Thanks to everyone who has read or commented! I decided to post early this week because Mondays are really busy for me, so it's a little easier to do it today. I think this is a big chapter you've all be waiting for! It will be very familiar to anyone who read my post in Coming Attractions, but I hope you still love it.

Thanks to the marvelous betas who have kept me sane, dreeem, priscillalts, noagnes, Karin E Lb, and Lily.

Chapter 6

Several days after Miss Elizabeth left, Darcy was in the library, disconsolately paging through the dragon book once again. He had looked at it so often that its spine was creased and it fell open to the sections he lingered at the most. He reached the end of the book and idly turned it over to the beginning again. He flicked open the cover, the pages turning automatically to the first chapter. As he did so, he realized he had never explored the pages between the first chapter and the front cover. He had skipped them so often that they had become stuck together.

He carefully pried apart those first pages, hoping there might be more of the artist's excellent dragons. He was rewarded on the title page, where a little teal, green and gold dragon was caught in the act of chewing on the "S" in Study. It had a comical look of guilty surprise, its teeth cunningly embedded into the letter by the artist's skilled hand. Darcy wished, yet again, he could see a rendition of his dragon by this artist. He was still chuckling when he turned the page and his wish was answered.

His heart gave an almighty lurch. There was another picture on the next page, the only full-page drawing in the entire book. In his opinion, the artist could not have chosen a better subject. He recognized the outline of the dragon. The artist was flawless in capturing the curve of her neck, the sweep of her wings. It was his dragon, in all her dark glory. Her back was inky black, fading into pure sapphire along her sides, and turned violet on her stomach. She sat in profile to the viewer, her wings—also black, blue, and violet—slightly extended behind her. There was pride in her bearing, but even more, there was quivering life. She could explode off the page at that very moment and it would not surprise him at all.

For the first time a human was portrayed next to the dragon. It was a young lady with brown hair, pictured from the back. She seemed to be reaching for the dragon. Unlike the dragon, which was done with such fine detail he wondered if magic was involved, the lady was drawn with light, flowing lines. She was almost more of a suggestion of a person, than someone real. Both sketches were done in scale, so that the dragon towered over the young lady.

Darcy realized he was holding his breath and let it out in a rush. His hand trembled as he reached out and touched the perfect figure of his dragon. Frost spread from his fingertips. He snatched his hand back, then hastily removed the ice from the page. This was it, he realized with growing excitement. All this time he had been looking for evidence of his dragon, and here it was. His dragon was in Bennet's book. Bennet held crucial information about his dragon.

Darcy shoved himself upright, energy coursing through him. He had not wanted to share his dragon with Mr. Bennet before, but now he knew that Mr. Bennet and the artist had seen the dragon in person. He called for a carriage, for once not dwelling on his fear of the contraption. Darcy paced impatiently in the entry hall, his cane thumping on the ground. He brought the book with him, determined to confront the author at long last.

Once the carriage pulled up in front of Netherfield, Darcy hurried into it. He felt the momentary discomfort of being enclosed in the moving box, but would not let it distract him from his goal.

"To Longbourn," he ordered gruffly. The coachman complied. By the time the short journey was concluded, sweat had gathered along Darcy's back, both from being in the carriage and the excitement of his discovery.

He left the carriage with alacrity, glad it had been a short trip. Staring up at Longbourn's ivy covered walls, he took a moment to catch his breath,. They had passed fields of sheep on the way through Longbourn's lands, but it appeared that the sheep had not been allowed to graze close to the house, for the drive up to the house was lined with long tufts of grass.

Movement caught his eye as someone twitched back the curtain to look at him. Darcy felt a jolt down his spine, as he suddenly recalled that Longbourn was not only Mr. Bennet's home but also Miss Elizabeth's. Was he ready to meet her today, after he had spent so much time trying to forget her? Was he now safe from her charms? He only had to consult his heart for a brief second before knowing that he was not yet safe from her temptation.

Darcy straightened his spine. He did not have to see Miss Elizabeth, he told himself. He was here to speak with her father. There was no reason to linger before or after. If he did see her, it would only be in passing. Surely that was not too great a danger? Set in his course, he walked up to Longbourn's door. He felt the awkwardness of his gait keenly, knowing that strangers were watching him from within. He was grateful for the work he had done to strengthen his leg but it was not enough to fully overcome his limp.

