Concerning the Knight
The Knight is at once the most striking and most beautiful of all the Pieces. The singularity of its evolutions, by which it is enabled to overleap the other men and wind its way into the penetralia of the adverse ranks, and if attacked leap back again within the boundary of its own, has rendered it the favorite Piece of leading players in every country.
The assault of the Knight is more subtle and dangerous than that of any other Piece, because he attacks without putting himself en prise, and his attack can never be resisted by the interposition of another man.
-Howard Staunton
So, Alain had decided to give up the mercenary trade. Solange couldn't be more pleased. She had always known that he was meant for something more...something loftier. Still, he had no eye nor care for politics; it was enough to break her heart. Well, not quite. At least he was moving up the social ladder, however slowly. Private investigations was his new venture. He and that purple-haired woman he shamelessly paws at, Cassandra something, were going to be business partners. Well, at least he'd have someone watching his back. That girl seemed like she had a solid head on her shoulders and could take care of herself.
Solange had to admit that none of the D'Mourir clan had turned out like she'd hoped. Not one politician or philanthropist among the lot of them. Disappointing, really. Oh well, as her father used to tell her years ago, "Never say never." It was a mantra so simple it was almost laughable. Yet the bookkeeper's daughter had held fast to it and had climbed more than a few ladders until she had reached the Lord Elector's office and became his first advisor.
The leggy Attach? reclined a bit further on her settee, manicured toes peeked out from the camel hem of her cashmere robe. Her hair was still damp from her bath and she leaned back to let the steam from her cup of tea slide over her skin of her cheek. Solange didn't think back as often as she used to on the Lord Elector. He had been assassinated nearly a year ago now. So much had changed in the time since the riots, protests and violence that had spread across Nouveau Bretagne, forcing them here.
Solange's eyes were unfocused on a painting upon the wall across the room. What she was seeing was not to be beheld in the oils of this canvas. She was thinking back to what it was like to dine with her employer, Lord Clarendon, surrounded by the inner confines of his office. When the caviar, lobster and champagne were not thought of as luxuries, but simply as dinner. And while she was not in love with the man, not in the conventional sense of the word, she did love him in her own way. He was brilliant and possessed political power. And he treated her as she thought a queen should be treated; expensive gifts, lavish getaways, and midnight suppers, just the two of them. She knew full well that he felt more deeply for her than she did for him, and she was almost sure that he knew the same. Still, it was a perfect match, business-wise. And both of them treasured their time together for different reasons.
A soft inhale pulled itself deeply into her lungs as Solange blinked and woke herself from the daydream. There were things to be done. She still had to meet with cooks to interview them for the position and the dressmaker was coming in three hours to finish a gown she commissioned. True, life here in this city was nothing like the gentile and rich way of life back in Nouveau Bretagne, but Solange was making sure that it was not squalor, either.
Her thoughts turned back to the D'Mourir family here. After catching up with Alain briefly the other week, she thought on the other members of the clan. She would have to invite them to Baskingstoke once again in an attempt to catch up with them. However, she mused as she sat up and finished her tea, she would have to find them first.
The Knight is at once the most striking and most beautiful of all the Pieces. The singularity of its evolutions, by which it is enabled to overleap the other men and wind its way into the penetralia of the adverse ranks, and if attacked leap back again within the boundary of its own, has rendered it the favorite Piece of leading players in every country.
The assault of the Knight is more subtle and dangerous than that of any other Piece, because he attacks without putting himself en prise, and his attack can never be resisted by the interposition of another man.
-Howard Staunton
So, Alain had decided to give up the mercenary trade. Solange couldn't be more pleased. She had always known that he was meant for something more...something loftier. Still, he had no eye nor care for politics; it was enough to break her heart. Well, not quite. At least he was moving up the social ladder, however slowly. Private investigations was his new venture. He and that purple-haired woman he shamelessly paws at, Cassandra something, were going to be business partners. Well, at least he'd have someone watching his back. That girl seemed like she had a solid head on her shoulders and could take care of herself.
Solange had to admit that none of the D'Mourir clan had turned out like she'd hoped. Not one politician or philanthropist among the lot of them. Disappointing, really. Oh well, as her father used to tell her years ago, "Never say never." It was a mantra so simple it was almost laughable. Yet the bookkeeper's daughter had held fast to it and had climbed more than a few ladders until she had reached the Lord Elector's office and became his first advisor.
The leggy Attach? reclined a bit further on her settee, manicured toes peeked out from the camel hem of her cashmere robe. Her hair was still damp from her bath and she leaned back to let the steam from her cup of tea slide over her skin of her cheek. Solange didn't think back as often as she used to on the Lord Elector. He had been assassinated nearly a year ago now. So much had changed in the time since the riots, protests and violence that had spread across Nouveau Bretagne, forcing them here.
Solange's eyes were unfocused on a painting upon the wall across the room. What she was seeing was not to be beheld in the oils of this canvas. She was thinking back to what it was like to dine with her employer, Lord Clarendon, surrounded by the inner confines of his office. When the caviar, lobster and champagne were not thought of as luxuries, but simply as dinner. And while she was not in love with the man, not in the conventional sense of the word, she did love him in her own way. He was brilliant and possessed political power. And he treated her as she thought a queen should be treated; expensive gifts, lavish getaways, and midnight suppers, just the two of them. She knew full well that he felt more deeply for her than she did for him, and she was almost sure that he knew the same. Still, it was a perfect match, business-wise. And both of them treasured their time together for different reasons.
A soft inhale pulled itself deeply into her lungs as Solange blinked and woke herself from the daydream. There were things to be done. She still had to meet with cooks to interview them for the position and the dressmaker was coming in three hours to finish a gown she commissioned. True, life here in this city was nothing like the gentile and rich way of life back in Nouveau Bretagne, but Solange was making sure that it was not squalor, either.
Her thoughts turned back to the D'Mourir family here. After catching up with Alain briefly the other week, she thought on the other members of the clan. She would have to invite them to Baskingstoke once again in an attempt to catch up with them. However, she mused as she sat up and finished her tea, she would have to find them first.