March, Quirinal Palace.
Spring in Rome was beginning to warm up, and the sycamore trees along the banks of the Tiber River were sprouting new buds.
Cerydra sat in the study in the east wing, the one she had used since childhood, with several sheets of paper spread out on the desk before her.
These were not Chess scores; they were sketches she had drawn.
Her blue cane, which she never let out of her sight, rested by her side.
Last winter, by the shores of Lake Geneva, she had suddenly thought of a problem: Chess was too serious.
In European social circles, aristocrats needed some board games that could be played easily in a salon—games that did not require too much mental effort but were still interesting, allowing ladies and gentlemen to play a few rounds while drinking and chatting, without creating awkward silences or ruining the mood due to excessive complexity.
Chess was not suitable for this setting; it required quiet, concentration, and a tension between opponents that bordered on confrontation.
But in a salon, what people wanted was not confrontation, but recreation.
She thought of things from her past life.
Not Chess, not Go, not any board game that already existed in this era.
Rather, those simple games she had played in her childhood—the childhood of another world.
Ludo, Jungle Chess—those little games that did not require much calculation but were full of randomness and fun.
She remembered the rules, the look of the board, and the sound of those colorful pieces and dice rolling on the tabletop.
She recalled the rules of Ludo almost completely: the dice, the four-colored planes, the squares on the board, the jumping rules, and the finish line.
These things were as clear as the Chess scores etched into her mind.
She only needed to make a few improvements—changing the design of the planes to better suit the aesthetics of this era, and adjusting the art style of the board to the heraldic style familiar to European aristocrats.
The name needed to be changed, too; “Ludo” was too modern.
She decided to call it “Aviation Chess” to commemorate Italy’s recent achievements in aviation—those Italian pilots who flew across the Atlantic were the heroes of this era, and naming it “Aviation” would make it more acceptable.
Jungle Chess was a bit more complex.
She remembered the familiar hierarchy of beasts—Elephant, Lion, Tiger, Leopard, Wolf, Dog, Cat, Mouse.
But Europe did not have elephants and tigers as part of its daily cognition, so she needed to make adjustments.
Thus, she spent a few nights redesigning the hierarchy of the beasts: Lion, Bear, Wolf, Fox, Dog, Cat, Mouse.
The Lion was the king of beasts, the Bear represented strength, the Wolf represented unity, the Fox represented cunning, the Dog represented loyalty, the Cat represented agility, and the Mouse represented the humble but capable of restraining the strongest—this was the core fun of Jungle Chess: the weakest piece could eat the strongest, provided it entered a specific position.
She wrote down the rules, concise and clear, just like her style of playing Chess.
While she was drawing the board, her maid pushed the door open to bring tea, and Cerydra looked up at her.
Virginia della Rovere, eighteen years old, the youngest daughter of an ancient noble family from Urbino.
Her family had gradually declined after the unification of Italy; her father had lost a leg in the war, and their family fortune was all but gone.
Last winter, she had volunteered at a charity ball in Rome, where she caught the eye of the Queen’s head maid and was selected to enter the palace as Cerydra’s personal maid.
She had a slender figure, dark brown hair styled into a neat bun, and delicate features.
Her grey-green eyes were always slightly lowered, as if she were habitually avoiding eye contact.
But it was the way she did things that made Cerydra remember her.
Quiet and impeccable.
The time she brought tea was always exactly when Cerydra needed it—not brought after she was thirsty, but right before she was about to be.
When she tidied the desk, she never changed the position of anything.
Cerydra’s cane leaned on the right side of the chair, and the Chess scores were piled in the corner of the desk—every time she finished cleaning, everything was still in its original place, and not even the angle had changed.
Once, Cerydra deliberately removed a piece from the board and “accidentally” dropped it into a vase on the windowsill.
After Virginia finished cleaning the room, there was an extra piece on the board, but not the one that had been hidden—that one remained behind the vase—rather, she had taken an identical one from the spare Chess box and placed it in the position where the piece should have been.
She did not ask the princess why a piece was missing; she simply restored the board to its complete state.
At this moment, Virginia placed the tea on the corner of the desk, her gaze sweeping over the papers covered in sketches.
Her footsteps did not pause, her expression did not change, and she simply held the tea tray steady, turned, and prepared to leave.
“Virginia.” Cerydra called her back.
“Your Highness.” “Do you play Chess?” Virginia lifted her head slightly.
“My father taught me a little, but I do not play well.” Cerydra pushed the sketch of the Jungle Chess rules in front of her.
“Read it, and tell me if you can understand it.” Virginia took the paper and read it from beginning to end.
Her reading speed was neither fast nor slow, her gaze moving across the page at a steady pace.
After finishing, she placed the paper neatly back on the desk.
“I understand it, Your Highness.” “Is there anything unclear?” “No.” Virginia paused.
“In this game designed by Your Highness, the weakest piece can eat the strongest piece.” “Yes.” “The Mouse can eat the Lion.” “Yes.” Virginia was silent for a moment, her eyelashes casting tiny shadows in the sunlight.
“I like this rule.” Cerydra looked at her, and the two held eye contact for a brief moment.
“Why?” Cerydra asked.
“Because in a real game of Chess,” Virginia said, “the weakest piece often does not have such an opportunity.” Cerydra did not answer.
In the garden outside the window, early spring roses were budding.
Sunlight passed through the glass window, falling on the sketches on the desk, on the crystal Chess piece on the blue cane, and in the quiet air between the two people.
“From today on,” Cerydra said, “do not let anyone else tidy my desk except for you.” Virginia curtsied.
“Yes, Your Highness.” As she exited the room, her footsteps were lighter than when she had arrived.
Cerydra watched the door close, silent for a while, then she picked up her pen again and continued drawing the Jungle Chess board.
The cane leaned to the side, the crystal Chess piece quietly refracting the afternoon light.
She drew the shape of a crown in the very center of the board, then wrote a line of small text next to it: “When the Mouse enters the crown, it can eat the Lion.” After writing this line, she paused.
Then she continued drawing.