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Chapter Text

"Tetsurou."

Thin fingers trace his jaw, ghost over his arms and rest on his thighs. He sits in an empty throne room, and the red banners inked with the crest of the Nekoma house are his only visible companions. Behind him, a voice slithers into his subconscious, and he is filled with molten indignance as he recognizes it as Daishou's.

Daishou wraps his arms around his torso and languidly starts to press his lips against his neck, leaving smears of black lipstick on his throat.

"Tetsurou." His name is said again, but it's not coming from Daishou.

Kuroo Tetsurou, aged twenty-two, Ruler of house Nekoma and all of it's congregated lands wakes up from his slumber just before a cup of ice-cold water is upended on his head. There's only one person who'd do that without a second thought, and the name escapes his mouth before his eyes are even close to open.

"Kenma, what is it? Why are you doing this to me at such a horrendous hour?" He uses one hand to flail around and swat the jug of water away from him, while the other is used to wipe the sleep from his eyes. His cousin could be such a brat. They really had no respect for authority figures at all.

"It's nearly noon, Oh great and powerful ruler." He can hear them rolling their eyes.

"I know you're all about conducting operations at nightfall, but there are two major meetings that require your presence."

"Right." Kuroo squints at the meagre daylight filtering through heavy velvet curtains. Even the little scraps of sun make him want to flop back into his plush bed sheets and pillows to take a catnap. He recalls a bit of his dream.

Nevermind. Time to get ready.

He uses the water in his hair to smooth it back, using an embroidered ribbon to fashion it into his usual short ponytail first and then waves away Kenma so he could change. He assesses his extensive wardrobe and decides to wear something a little more elaborate. If his memory served him correctly, one of the major meetings was some sort of wedding arrangement. He has to look a little better than usual.

A simple circlet of gold with small spikes serves as a crown. The ceremonial one is much bigger, but he only ever wears it for diplomatic trips abroad and portraits. He fastens the cape on his shoulder and checks himself in the mirror one last time before heading outside into the hallways.

He emerges into the throne room, turning heads as he gets settled into his spot on the throne. Nekomata shoots him a glare from the other end of the room, as do a few of the other older advisors who have known him since he was a child. He smiles apologetically.
“Who’s meeting first?”
Kenma emerges from behind the throne where they usually sit on the floor surrounded by cushions. They had made it very clear that they didn’t want to draw too much attention to themself, but Kuroo still wanted them present in court, so this funny arrangement had emerged through negotiation.

“The Haiba family should be arriving soon, but there’s a… Messenger from the Nohebi Kingdom who’s waiting outside.”
“Huh?”

Kuroo feels his eye twitch. He hasn’t spoken to anyone from Nohebi since he made the rash decision of invading and capturing their only port. He had been berated for weeks afterwards by Kenma, but most of his advisors displayed indifference towards his actions. If they had any words, they kept them to themselves.

It doesn’t matter now, the plan, albeit rushed and without foresight had succeeded in forcing Nohebi into an uneasy alliance with Nekoma. The damn snakes had no choice but to accept. Tetsurou felt secure now. Nohebi’s king couldn’t stab him in the back or sell him out as his ancestors had a long history of doing, and Kuroo sat comfortably, Nohebi’s only port in his tight, well-intentioned fist.

They had been awfully silent though. Until now.

“Send them in, then.”

The guards part the curtains just as the messenger enters. The bard does not carry a weapon of any sort, but he does keep one hand behind his back and a smirk on his freckled face. A few strands of short, fluffy red hair peek out of the bottom of his hat. He bows.

“King Daishou sends his regards.”

Kuroo merely nods, willing the ambassador to continue with whatever business he has.

“And his belated birthday wishes. He says this is just a precursor to his actual present.” The man stands up straight and pulls the hand from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of mixed flowers, tied up with a deep green silk bow.