An older lady, presumably the Bennets' housekeeper, opened the door for him. Before he could greet her and explain his purpose, Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice called out, "Who is it, Hill? Show them to the parlor."

Darcy gritted his teeth but could not avoid a brief visit with the mistress of Longbourn. He was shown into a room with Mrs. Bennet and four of her daughters. He could not have said if he was disappointed or relieved that Miss Elizabeth was not among them. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask after her—he was concerned for her health, nothing more—but he bit the words back. The ladies curtsied and he responded with a bow. Mrs. Bennet invited him to tea, which he declined as politely as he could manage. Quickly he turned to Mrs. Hill and requested an interview with the master of the house.

The housekeeper obediently led him away. As the door closed behind him, an excited babble of voices broke out, loudly wondering what purpose he could have to seek an interview with Mr. Bennet. Darcy shuddered at Mrs. Bennet's certainty that he had come to ask permission to court one of her girls.

"It must be you, Kitty," Mrs. Bennet declared boldly. "Jane is already spoken for by Mr. Bingley, and Mary is too plain to attract a man like Mr. Darcy. Lydia wants to marry an officer, therefore Mr. Darcy will belong to Kitty!"

"I do not know that Mr. Bingley feels anything for me," Miss Bennet protested genteelly.

"Mama, please lower your voice, Mr. Darcy might hear you," Miss Mary begged.

"I do not want to marry Mr. Darcy!" Miss Kitty exclaimed in fright. "He is very grim, and walks strangely. I am quite terrified of him!"

Darcy walked out of hearing range at that moment, cutting off further discussion of his marriage prospects. He was simultaneously horrified at Mrs. Bennet's shrewdness, and mortified that Miss Elizabeth had to endure such a mother. It was very well that he had not allowed his heart to overrule his head where Miss Elizabeth was concerned! He did wonder, though, why Mrs. Bennet had not offered her second daughter as his future companion. Or had Miss Elizabeth, like Miss Kitty, already opined that she would not have him?

Why would Miss Elizabeth refuse him, if he should ask? Surely she had more sense than to reject him for such petty reasons as Miss Kitty had stated. He was eminently wealthier than the Bennets, with an ancient family and a great estate. His relations were certainly not as vulgar as hers. He believed himself to be tolerably handsome, especially to the ladies of the Ton. He could remove her from her grasping family and provide her with many opportunities. Why, Pemberley's vast library contained many shelves of books on the history of the Roman Empire, to name a single topic that might interest her.

Darcy was badly distracted as he climbed the dark, narrow stairs to Mr. Bennet's study, which left him in a poor state of mind to confront Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Hill knocked on the door to Mr. Bennet's library and Darcy's heart made a nervous lurch. The book from Netherfield was clenched tightly in his fist. He tried to focus solely on his dragon and push all other concerns aside.

"Enter," Mr. Bennet called negligently. Darcy pushed the door open and walked into a comfortable yet shabby-looking room, festooned with books on nearly every surface. Mr. Bennet sat behind a desk, a book in hand. He glanced up at Darcy. If he was surprised by the unexpected visitor, he gave no sign of it.

"Yes? Mr. Darcy, is it? Please have a seat. What can I do for you?" He kept his finger on the page to mark his place.

Darcy limped to the chair Mr. Bennet had nodded to. He was obliged to shift several volumes to make room for himself. With nowhere else to put them he placed them on a haphazard, knee high stack next to the desk. Only then could he take a seat, favoring his leg.

"Good morning, sir. I have a question for you," he began, thinking at first of his dragon. Abruptly, another black and violet beauty flashed before his eyes, bringing him to a sharp halt. He suddenly realized, had circumstances been slightly different, he might have been asking Mr. Bennet about Miss Elizabeth at that moment. He swallowed hard, trying to push the image out of his mind. She was not for him, he reminded himself firmly. Who was she? Just some country squire's daughter, that was all. It was not like she was on the same level as he, master of Pemberley. No matter the shimmering length of her hair, or the way her violet-blue eyes flashed when she fixed on a point…

He was lost in his recollections long enough that Mr. Bennet cleared his throat sharply.

