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Chapter Text

kazuha

"Son, have you made your choice yet?"

Kazuha sighed, his back facing the throne to prevent his father from seeing the boredom painted on his face. From the very moment he was summoned to the throne room, he knew that the infamous speech would come his way: it was the same each year, with unfailing precision, and Kazuha waited for it like a prisoner would for the hour of his execution.

"Not yet, father," was Kazuha's mechanical response.

The king clicked his tongue in disappointment. Kazuha could tell what he was doing merely by the rustling of his clothes against the wooden throne. He had crossed his legs, as he did when he was nervous, and rested his elbow on the armrest in exasperation. "You are turning twenty soon. Have you forgotten?"

"How could I?" Kazuha's gaze wandered down, far beyond the walls of the castle and the labyrinth of topiaries. The city was bursting with colors and sounds, and loud drums thumped in the distance, in those places where he wasn't allowed to set foot. "Everyone has begun celebrating."

Except for me , was the part he chose not to say out loud. Life as royalty was a long list of things meant to be unsaid, and Kazuha had been indoctrinated with those precepts since he was born, learning them down to the finest details. People were supposed to understand he was frustrated, rather than hear it coming from his lips.

The king hesitated before speaking again. "Listen, Kazuha, I wish you understood how infinitely lenient I am being with you."

And there he went, the show had started. Kazuha threw a knowing glance at his personal guard, who stood beside the door with his sword sheathed. They exchanged a quick, awkward smile— it was the same, good old pattern. Kazuha was almost fond of it.

"Do you know what kings usually do with their sons?" the man continued, unaware of their silent dialogue. "They choose—"

"They choose a fate for them, yes," Kazuha finished in his stead. "Father, we've had this conversation multiple times."

Kazuha turned around to face him, his lips pressed together nervously. He began pacing across the room, trying to relieve the sudden anxiety grasping him by the throat, at the idea his freedom might eventually meet its end. He reached the table near the throne and ran his finger along the wooden globe in its center, the family's symbol of power.

Then, Kazuha did what was expected. He repeated what he had been taught since birth, the words to say to satisfy his father's craving for approval. "The crown for the firstborn, as a reward for coming into the world first. For the other princes, it's either the Church of Baal or a career in the army, or a wealthy marriage with a richer woman."

Kazuha's tone reeked of boredom, so much that Gorou's warning glare fell heavy on his shoulders. He was being far too bold, he was challenging the king's authority and beliefs to a concerning extent. But defiance had always been in his blood, after all. Part of his rebellious soul of a poet, one of the few things left of the Queen in this world.

"If you know so well how it works," the king hissed, mild irritation coating his voice, "then you should know how urgent your decision is."

Kazuha played dirty until the very end. He tilted his head, feigning innocence like a candid child. "Though I must say, I wasn't aware there was an age limit. Aren't kings allowed to marry younger girls whenever they please? Maybe we should seek my sister's opinion on this. How old was she when—"

"Kazuha."

A million times had Kazuha heard the sound of his own name, and with a thousand different inflections. But when his father's mellow voice turned into pure thunder gushing out of his mouth, Kazuha knew he had to drop the fight. He had learned it rather quickly, at his own expense. "I apologize, Father."

The king sighed once more, each dragged-out breath longer than the previous. "Kazuha, I'm giving you an ultimatum."

"An… ultimatum?" Kazuha tensed up, a knot of tension climbing its way up to his throat. Though he had always known that the fateful day would come when he'd be tied down to his role, he had never been fully prepared to receive the blow.

"A month divides us from your birthday," the king said. "I will grant you a few more weeks. But if by the first falling snow of winter you still haven't made a choice, I will have to step in for you."

Kazuha clenched his fists. He hated that. He hated being forced to pick his poison. No person asked to be born, or in what family. He was certain that most people down in the city would commit atrocities to spend a minute in his shoes, pampered and free from the hardships of labor. And yet, he desired nothing but to flee from that golden cage.

But as miserable as it might be, Kazuha didn't have a choice. It was a battle he couldn't win. At most, he had gained a month or so to enjoy his life, and then he would have to bow down to his eternal imprisonment.

The king snapped his fingers, irritated by Kazuha's silence. "Is that clear, son?"

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Kazuha faked a polite bow, barely bending his neck. "Now, if you will excuse me."

Kazuha stormed off before receiving an answer, craving to put as much distance between him and the throne room as he could. While biting down on his lower lip to stop tears from flowing down his cheeks, he heard Gorou's steps trailing behind his back.

Kazuha wasn't oblivious enough to not notice that his father had been trying to get rid of him for the longest time. He understood his reasons, though he couldn't relate to the underlying sentiment. In the continent of Inazuma, most royal families counted many heirs, a decision guided by two basic needs: maximizing survivability in the harsh world, and displaying wealth.

Kazuha was the third prince and the fifth child overall. As such, he had seen all of his siblings take their destiny into their hands, while he grew up among the walls of the Kaedehara's castle.

The first to disappear had been his eldest brother, the crown prince. He was a knight, a bureaucrat, and a diplomat at once. After idly floating around the king for most of his life, he married the princess of a nearby kingdom, thus finding his own place to rule. After him, falling one by one like autumn leaves in the wind, everybody else had followed.

The second prince chose the way of the sword, and thus enrolled in the army when Kazuha was twelve. His eldest sister was offered in marriage to another king who was three times her age, while the younger one joined the Church in the mainland, and worked far away as a shrine maiden. Only Kazuha had stayed behind, aimlessly wandering the empty corridors of the manor for over five long years, mourning their lack of liveliness every day.

Kazuha didn't quite fit in. He had proven to be different from his siblings since his childhood; his brain worked in unique ways that he considered would someday fade into normality. Except they didn't, in the end.

His brothers used to play with wooden swords, fantasizing about becoming knights and dying with honor on the battlefield to protect their kingdom. Kazuha chose escapism instead: he asked his personal guard to read a novel for him, or he ventured to the library himself, thirsty for a daydream. Gorou had found him asleep on the wooden tables a million times, with a book still open beneath his drooling mouth, and the instances had multiplied once Kazuha's siblings left the palace.

Now at the center of everyone's undivided attention, Kazuha found temporary freedom only in fiction, and writing became a way to show his frustration towards the world. He was a skilled poet, but couldn't hope of becoming a bard, destined to serve royalty— last in the line of succession or not, he was still a prince. Mainstream literature didn't suit him either, with all its formalities and frills. His prose was intense, full of a spirit that most would call unconventional.

So, he had no talents or interests. He was a burden to the king, receiving a special treatment only because he was a living reminder of the deceased queen. But he couldn't hope to be allowed to act like a teenager forever.

"Oh, my! The prince is sulking."

Kazuha turned to the door. Gorou was standing at the entrance of his bedroom, arms crossed on his armored chest. His lips were bent in that smile, the smug grin preceding a secret scheme.

Kazuha flipped his book shut and threw it at the opposite side of the bed. "Rumor has it, that's what he does best."

Gorou shrugged away all formalities and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind his back. As Kazuha's childhood best friend and trusted guard, he was allowed some special rights. Honestly, were it not for his humble origins, he would even be regarded as part of the family.

Gorou sat on the stool next to the bed. His hand brushed against Kazuha's thigh in a comforting, warm caress. "Are you alright, Your Highness?"

"The usual," Kazuha shrugged. "The same speech every year. I'm used to it."

Gorou chuckled. "I have a feeling this won't be eternal, sadly."

"Yes, my friend." Kazuha heard his own voice tremble with the threat of a cry. "I assume it's my last autumn of freedom."

Silence fell over them, thicker than the snow mantle glowing on the distant peaks of Seirai. Kazuha was used to long pauses between them, and the lack of words was a comfortable silence that had been polished with years of familiarity. Yet, it had never felt quite as heavy.

Then, Gorou clapped his hands together, happiness seemingly returning to his face. "I know you are getting old, Your Highness…" he teased.

Kazuha cut in, poking him with an elbow. "Gorou, you're seven months younger than me."

"It still counts." Gorou nodded solemnly. "Anyway, is your adventurous spirit dormant, or can I count on your fun-loving side once more?"

It had been a while since something had piqued Kazuha's interest. He glanced at Gorou with a curious light in his eyes, studying his expression. Usually, Gorou's proposals were risky— the type of adventure that, were they to be caught by the other soldiers, would see one of them undergoing severe punishment, and the other one locked up in his room for a month.

The thrilling kind of fun, their exciting teenage-year adventures… They had so many of those, back then. It had been a while. "What's on your mind, my trusted guard?"

Kazuha treasured one memory above the others, holding it close to his heart like a timeless treasure. One night, they took Gorou's horse from the stable in great secret, and went for a secret ride down the hill, trotting to the edge of the forest. The dark blue leaves of the trees were brimming with life even in the dark, and the river seemed to glow with fairy lights across the water.

Although Kazuha had lived on Watatsumi since birth, he had rarely witnessed its raw beauty before that time. Had he even felt alive until that point, until the hours he had spent horse riding without a saddle while holding on tightly to Gorou's safe shoulders?

"The celebrations for your birthday have started," Gorou explained. "All of Watatsumi is painted with joy."

Kazuha rolled his eyes. Yes, the exclusive feast in his honor that he couldn't attend. It was for him, yet he wasn't invited, because kings and princes didn't mingle with their humble subjects. The best he was allowed to do was watch the fireworks from his windows, alone with his thoughts. "Even the gloomy suburbs of Bourou, with their little worn-out homes?"

His guard knew him well enough to understand he was just teasing. The outskirts of Bourou were Gorou's home, after all, and Kazuha wouldn't dream of speaking ill of it. They agreed that it looked a little shallow, though, even if the hospitality was 'of utmost warmth', according to Gorou.

Gorou smiled. "Yes. You wouldn't recognize them."

Not that I would normally . Kazuha had seen so little of his own country. He had been to Sangonomiya Shrine  to visit his sister, when she was receiving her training before departing for the mainland, to serve at the Empress's court.

He still remembered their final conversation, the day before she abandoned Watatsumi for good. "What's the point of being educated by Her Excellency herself," she had said, "if I will be preaching the deeds of a different god?"

The people of Watatsumi were devoted to a cult of the ancients, tied to the serpent god Orobaxi. The Church of Baal had close to no influence there, relegated almost to a position of heresy, but it was highly practiced in Narukami and therefore a vital part of her training to please the Empress. "We do what must be done," had been Kazuha's answer.

Well, there was no reason to dwell into those memories now— They wouldn't come back to Kazuha, and he wouldn't meet his sister until they'd meet in the afterlife. "What's your suggestion, Gorou?"

"Yoimiya is expected to make her deliveries soon," Gorou explained. "She can supply us with disguises, and—"

Kazuha stood up, closing the distance between them. Their knees brushed together, with Gorou still perched on the wooden stool. "You want me to sneak out of the castle?"

"Y-Yes," Gorou gulped, uneasy. Kazuha was well aware of the effect he had on his guard, of the crush he had been growing like a precious plant for years. Teasing him and playing around was most enjoyable, a lighthearted pastime even, although Gorou likely wasn't of the same opinion.

Gorou cleared his throat. "It will be like in the past. We choose a suitable date, I show you around the city, and then we return unseen."

"Are you sure?" Kazuha's fingers combed through Gorou's hair. It was short and fuzzy, the best stress reliever he could hope to find for his tense nerves. "Last time we tried, we got caught and you were thrown in a cold cell for a week. I thought we wouldn't meet again."

Though his words seemed to fight back the offer, Kazuha's heart had already made its choice. Having a countdown to the end of his freedom encouraged him to be reckless, if only for a short while.

"We got caught , " Gorou gently pushed Kazuha's hand to the side, "because you were soaking wet after falling from my horse into the lake. They won't know this time."

Kazuha laughed under his breath, his mind diving once more into the pleasant memories. True, that had been the ending of his beloved escape: he had lost his balance, and fallen into the icy waters of the pond. But even the punishment they received wasn't harsh enough to erase the joy from that night.

"Who knew my guard could corrupt me so easily," Kazuha chanted.

Gorou smirked, fondness glowing in his gaze. "I just happen to know you a little too well, Your Highness." And I know which buttons to press , his eyes whispered.

Gorou wasn't lying when he said Bourou was unrecognizable. The picture engraved in Kazuha's blurry memories, with the small ruined houses stacked on the side of the hill, was as different as it could be from the reality before his eyes.

All buildings had been painted anew. Banners and garlands hung from every corner, dangling from the wooden balconies in a feast of colors. The sweet scent of flowers battled with the acre smell of glossy varnish lingering in the air, and the waft of stale water coming from the suburbs below.

The entire place had turned into a wonderful show that saw Kazuha gaping for the entirety of their trip. Even the outside bastions of the city walls hadn't been spared from decorations, with bouquets of cecilia flowers placed at each soldier post.

"How did they know cecilias are my favorite flower?" Kazuha asked in a whisper while they were hiding next to the city gates. That was the hardest part of their plan: jumping in the crowd at the right time, blending in with the people in visit enough to escape the guards' gaze.

Gorou shrugged, his eyes focused on the soldiers' movements. "I'm sure it's a coincidence. They're just pretty, and that's a fact."

He was right, Kazuha supposed. He had shown his face in public only a handful of times, and when it had been absolutely necessary. The funeral of his mother, the accolade for his brothers, the marriage of his sister… He doubted anyone would go out of their way to investigate his taste in flowers. It must be a lucky alignment of the stars, or something equally coincidental.

When the moment came to make their move, Kazuha pulled his woolen hood on his forehead. His heart beat furiously in his chest, its echo throbbing in his ears, drumming in his throat. One misstep, and they would be done for. Now that they couldn't use their young age as an excuse, the punishment for their disobedience would have been tougher.

Nothing happened. Thanks to Gorou's battle-trained reflexes, they managed to make it past the gates completely unseen, with their identities safe. They held hands, squeezing each other's palm tightly, terrified of losing each other in the bustling crowd. Kazuha kept his gaze low, staring at their tattered shoes as they stepped on the cobblestones, carefully following Gorou's footsteps.

"It's nostalgic," Gorou commented once they were away from danger, loosening his grip on Kazuha's hand. "I remember taking part in these celebrations when I was a child, before I was appointed as your personal guard."

A hint of regret crossed Kazuha's chest. "I'm sorry, Gorou. Becoming my attendant must have robbed you of all the fun." Who would enjoy spending all his days at a ghost's side?

"Hey, I'm happy where I am!" Gorou burst out laughing instead.

And with a single glance at Gorou's profile, at his flushed cheeks burning red under the shadow of his hood, Kazuha knew he wasn't lying. Gorou's feelings for him were clear, they showed their true nature in the way he looked up to Kazuha, putting him on a pedestal of perfection and pouring on him all the love held in his heart.

Love that Kazuha couldn't reciprocate.

The prince falling for the poor maiden, the king forfeiting the crown for a taste of freedom with a concubine, the queen having an affair with the young stableman… Typical plots of the novels he read throughout the years, his only companions in the cold nights of his kingdom. But Kazuha doubted his soul was able to understand any of those emotions, to comprehend what feelings drove the main characters to chase such fleeting pleasures.

Hurting Gorou was painful, and so was seeing the delusions and fantasies shining in his eyes when they were close, only for them to burst like bubbles of soap once faced with the cold reality. Kazuha enjoyed teasing him, out of childish fun and an illusion of closeness.

There was nothing more to it than that, nothing more than a selfish game. He would probably regret it someday.

"Look, there's a show," Gorou's voice caught his attention.

Swallowing down his guilt, Kazuha glanced in the direction Gorou was pointing at. A precarious stage had been built out of piled-up wooden boxes, with a stool placed on top. Sitting at the center of everyone's attention, with a lyre in his hands and a barrel of apples behind his back, a young man dressed in green was performing.

His music was soft, a lonely melody from the past. Though Kazuha didn't recall hearing anything of the sort before, he felt the emotions hidden behind the notes, the nostalgia and sadness of those ancient, forsaken times. His soul trembled with each accord played on the lyre, his breath refusing to come out.

A second man was dancing at the bard's side, swirling and twirling around with his spear. It was a foreign dance, something Kazuha had never heard of, not even at the banquets held in his family's honor. The dancer's forehead and arms were painted green, and his body was wrapped in tight layers of silk. He looked beautiful, like a warrior spinning before the fight of his life.

"They don't look like Inazumans," Kazuha commented in a whisper.

Gorou shook his head. "I doubt it. They must hail from Mondstadt, the land of bards. Or maybe even Liyue, judging from the dancer's clothes."

Both countries were so distant from Kazuha's kingdom, they were nothing more than dots over the horizon, past the immense ocean dividing Inazuma from the rest of the world. He wondered how many stories they'd have to tell, if only he had a chance to ask.

And as he listened to the bard's tunes, Kazuha's mind couldn't help but roam. He thought of his own poetry, of the verses everyone seemed to consider ugly and improper, and he imagined them being sung on the streets, accompanied by beautiful acrobatic dances. Would he have followed that career path, if he was born in another family?

It was over too soon. When the song ended, the duo bowed before the public, and a waterfall of coins was tossed over them. Gorou seized Kazuha's hand again, eager to show him the rest of the games, to make him experience as much fun as he could before they'd have to crawl back to the castle.

At the opposite end of the neighborhood, a clump of people was busy bobbing for apples. It was yet another game Kazuha had heard of, yet never witnessed in person. There was a brute force to it, a fierce determination that he didn't expect to see in such a silly activity. It was almost entertaining.

"Shall I try?" Kazuha asked jokingly, unable to tear his eyes off the splashing water in the tub.

Pure horror crossed Gorou's face. "W-Would you really ?" he stuttered. "I mean— I wouldn't stop you, but… I'm afraid you would end up drenched from head to toe, Your Highness."

Kazuha pressed his lips together, pouting. He couldn't risk making the same mistake as in the past; if an emergency were to happen, they'd have to rush back to the castle and pretend they never left to begin with. It would have been difficult to explain the wet clothes dripping all over the floor of his room.

They moved past. Children and adults were having fun around them, playing in every corner of the city. Normally, if Kazuha thought about the city, he couldn't imagine anything past the beggars and the orphans dying of hunger at the edge of the street, desperate for a mere coin. But that— That was entirely unexpected. Maybe, to see what his mind portrayed, he'd have to sink deeper into the depths of the island.

A flock of kids playing hopscotch, fancy-dressed men shooting at an archery competition, knights-in-training riding their horses and jousting in the plazas… There was everything Kazuha could dream of. Not even the castle had been so lively, when his siblings were still around.

They reached a tavern, the heavy smell of alcohol and incense flowing outside the door like liquid poison. Old men were sitting at the tables outside, countless empty bottles of wine scattered across their surface despite the early hour.

"I'll play one round," Gorou said, sitting in front of a chessboard. He took a small pouch from the inner pocket of his shirt and slid out a handful of coins to bet on the match.

Gorou patted the seat at his side, gesturing for Kazuha to join him. Kazuha obeyed— he sat down, his arms resting on the rough table. The weight of everyone's glances landed on his hands, on the fair carnation of his skin and the smoothness of his fingers, evidently not belonging to a commoner.

Instantly cursing himself for showing it to the public, Kazuha buried his arms under the table and averted his gaze.

"Two people count as cheating," the old man in front of them said.

Kazuha waved his hands in the air, panicking. He was about to speak, to excuse himself from the game. He had played chess with his brother in the past, and he was rather skilled at it, but not the biggest fan of the game. But Gorou's reaction was faster. "She's not playing."

Kazuha gave him a confused look— She ? What did he mean by that? But whatever the secret code between gamblers was, it seemed to work its charm. The men laughed and landed heavy pats on Gorou's shoulders, complimenting him loudly.

"I see, I see," the man in front of them picked up Gorou's coins, throwing them on the plate alongside his own. "I was wondering who that smooth skin could belong to. Got yourself a cute lady for the night, huh?"

Kazuha's cheeks flared up. Oh, so that was it. He was somewhat uncomfortable pretending he was a girl (and Gorou's girl, at that). But if that was all it would take to draw attention away from him, and to make the bystanders lose any will to stare at his hands for the rest of their stay… Well, he could bear it.

Gorou and the old man began their game. Kazuha kept his head low, his hood concealing his face from the public. Though his features were graceful enough, he didn't want to risk exposing Gorou's life.

Nevertheless, he followed the pawns on the chessboard with all his might. And that's how he noticed that Gorou was, in fact, all talk and no action. Did he accept to play a round just to impress Kazuha? His strategy was horrifying, to say the least.

"Move your bishop down there," Kazuha whispered in his ear. Gorou coughed to cover the noise, and obeyed. His opponent squinted at the board, ready for his countermove. And Kazuha was prepared for more. "Now, your Queen there. It's a checkmate."

Gorou won the match thanks to his guidance. The old man groaned and tossed the coins at them, clear rage building up in his throat. Fearing a violent reaction induced by alcohol, Kazuha forced Gorou to stand on his feet without even collecting his prize, impatient to escape.

It was Kazuha's turn to grab him by the hand, leading him through the crowded street until they reached the closest square. The crowd was splitting into different columns, men on one side and women on the other, in what looked like the preparation of a dance.

"Thanks, Kazuha," Gorou said once they caught their breath. "You saved me there."

Hearing his name coming from Gorou's lips was unusual. Even as children, when Gorou was undergoing training and knew no manners yet, he made his best effort to use the proper titles. He addressed him as "Your Highness" or "prince", never once missing. But now that they were outside, free from everyone's control, he was talking to him as a friend, and not as a guard.

Repaying him with equal sincerity was almost Kazuha's duty at that point. "I'm the one thanking you, Gorou. I've never seen the world from up close, and I won't forget this day for as long as I live."

Someone bumped into him. Kazuha lost his balance, tripping on his feet— If it weren't for Gorou's sharp reflexes, he would be doomed to crash to the ground. He was safe, though, tightly held in Gorou's arms, pressed against his chest.

Their eyes locked together. Their faces were close (too close), Gorou's breath came in warm huffs (too warm) against Kazuha's cheeks, still flushed from the long run. Wouldn't it be the perfect moment for a romantic kiss? Driven by the joy of being free, drunk on the adrenaline of risk, Kazuha almost caved in. He leaned closer, closing the gap between their lips.

Then, he pulled away, a mere whisper from Gorou's mouth.

It wasn't a good idea. No happiness would ever come from toying with Gorou's feelings any further, and no bright future could await a prince if he fell for his personal guard. That was their unspoken agreement: fun was allowed, feelings were allowed, but there was a line to draw somewhere.

Gorou begged to differ. His hands moved to Kazuha's waist, pulling him back against his chest. "Kazuha, I—"

"Come, come!"

Coming in like a savior, rescuing him from an uncomfortable conversation, a young lady interrupted them. She seized Kazuha's arm and dragged him to the side, almost tossing him in the middle of the crowd. His eyes wide with panic, Kazuha managed to see Gorou receiving the same treatment, before everything spun around him in a spiral of people.

The dance was about to start. What a foolish mistake to choose that spot as their place to breathe, so close to the grasp of the eager citizens. They had been roped in now, and escaping wasn't an option— not when the music was already playing, and a hand was being offered to him.

Kazuha looked up at his partner, surprised to see a man. Having learned only the male portion of the dance, each step carved in his memory by his sister, he expected to be paired up with a woman. But well, nobody knew who he was, so he didn't mind making a fool of himself.

"Oh, a pretty boy," the man said. His voice was smooth, with the faintest echo of hoarseness. Kazuha's heart skipped a beat, mysteriously. "Do you know the steps?"

Suddenly shy, Kazuha nodded. Gorou had taught him when he was a child, and his sister had helped him memorize as many dances as possible, though he never had an exceptional talent for it. "Only the male part."

"Then, follow me."

Another nod, and thus it began. Kazuha rested his hand over the man's open palm, allowing him to take the lead. He followed his steps, careful not to stomp on his feet. The rough texture of his pants and shirt tickled him as they danced, his skin not used to unrefined fabric, and his chest trembled whenever their skins touched.

"You're not half bad," the man said. He moved his hands to Kazuha's waist, seizing it firmly, ready to spin him around as the dance commanded. "I was expecting worse when I saw you being all shy."

Kazuha gulped. The man's breath was fire against his ear, his entire body was burning up as they were pressed together. Though he didn't know what to call that unfamiliar feeling, he couldn't deny that he was charmed by that man, almost trapped in an inescapable spell. "I know a thing or two, I suppose."

The man smiled. Kazuha had to admit he was rather handsome— sandy blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail, bright purple eyes, and a scar over his nose. He wouldn't be surprised to see someone looking just like him in the next novel he'd pick up from the romance section of the library. He gave off the vibe of the beautiful love interest, able to make any lady swoon with a mere flutter of his eyelashes.

But that was real life, not fiction. Kazuha forced himself to calm down, to piece his nerves back together and stop daydreaming at once. Right when he was about to pull away, determined to abandon the dance halfway if only to flee from that alluring stranger, the man lifted him in the air to spin him around.

Kazuha held his breath. The grip on his waist was firm; the man moved him as if he was lighter than a feather, without a single wrinkle of effort on his forehead. His hands were rough, in contrast with the silky skin of Kazuha's hips, but not calloused like a farmer's would be. Kazuha's heart forgot how to beat, his legs trembling once he was put down to stand on his feet again.

The music came to a sudden halt: the dance was over. With a ceremonial bow, the man bent on his knees before him, placing a boiling kiss on the back of Kazuha's hand. "It was a pleasure to dance with you, prince ."

"Prince?" Kazuha blinked in confusion. With his brain turned into a puddle from the unexpected whirlwind of emotions, with his heart confused and his vision clouded, he blurted out words without thinking them through. "How did you know I'm—"

"Sorry," the man interrupted him, an apologetic look in his eyes. "I would love to have a conversation with you, but my partners are waiting for me. We can meet again, yeah? If you come round here, even tomorrow or so."

The man didn't wait for a response. When Kazuha realized what had happened, the stranger had already been swallowed by the crowd, leaving him alone in the middle of the plaza with nothing but confusion in his head.

"What were you about to say?!" Gorou's voice startled him. "That you're the third prince?"

"I—" Kazuha paled. Hell, Gorou was right— he had come dangerously close to a terrible mistake. What had gotten into him? The fluttering of a handsome man's eyelashes was enough to make him lose his dignity and logic?

Gorou glared at him. "Come, now," he clutched his hand, harshly dragging him away from the bustle of the city. "We'd better go back before someone recognizes you."

Kazuha could imagine what emotion was guiding Gorou's actions. It wasn't responsibility, or his immovable sense of duty— he was bitter, perhaps even jealous. It made sense to Kazuha, so he didn't question it. Everyone must have noticed how flustered, how entranced he was during the entire dance, finding it impossible to look anywhere that wasn't in the man's purple eyes.

He kept thinking about him through the entire trip back to the manor. Out of all the emotions he had experienced, the beautiful sceneries he had seen, and the beautiful sounds he had heard that day for the first time… The memories engraved in his mind were the feeling of that man's hands on his waist, the dreamy hue of his irises, the hoarseness of his voice.

How cliche was it, for Kazuha to catch a crush for a total stranger from the common folk? He feared love, and what it entailed. He had been taught that such emotions don't belong to the nobility. There was only room for pretense and frozen hearts among the walls of the castle.

Chapter Text

tomo

Before his departure, Tomo didn't think he would ever miss his home. Kannazuka wasn't a cheerful land, but he had learned that most of the continent was engulfed in sadness. All kingdoms had their own struggles, the peasants crushed by the greed of their rulers. And after the collapse of the furnace, his beloved homeland had been neglected even by its king.

Memories from his house returned to him in his sleep. The choking smell of moss corroding the planks of the ceiling, the rhythmic noise of rain dripping from the cracks in the roof and keeping him up at night, the roaring of thunder outside… Nightmares haunted him still, with horrible scenes from the flood first, and then the dreadful explosion.

Yet, such a wrecked landscape was almost better than his current location: a barren cave inches from the sea, carved out of the pinkish side of the cliff, among the huge seashells that shielded the depths of Watatsumi. They had crawled down there like rats, and continued to survive as such.

The leader sat in front of him, his feet resting on an ancient wicker stool that Tomo had helped steal a month prior. "I sent you undercover to scout , not to flirt with some girl."

Tomo wondered which of his comrades had spied on him. It must have been Ajax, with his superior skills at blending in with the crowd despite his bright red hair. Or maybe Mona, swifter than water, more silent than the moon at night. Whoever it was, why would Kunikuzushi choose him for such a mission if he didn't trust him at all?

Plus, it wasn't even a girl he had been dancing with. Sure, the boy had delicate traits, and he was on the cute side, but Tomo hadn’t been trying to flirt. He had been caught in the crowd, dragged into the middle of the party by a lady with a flower crown on her head and ordered to play his role. Pushing her away would have attracted too much attention.

"Sorry, I was having a little fun," he lied. Saying the truth wouldn't improve his situation, anyway. Once Kunikuzushi's mind was set on something, it was best not to add wood to the fire of his rage.

"Stop wasting my fucking time," Kunikuzushi spewed. "Did you get the information I asked for?"

Tomo closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. He wasn't the docile type; he normally wouldn't stand people addressing him that way without even paying him for his efforts. But he had been the one who sought shelter with them, so tolerating that bad treatment was part of the deal.

"I did," he said, his lower lip trembling from the hidden anger. "The rumor we heard was correct. Everyone in the city is talking about King Kamisato's imminent visit to the city."

"The vault," Ajax cut in. "It's safe to assume he's coming to transfer his money straight away, if only for the honor of being the very first person to make a deal with the Divine Priestess."

Kunikuzushi nodded. "Perfect. Then, we shall proceed as planned."

Their scheme wasn't complicated in the slightest. They would assault the carriage while the escort was crossing the main plaza, taking advantage of the crowd. They would then steal the money they were transporting and vanish from their sight, hurrying back to the depths of the island.

An underwater vault… It had been the gossip of the entire kingdom ever since its construction had started. Resting under the abyss of Watatsumi, way beneath the currents and the ocean bed, it would have been impossible to rob. Only the highest-ranked maiden of the Orobaxi cult would know how to undo its seals and access it without any risk. Her Excellency sure knew what she was doing with her business.

"Why would King Kamisato keep his riches in Watatsumi, anyway?" Tomo heard himself ask before he could shut his mouth. "Doesn't he have a castle or two? Why come all the way here just to—"

"Trust me," Kunikuzushi glared at him, "there won't be any place safer than this. You don't know what lies under our feet."

Tomo gulped. "And something in your eyes tells me I don't want to ask about it."

"Precisely," the leader chanted. "You aren't as stupid as I thought."

Kunikuzushi uncrossed his legs, sitting properly. He buried a hand inside his travel bag and pulled a yellowed scroll out of its main pocket. He unrolled it, spreading the hand-drawn map on the holey table between them. The ink was smudged in a few spots, but that was everything they had at their disposal.

The precise, detailed configuration of the city grounds in a one-to-one scale; a treasure Ajax had found in the neglected store of an antiquary, who subsequently disappeared under mysterious circumstances— or so he had reported. Tomo had noticed the bloodstains peeking from under his shirt, but none of their comrades had said a single word.

Kunikuzushi pointed at the market plaza with his finger. "As much as I hate giving such responsibility to the likes of you… Tomo, Ajax, you will be the core of this operation."

"Finally some action!" Ajax chirped, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Who am I fighting?"

Kunikuzushi sighed. "Hopefully, nobody. If something goes wrong, then get rid of any obstacles."

Tomo shivered. He could only hope for things to go smoothly, so that option would be ruled out of the potential course of action. Nobody wanted to cross Ajax's path when his bloodlust showed up. "What will our job be?"

"You know we don't do complicated stuff. Megistus will throw herself in front of the convoy and pretend to be a beggar." Kunikuzushi looked at the woman, sitting at the very back of the cave with her legs crossed on the mattress. "I don't care what you do— cry, cling to the horse, whatever. Just stop them."

"Why would I do something so humiliating?" Mona whined. "It's an offense to the Megistus ancestry."

A long time before, Tomo had ceased questioning whether their arguments were genuine, or simply a way to stir up the pot and kill boredom. They seemed to enjoy it immensely, though.

Kunikuzushi's sarcastic laughter tore the silence of the night, echoing all the way through the lowest layer of the island. "It won't be too hard for you, considering that's rather close to your real nature of a penniless bi—"

"I dare you to finish that sentence."

Tomo and Ajax exchanged a tired glance. Watching them argue was entertaining most of the time, but at night it wasn't the best show they'd choose to spectate. Sleep was just around the corner, a jab away from them. The sooner they finished their meeting, the more hours of rest they'd acquire.

"So?" Ajax dared to urge.

"Don't interrupt me." Kunikuzushi kicked him from under the table. " So , while everyone is busy dealing with her, you two will assault the convoy. Knock out the guards, snatch all the bags, get the hell out of there."

Tomo wasn't sure that would work out. Landing such a grandiose attack in the open, in the middle of a guarded city, and with only two men deployed… Everything sounded exceedingly risky. "Isn't this plan a tad too… simplistic?"

"That will depend on you," Kunikuzushi sneered. "If you're good enough, it will work just fine. If you mess up, it won't. Easy as that."

Tomo mentally prepared himself for a tough fight. It didn't look easy at all— They didn't study the route of the Kamisato carriage, nor the escort they could count on. They didn't know their numbers, nor their skills.

But none of that mattered to Kunikuzushi. Tomo couldn't decide whether the leader valued their skills greatly, or rather disregarded their lives altogether. Ajax seemed to roll with it, though, and Mona trailed along despite the horrible jobs she was always doomed to do.

Pretend to be a beggar, a prostitute, a slave… She had done the worst things. She was vital to their plans, offering them distractions for their opponents, baiting their targets, buying precious time. Yet, it made Tomo's heart sink in his chest to see her bend her head so much. She could be an amazing dancer or a respectable maid, instead of groveling in the mud at Kunikuzushi's side.

Tomo shook his head to chase away those thoughts. "Alright. What's our priority if things go south? The money or the guards?"

Ajax chuckled. He was playing with his knife, the blade reflecting the faint light of the candle and casting shadows on the walls of the cave. "We kill the guards first, obviously. Maybe the king too, if we're so lucky to catch him."

"It's the money, you idiot," Mona cut in.

Alright, the global banter was starting to tingle Tomo's nerves. "I asked the leader."

"The money," Kunikuzushi said. "If things go wrong, just grab what you can and leave."

"Nice." Tomo nodded with a relieved smile. If anything, that meant killing people was postponed for the time being, and hopefully for the rest of his stay in Watatsumi. Contrarily to someone else in the cave, he didn't enjoy slicing throats for fun.

Though he didn't look the part, Tomo had committed murder before. His life hadn't been a smooth ride, his homeland full of bandits and all sorts of criminals. They roamed the hills, they ambushed merchants along the pathways to the nearest cities, they stationed near the entrances of the furnace.

Tomo had learned how to wield a sword at a very young age, and he preferred to have regrets afterwards than qualms beforehand. However, that didn't mean he was fond of it. He avoided spilling blood as much as he could— he had enough ghosts haunting his sleep as it was.

"You're dismissed. Get some rest," Kunikuzushi said. He stood up, hastily putting off the trembling flame shining on top of the candle and heading to his mattress in the pitch-black darkness.

Ajax followed soon after, the blade of his knife sliding back in its sheath with a sharp noise. "See you tomorrow!"

Mona didn't say a word, as usual. Tomo whispered goodnight to the nothingness, and tried to find his way to his assigned mattress in the pitch-black cave. It wouldn't be exceedingly difficult; his straw bedroll was just behind the entrance, between two boulders.

"Tomo, wait a moment." Kunikuzushi's voice made Tomo shudder. A matchstick sparked in the dark, showing the threat in his indigo eyes. He wasn't done talking, apparently. "If you want to have fun with that woman, don't do it here."

Again? Tomo bit down on his tongue, struggling to keep his instincts under control. He hated it when people pretended not to understand, solely to shame him for his actions. And his fighter soul refused to go down without striking back. "Why? Is that your exclusive privilege?"

He side-eyed Mona, still lying on the mattress at the leader's feet. She gasped in return, looking at Tomo as if he had just offended her entire ancestry. "What are you—"

"Goodnight." Kunikuzushi's tone sounded too close to a death threat, so Tomo simply dropped the topic and left. The matchstick went off behind his back, and all sounds faded into the tranquil silence of the night.

When Tomo had arrived in Watatsumi, his entire body covered in wounds and blood after the long journey, it was the peak of summer. Cicadas were screaming outside, erasing any hint of quiet from the entire land even in the latest hours. It felt unreal, now, to be surrounded by such peace, to lie awake and listen to every single one of his thoughts.

His head pressed against the hard surface of the boulder, Tomo's mind raced back to that afternoon. To that delicate boy he had shared a dance with, to his red eyes and his flushed cheeks. The way his waist fit perfectly between his hands, the featherlight weight of his figure, the faint perfume of his hair…

His instincts were alert. There was something amiss, something familiar in that young man that he couldn't put his finger on just yet. So, Tomo did what he did best— he gave up on pondering the issue for too long, and accepted the simple fact he had a fleeting crush.

It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Besides, the chances they'd meet again were scarce: they were two pawns on the chessboard of a broad kingdom, and whispered "meet me here tomorrow"s were always empty promises.

"Fuck," Tomo cursed under his breath.

He had warned them of the risks in their plan, that assaulting a king's carriage without the proper preparations could lead them to a miserable death. And, well, not considering their numbers was certainly a big mistake.

Following the carriage were many men, armed to their teeth but slow on their legs. Riding their horses on the higher edge of the cliffs, Tomo and Ajax had no problems outflanking them, reaching the front of the caravan unseen.

That was where the real nightmare lay in wait, though they couldn't yet know. While the carriage and its escort headed through the gates, lining up for the usual inspections, the bandits split up and slipped discreetly into twin side streets, striding in complete silence. 

Upon reaching the designed spot for the assault, Tomo stood in wait, all senses alert. On the opposite side of the square, Ajax mirrored his movements, muscles tense for the incoming action.

Everything proceeded as planned. Dressed up in the shabbiest clothes Tomo had seen on her, Mona threw herself in front of the carriage, inches away from the horses' hooves. The charioteer halted their course with a loud whistle, saving her from a gruesome death.

