Probability was its own form of power. There was a flow to it. A rhythm. And Seven, caught in its dance, could hardly breathe.

  Two towers down, one to go. Seven kept her body carefully still and her face carefully blank, though every nerve was on fire, her legs throbbing against the cool metal of the chair. She could barely focus on the board with the buzzing in her mind, the screaming of the crowd around her. She’d played well—brilliantly, even—but she couldn’t shake the idea that something was wrong.

  An arena spread out beyond her and her opponent on all sides, dice-powered projectors broadcasting the game for everyone’s viewing pleasure. Her face, of course, was up there too. Irritating. Distracting. Everyone knew who she was, but not for a good reason. The people attending the match didn’t care about her winning. They didn’t care about her skill at the game, the hours she’d spent perfecting strategy, bluffs, minimizing her own tells.

  They were there to watch her lose. To mock her and ridicule her.

  And, though it was easy to feel the weight of their gazes as she played, Seven nearly forgot about them as the beauty of the game unfolded before her. She’d spent hours perfecting her techniques at the board, much to her family’s chagrin. And yet, there was something captivating about it—about the feel of the dice in her hands, even if they didn’t respond to her touch. With each roll and each move, she could almost forget that she was cursed and powerless. These dice, at least, responded to her whim.

  She clicked another dice into place, and a few of the nearby onlookers laughed, the jeering sound echoing across the dark arena. The laughter burnt a hole in her heart, but she pushed it aside. Let them think what they want, she thought, fighting the urge to jiggle her foot. After this match is over, they’ll have something else to whisper about. Not the cursed daughter of House Veil, but of a master of Beggar’s Chance, a woman so talented at the game that they’d forget about her checkered past entirely. She could change everything—if she could just figure out a way to rout her opponent’s defenses.

  Rook sat across from her, handsome in his own right, a son from another noble family, and a bitter rival to boot. His family wasn’t as powerful as her own House Veil, but it was respectable at least. His leg jiggled as he stared at the board, resting his head in his hands in thought. That was a tell, she’d realized in the months she’d spent playing him leading up to the tournament. He tried to hide it with his jiggling leg, but he always played high dice while touching his face. With that information, she knew to avoid the edge of the map—where he’d set a cluster of dice she wouldn’t be able to defeat.

  He’d made it tempting, of course; the camp his minions surrounded would have made the risky play more than worth it. In his mind, perhaps, she even needed it to march down the board and end things. But Seven had plenty of other options—her opponent just hadn’t seen them yet.

  Letting out a shaky breath, he rolled his next dice and set his last minion on the board. It was his last chance to change the game in his favor, but as he set it down, Seven had to fight everything in her being not to react.

  The crowd, it seemed, did not share her caution. There was an audible gasp from around the arena, and the screaming crowd hushed, their whispers fluttering around the arena like a flock of birds.

  It was a mistake. An enormous one. Why would he have moved there of all places? She wondered, scanning the board for something she could have missed. She racked her mind for the possibilities. Rook was an accomplished Beggar’s Chance player in his own right, and he’d played flawlessly to get to the top of this tournament. He always seemed to be one step ahead. One series of moves in front of his opponent. She couldn’t help but admit—somewhat bitterly—that he was talented at the game.

  Of course, so was she, but she couldn’t make sense of his move. Were the nerves getting to him? Had he just made an honest mistake? More likely, it was a trap; Rook was well known for his bombastic style of play, gambling with his Veil dice to set up scenarios that his opponents simply couldn’t read through fast enough. She double-checked the board, but no, she was sure she had the winning position—even if he’d rolled high on those hidden dice. In fact, she had enough of one that he should have already surrendered over the board, cutting the match short.

  Maybe he’s just trying to drag it out, she thought idly, watching him. It was a petty way of doing things, but she’d dealt with plenty of opponents who’d done the same thing before. Bitter about losing to the cursed seventh child of House Veil, they’d simply dragged the game out as a spiteful way of saving some face.

  Well, Seven could take care of that. Her own defenses were shored up, her towers well-defended, her camps taken. Her economy over the board was disgustingly good, and she’d already placed plenty of veiled dice all over the board as a precaution. She had the resources for a bigger, better push.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  And, in fact, staring at the board, she realized she had the means to win entirely within a few moves. She pushed her dice forward on the board, her heart hammering in her ears. She hoped that Rook, watching her carefully, wouldn’t see her face, flush with excitement. She tried her best to look bored, a look she’d perfected over years of sitting through royal events. That part was easy at least, but the thing about tells were, it was hard to tell what yours were.

  Rook moved another piece—the one she’d banked on him moving—and Seven pushed her next piece forward with confidence, approaching his Core at the center of the board. She’d practically surrounded it by this point.

