Though I stood at attention as he left the room, my mind was already whirling away, tangled up in thought once more. The men might have felt conflicted about the search but I was resolute in my assertion that she was here. I knew she remained somewhere close, watching and waiting for a sign from me that I was ready to play out our last game.

As I walked through the halls with my men during our first sweep of the grounds I had seen her own, a single blood-red apple sitting on the throne. I doubt the foreign-born soldiers had thought much of it as we searched together but I knew it for what it was. A defiant challenge from a despot making her last stand. I could think of no more fitting a place for the final battle between us. After all, leaving the castle went against the fundamental ideology of the woman who had no choice but to have a hand in raising me.

With a sigh, I cast my gaze around the room that was empty once more. I may have hidden it well as I spoke with Lord Ligner but I too was growing anxious for her appearance. I did not understand what was stopping her. Before Ligner's entrance, I had been waiting by myself for an hour. Yet she hadn't been willing to step out from whichever shadow she was hiding in.

But perhaps being on my own wouldn't be enough. After all, there were only ever two queens on the board. Pawns and the rest of the courtly quartet were just a superfluous distraction in this game of ours, especially since hers had clearly been taken out of play. Forfeiting my own, completely and willingly, would only be fair.

The thought had come to me abruptly, turning my ceaseless amble about the ruined windows into a purposeful stride as I doubled back towards the entryway. As I drew nearer, the sentry posted just outside the wide double door snapped to attention.

"My Lady," he intoned, as he bowed his head into a tired nod. I returned the gesture as I stepped closer, drawing to a stop beside him in the doorway. Only one of the doors hung open, the other had been rendered immobile by its broken hinges. I reached my arm out towards the latch of the open door and paused as if I were resting. Though I knew I was delaying the inevitable, I remained standing there and studied the soldier. Exhaustion lined his bloodstained face and he leaned against the closed door as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. Likely it was. Our battle had been long and our search even longer. It was clear that there was very little fight left in him, he had probably been posted with me in order to rest for a moment. If there were any danger he'd serve as a warning sign, not as a warrior. It burned me to think that someone felt I had to be watched like a child, instead of a queen.

The feeling quickly prompted me into action. I heaved the door towards me, catching a glimpse of the wide-eyed sentry as I drew the bar along with it. Already the world beyond the room I had trapped myself in was disappearing. The light had all but bled from the sky, leaving little more than a sharp outline around the mountains to the far west. Outside, the cheers cut off abruptly, as if the men below already knew to hold their breath the way they would for two armed combatants in a duel. Closer, the shouts from the sentry were muffled, as was the thumping of his fists upon the heavy oak and scrolling metalwork that adorned the door.

Leaning against the heavy bar to catch my breath, I caught a glimpse of myself in a jagged piece of glass that was embedded deep into the wood. My reflection was distorted by both dirt and proximity but was undoubtedly me, a thin, dirty young woman standing slightly stooped with a grim expression. A twinge of embarrassment flooded through me, causing an immediate posture shift as I squared my shoulders and brought my nervous hands to my sides, holding them in loose fists. Just as reflexive as the action, the mantra that always accompanied it came to me unbidden. You are a princess, not a pauper. You must stand tall and proud like a leader, instead of a milkmaid.

The thought spoiled my jubilant mood. It always discomfited me to remember that the words were not entirely my own. Roughly, I tousled my hair back into submission, righting the locks that were slipping free to improve my disheveled looks. I felt her presence acutely as I did so, the exposed nape of my neck prickling with the uneasy sensation of being watched but deadlier in its implication. Like a sword about to meet the throat of its enemy, her gaze was sharp and hungry. It was not my appearance she assessed but the whole of me, seeking weaknesses.

With one last look at myself, grim and rigid in the broken glass, I pivoted away from the door, meeting her stare with my own. She had taken the spot of her cunning invitation, which now rested in her hand as she sat regally upon the iron monstrosity my father had commissioned during his reign. The highly wrought steel had been polished to perfection, gleaming in the dark so brightly that I could see her reflection where it was caught in the curlicues. A hundred times over I could see her sharp features contrasting with the soft smile she held. It might have passed for blithe expression but I knew her mind was keenly analyzing everything and anticipating the next moves to be made.

There were precisely two hundred steps from the entrance to the throne to the foot of the dais leading up to the throne but I chose not to acknowledge her until the last moment. Only another six steps up and one woman stood between me and my rightful destiny. Feigning surprise, I looked up at her and met her gaze once more. "Oh, Stepmother," I announced as if the room was full of couriers. "How grand. We had thought you had gotten lost somewhere within the castle. But how could I ever have missed you, sitting there upon my throne?"

Her smile only grew as she listened to my acerbic retort. "Isoleí, my darling daughter. How much I have missed you in your absence from my court. Do come closer, my dearest heart."