From a distance, Tomo watched the soldiers regroup and discuss their next move. His hands were squeezing the reins of his steed in a lethal grip, until his knuckles turned white. Their choice would change the flow of that scheme from potential success to certain doom in the blink of an eye.

Then, something strange happened. The small door of the carriage opened slowly, and a light-blue-haired man unmounted it, his luxurious silky clothes glistening in the milky sunlight. Cold sweat ran down Tomo's spine— The king himself wanted to deal with a beggar? Surely, he must have found out about their plot.

Though they were distant, Tomo could almost hear the echo of Ajax's voice in his ears, and see the hungry smirk on his lips. "Makes our job easier," he would say if they were near.

Tomo led his horse closer to the scene slowly, unwilling to draw attention to himself. Mona was playing her part with professional accuracy, screaming at the top of her lungs and pulling at her hair, begging the king for mercy and a couple of spare coins.

The king walked up to her, moving a step ahead of his escort. It was a brief moment, the mere space of a breath— more than enough for Ajax's feline reflexes. He charged, jumping with deadly precision towards the monarch's silhouette.

"What a hassle," Tomo heard the king say. "Thoma, I count on you to deal with this."

A blond soldier at his side, which Tomo assumed was his personal guard, bowed respectfully before his king. "Your wish is my command, Your Highness."

The next thing Tomo could see was pure chaos overthrowing the plaza.

Ajax's assault was met with the blade of Thoma's spear, sparks crackling in the static air. The crowd screamed as Ajax was shoved backwards, sent flying, and landed somewhere amidst the market stalls. A cloud of dust rose where he fell, high-pitched screams of women surrounding the scene.

Hordes of terrified civilians fled from the square, running away in large groups like lost sheep. Tomo was now exposed, still riding his horse in the middle of a deserted space, with all eyes set on his frozen figure.

He should have run. He should have forfeited the mission and driven his horse as far as he could, escaping from that dangerous man's reach. Thoma's green eyes were burning with fierceness, his devotion to his king unmovable. With his loyalty to Kunikuzushi already faltering, Tomo would have lost any duel against him.

And yet, stupidly, he didn't. He tugged at the reins instead, pushing his horse forward like an enraged bull. Tomo's brain worked hard to come up with a solution, to find a possible escape route in that mess he had plunged into. He pretended to copy Ajax's movements, racing straight towards King Kamisato, his sword swinging in the air to aim at his neck.

Thoma's blade crossed his path, just as planned— Tomo jumped off his mount at the very last second, landing clumsily on top of the trailer. The stuffed bags of money clanged under his boots as he fell, tingling in all their rich splendor.

"Of course, it's the money they're after," King Kamisato said. "Yet another bunch of greedy rats. Everyone, make sure he doesn't touch a single coin!"

But Tomo was fast, much more than any of those soldiers. He seized one of the bags by the knot, lifting it effortlessly over his shoulder, and hopped off the carriage as swiftly as he had come.

Thoma was the only man who could match his speed, but he also failed to stop him, Tomo's feet already on the move when he arrived. In an act of desperation, Thoma swung his spear around, cutting the air between them. Tomo felt the blade sinking deep into his skin, carving a boiling path in his flesh.

The wound flared up upon impact, as if a fire had started underneath Tomo's muscles. Trickles of blood flowed down to his wrist, leaving a bright red trail in their path. It burned. It hurt more than anything he had ever experienced before. Swallowing down his pain, Tomo ran for his life.

It took him ten whole minutes of reckless escape to realize he was safe. His lungs begged for mercy while he dashed away, his arm was on the brink of bursting, and his head was spinning out of control… but he was safe.

His senses clouded by the sudden joy of that realization, Tomo lost his balance and fell to the ground. His nose met the pebbles on the street with a deafening crash, the kitsune mask he wore on his face shattering in a thousand pieces. His face didn't hurt— the wound on his arm was agonizing enough to dull out any other pain, it sent agonizing waves of lava through his veins.

"I'll take this," Ajax's voice said.

Tomo glanced up to see him through teary eyes. Ajax didn't move his right arm, his shoulder stiff as if broken (at least, Tomo could rejoice not being alone in that misery). The stolen bag of money was dangling from his other hand, heavy and filled to the brim.

"Hey, that's my—" Tomo tried to protest, but words died in his mouth. Breathing was too hard, an impossible task when his entire being was focused on the burning wound eating up at his flesh.

Ajax waved goodbye to him, a competitive smirk on his lips. "See you at the camp!" he cooed before vanishing, devoured by the crowd.

Of course, that's how things always ended with him. Ajax was smarter than a fox, always seizing opportunities with both his hands and not hesitating to trample over others for the sake of his career. Tomo was sure that Ajax's fun would end only on the day he'd meet someone as aroused by competition as he was. He wasn't the right man for that.

Trembling like a leaf, Tomo pulled himself onto his knees. He glanced around through half-closed eyelids, trying to understand where he had ended up. He had run quite far, the market resting behind his back past an intricate maze of streets and alleys.

He rapidly evaluated the situation. Upside: he was alone and nobody was pursuing him. Downside: the city guards had been alerted, and it would be a matter of minutes before they'd spot an injured man crouching in the middle of the road.

He had to move. The public gardens were close, just behind the city wall. The bushes and trees there would make for a decent hiding spot, until the chaos would quell and soldiers would return to their standard duties.

A certain place was engraved in Tomo's memories. He had seen it countless times while scouting the area, both in broad sunlight and in the misty nights of Watatsumi. Behind the tallest otogi tree, digging deep under the thick roots of the centuries-old plant, there was a tiny natural cave.

That could be his destination. With the Arataki Gang always camping nearby, he doubted the soldiers would pay attention to his movements, too busy keeping an eye on the oni man and his noisy followers to care.

His chest filled with newfound determination, Tomo crawled his way to the city wall. He waited patiently for the patrol to turn the corner, then climbed up to the turret. It was rather easy even with one arm at his disposal— he had to thank the gods for that, his vanity always pushing him to take care of his appearance and grow his muscles.

Tomo hid behind the crenelation, his eyes scanning the area in search of soldiers. There was nobody around, most of the guards likely gathered in the square where he and Ajax had challenged King Kamisato and his terrifying attendant.

"I told you it was a horrible idea to venture outside again."

Tomo's heart skipped a beat.

Below him, taking shelter in the bushes on the other side of the wall, two people were talking rather loudly. Judging from the tone, that man must have been livid with rage.

The other person sighed, in a much gentler voice. "Gorou, I couldn't expect this to happen—"

"Now there are soldiers everywhere," the first man cut him short. "What if they see us here?"

"It will be alright," the soft-spoken one replied. Tomo couldn't see them, but he could almost imagine him reassuringly caressing his friend's arm, trying to calm his nerves. "As soon as the chaos calms down, we'll head back."

Tomo didn't want to hear that. He didn't enjoy eavesdropping on strangers, especially if he didn't care about them in the slightest, and even more with sharp pain running through his blood. The burning sensation on his wound hadn't faded, his body shivering in pure frost while all heat gathered around his cut. He wondered if he'd have to chop the entire limb off.

But well, enough hesitation. Putting all of his stealth skills into use, Tomo was sure he could pass those civilians unseen. He wouldn't be exposed for long, anyway; just the time to grovel to that cave, sink deep in the secure embrace of the roots, and he would be saved for the time of a healing nap.

His boot on the edge of the wall, Tomo jumped off, expecting a smooth landing on the dirt beneath him. He didn't take his injury into account, though— he lost his balance upon meeting the soil, crashing in the nearest bush. His head hit the ground with shocking violence, sending his brain to the stars.

"Did you hear that?"

Fuck. There, he had messed up. The two men had obviously heard his fall, and the faint echo of footsteps warned him that they were coming for him. How many minutes would it take for the guards to be alerted? How many moments of freedom had he left before his impending arrest?

Warm hands brushed against his shoulder. "Sir, are you alright?"

Tomo squinted, trying to focus on the strangers' faces through the daze. And much to his shock, he realized he knew one of them— the man who was tending to him was none other than the pretty boy he had the honor of dancing with the day before.

What was he doing there? Could it be that he had taken him seriously, when he had mentioned meeting again in the same place? "It's you," Tomo said in a whisper.

His head throbbed at each syllable he spoke, suffocating any will to converse. He kept his mouth shut, waiting for fate to flow the way it was supposed to.

Confusion crossed the other man's face, eyebrows furrowing. Then, he connected the dots— his eyes widened in surprise, and a faint blush coated his cheeks. Tomo would have found the sight endearing if he wasn't too busy writhing in pain.

"What? How do you know him?!" The other man intervened. His fingers ripped at the sleeve of Tomo's shirt, exposing the flaming cut. Blood pumped thickly through Tomo's system, burning stronger than a poisoned wound. He wondered if the wound wasn't lethal.

A patrolling soldier ran nearby, rushing down the central path. The two men seized Tomo by his legs and pulled him backwards, using the foliage of the bush to conceal their presence.

"There's no time now, Gorou," the familiar man whispered. "Let's get him somewhere safe before indulging in chit-chat."

" Safe ?!" Gorou echoed, a tad too loud, and earned himself a glare. "There isn't a safe space here. We're in the middle of the gardens, there's—"

"The cave," Tomo mumbled. His voice was abandoning him, coming out of his lips as a barely audible wheeze. "There's a cave… There."

Gorou's attention refused to shift onto him, his concern for the other man visibly too strong to allow him to risk it. They seemed to be running from justice too, after all, and Tomo wasn't stupid enough not to understand his point of view.

"A cave?" His companion, though, seemed to hang onto Tomo's words. Such was his level of trust for him after a single, fleeting encounter? How cute.

"The roots… of that tree." Tomo pointed at the tall Otogi tree, standing proud in the center of the gardens. "Quick."

They made it there, somehow. Tomo was half-unconscious through their short journey, unsure even of how he got there. Did they drag him by his feet, risking being caught? Or was he mounted on top of one of their backs, carried like a sack of potatoes?

Either way, the three of them were pressed together inside the tiny cave when he came back to his senses. It was way too small to fit them all, their bodies uncomfortably tied up in a tangle of limbs. Tomo was far from being short, and fitting more than one person there was already a wild thought.

Gorou was sitting in front of him, his back flat against the inner wall of the cave, legs parted to accommodate Tomo's lower body. "Mind explaining to me what the hell is going on?!"

"Calm down, Gorou." The other man was behind him, instead. He was kneeling near the entrance, with Tomo's head resting comfortably on his lap. Tomo inhaled sharply— he smelled of strawberries and clean linen, a pleasant scent he didn't get to feel often. "He's the person I shared a dance with at the festival."

" Oh ," Gorou's voice sparked with irritation, "You mean the one you almost told—"

Tomo could hear the intense glares running between them, and the secret messages they hid. He didn't care enough about their private conversations to try and catch a glimpse of their eyes (and even if he wanted to, he doubted his low energies could allow that).

Gorou's gaze fell upon Tomo's half-conscious figure. "Who hurt you?"

"A soldier," was Tomo's vague answer.

Tomo figured such an answer would be enough to quench anyone's thirst. But not Gorou's, apparently. He wasn't fooled by his cryptic reply, and knew what questions to push forward to get the information he wanted. "This isn't a normal wound. What happened?"

"It burns like crazy," Tomo admitted. He had no idea what it was, what sort of wicked poison or spell Thoma had cast on the blade of his spear. Whatever it was, it certainly did the trick: he felt like he could die at any given moment.

"The person who hurt you used a fire potion," Gorou explained, relieving his doubts. "It's the trademark of the Kamisato family. They're one of the few remaining people who still pass on the tradition of potion crafting."

Tomo pressed his lips together. No point in fighting back or trying to dissuade him from King Kamisato's involvement. Gorou seemed to know his facts, and he doubted some excuses would get him out of trouble. His implication with the robbery was now clear, and what was left to gauge was the two men's reaction.

"Are you one of the thieves they're seeking?" Gorou inquired.

His teal eyes were piercing. Though he wore mundane clothes, Tomo was sure he was a soldier, or perhaps a fellow bandit. He reeked of danger, he unsettled him in a way only his comrades had managed to do before.

The noise of an uncapped flask tore the silence of the cave. Cold drops of liquid fell onto Tomo's wound, like cruel stabs— he shivered, pain mingling with relief. He glanced up and saw the other man was tending to his injury, smearing fresh water over its burning edges.

"I'm not," Tomo lied. He knew for a fact that his acting skills weren't half bad, but would they be enough to sway Gorou's suspicion? "I'm a merchant who just happened to be there. I am what you might call collateral damage ."

Talking was easier now, the freshness of the water soothing his pain. Oh, so it was nothing more than a trick. He wouldn't die yet. After the flood, an explosion, and a million dangerous fights, not even Thoma's spear would claim his life.

"You expect me to believe that?" Gorou snapped. "Do you think I'm some sort of—"

Someone's boots cracked on the roots above them. Gorou choked on his words, his ears tensed up to listen. Soldiers were heading back to their posts, quietly, marching in silence as the city finally returned to its status quo.

Which meant that Tomo had made it out alive. Ajax might have stolen the credit for seizing at least one bag, but he was still able to fight him on that. They couldn't get rid of him that easily, it seemed— a lucky star shone upon him, apparently.

"The sun is setting," the pretty man said. He placed the half-empty flask at Tomo's side, his fingers combing tenderly through his blonde hair. If Tomo closed his eyes, his sweet touch reminded him of his mother's caresses when he was nothing more than a toddler.

"Yeah, it's time to go," Gorou agreed. With no little effort, he managed to untangle his limbs from Tomo's limp body, crawling to his companion's side near the entrance. "You're lucky I'm not supposed to be here, or else I'd have you arrested just in case."

He left the cave, hiding behind the trunk of the tree as he waited for his friend to join him. The comforting warmth under Tomo's head faded when the other man stood up as well, abandoning him. "Farewell."

Tomo was alone now, only the cold breeze of dusk to keep him company. Those were the last words he heard before sinking into a deep slumber. When he woke again, the moon was up in the sky, its white rays filtering through the tangle of roots and casting shadows inside the cave.

Tomo was still alone, of course. His comrades wouldn't look for him. It was part of their code: outside of their hideout, in the twisted tides of the world, everyone was on their own.

The wound had ceased burning. Tomo sat up to glance at it under the pale moonlight. He ran his fingertips along its edges, inspecting the damage. His skin was painted a gloomy black hue where the potion had burned his flesh, but it didn't seem to be fatal. If anything, he would be healed in a couple of weeks at most.

Finally certain of his safety, Tomo took a deep breath to calm his nerves. That's when he felt it— a strange weight lingering in the pocket of his shirt. His hand dove inside, searching for the foreign object, and he gasped in surprise when his fingers wrapped around something soft.

It was a handkerchief. A pristine, frilly handkerchief with the letter K embroidered in the corner. Some words had been scribbled on top of the white fabric, the ink smudged from hasty writing. Meet me here next week.

Tomo made it back to the bandit camp the following day, when the sun was high up in the sky and streaks of white clouds swirled in the cold wind. His fingers were numb after the long climb down the cliff, the humidity of the waterfalls threatening to freeze him to the core. If autumn was harsh on the surface, the weather in the depths of the island was much worse to tolerate.

Throughout the trip, Tomo couldn't take his mind off what he had seen, or think of anything else that wasn't the gentle warmth of that man's legs under his head. He had been saved by a fairy, he thought— no, by an angel.

But his fantasies about his silly crush came to an abrupt end when he approached their hideout. Kunikuzushi's anger was like static, crackling in the air. It crept up Tomo's spine from the distance like a dangerous threat and, for once, he had a feeling it wasn't directed at him.

Tomo peeked from the entrance of the cave, the smell of rancid water hitting his nostrils in a merciless slap. The sweet scent of home, where everything looked one step away from melting into mold. "I'm back," he said.

"It was about time," was Kunikuzushi's warm welcome.

Ajax was sitting in the usual corner, his fingers busy sharpening his arrows. Though he was a pitiful archer, he insisted on trying to practice in his free time, since it was the single weapon he couldn't boast his mastery in. It would have been easier if someone could give him lessons, but they didn't have a single archer among their ranks.

The stolen bag greeted Tomo from the table, flopping sadly to the side. The crest of the Kamisato family stood out on the pale texture of the jute, black over white like a bruise. The fruit of their efforts, the handful of coins that had cost Ajax a dislocated shoulder and him a close encounter with fire.

Someone moved faster than lightning— In a burst of incandescent butterflies, Rosalyne was at Tomo's side, her hands wrapped tightly around his arm. It seemed she had returned to camp just in time to witness an insult to her pride. "Fire against my allies," she growled, examining the leftover burns from his wound. "They have some gall."

"You know what this is?" Tomo inquired.

Rosalyne nodded. "A fire potion, of course. I learned how to make them back at the academy in Sumeru, but the ones we were taught to craft weren't as powerful."

Perched on his favorite stool right at the center of the cave, Kunikuzushi laughed eerily, pure mockery in his eyes. "So, you're saying that you're weaker?"

"No," Rosalyne snapped. "I perfected mine. If I were to cast a spell on Tomo right now, he'd burn from inside out until nothing is left of him but a smoking empty husk."

What the hell. Tomo shivered at the thought. Why did everyone in that bandit group have to be so scary? He had ended up with them out of pure coincidence, and not a day went by without him questioning his life choices. They would find him at the bottom of a cliff someday, and nobody would be able to find out the cause of his death.

 "We'll get back at them for this insult," Kunikuzushi's oath tore the silence of the cave. It was a threat, a declaration of war. The kind of promise he took to heart, that would drive him to his tomb before he gave up on his grudge.

Tomo gulped nervously. "Hey, now," he said. "Can't we just consider this as a failed attempt at robbing King Kamisato and… move on? His personal guard is dangerous."

"When someone looks dangerous to you," Ajax cut in, "you need to prove you're worse."

Kunikuzushi smirked in approval for his comrade's words. "Nobody challenges our group like this and makes it out unscathed. Revenge makes me tingle with excitement."

Tomo had a terrible feeling about that.

Chapter Text

kazuha

Almost an entire week had passed since Kazuha’s meeting with that man, and yet the sensation of his head resting on his lap didn't fade. It lingered on Kazuha's body like a haunting presence. It spread fire through his veins, and clouded up his mind.

With his eyes closed, Kazuha could still smell the man’s scent, the faint glow of ash and burnt wood that came from his hair. Sometimes, he woke up in the dead of night, almost expecting to see the man right at his side, knelt next to his bed to watch him sleep. The feeling was gone as soon as he blinked, disappearing like a shadow in the darkness.

Kazuha had followed none other than his raw instinct back in the cave, when he had decided to leave the handkerchief in his pocket. Gorou had opposed his decision, deeming it a childish tantrum, a mistake he would end up regretting. And he had proven to be even more vehemently against Kazuha's plan of venturing outdoors again.

"You're taking it too far," Gorou had scolded him. "We're risking so much, and for what? For you to hang out with a man whose name you don't even know? He might be a criminal, or someone after your head. You're a prince."

Kazuha's heart didn't doubt. He was naive, that was undeniable— but while he didn't trust his own judgment, he believed in his emotions. "I've never felt like this before. I wish to know more about him. Starting with his name, of course."

"I'd support you, if you weren't dragging me down the ditch with you." There was resentment in Gorou's gaze, and a heavy accusation hanging from his lips.

Kazuha knew he was lying. Gorou wouldn't give him any support, he wouldn't accept any bond he'd form with that stranger. Because the more time passed, the more sleepless nights piled up on his back, and the more obvious it became: Kazuha was in love.

With a man he had met twice. With the soft texture of his hair under his fingers, of his rough skin covered in bruises and scars, the hoarseness in his voice. The vain delusions of a pure-hearted prince, someone might say.

Fantasizing was wonderful, a true bliss for his usually limp brain. His heart had learned to beat anew, and the world was enveloped in new colors. Even the air he breathed seemed fresher, soothing. The novels he had been reading all his life finally held a deeper meaning; they were relatable and real, they burned under his skin.

Despite that, Kazuha wasn't stupid enough to believe that something could happen between the two of them. When he had returned home from that day in the cave, Kazuha had cried for hours, curled up under the bedsheets. He regretted embarrassing himself like that, and acting so bold when the only logical answer from that man would have been a rejection.

So, when he headed to their meeting spot the following week, after sneaking through the public gardens of Bourou with Gorou, Kazuha did not expect to see him there. The man stood under the otogi tree, proud, with a focused look on his face.

Kazuha's cheeks flushed red at the sight, his chest blooming with hope and relief he didn't know he needed. The realization that it wasn't just a dream made his head spin, and the world faded out to the background.

Even Gorou's voice came muffled to his ears. "I'll keep watch from here, I'm not eager to spy on your meeting." He pushed Kazuha towards the tree in a nervous nudge, before taking his place near the entrance.

Kazuha followed his push, walking up to the man on unsteady feet. He could trust Gorou to make sure nobody would come too close to him, and to be ready to snatch him away if any danger was to come. But with a hood over his head, his hair tied up in a side ponytail, and makeup smeared on his face, Kazuha felt rather confident.

Their gazes met. The man's face didn't light up when he saw him. He seemed stoic, like a statue, or an unfazed god, but at least he was there . He wasn't an illusion, he was real— and Kazuha could touch him with just a brush of his fingers.

"Hello," Kazuha said. All the years spent polishing his speech evaporated in a single second. Speaking was hard when his throat was so sore, and his heart was beating so loud.

The man gave him a long stare, studying him from head to toe. "Nice hairstyle. I like it— though your loose hair was beautiful too."

Any remaining doubt about Kazuha's feelings was blown away by his reaction to the man's compliment. His face caught fire, unfamiliar bashfulness taking over him. The hours spent kneeling on the floor, while Gorou tried to squeeze him in that outfit and combed painfully through his hair, now felt more worth, if only for that praise. "T-Thank you."

The man's outfit was different as well. His short sleeves exposed the muscles of his arms, despite the chilly weather. His body was covered in scars, scattered like birthmarks on his limbs, and the wound that Kazuha had treated had joined the collection. A faint black halo stained his skin where the cut had once been.

"Does it hurt?" Kazuha didn't notice his fingers were gently tracing the contour of the wound until it was too late to stop himself. He froze on the spot, fearing the other's reaction yet unable to move back a single step.

The man flinched under Kazuha's touch. "Not anymore. You saved me back there, thanks a bunch." He slid his hand in the pocket of his pants. When it resurfaced, Kazuha's white handkerchief lay in his palm. "Also, thanks for, huh— this. You can have it back."

Kazuha nodded. He stole the piece of white cloth from his grip, holding it in his trembling hands. That handkerchief was the symbol of his boldness, the sole reason they were there now, standing in front of each other with little to do or to say.

In all sincerity, Kazuha didn't have a plan. He craved a conversation with him, to fill in the countless gaps in his identity. But even though his intentions were of the best kind, not a single acceptable question formed in his mind. Maybe, deep down, the only reason he had asked him to meet was to prove to himself that he was real.

"So, wanna have a chat?" The man saved him from the trouble of coming up with words. He pointed at the farthest corner of the gardens, where the topiaries cast black shadows on the grass and milky flowers peeked through the bushes all around.

What better place for their first actual encounter? Kazuha eagerly accepted, failing to hide his enthusiasm.

"Won't your friend be angry?" the other man asked with a chuckle. "He seems to dislike me."

Kazuha gulped down his nervousness. He shot an apologetic glance at Gorou, still firm on his feet at the entrance, and all he got in return was a scowl and a miserable, heartbroken look. "Don't worry about him. I'll deal with him later."

Yes, Gorou would be angry. And yes, he disliked that man, though it was mostly out of suspicion. Kazuha could already foresee the scolding he would be given that night, the frustration that would echo from Gorou's voice.

But it didn't matter. Not when Kazuha had such a lavish chance before his eyes.

"As you wish," the man said with a smile, out of objections to raise.

They sat down amidst the flowers. The grass was soft under Kazuha's pants, though the rough texture of his clothes brushed uncomfortably against his legs. He wasn't used to that kind of fabric, to the friction that left faint marks over his skin. Silk and frills were a comfortable habit.

The man was dangerously close. Not enough for their bodies to touch, yet enough for Kauha to feel his warmth. In a sudden spur of poetry, Kazuha imagined that he could be the sun, descended on earth to bring heat into Kazuha's frozen, dull life.

Once again, Kazuha let the man lead the conversation, listening to his hoarse voice, feeling pushed past the comfortable silence. "I realized that, even though you saved my life, I don't even know your name. I'm Tomo."

"Oh," Kazuha swallowed thickly. Finally he learned how to address him, after so many failed chances to ask. They didn't exactly have time for idle talk before. "I'm Kazuha. It's a pleasure to meet you, Tomo."

Tomo . Kazuha loved the sound of it. It rolled gently on his tongue, it echoed pleasantly in his ears. It was warm, just like him.

"Kazuha?" Only when Tomo furrowed did he realize his mistake. Teppei and Gorou had spent days coming up with a fake identity for him, starting from a brand new name to hide his status… And there he went, shattering their efforts in a single breath. "Like the prince?"

The world crumbled under Kazuha's feet. "Ah, yes, I—" he stammered. "My parents— They like him, I suppose." Just brilliant. What a speech. If Gorou was any closer, he'd probably drag him away by the ear after that poor excuse. 

"That's weird." Amusement sparked in Tomo's eyes. "I've been told he's not really the type who… stands out. I came to Watatsumi a year ago, and I have yet to see his face in public."

Kazuha was thankful for that. If Tomo had the vaguest idea what his face looked like, it wouldn't take long for him to figure out the trick, after his stupid mistake. A little makeup couldn't make miracles happen, no matter Gorou's dedication to the craft.

"Yeah, he— He doesn't show up often," Kazuha scrambled to say the first thing that came to his mind, hoping the conversation would fade into easier topics. "Rumor has it he rarely leaves the library."

Tomo let out a dreamy sigh. His gaze fell on the horizon, on the leaves dancing in the breeze and the clouds racing in the sky. The pink glow of the seashells covering the cliffs glowed under the sunrays, and the roar of the waterfalls echoed far below them, in the depths of the island. "Must be nice to be rich. You do nothing but swim in luxury."

"While we're on the subject," Kazuha promptly cut in, "what do you do for a living?"

Tomo's eyes widened for a moment. "I— I'm a merchant. I think I said so last time."

Except nobody believed you . Even though his vision was clouded by daydreams, Kazuha knew who to trust. Gorou had been by his side for years, and his intuition was spot-on: he could read people like they were open books, hardly missing the subtlest hints.

He was certain Tomo was lying, therefore Kazuha assumed he was hiding part of the truth from him. But on whether or not Tomo seemed to be a bad man, Gorou couldn't say a word. And that was enough for Kazuha not to push aside his own feelings before they could even bloom, to try and water them to see what would happen to the seeds in his heart. All strings attached.

"What do you trade in?" Kazuha asked.

Tomo's gaze flickered over the garden, as if searching for an answer. "Flowers," he settled for. "I import and sell flowers." To prove his point (perhaps to himself as well), he tugged at the stem of a nearby lily, plucking it out of the ground for Kazuha to see.

Kazuha chuckled— the amount of effort Tomo had poured into his lie was negligible, to say the least. Not even a naive fool like him would fall for that. Yet, he was sure Tomo could charm just about anyone with that handsome face of his.

Who was Kazuha to judge? He was lying to him too, pretending he was a common citizen instead of the third prince, cheerfully gossiping about himself as if the rumors didn't concern him. It felt wrong to touch that white lily, a symbol of purity, when both of them were being so dishonest.

All strings attached, Kazuha reminded himself. He took the flower between his fingers and twirled it around, watching as the petals danced in the air, spreading their scent like a magic spell. "Do you know the language of flowers, Tomo?"

"I do," Tomo's answer came oddly fast.

Kazuha gulped. There was a reason behind his curiosity, a precise direction he wanted to steer the conversation in. But when the moment to be bold arrived, the sudden rush of courage faded from his body.

It was unlike him (the shy, socially inept, awkward youngest prince) to be so direct. The fear of ruining everything before it could even begin was loud in his head…

But his heart pounded louder inside his chest. "Then, what flower do I remind you of?"

Tomo closed his eyes, deep in thought. Kazuha stared at his profile as he waited for the verdict, taking the time to study his features. Tomo had a tan complexion, likely the result of the many hours he spent under the sun. His body was sprinkled with scars and bruises, mementos of multiple fights. Rather than a merchant, he reminded Kazuha of an experienced warrior.

There was a unique beauty to him. He wasn't pretty like a porcelain doll, not someone his family would deem worthy of Kazuha's attention. He was more of a rough gem: shiny and pure on the inside, but with the raw charm of a rebel on the surface.

"What about lamp grass?" Tomo finally said.

Kazuha blinked, digging through his memories to find what he knew about its meaning. It wasn't an actual flower, rather a small plant that only lit up at night. Subtle in fragrance, humble in presence, yet shining brighter than the moon in the eyes of those who cared enough to glance at it. A very fitting description of Kazuha.

Faced with his silence, Tomo nervously cleared his throat. "Am… Am I off?"

"Not at all," Kazuha shook his head. "I think the idea you have of me is quite accurate."

Tomo smiled proudly. "I like that plant. I've never seen it myself, 'cause I was born and raised in this continent. But I saw it in my mother's sketches when I was a kid, and I've loved it ever since."

Loved . Impossible for Kazuha not to blush, shamelessly projecting that verb onto himself after Tomo had associated the plant with him. His heart skipped a beat, hopelessly lost, and flames lit up in his fingers when Tomo's hand wrapped around them.

 "And what about you, pretty?" Tomo took the lily from his grasp, then brought it up to rest in Kazuha's hair. Their faces were close, Tomo's breath coming in hot huffs against Kazuha's flushed cheeks, and every inch of his skin he touched seemed to catch fire.

"I'm—" Kazuha's throat dried up, unspeakable nervousness boiling in his stomach. "I'm the son of a tailor."

Tomo seized Kazuha's wrists, studying his open palms with a doubtful gaze. He was definitely too close now— Kazuha could peek at his chest through the open collar of his shirt, his pleasant scent came in thick waves like incense.

Overwhelmed by his emotions, Kazuha was tempted to push him to the side. But he couldn't move— damn, he couldn't even breathe , locked in place by Tomo's mere presence, charmed by his smooth movements and his silky voice.

"Your hands are so smooth," Tomo said. He let go of Kazuha's hand to run his fingers along his pale knuckles, slowly drawing circles on his skin, as if polishing precious silverware. "Hard to believe you're doing any labor."

Whatever you do, don't get caught . Gorou's advice returned to his mind like a slap. The danger was high, his fake identity was falling apart from the very beginning. Kazuha wasn't used to lying, but he knew a thing or two about wearing a mask. And it was about time he played his role in that farce.

"I'm afraid I don't," Kazuha said. "I'm merely helping around. I can't sew to save my life."

Long seconds of silence ticked by, in a stretched pause that Kazuha spent overthinking his words. Was his lie too out of line? Was Tomo's opinion of him warming up, or was he scaring him away instead?

But then, Tomo's shoulders relaxed. He chuckled, apparently taking the bait, or pretending to do so. "Truly like a prince, huh?"

A merchant and a tailor… If either of those stories was true, they would be a strange couple indeed. But it wasn't— they were nothing more than two liars. Would such a story have the faintest chance of success?

"Look at them… " Kazuha read out loud. " They all said that they gave me their one and only true love, but did they? With so many stars in your possession, why come to steal my brilliance?"

He sighed as he slammed the book shut. Among the potential hiding spots the castle had to offer, it wasn't a surprise that he'd choose the library. What was quite striking was the genre he had picked for his daily reading.

Despite his talent for poetry, Kazuha didn't indulge much in themes of love and longing. For him to sneak to the romance section and delve into the most teeth-rotting stories he could find… nobody would believe it. But what to do when the world was exploding with unfamiliar feelings and his heart couldn't stand still?

Everything moved too fast, it spun in circles and dragged him around like dead weight. After years without welcoming a guest, the Kaedehara castle was about to open up the gates for King Kamisato and his attendants.

The man planned to investigate the kingdom of Watatsumi in search of the thieves who had assaulted his carriage, eager to drive them out. He required a safe haven to use as temporary headquarters and, in return for the hospitality, he had offered good money and his blessing. Something most kings of Inazuma would kneel for.

Kazuha hadn't met King Kamisato outside of formal gatherings. Standing in front of King Kaedehara, the man exuded power and wealth. His attendants were dressed in the finest silk, with colorful bottles of poison and potions dangling from their many belts.

Kazuha recalled the fire around Tomo's wound, the flames burning his skin, and wondered which of the people gathered in the throne room was to blame for it.

Unlike most royals, King Kamisato was a straightforward man. He spoke his mind without holding back; sharp judgment and strong opinions peeked from beneath his polite language, in an overall sense of honesty that left his interlocutors cornered and speechless.

Kazuha would love to spend some time with him, to find out how he managed to keep his integrity without fearing to fail the expectations of others. Because to him, the image he held in the eyes of other people weighed on his shoulders like a heavy boulder, crushing him to the ground.

Important guests brought along ceremonies and endless formalities. Banquets, meetings, tea parties… After a single day of torture, Kazuha was already drained of all his energies, exhausted from the continuous social interactions.

When he crossed eyes with other nobles, Kazuha could read the unspoken messages in their glance, he felt them seeping under his skin. "When will the prince be useful?" they asked. "Will he join the church, or will he die on the field?"

He couldn't bear it for long. As soon as an acceptable hour came for him to take his leave, Kazuha fled to the library with a vague excuse, vanishing from everyone's side.

Gorou was the only man allowed to follow him in his isolation. Loyal to his duty, he guarded the front door of the library as Kazuha read his evenings away, always ready to unsheathe his sword in case of danger. The bandit assault on King Kamisato's carriage right in the middle of the open-air celebration had left a scar over the land.

Everything appeared normal, though. The shy prince locked away from people's gaze, escaping reality thanks to a nice novel, with his trusted guard keeping him safe from a distance. But in truth, something was amiss, and Kazuha was eaten up by his own worry.

Gorou usually sat at his table, affectionately teasing him for the books he chose, or mocking his facial expressions while absorbed in the plot. That day, he stood by himself at the entrance of the room, quiet and gloomy.

Kazuha wasn't sure how to behave. A real friend would probably inquire about his troubles, and find reasonable advice to give. But he knew what was on Gorou's mind— and as painful as it might be, Kazuha couldn't do anything for him.

He was the source of his suffering, after all. Gorou couldn't possibly have missed the way things were developing between him and Tomo, despite the mutual lies and a lingering sense of distrust. Nobody would return to Gorou the years he had spent carrying feelings for Kazuha. They were wasted, trampled on like dandelions thrown around by a fierce wind.

Kazuha wished he could turn back time and retrace his footsteps. He would undo his teasing, he wouldn't feed Gorou's attachment, treating him like a regular friend instead of keeping him in a limbo of hope. Even if, when he had decided to play around with him, Kazuha couldn't imagine he would one day fall in love with a stranger.

Throughout the evening, Kazuha glanced at Gorou's back from time to time. He hoped to see him facing his direction for once, to meet his friendly gaze and exchange a warm smile. It never happened. Gorou kept his guard up and his back turned.

Neither of them had imagined their meetings would turn into a weekly appointment. It happened naturally, without forcing things. When Kazuha asked Gorou to sneak out again, three days after the arrival of King Kamisato, he wasn't planning to meet Tomo near the waterfall. His body craved fresh air, a break from the packed routine of court life.

Countless local nobles and dukes had come to visit the castle, flocking to Watatsumi like flies over a ripe fruit— except said fruit was a person, namely King Kamisato. The king was nothing more than a pretext, and the rich rooms he offered were a fee to pay for the honor of seeing the richest man on the continent in person.

Nobody would notice Kazuha's absence, anyway. He had pretended to be unwell, and locked the door to his room. Gorou had helped him climb down the balcony, running from the castle like an eloping couple. And they had ventured farther than normal, past the bustle of the city and all the way to the outskirts, where the only sound was the roar of the current in the river.

That's when he had found Tomo. He was standing on top of a cliff, above the glistening surface of the water, his blue shirt standing out in the pink ocean that were the seashells around. Kazuha had heard rumors about the outskirts of the capital, about the bandits and the humble people who lived in the depths of the island, their homes carved in the shells and waterlogged all year long.

What brought a merchant there? Kazuha had approached him with uncertainty in his heart, ignoring Gorou's advice to stay back. "Tomo?"

Tomo had jumped, caught by surprise. A gloomy shadow darkened his eyes, a dangerous glow that sent chills down Kazuha's spine. But with his next breath, the eerie aura had already faded, replaced by a familiar smile.

And thus, they ended up there— lying on the shore with seafoam at their feet, the sandy beach resting under their bodies. Gorou had found his place to wait, as far from the lovebirds as he could go.

"Do you come here often?" Kazuha asked, curiosity eating at him.

Tomo shrugged. "Sometimes. A friend of mine lives here, let's say."

The curve of his mouth twitched: yet another lie. Kazuha was dying to know what sort of secret Tomo was keeping from him. But truth is a game of give and tell: how could he demand honesty, when all he could offer in return were more lies? "It's a pretty area."

"Right?" Tomo agreed with a soft chuckle. "It's so different from Bourou or the Shrine. There's no blue grass here, no sad buildings— only seashells and sand. And, well, the creepy altars of the Orobaxi cult."

Kazuha's gaze fell upon the closest one, its shining gem painting the river turquoise. He felt strange, being so ignorant about the religion of his own subjects, his fate linked to the mainland since he was born.

"There's been tension lately," Kazuha remembered Gorou's words from that morning. "The members of the cult have been restless since King Kamisato arrived at the castle."

Everyone in the continent knew of the tight connections between the Kamisato family and the main shrine of the Church of Baal. Giving extended hospitality to heretics had caused some rumors to rise among the shrine maidens, much to King Kaedehara's amusement.

"At the castle?" Tomo echoed.

Kazuha nodded. "Yes. It seems Lord Kamisato is using Watatsumi's castle as temporary headquarters."

Tomo turned on his right side, rolling closer to him. Kazuha held his breath, struggling to keep his composure when the other man's warmth was all he could feel. "That's cool. Why did he come? I thought he'd drop his money at the vault and go home."

"It's because of the bandits," Kazuha explained. He had heard that story at least a hundred times that week, and he was bored out of his mind of repeating the information to others. Tomo was a pleasant exception, though. "He wants to drive them out and teach them a lesson."

