On the thirty-ninth move, Cerydra’s black queen moved three squares horizontally, landing on the flank of Alekhine’s King.
Alekhine’s hand froze.
He stared at the board, silent for a long time; outside the window, the London spring rain fell softly; inside the study, the charcoal in the fireplace crackled faintly.
“From which move, Your Highness, did you decide not to stop my pawn?” he finally asked.
“From the moment you pushed it past the fourth rank.” “Why?” “Because a world champion does not give away space without reason; you pushed the pawn not to win, but to test me; so, I did not let myself be tested.” Alekhine leaned back in his chair, looking at the sixteen-year-old girl before him; white hair, blue eyes, clutching a cane that never left her side.
He had played Chess for most of his life and seen countless masters, but never before, in the moment an opponent played a move, had he felt himself being read; not analyzed—read.
Like a Chess manual that had been flipped through from beginning to end, with the annotations on every page having been reviewed.
“Your Highness is the strongest opponent I have ever encountered,” he said.
Cerydra did not answer; she simply turned her cane slightly, and the light refracted by the crystal Chess piece moved a few inches across the board.
“Mr.
Alekhine,” she said.
“Your Highness?” “Your pawn rushed too fast; those who rush too fast always leave openings behind them.” Alekhine did not speak; he lowered his eyes to look at the game; on the board, the black pieces had formed seven parallel lines of attack—fluid, tight, and unstoppable; when the seven-fold attack took shape, he had no way to retreat on the board.
He suddenly realized that this sentence was not just about Chess.
During her days in London, one evening, the Italian Embassy held a small salon, inviting several celebrities from British political and intellectual circles.
Cerydra had originally only intended to make a brief appearance.
Until she noticed a person standing in the corner.
The man was short and stout, with thinning hair on top of his head, and a cigar he hadn’t lit in his mouth; he stood next to a potted palm tree, as if deliberately letting himself be obscured by the plant’s shadow.
But Cerydra noticed that everyone who passed by him couldn’t help but take another look at him.
It was not because of his appearance, but because there was something in his eyes that could not be seen on anyone else’s face—in that room full of dull and boring people, a sense of vitality that felt out of place.
She gripped that blue-silver cane and crossed half the room.
“Mr.
Prime Minister Churchill,” she said.
Prime Minister Churchill clearly did not expect the princess to recognize him.
After the Conservative Party’s defeat in 1929, Prime Minister Churchill had been in the opposition for three years, falling from a high-ranking cabinet minister to a backbench MP.
This year, to compensate for personal losses during the Great Depression, he was on a speaking tour of Europe and America.
In this salon, most people kept their distance from him—an opposition, unpopular politician who spent all day preaching the theory of the German threat was not worth wasting social energy on.
“Your Highness,” he bowed slightly, removing the cigar from the corner of his mouth.
“You know who I am; this surprises me.” “I have read your articles in the Daily Mail,” Cerydra said, “the one about Germany rearming.” Prime Minister Churchill’s small eyes brightened.
“Is Your Highness interested in armament issues?” “I am interested in true information,” Cerydra said.
“There are some things in your articles that others are unwilling to say.” Prime Minister Churchill looked at her, silent for about three seconds.
Then he smiled—not the polite smile of a diplomat, but one of genuine, unexpected delight.
“How old are you this year, Your Highness?” “Sixteen.” “Sixteen.” Prime Minister Churchill repeated the number, his tone as if savoring an unexpectedly good glass of wine.
“When I was sixteen, I was still at school getting caned for not being able to recite Latin; what is Your Highness doing?” “Playing Chess, sir.” “Oh, yes; I have heard of it; ‘The Pearl of Savoy’—that’s what the newspapers call you; they say Your Highness has never lost?” “I just haven’t met an opponent who can make me lose.” Prime Minister Churchill’s eyebrows raised; if this sentence had come from someone else’s mouth, it would have seemed arrogant.
But coming from the mouth of this white-haired, blue-eyed girl before him, it sounded like stating a law of physics.
“What is Your Highness’s view on the situation in Germany?” Cerydra tapped her cane lightly against the floor, and the crystal Chess piece made a crisp, soft sound.
“Germany is accepting a dangerous loan, sir; not a financial loan, but a loan of dignity; the Treaty of Versailles took away the Germans’ dignity, and now someone is returning that dignity to them in installments; the interest is very high, and what will need to be repaid in the future is neither marks nor gold.” Prime Minister Churchill did not speak; his hand gripped the cigar, his knuckles turning slightly white.
“These words of Yours, Your Highness,” he said slowly, “are the most accurate analysis I have heard in Europe this year, and you are sixteen.” “Things that a sixteen-year-old can see,” Cerydra said, “thirty-year-olds sometimes cannot, not because of intelligence, but because they have too many things they are unwilling to give up; isn’t that the very reason you are standing behind this potted palm tree, sir?” Prime Minister Churchill was stunned for a moment, then he burst into laughter; the laughter exploded in the quiet diplomatic salon, and everyone turned their heads to look.
He didn’t care.
“Your Highness,” he said, putting the cigar back into his mouth, “I hope you never play Chess with me; I think you would win, and I think after you won, you would still make me feel like it was I who had made the mistake.” Cerydra did not answer; she only smiled slightly.
It might not seem tempting right now but who knows what the future holds?
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”