A Royal Assassination

There's nothing left to feel

When all I see is rivalry

Across this battlefield

There was a common misconception that the Queen B's ultimate enemy, the one person able to match her move for move, battle for battle, war for war, was her best friend Serena.

But Blair Waldorf knew better.

The real enemy wasn't Serena. Doing battle with Serena was like fighting off a pesky fly that after a few minutes grew bored or distracted or simply died from sheer exhaustion. Serena could be tough for a little while, but she had no staying power. She also tended to shy away from the kind of kill blows that could end battles, could end wars, could end the conversation once and for as to who was better. Blair wasn't sure if that was because she was Serena and it just wasn't in her nature or if she held back because she wasn't willing to alienate one of the few constants in her life.

Blair was intimately familiar with the kill blow, she relished it, she delighted in the power she could hold over another person. It was just who she was, and at some point, she'd stopped being ashamed or terrified of how she was so different than her best friend. She was never going to be a million feet tall or look good with a lion's mane of blond hair, or deign to show most of her assets on every occasion. Serena, Blair thought uncharitably, also had a rather tasteless partiality for sequins that she herself could never condone.

Instead, the true enemy was the one man who could destroy her with a few choice words; the one man who could match wits and battle strategy like a chess master; the one man who could read her every thought, almost before she'd even conceived it.

Chuck Bass.

It was difficult formulating a battle plan against someone who knew you better than you knew yourself—but that just added spice to life and made the victory at the end even sweeter.

Still, occasionally there wasn't a victory, and Blair was forced to watch as Chuck's smirk grew insufferably broader. Today was apparently one of those times.

"Well, well, look who's back on top. I wonder how that happened," he paused (merely for dramatic effect—but then she'd originated that hanging pause where the victor held the victim's dignity and pride in their grimy hands and it annoyed her that he would steal it for himself). "Oh wait, I know exactly how that happened."

Of course he did. He'd been the puppeteer behind the scenes, manipulating the situation so that Serena would rise from the ashes of her breakup with Dan and decide that (at least for today) she wanted the Constance throne for herself. And Blair also knew that it hadn't been because Chuck was a loving, kind, sweet brother who only wanted to see his sister achieve the best.

It had been about her. It was, after all, always about her.

It was always about her. Of course, nobody knew that except for Blair herself. Strangely enough, nobody suspected him of lurking around in corners, manipulating the situation to his benefit because hiding in the shadows was what Chuck Bass had been doing since the very beginning. Only then he'd done it for purely hedonistic reasons, and now he had a goal, an endgame. Destroy Blair Waldorf. Destroy her pride. Destroy her happiness. Destroy her ability to demand three words, eight letters from him. Destroy her ability to walk away.

Because nobody walked away from Chuck Bass and lived to tell about it.

It should have given him some satisfaction to see his plan come to such perfect fruition, but it didn't. Still, he had a role to play and it was one that he could play to perfection.

"Jealousy is a powerful emotion," he told the nameless, faceless little nobody that he'd used and was now throwing away like so much trash. She thought, because she didn't really think, that the jealousy he was referring to was Serena's petty vendetta against Dan, but all Chuck could see was Blair leaving with the Count. Blair kissing the Count. Blair rejecting him. And all for what? Because he couldn't say a few stupid words? He didn't see her saying them either.

"I had to create a monster to dethrone a Queen," he explained further, neglecting to mention that the monster wasn't Serena, but himself. He'd created a new Chuck Bass in the image of the woman he loved, and he would show her no mercy—which was exactly as much as she'd shown him.

"Why do you care who's queen of a high school?"

"I have my reasons."

It wasn't a lie. He did have his reasons, and they came roaring back to life as he stood there, watching Blair and Serena's power struggle play out in front of him—the man who'd manipulated them into that position in the first place.

Still, he'd expected to feel better, to feel less. . .empty now that he'd achieved his goal. But all he felt still was this gnawing, aching void. He wasn't happy, he wasn't even really victorious. What happened the cliché that victories were sweet?

They weren't sweet at all—they were more bittersweet. Like the sharpest lemon instead of the ripest cherry.

Blair glided towards him, confusion still on her face, but Chuck knew how smart she was. She would put two and two together, probably even without a few helpful hints, but because he was so concerned for her welfare, he'd just nudge her along the right path.

His path.

As comprehension dawned across her beautiful face, Chuck still didn't understand why he didn't feel better. This should have been pinnacle of the entire operation, but all he felt was that aching hole in his chest.

Instead of gloating, all Chuck wanted to do was pull Blair close and comfort her. Maybe even let her shed a few tears on his blazer, which the tailor had just sent over last week. He wanted to pull that ridiculous headband from her hair (as if an accessory was what gave her the right to be called Queen—royalty was in her blood and her bones and the eternally prideful way she held her chin), and let the cool, soft waves of her hair run through his fingers. He wanted to unbutton that high-necked blouse and find the real Blair underneath. The real Blair that she'd only ever shown to him.

He should feel everything right now, yet all he could feel was nothing. Victory was hollow, empty, ultimately meaningless. It tasted like ash in his mouth as she walked away from him yet again.

It didn't hit him until that moment, until her back was turned and she was walking away—how could he have ever believed that destroying Blair Waldorf, that taking away the one thing that mattered most to her would stop her from leaving? Typically, Chuck realized with dull dread, he'd made a massive error in judgment. He'd let his wretched pride take over and plot this without one thought to what it could really gain him in return.

She would never turn to him now, not when he was the instrument of her defeat. She would only sit across from him in class, refusing to meet his gaze and never answering his phone calls. Ignoring him. Denying to herself that she'd ever cared for him. Pretending that they weren't inevitable.

Even when they both knew better.

AN: Dialogue taken from 2x04, "The Ex-Files."