Tomo fell silent. The air around him seemed to crackle with thunderbolts, an indecipherable emotion sparkling in his eyes. "Those thieves," he said, "attacking a carriage in the middle of the city. Their leader must be stupid."

Kazuha frowned. Affairs related to crimes and justice were handled by the king and the army leaders but, despite his ignorance on the matter, he doubted anyone could land an attack of that scale without a solid plan behind his back. "I don't think—"

He didn't have the chance to finish his sentence. Strong hands grabbed him by the waist before he could, pulling him closer to Tomo's body, until his head was pressed against the man's chest. Kazuha's heart jumped to his throat, its pounding ringing in his ears like a drum.

"Kazuha," Tomo whispered, his breath spreading flames on Kazuha's already flushed cheeks. "you're adorable when you blush."

Tomo's fingers combed through Kazuha's white hair; he tugged at the hair tie until his ponytail came undone. Kazuha's brain melted under his touch, any hint of logical thought vanishing from his mind when Tomo's lips kissed his red locks.

"I— I don't blush. The weather is just hot, that's all." How could Kazuha judge Tomo for being a bad liar, when he was worse? The skills he had honed through years of acting before his peers seemed to disappear when he was around Tomo, cursed to wear his heart on his sleeve.

"What a shame," Tomo's hand moved down to rest on Kazuha's hip. "And here I thought love at first sight was real."

Kazuha's lashes fluttered shut as he slowly took in the meaning behind Tomo's words. Did he mean to say that he, too, had fallen for him at first glance? That Kazuha's yearning, the urge to meet again, the dreams tickling him at night… all of it was mutual? Did Tomo lie awake in bed as well, thinking about the taste of his lips against his own?

"Do you mean that—" Kazuha stuttered. "Do you—"

Tomo's stare was magnetic, his purple eyes almost hypnotic. They were close— everything around Kazuha was made of Tomo. Their bodies pressed together, their breaths mingling, their warmth fusing… The air that filled his lungs was Tomo, and so was the blood coursing through his veins.

"What if I do?" Tomo's mouth brushed against the tip of Kazuha's ears. "What if I said I like you, and I can't wait to know more about you?"

Kazuha felt like he might simply combust. It was too wonderful to be true, so impossibly perfect , in a way he didn't think would ever be possible (and that he didn't feel like he deserved). Yet, Tomo wasn't lying: honestly shone clearly on his face.

"My answer would be…" Kazuha paused for the time of a deep breath. "That I've never wanted anything as bad as this since I was born."

No more words were spoken. Moments seemed to stretch into eternity, Kazuha's chest trembling in anticipation. Tomo smiled against his skin, faint laughter blowing steam against Kazuha's hair. Then, the world as Kazuha had known it melted under gentle kisses.

Tomo's lips caressed every inch of Kazuha's face, from his temples to his nose, from his burning cheeks to the corner of his mouth. The atmosphere around them shifted as Kazuha's fingers clawed at Tomo's shirt, clinging to the blue fabric with all his might. Unfamiliar heat spread inside of Kazuha's stomach, along with the need to move closer, to lay hands all over Tomo's body and be engulfed by his warmth. To fall into him and never leave his embrace.

Their mouths brushed together— and surprising even himself, Kazuha stopped him. His breath was labored, his hair undone, his face on fire. The only thing he could feel was the heat in his cheeks, and the halo of Tomo's lips against his own. "Don't you think that— Aren't things moving too fast?"

"What do you mean?" Tomo wasn't different from him, equally flushed and out of breath. His grip on Kazuha's hip didn't loosen up, he kept him in place like an obedient puppy. "Are there specific time requirements to fall in love?"

Fall in love . If there was any, they had both failed miserably. Kazuha's instinct was begging for him to shut up and return to what they were doing, to indulge his innermost desires and follow his weak heart.

But his mind still had something to say. "I mean… we don't know anything about each other, only—" Only lies , he thought.

Tomo pulled him closer. "Is it necessary? Physical attraction doesn't need that much."

Something shattered in Kazuha's soul.

Was that truly all Tomo saw in him? Physical attraction and nothing else? Because he was different. Kazuha wasn't merely in love with Tomo's body, though he couldn't deny his great looks. He had fallen for him, for what he had seen of his mind as well, for his frankness of speech, his hidden smugness, his—

"But alright," Tomo put an end to his frantic train of thoughts. "If the prince thinks we need more time, I shall obey."

Kazuha couldn't decipher the emotion in his voice. He didn't seem angry or sad— maybe he was just playing with his heart. Tomo must have known he was charming, and he didn't hesitate to use it as a weapon.

And what Kazuha hated the most was how effective his strategy was. With a final peck on Kazuha's forehead, Tomo left. He disappeared behind the cliff in the blink of an eye, without leaving traces of his passage.

When Kazuha stood up to return to his guard, he had forgotten how to breathe.

After the years they had spent together, Kazuha liked to think he was used to Gorou's directness, to the way he cherry-picked his moments of vulnerability to hit him with sharp arrows of truth. He didn't act like that to hurt him (as other people often believed), rather to make sure his words sank in properly, leaving marks on Kazuha's skin like tattoos.

Yet, at that time, Kazuha was caught off guard when the moment of confrontation surged— without allowing him a break, when the world was still spinning around him, when Tomo's kisses were all he could think about. He regretted not pushing things farther. Maybe he wouldn't get a second chance.

"Listen, Kazuha," Gorou began, in his harshest tone. "I won't stop you, but I would appreciate it if you pondered well over your emotions. You shouldn't indulge in feelings for someone you barely know."

Kazuha nodded. He knew as much. That's why he had pushed Tomo away, though every fiber of his being wished he had been braver. "I know. I'm being careful."

"I know you're not," Gorou said, bluntly. "I'm your best friend, you can't lie to me." 

Their gazes met. A million words lay in Gorou's teal eyes, fated to be left unsaid forever. It wasn't necessary, anyway— Kazuha could read his thoughts to perfection. He must be hurt by his behavior, by the many years he had spent loving him with utmost respect, the only barrier between them being the possibility of an arranged marriage.

Kazuha had used that reason as an excuse to build a wall between them, afraid to surrender to his feelings, to accept to love Gorou openly. And then, Tomo had come into his life, sweeping him off his feet and chasing away his doubts about the future.

Everyone would be grieving in Gorou's shoes, and Kazuha felt horrible for being the cause of his suffering. The heavy silence looming over them as they walked back to the manor was deafening, ringing in his ears like the first sign of a ruined friendship.

Kazuha stretched out his arm, seizing Gorou's wrist. "I'm sorry, Gorou. I didn't expect any of this to happen."

"Neither did I."

Kazuha could read it on his face: he regretted taking him out that day. If he hadn't done that, then Tomo wouldn't be part of the picture, and everything would have flowed as smoothly as they had planned. They'd keep flirting and having fun as long as they were young, until Kazuha's royal responsibilities would have split them.

Yet, Kazuha had a feeling that, even if Gorou was given the chance to rewind time and retrace his steps, things would end up the same way. Because what he cared the most about was Kazuha's happiness, which he foolishly valued more than his own.

Despite his love for Tomo, Kazuha couldn't deny his profound affection for his trustworthy guard. He squeezed his palm gently, tiptoeing forward to place a tender kiss on Gorou's cheek. He felt his guard tense up, he witnessed his inner conflict between the will to run away and the desperate need for closeness. 

"Thank you, Gorou," Kazuha said. "I cherish you."

Gorou's cheeks lit up at his words. "I'll always keep you safe, even when it hurts," he said.

A vow, an oath that had been made in the past, and consolidated through the years. A pact between scared children back then, and a promise between friends now.

Chapter Text

tomo

"Long story short, we're being chased down like rats."

Kunikuzushi had the terrible habit of speaking with no tact, indifferent to his companions' feelings. Were they a regular bandit group, Tomo was sure panic would be spreading among their lines after such a blow, the shadow of the powerful King Kamisato looming over them.

Taking advantage of Kazuha's information wasn't different from cheating, in Tomo's heart. He didn't know how the boy had managed to get a hold of those rumors, when not even their most reliable informers had been able to catch wind of it. It was confidential, a secret whisper between them that Kazuha had conceded thanks to his blind trust towards Tomo.

And he had betrayed it, relaying the intel to his boss. It was a matter of life and death, though— a stronghold like King Kamisato could have them all killed in a matter of minutes, once he had gathered information about their identities and whereabouts.

"I thought we didn't want to make an enemy out of them," Mona crossed her arms, irritation in her voice. "It was supposed to be a one-time attack with no consequences."

That's what everyone had been hoping for. They had failed their attack, stealing nothing but pennies from the immense treasure of the Kamisato family. There had been no victims in the king's escort, nor any tangible consequences on his fortune. Nothing had been harmed except for his pride, and Tomo figured it mattered more than they thought.

"Well, things change," Kunikuzushi said, gloomy. "If they keep this up, we have no choice but to take action. They're probably tracking us already, and it will be a matter of time before they find our hideout."

Luckily enough, they were nothing but a group of freaks. Nobody was shaking in fear in that small cave, nobody was afraid of the future. The only emotions floating in the air in the shape of nervous glares were revenge and anger, bloodlust and excitement.

"We're not surrendering, right?" was Ajax's rhetorical question. "We're not going to run away from the kingdom."

Of course, giving up would never be part of their plans. Thieves like them weren't cowards. Kunikuzushi didn't bother answering, merely flashing a mischievous grin in response.

Rosalyne's burst of laughter arose from the silence, its echo amplified by the cave walls. "I should show them what real flames are. They don't know what it means to play with fire."

"King Kamisato will learn how rats work," Kunikuzushi said. "If he tries to maul us, we'll bite back with full force."

Tomo had hardly ever found a place he fit in, a circle of people who matched his personality and interests. And Kunikuzushi's group wasn't the exception he had hoped to find in Watatsumi, their lust for combat greatly outmatching his. He was a fighter who enjoyed fair duels and the rush of adrenaline, not a madman or a cold-blooded killer.

"We need a plan," Tomo suggested. A scheme to follow, pondered decisions— the sole middle ground between him and them, the bridge Tomo had demanded to be built upon joining their ranks. A condition that was impulsively accepted, considering their lack of numbers.

Kunikuzushi's gaze darted to the bonfire in front of him. The trembling flame cast shadows all around, hiding his expression from the others. But although they couldn't see the emotions crossing his face, his anger crackled in the air, scarier than thunder bolts.

And just like a bard's lips would tell tales and myths from the ancient times, Kunikuzushi explained the ploy he had come up with, lost in the depths of his mind with his eyes closed. "We'll give them a taste of their own medicine," he said. "If they're sending out spies to keep us under control, then we'll infiltrate the castle as well."

"To do what?" Ajax interrupted him, disappointment obvious in his tone. He likely hoped for a tragedy to unfold, for the issue to be solved through bloodshed. After all, he was at his happiest when the blade of his knife was stained a bright red.

"Do you plan to kidnap him?" Mona said with disgust.

Kunikuzushi's silence was more than enough of a confirmation. That was exactly his idea— to steal away the source of their problems, to humiliate him further, and then ask for a ransom before handing him back. If their requests would be refused, then Ajax's wishes would come true, and King Kamisato would be no more.

Tomo had heard of similar stories from their past. Since they were a bunch of hotheads, they usually saved such stealth-heavy plans as a last resort, when every other option had been proven lacking. Kidnapping and torture were more in their style

"Wouldn't killing him be better?" Ajax suggested. "Just imagine: the king doesn't come out of his room the following morning. His loyal attendant opens the door, only to find him dead in his bed, covered in blood from head to toe, and—"

"Killing him would be stupid," Kunikuzushi cut him short. "The entire family would come for our ass. You can't cover up a murder if not with more spilled blood, while deleting all proof of a kidnapping is something nobles are accustomed to."

Tomo remembered wishing he was born a noble. He had told Kazuha about those dreams, too, on their first meeting after the assault. Their world seemed magical from outside, with the opulence, the money, the silks, and the banquets. But how many secrets were buried under those fancy castles, how many misdeeds were swept under the carpet?

Ajax kept his lips shut tight, torn between fighting for his ideals and refusing to enrage the leader further. The silence counted as a global agreement to the plan, and thus the decision was made. None of them would dare to object to Kunikuzushi's authority, anyway (unless they craved the sweet release of death).

Kunikuzushi stood up, the blade of his sword shining in the light of the fire. "We'll attack the twenty-ninth, the heir's birthday."

"There will be many guests at the manor," Rosalyne said. "Are you sure we won't get caught?"

The leader didn't turn to face her. "Guests mean unfamiliar faces. It's a great opportunity for outsiders to sneak inside, and we'll need to set up fewer distractions."

Tomo had an odd feeling about the whole ordeal, but he wouldn't dream of setting his doubts free from the cage of his lips. When it came to thieves, some things were best left unsaid.

In truth, Tomo wished none of that was happening. Things would be easier, there wouldn't be a need to craft new lies each day, and no fear for the future. But if there's something he had learned in his twenty-five years of age, it's that feelings cannot be controlled.

Some people were trained to suppress them, reducing the whispers of their hearts to background noise as they waltzed between heinous crimes. That was true for Kunikuzushi, for one, a trained assassin since his childhood; and for Ajax, who had slit enough throats to develop a thrill for the act of killing itself.

Tomo was different. The sins he had committed weighed on his back, he felt their pressuring guilt each time the sun fell over the horizon, his heart swallowed by the dark seas of Watatsumi. In the good and the bad, his feelings were part of him, just like his scars and his limbs. The best he could do was concealing them from the world, storing them behind thick masks of confidence and indifference.

The first time he had seen Kazuha, wrapped up in his purple shirt and with stars shining in his eyes, Tomo's chest had clenched. He wasn't a stranger to love, he had experienced the enticing sensation of blood boiling in his veins and butterflies swarming in his stomach. Not even five years of loneliness could erase the memories from his mind, still vivid, still fresh.

Kazuha's appearance was fragile, his features delicate like a porcelain doll. But that was nothing more than the surface— Tomo could see it in his red eyes, and read it in his words: underneath the shyness and the practiced indifference, Kazuha's soul shone with the fire of defiance. And gods knew how weak Tomo was to that.

Initially, Tomo had mistaken his feelings for pure physical attraction. People clashed like that sometimes, they found their type in someone else and indulged their fantasies for one night, with no strings attached. No love story was forced to bloom; it could be a single fleeting adventure.

But each one of their meetings, though short and mostly lacking dialogue, formed a new crack in Tomo's confidence. The sparks flying from their joined bodies evolved into a pale flame of love in his heart, and was now turning into a mighty fire with every new piece of information. It was a crush, perhaps fated not to be long-lived, yet still consuming him from inside whenever they touched.

An encounter turned into two and, before he realized it, hearing Kazuha's voice had settled into his weekly routine. As he listened to Kunikuzushi's plan, as he watched the excited faces of his companions lighting up at the thought of action, as he mindlessly peeked at Rosalyne's playful flames in the dead of night… Tomo's mind was soaring.

He recalled the feeling of Kazuha's fingers running over his wound, of the warm skin of his hip under his palm, of the sweet scent of flowers when he had kissed Kazuha's hair.

He wanted more of him. Kazuha might have pushed him away, but his desire was clear in his eyes: he craved contact as much as Tomo did, and only shyness was tying him down. Luckily, Tomo knew a thing or two about breaking down walls.

After robbery, attempted murder, successful murder, deceit, and cheating, now stealing horses was the newest item on Tomo's list of crimes. He wondered if someday, when he'd be standing at the gates of the underworld, he'd be forced to own up to them one by one, like nails stuck in his blackened soul.

It was worth it, though. The shocked expression on Kazuha's face, the surprise washing over him, and the trembling of his lower lip when he set his gaze on the horse's mane… They were more than worth it. "Hop on, pretty!"

Kazuha hesitated a single second, faint uncertainty in his steps. Then, he mounted the horse with unexpected agility, his feet effortlessly falling in the right place. Tomo suspected that his identity as the son of a tailor was a lie, and that lack of struggle proved him right. Not like he could judge him— he was faking too, and poorly.

With a tug on the bridles, Tomo set their steed into motion, running away from the concerned yells of Kazuha's friend. That man's hate for him must be off the charts by now, though he still had no clue why Kazuha needed to be guarded so strictly.

They rode on top of the highest cliffs, the hooves of their horse lifting clouds of humid sand from the beach as they circled the perimeter of the island. The sun was high in the sky, its rays filtering through the pink seashells all around, painting the world in an unnatural peachy light.

"Is this your first time on a horse?" Tomo asked.

"Oh, no," Kazuha was holding on tight to Tomo's waist, his small hands resting on his hips. "I've done this before. My friend, Gorou, used to take me on long rides at night."

Tomo's stomach was pierced by the sharp knife of jealousy. It was embarrassing to admit, but he was sure he'd offer Kazuha a new experience, and views he hadn't seen before. He shook his head, chasing those immature thoughts away to focus on the road instead, his skin on fire where Kazuha was touching him. "Oh, your friend owns a horse?"

"Ah, yeah—" Kazuha gulped, his grip on Tomo's waist loosening for a second. "He is a famed dog trainer, so he's lucky enough to be invited to the king's hunts. He steals the spotlight whenever there's prey to chase."

Prey to chase . Tomo considered asking whether a certain group of thieves was now part of his targets. It would be ironic if the man tasked with chasing them down was none other than Kazuha's friend. Probably not— Kazuha might not be the poor boy he was trying to make him believe, but he doubted he could be that important.

"Interesting," Tomo said.

He glanced at him through the corner of his eye. Kazuha's shirt was yet another one he hadn't seen before, a red blouse that matched his rebellious hair locks. That had been the earliest signal that the man was keeping a few secrets: though his clothes weren't rich in materials, they were new and fresh every time.

Most people in Bourou couldn't afford such luxury. Tomo himself wasn't too poor, living off his savings and the money he managed to rob travelers of. Yet, he could count on barely a handful of shirts, which he had to wash by hand in the river on alternate days. His fingers wore the bruises from the intense scrubbing he had to do in the freezing currents to get rid of the rotten smell of the depths of the island.

Plus, Kazuha had just admitted that his friend had loose ties with the king in person. Nobles didn't take random commoners on their hunting games. Who the hell was Kazuha, and what was his relationship with Gorou?

"He loves it," Kazuha said, almost eager to change the subject. "He always brings the best livestock to show off in front of me."

Tomo chuckled. It wasn't surprising: Kazuha's reactions were too beautiful to resist. Everybody who liked him the tiniest amount would go out of their way to see more of them, to get lost in his widening red eyes and see happiness light up his face.

It happened too fast.

While Tomo was distracted, his mind busy picturing Kazuha's cheerful face, the horse jumped over a rock. Tomo lost his grip on the reins, his body shifting slightly to the side— enough for Kazuha to lose his hold on him, and fall off the mount in a cloud of dust.

Pure terror assaulted Tomo's chest. His heart skipped a beat as he pulled at the bridles to stop the horse's frantic race. He hopped off, his soles begging for mercy after the rough landing, and sprinted on the wet sand to reach Kazuha's body.

What if Kazuha had hit his head on the ground, losing consciousness? What if he had broken an arm or two? Gods— What if Tomo had killed him? He shouldn't have come up with such a stupid idea just to make him happy. The usual stroll in the public gardens would have been more than enough for the date of two liars.

"Hey, Kazuha?" Tomo called out. He shook the man's body, finding it limp under his tugs. He forced himself to stay calm, to blame the temporary shock and nothing more serious than that. "Pretty, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?"

Thankfully, Kazuha was alive. He groaned out loud, massaging his scalp with the lazy movements of a hand. "N-No, I'm alright," he muttered weakly. "It hurts… only a little."

"I'm sorry, it's my fault!" Despite Tomo's best attempts at playing it cool, at acting like a stoic man that nothing could faze, his nervousness betrayed all of his worry. "I lost control for a moment, I—"

"Don't worry," Kazuha pulled himself up, sitting on the beach. Sand stuck to the fabric of his pants, wet grains rolling off his lap as he moved. "It's actually not the first time I fell off a horse, either."

Tomo frowned. What sort of careless horseman was Gorou? If he was so bad, he shouldn't have taken him out for night rides. He was dying to say it, but he knew it would look like nothing more than vain jealousy to Kazuha's ears.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Tomo inspected Kazuha's body for injuries. His bones seemed to be alright, and there was no blood on his temples where he had hit the ground. He was tougher than he looked.

"I'm fine, really," Kazuha smiled, a glimmer of thankfulness in his eyes. "I'm at fault for losing my grip. I should have—" 

Kazuha choked on his words, and Tomo's heart sank. He knew perfectly well why his breath had stopped— he was to blame. Tomo's palms were brushing against the soft flesh of Kazuha's thighs, fingers pressed into his skin in search of bruises and cuts.

Tomo swallowed thickly. Time seemed to freeze, the clock stuck on the perfect moment their eyes locked together, dark red flush coating Kazuha's cheeks. Any doubt he might have about his crush being one-sided was gone, blown away by the flustered look on the man's face.

That was bad. Tomo didn't know how long he would stay in Watatsumi, how many days he would live in freedom before handcuffs were locked around his wrists. Would he even survive the month, with the plan he had to execute? Developing serious feelings for someone was a mistake, he couldn't afford to fall in love…

But alas, Tomo had always acted stronger than he actually was. In reality, he was weak— and it was with sheer weakness that he gave in, completely entranced by Kazuha's red eyes. Resting a hand over Kazuha's nape, he closed the distance between them with a gentle kiss.

Kazuha's lips tasted as great as they looked, sweeter than honey, softer than flower petals. Their mouths met and parted a few times, their breaths melting together in a dreamy heat. Unable to speak, Kazuha's voice came out in low gasps and moans of Tomo's name, a sound simply enticing to hear.

"Didn't you say that things were moving too fast?" Tomo pulled away for the mere time of a tease.

Kazuha's blush darkened, shame burning in his eyes. "That— Not anymore."

"Well, at this point I wouldn't slow down anyway, prince."

When Kazuha opened his mouth to protest, Tomo promptly shut him up with another kiss, swallowing up his words. He dared to push things further; the tender pecks turned into a harsher kiss, intense and deep, with tongues twirling together and teeth clashing.

Kazuha resisted him at first, his lack of experience freezing him on the spot. But Tomo slowly melted away his opposition, eventually finding him pliable against his mouth. His hand slid under Kazuha's shirt, reaching out for the softness of his hip. His skin was so fair and smooth, so fragile and pure, that he earnestly feared Kazuha might crumble under his touch.

Kazuha mirrored his movements. He tentatively stroked Tomo's chest from under his clothes, warm palms running across his torso, squeezing the muscle in a firm grip.

Tomo wanted to speak, to tell him how much he had fallen for him, and how many things he craved to do to him once their clothes would disappear. He had no voice for it, though: the only sound that escaped his lips was a breathy gasp against Kazuha's lips when slender fingers brushed against his nipple. Tomo's hand latched onto the waistband of Kazuha's pants, and—

"Tomo?"

A string of saliva still connecting their mouths, Tomo pushed Kazuha away, his instincts igniting at the sudden call. He couldn't afford to be found there, wasting precious time making out with someone instead of carrying out the task he had been assigned.

Ajax walked down the slope, his boots sinking in the sand. Tomo thanked whatever guardian spirit was watching over him, because the man wasn't sporting the bandit insignia on his chest as he typically did. If Kazuha had seen that, he would be done for.

"Oh, so it was you," Ajax chirped. "Am I interrupting something?"

The smirk bending his lips spoke louder than words: he knew exactly what was happening, and he had stepped in on purpose. Tomo swore he'd make him pay for that, although he would probably be forced to silence with the threat of being exposed to Kunikuzushi.

"No," Tomo lied. He circled Kazuha's waist with his arm, his hand drawing reassuring circles on the surface of his thigh. He felt him relax under his touch, and the heat coating his cheeks gradually faded.

Ajax's mischievous gaze fell on Kazuha's figure. He studied him from head to toe, probably connecting the dots on Tomo's out-of-line behavior of the previous month. The moment of truth was inevitably going to come, and Tomo was more than ready for it— he merely wished it happened at another time, instead of interrupting their kiss.

"So, he's the reason you were so off," Ajax said. "The boss was about to ask Megistus for a reading to know what the fuck was up with you."

Tomo winced at the thought of his entire group finding out he was kissing a man on the beach through Mona's water mirror. They would probably stare like creeps, only to mock him endlessly for the following year. "That won't be necessary," he said.

Kazuha flinched at his side. If they were alone, Tomo would have taken the chance to tell him about his comrades, though with some necessary adjustments to their identity. He deserved as much, after talking lengths about Gorou and their adventures together. But not now.

"Tomo, it's best if we return now," Ajax suggested.

Among his comrades, Ajax was the best person he could hope to be caught by. He kept secrets from his family too, and he was the least likely to call him out (unless provoked). Still, his loyalty to Kunikuzushi was firmer than a rock; Tomo couldn't risk testing the waters so carelessly. Obeying was the smartest option he had.

"I'm sorry," Tomo whispered, breathing straight in Kazuha's ear. "I have to go now. It's work."

Kazuha nodded, a faint glimmer of sadness darkening his face. "Will I see you again?"

"Meet me in three days," Tomo said. "At the usual place. I'll be there for you."

With one final kiss on Kazuha's lips, Tomo left his side, trailing after Ajax with hasty steps. He left the horse there, free to roam on the beach, free for Kazuha to use as he pleased. He hoped Gorou would come and pick the man up— he hoped he could be at his side when Tomo could not.

Come to think of it, how would Kazuha react upon discovering he was a bandit? True, both of them were using fake identities to hide something from each other, but what made him so sure that Kazuha's truth was as horrible as his? He could have been just about anyone.

Sitting on the half-broken stools of the restaurant, Kunikuzushi had been talking, rambling under his breath in between courses. And Tomo, loyal to his reputation as an airhead, hadn't been listening. Words flowed in one ear and straight out the other without leaving a trace of their passage.

All he could think about was Kazuha. The soft texture of his hair, the sweetness of his lips, the heat of their skins meeting. What would have happened if Ajax hadn't appeared out of thin air? Would he have owned Kazuha on that same beach, out in the open, like shameless newlyweds who didn't care about the outside world?

"Tomo, get a grip," Ajax snickered.

Yeah, he wasn't at his best. Driven by the euphoria of his date with Kazuha, and upset at the badly timed interruption, Tomo had sulked throughout their dinner. While the crowd partied and cheered around them, bottles and glasses clanging in the night, Tomo diluted his worries with alcohol, emptying bottle after bottle.

The worst part was that he couldn't even explain why he was so angry. There was no way to twist the story without revealing to everyone that he was having a fling with a random man from the village. So, he had to pretend he was simply in a bad mood, tolerating all of Ajax's unsolicited teasing without batting an eye.

Kunikuzushi slammed his empty mug in front of Tomo's face. "If you have any questions about the plan, now's your last chance. I'm not discussing this again, so think about it instead of spacing out, you idiot."

Tomo shook his head. He had no questions. He had no thoughts. He only needed alcohol to survive, images of Kazuha to fantasize about, and time to wallow in his thoughts for the rest of eternity.

"You're drooling everywhere," Mona hissed at his side. "So disgusting."

Tomo's head fell on her shoulder in response, his brain on the verge of overheating. He felt the weight of Kunikuzushi's death glare upon him, yet he couldn't care any less— she was the only one he could count on, in that group of crazy people.

"Megistus," he whined against the curve of her shoulder, "what would you do if the future looked… dark and unpredictable and scary?"

Mona tossed her ponytail to the other side, away from Tomo's drooling mouth. "I can read my future, in case you've forgotten. There's nothing unpredictable to me."

"Yeah," Kunikuzushi cut in, "she can, if you're fine with a twenty percent accuracy or so."

"Why you—"

Tomo's hands clutched Mona's arm, drawing a shriek out of her lips. Every guest in the restaurant turned around to glare at them, attracted by the loud noise like cows in a stable. "Would you please do a reading for me?"

Laughter echoed around the cave, flowing outside to tear the silence of the night. Everyone in the outskirts, the fish deep under the water, and perhaps even King Kamisato's money buried below the ocean bed could hear the mockery for Tomo's broken heart.

" Love ," Mona repeated, an eyebrow raised in concern. "You're asking me a reading about love."

"What is it, Tomo?" Kunikuzushi wiped tears away tears from his eyes. "Suddenly craving a wife? Tired of relying on your ugly farmer hand?"

Rosalyne's hand fell on Tomo's shoulder.. "Have you ever even felt the touch of a woman?"

"Come on, guys!" Ajax appeared in the picture, patting both harassers on the back. "Let a man dream, won't you?" 

Ajax threw a conspiratorial smile at Tomo, who silently thanked him with a glance. He was drunk, but not remotely enough to forget this smack to his pride any time soon. That night was going to live with him for the following five years, to say the least.

"Well, whatever you want," Mona shrugged. "Now sit back and watch."

How to do anything else? The movements of her hands were simply entrancing, a hypnotic dance in the air. It seemed crazy to Tomo that both women in their group were skilled magicians. While Rosalyne manipulated fire at her own will, creating hell butterflies and soldiers out of thin air and spewing potions that burned hotter than lava, water had no secrets for Mona.

Mona swung her hands around, her fingers tracing the shape of a mirror of crystal clear water. Kunikuzushi handed her a vial filled with a thick blue liquid. She poured a single drop of that oil over the transparent surface— the blue smoke swirled inside the mirror, changing the color of the water in the shapes of Tomo's future.

"Form a question in your mind," Mona instructed. Her voice was soft, her focus at its peak. She wasn't talking to him as the wife of his leader, nor as the spoiled guest of their group— she was speaking as a witch, one step from casting her spell on him.

A question? Tomo had a million. They all gave him a headache every day and only led to the same dead end. Which one should he choose first? Should he inquire about Kazuha, or himself? About happiness, or tragedy? He hesitated, suddenly regretting his decision altogether.

Kunikuzushi slapped Tomo upside his head, bringing him back to reality. "Don't think too much, your brain will melt."

"You're right," Tomo dumbly agreed. Yes, there was one thing he needed to know more than others, a higher priority that would decide his immediate future. Should I keep pursuing Kazuha?

Mona stared at the blue oil in the water mirror, watching its curls and swirls. Then, she nodded, and erased from existence any proof of her hydromancy with yet another swing of her arms. "The answer is yes," she said.

" Yes ?" Tomo echoed. "That's it?"

Mona's glare was piercing. "What did you expect? Do you want the oil to talk to you, Tomo? A full-on conversation, maybe?"

"Sorry," Tomo said, too drunk to argue about impossible expectations. "Thank you, Megistus."

"Oh, no problem," Mona cooed. "That'll mean you'll be giving me fifty percent of your next share of loot."

Tomo barely heard her remark about compensation, still repeating her verdict inside his head in a frantic loop. Yes . His instincts screamed in unison, but he felt brave enough to trust her verdict.

Chapter Text

kazuha

Kazuha was notoriously an airhead, spending hours and hours staring into the void while daydreaming about a life he couldn't have. Things had worsened after meeting Tomo, especially after their latest encounter. Anytime people weren't talking to him or he was left alone, be it in his room or to roam the halls of the castle, his mind strayed.

Too many thoughts swirled around in his head. Confusion for the most part, battling with enchantment and hurt. The sensation of Tomo's lips against his own lingered, and so did the taste of that first kiss— a magical moment he had read so much about in novels, and that he never believed would feel as wonderful as it did.

He still felt the warmth of Tomo's hands on his skin, underneath his clothes, the firm grip on his hip, the waves of heat darting to his lower body when Tomo's fingers had brushed against his pants… What would have happened if Tomo's friend didn't show up?

The mere idea of it sent thrills down his spine, it boiled like poison in his blood. If Kazuha had imagined Tomo to be the sun before, casting a pleasant light over his dark life, he had now found a better way to describe him: he was more like a fire, a raw flame that threatened to swallow him whole. And Kazuha couldn't be any happier to let himself burn to a crisp, if those feelings were the reward for turning to ashes.

But there was also some bitterness coming from that date, from the sudden interruption. Sure, it wasn't Tomo's fault; even if his friend had left them after greeting him, the magical atmosphere had been shattered. What had hurt Kazuha was the realization he was alone, stranded on a beach far away from home, with a horse he didn't know how to ride and his guard nowhere to be seen.

Actually, Gorou was disappearing often. He had spent so many years following Kazuha around like a watchdog, chasing him up and down the castle and escorting him outside. Loyal, dutiful, like a best friend before a protector.

It wasn't his duty to be on service full time, though. Once Kazuha's siblings had left, the king had set a single rule for his troops: one of them had to keep Kazuha under control. As an orphan who had no other home but that castle, Gorou had been appointed as the main guard for him, but shouldering that weight by himself was never an obligation.

If the opportunity arose, Gorou was allowed to ask his peers to switch places with him for a few hours. A generous opportunity that had been offered mostly because nobody thought it'd ever be necessary— Gorou lived for Kazuha after all, quite literally. He basked in his presence, he breathed through his words.

Or so it had been until now.

Well, Kazuha could only blame himself. He had pushed Gorou away, sneaking out of his control multiple times and putting his career at risk. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he was only doing it for Gorou's sake (to spare him the painful sight of Tomo kissing him), he knew selfishness was his true guide. Kazuha yearned for privacy with Tomo, so that nobody could see what happened between them. It was a holy secret for them to keep, and for no one else.

He didn't think he would miss Gorou's presence so much. Kazuha knew that he would return to his side eventually, taking his leave for a mere couple of hours. What worried him more, though, was having no clue what he did outside the castle. Was he meeting up with someone? Or was he alone, praying amidst his tears at the Shrine?

There was nothing Kazuha could do but lie in wait. He strolled around the castle, almost expecting Gorou's brown hair to peek out of the corner whenever he turned. He glanced at the training grounds in the court, in hopes of seeing him practicing with his bow, not fearing storms or downpours. But he was never there.

"Your Highness."  A voice caught his attention, and Kazuha spun around to see Teppei standing a few feet away. "Gorou is worried sick about you."

If someone had told Kazuha that someday he would be scolded by Teppei, of all people, he would have laughed out loud. Not that he wasn't right— it was simply odd for him to take a blunt stance against anyone. "I know that, my friend."

"With all due respect, don't you think you're taking things too far?"

Cold sweat dripped down Kazuha's neck. How much of his personal matters was Gorou reporting to Teppei, how much gossip had the servants been spreading around? His escapades should be a secret, or covered up by Gorou's reliable excuses. "What do you know exactly?"

"Not much," Teppei luckily said. "Gorou doesn't tell me what you do outside. But I've been informed that you ran away from him, and I've caught him spacing out more than just a couple times."

Kazuha felt like a horrible person for doubting Gorou for the smallest second. Why would his best friend expose him to others? Both of them knew very well what the king would do to them if he found out about their lies.

"I—" Kazuha bit his lower lip, ashamed. "I did, yes."

"You shouldn't," Teppei said. "I know you're not popular, Your Highness, and most citizens have barely seen your face. But what if someone was out there to kidnap you? The city is a dangerous place."

His heart in turmoil, Kazuha's reaction was stronger than he planned it to be. Teppei's words were bullets of truth, despite his untactful phrasing. The freedom Kazuha had experienced as of late left a scar in him, it made his nerves prone to snapping— and he didn't realize he was attacking Teppei until his lips were already overflowing with angry questions.

"Teppei, what's your life outside your job?" Kazuha asked.

"What do you mean, Your Highness?" Teppei took a step back, feeling the rage crackling in the air around the prince's figure.

Kazuha inhaled sharply. "Gorou lives here, in the castle, because he has no other home. What about you, Teppei? When you're finished with your shift, where do you go?"

"Oh, I go back to my mother's, down in Bourou." Teppei opened his mouth to add something else, suddenly understanding where Kazuha was getting at. It was too late to take his words back, though.

Kazuha's attack was quicker. "And when you spend time with her in your little house in the streets, do you worry about the danger outside? Do you live in fear, to the point of hiding away? Do you feel the need to have someone guarding you every hour of the day? Do you—"

"I don't," Teppei cut him off. He bowed politely, a humiliated look on his face, so much that Kazuha felt guilty for rubbing it in him with such fierceness. He should have known better than to let his frustration out on him. "But Your Highness, I am not a noble."

Kazuha averted his gaze. There it was, the unspoken rule of the world— you don't choose where you're born, or from who, but you must carry the burden nonetheless, without a chance to escape your role. Kazuha's hopes didn't matter: he was born a prince, and as such he would die. "Royalty longs for freedom too."

There was no point arguing with Teppei. Kazuha figured the conversation would fade into silence, washed away by embarrassment. Gorou wasn't around to fill in the uncomfortable pause, and Teppei was too shy to take the initiative.

But for once, Teppei seemed to have something more to say. "I heard there's a nation out there, where freedom is celebrated almost like a goddess."

He must be talking of Mondstadt, Kazuha assumed. He tried to picture it— a place where people weren't shackled by their duties, a land where the only rules were everyone's hidden desires. It was impossible, unmanageable. Society would crumble under the weight of greed and cruelty. "I don't think such a place can exist."

"Oh, believe me, it does."

Kazuha jumped, startled by the intruder's voice. He bumped into a pile of boxes— the man carrying them tripped on his feet and almost fell to the floor, barely managing to catch the falling items and balancing them on his arms.

"Almost got me there," the stranger said. "Better watch your step, Your Highness!"

"My apologies, I didn't hear you coming." Kazuha looked at him, trying to recall if they had met before. The man was tall, with bright blonde hair tied up in a low ponytail, and a red outfit woven in precious silk. The Kamisato crest stood out on his chest, a million crimson bottles dangled from the belts around his torso. "Who are you?"

"The person who hurt Tomo used a fire potion," Gorou had said. Kazuha flinched. Could that be the culprit of that wound? Looks could be deceiving, but that man didn't look like someone who'd hurt others for the sake of it.

No, it couldn't be. The majority of King Kamisato's soldiers brandished fire potions in their fights. It was their trademark, the ancient knowledge they had stolen from the academy in Sumeru. Tomo's aggressor could be just about anyone in the ranks.

Teppei approached Kazuha, close enough to whisper in his ear. "Your Highness, he's Thoma. King Kamisato's appointed guard."

