"Marquis."
Navard immediately rose to greet Ewan. Ewan gave the chessboard and Gillen a single, icy glance before settling onto the daybed. Instead of returning to his seat at the chess table, Navard moved to stand behind Gillen.
"Sit. What's this—are you forfeiting when I was winning?" Gillen asked lightly.
"How could I possibly sit facing His Grace when the Marquis is present?" Navard replied stiffly.
He was bristling, wary that Ewan might see Gillen as a 'softhearted fool who tolerates insubordination.' Which, admittedly, Gillen was a little soft on insubordination… but hardly a fool.
"I don't mind. My aide is just hopelessly strait-laced," Gillen said.
"I'm merely observing proper decorum," Navard said.
The remark was also a veiled rebuke toward Ewan, who had plopped himself down on the daybed without so much as a greeting to the duke. Ewan caught the meaning and gave a short, derisive laugh.
"The Duke's dog is not only strait-laced but loyal as well, I see."
"Please address His Grace with the proper honourific, Marquis," Navard said coldly.
Both duke and marquis were high-ranking nobles, but there was a significant difference—dukes were addressed with honourifics as if they were royalty. Navard's cold tone made that distinction crystal clear.
"Navard, it's fine," Gillen said, stopping him.
In truth, he knew that compared to being addressed as merely "Duke Blake" the night before, Ewan was already showing a certain level of compromise.
"What I would like," Gillen continued, "is for you to apologize for calling my aide a dog, Hampton."
From the moment Ewan had entered until now, Gillen had worn the same easy, smiling expression—a stark contrast to Navard, whose face was set in offence. His voice was smooth and light, and he exuded none of that oppressive pheromone aura.
Still, every servant in the tent could tell the Duke of Blake was genuinely angry. Their master was the sort who could express displeasure with softness instead of raised voices or scowls. Except for one man. The very cause of Gillen's irritation—Ewan Hampton—seemed oblivious to it, or perhaps simply didn't care. He crossed one long leg over the other, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
"I'll speak however I please, Your Grace."
Gillen didn't need to look over his shoulder to know Navard was seething. But Navard, a mere viscount and Gillen's aide, had no standing to chastise a marquis. Which meant there was only one person here who could.
But instead of scolding him, Gillen burst into loud laughter.
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Now I see, Hampton — you picked a fight with Navard on purpose because you wanted to play chess with me, didn't you?"
"…What?"
Ewan, who had been sitting there arrogantly, twitched at the comment. Gillen's smile widened even more.
"You know, like how dogs growl at each other when they meet on the road. You just wanted to sit here, so you tried to drive Navard away, didn't you? Come, come, have a seat."
"What—"
"This is you insisting on sitting down first, so you can't blame me for it."
Ewan, who had never even mentioned wanting to play chess with Gillen in the first place, suddenly found himself as Gillen's opponent.
"If this is just another one of your schemes, then I'll—"
"You're not bad at chess, are you? People who aren't confident tend to talk a lot when there's a chessboard in front of them."
"I'm a genius. I can play this silly game with my eyes closed."
"Playing with your eyes closed isn't the hard part… winning is."
"Hah!"
Ewan scoffed, straightened his posture, and leaned forward. His eyes began to burn as he looked down at the chessboard. He moved the white pawn, and Gillen immediately countered.
Soon, the tent grew quiet. Focused on the game, the two men moved their pieces in silence, calculating their next moves in their heads, while Navard and the servants stayed still so as not to disturb them.
'He's actually pretty good.'
In truth, Gillen was impressed. Ewan seemed to be thinking several moves ahead, cautious yet striking with surprising boldness when the moment came. It was befitting a battle mage who had achieved great military merit.
"Check."
It was Ewan who attacked Gillen's king first. However, Gillen was a modern man who, ever since arriving in this world, had filled his dopamine cravings by roping people into chess whenever he missed his smartphone. His skills were already at a professional level.
"Check."
Countering check with check, Gillen maneuvered through several fierce exchanges before finally speaking in a low voice:
"Checkmate."
The game ended with Gillen's victory. Ewan stared at the chessboard in disbelief before finally lifting his head. Gillen smiled smugly.
