Chapter Text
As their footsteps fade into the distance, Taichi’s wobbly smile flattens out into a thin line. He sighs, waits for a few more moments to make sure that there’s nobody around, then presses his fingertip to his piercing again.
The gnarled black metal buzzes to life, heating up in his earlobe. Before the person on the other side can say anything, Taichi roughly cuts in.
“You heard all that, right? They’ve decided to join up with the Silver Spring. Now the rebels have one on their side.”
‘Tch, you didn’t go along with them?’
Taichi scowls. “No? I still have the original mission you gave me, I can’t just abandon my post.”
‘How’s that mission been faring then, hm? You haven’t really been carrying it out properly if you’ve spent the past however many months out in the boonies.”
This time, Taichi clicks his tongue. It’s true that he technically hasn’t been following orders… but only because he was following Sakyo’s orders.
A spy working for his target as a spy. As if his life can’t get complicated enough.
‘Well, whatever it is, you’re back at the castle now, aren’t you?’
The voice croons as it relays its concerns, making Taichi shudder. His handler has always been such a creep; Taichi’s almost certain they’re trying to freak him out on purpose. Some sort of test of will or something.
He hums out something vaguely affirmative, just in case they’re expecting a response.
‘Then it should be fine… How about the other gem? What is it like?’
It. Him. Juza. How about Juza? What is Juza like?
He’s strong, a little scary, but actually a big softie. An incredible dancer, but clumsy with other delicate work. He likes sweets, which is pretty silly considering how he looks, but that just makes him more endearing.
Even though he doesn’t really laugh at Taichi’s jokes, he smiles when Taichi talks to him. Steadfast. Earnest. Hardworking.
A good friend.
They don’t want to hear any of that nonsense, Taichi knows. It’s irrelevant to their goals.
“…Pretty injured, last I saw. I splashed him with some water. Only got his arm, though.”
It still makes him nauseous to recall it. The melting flesh, the black bones underneath.
The voice on the other end makes a noise of surprise. ‘You incapacitated him? What for?’
“He was about to set the whole place on fire!” Taichi snaps impatiently, recalling the memory. Then he snags on something in particular. “Oh, yeah. His fire was black. That’s not what you told me would happen.”
‘Black flames… the Bloodstone. Ah. That could pose a problem.’
Crackle, fizz, sputter. Taichi grimaces, instinctively jerking away from―nothing. Just a burst of pain. Pain originating from his ear, where the metal is starting to burn too hot for comfort.
He puts his fingertip to the device again, an impatient scowl pulling his lips downward. “What problem? You better tell me quick, this thing’s not gonna hold up much longer.”
‘Nothing for you to worry about, Libra. Maintain your position. Ah, a delegation will arrive at the palace soon; make sure that the king receives our gift properly, alright? …Once he has it, the Alexandrite is as good as ours, so you can consider yourself a free man in exchange. Good luck.’
The transmission abruptly cuts off before Taichi can ask them any further questions. He drops both hands to his sides, balling them into trembling fists.
Are they mocking him? They’ve dangled the prospect of freedom in front of him like a carrot on a stick so many times already, only to yank it away once it’s within reach. After he’s finished whatever tasks they wanted him to carry out, and left him feeling emptier for it.
That, though. That sounded final. Freedom in exchange for the Alexandrite. Taichi’s stomach churns with an unpleasant mix of emotions. A life traded in for a life.
Can he live with the guilt of sacrificing someone else for his own sake?
Click, clack. The sharp sound of heeled boots on stone floor reaches his ears. Taichi straightens up his curled back and rushes to the iron bars, excitement and thinly-veiled shame welling up in him in equal measure.
The visitor rounds the corner and Taichi almost cries out with joy upon seeing him again. After so, so long…
“Sakyo!!”
Sharp violet eyes turn to face him. After a tense moment, the stern frown loosens into a―well, not quite a smile, but something close to it anyway.
“Nanao. When I sent you the summons to return, I didn’t think it would cause such a… commotion. Regardless, welcome back.” Sakyo’s gaze shifts around, his expression turning wry. “As for your companions, I assume he got them out first?”