"Sorry for eavesdropping," Thoma said, a genuine smile on his lips. "I heard my homeland being mentioned, and I couldn't resist."

Kazuha laughed— such honesty, even in front of a prince. King Kaedehara would probably have the ears of whoever spied on his conversations chopped off. So that was the attendant of King Kamisato, the elegant yet scheming man who had caught his attention like a magnet. Kazuha's expectations were rather high.

"It is quite alright," Kazuha said. "We were talking loudly, and about no secret."

Thoma bowed politely anyway, paying respect. When he stood up again, a strange light was glowing in his eyes, an emotion which Kazuha failed to decipher. "You should try with a good book, Your Excellency. I've heard they help you relax."

Was that a hint at Kazuha's reputation as a lone bookworm? Rumors sure traveled fast even across kingdoms, but no guest had ever dared to mock him for his habits. Royalty was all about keeping facades and pretending. How was he supposed to reply to such a brazen remark?

Teppei spared him the trouble. "Lord Thoma, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, please — Don't call me that, really," Thoma's jaw dropped, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. "I'm just a soldier like you. Just Thoma is fine."

Teppei shook his head. "Sorry, but a hero as famous as you… It's impossible for me to address you as just Thoma ."

Kazuha's gaze ran between them, confusion flooding his mind. He wished he wasn't so ignorant about the rest of the world, because he had no idea who Thoma was or what he had done to earn himself his fame. "What are your heroic feats, if I may be so bold?"

"Don't you remember, Your Highness?" Teppei lowered his voice. "He holds a record of dispatching every single man who has ever tried to attack King Kamisato. No matter how many or how skilled, nobody who raised their blade against his king has made it out alive.”

Thoma chuckled nervously. "Thanks for the praise, but I'm afraid I recently broke this record."

"Because of the thieves here?" Teppei asked.

"Yes," Thoma nodded. "King Kamisato and our informers are hard at work to catch them."

Oh, so it was a matter of honor after all. Kazuha had guessed as much, considering how insistent King Kamisato had been on the matter despite money not being an issue for his family.

Thoma walked past them, heading to the cupboard on the side of the corridor. As he bent down to place the boxes in their rightful place, Kazuha stared at his back. When King Kamisato had asked for an audience in the throne room, he couldn't tear his eyes off him, the desire to grasp his secrets building up in his chest.

Could Thoma be a stepping stone for his goal? He seemed to give good advice, he was friendly enough (though not swayed by excessive respect), and his soul shone with the light of purity. Kazuha wouldn't be brave enough to expect friendship from him, but perhaps…

"Listen, Thoma," Kazuha said. "You said your homeland is—"

"Mondstadt," the other man filled in for him. "The land of freedom, of wine, and bards. Though I can't say I've been there recently. I moved to Inazuma when I was eight, and have never visited since."

Teppei couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. He stepped forward, looking at Thoma with sparkles in his eyes. "Is it true what they say? That dandelions bloom everywhere, floating about like cotton in the wind?"

"Why yes, indeed!" Thoma chuckled softly, as if reminiscing something dear. "I have nothing but vague childhood memories of it, but it is a breathtaking sight."

Kazuha pressed his lips together. "Would you like to tell me more about Mondstadt? In front of a nice cup of tea, if you don't mind."

"Oh, I—" Thoma blushed. "I wouldn't dare steal your time, Your Highness."

The expression on his face betrayed his words. His body was speaking loudly, screaming of how much he yearned for a conversation about his homeland. His love for that place was evident in the way he had stepped into his talk with Teppei, overstepping his boundaries.

"This is what your role forces you to answer," Kazuha said. "But what does your heart say, child of freedom?"

Thoma's nervousness melted like snow in the sun; the warmest smile curved his lips. "It would be my honor."

The piercing scent of spice spread in the tea room as they talked, comfortably resting at the guest table. Kazuha watched in silence as Thoma poured sugar and honey in his drink, and listened to his tales about Mondstadt with bated breath.

They were alone, except for the servants handling the preparations for dinner. It was a rare occurrence for Kazuha to enjoy a break without soldiers around, or without the king's judgmental stare from across the table. Kazuha had convinced the guards to grant them some privacy, using Thoma's fame as a pretext— nobody would doubt his reliability. He would be safe in his care.

Thoma was deeply absorbed in the conversation, so lost in his fond memories that he had barely touched his cup, the tea growing colder by the minute. "There's even a flower that only blooms on one specific cliff. It's called cecilia. It's milky white, and it overthrows even the moon's beauty."

"I know that flower," Kazuha said. He remembered the white petals decorating the city in large bouquets, hanging from the walls of the houses and the castle. The celebrations for his birthday, where everything had begun. "It's actually my favorite. We import some for decorative purposes, you might see a few around town now."

"Really?!" Thoma exclaimed, with the enthusiasm of a child. "Since King Kamisato is in charge of cultural events in our kingdom, I've seen plenty of Inazuman flora. The garden of our estate has exotic plants, too. Dendrobiums are a big favorite of mine."

Kazuha took a sip of his green tea. The flavor was the same as any other day, a sweet habit with a spicy aftertaste. Unchanging, like everything else in his life— Yet, for the first time, he was almost annoyed by its monotony.

Thoma had rather… unique taste. Kazuha hadn't seen dendrobium flowers often, as they didn't grow on the grounds of Watatsumi (what did after all, except for pearls, muddy flowers in the slums, and scentless mint?). Unlike cecilias, they weren't well loved as decoration, thus hardly anybody bothered importing them.

"They're pretty, but their meaning is eerie," Kazuha explained. "It is said that they reach their peak beauty where a lot of blood has been spilled. Precious, stunning, and yet so ominous… Don't you agree?"

"I see." Thoma took a nervous bite of his dango. He chewed on the rice confection for a long time, as if buying time to elaborate a witty comeback in his head. "But it doesn't take away from their charm, does it? Tainted things can still be beautiful under the right light."

Something in the trembling of his voice, in the affectionate glimmer in his eyes, made it clear that Thoma wasn't referring to the flowers. Did King Kamisato have a hidden side that only he knew? He surely did seem the type of person who'd have a few skeletons in the closet.

The cheerful conversation fell, the atmosphere turning heavy. Kazuha had been waiting for that moment, somehow postponing the real topic he wanted to discuss to enjoy that rare pause of calm. The troubles haunting his heart were never forgotten, though.

Thoma seemed to read his mind. "Pardon me for my boldness, but why are you so interested in Mondstadt, Your Highness? Planning a trip?"

"My interest lies not in the land of freedom, rather in the concept of freedom itself," Kazuha confessed.

Their eyes met with a bolt of complicity which Kazuha wouldn't expect to see in a stranger. He understood then and there— the act was over, the masks had been dropped.

Thoma lifted his cup, bringing it to his lips. His gaze was set on Kazuha while he gulped down his tea, like he was trying to read the depths of his soul. "Let me guess. After years of confinement, you had a taste of freedom and you now crave more."

Kazuha blinked in shock. "How do you—"

"It's the same for every prince or king," Thoma interrupted. He placed the cold cup on the table, next to his dango. Through the seriousness in his voice, Kazuha could hear faint amusement. "I've served the Kamisato siblings for the longest time. Trust me, there isn't a moment I've seen them happier than when we venture outside the estate, away from those walls."

"I—" Kazuha took a good look around them. Even the handful of maids in the kitchen was suffocating. He dismissed them all with a gesture of his hand, ignoring their protests, and refused to speak until he was completely alone with Thoma. "What's happening to me is… a delicate matter."

Thoma's eyes followed the trail of maids while they left, watching them tumble outside the tea room. He wasn't shocked by Kazuha's words, as if he had known all along about his heartaches. "I think I know what you're going to say, Your Highness."

"And what would it be?"

Panic held Kazuha's throat in a chokehold. If Thoma suspected of his relationship with Tomo, then other people might get the same ideas… It was a risk he hadn't taken into account, trusting Gorou a little too much. Kazuha buried his face behind his cup, eagerly drinking to hide his flushed cheeks.

Thoma finished his last dango, savoring every bite. And each second wasted pierced Kazuha's chest like a knife. "Are you having an affair with someone, prince?"

Kazuha almost choked on his tea. "How do you know?"

"Oh, it's a cliché, honestly. " The sound of Thoma's chuckle echoed around the room. "It happens often with royalty, especially to those people who aren't exactly… prone to sitting down and doing what they're told. They have affairs before their arranged marriages, and they continue even after tying the knot."

Well, Kazuha's cards were laid on the table now. Perhaps a part of him had dragged Thoma there for that reason, to open up his heart to someone who wouldn't be hurt by his words. Confessing his troubles to Gorou was hard, it pushed him down in the abyss of his misery.

"His name is Tomo," Kazuha said, "and he's a merchant."

Thoma smiled, honored by the trust Kazuha was placing on him. "A merchant, huh? Certainly someone that the king wouldn't approve of."

Definitely not. They had discussed marriage a couple times, although Kazuha took the coward's way out and left the uncomfortable conversations at the earliest convenience. The spouses chosen for his sisters shared some common traits: they were older, richer, politically influential. Tomo couldn't aspire to receive King Kaedehara's blessing.

"I truly love him," Kazuha whispered. Not that feelings mattered, when one was born royalty, but it still felt worth saying. "I was wondering if there is a place, somewhere out there, where I wouldn't be forced to choose between church and army, between an unloving marriage or being disowned."

Thoma nodded heavily. There wasn't much either of them could say about the issue. Whether such a haven existed or not, reaching it wouldn't have been easy. And no speech Thoma could offer would soothe Kazuha's soul, crushed by the pressure of his role.

"I know someone who is just like you," Thoma said.

"Your king?" Kazuha inquired. "He strikes me as a very… headstrong person."

"You bet he is!" Thoma's laughter was coated with affection so deep, that Kazuha's heart skipped a beat at its sound. "He decided who he wants to love, and he doesn't let anyone interfere with his private matters."

So, Kazuha had been right in his analysis. When King Kamisato was talking to his father, he had cast aside his authority, but never his pride. It wasn't surprising that he wouldn't bend his head to any unfair imposition. If only Kazuha had an ounce of his courage… "And who did he fall for?"

Thoma's eyes widened for a moment. Then, his face flared up in a red darker than his clothes— he cleared his throat, nervously, and that's when the pieces of the puzzle started snapping back into place. "Well, for… his personal guard."

It was Thoma . King Kamisato had a relationship with his guard— something more than scandalous for the prude world of nobles. Someone with no crown, no land, no money to his name, only the borrowed honor of his king. Now Thoma's speech made more sense, and so did the comments about King Kamisato's resolute attitude.

"My apologies, Thoma," Kazuha frantically said. "I didn't know. I—"

"It's alright!" Thoma chirped, the bright mood coming back to him. "We don't exactly go around announcing it, as you can guess. Compared to you, though, King Kamisato has an advantage. His family isn't around to decide his fate, so he's his own boss."

Kazuha stared at the bottom of his empty cup. If his mother had been there, she would have taken the mashed leaves out of it and tried to scry the future in their folds. All Kazuha could read in them was a wet mess. A good resume of his life. "Aren't you afraid?"

"At first I was scared of judgment," Thoma confessed. Before Kazuha could push for more details, or inquire about what sort of fears he had, he spoke again. "I don't care what others think of me, but I didn't want to taint the king's reputation."

There was one question that Kazuha was dying to ask. The answer would be different depending on whom he asked— Gorou would agree with enthusiasm, nodding like a happy puppy who was fed a juicy bone. Thoma might be of another opinion, though.

"Say, Thoma…" Kazuha mumbled, his fingers shaking from the terror of the verdict. "Do you think I should cut things short with Tomo before it's too late?"

When Tomo had left him on the beach, Kazuha had understood how many problems they would have to face, if things between them kept evolving. Having to hide every time, being granted scarce moments of tense privacy, their relationship forever a secret. Until, someday, everything would be dug up, and their castle of cards built on lies would collapse.

Anyone in their right mind would know that such an affair had to be stopped. It was a difficult story, one that would bring along pain and emptiness, and could lead them both to an awful end. Then why was it so hard for Kazuha to give it up? Why did the mere thought of bidding farewell to Tomo make him shake with fear?

"Follow your heart," Thoma said, softly. "Be like a dandelion. Bend to the wind, but scatter only for someone who's worth it. And even then, let your seeds fly freely wherever you wish to land and flourish."

Kazuha giggled at the metaphor. He wasn't expecting Thoma to break into poetry out of nowhere, although he was more than accustomed to that kind of symbolic language. "That's very romantic."

"It's a line from my favorite book," Thoma confessed. "Not mine, unfortunately. I was gifted with strong muscles rather than an artistic vein."

That conversation marked the end of Kazuha's lies. When he'd meet Tomo next, in a couple days, he would reveal the full truth to him— about his identity, about his intentions. There was a time when even King Kamisato was afraid, surely. He pushed through it and came out as the winner. Kazuha couldn't be inferior.

"I'd love to borrow that book, if you don't mind."

Among the things Kazuha had learned about life, one truth was rather striking: it knew how to be ironic. What an absurd coincidence was it that, on their following date, Tomo would take him to a field of dandelions? Or, well, what used to be one. All that remained of it was a few scattered flowers, their pale light glowing under the setting sun.

"I didn't know dandelions bloomed on Watatsumi," Kazuha said. He knelt in the grass to look at the fragile plants up close. They danced under the push of the sea breeze, close to the edge of the ocean, where green turned into sand.

Tomo reached his side. Sparks flew where their arms brushed together. It had been that way since they had met that morning, and Kazuha couldn't remember breathing for a single step during their walk. "Only here, in this small corner at the borders of the land."

Three days separated them from Kazuha's birthday. The preparation for the banquet at the castle saw its corridors always crowded, with servants running back and forth to carry supplies. Having King Kamisato as an honored guest was an excellent attraction for even more people. Soon, the most important nobles of Inazuma would have flocked to the island to take part in the celebrations.

If Kazuha had something to confess, that was the perfect chance. Gods knew how busy he would be after his birthday, or what unfortunate news his father had in store for him. Though they had agreed on a month for Kazuha to decide his fate, King Kaedehara probably hadn't been watching passively from the sidelines.

"I like dandelions," Tomo said. He wrapped his fingers around the stem of the closest flower, tugging at it to dig it out of the ground. The cotton swayed in the breeze for a second, threatening to scatter all around.

Kazuha inhaled sharply. "Be like a dandelion," Thoma had said. "Bend to the wind, but scatter only for someone who's worth it. And even then, let your seeds fly freely wherever you wish to land and flourish." An invitation to say the truth, state his honest intentions, and take his destiny into his own two hands.

"I like them too," Kazuha said, his voice trembling. "They're soft. And they're free."

Tomo caressed his face, his feathery touch sending chills through Kazuha's entire body. "Sorry, but they can't be softer than your cheeks."

Ah, there it went— Kazuha recognized that emotion by now. He felt it coming like a rising tide in his chest. It started with a skipped heartbeat, and it ended with cold sweat and his face aflame. He leaned into Tomo's touch, letting his rough hand trace the contour of his cheeks, his jaw, then run down to the base of his neck.

All it took for fire to break out was a mere gaze, the flutter of Kazuha's pulse, a light gasp. This is how things were between them: precarious, unstable, always one step from bursting. Kazuha's eyelashes fluttered shut, and that was the beginning of it all.

It was nothing more than a game of give and take. Kazuha kissed back when Tomo kissed him, and bit harder when he was bitten. They longed to leave marks upon each other, to show their true feelings through the movements of their mouths and teeth rather than with words of promise.

Despite Kazuha's lack of experience, it was easy to say Tomo was a great kisser. He knew how to move his lips to drive Kazuha crazy, where to bite him and with what strength, where to rest his hands, to push him beyond the edge. Choked-off moans escaped Kazuha's lips, his mind too blurry to control his tongue.

"Where's your friend?" Tomo whispered, his breath a hot flame against Kazuha's ear.

Kazuha weakly shook his head. "He's far. I asked him to wait at the crossroad."

"Then, we should have no interruptions this time." Tomo's words were suspended halfway in between a threat and a promise, the low growl in his throat awakening something dormant deep down in Kazuha's stomach.

Tomo's hands slid under Kazuha's shirt, leaving a flaming trail wherever they traveled. He touched every inch of skin he could reach, grabbing at the soft flesh as if willing to leave bruises. With hasty, possessive movements of his fingers, Tomo easily undressed Kazuha, tossing his clothes far away on the grass— discarded.

Kazuha flushed to the tip of his ears, dark red coating his cheeks. He had never been naked before anyone else, not even in front of the servants who changed him as a child, or Gorou. He always wore some layers on, ashamed of his frail body, eager to keep it a secret.

Tomo was the first man to see him bare, to glimpse at his most vulnerable sides. And he was undoubtedly the first man to brush his lips against Kazuha's skin, mouth darting to his chest in a predatory dash. Tomo moved fast, kissing Kazuha everywhere— on his neck, his collarbones, his torso, his stomach, like he was a delicious meal he couldn't get enough of.

Kazuha didn't resist him. He was pliant under Tomo's touch, he took everything the man had to give him and didn't yield on his moans. He called out his name without a fear of being heard, lost in the pleasure— all sensations faded except for the heat spreading from Tomo's mouth as it slowly ran down his body.

Kazuha's breath came to a stop when Tomo's lips ventured too far; they teased his erect member in an explosion of bliss that Kazuha hadn’t thought he would ever get to feel. "Tomo, you don't have to—"

"Shh." Tomo placed a damp kiss on the tip of Kazuha's dick, cutting him short. "Sit back and relax. I'll make sure you feel great."

No sight Kazuha had ever cast his eyes on (not even the prettiest sunrises, or the mysterious night skies) could match the absolute beauty of Tomo at that moment— his lips parted around Kazuha's length, his blonde hair falling messily all over his cheeks, a thin layer of sweat coating his forehead.

"I knew it," Tomo breathed against Kazuha's erection, his tongue drawing teasing circles around the tip. "You taste even sweeter than your lips."

Just one glance, and Kazuha fell in love with him all over again. It took little more than that, merely a few tickling words and the rhythmic strokes of Tomo's tongue and fingers around Kazuha's cock, for the prince to reach his climax, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar heat. Tomo's eyes widened as he came in his mouth, and Kazuha stared in awe when he swallowed each drop of his seed without faltering.

In spite of his complete lack of sexual experience, Kazuha figured that finishing so quickly wasn't the best outcome. Shame built up in his chest, fueled by Tomo's amused smirk around his cock. "I'm—" Kazuha stuttered, "I'm sorry— Gods, I'm—"

"It's alright," Tomo said, reassuringly. He pulled away, sitting up again to hold Kazuha in a comforting embrace. "It can happen, if it's your first time."

Was his inexperience really so obvious? The implication that it wasn't Tomo's first time opened a crack in Kazuha's soul. Part of him was embarrassed about being the only one without a clue how to act, while a voice in his head sighed in relief— because Tomo would certainly know how to handle him.

He didn't have time to choose how to feel, because Tomo was already on the move. His left hand sank in the pocket of his bag, and when it resurfaced, his fingers were closed around a tiny bottle, its content shining in the fleeting sun rays.

It took Kazuha only a blink to understand the purpose of that liquid. In a sudden moment of lucidity, playful teasing rose naturally to his lips. "You had that ready? Were you planning this all along, perhaps?"

Tomo's smug mask didn't crack. "Yes," he admitted without a hint of embarrassment. "I'd be a fool not to jump on you today, after the way we parted last time. Even if, well— I've been carrying this with me for longer than that."

Kazuha's intuition was correct, then. Tomo had been ready for that moment long before they kissed, the desire to make love to him his driving motive from the start, the reason behind the desperate search for privacy.

Maybe he should have been scared. What sort of creep came up with a whole scheme in hopes of having sex with someone they meet sporadically? But in truth, Kazuha was just as desperate, because the thought that Tomo had been having lustful thoughts about him (while he smiled and laughed, completely oblivious) drove him out of his mind.

Tomo uncapped the bottle. He poured salve on the palm of his hand, smearing it over his fingers to coat them thoroughly. Kazuha climbed Tomo's lap, his arms circling the man's shoulders to keep himself steady. Anticipation burned in his veins, his blood tingling with an unknown heat.

Kazuha felt every moment so clearly— the tease of the fingertip against his hole, the light pressure to sink in, and then each knuckle sliding inside of him, his walls parting to welcome Tomo's finger in an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling. It would get better, he told himself. He had to trust Tomo and let him do the right thing. Soon, everything would melt in pleasure.

Another finger joined the first, quickly followed by a third. Tomo moved in circles inside him, stretching him with care, almost in worship. Kazuha couldn't bring himself to watch, deeming himself embarrassed enough by the loud squelching noise echoing all around. He focused his attention on Tomo instead, undressing him while he worked, almost ripping the fabric of his shirt in the eagerness.

How did Tomo manage to be so handsome? Firm muscles, and those countless scars… If Kazuha skin could be compared to porcelain, white and smooth without a flaw, Tomo's was more of a rough canvas, full of stories to tell and secrets to unfold. Kazuha's fingers moved on their own, tracing the path shown by the marks on Tomo's body, trying to imagine their origin. He wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life getting lost in him.

Warm lips caught him by surprise, stealing him away from his fantasies. "Like what you see?" Tomo asked with a breathy laugh.

"You can't begin to imagine how much," Kazuha replied with no hesitation. It was easy to be bold, when he was held in Tomo's embrace. He never thought he'd get to experience true love someday, something he always shied away from. He imagined that, in bed, he would be tense and stiff— he was oddly calm instead, only the slightest nervousness blocking off his throat at the possibility of doing the wrong thing.

Tomo buried his nose in the curve of Kazuha's neck. His teeth sank in the soft flesh; he bit and sucked at his skin with pure will to bruise, to shower Kazuha's fair body in red marks and spots. A drop of blood rolled on Tomo's tongue, and Kazuha had to make his best effort to hold back a louder moan.

"You're too perfect," Tomo whispered against the flutter of Kazuha's pulse.

Kazuha was completely out of breath, his next sentence found him drained of all energies. The echo of his heartbeat was deafening in his ears, throbbing wildly in his chest. "Is that bad?"

"Not at all." Tomo grinned. "It just makes me want to sully you."

Kazuha had never heard a sentence with such deep implications. Blood rushed between his legs at Tomo's words; he arched his back, and felt himself tighten around Tomo's fingers inside of him.

He would have loved to tell Tomo that he was more than welcome to dirty him up, to seize his body and soul in his hands and reshape him anew, if he so wished. He had no chance to, though, for things moved too quickly for him to stay afloat.

Tomo pushed him down until Kazuha's back was pressed against the grass. The green stalks tickled his shoulders as Tomo lifted his legs, placing them over his own shoulders. Kazuha was fully exposed to him now; he could see his hardening dick leaking over his stomach, and Tomo's erection in a dangerous line with his hole.

"Last call, pretty," Tomo said in between huffs. "If you want to stop, now's your chance."

How could he think something so stupid? How could he look at Kazuha's burning cheeks, at the lust shining in his teary eyes, at the way he could barely hold himself together, and think he could not wish to go further with his whole soul?

Kazuha tightened the grip of his legs on Tomo's shoulders, pulling himself closer until the tip of Tomo's cock was pushing at the rim of muscles, just shy of penetrating. "I wouldn't back down even if it killed me."

Tomo chuckled. "What a response… I like you."

"I love you," Kazuha heard himself say. Easily, softly, a whisper straight from his heart.

Tomo bent down to place a tender kiss on his mouth. Kazuha melted against his lips, he met Tomo's tongue with eager movements of his own, he drank up his lover's sweet taste— until Tomo buried himself inside of him, and Kazuha gasped in their kiss.

It hurt. Despite the love, the anticipation, the arousal, it hurt . Kazuha's hands sank in the skin of Tomo's shoulders, nails clawing at his flesh with full force until he felt blood under his fingertips.

"It's okay," Tomo breathed in his ear, gently massaging his hip. "It'll pass. I'm not gonna move until you're calm."

Kazuha didn't expect to cry, to ruin the moment with misplaced tears. "I'm sorry, I—"

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Tomo wiped his tears away, his knuckles caressing Kazuha's cheekbones in a feathery touch. With their bodies pressed tightly together, Kazuha could feel his own cock trapped under Tomo's weight, achingly squeezed between their stomachs.

Kazuha was enjoying that far too much. Being one with the man he loved was dangerously addicting, so much that even the sharp pain in his back felt more than worthy. "I— I love you," he repeated.

"I love you too."

Kazuha did, eventually, calm down. His muscles relaxed, his body adjusted to Tomo's shape inside of him, his breath slowed down. Tomo caught his silent request, picking up all of the hints Kazuha was giving. He placed his hands on the grass and pulled himself back up. "Here I go then, Kazuha."

"Handle me with care," Kazuha muttered. But he would never know whether Tomo kept his promise or not, because he saw stars as soon as Tomo thrust up into him, the mere sensation of being filled sending his brain into overdrive.

As expected, Tomo knew exactly how to move to make him melt. He hit all of his weakest spots, he set up the perfect pace to make Kazuha moan his name out loud, he teased Kazuha's chest and neck with the tip of his fingers. Kazuha was like clay in Tomo's palms, pliable and obedient to his tacit commands, arching his back to match the movements of their hips.

It was a matter of time before Kazuha began thrusting back into the rhythm, adapting to the speed, and urging Tomo to accelerate with each call of his name. The pace started as slow and steady, pounding into Kazuha with sweet strength, but the thrusts grew erratic as Tomo neared his climax.

They kissed as Tomo came, a low grunt trembling in his throat and crashing against Kazuha's mouth. The feeling of Tomo's hot seed spilling inside of him was unexpected and new— it felt right and wrong at the same time, it made Kazuha flush with shame and pride simultaneously. He came again, white strings staining their stomachs.

How long had they been there? Kazuha couldn't tell. Time seemed to have frozen around them, even if for a single, intense moment. Though he had never been a fan of fast-paced things, always rooting for the slowest way to handle life, Kazuha would gladly give up anything in his possession to get a second taste of that crazy ride. And in the afterglow, though his eyes threatened to close, though Tomo was kissing his hair as if to calm him down and say "it's over", Kazuha realized he craved more .

Kazuha's fingers ran to Tomo's chest. They traced the contours of his collarbones, of his muscles, then strayed down to his nipples, testingly circling the sensitive bud. Kazuha lifted his head to kiss Tomo's neck, mimicking what he had done to him before, in a stubborn attempt at drawing a reaction, at making him want to own him one more time.

Luckily, Tomo caught on rather quickly. "Hungry for more?"

"I'm afraid a taste wasn't enough.” Kazuha smirked.

And their worlds collided again.

Kazuha didn't imagine he would lose track of time, fast asleep in Tomo's arms. After the third round, he was left panting on the ground, exhausted, his body instantly falling into deep slumber with no chance to resist.

When he woke up, reality hit him. He had sworn he'd open up his heart to him, that he'd drop his act and tell him about his real identity. Relationships were based on trust, weren't they? There was no honesty in their bond.

If Tomo wasn't looking forward to a complicated relationship with a prince, he had all the rights to stop before things got serious, before they'd fall out of grace. And well, it was late for that, now.

Kazuha glanced to his side, where Tomo was still sleeping, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth and a serene expression on his face. Even the ominous black glow of the wound on his arm seemed to fade next to the bright red marks Kazuha had left on his shoulders.

With the light of the early stars reflecting in his earring and the soft grass framing his face, Tomo was more handsome than ever. Kazuha couldn't believe his selfishness, keeping such a beautiful man for himself. Sure, there were a thousand things he didn't know about him, but their hearts were connected on a deeper level.

Would Tomo accept him for who he was? Kazuha regretted not telling him. Their relationship was too tight to be severed now, at least for him— he couldn't bear to let go. Honesty should have been the path he chose from the very beginning, instead of cowardice.

He looked up at the sky. The moon was high up, a pristine white circle in the darkness, its contours hidden by the milky clouds. Kazuha had no more time to waste in his thoughts. Gorou had agreed to take him out of the castle again, stating he had business to attend to, but he couldn't keep him waiting forever.

Kazuha gathered his scattered clothes and slowly dressed up. His skin was still burning where Tomo's lips had touched him, his heart fluttering in his chest whenever he recalled the events of that day. He had never been so happy in his life, so excited about a new dawn to come just to get closer to the date of their next meeting.

He gave Tomo's lips a soft kiss before leaving. Tomo squirmed in his sleep and grabbed Kazuha by his wrist, begging him to stay. "Sleep with me," he slurred. But no matter how heartbreaking his plea was, or how desperate— Kazuha must go.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he whispered.

He fled in a breathless run, as fast as his sore body allowed him to. King Kaedehara was a patient man, infinitely lenient with the only son still living in his castle, but he wasn't a saint. Kazuha's laxness rendered the king's nerves fragile, and they cracked more and more with each passing day.

He had to hurry. The silhouettes of the buildings blurred in the corner of his eyes, nothing but shadows in the night. Kazuha was terrified of losing his way, of missing the crossroad where he had to turn left, heading to the castle above the city. He allowed himself one deep breath when Gorou's face peeked from a nearby bush, at the lowest end of the slope.

"Kazuha, you—" Gorou promptly attacked him, his voice trembling with anger despite the low volume. "I agreed to cover up for you again, but where the fuck were you?! I almost—"

Teppei stepped in, putting a halt to Gorou's blind rage. "Your Highness, are you hurt? Your neck…"

Only then did Kazuha remember. There's something he should have done, a precautionary measure he should have taken to keep his relationship a secret. Sure, he wasn't late to hide the proof from the maids and the guards, but… Gorou and Teppei had seen .

He shouldn't have acted in a rush. He shouldn't have slept in the first place, actually, letting exhaustion win over his will.

"I, huh, this." Kazuha slapped a hand on his neck to cover the love bite, flushing a bright red. "I can explain—"

He could hear the moment Gorou's heart shattered.

Chapter Text

kazuha

On the dawn of his twentieth birthday, Kazuha was finally bestowed with the honor of meeting Kamisato Ayato in person. Nose-deep in the investigation to catch the thieves who had harmed his pride, the king hardly left his borrowed office, despite Thoma's insistence for him to take a break.

After an entire month, the king seemed willing to have a conversation with his hosts. Kazuha had been summoned individually, perhaps under Thoma's direct suggestion, and he had spent the hours before their appointment trembling with excitement and nervousness.

"So, Your Highness," Ayato addressed him, formally. His voice was just like Kazuha remembered it: clearer than water, tougher than mountains. "I hear you've been sneaking outside the castle, while the king is busy handling his affairs."

Kazuha shot a terrified glance at Thoma. The guard was smiling from the armchair at King Kamisato's side, his eyes shining with reassurance. Was it safe to let him know? Trusting strangers a little too quickly seemed to be a pattern.

"You've heard correctly, Your Majesty," Kazuha bowed politely before heading to his designated place, sitting down to stop his legs from shaking.

Ayato's aura was intimidating, to say the least. Each word that left Kazuha's lips was hanging on a fine line between his wish to earn his respect, and the risk of leaving a bad impression on him. If Kazuha wanted to ask him personal questions, he had to be extremely careful in his approach.

Ayato crossed his legs under the desk, hands pressed together in front of him as he was lost in his thoughts. "Although I don't usually rely on any intelligence that hasn't been thoroughly verified by my informants," he said, "may I be as bold as to ask you a few questions?"

Kazuha gulped, afraid of the possible topic he could raise. "Sure. What do you wish to know, Your Majesty?"

Ayato waved a hand in Thoma's direction, in a secret code. The guard stood up from his seat and disappeared between the stacked bookshelves in the corner of the office. When he returned to them, he placed two yellowed scrolls on the desk, showing them to Kazuha.

Kazuha took the sheets in his hands, watching as they trembled like leaves in his grasp, so tattered they might just shatter with a single breath too close to the paper. The portraits of two wanted bandits greeted him— a man with a homicidal glare, and a fair woman with long dark hair.

"Do either of these faces ring a bell?" Ayato asked. "Maybe you've met them. They could be anywhere— hiding among nobles, among the folk, even the beggars. They're masters at disguising."

Kazuha closed his eyes, trying to remember. He thought about the people he had seen, from the guards patrolling the gardens to the ladies dancing around him on his first day out. Nothing helpful seemed to be buried in his memories, Tomo's face louder than any other. "Not really, Sir."

"This man," Ayato's lacquered nail pointed at the leftmost portrait, "is Scaramouche. Likely a codename, we've caught wind of other aliases he uses. Crimes include fraud, homicide, robbery, and other… gentlemanly things."

Kazuha shivered. No, he definitely doubted he had met someone like that. The crowd he had seen had smiling faces all over, and even the poorest people didn't look that dangerous. Maybe they were nested in the depths of the island, where common souls didn't wander.

"While she," Ayato moved onto the following drawing, "is his companion. She's a former street performer - it's unknown to us how, where, or why they teamed up. We don't even know her name. All that the Shuumatsuban managed to find out is that she's a witch."

Kazuha tilted his head in confusion. "Shuumatsuban?" 

"Our informants," Thoma whispered in his ear, respectfully.

Informants… Kazuha wondered if the Kaedehara family could count on anyone like that as well. He should have imagined that someone as influential as King Kamisato would have a thick network of intelligence at his disposal, with men ready to track down and hunt any possible threat. A single snap of his fingers, and the investigation would begin.

"Criminals are rather active in the lowest layers of the island," Kazuha said. "Are your informants certain these are the bandits you're looking for, and not another group?"

"Absolutely," Ayato confirmed. "The trademark of Scaramouche's group is the kitsune masks. They wear them when they move in broad daylight. Fragments of a black mask were found near the place where Thoma fended off their assault."

Thoma sighed. "I wounded one of them with my fire, but I failed to chase them. This is all the bandit left behind."

He opened a wooden box, showing its contents to Kazuha. Scattered shards of porcelain rested on the blue velvet, an obsidian black with purple decorations. The edges of some were stained red— probably a bloodstain coming from the brawl.

Though Kazuha wasn't there to witness Thoma's fight, he could easily imagine how violent it must have been. He remembered even too well the wound on Tomo's arm, the effect those fire potions had on the skin. If a simple merchant had been injured so badly, then what conditions was the bandit in?

"You should be more careful when using fire around civilians," Kazuha said bitterly.

Ayato glared at him, an indignant spark crossing his eyes. Kazuha knew he was playing a dangerous game. The king had surely caught the implicit accusation of his words, an offense he wouldn't accept lightheartedly.

Not as quick to read between the lines, Thoma blinked. "Nobody usually gets hurt in fights, except for my target. I have great confidence in my skills with a spear, Your Highness."

Kazuha bit down on his lower lip, pensive. After everything he had confessed to Thoma and the secrets he had shared, he couldn't doubt his honesty. But he knew what he had seen: someone working for King Kamisato had hurt an innocent civilian while scaring away the bandits.

It would be legitimate, of course— Kazuha guessed any other nobleman would have done the same to keep his belongings and his troops safe. Kazuha's problem was merely a personal grudge, mostly burning curiosity to know how (and by who) his lover had been wounded.

He couldn't forget the sight. The swollen cut, the blackening skin, the pain that wouldn't fade. Until nothing was left of that but a deep scar, engraved in Tomo's flesh and bone, to join the constellation of marks scattered across his body.

His body… Kazuha's mind returned to the sunset in the dandelion field. The feeling of Tomo's rough skin under his fingertips, the texture of his scars, the warmth of their joined limbs— he averted his gaze, cheeks on fire, suddenly dropping any will to interrogate Thoma further.

"However," Ayato cut in, sliding in between the cracks of Kazuha's awkward silence, "they aren't the only members of the group. Two more bandits have been seen with Scaramouche before, and we believe they're the ones who led the attack to our convoy."

Two more people. "Still information from… the Shuumatsuban, was it?"

Ayato hesitated for a moment, pondering whether or not he should speak, how much of the truth would be wise to reveal. Kazuha was a stranger, after all. If his mind was evil and his soul corrupted, he could treasure and twist any unnecessary information coming from that dialogue.

"No," King Kamisato eventually said, honesty coating his words. "This is insider information."

Kazuha choked on his breath. "You— You have contacts within the criminals of Watatsumi?"

He wasn't an expert in politics and similar matters, for those responsibilities had been shoved upon his eldest brother at birth. But he doubted his father would enjoy knowing the most famous king of the continent had ties with the very core of the filth of his land.

"We do what's necessary," Thoma said. Calmly, frankly, as if they were discussing the weather or other futilities. "Sometimes, a little money tossed the wrong way can be used for a greater good."

Oh, so they had corrupted fellow criminals into selling out their peers? For some reason, Kazuha had imagined King Kamisato as a heroic man, someone who wouldn't get his hands dirty with scum. It was naive of him to believe that the spotless knights who breathed inside his beloved books could exist in real life. "Why don't you have their portraits, then?"

"Information comes at a high price," Ayato explained. "All we could smuggle with our efforts were a few descriptions, and none too useful either. We seize what we can get, and try to make the most out of it."

King Kamisato took his neglected cup of tea in his hands and brought it to his lips, gesturing for Thoma to continue in his stead. The guard sprang up instantly, obedient, and looked through the papers on the table in search of the right files. A few tattered documents with sparse lines of smudged ink, the edges of the sheets ruined by humidity.

"Tell me if any of this sounds familiar, okay?" Thoma said with a practiced smile. "First one, his codename is Tartaglia. A tall man, slender, with bright red hair. It seems he has a higher drive than others, charging onwards like a bull whenever there's a chance to spill blood. We assume he's the one who landed the attack."

Kazuha shivered— Well, no, he didn't meet anyone with bloodlust in his eyes. He would remember otherwise, he would have been frozen in fear on the spot. "You think he's the one you wounded?"

"No, the man I hit came after I had pushed Tartaglia away." Thoma flipped the pages in his hands, jumping to the next report. "Codename unknown, a new member. Nobody in the depths of Watatsumi seems to know a thing about him, except that he's tall and blonde. Quite on the muscular side, it seems."

That was a disappointing lack of information. If that had come at a high price, Kazuha was scared to know how much actual intel would cost. "I can't say this helps me remember," he said, flatly. "But I've seen what your fire potions can do to people, so trust me: he won't attack you for a good while."

"How do you know our potions so well?" Ayato's question came sharper than a knife.

Kazuha took a deep breath. Alright, time to spill the truth. "I rescued a civilian who was hurt in that attack. I treated his wound, and tried to soothe his pain."