"What is it?" he asked with ill-concealed impatience. Darcy jumped guiltily, bringing the Netherfield book in front of him like a shield. Mr. Bennet noticed the book.

"Is that what you want?" he asked with a tone of boredom. "Yes, I wrote the thing. That is Netherfield's copy, is it not? I put my autograph in there before I sent it over. I can sign it again if it has become damaged or lost somehow." The older man set his book aside with great reluctance and began to look for a pen on his haphazard desk.

"What?" Darcy stammered. "Yes, I mean, no…" He had come here expecting a confrontation, but thinking of the man's daughter, of asking for Miss Elizabeth's hand in marriage had completely disarmed him. Mr. Bennet stopped looking for a pen and gave Darcy an exasperated look.

Everything Darcy had planned to say on the way to Longbourn was forgotten. He took the most direct approach, opening the book to the incriminating page showing his black-blue-violet dragon. He placed the open book on Mr. Bennet's desk, facing the older man.

"What do you know about her?" he asked sharply, his voice hoarse and his heart pounding with nerves. Mr. Bennet glanced at the book and then made a show of putting on his glasses and holding the book at arm's length to put the image in focus. Darcy gripped his cane hard in frustration.

"Oh yes," Mr. Bennet said after a few seconds of silent study. "That was one of the dragons I saw during my travels. I am impressed you realized it is a female. Did you notice the egg horn on her nose? It is to help her young when they are hatching. Males have a pair of larger horns toward the back of their heads. I thought the artist was unusually good at rendering dragons, so I insisted on a few limited editions with full color images. Very pricey, but I think the cost was worth it. What was it you wanted?"

Darcy had expected Mr. Bennet to dissemble, and was surprised by the man's frankness. At first his heart had leapt at hearing the admission of knowledge of the dragon, but it fell as he listened to Mr. Bennet's casual words. And yet his information sounded too familiar: he must have known this dragon very well, though he pretended not to. Darcy's dragon was not his, but Mr. Bennet's.

"How did you tame her?" he asked, envy gnawing at his insides. What would he not give to have been the first person to see that beautiful dragon?

Mr. Bennet started and then laughed openly at Darcy. "Tame a dragon? You can no more tame a dragon than you can tame a woman! Though a woman is a lot less likely to eat you if she disagrees with your methods."

Darcy clenched his jaw. "Do not toy with me!" he ground out. "I have seen this very dragon twice since coming to Hertfordshire. You obviously know her. At least do me the courtesy of not pretending ignorance."

Mr. Bennet gave him a look over the top of his glasses. "I have not lied to you, whatever you think you have seen." he said solemnly. Darcy's pulse throbbed in his head. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles ached. He had never been closer to challenging another man to a duel.

Mr. Bennet noticed Darcy's fury. He sighed, then removed his glasses and began polishing them. "Let me ask you this: do you really think there could be a dragon of this vast size living here? If so, would there not be screaming and flames every night as the dragon hunted?"

Darcy forced himself to answer with bare civility. "Dragons do not choose to hunt humans except in dire circumstances, and they do not use their fire to hunt. You stated those facts yourself in your book, sir."

Mr. Bennet's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "I cannot believe you actually read the thing! You must be the only one who has, other than the critics. And if you know my book, you know what everyone says about it: pure romantic nonsense. Not a lick of it is true."

"But you and I both know differently, do we not?" Darcy said, frustration coating his words. He was sick of being led around by Mr. Bennet's bumbling answers. It was a false front behind which to hide the truth and Darcy was not falling for it.

Mr. Bennet gave Darcy an appraising look. The image of a tired, inept country squire began to fracture under the intelligence in his faded blue eyes. The older man leaned forward, his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers in front of his face.

"Very well, young man," he said, "Let us look at this rationally. You say you have seen a very large dragon, not once, but twice in this area."

"Not any dragon," Darcy pointed out, "This dragon," he stabbed a finger at the illustration still open on Mr. Bennet's desk.

"Yes, yes, that dragon. Now, if you have read my book, and believe the words written within, you would know that dragons prefer cold climates and high elevation. What do you have to say about the lack of both in Hertfordshire?"