Taichi bobs his head in an eager nod, allowing himself a small flash of pride at the thought of his fellow spy. “Azzy’s always gotta stay one step ahead. You know how he is, trying to prove himself.”
“He doesn’t need to prove anything, I gave him his position because I trust his capabilities. Now, let’s get you out of there.”
Retrieving a ring of keys from one of the many pockets lining his cloak, Sakyo immediately picks out the one for Taichi’s cell without even needing to check. He unlocks the grate and Taichi all but tumbles out, wincing as the movement jostles the bruises that the guards inflicted on him earlier.
Sakyo frowns at his pained groan, taking Taichi by the arm and rolling up his sleeve to inspect the extent of his injuries.
“…I told them to keep injuries to a minimum.”
“Yeah, well,” Taichi scratches the back of his neck with his other hand, equal parts sheepish and exasperated, “You know how the prince is. Can’t go five minutes without picking a fight.”
“That is still no less concerning. Arguably, it is even more concerning. You should head to the infirmary for now.”
“What, don’t wanna hear my status report?”
Sakyo arches an eyebrow, then sighs. “If there was anything urgent to tell me, you would have spat it out first thing. Go along, before the ache sets in. You know where to find me afterwards.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Taichi gives a two-fingered salute, scampering down the dark corridor towards the staircase. He pauses around the bend, holding his breath. Just in case Sakyo decides to mutter something important to himself, who knows.
After a moment, rather than any juicy secrets, what Taichi hears instead is a long-suffering sigh.
“I could hear your footsteps stopping right there, you know. Run along now, before I have to order you to the infirmary.”
Then, quieter.
“…And. Welcome back, Taichi. I am glad you managed to return here in one piece.”
Something twists in Taichi’s chest. He bites his tongue before he can say any response; isn’t sure what he would even say, if anything. Certainly, I’m home would taste too bitter―this isn’t really his home, after all, and if things go to plan he’ll be returning to his real home soon, as complicated as it feels―but a flippant reply would make light of the sincerity that seems to come through in Sakyo’s words.
So he settles for saying nothing and runs away.
If just returning to the capital felt familiarly unfamiliar, then being back in the palace itself feels instinctively alien. The other servants and staff seem to remember him, even after his prolonged absence, and―Taichi doesn’t know what to make of that.
(The food, though, is another matter entirely. Apologies to the chefs employed in the palace, but Taichi’s palate has been irreversibly spoiled by Zen and Omi’s cooking.)
They’re not friends, none of them are really close enough that he’d call them his friends (that label is reserved for Azzy, and Omi, and Banri and Juza and maybe Zen) but they’re workplace colleagues and there’s enough camaraderie between them that Taichi actually feels his mood pick up a bit as they greet him.
Not just greet him, either.
The healer’s assistant is extra gentle when he slathers his wounds with ointment, the scullery maid sneaks him a fresh bun from the batch she’s helping prepare, and the chore-boys and chore-girls he shares the servants’ quarters with all pelt him with jokes and questions and gossip the minute he steps into their chambers.
Welcome back, they say, a raucous chorus of smiles and laughter. Long time no see. How was it out there? Any stories to tell?
Welcome back, they say, like this is where he belongs.
And he tries so, so hard to pretend like the words aren’t stabbing him in the gut, each time he hears it.
Thankfully, just before he tips over the edge of overwhelmed in a bad way, they all scatter and make way when a senior retainer strides into the room, back straight and head held high, just like how Taichi remembers her. He straightens up too, trying not to feel too intimidated when she approaches him.
When she speaks, her tone is firm, but not unkind. “You may have the rest of today off, boy, but I will have you resuming your duties tomorrow.”
Duties. Right. He has a job to do, which is…
Which is?
Uh oh.
“Okay, don’t be mad,” Taichi sheepishly states, keeping his feet flat on the floor so his leg doesn’t start bouncing with nerves, “But I, uh. I’ve been away for so long, I don’t remember what chores I was assigned?”