His gaze met Ayato's in a long pause, silence stretching into eternity. Countless things ran unsaid between their eyes— mutual accusations and doubt, glacial mistrust. Kazuha didn't doubt the king's intentions and his reliability, but he couldn't forgive the carelessness around his people.

Ayato, on the other hand, seemed suspicious. He studied Kazuha through his cold blue eyes, trying to read his mind, to find out the lies in his speech. For a second, Kazuha wondered if members of the Shuumatsuban would start trailing after him as well, now.

"I assume that's your lover," Ayato said with a solemn nod. "I hope you're aware that rumors have begun to spread inside the castle."

Kazuha's heart dropped heavily in his chest. People knew? But how? He had been careful, always following Gorou or Teppei, making sure nobody else would see him come and go. He hadn't been found outside the walls, his clothes hadn't been noticed, Tomo's face was unknown to anyone else. Just how did that happen?

"Calm down," Ayato ordered with a hint of irritation. "You're the one who's careless, Your Highness. Of course the servant would notice your absence, if you leave so often. I heard your guard has been doing a great job at covering your tracks. Solid excuses back up all of your trips… Which makes it even more suspicious to others."

Kazuha swallowed thickly. "What point are you trying to make, Your Majesty?"

"I hear that life as royalty burdens you immensely," Ayato said. He waited for Kazuha to nod his confirmation before continuing, his expression indecipherable. "And that His Majesty asked you to make a decision concerning your future."

Kazuha shrank in his seat, suddenly feeling threatened. "That's true. The day of my birthday will be the day I'm bound to choose between joining the army or the Church."

"Would you consider giving up your status as a noble, then?" Ayato offered. Thoma chuckled at his side, amused by his crazy proposal. "I could hire you in my ranks, and you would be free. From the rules, the forced isolation, the need to hide to see the man you love."

With Gorou's broken trust towards him, with Teppei's reluctance to follow him as blindly as Gorou did, with the suffocating fear for his own feelings for Tomo… Kazuha was more than willing to seize any help he could get. Especially from someone as powerful as King Kamisato. "I would give it some thought."

"In return, just keep an eye out for these people when you're outside."

ayato

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty!" The maid knelt on the floor, her skirt draping over the marble tiles. She was bowing so deeply, that her forehead brushed against the tip of Ayato's shoes, humbly. "I'm so sorry, I didn't— I was just—"

Ayato sighed, his nerves on the brink of snapping. Under closed eyelids, he tried to recall the mantra his sister had taught him: three deep breaths (let the air in, then push it out), remember the smiles of your loved ones. He had to force calm through his system: he was a guest in the castle, and holding grudges against maids wasn't a smart decision.

"It doesn't matter, get up."

The woman darted on her feet, a terrified look on her face. She swatted dust from her skirt, her gaze flickering nervously around the room. Glass shards lay under their shoes, dangerous dots of light in the darkness. "I'll clean this up, Your Majesty. I'm so sorry."

What a way to make things worse. First, she snuck into his private room to meddle with his things, already a dangerous crime. Then, she accidentally knocked over the fire potions lined up on the shelf. Ayato was seething with anger, his lungs beginning to ache from the poisonous gas he was breathing in.

"Do not fret," he said. "I'll have it cleaned by someone who's trained for this. You can go." Cleaning up a potion from the floor without taking the proper precautions would only create more trouble. The vapor would linger, compromising his belongings.

The maid hesitated a little longer. Only when she met Ayato's gaze did she take the hint, struck by lightning— she picked up her bucket and mop, and disappeared from his sight. Her presence didn't matter, not when Thoma could handle that matter just fine.

Or maybe, he could fix the mess by himself. With his head in the clouds and his nose on his books, Ayato had never been a fan of labor. Ayaka was the sibling who inherited the will to live and explore, to fiddle with things until they were perfect, taking on burdens that wouldn't normally weigh on the shoulders of a princess.

Ayato, on the other hand, relied on Thoma far too much. He relished the way his guard smiled warmly, happy to satisfy his needs and obey his orders. Thoma was more than a soldier and a housekeeper for him: he was a lover first and foremost, the only man who had ever managed to make Ayato's frozen heart flutter.

With a resigned groan, Ayato knelt on the floor. His fingers picked up the glass shards, careful not to cut his skin. He threw them in a messy pile inside a jute bag, faintly noticing the way they glimmered with fire.

Each breath he took sent a scorching wave down his throat, the sting from the vaporized potions flooding his lungs. Nothing he would die of, surely, yet not the most pleasant experience nonetheless.

Being busy allowed him to think, at least, it offered him a few dilated instants of silence— a luxury he could rarely afford. And there were many things to ponder, many issues to consider.

Despite everyone's efforts, investigation on the bandits had reached a dead end. Momoyo had identified the group, Sayu had smuggled some details about them, yet nothing progressed past that point. Plus, the threat of an incoming assault hung heavy above his head.

"The bandits plan to fight back," the bandit they had corrupted had said. "They're pissed that the king hurt their man."

Ayato hadn't questioned his own motives until then. Why did he push things that far? It would take more than a miserable band of scrubs to taint the honor of his kingdom or scrape its prestige. Maybe his mother was right about him when calling him a control freak who couldn't tolerate the faintest offense to his name. She might not be around anymore, but her judgment still simmered inside Ayato's heart.

Something in the prince's tale also seemed off. Ayato had kept close watch on Thoma during his fight with the bandits, and he was sure nobody had been wounded by his spear except for Thoma's target. So, who was the man Kazuha claimed to have rescued? He was too naive to be in cahoots with a bandit, though.

"Oh, King Kamisato, you're here."

How foolish of Ayato to think he was entitled to more than a minute of quiet. He glared at the door, staring at the fellow king as he walked in his room, a sleeve to shield his face from the lingering gas.

"Were you looking for me, King Kaedehara?" Ayato asked, suspicious.

The man took a glimpse of the room. "Have you seen the culprit of this disaster?"

Ayato's gaze snapped back onto the shards, much more interesting than whatever that man had to say. "On the short side, long black hair in a braid. In her twenties, I assume."

King Kaedehara seemed pensive, his mind skimming through his servants' faces to find the person Ayato was describing. "Must have been Momoko. I'll have her punished for this."

"That won't be necessary," Ayato said sharply. "It's not a big deal."

One thing Ayato hated about his fellow royals was the hastiness to resort to punishment, be it corporal or moral. Scoldings, public humiliation, days spent rotting in a humid cell… Every king seemed to think that was the only way to forge loyal subjects. Ayato was different— he rewarded efforts rather than chastising missteps. It worked wonders in building trust.

King Kaedehara failed to hide the offense in his gaze, taken aback by Ayato's blunt reply. It was impolite of him to interfere in the relationship between another king and his servants, but it needed to be done.

Pushed into a corner, King Kaedehara cleared his throat with a loud cough. "That aside, King Kamisato, I cannot allow you to stay here until the air is clean. I shall arrange another room for you."

"Thank you," Ayato said.

Though the conversation was over, King Kaedehara stayed. He watched quietly as Ayato finished his job, collecting shard after shard until they were all resting inside the bag. He watched as Ayato tied it close with the thick cord, mindlessly throwing it on top of the bed. He watched as he stretched out his arms, sore from the unusual effort.

It wasn't hard to imagine why. The habit of wearing one's heart up one's sleeve seemed to run in the family— Kazuha was unable to lie just the same. Almost an endearing similarity, if only Ayato didn't find naivety in kings and princes to be utterly annoying.

And Ayato's work ethic was to curb problems straight from their roots. "Is there anything else you wanted to tell me about?"

"Oh, I—" King Kaedehara stammered, "I have a favor to ask."

What could the ruler of the farthest kingdom want from him? Money was out of the question, political alliances were useless in times of peace. Their cultures were far too different, and Ayato had no heir to offer in marriage, nor anything that could benefit King Kaedehara.

That left only one option open. And Ayato knew — There was a reason he had made that offer to Kazuha, after all. "Let me guess. You wish to put Prince Kazuha in my care."

King Kaedehara's face lit up with obvious embarrassment at his words. Bingo , Ayato thought. 

The king of Watatsumi was famous for his cowardly deeds. His situation was a running joke among other rulers. His son was the only prince in the entire continent who had yet to prove useful, completely overshadowed by his elder brothers. Even his sisters were better off than him. And all King Kaedehara did was watch from the sidelines as his heir ruined his own reputation.

Twenty years of age, and still without a clue what to do with his life… Ayato wondered what King Kaedehara would do if he found out about Kazuha's affair. He might not know what to choose among religion or war, but he surely had a clear mind on how to have fun outside the city walls. The poorly hidden love bite on his neck was proof of it.

"As much as it pains me to say this about my own son," King Kaedehara said, regaining his composure, "it is undeniable that he's a lost cause. I thought the famous and influential King Kamisato could have some… connections, something—"

"All I can offer is jobs for people," Ayato cut him short. "Not for royalty. And if you expect me to place your son on some… distant throne in the east, you've come to the wrong person. However…"

Ayato had one last trick up his sleeve, a double-edged sword he could use to unite his promise to Kazuha with his own advantage. If he could keep the prince close to him, if he could have him under his control, then he would find out if he truly was lying— if his lover was none other than the bandit he wanted to arrest. And King Kaedehara would owe him a favor.

"I could hire him," Ayato offered. "He would lose his title of Prince of Watatsumi and turn into one of my men. I promise you he'd be treated with the highest regards, with more mercy than military life could ever show him."

The color of King Kaedehara's cheeks shifted from the red of shame to the red of anger.  "Are you asking my son to give up his pride and become your lackey?" he growled, almost frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog.

What a pitiful sight. It seemed Kazuha wasn't the only one in need of a life lesson. "Your son is the third prince. He won't see a throne, he won't see a land— only a sword, if he so chooses, or the cold halls of a church on the Queen's feud."

"That's—" King Kaedehara stopped, trembling. He stopped because Ayato was perfectly correct: Kazuha had no way out. He wouldn't pick. He would delay the moment of truth until the very last second and then let his father choose (or elope with his lover, in the worst case). 

Working for Ayato might have been humiliating, yet it was certainly better than rotting in some dusty old shrine. "I suggest you consider my offer while I'm here," he said. He headed outside, where Thoma was waiting for him, ready to escort him to his new room. "If I were you, I'd spare myself the pitiful show of your son losing face in front of every other king."

"That is, unless I can arrange a marriage."

Ayato halted in his steps, his gaze meeting Thoma's tense face. "That is also a possibility, yes."

"King  Kamisato," King Kaedehara hissed, "Watatsumi might not be the richest kingdom, nor the best one, but its king isn't a coward." With these words, he stormed off past them, disappearing behind the corner.

Finally free from his presence, Ayato sighed. "You should remind me not to make promises I can't keep, Thoma."

"You tried, Your Majesty," Thoma whispered.

Maybe it wasn't meant to be. At that point, the best thing he could hope for was for his suspicion to be correct: if the man Kazuha loved was a bandit, then he would be in jail soon, arrested by Ayato himself.

Kazuha would be left without a lover, only a faint heartache that he'd drag into his arranged marriage. No problems to be seen, at least on paper— though reality was always very different from theory.

"And please, my dear, fetch me some tea before I lose my mind."

Chapter Text

kazuha

"What's so special about the twentieth birthday, anyway?"

Gorou's fingers moved skillfully around Kazuha's neck as he tied the cloth in place. His lips pressed together, his pulse fluttering in his throat— Kazuha could hear the guard's shaky breaths, echoing his own. "I don't know, Your Highness."

"I don't remember us ever hosting a birthday celebration this huge."

It was a rhetorical question, obviously, because they both knew the answer. None of his siblings had reached that age while still living in the castle, all moving out way before their twentieth birthday. And also, that was a special occasion. A date neither of them would ever forget.

Kazuha was supposed to declare what he had chosen for his future. And if he didn't, his father would take his fate into his hands, and doom him to whatever destiny he deemed good for him.

Any option meant saying goodbye to Tomo, goodbye to Watatsumi. Kazuha had disregarded the matter entirely, losing himself in the trail of useless fantasies to push the harsh reality as far as possible.

A nervous silence fell over them. Gorou finished dressing Kazuha up, buttoning his shirt up to the collar. It was suffocating, and Kazuha wanted to squirm out of his clothes already— he couldn't. He'd better get used to being chained, anyway, since that was going to be the new direction of his life.

Kazuha leaned against Gorou, his head finding its place at the base of his neck. And even though things had been tense between them, in such an important moment Gorou couldn't help but hug him back, in wordless support.

"Gorou," Kazuha whispered, a breath away from crying, "where do you think I will end up?"

Gorou sighed deeply, his chest trembling against Kazuha's frame. "If I were to choose, I'd prefer it if you went for the army," he said. "Princes are treated better than regular soldiers. Sure, war is always horrible and scarring, but I'd— I'd prefer to—"

Their gazes met. Never before had Gorou been so close to shattering, his reddened eyes full of tears he was desperately trying to hold back. Kazuha didn't need him to finish his sentence, he could fill in the gaps in his thoughts just fine.

"You would prefer to die young but with honor, rather than rotting between the walls of a shrine, repeating the same rituals every day," Kazuha said.

Gorou nodded heavily. That's how reality was— as brutal as it might be, Kazuha's entire fate rested between those equally unfortunate outcomes. "What do you plan to do with Tomo?"

And of course, there came the hard question, the one other decision Kazuha had chosen to postpone until it was too late. His legs crossed on the stool in the center of his bedroom, he clasped his hands together in his lap, looking away from Gorou's piercing gaze. "I don't have a plan yet."

"I figured." The complete lack of surprise in Gorou's voice was almost offensive. "No matter what your father chooses, you will move away from the castle, so you won't see him again. Didn't you think about that?"

In all honesty, Kazuha didn't. The approaching date of his birthday, the pressing matters that had kept him awake for nights on end— they had slowly faded to the sidelines in his mind, replaced by more intense memories to make. Kissing, and how to make love to someone.

Kazuha had been focused in the moment, too busy remembering how much he was or was not allowed to tell Tomo, how many scraps of his identity he could let seep through the fake persona he had created, to make plans about a distant future. And now the future had caught up to him, turning into a scary present he wasn't ready for. "I was thinking we could just elope."

"And go where?" Gorou asked flatly.

Kazuha shrugged. "I don't know? Narukami, Seirai, Tsurumi… Anywhere would work."

Gorou began working on Kazuha's hair. He combed through his locks with the brush, his usual gentleness gone, replaced by snappy movements of pure anger. "Did you ask him if he'd be willing to follow? If he isn't, then you're throwing your life away by letting your father choose for you."

Guilty irritation built up in Kazuha's stomach. No, he hadn't asked. He couldn't, not without telling him the truth. What son of a tailor was tied to an arranged marriage, after all? And even assuming that was a believable lie, how could Kazuha muster the courage to come forward with such a bold question, when he was too weak to ask Tomo about the very basics, like his feelings about their love story?

"I didn't," Kazuha said. He squeezed his palms together until his knuckles turned white, trying to resist the pain of Gorou's cruel brushings without tearing up. "He doesn't know I'm the prince, remember? He thinks I'm the cute, spoiled son of a tailor."

Pouring his frustration on Kazuha's hair, Gorou gave it a stronger tug as he pulled it up in a tight ponytail. A pained gasp escaped Kazuha's lips. "Then maybe you should have toughened up sooner, Kazuha. You should have either confronted your father with honesty, or confessed your true identity to Tomo."

What ? They had revised the plan together. They had refined the details of Kazuha's fake identity, and Gorou had helped him cover up his absence. Why was he suddenly being accused for following his orders? Gorou himself had been insistent on protecting his secret.

"Gorou, you're—" All blood rushed to Kazuha's head. "You're the one who suggested I'd—"

Someone knocked at the door, each bang against the wood echoing loudly through the bedroom. Kazuha and Gorou turned their heads to face the newcomer, meeting Teppei's pale cheeks as he peeked from the entrance.

"Are you ok?" Teppei asked, his voice a faint whisper. "Everyone can hear you screaming."

"We're good." Gorou inhaled sharply, calming his nerves with practiced ease. "Sorry for startling you."

Teppei stayed at the door, unsure whether to believe his words or not. Kazuha imagined how they might look from the outside— the prince, cheeks red with fury, sitting stiff on his stool while his personal guard combed his hair with the gentleness of a brute.

No wonder Teppei didn't trust Gorou on that. Kazuha wouldn't leave either, knowing the two people inside the room might jump at each other's throat as soon as he turned the corner.

"If you need something, I—"

"We're good, Teppei," Gorou snapped. "Now go, please."

Teppei left, closing the door behind his back. Silence returned upon them, tense and packed with unsaid words. There was so much they could tell each other when anger still simmered in their blood, when their bond had been hurt by Kazuha's unwise decisions one time too much. But they were incredibly good at fixing issues— they would mend their friendship, someday. Perhaps by sweeping the uncomfortable truths under the carpet.

"Listen," Gorou spoke again, this time softer. "Don't tell him that you're the prince. Just ask him to elope with you, and that's it. Abusive family, unsupportive siblings— I don't know, make something up."

Kazuha considered the suggestion for a moment. He pictured himself, running towards Tomo on the beach where they had first kissed, asking him to leave behind his back everything he held dear in Watatsumi, only to follow him into the unknown.

It was reckless, and full of risks. More risks than advantages, actually— it would require Tomo's love to be unconditional and strong. "He's a merchant. He likely has a business started here. Do you think he'd accept?" 

"I thought we agreed he's lying about that." 

Kazuha pressed his lips together. True, there was that. For all he knew, Tomo's secret might be even bigger than his. What if he had a wife somewhere, or if he wasn't a good person after all?

"Codename unknown, a new member." For a single, foolish second, Thoma's words echoed in his mind. "Nobody in the depths of Watatsumi seems to know a thing about him, except that he's tall and blonde. Quite on the muscular side, it seems."

No, that was absurd. It couldn't be him, not his sweet Tomo. Not a bandit.

Gorou slid a hairpin through Kazuha's hair, blocking it near the start of his ponytail. Maple leaves shone near a bright red gem, the symbol of the Kaedehara family. "Anyway," Gorou said, "it's worth trying, if anything. If Tomo rejects you, your heart will be broken… But accepting your father's decision to move far from Watatsumi would become easier."

"I'll ask him next time I meet him," Kazuha agreed.

He stood up, checking his appearance in the foggy mirror in front of him. Though he wasn't a fan of overly embellished outfits, despising the laces and frills typical of the richest clothes, he had to admit the red suit fit him rather well. He looked purer than he actually was, with his hidden life outside the walls.

When he turned around, Gorou was staring at him, an indecipherable light crossing his eyes. Was something out of place? Kazuha couldn't see his back, but he trusted Gorou's work enough to be certain there were no wrinkles or loose ties. "What is it?"

"You're gorgeous," Gorou said.

Kazuha's cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "I— Thank you."

The Gorou he knew would now blush in return, then cough to clear his throat, and make up an excuse for the compliment that had slipped past his lips. "It's not what you think," he would say. "I mean the suit— it looks good on you. Not that you're— But also, yes, you're— Ah, nevermind." Gorou was adorable with his poorly hidden crush, and his feelings had been Kazuha's selfish flattery for years. 

Strangely enough, Gorou did none of that. He merely gave Kazuha a friendly pat on the shoulder, before picking up his weapon from the wooden floor and heading towards the door. "Let's go, Your Highness. We're late."

When Gorou walked past him, Kazuha couldn't help but notice a purpleish bruise on his neck. His mind ran wild, scenarios floating in his head to guess its source. Was it an injury from his training, or something much different? Was that the reason behind his disappearances? Did he have a lover too?

Kazuha wanted to ask him questions, to inquire about his personal life. They had shared every single moment of most of their lives, after all, and Gorou had never developed feelings for anyone that wasn't Kazuha. Was it selfish of him to demand to know the identity of that stranger, at the very least? To know who would be taking care of his best friend's neglected feelings?

Maybe not— But he had no right to. Kazuha kept quiet, watching Gorou precede him, letting him lead the way to the main hall while following his confident steps. A bad feeling washed over him like a tidal wave.

The castle was exceptionally beautiful that night, decorated up to the farthest corner of the building, not an inch left in the dark or barren. Imported flowers spread their pleasant scent in the narrow corridors and shaped the atmosphere of the main hall, turning it into a scene straight from a romance novel.

On any other day, Kazuha would have loved to roam the castle as it was, dragging Gorou from basket to basket to smell each plant, to stare at every hand-sewn garland and tablecloth. It was fun when he wasn't at the center of everyone's attention, when all the spotlight was cast over his siblings, his father, or their current guest.

But well… Today, he was the protagonist. It was his twentieth birthday, the most important moment in a life of procrastination and (thanks to the additional charming presence of King Kamisato) dozens of important princes and dukes had flocked to Watatsumi like bears looking for honey.

Kazuha was forced to sit next to his father in the throne room, spending the afternoon watching as the servants of each guest brought gifts for him. Maids and diplomats rolled in and out of the room, queueing up on the red carpet, carrying boxes and chests like courses at a banquet.

Precious silks from abroad, antiques from Narukami, imported fine wine from Ritou's market— Kazuha received every guest with a polite smile, thanking them profusely for their presents, pretending he was at his happiest. Nobody believed him, because nobody expected him to speak the truth. It was clear to everyone that the birthdays of royalty were mere formalities and a way to earn their favor.

The only, brief moment of genuine amusement came when Her Excellency in person strolled in, her shrine maidens carrying rare and precious pearls from the depths of the sea. She gave Gorou a teasing smile and a wink, and Kazuha couldn't help but giggle at his flustered reaction— he groaned and looked the other way, pretending he hadn't even seen her.

The reception was huge, the banquet long and dragged out, the food more delicious than it had ever been. King Kaedehara had spared no effort on that celebration, uncapping all his best wine bottles, offering the finest products in his cellar. He knew the importance of that day, and he wanted to forbid everyone from forgetting, not even for a second.

While they ate, his father filling in the dots of silence between courses with idle chatter, Kazuha stared at his plate with an empty mind. Gorou wasn't nearby, sitting at the table with the other soldiers and guards, but his gaze was on the prince for the whole night. It was enough for Kazuha. It helped him get through the pain of that noisy world, and survive the nightmare of social interactions.

Until it was time for the toast. His father gave a speech, and were Kazuha a better son, he would have likely listened. The king sang Kazuha's praises, empty words with no real meaning. He called him gentle, artistic, and obedient, and those were the only fragments that Kazuha's ears grasped, flooded by hundreds of other lies.

And then, the moment came.

"So, Prince Kazuha," Lord Kaedehara said, formally. "Have you come to a decision?"

All gazes landed on the prince. Kazuha shrank on his chair, wishing he could turn into a bug and crawl out of that room, out of that castle, and jump into Tomo's warm embrace far away in the city.

Just say the army, Kazuha, he told himself. Or choose the Church of Baal, if you're scared. You will flee either way, so just pick.

"Your Highness," his father urged.

Kazuha cracked under the pressure. Anyway, why did it matter? He had different plans. The decision didn't matter at all— if he was to be sent away, he would escape during the journey. With Tomo, hopefully. "I haven't."

A soft noise rose from the crowd. Kazuha didn't have to listen to imagine what they were saying; probably mean comments about his status of a failure, about his inability to make any decision, forever a puppet in his father's hands.

And from the king— well, Kazuha expected a wide range of reactions. He could be angry at him for the public embarrassment, or disappointed in his reluctance to grasp even the final chance he had been given. Perhaps he could be sad, knowing he was about to doom him to a miserable future.

But when the man laughed, Kazuha's heart shattered with a bad omen.

"I'm delighted," King Kaedehara said.  "I have arranged a better option for you."

A better option? Kazuha shot a panicked glance at Ayato, and he was surprised to see the king's face being just as tense. He looked over at Thoma, hopeful— but the guard shook his head, almost apologetically.

Kazuha felt each second stretch, he felt his chest on the brink of exploding. Then, the verdict came.

"You're going to marry a princess I carefully chose for you," King Kaedehara declared, "before moving to her kingdom."

Kazuha forgot how to breathe. A marriage wasn't expected— a marriage had too many unknown factors he hadn't considered. His heart had been torn between two outcomes: running away with Tomo, or suffering alone to a quick death or a slow torture. With that sudden turn of events, the first option was the only one that he desperately wanted.

He heard Gorou jump to his feet from a distance, and someone (probably Teppei) trying to keep him in place. Kazuha gulped, swallowing the knot in his throat. "Who is this princess?"

"She's here." King Kaedehara gestured to the table on the right side. A blonde woman walked towards them, her long pale legs wrapped in a checkered red fabric. Her light eyes shone with an eerie light, and the air seemed to burn around her. "Princess Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter."

The world began to spin. Kazuha barely noticed the woman approaching him, he vaguely registered the touch of her hand as she introduced herself. The guests came closer to congratulate him, Thoma whispered some confused words in his ear, and King Kamisato mumbled something about escaping.

Kazuha saw nothing of that, heard nothing of that.

Wherever he looked, he saw Tomo's face— he felt the touch of his hair under his fingers, he saw the purple hue of his eyes, the blond of his hair, the warmth of his body. He was in the people he met, in the sounds he heard, in the voices ringing loudly in his ears.

He couldn't take it anymore.

He fled, dashing to his room with a broken heart. Nobody followed him— not even Gorou, swallowed by the crowd cheering for the newly announced marriage.

And maybe, Kazuha was lucky that things went that way.

He woke up later that night, startled by a distant noise. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, squinting in the darkness to remember who he was, and where he had ended up. He had fallen asleep on the floor of his room, in the corner where he had curled up to cry.

"What do you mean he's not there?!"

A scream tore the silence of the castle. Kazuha stood up on his wobbly legs, his ponytail coming undone as he moved. His fist clenched around the hairpin, and he tossed it away, far from his sight— he didn't want to see a reminder of his family's name now.

A wife. He would soon have a wife, and gods knew how hard it would be to escape her escort while they were traveling, or her castle once he had moved. If he wanted to run away, he had to be quick, which meant he had to tell Tomo all the truth as soon as possible. But how to meet him out of their scheduled dates, if he didn't know where he lived?

"I said he's not here! The bed is empty, boss!"

Again the voices outside. Kazuha took a few hesitant steps towards the door, wondering who could be making such a noise in the dead of night. Servants slept in their quarters far from the main court, and the guards weren't drunk enough to yell last time he had seen them. Maybe some of the guests had gone a little overboard with the drinks?

"The maid said he was there, so make sure you keep your eyes peeled, Tartaglia."

"I said he's not here!"

Tartaglia… Where had Kazuha heard that name before? It rang a bell, but his brain was still too hazy from sleep to focus. He rested his ear against the wooden surface of the door, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Whoever those people were, they weren't far from his room, running back and forth in the corridor.

"Then where the fuck could he be?!" the first man yelled. "I don't think they play hide and seek with King Kamisato, you—"

King Kamisato? Were those his servants? Kazuha had caught wind of his new accommodation; he had been transferred to another room after a maid accidentally knocked over a fire potion. He figured all of his attendants knew, but apparently… Kazuha seized the handle, ready to open the door and inform them of Ayato's current location.

"So, what's the plan?" A female voice cut in. "I didn't infiltrate this castle pretending I wanted to marry some rich weeny kid just for you to mess everything up, Scaramouche."

Scaramouche . Kazuha jumped away from the door as if stung, reality hitting him like a slap. Those weren't Ayato's servants— they were bandits, those bandits, and they had come for revenge. What did they plan to do with King Kamisato? Would they kidnap him, or kill him? No matter what, he had to call help.

"I'm not messing shit up, Signora," Scaramouche yelled back.

"Can you both be quiet? We're gonna wake everyone up."

Scaramouche's laugh reeked of evilness, a cruel sound Kazuha had never heard before. "Who's supposed to wake up? We knocked down all the guards, you idiot."

Kazuha's mind instantly ran to Gorou. It was his shift, he was supposed to keep watch over his door through the night. Where was he? He could only hope that he was safe. But with his only reliable helper gone, who could he count on to warn Ayato of the incoming danger?

"What do we do?" Signora asked. "We have no idea where King Kamisato is, and we have an hour till the servants come in for the morning. What—"

"You know what? Let's just kidnap someone else," Scaramouche snapped.

"And who?"

"There are a ton of guests here, all equally rich," Scaramouche explained. "Crash into a random room, kidnap whoever the fuck you want, and we'll ask for ransom. Go for it, have the honor."

"Why me?!"

Kazuha's heart ceased beating. He stepped away from the door, instinctively running up to the closest window. A little jump would take him to the gardens, from where he could possibly reach Ayato before the intruders could harm anyone.

"Consider it some sort of late initiation."

There was a muffled response that Kazuha couldn't hear, then footsteps growing distant. With panic flooding his mind, he opened the window, the cold breeze of the night hitting his face like a stab. The wind carried the scent of water and salt, along with an unsettling silence.

He stepped on the window frame, a hand on the wall to keep his balance. The second floor was higher up than he thought, and there were no tree branches in sight for him to jump on. He'd have to risk it all, to jump down and pray for the best— though he wasn't the best at praying.

"Okay, here I go," he told himself in a soft whisper. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to force calm through his system. "The fall won't kill me. One, two, three—"

A loud crash came from his back. Kazuha jolted in surprise, losing his balance, and the wind was all he could hear and feel for the longest moment. There, now that would kill him. There was no way to avoid death when he was falling head first, when the ground was growing closer, and— A hand grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back inside the room with bruising strength.

Kazuha fell on the floor, breathing fast, his entire body trembling in fear. Oh gods, he had almost died. How was he even alive? But the answer was clear once he lifted his gaze: the man before him wasn't a savior. He was one of the bandits, his face hidden by a black kitsune mask glowing eerily in the dark.

"Trying to run away?" the man said, mockingly. "Sorry, sweetheart, it won't work."

Kazuha's world spun black.

Because despite the mask, despite the outfit, despite the unfamiliar tone in his voice— there were no doubts. He's tall and blonde. Quite on the muscular side.

That man was Tomo.

"Wait, I—" It's me , he wanted to say. No words came out of his mouth, his throat sore and blocked by a distant terror.

Tomo didn't give him time to elaborate. He pulled him by his hair, forcing him up on his feet. Kazuha whimpered, sharp pain spreading through his body like cold needles, with a violence he couldn't believe possible coming from a man so sweet.

"Now be quiet and let me tie you up," Tomo instructed, "Or I'll have to use… other methods."

His grip still strong on Kazuha's hair, Tomo moved behind him, his free hand searching his bag for rope. Kazuha squirmed, trying to break free from his grasp— in response, Tomo circled his frame with his arm, blocking Kazuha in place against his chest.

"I—"

"I said shut up," Tomo growled. 

How could he not recognize him? Kazuha writhed under his grip, trying hard to move closer to the pale light of the candle, to show Tomo his face. It was a vain effort, because whenever he raised a finger or tugged at Tomo's arm, he was met with fierce resistance.

Then, when the rough texture of the rope scraped against his wrists, Kazuha realized. He had wasted so much time wondering how the moment of truth would go, what words he would choose to tell Tomo about his real identity. Well, there was no time for preparations or rehearsal: he had to do it, and quickly.

"Let me go," he begged. "Tomo, please, it's—"

"How do you know my name?"

"I'm Kazuha."

With a strong pull at his wrist, Tomo forced him to turn around. Through the thick mask he wore, their eyes met— it was the purple hue Kazuha knew so well, yet twisted with a lifeless light, a deadpan expression he didn't recognize.

Silence fell heavy as they both pieced everything together.

Tomo wasn't a merchant, he was a bandit. And when he had rescued him, treating his wound at the cave, he had unknowingly helped Thoma's assailant. He had doubted the Kamisato family's morals, and even fought against Gorou and his intuition, when he was the one who had misunderstood things from the beginning. 

"So, it was you all along," Tomo said in a breathy voice.

His hands now free, Kazuha averted his gaze. "I'm sorry for—"

"I knew there was something weird with you." Tomo didn't let him finish. "Your clothes weren't rich, but you changed them too often for it to be believable. And your name— gods, I can't believe I let you go with the excuse of your parents being fans of the prince. Nobody cares about him."

Those words hurt more than expected coming from his lips. Tomo seemed to care about Kazuha, and a lot, judging from what they had done. Kazuha was enraged for the lie he was told, but how to forget his conscience was just as dirty? Their bond had been built on pillars of sand— and the dirtiest, wettest sand of the swamp, at that.

"People told me you could be a bandit," Kazuha said. "I refused to believe them. Because you seemed to love me so deeply, and I—"

"How did you fall for it?" Tomo's voice wasn't mocking. His hand reached for Kazuha's wrist once more, this time in a caress instead of a fierce grasp. "It was obvious I was the target of King Kamisato's guard. Why else would I be wounded like that?"

Kazuha knew. He was painfully aware of how stupid he had been. He was gullible, and trusted his heart too much. Tomo had shown him such a sweet side, so in his mind there was no way he could be evil. He had forgotten how many layers people's personalities could have.

"I love you," Kazuha said. It wasn't different from admitting defeat.

Another crash, and the door came down completely, shattering in a million pieces on the floor. The first noises rose from the lower floors, the servants waking up because of the mess. When Kazuha lifted his gaze on the door, a man with a purple kitsune mask was standing in the way.

"Can you hurry the fuck up?"

Tomo groaned. "Coming."

There was no time to talk. Kazuha clenched his fists, waiting for the intruder to disappear in the darkness of the corridor before talking. "You didn't find King Kamisato, so you're here to kidnap me instead?"

"We didn't come for you," Tomo said.

Kazuha wondered if, maybe, he could convince Tomo to leave without taking hostages. Maybe it wouldn't have to be him , he could let any of his comrades dirty their hands, because Tomo ( his Tomo) would never harm him. And maybe, that could be his chance to ask him about his plans. They could escape together, to be free from noble life and banditry at the same time. "Listen, I want to ask you—"

"I'm sorry, prince."

"What are you—"

Tomo cast his mask aside for a single second, the time of a quick peck. Their lips met with familiar warmth, yet the emotions Tomo wore on his tongue were different, unknown to Kazuha, and anything but reassuring. Kazuha leaned into the kiss anyway, chasing the love he knew so well.

A pair of strong hands lifted Kazuha by his waist, his stomach meeting Tomo's shoulder with a harsh impact. "Put me down—"

"Sorry," Tomo said plainly. "It's just work."

Captured by Tomo's brute force, Kazuha had no way out. All he could do was stare powerlessly as the world sped up around him, as Tomo carried him out of the castle like a sack of potatoes.

They left the corridors behind them, then hall after hall— the darkness of the highest floor turned into the pale light of the candlelit entrance, and then all colors were swallowed again by the pitch-black night outside. Servants swarmed around them, spears clattered in the distance as the guards armed up, yet nobody got in their path.

"You got one?" Tartaglia asked, crawling out of a bush near the gate.

Tomo nodded. "Yeah, I got the prince."

The last thing Kazuha saw before the castle vanished over the horizon was Thoma's spear shining in the streetlights. The shadow of a man appeared behind him— Scaramouche hit him swiftly in the back of his neck, and Thoma's body collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"That's for trying to lure us out," Scaramouche spat. "Don't mess with rats unless you want to get bitten."

Chapter Text

tomo

Tomo had seen Kazuha bare. He had touched his smooth skin, scattered bruises all over his body, and tasted the sweet flavor of his neck. But seeing him in that situation, tied up at the back of the hideout, wearing nothing but his torn nightgown, was heart-wrenching.

Regret swelled in his heart. Betraying the trust of the man he loved was a new low for Tomo, an abyss of cowardice he had no hope of crawling back out of. His fear of Kunikuzushi's cruelty had overcome him at the wrong time, clouding up his mind and speaking over his feelings.

And now, Tomo was forced to watch. Powerless, weak, his only power was the authority to stop Ajax from taking things too far. He had to stare as Ajax toyed with Kazuha, as he smiled with perverted amusement every time the prince flinched.

The blade of Ajax's knife traveled down Kazuha's arms. It scratched his skin, it sank into soft flesh when the prince wasn't expecting it, it lingered on the flutter of his pulse in a silent threat. Kazuha was shaking like a leaf in the wind ever since he had been brought there, fearing he might die at any given moment.

When they had reached the cave, Kazuha had glanced at the bandits around him with the rawest terror Tomo had ever seen. Not even the people he had killed had looked at him with such wide, wet eyes. Kazuha wasn't just a prisoner— he had lost the only person he could trust. He had been stripped of all his certainties in a single night.

Ajax moved the knife under Kazuha's chin. He pushed his head upwards  to stare at his face in the dim light of the candle. "Hey, you're pretty," he said. If he recognized him from the day he had caught him kissing Tomo, Ajax sure pretended he didn't.

There were dozens of rooms in the castle, with countless nobles sleeping soundly in their fancy warm beds. Upon discovering Kazuha's identity, Tomo should have left to find someone else to kidnap, sparing his lover from an awful future. Instead, he had chosen to ruin his life.

Because when he found out about Kazuha's lies, rage began coursing through his blood. Tomo wasn't angry at the lack of honesty itself, no— his conscience was far too guilty for that. He was angry because a prince and a bandit would never work as a couple, there would be no place in the world for them. And maybe, for the briefest moment, Tomo doubted the sincerity of Kazuha's love.

"Don't ruin the merch," Tomo hissed.

Ajax snorted. He sheathed his knife, obedient, though the dangerous glimmer in his eyes didn't fade. "Seems it's not that valuable, anyway." And sadly enough, Tomo had to agree.

Once Kazuha had been tossed on the pavement of their hideout, his clothes ripped off his body until he was one layer away from being naked, Kunikuzushi had a message delivered to the king.

A letter composed of cut-out letters from newspapers asked for a ransom and a public apology from King Kamisato. It was an offense, a real affront. It was Kunikuzushi's way to deal with things.

A messenger came all the way to the depths of Watatsumi, escorted by a group of shady individuals. They wore masks similar to the bandits', carefully hiding their identity from the criminals gathered in the slums. Tomo assumed they were King Kamisato's informers, or something of the sort.

The answer from the king was a harsh no. An additional threat served only the purpose of fueling Kunikuzushi's anger further. "Forget about seeing a penny," the messenger had read out. "We shall hunt you down, free the prince, and make sure you pay with your lives."