Kuroo isn’t expecting this. Suguru had never sent him flowers for as long as he could remember. Suddenly the guy had an affinity for flora? Still, he waves the ambassador over and takes the bouquet, peering into the petals like they were hiding live vipers. For all he knows, Suguru would make a plan just like that to murder him. Perhaps this was not a messenger, but a mercenary?

Never trust a Snake.

That was what his advisors told him whenever he went to visit. He used to think that was bullshit, but now he’s almost sure Daishou could not be trusted. Nobody from that accursed kingdom could be.

The messenger smiles at him sadly. Is it sadness? No, it’s probably pity. That isn’t a smile, it is a smirk. Snakes, the lot of them.

The bouquet is mainly made up of Black Dahlia, but in between the floral arrangement, lay a single sprig of tansy. It’s odd. He hands it to Kenma, who passes it off to a housekeeper.

“Is that all?” Tetsurou asks, tone accusing.

“If I may,” The messenger’s smile droops into a more vicious expression as he speaks.

“This one’s from the Sakishima family.” he hisses, holding up his middle finger indignantly towards Kuroo.

The bard then turns on his heel and leaves, offended gasps in his wake. Kuroo himself clenches his fist. He isn’t an ill-tempered king, so the messenger leaves the kingdom on horseback without consequence.

“I told you you shouldn’t have attacked Segu-Umi.” Kenma mumbles, tucking their long black hair behind their ear.

“Please, Kenma. A Fuck You isn’t too bad.”

“That’s not what I meant.” They sound irritated, this is something they would bring up at length, later, just as it would become relevant.

With that less pleasant meeting out of the way, Kuroo sits through three, very long discussions about citizen demands, taxes and civil unrest in newly acquired territory. Most of these end inconclusively, as expected, and the taxes are marginally lowered. Enough to placate the people, not enough to deprive the treasury. Ah, the woes of being a ruler.

"The Haibas are here." Kenma looks up from where they're fiddling with the abacus.

Just as the words leave their lips, the doors are flung open with a flourish, and three tall figures enter the room. They're dressed in heavy pelts and white clothes, and they tower over everyone else easily. A queen, a prince, a princess. The queen has short blonde hair and a pained smile that flits across her face before morphing back into a more comfortable glare. She wears a silver tiara and ushers forth her heirs. They both stumble, with the prince nearly falling face first.

The prince is easily the tallest among the three and he has a clueless smile on his face. Tetsurou attempts to look behind his eyes and sees nothing but air where his brain should be. He looks embarrassingly enthused about the entire affair, icy blue pupils and snow-white hair glimmering with anticipation. A circlet of silver with a sizable sea-green jewel adorns his forehead. The princess has long white hair that curls elegantly at the ends. It reminds him of a glacier. Her eyes are more green and the tiara on her head sports a sapphire. She curtsies and then gently slaps her brother on the back, prompting him to do the same.

"King Haiba sends his regards." Kuroo hadn't noticed the three attendants following the trio until they spoke up.

"This is about the marriage arrangement, yes?" Nekomata steps forward to shake hands with the queen. Tetsurou stifles the urge to stick his tongue out. He loved the old man, but was this whole thing really necessary? Of course, Nekomata also knew about his preferences, which is why the prince had been brought along.

As the night progresses, and they transition from political discussion and alliance to a more informal dinner, Tetsurou finds himself unable to make a decision between the two. The prince's name is Lev, and marrying him meant that there was a possibility for a real relationship. Tetsurou watches him fashion a little mashed potato battleship in his spoon, pouting as the gravy made it collapse and decides that this isn't very likely. Morisuke seems rather charmed though. Then again, Morisuke always had the shittier taste between the two of them.

The princess, Alisa, is far more up Kuroo's alley, poised, witty and enthusiastic, but not to the point of stupidity. Her laugh is pretty enough to make half the table blush. However gorgeous she may be though, she's still a lady, which meant any romance died before it had a chance. If the princess expected anything resembling romance from him, the alliance could collapse.

"What's the matter?" Kozume pats his back as he sulks over his fish.