Half-lie, half-truth. He remembers helping out with various tasks while keeping an eye and ear out for anything particularly notable to report back to Azami or Sakyo, but he can’t for the life of him remember any specifics.
The retainer doesn’t look too upset, simply waving her hand in a dismissive manner. “No need to worry about that; while you were gone, we’ve hired someone else to help look after the hunting dogs, so you will have a new position to fill.”
Oh, that’s right, he was on kennel duty. Welp, he’ll miss playing with the dogs, but what can he do.
As for the new job… depending on what it is, he might have a little difficulty fitting his spywork around it, but he’ll manage. He always does; it’s his specialty, after all. Being adaptable like that.
(He has no choice.)
“You will also need a new set of clothes. Better ones,” the retainer sniffs a little haughtily, and now Taichi feels self-conscious for an entirely different reason, “Plus a crash course in etiquette.”
“Huh?”
Oh, Taichi does not like that amused look on her face. What has he gotten himself into this time?
The next afternoon finds him in Sakyo’s office, standing in front of the desk while Sakyo examines him with a critical eye. There’s also a small stack of papers neatly set to one side, but Taichi’s a little too distracted by something to be curious about what it is.
“Sakyo.”
“Nanao.”
“Sakyo.”
“What is it, Nanao.”
Taichi tugs at his uncomfortably stiff and high collar, resisting the urge to stomp his feet like a child. Looking at him, Sakyo’s lips quirk in a loose smile, exhaling a bemused huff through his nose.
“Don’t mess with that too much. You don’t want the maids to fuss over your appearance again, do we?”
“I’ve never worn anything more uncomfortable in my life,” Taichi gripes, even as he obediently lowers his arm back to his side. “Why did you pick me, anyway? There’s gotta be better choices, and besides, I literally just got back―”
“One of the esteemed guests arriving this evening is from Fleur.”
Taichi’s throat goes tight. He whips his head up to stare at Sakyo with wide eyes, cold sweat breaking out over the back of his neck.
Sakyo coolly regards his panic with barely a change in demeanor, folding his arms over his chest. When it doesn’t seem like Taichi will say anything, he continues, clipped and curt.
“You may have pledged your service to me, but don’t think I’ve forgotten. When I first picked you up, your accent and vocabulary strongly resembled the holy kingdom’s dialect. You’ve gotten better at hiding it, but it still comes out every now and then.”
So… he knows.
He knew.
Sakyo knew the whole time, and yet he still―
Taichi chokes on a laugh, wringing his hands in a futile attempt at calming himself. “So, what, is this a test of some sort? Gonna check which side I’m more loyal to?”
“Feel free to think of it that way.” Sakyo nods. His expression remains cool and impassive. Unreadable. “Regardless of your true allegiance, you still performed an adequate service under this kingdom’s employ. Whether you’ll remain a spy of Autumn or executed for treason depends on how the meeting goes tomorrow morning.”
Executed.
The thought makes one of Taichi’s hands fly to his throat, curling loosely around his neck. He’s seen a few of those already; the king likes to make a spectacle of it, as a means of inflicting terror on the general populace to ensure their obedience.
Beheaded via guillotine in the central plaza. What a horrible way to go.
It takes a while for him to find his voice again. His hand still lingers on his collar, but he squares his shoulders and looks Sakyo in the eye. “What do you want me to do.”
“Please, you don’t need to be so on edge.” With a scoff, Sakyo picks up a sheaf of papers and holds them out for Taichi to take. “I’m hardly asking you to do anything dangerous like assassination or the like. Just cozy up to your fellow countrymen, maybe see if they have any intent beyond a ‘diplomatic visit’, and give me your honest opinion on whether to take them as a threat or not.”
Taichi skims through the message—a short missive from Fleur, it turns out. His grip tightens, crumpling the papers a little before he catches himself and relaxes his hand. There doesn’t seem to be any coded message within the letter, not anything written with the ciphers he’s familiar with, at least.
He nods and places the letter back on the desk. “And if there’s nothing noteworthy to report?”