As soon as he had finished speaking, the messenger had fallen to his knees, coughing up blood. Kunikuzushi's sword pierced his abdomen, granting him a fast yet painful death. "Report this to the king," he told the informers.

So, the bandits had rushed to form a new plan. Now that their location was known, they had to beat King Kamisato to the punch if they wished to survive the week. Rosalyne would keep up her act, posing as Kazuha's fiancée, using her charm to draw information out of the king's lips. Meanwhile, she would roam the castle in search of secret passageways, and sidetrack King Kamisato's investigation as much as she could.

Hidden in the cave, Ajax and Tomo would interrogate Kazuha. They were allowed to use any method except killing him, and Ajax couldn't be happier about the freedom he had been granted. He'd play with the prince until he'd reveal some details about King Kamisato, his routine, his hobbies, the men at his side.

At first, Kunikuzushi wanted to redeem his lost pride by kidnapping King Kamisato and asking for a large sum of money. But now, he craved Ayato's head on a silver platter. And he wouldn't stop until he'd personally been the one to slit the king’s throat.

Tomo had learned how to deal with pain. Injuries didn't scare him, death wasn't a thought that kept him up at night. Yet, nothing had ever hurt more than the feeling of Kazuha's heartbroken glare over his body.

Three days after the kidnapping, Tomo had reached his limit. There was only so much he could tolerate while keeping quiet, and his nerves had been on the verge of cracking more than just a couple times.

Ajax had been playing with his knife again. He drew shapes on the surface of Kazuha's arm, giving him eerie tattoos made of scratches. Tomo watched from a distance as Ajax pretended to lose control of the blade and pierced Kazuha's flesh until blood poured out of the wound, dripping on the ground as the prince groaned in pain.

That was too much. Tomo had sprung up to his feet, leaving the cave in a hurry in search of the leader. He found him on the cliff, sitting on a pink seashell with his head low. When Tomo approached him, he saw him fiddling with his mask, repairing the holes as best as he could.

"What do you want?" Kunikuzushi didn't even try to conceal his annoyance.

Tomo took a deep breath. No matter the sheer terror flooding his lungs whenever that man was near, he had to be brave. For Kazuha. To atone for his mistakes. "Why are you taking this whole thing so far?"

"What do you mean, Tomo?" Kunikuzushi snarled. "That bastard king threatened to kill us. What do you expect me to do? Let him murder my men like rats?"

Tomo crossed his arms over his chest, nervous. He inhaled sharply— air in, air out. He could do it. "He threatened us because we tried to kidnap him, and we knocked out his loyal guard. I know we did that because he was trying to chase us out, but…"

"But?"

"Couldn't we just… have fled somewhere else?" Tomo didn't realize the consequences of his questions until it was too late. He had forgotten for a moment about Kunikuzushi's true nature, about the irrational pride he held close to his heart and the lengths he was willing to go to remind the world he was powerful and cruel.

"You know what, Tomo?" Kunikuzushi's piercing gaze pinned Tomo to the ground, freezing him on the spot. "You've been weird since we kidnapped the prince. I have no clue what's going on in your head, but I won't allow my subordinates to become weaklings."

Tomo gulped. He should have never confronted him. As soon as the faintest hint of fear would shine in his eyes, Kunikuzushi would jump on the opportunity like a starving predator. "What do you mean?"

"You have a choice," Kunikuzushi said. "Either you take Ajax's spot and start torturing the prince yourself, or I kick you out of the group."

The ominous tone in his voice spread a cold shiver down Tomo's frame. He wondered whether he meant he'd kill him, or if he'd seriously be happy just forcing him to leave. He didn't want to risk— what could he do for Kazuha if he was dead, rotting in the stale waters of the slums?

"I'll sharpen my knife," he said, flatly.

Tomo might not be the best person in the world. He couldn't erase his past, the lives he had taken, the goods he had stolen. They lingered inside his soul, they kept him company in the night and reminded him of his inner demon whenever he gazed too deep in the darkness of the moonless sky.

Yet, Tomo had never been cruel. If he had hurt others, it had been out of necessity. To survive the streets when he was a child, to make sure he'd have a place to stay in his travels, to be kept at Kunikuzushi's side instead of starving on his own.

What to do when Kazuha glanced up at him that way, with anger and hurt burning in his red eyes, the mere sight of his face blowing holes in Tomo's heart? He tried his hardest to play his role. He had to be mean, evil, to force Kazuha to break down and talk.

If Kunikuzushi's guard wasn't up, if he was granted even a minute of privacy in that cave, Tomo would use other approaches. He would kiss Kazuha, maybe, he would convince him with tenderness and love to make the right choice and be free. He couldn't, though. The only things he was allowed to use were his knife and his sharp tongue.

He couldn't risk exposing their relationship to the leader's eyes. Gods knew what he would do with them if he learned about what had happened behind his back all along. Kazuha seemed to understand that too, keeping quiet, staring at Tomo like he was his worst enemy. And Tomo wondered where the line between pretense and truth lay.

"So, it seems they've abandoned you here, pretty," Tomo said. He twisted the knife in his hands, watching the candlelight reflect in its blade in a dance of colors.

Kazuha kept his head low, staring at the cave floor, occasionally lifting his chin to shoot an accusatory glare at Tomo. "Don't call me that. Actually, kindly refrain from talking to me altogether."

Tomo felt a sharp stab in his chest. But he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, going ahead with the grand scheme. "If you want your freedom again, little bird," he teased the hollow of Kazuha's neck with the tip of his blade, "All you have to do is answer my questions."

"I refuse." Kazuha was more stubborn than a mule. And that was one of the many things Tomo had grown to love about him. The absolute charm of someone who refused to bend his head to any rule.

"Do you really wish to die here?” Tomo pointed at the poorly lit cave with his knife. "In this humid, narrow shithole? What happened to the dreams of freedom you used to have? Traveling to Mondstadt, and—"

Kazuha's bitter laugh filled the space between them. It felt wrong to Tomo's ears, it left a horrible aftertaste in his mouth. "Dreams? I was stripped of those at the very moment you chose to kidnap me."

Silence fell over them. Tomo peeked at Kazuha's delicate body, his skin glowing white in the pale flame. Even with bruises and scratches all over his arms and legs, even with his nightgown almost torn to shreds, he was still the most beautiful person Tomo had cast his eyes on.

"I think the problem between us," Tomo whispered, so that Kunikuzushi couldn't hear his words, "is that we should have been honest from the get-go."

"Quite the late realization," Kazuha replied.

Was it? Was it too late for them? Tomo was dying to ask. He needed to know Kazuha would forgive him once everything was over, so that he could cling to the fragments of a relationship he had shattered with his own hands.

But he couldn't find the strength to voice his troubles. He wasn't ready to hear the verdict from Kazuha's mouth, to be told that hoping had no meaning. Despite the role he was forced to play, Tomo was in love with Kazuha. A love that ran way deeper than the abyss rivers underneath the island, that burned brighter than the wounds on Kazuha's wrists.

Tomo played his last card: that simple, longed-for honesty. "I spent so much time wondering how you would react if you found out who I am. I wondered how I should tell you, and when, but whenever I saw you, I just— I couldn't—"

"It was the same for me," Kazuha admitted. "But your lie was a thousand times worse than mine, Tomo."

Tomo giggled. "Is there really a morality scale for lies, Kazuha?"

"There is, when one of the two parties harms the other."

Kazuha's gaze was on fire, bullets of truth darting from his lips. Tomo knew he was right. They had both faked their identity to keep each other close, painfully aware they'd risk losing everything upon confessing the truth. Tomo wouldn't have dreamed of talking to Kazuha had he known he was a prince. And Kazuha wouldn't have fallen for a bandit.

Tomo bit down on his lower lip, hesitating. He had to take Kazuha out of there. And the only way at his disposal was to please Kunikuzushi, to show him Kazuha was useful and collaborative, and pray he'd set him free. "Listen, if you just tell me—"

"I said," Kazuha finally snapped, his voice a high-pitched scream, "I have nothing to say to the likes of you."

Tomo seized his shoulders, shaking him with all his strength. The rope sank deeper in Kazuha's flesh, leaving bruises on his pale skin. "You just need to tell me something, anything , about King Kamisato. Where his room is, where he hangs out during the day, when that demon isn't around him—"

"Thoma is not a demon," Kazuha said angrily. "He's a great man." Unlike you , his eyes seemed to scream.

Desperation overcame Tomo. He cupped Kazuha's cheeks with his palms, forcing him to face his way, refusing to let him avert his gaze. "Look at me, prince. Look at me," he ordered in a growl. When Kazuha tried to lower his head, Tomo's fingers sank in his cheeks, keeping him in place. "Do it for me. Do it for your freedom. Do it for us, and—"

"There is no us, Tomo." Kazuha's words came in like a punch. "Let me—"

Kazuha never got to finish his sentence, because Tomo kissed him back to quiet. He wasn't good with words, his speeches always ending up in a mess, his bold sentences coming out of his mouth only after days and days of rehearsal. He hoped to show Kazuha his true feelings through his actions, at least, and that he would understand.

Tomo poured eager sweetness on Kazuha's lips. He kissed him with tenderness, not worrying anymore about being seen by his boss. And he prayed, he prayed so hard that Kazuha would listen to him, that he could feel how deep and strong his love for him was.

A bolt of pain stung his lower lip— Tomo pulled back, droplets of blood pooling where Kazuha had bitten him.

Free from his grip, the prince frantically stepped back, crawling on his elbows to get away from him. "Don't touch me!" Kazuha yelled. "I said don't fucking touch me!"

"Kazuha—"

"I hate you."

Tomo's heart stopped.

He stared, in awe and pain. He stared as Kazuha sobbed his sorrow out, as his shoulders moved up and down with each whimper escaping his mouth. Tomo wanted to say something, he knew he had to— but nothing came to his mind.

All he wanted was to cry too, to curl up in a corner of the cave and wish he could turn back time. He wished he hadn't joined that stupid band of thieves. He wished he had been braver, and made better choices. He wished he had never met Kazuha. Because of course, his lies would catch up to him, sooner or later.

He left the cave, leaving him behind. He walked, and walked, his feet sinking in the dirty water of the depths. Despite the distance, though, Kazuha's words still haunted him. "I hate you."

Tomo was surprised to see the extent of Mona's powers. He knew she was a powerful witch, despite her looks, but he assumed her skills were related to astrology, fortune-telling, and the likes. He surely didn't expect her to be able to communicate from a distance through her water mirrors.

"To sum this up," Kunikuzushi said, grimacing in confusion, "you need us to set up a camp on the shore, in a place that can be seen from the castle, but not too close to Bourou."

"Precisely," Rosalyne's voice came from the other side of the mirror. She was sitting in one of the guest rooms of the castle, its furniture not much different from what Tomo had seen in Kazuha's bedroom. It gave him a nostalgic vibe that almost choked him.

Rosalyne was the only person among them who could carry out such a delicate mission. To back up her identity as an important princess from afar, she needed an escort of quite a few men, numbers the bandits didn't possess.

So, she had resorted to magic— she created phantom soldiers out of her smoldering flames. They were incredibly realistic from the outside; nobody would have ever guessed they weren't real. Whenever Rosalyne reached her bedroom, she left a couple of them to keep watch outside, and made the other ones vanish into thin air.

But if King Kaedehara was naive and desperate enough to believe her words without too much questioning, the same couldn't be said about their target, King Kamisato. He would investigate her troops, he would ask questions about their lodgment. She needed an excuse.

"If King Kamisato asks where my men are staying," Rosalyne explained, "I will show him the camp from the windows of the castle. He won't go check."

Tomo wasn't convinced. King Kamisato had many men, it would take nothing to send a small group to check on the camp. And once they'd find it empty, without a trace of human presence, their plan would fall apart. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because all of their forces are currently deployed to look for Kazuha," Rosalyne said. "They met us somewhere else, meaning they still don't know where our hideout is. If I can make King Kamisato believe my lie only for a couple of days, then we can still—"

"No time to waste," Kunikuzushi interrupted her. "We can do it, but this will leave us a short time span to act. With the guards doubled in number, we need to find a secret passage to sneak inside again."

Rosalyne groaned. "Yeah, about that… I would look harder for one, but a certain king doesn't let me breathe. He keeps talking to me about his son, and how smart and beautiful he is, and how he can't wait for him to be freed so we can marry."

Tomo chuckled under his breath. He glanced at Kazuha, fast asleep in the back of the cave. Had he been awake, he would probably laugh as well, the naivety of his father almost a comedic stunt.

"Let's update each other tomorrow," Kunikuzushi said. "We'll set up that camp right now. And we'll keep pushing the prince in search of information. Meanwhile, try to check on our target and see how close he is to us."

"Roger that," Rosalyne said.

Mona waved her hands in the air, and the mirror burst into a bubble of water.

ayato

"Thank you for coming here on such short notice, sister."

Ayaka made a small curtsy before him. "Your wish is my command, brother dearest."

Having reinforcements from his kingdom to rely on was utmost reassuring for Ayato, who hadn't known rest since the day of Kazuha's birthday. There were many things to investigate, people to look for, arrangements to make. And an offended pride to mend, if possible.

Nobody expected the bandits to attack during the busiest night of the castle. If they were aiming for his life, they would normally choose a peaceful time without too many guests or guards around, to kidnap him as smoothly as possible. Thoma had noticed the noise a little too late, barging into the scene of crime when the prince was already being carried away.

Ayaka seemed to read his thoughts. "How's Thoma doing?" she asked.

"He will be alright," Ayato said, his gaze set on the documents on his desk. "It was a negligible injury. I'm merely forcing him to rest, otherwise he would already be here demanding to work."

In the end, their intuition had been correct: their target was none other than Scaramouche and his group of bandits. The absence of picked locks and broken windows proved the existence of an accomplice, someone already settled in the castle and who had opened a way for them from the inside.

If the accident with the fire potion hadn't happened, Ayato would have slept in his original guest room, turning into easy prey for their ambush. His lucky star was still thriving, it seemed, though it was a shame that the prince had to pay the price for him.

"Your Majesty is such a hypocrite…"

Both the Kamisato siblings turned their heads to face the door. Thoma was standing at the entrance of Ayato's office, bandages wrapped around his head and arm. There was no blood on the white cloth, and his complexion had returned to its normal, lively color. The last time Ayato had seen him, he had been whiter than a ghost.

"Ah, speak of the devil," King Kamisato commented. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed?"

Thoma let out a pained groan. "For the hundredth time, I'm fine . Besides, I couldn't miss the arrival of Her Highness, could I?"

Ayaka giggled. Ayato watched in religious silence as they hugged, engaging in small talk after the months spent apart. His sister wasn't often found at the estate, usually hanging around at the Queen's castle. She was responsible for the organization of cultural events across the mainland, and also acted as a diplomat between the two rulers.

"So, is there something you wanted to talk about?" Ayato asked once the greetings had finished.

Thoma shot a guilty glance at him, probably surprised his intentions had been discovered so soon. He had no secrets for the king, who had seen him grow up while being in his care. "I had a chat with Sayu yesterday. You too are suspicious of the pretty fiancée who conveniently appeared out of nowhere, right?"

"Yes." Ayato slid the portraits of Scaramouche and his partner from the pile, placing them on top again. "I don't think it's her disguise. It might be someone else entirely, someone who hasn't been seen around them yet."

Ayaka walked closer to the desk, inspecting the paintings for the first time. She studied them for a long moment, quietly, her eyes rapidly memorizing the key features of their faces. "How can you be sure it was this group, then?"

"It's quite easy, actually," Thoma said with an awkward chuckle. "The man who knocked me out said ' this is for trying to lure us out ' . Scaramouche's group was the only band we had our eyes on for the time being."

Ayato grunted. The memory of that night was still vivid in his mind, despite the two weeks gone by since then. The childish tantrum he had thrown, leading to an argument between him and Thoma, until they parted ways to cool off their heads. Then, the noise of bursting wood and unhinged doors, the screaming, the clanging of spears as the soldiers picked up their weapons to fight.

And, when he stepped into the garden, Thoma's unconscious body was lying in a pool of blood. Ayato had felt death upon himself at that moment, when he considered their dumb fight could have been their last conversation.

It was unsightly for most, and perhaps even taboo, that a king could carry his own subordinate on his shoulders, dragging him to the doctor's office. But Ayato had close to no respect for people's closed minds, especially when the safety of his loved ones was concerned.

"Wounds on head and hands tend to bleed a lot," the doctor had told him, attempting to calm Ayato’s panic. "Your Majesty has nothing to worry about. He will be alright in a couple of days."

Ayato shook his head, chasing away the unpleasant memories. "We have collected data about pretty much everyone in this castle," he explained to his sister. "Every soldier and servant knew of my new lodgment. Kazuha was aware as well, and so was the king, of course. The only people who weren't informed are the guests."

"Couldn't it be any of them?" Ayaka placed the portraits back where she had found them, her fingers running onto the other papers scattered on the desk. "I believe you, but it's going to be hard to prove she's the insider and not any random guest. Unless you have solid proof to back up your hypothesis, that is."

"That's why you're here," Thoma chirped.

Ayaka blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"We were hoping," Ayato cut in, unleashing his well-honed authoritative tone, "to rely on your help. I deployed most members of Shuumatsuban around the kingdom, to look for the prince and the bandits' hideout. I might need more support here at the base."

Ayaka seemed to consider the idea, though not with excessive enthusiasm. Ayato's chest clenched with a hint of guilt— it was his fault for creating unrealistic hopes in her. He had asked her to visit while he stayed in Watatsumi to have a pleasant meetup between siblings, after months of separation, and suggested she'd bring Yoimiya and some of her women too. He didn't mention there would be a job for them.

"I could formally invite her to tea parties," Ayaka said, pensively. "It won't be too unusual if it's a fellow princess doing that. Maybe I can draw some information out of her, if I push the conversation where I want."

Ayato smiled. He knew he could count on her, despite his indirect ways to ask for her assistance. "That would be perfect. Thank you, sister."

"Having a party without me?"

Ayato rolled his eyes. After the years spent together, nobody in his friend circle had yet learned how to knock, or bothered remembering how irritated he grew at each interruption. "Yoimiya, I thought I warned you about waltzing in my office uninvited."

"Sorry, Your Highness!" Yoimiya chirped, clearly not meaning any of it. She joined the group gathered around Ayato's desk, her gaze running absent-mindedly along the documents. She wasn't the type of person to care about paperwork, but she had her fair uses as well. "I can help too. I came here with the official pretext of a firework show after we'll find the prince. I already asked King Kaedehara and Princess Rosalyne to lend me some manpower."

Thoma whistled in approval. "Planning to interrogate her servants? You've seen how scary she looks, they're probably too frightened to betray her trust. But nice try, buddy."

"I can be scarier if I want to," Yoimiya hissed. "But yeah, that's pretty much my plan. Not that great, I know, but I hope I can make it work? At least, it might help more than trying to get anything straight out of her."

That was something Ayato had already tried. There was something odd regarding her sudden appearance at the castle, a detail that he couldn't help but notice. Where had she been hiding such a large number of soldiers? The only explanation behind their unseen march through the castle was that they resided in the guest rooms. While Ayato had to risk starting a diplomatic war with King Kaedehara to find room for his soldiers.

So, he had asked her at the earliest opportunity. "Princess, may I ask where your soldiers reside? I remember fighting for a place to fit my men in the castle, and taking up all the spots in the barracks, so… Unless something happened to free some cots..."

"I don't know what you're accusing me of," she had promptly said, reading between the lines better than any of his men could do on a good day, "but my men reside at a camp they set up on the beach. They never met your soldiers, Your Majesty."

Ayato doubted her words, but had no means to challenge her openly either. He had to deal with that, and find other ways to extort information from her. The main priorities were saving his life (but Thoma had his back) and rescuing the captive prince.

"I'm counting on you all, then," he said.

Although he wasn't a strong believer, that night Ayato prayed for Kazuha's safety.

Chapter Text

tomo

Around one week after Kazuha's capture, Tomo was greeted in the morning by a disgusted grimace on Kunikuzushi's face, and an order issued through gritted teeth. "He's starting to smell. Take him somewhere fresh, but be sure nobody sees you."

Tomo's first mental response was a defense to Kazuha's honor— if their bodies hadn't picked up the smell of stale water and mud after months spent in that cave, why would the prince's do so after such a short time?

As usual, though, he let his sense of duty win over his innate rebellious spirit. Doing what Kunikuzushi asked was simpler and less taxing than trying to question him, anyway. Every debate with his boss ended up with a knife to his throat and a threat to kill.

Tomo approached Kazuha in careful steps. "We're going for a walk.”

Despite the routine sinking in, he still wasn't used to Kazuha's glare. The anger in his eyes made his blood boil, and the feeling had only grown worse with each passing dawn. Kazuha was seething, his hatred fueled by the mild torture Tomo was forced to inflict him.

As soon as Tomo drew closer, Kazuha flinched, the rope sinking deeper in his reddened wrists. "Don't touch me," he warned him with a growl.

In the past, maybe Tomo would have listened to his complaints. He would have allowed him to vent, let out his fear and frustration for being held hostage, and perhaps even comforted him when his comrades couldn't see.

But with a week of bearing everyone's nerves, Tomo had no will left in his body to argue about boundaries. He hadn't dared to touch Kazuha more than strictly necessary since the harsh rejection he had faced, the words "I hate you" painfully echoing at the back of his mind. 

It was difficult to bring him outside if he refused to move, though. Tomo had to exercise a little coercion, or else he'd disobey Kunikuzushi's rather clear orders. "Then trust me, pretty. Be quiet and follow—"

"Trust you," Kazuha said, mockery heavy in his voice. "I wouldn't make such a mistake again."

Tomo hated how much it hurt. He thought he would grow used to it, that the more he heard Kazuha's angry remarks, the less they would stab his chest. Life wasn't so merciful, it seemed. Being the object of his hate shattered his heart, the feeling of their sweet kisses burning bright in his memories.

Tomo was clever enough to acknowledge that he had no right to complain. Swallowing what was left of his pride and shoving his emotions down, he tightened the knot around Kazuha's wrists, and gave the rope a strong tug. The prince whined in pain, not hinting at wanting to move.

The other end of the rope bound the prisoner to a heavy boulder. While Tomo untied it, freeing Kazuha from part of his shackles, he took a deep breath. The next couple minutes wouldn't be easy; he had to be prepared for war.

Sorry, I have no choice , Tomo thought. As if Kazuha could hear him, as if he would consider forgiving him. He seized him by the waist, easily lifting him over his shoulder, and began dragging him towards the outside of the cave.

That's when the combat began. Tomo wasn't an avid reader, nor did he attend many bard shows in his life; the wildest works of fiction he had been exposed to were either stories from his childhood, or folklore tales passed on in Kannazuka.

He blamed them for providing an unrealistic image of royalty: he failed to believe a prince worthy of his title could kick, scream, and bite as much as Kazuha did. Even if, in hindsight, Tomo should have expected as much— no prince would sneak out of the castle either, far away from the people who pampered him and catered to every whim of his spoiled heart.

The horse was waiting for them right outside the cave, standing in the rancid water. It took Tomo an abnormally long time to reach it, with Kazuha squirming and kicking on his shoulder, his teeth buried in Tomo's skin to the point of drawing blood.

The job was eventually done: Kazuha was unceremoniously shoved on the saddle, and Tomo could sigh in relief. Defeated, the prince didn't protest any further, not even when Tomo wrapped a second rope around his waist.

"Don't trust me, then," Tomo said, hands busy securing the new rope to his own belt, making sure Kazuha wouldn't move around too much during the ride. "But make sure you hold on tight. Unless you wanna die, that is."

Kazuha stared at Tomo's fingers as he worked. "I'm certain it would make things easier for you." The color of his eyes was just as bright red as the bruises on his wrists.

"Eh, not really," Tomo said. "Don't speak out of anger, you will regret it later."

Kazuha glanced away, falling silent. Tomo chose to see it as a sign of a temporary truce, and set his horse into motion, headed to the shore. He settled for a different location from their previous dates, to avoid triggering bittersweet memories in both of their minds. Even though, deep down, riding a horse together was already a painful reminder as it was.

Tomo led the mount through the water, carefully picking the roads less traveled. He wasn't sure who to fear the most - the soldiers patrolling the island on King Kaedehara's behalf, or the seemingly innocent men he sometimes crossed paths with. Any passerby could be an informer of King Kamisato in disguise.

"So," Kazuha broke the ice after an eternity of silence, "how does it feel to torture me?"

For a moment, Tomo regretted not using a gag. He would give anything to avoid that topic, to stop thinking about Kazuha's tears haunting his dreams. "Horrible, and you know as much."

"Oh, do I?" Kazuha's sarcasm was caustic. "I used to think you loved me, but—"

"I do love you," Tomo growled. He could listen to anything he had to say, and take in any amount of disdain or insult, but he wouldn't tolerate shameless lies about his feelings.

Kazuha's laughter was bitter, so different from the soft chuckles Tomo used to know and love. "Silly me. Who doesn't kidnap their true love and then cover him in cuts and bruises to get answers, am I right? How incredibly romantic of you, my prince charming."

Tomo believed he had matured during the years, that the months of coexistence with a bunch of neurotic criminals had instilled some calm into his veins. He was wrong indeed, because all of his nerves snapped at once, with the strength of a hurricane.

"Kazuha," Tomo spewed, "do you have the faintest idea what Ajax would do to you?"

He saw Kazuha shiver. He must remember the beginning, the pain brought to him by Ajax's little games. Although Tomo had been sad about Kunikuzushi's decision of switching their roles, he had understood soon enough that it was for the best. He would treat Kazuha with mercy, whereas Ajax would aim at breaking his mind.

Tomo was furious. With Kazuha, for lying about his identity until the very last moment. With himself, for doing just the same, and for kidnapping him out of temporary scorn. But more importantly, with Kazuha's much-justified anger and his own growing irritation.

At times like those, the only thing Tomo longed for was a confrontation. "You know," he said, pouring out his frustration on him, "you have some nerve acting like I'm the only one who's been lying."

"I hid from you that I was nobler than I showed." Even without turning around, Tomo could feel Kazuha's deadly glare on his shoulders. "You didn't tell me you're a criminal, and then you kidnapped me. Don't you see the difference?"

"I thought we settled that I do not, in fact, see any damn difference." Tomo turned to face him, his grip tight around the reins. "Did you ever stop to think about what would happen if I got caught by some soldier while I was fucking you? I would get executed without even knowing why."

Kazuha's cheeks flushed a dark red at the topic and Tomo's vulgar choice of words. His pout didn't leave his lips, his eyebrows remained furrowed— he clearly saw Tomo's point of view, but he was determined to act stubborn until the end.

And yet, despite the childish tantrums and the annoying attitude Kazuha was giving him, Tomo's heart was racing in his chest, his skin burning where Kazuha's hands were clinging to him. He wished he could rewind time and undo their first meeting. He hated dancing, anyway.

"Actually…" Kazuha's tone was softer now, sweetened by a feeling unbeknownst to Tomo. "I was going to tell you on that day. When we…"

Tomo didn't need him to finish the sentence to understand what he meant. Until a week before, he considered it the best day of his life as well. "But you didn't."

"I was caught in the moment," Kazuha admitted.

Tomo huffed. "And don't you think it's the same for me? That I planned to tell you the truth, but feared your reaction, and didn't want to ruin the few moments we spent together?"

"At least I didn't hurt you."

"I didn't mean to— Gods, Kazuha, you're so—"

The horse missed a step, its hooves slipping on the wet stones near the river. Tomo managed to grasp Kazuha's arm a mere second before the prince could fall again, in a perfect repeat of their previous date. It was a habit, wasn't it?

The conversation died then and there. Tomo couldn't stand him, not that way. The truth hurt, it burned, way more than the wound on his arm had. Every rude remark from Kazuha left a scar in him, one he wasn't proud of.

At last, they reached their destination. A field of dry grass spread before their eyes, the yellow and orange stalks barely moving in the breeze. It wasn't as beautiful as the lively dandelion field they had visited prior, but the dendrobium flowers scattered amidst the grass were scenic enough to make up for the desolate general look.

Tomo unsheathed his pocket knife, cutting the rope around Kazuha's waist. He jumped down from the horse, then helped the prince do the same, holding him by his hips until he was steady on his feet.

"This is…" Kazuha glanced down the slope, his gaze hopping between the red dots in the dead grass. "This is beautiful."

Tomo sighed in relief: at least, the view met his fancy. "I know, right? Well, you told me that dendrobiums have a sad meaning, but I can't help it. The color… It's just so pretty."

"It truly is." Kazuha knelt on the ground, fingers latching around the stem of a flower. He ripped it out with unbefitting grace, bringing the petals to his nose for a quick sniff.

Tomo had seen him that way before. Bent on his knees, his profile sinking in the softness of a flower, his white eyelashes closed as he took in the scent… It was familiar. He had fallen in love with him back then, without knowing a single thing about him.

Perhaps the fondness of those memories was responsible for what he said next, for the way his defenses crumbled with a single breath. "They remind me of your eyes," Tomo said.

He expected Kazuha to get angry, to walk away from him in fury. Because a captor doesn't compliment his prisoner, and a prisoner doesn't accept kind words from his captor. Instead, the prince lowered the flower onto his lap, his gaze lost in the distance. "My eyes look sad?"

"Ever since I took you away from the castle," Tomo said. "I'm sorry, I—"

There was no way for Tomo to describe what happened next. In all simplicity, Kazuha broke down, the piled-up tension and fear exploding at once. He tossed the flower away, its red corolla swallowed by the dry grass, and hid his face in his palms to cry unseen.

Tomo walked to his side, sitting next to him. He forced himself to keep his hands to himself, to avoid offering pats on his back or gentle shoulder rubs. He silently supported him, biting down on his lower lip to cope with the unbearable guilt in his heart.

"I'm glad you're sorry," Kazuha said in between sobs. "You should be."

"I—" Tomo swallowed thickly, struggling to find the right words when his throat was dry from the shame and the hurt. "I hate myself for what I did. I don't— I don't like the life I live at all. Being a criminal sucks, joining this group was a horrible decision, but the truth is… I'm terrified of our boss."

The truth sounded even more pathetic when confessed out loud. That was the fact he had been trying to overcome: the fear simmering in his stomach, the chills shaking his body when he stared for too long in Kunikuzushi's lifeless eyes.

"Why don't you run away, then?" Kazuha asked. He peeked through his fingers, his cheeks red from the tears.

Sadly, bandits and assassins couldn't afford the luxury to escape. "I know too much, Kazuha," Tomo said. "I've seen things, heard things. He would have me killed before I take a single step outside of the kingdom."

"Why did you take me to such a dangerous man?" Kazuha whined. "If you love me, why—"

"I'm sorry." Tomo couldn't bring himself to explain his reasons. Knowing he had done such a vile thing out of spite would only murder the slivers of feelings for him Kazuha might have left in his chest.

Kazuha wiped the tears from his eyes, sniffling to regain some composure. "I hate the way you looked at me back then. The way you spoke to me in the cave. The way you touched me when I asked you not to."

Tomo knew. Damn, if he knew. There wasn't a single second he didn't regret all of that. He looked away, unable to hold Kazuha's gaze anymore— until warm hands brushed against his own, in an unexpectedly sweet caress.

When Tomo turned again, Kazuha was smiling, his face still flushed from his cry. "But more importantly, I hate that… Even though you broke me in all possible ways, I still love you, Tomo. It's wrong, and I should feel nothing but horror for you, yet— Here I am, dying for you."

How pathetic of him. Tomo realized that, ultimately, royalty and common folk weren't that different when it came to emotions. They were equally as fragile, irrational, and prone to mistakes. And if Tomo had one skill, that was exactly the one: making mistakes, and sinking further and further down.

Their lips met. It was the sweetest, gentlest kiss since their first, almost a paradox considering the current nature of their bond. Kazuha melted against Tomo's mouth, sliding his tied-up arms around Tomo's shoulders to keep his balance.

Tomo pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. It was warm and pleasant to hold Kazuha again, to show him the depths of his unreasonable, toxic love, and to feel the same in return. If their feelings had ever been right, they surely weren't now— yet, neither of them cared enough to stop.

Kazuha cried again that morning. His nose buried in the curve of Tomo's shoulder, he let tears flow freely, emptying his heart of all the pain. Tomo teared up as well, as his fingers slowly carded through Kazuha's hair in a vain attempt at comfort.

And as he held Kazuha through the silent hours, their bodies joining once more in a foolish act of rebellion against their adverse fate, Tomo came to a resolution. If he couldn't make amends for his sin, he could at least make sure nobody could hurt Kazuha too much.

He wouldn't stop until the day Kazuha was freed, or someone else would take Tomo's place.

Or, maybe, Tomo could be the one to free him instead. Because that morning in the dendrobium field had changed everything, had turned the tables past his wildest expectations.

Kazuha didn't cry anymore. He didn't glare at him or whine in pain either. He took whatever punishment Tomo had to give him, he accepted the gentle torture, watching the knife as it cut faintly through his flesh.

The breaking point in Tomo's endurance came like a storm wave over his conscience. Away from Kunikuzushi's sight, right when Tomo was sheathing his blade to put an end to the daily questioning, Kazuha kissed him.

Tomo's nerves collapsed. That was sick, and wrong— Kazuha shouldn't love him when all he did was hurt him. If that situation went on any longer, Tomo knew he would lose his sanity. He had to take him away, since King Kamisato's informers didn't seem to be on the right track.

"We're getting nowhere," Kunikuzushi said. Tomo pushed Kazuha away, praying to any listening god that he hadn't seen what was happening between them. "Tomo, you're useless. I'll make sure Ajax takes your place again."

The thought of Kazuha covered in blood from head to toe, crying and begging for grace at the mercy of Ajax's cruel knife… No, Tomo couldn't allow that. He had to save Kazuha, even if it killed him.

Kazuha's stare was heavy on Tomo's shoulders as he proceeded with his act, his perfectionist soul craving to correct every little mistake in his attitude or speech. Tomo felt it whenever he lowered his guard, allowing himself to be surprised by his comrades' reactions, walking slightly out of line. Furrowing of eyebrows that he could almost hear, pouting of lips he didn't have a hard time imagining.

It wasn't easy, though. Kazuha had mentioned prior that the life of royalty was made of pretense and deceit at any time of the day, quick reflexes a vital requirement for any noble with a reputation to maintain. But Tomo wasn't just lying to someone mischievous— he was deceiving criminals . Kunikuzushi alone had ten times the body count of anyone else in that cave.

"I bought this to celebrate!" Tomo was saying, waving a bottle of fine wine in the air. He was forced to deplete a good chunk of his savings to afford it, under Kazuha's promise to be rewarded lavishly once they'd return to the castle. "Let's drink, shall we?"

Ajax took the bottle in his hands, studying the label like it was written in a foreign language. "Original dandelion wine from Mondstadt… What are we celebrating? Nothing's been won yet."

" Yet ," Tomo stressed candidly. He recalled Kazuha's teaching letter by letter. The first thing to remember was to always smile, but to make sure it didn't look forced. Tomo was a cheerful guy by nature, so it wouldn't look out of place on his lips, though he feared the trembling dimple on his cheek might betray his tension. "We'll be victorious soon, right? I want a toast!"

The plan was reckless, to say the least. Tomo had come up with it on a whim, and Kazuha had helped him refine the details and make it a tad less crazy. He had then ventured out to the corner of the slums where smugglers lived, miraculously managing to get his hands on an overpriced bottle of imported wine.

Among Kazuha's hidden talents and knowledge was some weird deal with herbs that Tomo didn't wholly understand. He merely obeyed his orders, fetching whatever plant or flower the prince asked him to. And as soon as they were alone again, Kazuha fixed the beverage with some odd concoction.

"Are you sure this won't kill them?" Tomo had asked, his glance nervously dashing between Kazuha's focused face and the herbs he was mixing in a bowl.

"Positive," Kazuha had answered. Tomo had no more objections to make, deciding to trust him wholeheartedly. And if he had to be honest, he wouldn't mind if the worst were to happen— the world wouldn't miss them, though he might weep for a while.

Kunikuzushi rested his feet on the makeshift table, an annoyed scowl on his face. That was the moment of truth. The boss was the needle of the scale; his verdict was going to mark the end or the start of their escape plan.

Thankfully enough, he seemed to be in a decent mood. "Some wine won't hurt. We haven't had some booze in a while, and it's getting cold down here."

With a resigned shrug, Ajax accepted the leader's decision. He headed to the back of the cave to pick up some dusty glasses, and tossed a smirk at Kazuha on his way back. "Sorry, we can't share with you, little prince."

"I wouldn't drink anything you offer me, anyway." Kazuha spat on the floor to further prove his point. Tomo blinked, in awe of his acting skills— he was truly on a different level.

Tomo poured wine in their glasses, filling them to the brim. He lifted his in the air, gesturing for his comrade to toast. "So, to our success?"

"To our success!"

Everyone echoed Tomo's words before diving into the wine. Tomo couldn't help but feel flattered by the trust they were putting in him, none of them double-checking the drink to ensure it wasn't poisoned. But well, he was about to betray it, and with less remorse than he would have thought.

"If you want to dodge any suspicion," Kazuha had recommended to him the night before they set their plan into motion , "you need to drink with them. If you don't, they will understand something is wrong with the wine, and we might be found out."

Just a glimpse of the gooey mixture Kazuha was blending into the blood-red liquid had caused Tomo's stomach to twist in disgust. "But won't I faint too, then?" 

"Not if you drink this before," Kazuha had waved a bottle in front of him, its contents unknown. And after a few seconds of consideration (long instants which Tomo spent imagining what sort of weird atrocities the prince might have poured into that drink), Tomo had wisely decided to gulp it down with no further questions asked.

The bandits' expressions shifted, their celebratory smirks turning into a dazed glance into the void. Then, their heads dropped onto the table at the same time, before any of them could realize what was happening. Tomo pretended to fall asleep too, as a safety measure in case someone was still awake.

Kazuha's antidote seemed to work. No dizziness overcame him, only a faint pain in his intestine— and once again, he praised himself for not questioning the contents of the mixes he had been forced to swallow.

Once loud snoring echoed in the silence of the cavern, Tomo stood up and ran towards Kazuha, knife unsheathed to set him free from the ropes on his wrists. "Just so you know," he said playfully as he worked his blade, "I'm never accepting a drink from you again, pretty. You can't be trusted."