"I don't know, I can't decide."

"Between the two of them?"

"Mhm."

Kenma pauses in the middle of trying to solve the wooden puzzle in their hands to think.

"Any chance you'll fall madly in love with Lyovochka over there?" Kenma uses the antithesis of a nickname that Alisa had used to berate her brother with.

Kuroo looks at Lev, who is trying to shove seventeen grapes into his mouth while maintaining eye-contact with Morisuke, who is somehow entranced.

"You think?" Tetsurou mumbles, pushing the peas around in his plate.

"Well, then you should take the princess to your bed-chamber. For a conversation. See how she behaves." They resume solving the puzzle, soft wooden clicking joining the clamour at the table.

That sounds like a smart plan to Kuroo, but then again, Kenma has always been Nekoma's brain. He expects no less. Tetsurou finishes his dinner quickly, and gets up from his seat, turning heads. When he chooses to lean down and whisper an invitation into Alisa's ear, half the table 'oohs'. Alisa herself looks rather uncomfortable, but only for a split second. Kuroo catches her reapplying her pale pink lipstick in one of the mirrors as she follows him through the halls. He swallows down his anxiety.

They enter his room, lit dimly by candles, and he shrugs off his cape immediately, shoulders lightening. Alisa bites her lip and picks at her nails in the corner. When Tetsurou sits on his bed and motions for her to join, the smile she has on disappears completely. She looks like she's steeling herself for something.

Just as Kuroo opens his mouth to speak, she leans in to kiss him. His hand shoots up to block his mouth, and her lipstick stains his palm. She backs away, terror visible on her face.

"I think you've gotten the wrong idea."

"Oh- No I thought you wanted- I'm so sorry!" Alisa looks like she's going to cry.

"I like men." Kuroo places the fact into the open air, and the fates of two whole kingdoms hang by a fraying thread.

But then, surprisingly, Alisa breathes a relieved sigh.

"That's- I like women. Good."

They both relax. Kuroo stares down at his open palm, marred by waxy pink lipstick and finds himself wishing it was black.

"No desire for heirs, right?" She's picking at her nails again, concern in her voice.

"No. The kingdom is going to Taketora, or whoever Kenma decides to marry if they do marry at all."

"Good! Good."

Silence. Tetsurou is still staring at his palm.

"I have a lover, you know, I had been dreading telling her about this arrangement. But I'm glad! Do you have anyone on the side? A lover?" her voice is lowered to an excited whisper.

"No." His eyes landed on the vase in his bedroom, now filled with the flowers Suguru had sent him.

"That's too bad. If you decide to marry me, I'll let you do as you wish, so long as you let me have my beloved."

Tetsurou considers her offer. He considers Lev. A decision is made.

"Okay."

They chat a bit more, and then Alisa brings up the bouquet.

"That's a scary-looking bunch of flowers you have there. Were they a gift?"

Tetsurou immediately feels defensive. "Scary?"

"Well. It's just that... those flowers mean some pretty threatening things. Black Dahlia is for betrayal, and-"

Just as the last few words leave her lips, the door to Tetsurou's room is flung open by a dishevelled looking Kenma, whose eyes are wild with panic.

Kuroo feels sick with dread as Kenma starts to speak.

"The Taketoras and Shibayamas have fallen! Segu-Umi is under attack!"

"-Tansy is for War."

Kuroo can hear Suguru, feel phantom nails digging into his throat, the ghost of his voice mocking him.

"Happy Birthday, Tetsurou."

Chapter Text

Koji has been friends with Suguru since they were drooling little babies. Adopted into the Hiroo house of Nohebi nobility, the silver spoon has practically been shoved down his throat.

He doesn't care for it, not as much as he cares for Suguru. Though he'd sooner pass away than admit that.

However, despite this care, he longs to stick a knife in the stupid king's forehead at the moment.

"Really. Three months." Hiroo squints up at his friend and king.