“Then you’ll become my attendant from tomorrow onwards and get some firsthand experience as a personal aide. My personal aide,” here Sakyo’s smile twists wry, showing a bit of teeth, “Since that will be your new cover story from now on, if you want to keep staying here.”
“…You really know how to sweeten the deal, don’t you.”
“Something you must be used to, I’m sure.”
The diplomat from Fleur arrives quite a bit later than expected. The guest chambers have long been prepared for their arrival, and Taichi’s already sequestered himself among the staff assigned to tend to their needs.
He keeps his head bowed low along with the other servants as the procession makes its way to the wing of the palace where they’re meant to stay, then quickly helps the entourage unpack and store their luggage. While he’s carrying a heavy chest of clothes into a bedroom, one of the guests wave him over. He hastily deposits his cargo, ready to put on the mask of a meek little servant, and makes his way to their side.
Or—his side, rather. Taichi recognizes those golden eyes, even as a veil hides the lower half of the man’s face.
No point in pretending, then. They know each other too well for false niceties.
He follows the man, both of them passing through a few curtains to step out onto the balcony, away from the noise and chatter of the rest of the retinue. The man gazes up at the sky in silence, watching as the first stars of night start to peek out through the falling curtain of night, and Taichi watches him, faint nostalgia curling in his chest like wisps of smoke.
At last, the man speaks, his voice soft and distant. “So, this is where you ended up.”
“Yeah.”
Taichi doesn’t dare offer more answer than that. Who knows whose eyes and ears are watching and listening in.
“I see this kingdom has been treating you well.” A passing breeze ruffles the man’s hair. He closes his eyes, then opens them again, too slowly to be called a blink, still facing the faraway horizon. “But the home of God misses you, child. The flock of Her most devoted servant has been thinning out, and the nest is quite empty as of late.”
Taichi snorts. If there’s one thing he doesn’t miss the most about Fleur, it’s this nonsense. All the riddles and the religious overtones.
“You sure he hasn’t thrown them out to the wilds himself?”
Something sorrowful flickers in the man’s expression, before he quickly covers it up with a sardonic squint of his eyes. “If that is how you wish to perceive it, then it is not my place to convince you otherwise. I can only tell you what I know and what I understand.”
“Then I guess I’ll get straight to the point.” Stepping closer, close enough for their clothes to brush, Taichi keeps his voice low and his gaze facing forward, arms folded on the balustrade. “Why are you here, Scorpio?”
Said Scorpio turns to face Taichi, one hand lifting to his chest in a gesture of mock-hurt. “Goodness. I suppose the rumours are true that anyone who stays in Autumn for too long becomes a foul-mouthed ruffian.”
They have a little bit of a staring contest, and as the noise in the background dies down, Taichi’s worried that the man might just walk back into the chambers without giving him any explanation. But eventually he sighs and bends down slightly, enough for the cloth of his veil to tickle Taichi’s ear.
“We come bearing a boon of bottled starlight.”
Bottled… what?
He rears back to his full height, watching Taichi’s face closely for—something. Something he doesn’t find, apparently, because he shakes his head, letting out a sound of mild chagrin.
“That is the only hint I will give you, Libra; I look forward to seeing what you’ll make of it. The reception with the king is tomorrow, yes? Then you have until tomorrow to come up with an answer.”
Bottled starlight… bottled starlight…
Taichi’s been wracking his head the whole night and morning for some inkling of a guess; it has to be code for something, but what? Out of sheer confusion, he’s relayed the cryptic message to Sakyo, hoping that the more knowledgeable man might know what it means—but to no avail. Even Sakyo has no clue.
At best, he’s of the mind that it’s an elixir of some sort, or perhaps some ‘holy water’ from the crystal-clear waters of Fleur. Potable water is, after all, the most precious resource. Especially in a world perpetually cursed with mud and miasma tainting most natural sources of water.
Purified water blessed by the Archbishop’s own hand would make an eminent gift indeed.
But still.
It doesn’t seem like the correct answer.
The scorpion had called it a boon, and yet Taichi knows better; the organization he belongs to wouldn’t send over something that doesn’t give them an advantage as well, if the king were to accept it.
