chalked it up to summer break. Three, practically four, months had felt like forever without the warmth of her body next to his so, maybe it was just... that… In any case, he’d have to get a hold on himself. Wait until they were alone to act on any more of what Meredith was implying.
Speaking of Meredith… her lips had not stopped when Richard pulled back, instead continuing their journey down his jawline, down his neck, her breath hot against his skin. He coughed again, trying (and failing) at pretending that this wasn’t happening, and gestured to Alexander, who was patiently waiting.
“Your turn.”
Alexander flashed a toothy grin at his opponent.
“Not anymore.”
Richard’s face fell.
He looked down at the board suddenly, trying to remember where the pieces had been before all of… that happened. He suddenly wished he had never flirted with Meredith in the first place - not that he’d give her up, but at this moment all that really mattered was winning and bloody hell Alexander Vass is going to win if he doesn’t remember where the blasted pieces were. What move is he trying? What piece did he move last? What’s the game plan? And how could he concentrate with Meredith still attached to his skin, her hands trailing purposely lower…
Oliver sucked in a breath the second he recognized Richard’s panic. Filippa and Wren dissolved into fits of giggles again.
“Okay, you’re right!” Wren whispered loudly to her best friend. “This is loads more entertaining!”
“And we’re making money off of it!” Filippa whispered back.
“Well, we ought to give half of it to Meredith, considering she is doing most of the work.”
“Oh, you are right. We’ll split it in three.”
Alexander couldn’t help but grin as he watched Richard’s eyes dart from square to square, trying to regain what little attention he had towards the game now.
“You okay, Rich?” he asked, not really caring about the answer at all. “You’re taking a little long, there.”
Richard glanced up, barely shooting him a glare before turning back to the enigma that lay before him. A second passed, then three, and it felt like an eternity, but Richard finally sighed dejectedly and resorted to capturing one of Alexander’s pieces with his queen.
Which of course… was the poor choice. Alexander realized this as soon as he lifted the Queen. Oliver realized this as soon as Richard placed the little white character on the square. And Richard himself didn’t realize until it was a second too late. Because there was Alexander’s pawn, taking the queen, and giving Alexander a straight shot towards the king.
“That’s it.” Richard knocked over his own king with a flick of his hand. There was no other way it could end at this point, at least he knew when to quit. At least when it came to chess.
Meredith finally detached her lips from Richard and sunk into the chair next to him.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” She exclaimed, not at all sorry. “Did I miss the game? That was fast.”
Filippa and Wren burst out into laughter, quickly joined by Meredith. Soon, all three girls were holding their sides and Richard instantly realized what misfortune had fallen on him.
“ How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!” He roared, pushing back his chair and rising suddenly. “ What is’t you do?”
“A deed without a name!” They all shouted back, still shrieking with laughter. Oliver and Alexander couldn’t help but laugh too, partly at the utter jubilation affecting the girls, and mainly at the idea that someone could beat Richard at chess, just perhaps not on the game board…
Despite his embarrassment, Richard felt laughter bubbling up in his chest as well. Smirking, he playfully pulled Meredith out of her chair and pushed her onto the couch with the other girls.
“ I conjure you, by that which you profess, howe'er you come to know it, answer me!” He shook a finger at the girls. “ Though you untie the winds and let them fight against the churches; though the yesty waves c onfound and swallow navigation up-”
Meredith sighed melodramatically, still grinning from ear to ear.
“God, you’d think he’d already been cast!”
Filippa and Wren laughed and pressed tighter together under the blanket.
“Well, I think I’ve seen this play before…”
Six head whipped towards the door. James. Wet from the rain and tired circles under the eyes, but very much alive and very much here.
“James!” Wren exclaimed and barreled towards him. He caught her in a sweeping hug, lifting her straight off the floor. Filippa was there in an instant, arms wrapped protectively around him despite the soaking wet jacket he sported.
Soon they were all around him, laughing at his dripping hair, his crumpled clothes, his woeful story about the dreadful airport worker he had to talk to for hours , and suddenly they all felt whole again. They were seven. Not six, not any more, but seven. Just like the seven ages of man, there was no living without one another.
Oliver finally got to his best friend’s side and pulled him into a brotherly hug. Underneath the rain and the jacket and the bags slung over his shoulders, James still felt exactly the same and Oliver fit right into place.
“God, you had us all worried,” Oliver said when they parted.
“Not really, it was just Oliver,” Alexander interjected, floating up to the pair and pressing the bottle of vodka into James’s hand.
“Wow. Thanks.” James laughed. He looked towards the room, towards the shelves and shelves of beautifully bound books, towards the roaring fire despite the summer air, towards the other fourth years who were all still quoting Macbeth loudly to each other. “What’s with the Scottish play?”
Alexander and Oliver glanced over, amused. The girls were now circling Richard, pretending to cast a spell but giggling through every word.
“That? It’s a long story,” Oliver answered.
“Question is: next time…” Alexander clapped a hand on each of their shoulders, stared them both in the eye. “Which one of you is gonna make out with me ?”
James and Oliver gaped at Alexander as he winked and disappeared, diving headfirst into the scene with Richard and the girls.
James coughed.
“What was that about?”
Oliver shook his head with a chuckle.
“I’ll tell you later. It’s just good to have you home.” He took a hold of one of James’s bags and started to lead him out of the library, and over to the staircase to the Tower, which Oliver had specially picked out for the two of them just yesterday.
They were going to have a great year, he thought. There was no doubt about it. If every night was as good as tonight, he’d never want to leave.
Halfway up the steps, he turned back.
“Oh, James.”
“Yeah?”
“We might be out a hundred dollars. Thought you should know.”