Darcy was furious with Mr. Bennet's patronizing tone. He did not feel like being quizzed, of all things!

"I do not know," he snapped angrily.

Mr. Bennet's expression—for only an instant—registered disappointment. Then it was hidden under his sleepy country mask again, as though Darcy had never seen the man underneath. It was only that which kept him from leaping to his feet in outrage as Mr. Bennet shook his head and tsked.

"Then there can be no dragon in Hertfordshire," the older man said. "Go home and forget you ever saw her."

Darcy swallowed an angry retort. He hated being taken to task like an errant child, especially by a man who had no right. Mr. Bennet went back to reading, ignoring Darcy's presence. Darcy took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind of hot emotion.

"Something else must be keeping her here," he said eventually.

Mr. Bennet looked up, and there it was again, that hint of a razor intellect behind those guileless eyes. Darcy became certain he was on the right track.

"And what could hold a dragon, a creature with fire and wings, in one area?" Mr. Bennet prompted quietly.

Darcy did not want more questions, but he forced himself to think it through. Magic could not hold a dragon. Chains or imprisonment were out of the question. Not only had the dragon been free, but any metal would have to be monstrously huge to be strong enough to resist a dragon of that size, and wood could simply be burned through.

His first thought was that Mr. Bennet had somehow trained or tamed the dragon, but there was a ring of truth to the old man's statement about taming a dragon. A dragon could no more be tamed than a woman… but a woman would go with a man she loved. Given that he had only seen the one dragon, he doubted there was a mate or hatchlings for her to protect in the area. That only left attachment to something, or maybe someone, else.

"There is something here which she loves," Darcy nearly whispered the answer.

There was unmistakable interest in Mr. Bennet's gaze now. "What is it?"

Darcy shook his head. "I do not yet know her well enough to guess," he admitted wearily. He braced himself for another dismissive retort from Mr. Bennet, but instead the older man nodded musingly.

"I will let that one be. Now then, how do you explain why Hertfordshire is not overrun by would-be dragon hunters, and no one is in panic over the fire-breathing beast that lives next door?"

Since answering questions was the only way he was going to learn about the dragon, he gave it thought.

"She must have some place to hide during the day," he said slowly. "Are there caves nearby?"

Mr. Bennet shook his head.

"Not in caves, then. Perhaps in the woods, but there are paths all through that area… Although, I would say that where does not matter. The point is, she has shelter, and it is somewhere safe, hidden and nearby. Then she only comes out at night…" he remembered the way she had saved him from the carriage accident, his first night in Hertfordshire. His leg pulsed at the memory and he rubbed it absently. At the time he had been astonished to see a dragon that large.

Now, looking back, he thought about how remarkable it was that she had no hesitation to approach him. She had taken pains to pull him from the river, to wait with him and keep him awake until Bingley arrived.

"She is smart," he wondered out loud. He had always known her actions were not those of a normal dragon, but he had never considered exactly what that meant. She had no fear or shyness of humans like a regular wild dragon. She showed problem solving and altruistic abilities. She acted far more like a person than a true dragon.

"Dragons are supposed to be as clever as a dog or horse, but she is really smart. As smart as a person. And she is used to being around people." He understood, suddenly. "Someone in Hertfordshire is protecting her. He gives her shelter, and she remains hidden during the day." His eyes cut toward Mr. Bennet.

The older man had the face of a card shark, giving away nothing. Only the gleam in his eyes told Darcy he had guessed right. Mr. Bennet had to be the one protecting the dragon. He had made dragons his entire life study once he dropped from the public eye. The only thing Darcy couldn't figure out was why Mr. Bennet was doing it—and how that particular dragon was so well adapted to life among humans.

"And what does this supposed dragon eat?" Mr. Bennet asked pointedly.

Darcy's first reply was too obvious: anything she wanted. But no, that was not true, because she did not eat humans. He supposed that she could be hunting for herself, but he had not seen the kind of large game that could support a predator that size. He had never fed a dragon before, but he estimated she could easily go through several hundred pounds of meat a month. That meant a full-sized cow every month, or two or three pigs, or even… sheep. Like the flocks that grazed in Longbourn's pastures. He met Mr. Bennet's eyes and each man recognized their shared knowledge.

