Sounds like a puzzle in a game of chess and cryptic crosswords rolled into one—mystery as the move, meaning as the consequence, a dance of assumptions and hidden motives. What if every alliance is a half‑answer, each betrayal a riddle that only makes sense when you look at the board from the opposite side? We could set a rule that a player’s public claim can only be true if the opposite of it is also true somewhere else. That forces them to keep a mirror image of their intentions in plain sight, while the real intent lingers in the shadows. It’s a paradox: the more you say, the less you can claim. And then you add a twist—if a player fails to solve a riddle, they lose a piece, but the piece itself becomes the key to a new riddle. It’s a loop of logic and intrigue that never settles on a single solution. If that tickles your curiosity, I’ll let you start drafting the rulebook; just remember, the real game is in the blanks you leave between the lines.

Good, because a game that lets you lie without the lie being a lie is already a riddle. Keep the blanks tight and the pieces loose, and watch the players try to read each other as if the rules were a mirror that never quite reflects back. Trust is just the first move you never reveal.