In the depth of night, beneath the moon's glow,
Dim figures meet, quid pro quo.
They slip away, through meandering lanes,
Away from prying eyes and inquisitive brains.

Their steps are light, their whispers low,
As they proceed to their lavish chateau.
They pass by eyes and babbling rooks,
Their destination known only by their looks.

The air is thick with silence and thrill,
As they approach the stage with strategic skill.
Inside they go, to a room unlit,
Where shadows dance, and pendulums tick.

In the flicker of the opponent’s gaze,
They exchange no words, not a single phrase.
Their meeting's purpose, no one knows,
But their secrets and plans, it surely shows.

As the night wears on, their focus grows deep,
Their bond grows strong, like a bond to keep.
They share their moves, their ploys, their schemes,
That they mask from each other, or so it seems.

But when the night ends, and the morning light breaks,
They shake hands and part ways, their minds filled with stakes.
They disappear into the dawn,
Their fleeting encounter, abandoned and gone.