That was when Darcy realized he had underestimated the older man. Mr. Bennet's eyes took on a dangerous glint. The gentleman farmer façade dropped away, showing the bold—maybe even reckless—adventurer he had been in his youth. Startled, Darcy tried to rise from his chair, but found he could not. His mouth went dry as he realized Mr. Bennet was a much more powerful spell mage then Bingley. Bingley's spells always felt like big soft pillows holding him down. Mr. Bennet's spells felt like nothing at all, but Darcy was still effectively trapped.

"I love her like a daughter," Mr. Bennet warned in a low tone.

Darcy realized that coming here to confront the older man was a mistake. Yes, he had wanted to learn more about the dragon, to solve the mystery of her presence plaguing him, but in doing so and figuring out who was harboring her, he had exposed himself to someone who would do anything to protect her.

"I have no quarrel with you, sir, or her," Darcy tried to keep his voice even. "She is…" he wanted to say the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but once again a black-violet image of the man's daughter rose in his mind. Miss Elizabeth's beauty could not be compared to the dragon's, though both were kindly blessed. "Very beautiful," he choked out. "I never came here seeking her harm."

"Maybe," Mr. Bennet replied enigmatically. "Do you play high chess?"

A chill went down Darcy's spine. "Not if I can help it," he said.

"That is a shame. You do maintain at least one set, yes? I find you can often take the measure of a man by playing a game of high chess against him. Humor me for a while, would you?" Mr. Bennet began clearing off his desk in preparation for their game.

The last thing Darcy wanted to do was reveal his flawed set before this man. He tried to rise again, but his legs still would not move.

"You have me at the advantage," he said stiffly. A true gentleman would never unwillingly confine another in this way. The fact that Darcy was helpless to counter it only added to his ire. His ice magic was not suited to breaking spells. He thought of Miss Elizabeth's ability to absorb magic and fleetingly wished he could do the same.

Mr. Bennet only glanced at him as he laid out a battered chess board. The black and white squares made Darcy's heart pound nervously. He had not been able to play a game of high chess since Ramsgate, and he knew his issues with his set were not resolved.

"Relax, I mean you no harm," Mr. Bennet said brusquely. "But when one is involved in a venture such as I am, one cannot be too careful."

Darcy was close to begging for release, but pride held his tongue. The master of Pemberley did not beg, and in any case he knew it would be ineffective. Mr. Bennet was a man with a secret to protect. He would be as fierce as a brooding dragon until he was satisfied.

The older man placed his hand over the board and closed his eyes briefly. Along the edges of the board a series of runes and sigils suddenly glowed and sprang to life, then faded again.

"Can never be too careful, can you?" Mr. Bennet said conversationally. "Please, check the board."

"No, thank you," Darcy gritted out. He wanted nothing to do with the hateful board.

"I insist," Mr. Bennet's voice hardened, and Darcy knew he had no choice. Mr. Bennet looked quite capable and willing to hold him until Darcy complied. Reluctantly he held his hand over the board, closed his eyes, and extended his magic senses toward it. He knew the runes once again flashed with light, but this time he felt them in his mind. Any mage able to play high chess was taught how to check a board for errors. The boards were a very powerful and delicate bit of magic. Should a single line of script be out of place, the entire construct could collapse with disastrous effect. Having both players check the board was also insurance against cheating. The board felt whole and undamaged in Darcy's mind. He withdrew his hand and nodded his acceptance.

"Now then, shall we be started?" Mr. Bennet asked cheerfully. He set his fingers at the end of the board and took on an expression of intense concentration. Magic rose like fog and began to eddy on Mr. Bennet's side of the board.

Darcy discovered that he was not too proud to beg.

"Please," he began, nervous sweat trailing down his back. "I fear I am not a good player, and my set has become damaged. I bow to your skill, and accede the match to you. I swear on my word that I will not tell a soul about the dragon or your sheltering her. She will come to no danger from me."

"This is not about the dragon," Mr. Bennet said coolly. "It is your own fault for not maintaining your set properly. If it is as bad as you say, this will be a quick match, and I shall know what to do with you then. Now, play the game." His warning was unmistakable. Darcy would not be able to avoid the game.