Bottled starlight…
“Aaaugh, I have no idea what it could be!”
Sakyo glances at him out of the corner of his eye, taking his glasses off to polish the lens.
“You’re certain there’s nothing else noteworthy about him? He won’t suddenly pull out a weapon and challenge the king for the throne? Not that His Majesty will honour the duel, but I’d rather not have a a dead diplomat on our hands if possible.”
He squints, lips set into a mild frown.
“Also, if you must sit on top of my desk, can you not swing your legs back and forth like that? You’ll damage the heels of your shoes.”
Taichi shakes his head, stilling his fidgety movements. He drums his thigh with his fingers instead. All the nervous energy in his body has to go somewhere.
“Nah, that’s not his style. He hates direct confrontation, and last I remember, he couldn’t swing a sword for shit. I still have a bad feeling about it, though… Are you sure I have to be there?”
“As of now, I suspect that the king no longer sees me in a favourable light. He has all but ordered me to stay away from the meeting, but you―he does not keep track of the lesser staff, so I doubt he’ll recognize you. Now move along.”
With his glasses back in place, Sakyo gestures for Taichi to get going.
“Knowing the king’s temper, you do not want to be late.”
Nothing to do about it. With a slightly helpless feeling, Taichi gives Sakyo a half-hearted salute, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down before exiting the office. He makes his way through the castle, already re-familiarized with its many corridors and hallways, and heads for the grand hall serving as the audience chamber.
The king is already seated on his throne, his expression severe, a displeased furrow to his brow. Taichi gulps a frightened squeak back down, his spine going ramrod stiff as the monarch sweeps his gaze across the gathered crowd.
Such cold anger in those blue eyes. For a moment, Taichi sees Banri―but no, when he was angry, Banri’s eyes blazed with heat, not ice. What a difference it makes.
“Am I the last to arrive? Pardon the delay, my liege.”
“Hmph… whatever.”
The king’s stern face only grows more harsh. He waves one hand in a dismissive manner.
“Bring in the visitors, let’s see what they have to say for themselves. Don’t waste any more of Our time.”
At his command, the retainer standing at the foot of the throne’s raised platform clears their throat. “First order of business! Presenting the Duke Arisugawa of Caeli, current head of the merchants’ association of Winter.”
On cue, a man bustles forth from the far end of the hall, the clack-clack of his walking cane accenting his every other step as he strides forth with a confident smile. Doffing his tall silk hat, he greets the king with a theatrical bow and a flourish of his fur-lined mantle.
“Salutations, Your Majesty. Pleased to finally meet you in the flesh after all that correspondence between our parties! I’ve taken the prerogative to do a little tour of the palace beforehand and I must say, the amount of knights you have stationed everywhere is a tad alarming, but other than that, the decor of this place is so drab. There are hardly any―”
And on and on he probably would have went, to everyone’s flabbergasted silence―even the king is rendered speechless against Homare’s onslaught of words, if not for another figure loudly clearing their throat.
Taichi quickly glances at the cause of the interruption, both glad and wary for it. Young man, violet eyes, streaks of sandy blond in his mostly raven-coloured hair.
“…You certainly are as talkative as your letters make you out to be.” The king huffs, banging the butt of his sceptre on the arm of his throne loudly enough to force all attention in the room back to him. “We didn’t ask you to come here for a mere chat. What of Our trade deal, Duke? Do We have an agreement or not?”
He sounds a little―no, quite desperate, actually. Taichi can’t help but frown. As far as he knows, the king’s national policy had always been one of self-sufficiency, almost to the point of isolationism.
Seems like Homare’s caught onto it too, because his amiable, somewhat eccentric conduct sharpens into something almost hostile.
“Hm. If I may be permitted a few questions, Your Majesty. What is the purpose of requesting the import of so much ore?”
“Don’t play coy with Us, you know exactly why We want this to go through.” The king’s voice comes out in a low, angry growl. “This country barely has any raw material to produce its own magic tools. Loath as We are to open up the borders, the need for black metal far outweighs that.”