Kazuha giggled under his breath. "I'm only cunning with those who deserve it."

Soon, Kazuha wasn't his prisoner anymore. He was free, with nobody to keep him trapped in that dangerous place. Tomo didn't know what would be of him when the others would realize his betrayal. If his plan to cover up his involvement would go south, he might just wake up buried underground.

"Let's go," Kazuha said, massaging his bruised wrists.

Not yet— Tomo had something else to do before, a ritual for good luck. His hands sank in the curve of Kazuha's hips, as he lifted him in the air to kiss his lips. "Free at last, my prince."

Kazuha's cheeks flushed, but his eyebrows furrowed with disgust. "You taste like wine," he complained. His fingers ran through Tomo's hair, gently combing through his unruly blonde ponytail. "It's gross."

"Part of the job, sweetheart."

And just like that (with a joke, with some teasing) they vanished from the hideout. The road back to the castle wasn't an easy one, especially in the darkness of the night, and with an injured fragile man at Tomo's side.

With Kazuha comfortably nestled on his shoulders, Tomo spent the following hour climbing up cliffs, his palms digging in the slippery surface of the pink seashells peeking through the rocks. When they reached the summit, the ocean and the sandy beach greeting them under the pale moonlight, he felt exhausted like never before.

"I wish we could stop for a while," Kazuha whispered, his hand reaching out for Tomo's to hold.

Tomo couldn't agree more. The beaches of Watatsumi were magical, the blue hues of midnight giving it a magical look. Anemone and seagrass glowed in the dark, in a simply enchanted view. But they had no time to waste idling around: they had places to be, and people to meet.

He gave Kazuha's hand a gentle squeeze, inviting him to follow. "Come," he said.

Kazuha trailed after him, struggling to keep up with his pace. They held hands as they walked down the path, almost running back to the city without meeting a single soul. It wasn't different from eloping, Tomo thought— just a lot less romantic, and with the faint fear of being murdered by an enraged Kunikuzushi finding them out.

Only when the familiar contours of the castle appeared on the horizon, all the way up on the hill, did Tomo dare to sigh in relief. They had made it out alive, and faster than planned. The hardest part of the scheme had gone by, smooth like grains of sand between their fingers. Tomo already missed the adrenaline of the escape.

"There's a secret entrance on the side," Kazuha breathed at his side. He pointed at the left wing of the castle, where many torches were lined up on the outside of the wall. "The passage leads close to my room. It was supposed to be my emergency exit in case of danger."

Tomo tried to recall the night of the kidnapping. When he had knocked down the door, the prince was about to fall from the balcony, inches away from a painful death. "Is that why you were jumping off the window instead?" he teased.

"I was scared ," Kazuha protested. "My judgment was clouded. Anyway, follow me, please."

They waited for the patrolling guards to turn the corner before leaving their hiding spot. Kazuha led the way to the torches, stopping before them to press some specific spots of the brick wall. A faint noise of gears clicking together came from the inside, until a minuscule door opened before them.

Kazuha gestured for Tomo to go first. They crawled through the narrow corridor dug in the cement, climbing claustrophobic slopes and turning dim-lit curves. The door closed behind their backs, draping the passage in complete darkness. Tomo moved ahead, and ahead, until he lost his sense of direction.

"Kazuha, I'm feeling sick," Tomo confessed.

A comforting hand landed on his shoulder. "Keep going. We're almost there."

He wasn't lying. A few more brave steps, and Tomo was greeted with yet another door, the light of the torches inside the building creeping from the gap underneath.

"Knock three times," Kazuha suggested. "If anyone's there, he will know it's not a threat approaching the castle."

Tomo did as he was told. No response was to be heard from the other side, complete silence enveloping the area. With celebrations over and the prince away, who even lived there, anyway? He assumed all guards would be gathered around the king's room.

Feeling brave, Tomo kicked down the door. And as soon as it snapped open, the sharp tip of a spear was aimed right at his face.

"Who's there?" Gorou was standing before them, his weapon ready to slash the intruder. His gaze flickered between the two men, his jaw dropping when he recognized Kazuha behind Tomo's broad shoulders. "Kazu—"

Kazuha crawled beneath Tomo's arm, dashing forward to press his hands against Gorou's mouth, to suffocate the scream about to slip past the guard's lips. "Quiet!" he whispered. "Please, don't wake anyone up."

Gorou nodded, though confusion veiled his eyes. Kazuha let him go, taking a polite step back to give him some space. The guard glared at Tomo as he made his way through the secret door, a low growl trembling in his throat.

"You disgusting son of a bitch," Gorou attacked once Tomo was standing on his feet. "How dare you show your face here, after all you and your comrades have—"

"It's fine, Gorou." Kazuha closed the distance between them once more, arms circling Gorou's waist in a tender hug. "He helped me escape. He came here to keep me safe."

Gorou scoffed. "This doesn't mean what he's done until now is magically forgotten. Or forgiven."

"It's not," Kazuha agreed. Tomo's chest clenched with something akin to hurt at those words, the proof that his actions had caused a rift in their bond forever. They might continue being lovers, they might even get married someday, but things wouldn't be the same. "And I have not forgiven him. But I can't deny that, right now, he saved my life."

Faced with his usual stubbornness, Gorou gave up the fight. "Whatever floats your boat. I'm just glad to see you're fine." He brought a finger over his lips, silently instructing them to be quiet. He glanced around the corridor to make sure nobody was around, then called for Teppei to come closer. "Keep watch for a while, Teppei. I'll have a talk with them inside."

Tomo's heart jumped in his throat. He hadn't planned things that far, he thought he would lead Kazuha to the castle and then disappear into thin air. What did he and Gorou have to discuss, anyway? They were supposedly mortal enemies, now that Tomo had threatened the prince's life.

But, stripped of any possibility to object, Tomo couldn't but follow Kazuha inside, past the door Kunikuzushi had torn to pieces. Somebody was put at work on it, pieces of new wood being nailed down to the frame. All around them, the entire world seemed to be asleep.

Chapter Text

kazuha

It was strange for Kazuha to be in his room again, to feel the warmth of those familiar walls surrounding him instead of the humid cold of a cavern, or the softness of bedsheets under his legs rather than naked bedrock. A gust of wind filtered through the shattered window, but nothing could compare to the frost he had experienced for the previous weeks.

"They hurt you," Gorou commented with a frown.

The tension Kazuha had piled up during his time at the hideout finally let go of his chest, a mellow kind of exhaustion slowly winning him over. Being tired had never felt so comforting and secure, now that he was safe.

He found his resting spot on Tomo's lap, pulling his sleeves down to cover the bruises on his wrists. Gorou had been staring at them so hard, that Kazuha was beginning to feel ashamed of them. "They would have hurt me more, if Tomo didn't pretend to torture me himself. His comrade was… more savage."

Tomo snorted, his torso vibrating against Kazuha's back. The prince understood what he meant to say— savage was an understatement. And well, pretense or not, Tomo had actually hurt him, though mildly. That was a detail that Gorou was better off not knowing.

With his lover's encouragement, coming in the form of gentle rubs on his arm, Kazuha felt motivated to continue. "Gorou, I must tell you something important."

"It's about your wife, I assume?"

Kazuha blinked, surprised by his intuition. He couldn't remember the woman giving any hint of her involvement with the bandits, her appearance and behavior crafted down to the finest details. On another occasion, he would have loved to inquire about how Gorou had caught her in her tracks, or what contribution King Kamisato had in the whole picture.

Not now, though. Gorou couldn't waste the entire night at his side, locked inside a room that was supposed to be deserted. Teppei was keeping watch, but other soldiers might come to that wing of the castle, and if they did…

"Yes," Kazuha simply said. "She's one of them. I heard her communicate with Scaramouche. They plan to kill King Kamisato, and she's here to make sure he follows the wrong lead."

Tomo's hand landed on Kazuha's hip in a gentle massage. Kazuha feared he might fall asleep under his soft touch, his palms melting his bundled nerves wherever they roamed, soothing the pain of the bruises. "Her men aren't real," Tomo added. "They're illusions made of fire."

"I knew something was up with her," Gorou said. He failed to mask his concern at the mention of such powerful witchcraft, proof that Rosalyne was far more dangerous than she pretended to be. "Well, I guess I have one more reason to oppose this marriage."

Kazuha chuckled. "And what was your first?" He wasn't sure what to expect as an answer. Maybe, he believed that Gorou would admit his feelings for him openly, setting himself up for some teasing.

Instead, all Gorou did was shake his head in horror, as if he was picturing something terrible in his mind. "If I have to see you leave with another man by your side… To be honest, I want it to be someone you love , at least."

That was the sweetest thing Kazuha had ever heard coming from him. Relief spread in his heart at the thought that Gorou's feelings for him could have weakened, a sign that he was growing free from the pain as well. "Gorou—"

"Besides, I don't like her," Gorou interrupted him, eager to add more reasons to his rant. "Itto said he sees something off in her as well, and so did Teppei."

Kazuha tilted his head in confusion. "Itto?" he echoed. "You mean Arataki Itto? What has the leader of the Arataki Gang got to do with this matter?"

Gorou flushed to the tip of his ears. "Nothing, sorry, it slipped. Anyway," he cleared his throat with a cough, trying to chase embarrassment away, "you can sleep here tonight, but please hide if someone comes. We'll announce your return tomorrow."

Since when were Gorou and Itto acquainted? Kazuha suddenly connected the dots, filling in the gaps in the picture. The guard's increasing absence, the many times he was caught off guard, the bruise on his neck Kazuha had seen… It all made sense at last.

"I'll talk to you later." Kazuha nodded, giving Gorou a conspiratory glance. He wasn't getting away with that— after the years of mutual trust and shared confessions, he craved to know more about the man who was stirring something inside of his guard's chest.

"Yeah," Gorou groaned. "Of course you will. Because I can't keep my stupid mouth shut."

"Oh, but I like that about you."

Having hit the limit of his daily tolerance for teasing, Gorou stood up and headed towards the exit. "If you don't want anyone to know you're here, I can't stay outside your door," he explained. "Tomo, you can make amends by making sure the prince is safe."

"I'll protect him with my life," Tomo said. He brought a hand to his forehead in a military salute, halfway through mockery and actual respect. "...Gorou."

Gorou shivered upon hearing his name coming from Tomo's lips. He marched out of the door, swallowed by the pitch-black darkness of the castle. Kazuha assumed he was on duty outside the king's chambers, or maybe assigned to patrol the entire wing.

Anyway, they were alone now. Tomo let out a high-pitched sigh of relief, before throwing himself back onto the bed. His body hit the mattress with a loud echo of trembling slats, and Kazuha was almost bounced off his lap.

"Gods," Tomo whistled, "I can't remember the last time I slept on a real bed. What was I… ten years old, maybe?"

Kazuha flashed his kindest smile. "Well, you will find that this one is most comfortable. Fit for a king, I dare say."

Tomo chuckled at his joke. Kazuha rolled at the man's side, looking at him with pure devotion in his eyes. He had never seen him so relaxed, his grin wide and bright, his forehead without a wrinkle. He was genuinely cozy and happy. Kazuha couldn't help but mirror his feelings.

"Trying to be funny?" Tomo said, his fingers tucking a rebellious strand of white hair behind Kazuha's ear. "You know, there are plenty of interesting things people do on a bed."

A familiar heat clutched Kazuha's stomach, together with butterflies he had forgotten. "Such as?"

"Napping, for example. Warm rocks outside are great, but this softness? Unmatched." Tomo tapped on the mattress, showing Kazuha how deep his finger sank into the mellow surface of the bed. Met with the prince's disappointed frown, he laughed, returning to his regular flirting. "And something more, of course."

That was an improvement, at least. In a rush of courage, Kazuha climbed up Tomo's lap once more, straddling his thighs. He lowered the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his neck and collarbones to the dim light of the candle. "Would you mind showing me what you mean?"

"Gladly, my prince." Tomo smirked.

That playful smile was the final hint of gracefulness on Tomo's face, the last clear image carved in Kazuha's head before everything melted in a blur. Tomo pulled him down in a jerk, their lips clashing with eagerness, and the world began to spin.

Though their encounters had been enveloped in secrecy from the first moment, Kazuha felt a new, enticing thrill of forbidden pleasure in his veins. They weren't simply hiding from the king, from the guard, or from any authority who could recognize Kazuha (and arrest Tomo for laying a finger on him). They were loving each other inside the walls of the castle, right in the wolf's den, a few rooms away from danger.

Countless vials of perfumed oil were lined up on the shelf above the bed, next to the incense and the candles Kazuha enjoyed scenting the air with. Tomo wasn't shy— he browsed them one by one, his finger trailing along the labels, until he found a fragrance that piqued his interest.

Kazuha glanced at him from below, an amused light in his eyes. Tomo was so focused on the task, as if he was choosing a present for the king himself. "My collection of precious oils isn't the shelf of a shop, Tomo."

"Which do you prefer?" Tomo blatantly ignored his comment. "Mint or silk flowers?"

Impatience wasn't typical of Kazuha, with his calm demeanor and quiet nature. Yet, he felt on the verge of snapping. While Tomo was wasting so much time on a trivial matter, fire tingled between his legs, a growing desire urging him to hurry . "Pick any, but come here. I need you."

The wanton tone of his whine was enough to snatch Tomo from whatever fantasy he was delving into, his attention shifting back on his lover. He grabbed one of the vials and uncapped it, the pale liquid pouring in thick drops all over his hand.

Kazuha swallowed thickly. He saved Tomo some work and bounced off his lap to lie on the bed, fists clutching the sheets in anticipation. Using only his clean hand, Tomo quickly undressed him, pulling Kazuha's pants down to his knees.

The first finger teased Kazuha's hole, wet and cold. Kazuha held his breath as it slid past the rim of muscle, the stretch slightly unpleasant, but now somewhat familiar. The slats creaked under them at the faintest movement, adding to the danger of their situation, further fueling Kazuha's arousal.

"It's so good to do this on a mattress," Tomo said. Kazuha could vaguely hear his muffled words, his mind short-circuiting when a second finger joined the first. "No grass tickling my legs, no weird branches stinging all over, no sand in my—"

"How romantic, mister bandit," Kazuha cut him short, breathlessly.

The sound that left Tomo's throat was a raw one— laughter fading into a growl, amusement mingled with possession. Because Kazuha could only begin to imagine how he looked in Tomo's eyes: naked, open before him, with a hazy expression on his face and low whines escaping his mouth. "Oh, you like me this way."

A moan slipped past Kazuha's lips. That was an answer louder than any words, and the rolling of his hips to meet Tomo's three fingers thrusting into him was further confirmation. Yes, he liked him— he was madly in love with him, despite the recent events.

Tomo pulled out, fetching the discarded vial. Kazuha averted his gaze from the man above him, desperately forcing himself to not watch the next part and spare himself the shame. His nose picked up the piercing scent of mint spreading around them, and then something pushed against his entrance.

With a gentle push, Tomo thrust inside of him, his length sinking in the warmth of Kazuha's body with unprecedented ease. It was an unknown sensation to Kazuha, used to being in a rush, to fleeting encounters in the wilderness. They could take it slow for once, and properly make love to each other like they meant it.

"You're so beautiful," Tomo whispered. He caressed Kazuha's cheeks with the back of his hand, his touch gently running over his features like a feathery shower. "I still can't believe you're mine."

"I am." There were some troubles to face before they could call themselves an official couple, assuming that moment would ever come. But it didn't matter then— Kazuha's heart, soul, and body definitely belonged to none else other than Tomo.

Tomo's hands fell around Kazuha's waist as he buried himself inside him until their hips were flush. His thrusts picked up a lazy pace, the feeling of each push in and out of Kazuha's body amplified by the slick texture of the oil.

Kazuha knew they were supposed to keep a low profile, to be quiet so that nobody would find them there. He would announce his return the following day, when Tomo wasn't around, when he would be ready to face the king. Yet, he couldn't hold back— loud moans begged to be set free from his throat, and calling out Tomo's name was only natural when Kazuha felt so great thanks to him.

"You're so loud tonight," Tomo promptly commented. "Do you like it this much?"

"I—" Kazuha choked on his words, his breath cut off by a harsher thrust. "I do. I— I love it. I love you ."

With rough fingers pushing bruises in the soft skin of his waist, Kazuha lifted his head to steal Tomo's mouth in a needy kiss. It wasn't enough— their lips melting together, their tongues twirling in a sweet dance, their breaths synchronizing was still far from what he wanted.

Kazuha seized Tomo's wrists, leading them up to his chest. Tomo welcomed his silent request with a huff of laughter, his hands playing with Kazuha's nipples as he was being asked to. The prince flung an arm to cover his face, to hide the burning flush of his cheeks from his lover's teasing eyes.

It was like being touched for the first time. And maybe it was , actually— the first time Tomo touched his real self, aware of his real identity, with no more lies to hide behind. The first time their hearts were at peace, no secrets to divide them.

Their bodies matched to perfection; it was as if Kazuha's body had been shaped to welcome Tomo inside of him, his cock managing to hit his most sensitive spots with each thrust, his hands always knowing where to wander to give him pleasure.

Kazuha was lost in bliss, to the point he lost track of how many times he came on that slow-paced night. Tomo was sweet but relentless, he fucked him slowly yet without holding back, pounding into him at a steady rhythm that sucked all air out of Kazuha's lungs.

When Tomo came as well, the feeling of being filled left a bitter aftertaste in Kazuha's mouth. It meant it was over, that soon sleep would take them in its cold arms, and they would have to part ways. Their glances met for a long second, a moment stretched into eternity— then, Tomo threw himself at his side, and inhaled sharply.

"That was great," Tomo commented through heavy pants. "I wish I could always take the time to love you so slowly."

Kazuha felt his cheeks ignite even more. He was the man of literature, yet he didn't have Tomo's way with words, his natural charm, his ability to turn any sentence (even the most trivial pun) into an arrow shot through Kazuha's heart. "We should do it again."

"Sadly, we can't. I'm afraid it's our last time in a good while." A gleam of sadness glowed in Tomo's purple eyes, his gaze drifting off to the broken window. "I need to return to the hideout and pretend I never left."

Kazuha sighed at the painful reminder. Their time was up, the shy early rays of dawn threatening to paint the sky with their bright milky hues. He wished he had more stamina, or more muscles to adorn his bones— if he did, maybe their nights could be longer. "I wish we could start over."

"Hey." Tomo caught a glimpse of his distress, his hand rushing to comb through Kazuha's white hair. "It doesn't matter how many times we do it, but how good it feels, am I right?"

He was, Kazuha assumed. And he couldn't deny it was great, the sensation of Tomo's skilled fingers on his body lingering for days (for weeks) after they were finished. But now that it was behind them, Kazuha couldn't chase away the worry for the future, the anxiety he had discarded for those few hours of love.

"Promise me that we will have more nights like this."

Tomo offered him his pinky. "Promise."

"Promise." Kazuha locked their fingers together.

When Kazuha woke up the next morning, he naively expected to find a large, warm body at his side. Half-awake, he prepared himself to jump on the poor victim, to hug his waist and place hot, sleepy kisses on the curve of his neck. He would whisper a soft "I love you" in the man's ears, and the day would start with more tender caresses and kisses.

But there was nothing under the bedsheets. Only the weak scent of mint and the ghost of Tomo's warmth. The window was broken, muddy footsteps on the balcony. The whole room reeked of loneliness.

Perhaps informing the king of his return hadn't been the great idea he and Tomo had thought. He wasn't sure what reaction to expect from him, his mood impossible to read despite the years spent side by side. Surely, anger didn't fall within his expectations.

"Son, I'm going to be blunt with you," King Kaedehara growled from his throne. "If I wasn't absolutely convinced you lack the bravery to behave like this, I would think this kidnapping was a convoluted plan to flee from your responsibilities."

Thankfully enough, Kazuha wasn't alone in that fight. The few guests still lodged at the castle had been summoned to the throne room, including his strongest ally and friend. Someone with just enough power (and guts) to face the king headfirst.

"I had my nurses inspect his wounds," King Kamisato stepped in, legs crossed on his gold wooden chair. "They can't be self-inflicted. He's most definitely not lying to us."

King Kaedehara grunted, defeated.

Kazuha took advantage of the short break to breathe in, forcing air through his lungs. His father didn't have much trust in him, and Kazuha had nobody to back him up except for his guards. Ayato could offer his support in verbal arguments, but he couldn't speak on the actual accident, for he wasn't a witness. Thoma smiled at him from the sidelines as well, inciting him to go ahead with his speech and to not doubt himself.

Rosalyne, on the other hand, had an entire army of fire men. She was sitting on a smaller throne, the one Kazuha's older sister used to occupy when she lived at the castle, with flocks of servants fanning her through the heat.

Kazuha hoped that his honor would be enough to win the fight. "You are correct on one thing, though. I am here to discuss my marriage."

"Don't embarrass yourself in front of our guests any further, Prince Kaedehara Kazuha!" The king hadn't used his full name in years, his words guided by nothing but pure rage. "This marriage will happen, and you will leave this castle once and for—"

"It is not the marriage I am against," Kazuha lied, struggling to keep his calm in front of the increasing pitch of the king's voice. "Rather, it is my wife that I have complaints about."

Rosalyne laughed under her breath, mockery flowing out of her lips. It was a wicked sound, eerie amusement mingled with genuine offense. Thoma's snickers echoed through the room as well, more modest.

The king was livid. That was a challenge, and a heavy one at that— Kazuha was attacking his honor, he was dragging his authority as a monarchy through the mud. "And on what behalf?"

"I saw her somewhere before. Do you wish to know where, dear father?" Kazuha turned around to glare at her, thunder crackling in his gaze. "At the bandit camp where I was held hostage. She was thanking the boss for lending her his help."

Loud chattering rose from the crowd. Not many people were gathered at court that day, but some curious nobles had poked their heads to see if the prince was seriously back. Kazuha would have preferred to handle the matter behind closed doors, but he didn't have a choice.

"Your accusations are heavy, Your Highness," Rosalyne said. "Do you have any proof of what you're saying?"

That was the moment of truth, the part of the script where Kazuha put his entire credibility at stake. "I don't. But I know something with absolute certainty: you're not royalty, and your men are nothing but an illusion cast with fire magic."

Incredulous screams echoed through the throne room. Fire magic , Kazuha heard someone whisper with terror. His eyes darted around to check everyone's reactions: the servants were trembling in fear, cold sweat coated the soldiers' foreheads. Ayato was suddenly serious.

"Nonsense," Rosalyne spat.

She stood up and walked towards the closest soldier. Her wide silk skirt swayed with each step she took, her long legs almost shining in the torchlight. From his position, Kazuha could see the sheath of a tiny knife peeking from her garter.

Rosalyne's hands pulled at the soldier's helmet, tossing it aside. The face of a young man was concealed under the metal, his eyebrows furrowed, his expression slightly uncomfortable. He didn't look like a doll or a puppet and, when Rosalyne touched his cheekbones, he didn't flicker nor disappear.

"See?" Rosalyne cooed. "I can touch him, and he doesn't fade. I'm also not catching fire."

"But does your touch count as proof, Your Highness?" Ayato didn't miss the chance to join the debate once more, taking some of the weight off Kazuha's shoulders. "I have gathered information about you, Princess Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter. I don't think someone blessed with the gift of fire manipulation can be a good judge in this situation."

Rosalyne stared at him with her lips pressed together, as if trying to measure how dangerous Ayato's knowledge was. He knew something about her that other people in the room didn't, and her plan could be at risk. Kazuha wished he could follow their silent conversation, because the longer it went on, the more he felt out of the loop.

"Alright, then," Rosalyne said in the end with an indifferent shrug. "Prince Kazuha is free to do it by himself. Try to touch this man. If you don't burn your hand or cross the illusion, it means your theory is wrong."

Kazuha gulped, tension choking him. He took a few hesitant steps towards the man, watching his movements closely. The soldier shifted his weight on his leg, scratched his head, and even cleared his throat. Everything in him was absolutely normal, perhaps even too much.

Kazuha lifted a hand to caress his cheek. He closed his eyes, expecting the fire to devour his skin— nothing happened. His fingertips landed on sweaty skin, the regrowth of beard tickling his palms. He was real. That was undoubtedly a physical body.

"Get out of here," King Kaedehara hissed. "This audience is called off. My apologies for my son's absurd behavior, Your Highness— I shall make sure you're well rewarded for this insult."

How could it be? Kazuha was sure of what he had heard and seen. That morning, he had dived deep into research, searching through all the books about magic stored in the castle's library. The little information he had found about fire manipulation included the intangibility of the illusions, burning skin upon contact. Yet…

Another glare from the king, and it smelled like a threat. Kazuha turned tail and walked to the door without facing him, forfeiting all customs and politeness. He had made a faux move, and now there was nothing but shards to pick up from his mess.

He slid into the corridor, headed to his room. Though he noticed Gorou trying to follow him, Kazuha chose to ignore him, unwilling to discuss his public embarrassment any further. Only when someone seized his arm did he stop his march, glancing up to meet Ayato's blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Kazuha muttered. "You took my side, but I merely dragged you down the ditch with me."

Ayato led him to the closest corner by his arm, almost dragging him through the torch-lit walls. Kazuha's heart skipped a beat, his mind racing to figure out what he wanted to tell him in such secrecy. "Are you sure of what you said?" he asked once they were alone.

"Absolutely."

Ayato nodded. Quick footsteps echoed through the silence, and he glanced behind Kazuha to check the identity of the newcomer. Thoma appeared at his king's side, droplets of cold sweat running down his jaw.

"We believe you," Ayato said. "Come to my temporary office."

King Kamisato let go of Kazuha's hand and marched ahead, disappearing behind the next curve. Thoma flashed a reassuring smile in Kazuha's direction. "Quick, Your Highness. Before someone sees us and thinks we're scheming."

Wasn't that technically what they were doing? Kazuha didn't imagine plotting against his father's decisions could be so satisfying. With new fire burning in his blood, he followed the two men through the castle until they reached the heavy door of King Kamisato's private office.

"Come, take a seat," Ayato invited him. He was already sitting at his desk, hands buried in the drawer to search through his documents. "Thoma will make us some tea while we discuss."

While Thoma obeyed his order, Kazuha sat on the chair in front of Ayato. A single glance at the room was enough to understand the wealth of the Kamisato clan. The furniture was so clean it shone even in the dim light of the candles, and the wood was the finest and smoother Kazuha had seen in his life.

He wasn't skilled with numbers, but it didn't take a genius to understand the difference in their status. Not an item in his father's treasure collection could compare to the tiniest trinket in Ayato's office.

The portraits of the bandit that Kazuha had been shown before were laid on the desk once more. A few notes had been added in purple ink, arrows and scribbles decorating the page like a work of art. "Please, could you kindly update me on what you've witnessed at the bandit hideout?"

After a single moment of hesitation, Kazuha told him everything. From the torture he had been given, the kind of information they were asking for, their plan to get rid of Ayato himself. And, more importantly, he reported the relationship between the members, plus their unique skills. 

Thoma returned while he was immersed in his memories, and placed two cups of hot tea in between them. "I haven't had the chance to see them in action, unfortunately," Kazuha finished his report. "But I am certain of what I said about Rosalyne. She asked Scaramouche and the others to set up a fake camp on the beach to dissolve your doubts."

"I knew there was something odd about her," Ayato said when the prince was done. "I've unleashed Shuumatsuban around the kingdom. It seems all information about her has been deleted from most libraries in the world, but we did manage to gather something."

"Is she so dangerous that historians are trying to remove her memory?" Kazuha's stomach clenched in an uncomfortable grip. With a hint of regret, he wondered why he had ended up involved with such horrible people, when the bandits' goal was Ayato's head.

Ayato's eyes widened at his question. "Oh, no, nothing of the sort!" He laughed, a rare sound coming from him. "She erased all proof of her existence before leaving the Academy in Sumeru. She is now known as the Crimson Witch of Flame, a true goddess when it comes to fire manipulation."

"We've met someone with similar power before," Thoma joined the conversation, sitting at a respectful distance from the two nobles, his gaze still focused on his king. "Alice, one of the best-known magic users in the world."

Kazuha tried to dig through his mental archive of trivia, in search of the faintest clue about her. He couldn't remember ever hearing her name before, the whole concept of magic nothing but a blur in his mind before he had met Mona.

Ayato took a sip from his cup. "Anyway, try to contact Tomo somehow. We will need all the help we can find, if we plan to oppose her openly."

That was easier said than done. How to get in touch with Tomo without heading to the slums again? Kazuha took a mental note to purchase a carrier falcon in the near future.

Thankfully for Kazuha, Tomo was among the most predictable men he knew. Not that he was acquainted with many, to be fair— but the bandit surely didn't stand out for his brightness or his wits. When Kazuha and Gorou headed out to look for him, sneaking from the castle like the good old times, they found him in the dandelion field.

"Kazuha?" Tomo asked upon casting his eyes on him, surprised. How could Kazuha miss him so badly if they had met recently? 

Tomo ran in their direction. He pulled Kazuha in his arms, lifting him in the air and placing a gentle kiss on his lips. His breath was soft, warm, so comfortable that the prince could already feel his focus shift, fading away in everything that was Tomo.

Gorou was tasked with one important duty: dragging him back to earth whenever his mind began to float. He coughed and coughed again until the two men parted, shooting embarrassed glances at him.

Kazuha awkwardly hopped down from Tomo's arms. The whole universe seemed to disappear when they were together, turning into nothing but background static. "Uhm, Gorou… Sorry for—"

"I don't mind you being lovebirds," Gorou saved him the effort of coming up with an apology. "We're in kind of a rush, though. So, maybe… It's not the best time to snog."

Tomo stared at Gorou for the longest time, a smile curving his lips. "Hey, you seem different. When did your crush disappear?"

"You knew ?!" Kazuha asked, incredulous. Gorou was hardly around when they met, usually the victim of their escape attempts or the soldier on duty to keep them hidden. How could Tomo have seen enough to understand his feelings?

"Pretty, it was rather evident," Tomo chuckled. "He gave me a dirty look whenever I touched you."

Gorou growled under his breath. "Can we stop talking about me as if I wasn't right here?" he snapped. "It's a long story, but you're not wrong. Let's just say that things have changed these past months."

Kazuha really had to inquire more about Itto. As soon as the ordeal with the bandits was over, his trusted guard was going to be put up for interrogation. "Tomo, we need to ask for your help."

They sat on the grass, under the naked branches of a tree. That winter was a mild one, yet the humidity made Kazuha shiver, the icy wind sneaking through his clothes. He wished they could meet inside, perhaps in front of a nice warm drink.

Kazuha updated Tomo on the events at the castle, and Tomo informed them of the latest meeting the bandits had at the cave. Through her mirror, Mona had managed to get in touch with Rosalyne (or "Signora", as Tomo called her). She had relayed Kazuha's public attack, voicing her amusement for her victory.

"She knows that you found her out," Tomo warned him. "And of course, everyone saw you were taken back. I'm surprised I was allowed to leave the hideout alone, honestly."

"Yeah, speaking of which," Gorou cut in, "how were you not found out?"

Tomo let out a bitter laugh. "I drank some of the drugged wine and, since the effects of the antidote had weakened over time, it put me to sleep for a while. I woke up a little after them, but… Honestly, I think Ajax knows."

Kazuha sighed. Despite his best attempts at turning Tomo's crazy plan into something easier and more believable, it hadn't been enough. "I mean, you did bring the wine, after all."

"I pretended to get angry at the seller for scamming me," Tomo said with a shrug. "Kunikuzushi told me it's what I deserve for being a cheapskate and buying lame rip-offs. But yes, I'm afraid I'm on thin ice."

"Then just join us."

Gorou's proposal fell like a heavy boulder between them. Tomo's jaw dropped in shock at the absurd demand, and Kazuha knew his fears well enough to understand what feelings were stirring up his insides. The terror of what the boss could do to him if they crossed blades on the battlefield… "Pardon me?!"

"Please, Tomo," Kazuha took his hands between his palms, his voice a desperate plea. "We need as many fighters as we can find if we want to resist her. Especially if your comrades join her."

Tomo's gaze was piercing. "Prince, are you asking me to betray them once and for all?"

"You already did by taking Kazuha back," Gorou pointed out. "You drugged your comrades to rescue him. Is the decision actually that hard to make?"

Tomo didn't have an answer for them. His eyes jumped back and forth between the two of them, sometimes getting lost over the horizon. It wasn't easy— banditry was everything he had ever known, and Kazuha was painfully aware of that.

"I beg you, love." Kazuha felt horrible pushing him like that. It wasn't different from stabbing Tomo right through his chest, a lowly strategy to get what he wanted.

Tomo wasn't so stupid as to not see through his scheme. "Even if you call me like that, I—"

"Please." Gorou bowed down before him, his forehead brushing against the grass.

"Please," Kazuha echoed, copying his guard's movements. His hair landed into the wet mud, a disgusting sensation creeping up his skin. Still, he didn't move. "Leave that group. When this story is over, we can leave the island together. But— we need you."

Tomo's hands landed on Kazuha's shoulders. "You're a prince , don't bow for me," he said, pulling him up with his full strength. "Alright, I see where you stand. Give me some time to mull it over, okay? I'll let you know."

"We don't have time!" Gorou insisted.

"Tomorrow," Tomo said. "I'll let you know tomorrow."

With those final words, he left. Kazuha saw his flashy red outfit being swallowed by the wind as he jumped down the cliff, headed far away from them. For the first time since they had met, he couldn't be sure they would see each other again.

"That man," Gorou growled. "He drives me crazy with anger, I swear."

Kazuha chuckled. "It's rare to see you so mad," he commented, ruffling up his hair. "Thanks for helping me, Gorou. Bowing down was a good idea."

"I hated every second of it." To prove his point, he pretended to puke, his face twisted in a grimace of disgust. "But it's my duty, isn't it? I have to help you."

There was no more tension in Gorou's smile, his sentence genuine after many weeks of fake composure. Whatever that Itto had done for him, Kazuha was grateful for his support.

thoma

During his years of serving someone as important as King Kamisato, Thoma had witnessed wild things. Bandit assaults, ambushes, monsters threatening their life, evil spirits tied to cursed mansions and wells… Yet, soldiers made of fire were something new.

He had felt Alice's power when she had visited the Kamisato estate years before, when Ayato was planning the rebirth of the kingdom upon ascending to the throne. She was pulsating with magic, her fire rumored to be able to melt even the toughest iron.

Thoma wondered how dangerous Signora was compared to her. And he thought it was rather unfair that someone as talented had ended up with a lousy group of criminals, instead of being a teacher in some prestigious school, or a well-known sorceress who helped others.

He laughed at his own silly thoughts— Life was hardly that fair. He could almost feel Ayato's voice ringing in his head. "Mr. Goody-Goody" , he would call him.

The camp was indeed empty, nothing more than well-made smoke and mirrors. There wasn't a single soul around, and no trace of human life. No ashes in the fireplace, no footprints on the sand, not a wrinkle on the bedrolls in the tents.

Thoma took a few pictures with his Kamera, thanking Ayato for his knack for foreign technologies. That gadget had proved to be very useful in the past, saving the effort of memorizing details to report, and of hiring painters when one wished to order a portrait of himself.

Well, his duty was over. He couldn't wait to return to his king's side, the feeling of leaving him alone for an entire morning sending thrills of impatience down his spine. He hated being far away from him, when any danger could seize him without his protection.

Thoma's heart skipped a beat when he turned around to look at the castle. Smoke rose from the tower, painting the sky an ominous black. Fire butterflies flew from the holes in the bricks and wood, a brighter red than blood.

The assault had begun.

Chapter Text

kazuha

They hadn't expected an attack so soon, and in broad daylight, no less. The soldiers had been doubled in presence during the night shift, to make sure both kings would be safe in their sleep, and Ayato kept Rosalyne under surveillance to reduce the risk of surprises. To no avail, it seemed.

It all began with an explosion— fireworks stolen from the storehouse being blown straight through the outside wall of the tower, burning through the wooden foundations and bursting bricks. Then, the bandits flocked in like rainfall, knocking out all the guards in their path.

"Of course they'd come when Thoma isn't here," Ayato cursed under his breath. He slammed the drawer under the desk shut, hiding away the confidential documents. "Kazuha, go hide somewhere. I'll try to buy us some time until he's back."

"No way we're leaving you alone," Gorou cut in. He stepped forward, his spear held firmly in his hand to fend off any sudden attackers.

Ayato patted his shoulder. "Gorou, I appreciate your concern. But as a soldier of Watatsumi, you must protect your king and your prince. I will manage."

"But—"

"Go." Ayato pushed both of them outside, ignoring their protests.

While King Kamisato joined them in the corridor and closed the door behind their backs, Kazuha's glance studied their surroundings. The echo of blades clashing together echoed through the walls of the castle, spreading like wildfire. He couldn't tell whether they were far or near and, before he could listen in with more attention, Gorou took his hand.

"Let's go," Gorou said. He dragged Kazuha down the hall, headed to the opposite side of the building, where the empty bedrooms were awaiting them. Kazuha had been moved to another wing now, so his old room should be safe until Thoma's arrival.

As they ran away, Kazuha's heart was beating out of control. He had never been part of real action before, his knowledge about sword fighting and war coming solely from the novels he had been reading through his youth. The memories of Tartaglia's knife on his skin and the crazy, murderous expression on Scaramouche's face didn't help his nerves.

"So here you are, bastard!"

Kazuha glanced back. Ayato had seized the spear from the unconscious body of a guard, and was wielding its blade against a bandit. How not to recognize the purple kitsune mask and the frenzy of his movements? That was the leader himself, and he craved blood.

Scaramouche attacked, his sword meeting the edge of Ayato's spear with a loud clang . Sparks flew in the air, burning the carpet where they landed. Teppei jumped into the action, turning the match into a two-on-one assault.

Despite being a king, Ayato knew how to wield a weapon. His hits were precise and elegant, aiming at the enemy's weak spots with infallible precision. Teppei's style wasn't as polished, the practice he had done at the training camp for rookies long forgotten, his skill rusty. Yet, their movements matched rather well, with Teppei's clumsy swings following the trail of Ayato's blows, leaving no room to breathe to their opponent.