  One more move, she told herself, the crowd a distant hum in her ears. One more push, and everything will change. No more being discarded. No more being disrespected, rejected. She’d finally have something of her own to show her family. A skill none of them could hope to have, even if they were the ones with the dice. And she’d have a career, separate from the nonsense her mother and father were trying to throw her into. With this win, she’d control her own fate. And maybe get her hands on some dice that actually worked with her condition, to boot.

  Rook moved his final piece, and his pinched face said everything. He knew he’d lost. Knew, even, that he’d lost soundly. The crowd agreed, on its feet, chanting Seven’s name. There was only one thing left to do. Rook jerked his head at the d20 on the table, his eyes bitter.

  “Go on then,” he said. “Roll. Finish me off.”

  Seven took the dice carefully in her hands, relishing the smooth finish of the crystalline stone. Luck above it felt good to hold one—even one without a bit of magic to its name. She watched Rook carefully for a reaction. One roll and his Core would be destroyed. Mathematically, it was impossible for her to lose.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong. Something she’d overlooked. She checked the board again, but no—everything was as it should be. She’d won the game. And yet, there was something in Rook’s eyes—a tell she hadn’t seen before. A snap of life in his bitter eyes, like he was waiting for something. Excitement and anticipation that shouldn’t have been there.

  Still, there was little she could do. Her hands now shaking, she rolled the dice. It clattered onto the felted rolling area, tumbling with a tiny spark that Seven swore she could feel in her hands. Gaming dice never carried any power, but this one moved strangely—as if under the influence of some greater power. She squinted at it, trying to decipher the strange sense of something being off that she was feeling, but it settled onto the felt, flashing imperceptibly, then going dim.

  A seven.

  She laughed quietly under her breath. It was a terrible roll, but enough to finish Rook’s Core. She moved her final piece, the crowd erupted, Rook’s Core disintegrated on the map, and Seven felt her shoulders relax momentarily.

  That was it then. She could really be free of her family. Free of their expectations, their burdens. She could finally prove that she was more than a spare. She practically felt like she was flying, and she allowed herself a grin that spread like fire across her face. She’d done it. She—

  Pain erupted across her hand, and she yelped, grabbing at it. What? The smell of burning flesh met her nose, and the crowd’s roar of excitement became an angry buzz in her ears.

  She stared at her palm in the near darkness of the arena. Burn marks, the pain nearly unbearable, the puffy, mottled skin showing the shape of the d20 she’d just rolled.

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no. I didn’t—I couldn’t have.”

  She looked up in horror to where the d20 sat, now flashing a molten red. An official came over and picked up the dice with tongs, examining it, then whispered something to the announcer, who looked at Seven grimly.

  “Rook wins by forfeiture,” he announced, his voice booming. “Seventra of House Veil is disqualified—for using loaded dice. For cheating.”

  “I didn’t cheat,” she snapped instinctively, still gripping her wrist, her hand shaking with pain. “I beat him fair and square. The dice were rigged.”

  “You can’t rig gambler’s dice,” the judge said, looking at her like she’d just killed a puppy. “It’s not physically possible. Come now, princess, own up to what you did.”

  “Like hell,” Seven snapped, standing. “He obviously tampered with them.” She gestured at Rook wildly. “Or someone did.”

  “We’ll see in court,” the official said. “If you could just—”

  “I am not forfeiting the match,” Seven said, rounding on the man. “Have them analyze the dice now, not later.”

  “Not our policy—”

  “I don’t care what your policy is, I—”

  Hands snatched at her from behind, and Seven whirled, trying to get her feet from under her as someone dragged her away. The crowd’s buzz turned into a steady low drone of disapproval, and as she tried to tug free of the guards, she met the faces of several of her family members tucked into the front few rows. Disgust dominated their features. Disgust and shame. And, looking out at the crowd, she saw her family’s features mirrored in everyone else’s.

  It didn’t matter that she was innocent. It didn’t matter that she’d had no reason to cheat at all. That the dice had been a trick and a lie, somehow. What mattered was that Seven was everything they believed her to be: expendable, worthless, a cheater and a liar.

  A spare.

  And as the guards hauled her off the stage, she caught the eyes of her opponent, watching her from a distance. Not with shock. Not with surprise, or even sadness.

  With triumph.

  The guards shut the stage door, and Seven’s world went black.

  Hey there, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please head back to the and hit follow and favorite, or leave me a rating! Your reviews and feedback mean the world to me and help spread the word—especially for a small author. Thanks for your support!

  Also, if you'd like to read ahead, or sign up for free for news and updates, you can find my .

  NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.