“I see.” Now Homare’s tone has gone flat, almost bored. “And what do you think of magic itself? I bid you to ponder it carefully before you answer, lest your response colour my perception of you unfavourably.”
What a brazen statement to make! Judging from the veins bulging out on the king’s forehead, not one he wanted or expected to hear either. Lunging up from his seat, he towers over Homare, sending most of the servants cowering back with fright as his voice booms through the entire chamber, echoing off the stone walls.
“How dare you. We don’t need some uppity, namby-pamby outsider to lecture Us about magic! Magic is magic, and what We want to do with it is no one’s business but Our own!”
For a moment, everything is silent, save for the sound of two breaths: one laboured and shallow, the other relaxed.
Slowly, Homare shakes his head. Taichi swears he can hear the duke sigh with disappointment.
“Goodness me… then there will be no trade deal for you, Your Majesty. I don’t see why I should share the means to use magic with someone who has no appreciation for―”
“That’s enough from you. Guards! Seize this insolent fool and throw him in the dungeons.”
Too many things happen at once.
The knights in the room springing forth to arrest Homare, Homare’s retinue surging forward to defend him, and―Homare himself pulling a long, thin blade out of his cane, whirling around with practiced ease and nonchalantly subduing one of the king’s men who had the misfortune of getting too close to him, the air knocked out of his lungs as he’s knocked flat onto the floor.
The guards freeze in their assault, taken aback by the sudden display of force they hadn’t expected from who they thought was a weakling. The king’s glower hasn’t faded, but even from afar, Taichi can see the mild fear creeping into his expression.
Sheathing his sword with an embellished twirl, Homare regards the king with a look that isn’t altogether unkind, before turning to address his retinue.
“We depart for home within the hour. Apologies for cutting our stay here so short, but alas…” He fans himself with one hand. “The dry weather simply doesn’t agree with me.”
A murmur ripples among the crowd, but not of disagreement. Seems like they’re all none too keen on overstaying their welcome either. Without another word, Homare departs and takes his followers with him, with nobody moving to stop them.
Once he’s gone, the king slumps back in his seat, displeased and dishevelled. He grunts and motions for the footman to introduce the next visitor in line.
“Uh, a-ahem. Presenting Sir Igawa, an envoy from the Imperial Palace of Summer.”
Contrary to Taichi’s expectations―he’s heard on the wind that Summer is quite the extravagant country―a plain, unassuming man steps forth, his glasses sitting slightly crooked on his nose. Igawa flashes a meek smile, dropping to one knee before the king’s glare.
“Greetings, King Autumn. It, it’s an honour to stand… kneel? Before you today. I, ah, this humble messenger―”
“Just spit it out already,” the king snorts, leaning his chin against his palm. Compared to before, it’s clear he has far less interest in the Summer nation’s affairs than he had for Winter.
Igawa's face falls, unhappy. He shrinks in on himself a bit before puffing out his chest, trying to look more assertive.
“The Lord and Lady of the High Court of Summer, His Radiance and Her Luminescence the Emperor and Empress, have grown impatient. For three months now, you have not responded to our invitation, so they have sent me here to get a definitive answer. Will you or will you not attend the next Festival of the Sun?”
This is the first time Taichi is hearing of this. He doesn’t know much about Summer’s culture, but he does know that the Festival is one of its more important celebrations, an event that pulls in visitors and tourists from all over the continent.
Even his home… his native country’s governing powers―both the Archbishop and the Princess―have been known to make time for the Festival when invited.
“That gaudy thing?” Drawn out of his thoughts, Taichi looks up just in time to see the king sneer. “We thought We made Our opinion on it very clear, considering how We haven’t bothered to attend beyond the first one We were invited to.”
“But you always had reasons for not going, and the High Court had always forgiven you for it; they know how busy a ruler can be when governing―”
“All made up.”
A completely uncaring confession cuts Igawa off.
“We did not want to go, so We came up with all sorts of excuses. But perhaps a direct rejection is better, since it seems like those two can’t get it through their swollen egos that We do not like them overmuch. So, there you have it, messenger.”
Taichi winces. Yeowch. Poor Igawa.
