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What people don’t anticipate from the chess world championship is the dedication both the champion and the challenger must provide to one’s training regimen. For months, he has found himself seated within these four walls—watching the pieces move across the screens as he takes in one gambit after the other, familiar faces crossing the screen shortly after.
To defeat one’s enemy, one must first know them. And frankly, is there no better way to understand one’s games than to pour over every single one that has passed within this four-year time?
So he and the others find themselves doing just that, faces turned towards countless screens as they watch Edelgard cross the screen, once, twice, thrice in ten seconds’ time.
The Riegan Defense (normally dubbed the Sicilian) has been one of her favorites as of late. If he didn’t know any better, he would fathom that she chose this very gambit simply to annoy him.
(But alas, he does know her quite well—remembers her flushed cheeks and stuttered breath when she met his mother for the first time. Remembers the way she wished to play game after game with his mother, if only to reassure herself that this was very real.)
He once found it charming. Now, he finds it to be a more obvious hindrance than he had previously anticipated. After all, there were two ways to go about this—to break her stride with the Marshall Gambit, for there was no defense more crushing. However, not only was the gambit potentially flimsy with its multitude of variants, but it was also acquiescing to a long game— a grueling option in the name of chess.
To drag one game out now could mean to blunder one down the line. So he decides to put a pin in it, at least for now. “Ignatz, let’s prepare the Marshall and plan to freshen up on it for the fourth game. If we time it correctly, we can push back there before the rest day.” Perhaps a bit more conniving than he was hoping for, but all’s fair in love and war.
And goddess forbid he let Edelgard choose somewhere cold for their honeymoon.
Claude shudders as he remembers the Fhirdiad brochures he saw her eyeing during their last weekend together.
However, before he can focus on the next game, a voice clearly rings out throughout the room, effectively silencing all other chatter. “Claude—” Lorenz begins, defeated and clearly harried. Part of him wonders whether he’s been fighting Hubert via Twitter again. It would be the fourth time this week. “Your alarms have been going off for the past twenty minutes.” Oh shit.
As Claude stands, Lorenz sinks a final nail into his coffin. “You’re late for your Zoom date, and Hubert has already threatened violence against us all.”
He yanks the cords from his laptop as he rushes out the door, dragging the poor computer mouse he forgot to unplug with him as he sprints from their headquarters. Shuffling into a smaller office—and apologetically kicking out a bemused Balthus and an exasperated Holst—Claude opens the laptop and logs into Zoom, a charming grin at the ready when he is graciously freed from the waiting room.
“You owe me one—no, two iced lattes,” her voice cuts in immediately. Though her face is set into a pinched frown, her trembling shoulders give away her amusement for the entire situation.
He can’t help but grin, carding a hand through his curls as he leans into the frame. “What was the bet? That I’d sign on in less than five minutes after Hubert threatened to curse us all?” It’s strange really, that he gets to speak to her like this.
While it had been his idea to set these dates up in the first place, never did he think that she would actually agree. Even though she’s famed for breaking tradition, Edelgard Hresvelg has never been one to stray from the fastidious tradition of preparation teams—from holing oneself and their team up and away from the world for months as they prepare for the world championship. Rumor has it that they even watched the Candidates Tournament together.
Well, rumor to everyone else. He knows all too well from Ferdinand and Lysithea how the rambunctious watch party Team Hresvelg ended up—with Edelgard cheering for his victory whilst Hubert emailed out the contingency folder with their planned sessions in the event Claude von Riegan was to be the challenger.
Hubert may not like him—no, he definitely doesn’t like him, but he appreciates the sentiment of having a folder ready in case he won.
Still, nothing prepared him for this—for Edelgard in her printed lavender pajamas and her perfectly-styled hair up in a casual ponytail. This is perhaps the most casual he’s seen her within the past few months, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare.
Well, stare until Edelgard squints at the camera. “Claude? Hello, are you frozen?”
He laughs and shakes his head, brings up a hand to cover his rosy cheeks. “Sorry princess, I received an email saying that my favorite mockumentary added new episodes to Netflix.” A little lie won’t hurt, not when it helped him save face.
Whether she believes him or not, she still smiles—shaking her head in amusement as she settles back into her chair. “Well, as much as you’d love to watch that, you promised we’d finish watching Three Hopes.”
How interesting, that even during this time of self-isolation, they both found an alternative. “As you wish, princess.” He can’t help but grin. “Don’t fall asleep this time, okay?”
He laughs at her flushed cheeks and rushed response. Though he wishes they weren't on opposite sides of the continent, perhaps this will be enough.
At least for now.