Unfortunately for them, Scaramouche wasn't just any casual man. His bloodlust was something else, his attacks quick and driven by instinct. He looked like a beast more than a human, a predator jumping on its prey with all intents to devour it.

"They can't do this without Thoma," Kazuha commented. He stopped abruptly, forcing Gorou to halt their crazy run through the corridor. He had to do something— the more time passed, the more cuts appeared on King Kamisato's clothes, droplets of blood staining the pure white cloth of his kimono.

"Kazuha." Gorou tugged at his sleeve, urging him to move. "You're not Thoma, and you can barely hold a sword. You would be dead weight for him if you tried to help. Just come."

"Besides, you have other things to worry about!"

Kazuha's stomach twisted as he turned around, the familiar voice sending chills through his bones. Tartaglia was standing in their way, his legs still dangling from the closest window, his double swords shining in his hands.

Gorou turned on his feet, his grip on his spear tightening. Then, Kazuha couldn't follow them anymore— they started the fastest, most dangerous duel he had ever seen. Though his looks and his young age were deceiving, Gorou was an excellent fighter, prepared for battle ever since he was a child.

Tartaglia was as unhinged as Kazuha remembered, his attacks fast but calculated, not a drop of energy wasted despite his hysteria. "I remember you," he said, his blue mask pointing in Kazuha's direction. "You're the one who was making out with Tomo that day, right? I bet he's the one who freed you, after all. Well, he got what he deserved."

"What did you do to him?" Kazuha heard himself ask, instantly regretting his choice. From what he had seen, he knew Tartaglia couldn't be trusted, his opinions often filtered through multiple layers of mockery and deceit.

And, for once, Kazuha prayed that he was lying. "Oh, I wonder," Tartaglia teased, his smirk easy to imagine even through the mask. "If you're so worried about him, I can kill you too, so you can see him again."

Panic flooded Kazuha's mind like poison. He had seen little of the world, and he certainly wasn't an expert in bandit code of honor, but he could imagine that traitors were executed once found out. "You drugged your comrades to rescue the prince," Gorou had said. What if Tartaglia had killed him on that same day?

Gorou's spear met Tartaglia's blade once more. "Kazuha, he's bluffing. Leave, now!" he ordered. When he saw that Kazuha was too terrified, petrified in shock by the concerning news, his voice turned into a scream. "Go!"

Unable to form a coherent thought or to voice an answer, Kazuha obeyed. He ran away, fleeing from the scene. He ran and ran, turning corners, passing open doors, crossing paths with unconscious guards sprawled on the floor. And then, finally, the peaceful sight of his old bedroom appeared before his eyes.

He crossed the door, seeking refuge from the chaos of the assault. He wondered if he could act like a child, hiding under his bed until the scary monsters would be chased away by his heroic guard. Who would look for him there, anyway? Yes, the plan sounded perfect… Except for a minor inconvenience.

Rosalyne was standing in the center of the room, her usual clothes replaced by a scenic crimson gown. When she turned around to greet him, a cruel smirk peeked from under a black half-mask, the red details shining bright like fresh blood.

"Why hello there," she greeted him. "Looking for something?"

Kazuha flinched, his gaze scanning the room in search of any usable weapon. He had nothing at his disposal, not even a knife— he never needed to protect himself, when a trained guard was at his side even at night. Leaving Gorou was a mistake, after all.

The woman walked towards him, her heels clicking against the marble tiles. "You know, the only order we were given is to behead King Kamisato for revenge," she said. "But… I bet Scaramouche would be delighted to have a matching pair. Do you wish to volunteer, prince?"

"Why is your group obsessed with King Kamisato?" Kazuha inquired, taking a precautional step back. "Couldn't you act like any other regular band and leave once threatened? Did you really have to go out of your way to—"

"Less blathering, more fighting," Rosalyne interrupted him. She swung her arms in the air, and Kazuha watched with sheer terror as crimson butterflies danced in a cloud of smoke, until the silhouettes of two men appeared out of nowhere.

Never before had Kazuha regretted so much not undergoing any military training. Hiding in books, writing to kill time, daydreaming to escape reality… All of it was extremely nice, but now that he needed a vague hint of battle skills, he found himself cornered with close to no effort.

Rosalyne was a fearsome witch. Her flames burned like the pits of hell, her illusions were convincing and didn't miss a spot. Her men attacked, and turned into tongues of fire upon impact, burning Kazuha's skin all over.

Kazuha resorted to his last trick. He picked up the ornaments on his shelves and used them as throwing stones, mentally cheering whenever they cut through an illusion and dissolved the threat. If he survived this ordeal, he was definitely going to ask Gorou to teach him how to wield a spear.

Enthusiasm overcame it too quickly, his goofy attacks striking home a few times in a row. And at that moment, Kazuha learned the first, valuable lesson about war: never let your guard down. In the exact second he let his nerves loose, thinking he might make it out alive, two fire men appeared at his sides, blocking his arms.

"That was a fun little game," Rosalyne said, irritation coating her voice, "but it's over at last. Tell me, how do you prefer to die? I can turn you to ashes, or maybe I can slowly burn you piece by piece until you beg for mercy." 

"I wouldn't beg," Kazuha said. "Good timber does not grow with ease. The stronger wind, the stronger the trees."

Rosalyne let out an amused huff. "Was that poetry? You're a man of many talents, I'd say. So, let's test your resilience then, shall we?"

The heat radiating from the men's palms increased, the skin of Kazuha's arms slowly turning red. He bit down his lower lip to hold back a pained scream, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.

It hurt, and the more seconds ticked by, the darker his flesh turned— from bright red, to purple, to a dull gray. It reminded him of the wound on Tomo's arm, the beginning of it all. Tomo… if he truly was dead, then they might reunite sooner than Kazuha had expected.

The world grew white around him, his vision turning blurry. In his nightmares, he had died often, each time in a different way. He didn't think he would meet his end like that, held still in place by the fire of a witch, melting away in front of her eery laughter.

But right as he could feel consciousness slip away from his body, something happened. An arrow plowed through the air with a deafening whistle, plunging in Rosalyne's shoulder with a spurt of blood. She yelped, caught off guard— when Kazuha glanced at the window, a well-known man was standing on the balcony.

"Signora, come on," Tomo said. "Attacking someone who can't fight back? I thought there was a glimpse of honor left in your heart, but… I guess I was wrong?"

Rosalyne's illusions vanished at once, her anger changing targets. Kazuha dropped to the floor, his limbs heavy, his breath labored. He had survived. This time, Tomo had been the one to save him from the fire.

"Tomo, you—" Rosalyne said, her hand darting to the wound to keep the blood from spilling out. "What do you think you're doing?"

Tomo shot one more arrow, hitting the same spot. He closed the distance between them, his boots crackling over the old shards of the broken window. "I'm sorry, comrade, but… This plan is a little too personal of a grudge for me to care. Besides, the man you were about to kill happens to be mine."

Through the haze, Kazuha's cheeks still flushed in embarrassment. That was possibly the worst moment for them to flirt, yet Tomo didn't seem to miss a single opportunity to land a serious blow to his heart.

"Kunikuzushi will kill you," Rosalyne threatened him. Her knees gave in, and she quickly crawled backward until her back met with the wall. "I hope you know that. He won't let you get away with this."

Kazuha noticed the chill of terror shaking Tomo's body, the hesitation that washed over him for the faintest moment. He was terrified of Scaramouche, after all, and that had been his sole reason to stick at their side for so many months. But now… was it worth it?

"I'm not going to kill you," Tomo said. He lifted his crossbow to aim at her face. "Unless you force me to, that is. What is Ajax's usual line? Ah, yes— Surrender, and I'll be gentle."

"As if you could kill me," Rosalyne hissed through gritted teeth. She slapped the air, and waves of fire spread from her hand, aiming straight for Tomo's head.

Kazuha's reflexes were faster. He grabbed the closest thing he could find and threw it at her hand— the familiar vial of mint oil burst in a thousand fragments, cutting her skin and causing her to freeze for a second.

Only a second, a single second… It was enough for Tomo to act. He jumped on her, taking advantage of her temporary shock to hit the back of her neck. Rosalyne was knocked unconscious, and all fire in the room ceased to burn.

Kazuha stood up, his legs shaking from the rush of adrenaline. Tomo came to his side, wrapping his arm around Kazuha's shoulders to help him stand. They stared at Rosalyne's unconscious body at their feet. She would be sleeping for a long while, it seemed.

"Am I crazy," Tomo asked after catching his breath, "or was what you threw at her a bottle of that oil?"

Kazuha nodded, a chuckle rising from the back of his throat. "Yes."

"Well, that's fucking ironic." Tomo was less modest in his reaction. He burst out laughing in a loud fit, his eyes tearing up and his cheeks turning red. "I can't believe she was defeated by the oil we used to fuck."

Kazuha averted his gaze, shy. "I suggest we only use that oil from now onwards. It could be our good luck charm."

"Proposal accepted," Tomo said. He bent his head to place a quick kiss on Kazuha's lips, leaving him wanting more. "Now come, let's help the others. I'll protect you."

With nothing left to fear, Kazuha held Tomo's hand on their way back. The road seemed shorter now, the anxiety from the escape gone, newfound safety at his side. Tomo's broad shoulders led the way, shielding him from any harm. Kazuha was certain now: they would be victorious.

The core of the fight had moved from the corridors to the throne room. Kazuha wondered if his father was safe, wherever he had been taken— at least, King Kamisato wasn't alone anymore. The groups had melted together, and Thoma had returned as well.

Once Tomo joined in the fight, the sides were finally balanced, with two bandits that counted as four men on one side, and five warriors on the other. Kazuha couldn't help them, but he did his part by locking the doors and blocking off all their possible escape routes.

Suddenly, the war seemed winnable.

Though he had read such scenes in multiple adventure novels, Kazuha had never witnessed an arrest with his own eyes. The three bandits had been tied up with ropes, magical handcuffs sealing off their wrists to block off Rosalyne's fire powers.

Since their original target was King Kamisato and not King Kaedehara or his son, Ayato had chosen to take the criminals to his homeland, where they would "rot in prison for the rest of eternity", to quote his words.

"Are they all here?" Ayato asked, walking closer to the prisoners to check their identities.

Kazuha could only begin to imagine how proud he must be of himself and his informants. They had been right from the start about them, they had identified them correctly and proceeded to drive them out as planned.

"All except for one," Thoma said. "The other witch wasn't with them. I'm assuming they had her escape before the attack even began."

Scaramouche laughed, his mockery never-fading despite the circumstances. "Good luck trying to find her. Did you know she can turn into water? No? Not even your little rat informants can hope to follow her tracks."

King Kamisato glared at him. Kazuha swore that if looks could kill, nothing would remain of Scaramouche but a sad pile of ashes. "It's quite alright. We have you, and that's all that matters."

The rest of the day was a frantic ride. King Kaedehara had been hidden by his guards in the nearby woods, escaping through the secret passage in his bedroom. Nurses and shrine maidens from Sangonomiya Shrine came in flocks to help the wounded, fetching all unconscious soldiers and giving them due medical care.

Her Excellency came in person to bless the castle. Gorou was too busy helping the rescue teams and giving first aid to notice her, his guilt for leaving Ayato alone in the heat of the fight forcing him to be useful.

Things slowly settled down, the chaos gone, peace returning to rule over the castle. Broken windows were patched up, the hole blown in the tower was repaired, and everyone's spirits were soothed with a good night's sleep.

And in the end, King Kamisato asked for a formal audience before the throne. Kazuha figured the moment would eventually come for them to part ways— after all, he had a kingdom to lead, and everything nice was doomed to end at some point.

Ayato bowed before the king. "I want to formally apologize for the trouble I caused to your kingdom, Your Majesty. Your castle has been attacked by bandits who sought revenge for my actions. I will ensure you're dutifully rewarded for your soldiers' efforts, and repaid for the losses you have suffered."

As promised, King Kamisato would pay for the restoration expenses and the medical care for the injured soldiers. He would also offer King Kaedehara and his merchants special trading rights with the Narukami Kingdom, and a large sum of money to accompany them.

Only one matter still needed to be addressed. "Your Majesty," Ayato said, his chin pointing in Tomo's general direction. "I believe this man deserves some kind of honor. He saved my life by coming at the perfect time and, more importantly, he saved Prince Kazuha from torture, and certain death."

King Kaedehara failed to hide a vague note of annoyance on his face. He gestured for Tomo to come closer, lazily waving a hand in the air. "Step forward, young man. Let me see you"

Tomo took a few goofy steps ahead, shyly making his way to the throne. The king inspected his face for a long time, and Kazuha could see his gaze flickering over his scars. Though his mask had been discarded and his allegiance had changed, Tomo still wore his past as a bandit on his sleeve.

"Thank you for saving my son's life," King Kaedehara said, reluctantly. "As a reward, please feel free to demand anything of me. Anything reasonable , that is— Wealth? Land? Status? What do you wish for?"

Tomo grew quiet. The gazes of every person in the throne room fell on his shoulders, crushing him with expectations and curiosity. Maids began to whisper, soldiers shifted on the spot, uncomfortable. Kazuha forgot how to breathe, his mind racing to imagine what sort of prize Tomo's heart craved.

"I have one request," Tomo said after what felt like an eternity of silence. "If it's possible, well, since Rosalyne was proven to be a scam— May I have the honor of the prince's hand in marriage?"

A wave of surprised gasps rose from the crowd. Kazuha froze on his throne, petrified by shock. They had planned to leave the country together, and to find fortune somewhere else. Not that Kazuha hadn't considered the idea of getting married… He simply expected that to happen after their escape, secretly, a shared whisper between the two of them.

The perspective was thrilling, though. The whole kingdom— no, the whole world would hear of them. The prince and the former bandit, getting married before the entire nation, only to escape the morning after without leaving a trace. The ultimate trick, the final act of rebellion.

Kazuha glanced up at his father, praying to hear a positive response. Their gazes met, and in the man's eyes was nothing but surprise. "You want to marry Kazuha?"

Tomo shrugged. "There's nothing else I want as much as this."

King Kaedehara looked at his son. For the first time since he was born, he was seeing him as a man with his own emotions and desires, and not as a burden. "Then, it's settled."

The crowd kept mumbling and whispering, gossip spreading like wildfire. At Ayato's side, Thoma let out a high-pitched cheer, soon echoed by Gorou and Teppei near the entrance. 

Even King Kamisato wasn't indifferent— he smiled, almost with fatherly pride. "I suppose staying here for a few more days won't hurt."

Considering the speed at which things had been moving so far, Kazuha was surprised to realize a wedding was indeed a time-consuming event to organize and plan. As soon as the king gave his approval, the gears snapped into motion, and the prince was swallowed by his duties.

In the couple months that followed, Kazuha spent his waking hours signing documents, sending over invites, and receiving guests and their presents. He shook hands, heard names, and bowed before messengers a million times. He could barely see his future husband, forced to be happy with sporadic meetings in between appointments, or late in the night.

Kazuha didn't have the luxury of wasting time thinking . But when he did, when his frantic routine stopped for a moment, he failed to believe he wasn't just dreaming. Tomo had seriously asked for his hand, and his father had given his blessing. Soon, they would be married, with matching rings on their fingers and the red string of fate tying them together.

In the daytime, Kazuha helped prepare the ceremony. Since he was the nobleman in the couple and his family would handle all aspects of the event, Kazuha was tasked with the choice of every single detail. He had to pick the location, decide on the decorations, and even choose a priest.

When asked about religion, Tomo never had an answer. He wasn't a believer, and anything would be alright for him. His lack of decisiveness threw Kazuha in an abyss of confusion, as he wondered which side to pick. He could honor tradition and summon a priest from the Church in the mainland, thus consolidating his bonds with Ayato as well, or he could do a favor to his own kingdom by marrying under the Orobaxi cult.

"I see the bride is struggling," Gorou had said once, stepping into Kazuha's freshly-established office only to find him half-asleep on the desk, his nose buried in paperwork. "Do you need help choosing?"

" Please ," Kazuha had begged. After a week spent balancing the two options, he was beginning to regret not dumping the matter on Tomo's shoulders.

Gorou had walked closer to the desk, swatting dust from Kazuha's clothes. "Let me go back to Sangonomiya Shrine, and I'll ask for Her Excellency herself. She will come if I'm the one asking."

That would solve many problems. And, more importantly, part of the responsibility would fall on Gorou instead. "I love you."

"Oh, save that for your husband," Gorou had complained. His cheeks flushed at the praise— losing feelings for Kazuha apparently didn't mean his compliments didn't have any effect on him. "By the way, you forgot to drink your tea."

At night, with a cup of sake in his palm, Kazuha would sit on the balcony. All signs of the fight with Rosalyne had been cleaned up. The window had been repaired, the floor washed, the furniture and floor repainted. Everything looked unscathed, as if nothing had happened, as if the events of two months prior had been nothing but a strange dream.

The only proof that it was undoubtedly real was the bruise on Kazuha's right hand. He still remembered the pain of the fire burning his skin, the fear of dying at the mercy of the flames. That would be a scar he'd carry with him forever, indelible over time.

It went without saying that Kazuha couldn't bear to live in the kingdom anymore. After tying the knot, he and Tomo were planning to set off on a journey, heading as far as possible from Watatsumi. They hadn't thought of a destination: they would find out on their way, the voyage itself turning into an odd honeymoon.

The feeling was bittersweet. It meant saying goodbye to life as Kazuha knew it, with no hopes of retracing his steps. If he ever returned to the kingdom, it would be as a visitor and not as a ruler. And in their new home, far from the luxury of his castle, Kazuha would have to learn how to get by, how to dirty his hands instead of relying on obedient servants.

A sacrifice he was more than willing to make. Kazuha raised his cups to the moon each night, praying for happiness.

When flowers were in bloom and leaves were shining bright, everything was ready for the ceremony. An altar had been built on the beach, facing the shores of Watatsumi, with the ocean to frame the picture.

Kazuha felt almost silly in choosing that location, the same place where they had first kissed. But he couldn't imagine anything that summed up the very essence of Watatsumi more than that corner of the world: sand under his feet, the sea at his back, and the green trees in the distance.

The outfit he had been forced to wear was stiff and heavy, the layers of fabric hindering his movements. Gorou and a maid had joined their efforts to force Kazuha inside it, tolerating his tantrums and his groans.

"I feel like a snowman," Kazuha would complain whenever given the chance to speak.

In response, Gorou would tug harshly at his sash each time, drawing a yelp out of Kazuha's pouty lips. "That's the downside of traditional marriages. Pick the Orobaxi cult, deal with the traditional Watatsumi clothes."

Kazuha had groaned, dying to remind him it had been his idea. He couldn't deny, though, that the outfit suited him perfectly. The flower pattern on his red kimono matched his eyes, and Gorou had spent a good handful of hours braiding his hair up in a complicated yet elegant tangle.

Even now, as he waited for the moment he'd have to walk down to the altar, Kazuha wondered how Tomo would react upon seeing him like that. He was nervous: marriage came once in a lifetime, after all.

As the date approached, the certainty Kazuha had worn on his face in the months following the attack on the castle had been blown away like a leaf in the wind. Doubts had begun haunting him, nightmares following him everywhere— what if they were rushing things? What if living together wouldn't be enjoyable? What if, once there, Kazuha proved unable to handle himself and Tomo grew tired of him?

So far, he had forced himself to pull through. Because he knew that, on the other side of his irrational fear, stood a bright future, everything he had ever dreamed of.

When the time came, Kazuha marched towards the altar. His gaze set on the floor, he heard the whispers of the crowd, made of nobles and commoners alike (at Tomo's request). Everyone in the kingdom had given up the hope of witnessing that moment, sure that the prince would join either the army or the church and leave.

To think about it now, not a year had gone by since that conversation with the king. Kazuha felt like a brand new person though, the trivial worries about what to do of his fate only a distant memory. If the gods were putting him up for a test, well, he could be bold enough to believe he had passed.

Kazuha glanced up and was greeted by Her Excellency's bright smile. She stood before the altar, her body wrapped up in formal attire. Bouquets, folded paper figures, and embroidered canvases decorated the shrine— Kazuha's nervous gaze inspected them all, losing itself in every fold and thread, desperate to postpone the moment he'd have to meet Tomo's eyes.

Once he mustered the courage to turn around, Kazuha noticed that Tomo was staring at him in awe, his jaw dropped. He looked gorgeous as well; his hair was still unruly, but his ponytail had been decorated with colorful threads that Thoma had probably helped adjust. The black kimono suited him greatly, his purple irises shining like gems on top.

"You're beautiful," Tomo commented in a whisper.

Kazuha swallowed thickly, the tension finally catching up to him. His mind went blank, he forgot how to speak, like a fish out of water. "A-Ah, thank you. You— You look handsome, too."

"It isn't like you to struggle with your words." Tomo didn't miss a chance to tease him, not even on their wedding day. "Am I truly that charming?"

Kazuha pretended to glare at him. "As charming as the prince in a novel. Even too much, honestly." He pointed at the altar with a brief movement of his shoulders. "You were given the right to ask anything… You could have demanded all of the kingdom's money, and yet you chose to ask for my hand. How cliché."

"You chose the beach where we kissed as the wedding venue," Tomo retorted. "Are you sure you're in the position to judge, my beloved spouse?"

Kazuha's face caught fire. He wanted to object, to make a comment at least on the embarrassing way Tomo had spoken to him, but Her Excellency cleared her throat, thus deeming their small chatting session as over.

The ceremony itself was different from what Kazuha had daydreamed about. The speech flowed by in a moment, the loud thumps of his heart punctuated its rhythm like notes played on a lyre. The exchange of rings was clumsy— Tomo almost dropped his to the floor, and Kazuha had trouble fitting it on Tomo's finger, his hands shaking from the tension.

And when they moved on to the vows, saying their "I do" and kissing in front of the cheering audience, Kazuha could feel nothing but relief at the thought his public embarrassment was over. And happiness, of course, but that was a constant when he was with Tomo.

Just like this, like a raindrop forming ripples on the surface of the sea, they were married. Their relationship had started with a dance, it had undergone multiple layers of lies and even a kidnapping in between, but there they were. Their destiny was carved into stone, written in the stars.

The only thing left to do was say the due goodbyes.

"I believe you have someone to introduce to me."

Gorou jumped on the spot, startled. With his head buried in the buffet and his gaze low to avoid the blinding sun rays reflected on the surface of the water, he looked genuinely ashamed. But Kazuha had postponed the matter for far too long, and he had sworn he wouldn't hide anymore.

"Ah, do I?" Gorou played dumb. "And who would that be?"

The burly man at his side threw his hand forward, silently begging Kazuha to shake it. Unfortunately for Gorou, his partner seemed either smart enough to catch Kazuha's hidden message, or too stupid to understand Gorou's discomfort.

"Nice to meet you, prince!" Itto exclaimed, his voice unbearably loud. "Oh, man! It's the first time I speak to a nobleman. Wait, am I being rude? I mean, you're puppy's best friend, so I figured it— Oh, Gorou, sorry. Maybe I shouldn't call you that in public."

Kazuha snorted at… At everything , honestly. He didn't know what was more amusing, if Gorou's red cheeks for the embarrassing pet name, the funny lack of manners of his man, or the waterfall of absolute nonsense flying out of Itto's lips.

Itto was as different from Kazuha as he could possibly be. Perhaps that was the kind of person Gorou needed by his side, someone who spoke loudly enough to cover up the constant white noise in his head.

Gorou groaned. He dropped his plate on the table, giving up on his meal, and turned to face them. "You've heard of him. Arataki Itto, leader of the Arataki gang, has visited our prison cells at least a dozen times…" A small pause. "And well… My boyfriend."

Kazuha shook Itto's hand. "Nice to meet you. I hope you two are happy."

"Oh, we are," Gorou promptly replied. He gasped for a moment, surprised by his own speedy answer. "I— I wanted to tell you about him before, but I thought… Actually, scratch that. I wasn't thinking at all, sorry."

"It's alright, my dearest friend." Kazuha loosened his grip on Itto's hand to pet Gorou's hair instead. He would miss its stress-relieving powers in his travels. Tomo's hair was made of a softness he adored, but not quite as satisfying under his fingertips. "I'm grateful you've found someone who loves you as much as you deserve."

Gorou teared up at his words, moved. In a flash, he let go of all formalities and jumped on Kazuha, hugging him tightly.

It was nostalgic. There wouldn't be many other moments like this. Sure, he would find some company in his new home, he would build a fresh life from scratch. But what he had felt and cherished throughout his twenty-one years as the third prince of the Watatsumi Kingdom wouldn't merely vanish from his heart.

"Aw, damn," Itto yelled. "I love group hugs! Come here, you shorties!" Before anyone could protest, Itto's arms were already wrapped around Kazuha and Gorou's waists, squeezing them in the tightest embrace Kazuha had ever experienced.

Maybe he had been wrong in his judgment. Tomo wasn't the sun— Itto was. He was warm, cheerful, and loud; whereas Tomo was a comforting yet thrilling presence, much like the moon.

"Hey," Tomo's indignant voice cut in. "You dare exclude the groom from your public displays of affection?!"

Once Tomo joined him, the group turned into a tangle of arms and shoulders, uncomfortable and packed. Kazuha forgot how to breathe, pressed against one too many chests. Nevertheless, when Gorou started laughing out loud, he couldn't help but follow his lead. He couldn't remember having that much fun before.

Cups were raised to the setting sun, and then to the moon and the stars. Sake and beer flowed, empty bottles rolled onto the sand, while the enthusiasm inflated like a bubble and then burst at the end of the day.

Drunk beyond their limits, Itto and Tomo had fallen asleep simultaneously, still sitting at the dining table. After various attempts at waking them up, when even the last one among the guests had left the venue to head to their beds, Gorou and Kazuha decided to give up.

They went for a stroll down the shore. They walked in the dark, their bare feet sinking in the sand, silently. The stars watched over them from above, not a cloud to cover up their beautiful glow.

Kazuha glanced up, staring at the bright circle in the sky. It was firm, peaceful. He wondered how it looked from the other side of the world, how the Empress, the lords in Liyue, and even the citizens of Mondstadt saw it.

"We're going to travel," Kazuha announced.

"You should." Gorou didn't sound surprised. After all, who knew him better than his best friend? "I don't think Watatsumi has anything to offer you anymore."

Tears fogged up Kazuha's vision, a bitter sadness blocking off his throat. It hit him only then, how lucky he had been through his misfortune. How many people had been good to him without asking for anything in return, and how many people he could learn from.

"Would you and Itto join us?" Kazuha asked. "If I left the royal family and fled to another kingdom to start from scratch? Once we're settled down, you could reach us."

Gorou smiled, his gaze firm on their feet. "Maybe, once, I would have said yes without thinking twice about it. I would have left behind everything I loved to follow you to the ends of the world. But now… Things have changed, I'm afraid."

That was exactly the answer Kazuha had expected. If he gave up his title as the prince, he wouldn't need a guard anymore. Gorou would be freed from his duty and relocated to other activities. He would join the king's escort, maybe, or return to the army as a regular soldier.

"What is holding you back?" Kazuha asked anyway, wishing to hear Gorou's voice for a while longer.

"For starters, Itto can't leave his family behind," Gorou explained. "They have a cute bakery in Bourou. I don't mind working for them— I was planning to leave the army anyway, once you were gone."

Kazuha stopped walking, as if frozen by Gorou's words. "All along?" he asked. "Even if I joined the army as well, or if I was sent to a Shrine in Yougou?"

"All along." Gorou halted his steps too, fondness in his gaze. "I don't wish to be a soldier if I can't be your guard."

They stared at each other for an intense moment, heaps of things unsaid darting back and forth between their eyes. They had been lifelong companions, they had discovered emotions together, and what it meant to be alive. And now, after everything they had been through, they were about to part.

"I don't regret a single thing," Gorou said. Tears flowed down his cheeks, glimmering in the first light of dawn. "Not even the years I've spent chasing you without any hope to be seen."

Honesty came at a high price. Kazuha didn't notice he was crying, too, until he tasted salt on his lips. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Gorou. The remorse eats me up at night even now," he confessed. "But I suppose that, in the end, we both got our happy ending."

"Just like in your beloved novels, huh?" Gorou wiped his face with the sleeve of his kimono.

Kazuha copied his gesture. "Just like in my beloved novels."

The sun slowly rose over the horizon, painting the sky white. The land awaiting at the other end of the ocean, with its tall mountains and its thriving forests, was now clear and visible from there. Kazuha was scared of what he'd find there, into the unknown, but it was an exciting kind of fear.

"Speaking of which…" Gorou said after dawn break. "I saw you were taking notes earlier. I remember the notebook you used to scribble on. Have you made up your mind?"

Oh, so he had noticed. Kazuha had neglected poetry for a good while, his heart too lost in its turmoil to come up with any words that would properly express his feelings. But there was something else he could do. "I think so. I will travel, and I will try to become a writer."

"Novels aside," Gorou tugged at his sleeve, "promise that you will write to me. Tell me everything about your adventures and, in return, I will bore you to death with the good old routine in Watatsumi."

They laughed, though their hearts were heavy in their chests. And Kazuha thought that, maybe, it had all been worth it in the long run. All the hurt, the pain, and the fight for his future.

Neither of them dared to say a word on their way back. The sun was high in the sky, the city waking up in the distance, trails of smoke rising from the chimneys. It was time for Kazuha and Tomo to go. It wouldn't be long before Yoimiya's cart would depart for Narukami, taking them to the border of Watatsumi. The first, simple step of their journey.

"Goodbye, Gorou," Kazuha said, holding him in a final hug. "May we meet again."

Gorou buried his face in the curve of his shoulder one last time. "Goodbye, Kazuha. I wish you all the best."

No matter where Kazuha would end up, Gorou would always have a special place in his heart.

"Where did I go wrong with him?"

Gorou kept his lips shut tight as the king complained. The news of Kazuha's escape had reached the castle, brought by the guard himself, and was currently spreading like wildfire through the entire kingdom. Just like it was meant to be.

"I believe it is not your fault, Your Majesty," Gorou said. "Kazuha was simply… not fit for this lifestyle."

And he had never been. His spirit had longed for freedom since he had learned how to walk. If he could stroll down the garden of his castle, then he could wander the world. Kazuha would be at his happiest out there, in the wilderness, with nothing but love in his pockets.

The king signed the documents, then applied his stamp on the bottom of the scroll. With that brief, loud thump , Gorou was set free. Relieved from his duties, moving out of the castle that had been his home for years.

"Do you think," the king asked, handing the paper sheets back to Gorou, "that man loves him?"

Gorou took the documents between his fingers, tasting freedom in his grasp. "Trust me, Your Majesty. He will be the happiest man in the whole world."

King Kaedehara smiled, his eyebrows furrowed nervously. He was alone, now, with all of his children out of those walls. Daughters in the church, his son soon to take his place as the king, the other ones far from home.

Were they happy? Gorou couldn't know that for sure. Maybe they were, maybe they regretted being born as princes and princesses. But one thing was certain: Kazuha was where he was meant to be, now.

"Then, perhaps," the king said, "I will let it slide, for once."

Chapter Text

"I hope this letter finds you well, my dearest friend."

Lifting weights was hard to get used to. Kazuha managed to pick up the barrel in his arms, the fish inside trying to squirm out of its cage. He ran to the fisherman's shop and dropped it onto the floor, watching with satisfaction as the man grinned at him.

"You did a great job," the fisherman said. He gave Kazuha a cup of water and handed him a bag of coins as a reward for his hard work.

Kazuha headed outside once more, his shoes tapping on the wooden tiles of the dock. His gaze set on the horizon, he drank with gusto, the heat of the sun drying up the salt on his skin in an unpleasant tingle.

"My apologies for not writing to you sooner. The journey was long, and the hardships of moving homes overcame me a little. But I wanted you to know I am doing alright, and I hope that you, Itto, Teppei, and everyone else are as well."

The fisherman approached Kazuha, his heavy steps almost scaring the fish away. "You're always glancing at the distance," he said. "I caught you tearing up while looking at the horizon, and taking notes frantically. Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no." Kazuha shook his head. "Sometimes, I merely miss my homeland."

The man nodded, following the direction Kazuha was looking in. "You said you're from Watatsumi, right? I heard the third prince eloped with a commoner."

Kazuha didn't answer. He imagined the rumor would spread, and that his father wouldn't have the power to stop the people from gossiping. Stripped of his noble clothes, his family name discarded, Kazuha had started a brand new life. And although he missed the friends he had left behind, he never once regretted his decision.

He bowed politely. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And with that, he was off— he ran towards the town center, heading home. The maple trees were in full bloom over Ritou, their bright colors overthrown only by the sakura on the tall mountain of Yougou, and the towering Kamisato estate on the opposite side of the valley.

"Ritou is a nice island. I miss the pink hues of the seashells I could see from my window, and sometimes even the rotten smell coming from the depths of the island. But the maples here are splendid, I wish you could see them. I'm sending you a dried leaf as a good luck charm."

Kazuha walked past the port, taking his first steps up the staircase. The committee to welcome tourists and outlanders was in full activity, men and women rushing back and forth between the booths and merchants showing off their imported goods to the inspectors.

"Hey, Kazuha!" A woman called out for him, and the whole group gathered at her side waved at him. He didn't think a city could be so lively, so friendly with someone who had just arrived, so warm and cozy. "Your husband is back!"

Kazuha's chest clenched with a familiar heat. He smiled at the woman, his mind already racing ahead— Tomo was returning from his mission, finally. Their home wouldn't be empty, at least for a few days.

Kazuha had settled for a modest job, enough to get by. He worked as a helper for the fishermen and sailors of Ritou; he carried boxes here and there, delivered supplies across the port, and handled the money trades between fishermen and clients. He wasn't used to a life of labor, but he was happy to be with Tomo.

His husband, on the other hand, had chosen a much more ambitious fate. Although they were formally citizens of Yougou, their official ruler being Queen Ei, both of them felt part of the Narukami Kingdom instead, their loyalty sworn to King Kamisato.

"Tomo joined the Shuumatsuban, King Kamisato's network of secret agents. He's often out of town, carrying out some missions spanning the entire continent. It's a dangerous job, and I can't help but worry… But the joy of seeing him come home after a long absence is always immense."

Their home was humble but warm, a little cottage just outside the city. An old, tired maple tree grew on the side of their garden, and Kazuha had made it his life mission to give it new life, to tend to it until it would grow green and lively again. Like a phoenix rising, he had said.

A trail of smoke rose from the chimney, and the door had been left slightly open. When Kazuha entered the house, Tomo was standing in the center of the room, their kitten cradled on his lap. A new scar decorated his nose, probably a keepsake from his latest fight.

Kazuha jumped on him, and Tomo promptly caught him in his arms, spinning him around. Their lips met in a gentle, breathy kiss, and Kazuha couldn't help but tear up at the familiar feeling throbbing in his chest, Tomo's scent enveloping him like a comfortable blanket.

"I missed you, pretty," Tomo whispered against his mouth.

Kazuha rubbed their noses together, drawing a giggle out of Tomo's lips. "Welcome home."

The days before Tomo's next departure were the happiest Kazuha had ever known. There was nothing but the two of them in their happy nest, and the white kitten they had adopted to act as their daughter.

Throughout the hours they were granted, they kissed, they hugged, and they loved each other in the warmest of ways. It was so beautiful, so peaceful and dreamy, that even the incoming distance wasn't enough for the fire in Kazuha's heart to die down.

It was a humble life, far from the luxury of his castle. Yet, so much joy tasted like freedom. Kazuha had listened to Thoma's precious advice. He was like the dandelion in his book: he had chosen the place he wanted to flourish in.

Every time Tomo was in town, they hung out with their friends. Thoma, Ayato, Ayaka, and Yoimiya waited for them at Komore Teahouse, all the way in the neighboring kingdom. The journey was made of cheerful comments about the citizens they crossed paths with, and poetry woven by Kazuha about the landscape.

His side job as a writer went smoothly. He had signed a contract with Yae Publishing House, and every month he delivered fresh poems and haikus for the public to read. He chose a pseudonym to reduce the risk of being recognized and was content with the support he received.

As he drank sake and ate dango, comfortably sitting at the VIP table at Komore Teahouse, Kazuha would glance outside the window, suddenly melancholic. Their friends were wonderful, and he was grateful— yet, someone was missing.

"I miss you, Gorou. I wish you were here with me, to share this happiness with all of us. Did you know that the famous, respectable King Kamisato is actually a huge fan of the hotpot game? And he enjoys making Thoma's life worse than hell with the weird ingredients he chooses."

Tomo wouldn't fail to miss his distress, and he would instantly caress his arm to bring him back to the present. Kazuha shrugged his sorrow away, smiling for his current luck. Who knew, maybe someday Gorou would join them. There was always room for more kind hearts in their group.

One night, Yoimiya rested her foot on the table, slamming two pans together in loud clangs . "I propose a toast!"

Ayato glared at her, shooting darts of pure hatred out of his eyes. "And what are we celebrating?" he asked.

It was strange to see King Kamisato in his common outfit, the clothes he chose for his public appearances. The fabric was still precious, the embroidery refined, but he looked… human. After all those months, Kazuha didn't idolize him anymore. He saw him for who he was: a great man, a king at heart, but still a human.

"Our happiness, of course!" Yoimiya cheered.

Thoma winked at Kazuha. "And our freedom."

They toasted with their cups, every customer in the store turning around to glance at them. Hidden by folding screens, keeping their identity a secret, they would cheer and party for the entire night. "May these happy days never end!"

Kazuha hoped they wouldn't.

That night, while everyone was fast asleep in their beds at the teahouse, Kazuha climbed the roof. He stared at the starry sky, a cup of sake held firmly in his palm, entrusting his feelings to the quiet moon.

"Write to me soon, Gorou. I want to know everything that's happened to you guys, no matter how boring you think it is. You will forever be my best friend."

"Still drinking?"

Kazuha glanced upwards. He hadn't heard Tomo come, his steps now carrying the trained silence of a true ninja. Even though he had started taking lessons of sword fighting, Kazuha felt like the gap between their skills would never be bridged.

"Only a little," Kazuha said. "Want to join me?"

Tomo smiled, taking his seat at his side. His arm found the place it belonged to— wrapped tightly around Kazuha's waist, as the younger man rested his head against his chest. "Always, my love."

And for the first time in his life, Kazuha knew he was right where he was supposed to be. Held in Tomo's arms, kissing him gently, while the breeze carried his worries far away.