And also, what the fuck? A flippant response like that is just asking for international dispute. The king might as well make a direct declaration of war, save everyone the trouble.
The trembling envoy goes stiff. He's still in a subservient posture, but there’s a shift in the way he holds himself. Coiled up tight. Almost like he’s holding himself back.
Considering all the knights still on guard from Homare’s unexpected show of skill, it’s for the best. Any obvious hostility will likely land him in the dungeons, or worse, straight up killed on the spot.
“…I see. Thank you for your response, King Autumn. I will relay your answer back to the High Court. In… full.”
Igawa draws himself back up to full standing height, a faint, tight smile on his face.
“And… I don’t think you will have to worry about keeping up a pretense of diplomacy with my lord and lady any longer. I doubt they’ll want much or anything to do with you after this. Well then,” with a deep bow, Igawa steps back, disposition once more schooled into something politely sunny and utterly fake, “This has been an… enlightening experience. May I take my leave?”
“You are dismissed.”
No sooner do the words leave the king’s mouth when Igawa all but flees the audience chamber, not quite running but certainly at a brisk pace.
Somehow he manages to catch Taichi’s eye as he passes by, acknowledging him with a tiny nod which Taichi doesn’t dare reciprocate, lest the king see him. He gets it, though; a show of sympathy for the servants who have to work under such a tyrant.
But, well, like Sakyo said―as long as the king doesn’t notice Taichi, he might as well be invisible.
“Good riddance. How many more are there, footman?”
“Uhm, just two, my liege.”
“Then hurry up already! We want this done and over with.”
“R-right. Of course, Your Majesty.” Clearing their throat again, the retainer calls out the name and title of the next guest: “Presenting Sir Masumi, heir apparent of House Usui and envoy of Spring.”
…Nobody steps forth. Taichi blinks, peering around as stealthily as he can. The footman who made the announcement goes pale, glancing at the king―who has a terribly impatient look on his face―before calling out a second time, weaker than before.
“Sir… Sir Masumi? Could you please…?”
After another awkward period of silence, someone finally presents themself. Taichi recognizes him; it’s the young man from earlier, the one who interrupted Homare’s opening spiel.
He looks completely unaffected by the king’s oppressive and menacing aura. In fact, he looks a little… disgruntled. Like he just woke up from a nap.
“Sorry,” he―Masumi says, sounding not very sorry at all. “Fell asleep.”
“…While standing up?”
“Yeah.”
“Lunatics, the lot of you,” the king grumbles, but there’s a sense of defeated resignation to his tone. Like he’s had enough of all this nonsense and just wants it over with. “Well? State your business with Us.”
Masumi shrugs. “Coronation. Next month. You’re cordially invited, but judging from the previous conversation, I don’t think you’d bother coming.”
Wow. Taichi is kinda impressed by how much he doesn’t seem to give a shit, even when talking to a king that threatened violence on a foreign diplomat.
Although, he does have a point. The king probably doesn’t care enough about another nation to―
“…You’ve chosen a successor? Already?”
Something shifts in Masumi’s expression, nearly imperceptible.
“Chosen… is one way to put it, I suppose,” he chuckles without mirth. Then the veneer of sleepy boredom blankets his expression again. “That is all I’m really here to say. Whether you come or not is of no concern to Spring.”
Without waiting for the king to dismiss him, Masumi turns on his heel and walks out the doors, abrupt enough that nobody has enough time or presence of mind to stop him. The king is left staring blankly at where he used to stand not even a moment ago, before slumping over on his throne, exasperated beyond all belief.
One of the guards dares to ask, “Should―should we go after him?”
“…thought We had more time…”
“Um? Your Majesty?”
Rousing himself from some sort of stupor, the king shakes his head. “No, leave him be. We will deal with him when the opportunity comes. There’s only one more left, right?”
Before anyone can answer him, the final visitor steps forward, his long robes trailing behind him.
Taichi holds his breath; like this, Scorpio looks every bit the part of the clergy, dressed in modest finery and ceremonial garb. His face is even more obscured than the night before, with a heavy veil draped over the entirety of his head instead of just covering his mouth.