Reluctantly he placed his fingertips on the edge of the board. The runes hummed gently, eagerly waiting his input. He closed his eyes in fierce concentration. Please, he thought desperately, just this once can I not have a different set that is not damaged? He felt his pieces slowly coalesce out of the magic of the board. For a moment, as he was forming the queen, Miss Elizabeth's image leant itself to his creation. No! What a disaster that would be, to reveal his unwise interest in the man's daughter while playing this awful game. He wrestled the queen's features back into faceless submission, and went on with the rest of his pieces. If only he could have a different set of knights, and different bishops… Even before he opened his eyes, he knew he had failed.

High chess was only loosely related to the normal chess that any person could learn. They used the same board and the same number and type of pieces, but that was where the similarities ended. One had to be a mage to play high chess, and each set was unique to the life experiences of the mage. Instead of capturing the king, a stronghold was the object of the game. Darcy fearfully peered at Mr. Bennet's side of the board before looking at his own.

Mr. Bennet's stronghold was of course Longbourn. The miniature was in great detail, but oddly foreshortened as though viewed from very far overhead. It was not a common point of view, but it was so accurate that it was instantly recognizable. Darcy felt a certain sadness when he realized that Mr. Bennet's dragon must have flown him into the air to gain that perspective. It was a privilege Darcy knew he would never have. The landscape of the first two rows on Mr. Bennet's side were gently rolling Hertfordshire hills.

Darcy took stock of Mr. Bennet's pieces quickly. For the king and queen, Mr. Bennet had obviously chosen himself and Mrs. Bennet. The queen piece seemed greatly weakened, the small figure of Mrs. Bennet comically nagging and then throwing up her hands with nerves. If his circumstances were not so dire, Darcy might have smiled at the image. As it was, he took note that the queen's power had been moved to a different piece, and moved on. It was interesting to note that Mr. Bennet had also chosen female faces for his bishops, just like Darcy. In the older man's case, his oldest and middle daughters were the chosen ones. Miss Bennet had a serene beauty, while Miss Mary's plain face was offset by the intelligence behind her glasses. Mr. Bennet's knights were Sir William Lucas, an obvious, but somewhat pedantic choice, and…

Darcy's breath caught in his throat. Mr. Bennet's second knight was Miss Elizabeth, standing with her hands behind her back, an innocently mischievous expression on her face. There seemed to be something odd about her piece as well, as though Darcy were not seeing the whole of it. He kept it in mind and forced himself to look at the other pieces, as much as his eyes wanted to linger on the knight. The rooks were occupied by a man and woman Darcy did not recognize. The pawns were alternately Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia.

Mr. Bennet was studying Darcy's pieces as well. Darcy, as always, had Pemberley as his stronghold, with the craggy Derbyshire land as his surrounding ground. The game took Mr. Bennet's hills and blended them into Darcy's crags in the middle four rows of the board. Darcy had himself as the king, and a faceless female figure as his queen. It was dangerous for any single man to allow a queen to resemble an actual woman, and he was far past the age where his mother was considered an acceptable substitute. From there, his pieces only got worse.

One of his bishops was Mrs. Reynolds, a solid choice, but the second was Mrs. Younge, already looking shrewdly conniving. With despair, Darcy looked at his knights. One was his cousin Richard, whom he need not fear, but the other was Wickham which was going to be disaster as soon as Darcy tried to move him. Darcy's rooks were his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh and his uncle the Earl of Matlock. And his pawns… his heart clenched. His pawns were all twelve year old versions of his sister Georgiana. With such a set, the game was doomed from the beginning.

Mr. Bennet acknowledged his opponent, and the match began. The pieces of high chess had similar ranges as their regular chess counterparts, but it also took into account the landscape each man had chosen, so that a piece on higher ground might have a movement or attack bonus. That was where high chess became more like a general commanding an army, for multiple pieces could be moved at once, and there was no taking turns in the game. An attack did not mean an automatic capture, though several weaker pieces could gang up on a more powerful one. Each piece was also imbued with a certain power as well, according to the desires and knowledge of the wielder. It was common for bishops to have a healer aspect, or for knights to inspire their surrounding pieces. Rooks often added a bulwark to the pieces around them, just as a real castle protected those behind it.

