Gale sat across from me, his fingers steepled as he studied the board. The moment had shifted—this was no longer a test for the students. It was a battle of pride. The murmurs from the watching crowd had settled into an expectant hush, waiting for the true match to begin.
Nicholas stood near the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He hadn't interfered when I had changed the rules, nor did he seem inclined to now. Whether that was because he found this amusing or simply didn't care was unclear.
Gale finally moved his first piece. A conservative opening, the kind that allowed flexibility. He wasn't underestimating me. Good.
I mirrored his move, keeping my expression neutral. The opening exchanges were slow, calculated. Neither of us committed too heavily, each probing for weaknesses. Gale played methodically, controlling the center of the board while keeping his crown well-guarded. A standard, disciplined approach.