Most importantly, he carries with him a small wooden chest in his arms, gilded with silver and gold.
“King of Autumn,” the man croons, sweet as honey and venom, “You once petitioned for the grace of God to aid you in your undertakings. Her most humble servant has heard your plea; I am here on his behalf.”
The king’s eyes grow wide. “You have it? It’s there?”
“Right here, indeed. Why not come down from your lofty seat and take a look?”
A quiet gasp passes through those gathered in the room as the king, with no hesitation whatsoever, stands up from the throne and steps down the platform, approaching the man with unbridled hunger gleaming in his eyes. The man holds the chest out to him, still wearing that expression of gentle, unwavering compassion.
But just as the king reaches out to open it, his hand pauses atop the lid. He looks around, like he’s only just realized everyone’s gazes locked on them both, and his face twists into an ugly scowl.
“Out! Out, all of you! I don’t want anyone seeing this but me. Leave before I have you all executed for defying my orders!”
Another wave of shock radiates outward. Taichi feels himself getting caught up in it as well; he’s never heard the king refer to himself like that, without the majestic plural.
Quickly, though, the servants and guards all file out of the hall, unwilling to risk the king’s wrath by sticking around. Taichi hastily scrambles after them, but―
Just as he’s about to step past the entryway, his foot catching on an uneven piece of flooring, making him stumble and fall. A yelp escapes him before he can stop it.
He timidly glances up, and freezes at the weight of the king’s angry stare bearing down in him. Like a blade hanging above his neck.
“Wait, don’t send him away just yet.”
Scorpio speaks up in a placating tone, potentially saving Taichi from a gruesome fate. He brushes his fingers along the edge of the chest, tracing the intricate patterns of metalwork, while seeming to mull over something.
“Wouldn’t it be better to call it over? That way, you can test this out immediately.”
“I… yes. Yes, that is a good idea. You there, servant boy.” The king turns to Taichi with a steely gaze. “Go and fetch the Prime Minister for me. Better yet, tell it to come to this hall, alone; you don’t have to accompany it back here.”
It. The Prime Minister. Sakyo.
Taichi’s eyes flick over to Scorpio, who tilts his head just the tiniest little bit and mouths at him: what’s your answer?
His blood runs cold. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “As you wish, my liege. I’ll get him for you.”
As he turns around to carry out the order, he gives one last furtive look over his shoulder,
And sees the king, with a giddy smile on his face, pull out from the box―
A tiny, tiny jewel, clear as glass and polished to a brilliant shine.
(A diamond.)
He finds Sakyo in an inner courtyard, one of the smaller ones with no flowers or decoration beyond a single fountain that hasn’t been cleaned in a long while. The older man sits on the edge, chin in his hands, deep in thought. But not deep enough to not notice Taichi when grass crunches underneath his foot as he steps into view.
“Ah, Nanao. How was it? Didn’t run into too many troubles, I hope.”
Taichi stares at him. He doesn’t know what expression his face is making, right now.
“…Nanao?” Sakyo’s tone is unusually gentle. Can he sense the conflict of the roiling thoughts in Taichi’s head? “What happened?”
Stepping closer, Taichi peers around Sakyo at the water of the fountain. It’s murky and brownish.
“Taichi.”
“Sakyo.” Taichi takes a deep breath, then gives Sakyo the most serious look he can muster. “If I said I wanted to defect from Fleur entirely and work for Autumn―no, for just you instead―”
“My loyalty is to this kingdom,” Sakyo quietly rebukes him.
With Taichi standing up and Sakyo sitting down, their usual height difference is negated; right now, they’re eye to eye. Taichi searches his expression for―something, he doesn’t know what, exactly, and Sakyo observes him right back.
He lifts a hand and gingerly rests it on Sakyo’s shoulder. Sakyo blinks down at it, eyebrows rising on his forehead.
“Sorry.”
“Wh―?!”
Taichi shoves him backwards. Sakyo hits the water with a mighty splash and Taichi holds his struggling body down to keep him submerged.
His clothes are splattered with mud by the time he’s finished.