In the first thirty seconds of the game, Darcy realized Mr. Bennet was a better player. Not only did he have a set that worked well together, but his grasp of tactics was also superior. After a mere two minutes, as Darcy lost a couple Georgiana pieces to one boisterous Miss Lydia, disaster struck on Darcy's board. Mrs. Younge struck out at the remaining Georgianas, while Mrs. Reynolds tried to pull the pawns toward safety. Wickham also attacked the Georgianas, but Richard leapt over the faceless queen and began wrestling with Wickham.

"Get control of your board, man," Mr. Bennet said in gleeful surprise, moving several of his pieces to take advantage of the chaos.

"I can't," Darcy gritted through his teeth. He deliberately threw Mrs. Younge into the way of Sir William, who appeared to be a lazy knight but still managed to capture the woman. Darcy glanced around for Mr. Bennet's other knight, but did not see Miss Elizabeth on the board. Her father must be holding her in reserve for later, a common tactic. Mrs. Reynolds ushered the remaining three Georgianas toward Pemberley. Darcy vainly tried to separate Richard and Wickham, who continued to damage each other.

The Earl of Matlock did away with a Miss Lydia and two Miss Kittys, before Miss Mary and a Miss Kitty took him down. Wickham suddenly turned from Richard and lunged after nearby Miss Lydias, removing two of them from the board. Richard then stabbed Wickham in the back, and Wickham fell. In a bold move Richard took out Mrs. Bennet, both unknown rooks and Sir William before bowing to Miss Mary and being neatly captured by her.

Miss Mary then led the last Miss Lydia and the two remaining Miss Kittys in a brilliant campaign that took out Darcy's faceless queen, Lady Catherine, and wounded Mrs. Reynolds. Miss Bennet finished off Mrs. Reynolds, and the three Georgianas she had been protecting fell on Miss Bennet.

Panting, Darcy looked around the board wildly. Mr. Bennet still had his king piece, one Miss Kitty, and Miss Mary. His Miss Elizabeth knight was still hidden somewhere. Where was she? Mr. Bennet laid siege to Pemberley, and Darcy struggled in vain to protect it. He poured energy into the board, sending his own king piece darting around to protect the remaining Georgianas. Miss Mary snuck in behind him and finished off all but one Georgiana. His king piece lashed out and caught the last Miss Kitty and Miss Mary. The Mr. Bennet piece applied steady pressure as the Darcy piece cradled his sister and protected her with his own body. Mr. Bennet steadily brought more pressure against Darcy, and Darcy pushed back as well as he was able.

"Give it up, boy, the game is over," Mr. Bennet said. "No need to push yourself to exhaustion."

This was the problem Darcy had with high chess. Besides his pieces turning against each other, his stronghold was Pemberley and to give up was to see Pemberley fall, which he could never do. So he slammed magic recklessly into the board, vainly trying to protect both Pemberley and Georgiana. His head pounded in pain at the effort.

"You are not even attacking," Mr. Bennet said incredulously. "Cede the game to me and let this be done."

Darcy shook his head, even though his vision flashed grey. "I will not," he snarled. "You have only the king. I can outlast you."

Mr. Bennet was also looking wearied by the game. Darcy began to hope he could hold out against the older man. Mr. Bennet shook his head, and then brought out his last piece. The Miss Elizabeth knight burst forward. Darcy knew it was her, for Mr. Bennet had no other pieces, but she had been transformed. She was now a vast dragon, black, blue and violet, winging toward Pemberley with fire in her jaws. Darcy threw ice around Pemberley, but the dragon fire was hotter still. Pemberley began to burn, trapping Georgiana inside. Darcy did not understand. It was a cheat, turning Miss Elizabeth into a dragon, but the board had been whole. The pieces were always drawn from the user's own experiences. The only way for Miss Elizabeth to have become the dragon was for them to be connected in real life.

The fires consumed Pemberley and even though his home was lost, Darcy still tried to save it. His head sunk to the table as he poured more magic in. The dragon circled Pemberley, watching it burn. And then he understood.

"The dragon," he gasped, not talking about the game anymore. "Miss Elizabeth is the dragon."

The last thing Darcy saw was Mr. Bennet's implacable face as he reached out and crushed Pemberley under his thumb.

So how did you like the battle royale P&P style?