"You lost."
"…One more game."
"I don't know. I'm starting to get hungry, so I think I'll get up now."
Gillen stood up without hesitation, and Ewan rose to follow.
"Then why not have a meal and play another round afterward?"
"I suppose we could, but…"
By now, Gillen was starting to get a sense of what kind of man Ewan was. At first, he'd thought him an unpredictable lunatic, but now he felt he could read him a little.
"What if you end up feeling uncomfortable sitting across from me, with my unbearably charming gaze on you? Let's end it with the game we just played. I wouldn't want you to start disliking me."
With a hearty laugh, Gillen signalled to Navard. He and Navard left the tent, followed in a neat line by the rest of House Blake's servants.
Left alone, Ewan stared at the chessboard, still set up from his defeat. Then, as if realizing something, he gave a short, derisive laugh.
"So you avoided another match because you were afraid you'd lose next time."
To win by sheer luck and then strut around smugly — the man was shameless.
What an insufferable fellow, Ewan thought sourly. He muttered to himself and sat back down on the daybed. Without Gillen or that annoying aide to interrupt his rest, and without the noisy laughter of the Crown Prince and Cecilia, it was blissfully peaceful.
"…"
Still, no matter how he thought about it, it was hard to accept that he, the greatest genius of the Moore Empire, had lost at something as trivial as chess. Rising again, Ewan went to the chess table and began replaying the game backward, piece by piece, replaying and analyzing the moves. He ground his teeth, determined that the next time he faced Gillen, he would win.
***
From that day on, Ewan appeared before Gillen frequently. And not just appearing — if Gillen went to the seaside, there Ewan was, sitting under a parasol playing chess with his page; if Gillen went into the city, Ewan would be at a street café, sipping coffee and reading a chess manual. When visiting the villa to see Cecilia, Ewan always had a chessboard tucked under his arm, and whenever he had free time, he would set up a board and play alone.
It was so blatant it was almost laughable — even a little endearing. Gillen would ignore him every time, partly because of their agreement, but mostly because it amused him to see Ewan fume and glare at him like burning coals when snubbed.
Today, Ewan had been sitting in the drawing room playing chess alone when Hexion caught him. Leaving Ewan to face Hexion in an impromptu match, Gillen slipped away, chuckling to himself. Navard, however, asked in a worried tone:
"These days, 'sibsae' has been visiting far too often, and the way he looks at Your Grace is… unsettling. Are you sure it's safe to just leave him be?"
Navard's expression was grave as he used the code name. He seemed to believe Ewan had started seriously aiming for Cecilia and was keeping a wary eye on Hexion. But Gillen thought differently. To him, Ewan was just… a child pretending otherwise, hanging around out of sheer frustration over losing to him.
"Don't worry. Right now, it's really fine."
He said it with absolute confidence.
"If His Grace the Duke says so…"
Navard reluctantly nodded. Gillen patted his loyal aide on the shoulder. Just as he was about to explain why Ewan had been acting strange lately, a butler approached.
"Your Grace, the High Priest has arrived."
"High Priest?"
Gillen asked in surprise. Navard furrowed his brows as well. An important figure like the high priest showing up so suddenly—at the villa on Capelli Island rather than the capital?
"He came by the temple and heard that His Highness the Crown Prince and Your Grace were here, so he stopped by briefly to pay his respects."
"Hmm…"
That explained the sudden visit. The real problem was that the high priest was also a secondary male lead in the original story.
"Where is Cecil now?"
"The Lady is asleep. Shall I wake her?"
"No! Don't wake her, no matter what! Let her sleep. And no one is to come near her room."
Gillen turned to Navard with a serious expression.
"Navard, from now on, it's yellow alert."
"Pardon? But 'sibsae' is—"
"The one we need to watch out for isn't 'sibsae' right now. It's the high priest. We might even have to assign a codename to him later. Anyway, we have to prevent the high priest from meeting Cecil. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"To your positions."
"Yes, sir."
Navard quickly headed toward Cecilia's room. The basic rule was that if a threat appeared, Gillen would intercept it while Navard protected Cecilia.