"Three months." Suguru hisses back, clearly irritated and drunk on power and rage. Though even with this inebriation, one could hardly call his judgement clouded. It's a tough task, but not impossible, just sudden and risky.

Still, Koji pushes back for mercy.

"You want me to infiltrate the Taketora house, murder the Lord and Lady, and not get caught all in the span of three months? Pardon me, but i'm not the most trustworthy looking assassin out there. You'd be better off with a friendlier face. How about your consultant?" He glances towards Akama, stoic as ever.

"Sou is going nowhere." It's final.

"Are you sure this is wise?"

"Elaborate?"

Suguru's eyes narrow, like a snake about to swallow a mouse. Now he is not Suguru, he is King Daishou, the youngest king in Nohebi history, former strategist, responsible for the annexation of countless cities via cut-throat negotiation, the legacy of hundreds of rulers before him dripping like venom off of the circlet of gold and emerald on his head.

Hiroo feels hunted, but he presses on, because he is nothing if not a menace.

"You should negotiate with Nekoma." Hiroo is not familiar with King Kuroo, but the number of people Daishou can't wrest a favorable bargain out of is miniscule.

This seems to hit a nerve though, as Suguru's nails pierce the plush armrest of his seat as his grip tightens.

"Tetsu- King Kuroo has not spoken to me in almost a year." He observes Suguru swallow down his spite. Something else too, there's a layer of personal emotion that Hiroo cares not to understand. Grief, almost. None of his business.

Instead, he rises and looks at him, eyes level. He sees a boy weaving flower crowns in the palace garden, for a suitor he refused to disclose. He sees Suguru instead of King Daishou. He makes a decision.

"Doctor Aoi, at your service." Koji bows deep in front of the two royals clad in tiger pelt. "I heard from a source that your youngest is terribly ill."

"What sources?" Lady Taketora sniffs.

"Sources." He kills the line of questioning with a meaningful glance. She seems to understand.

They discuss the matter for a few more minutes, and then he is led to the bedroom where the youngest Taketora is resting. He has the family physician describe her condition. Hiroo scoffs internally. It's some sort of foreign disease, one that swept Nohebi's half of the continent much earlier and had been kept out of Nekoma thanks to stringent trade and unfavorable weather. However, the pleasant climate in this particular area must have made it prone.

Fortunately, Daishou had been smart with the allocation of treasury funds, and the doctors of the country, thanks to timely funding, had been able to conjure up a cure before it became an epidemic.

The formula is simple enough, use a deadly poison as a base and add the leaves of some mountainous herb to transform it into a miracle cure.

And because Hiroo is good at his job, he knows how to make the poison. Two sides of the same coin.

He recites the ingredients required to Lord Taketora while their eldest looks up from the side of Akane's bed (Her name, as he had been told) to shoot him a baleful stare. He had some sort of ridiculous hairstyle going on, with prominent spike-like earrings. Ugh, new fashion these days. Within three hours, the ingredients are brought to him.

He requests a two weeks to work on the cure. In reality, it only took two days to prepare. But he had to prove himself valuable to keep around, to earn their trust. They comply, granting him his own quarters in the estate alongside the necessary equipment.

Hiroo formulates a battle plan.

The Taketora's were simpletons, easy to fool. The youngest? A mere child. He could poison her instead of cure her if he desired. The Lord? Easily swayed by the Lady. The Lady? Emotional, far too attached to her family and land. The eldest? Hm.

He stares at the information file that had been compiled and presented to him before he left the kingdom. He compares it with what he knows. Nothing. Despite the estate having been riddled with Nohebi spies at one point (much like any other) it seems the eldest eluded their knowledge. This information was a few years outdated too. Suguru had pulled most of the spies and mercenaries back to the capital after his little 'agreement' with Nekoma.

That worked out well. Hiroo thinks to himself, dryly. He would have had some support were it not for that stupid agreement.

First order of business, he supposed, was to actually get himself acquainted with the kid.

"Doctor." Yamamoto quipped upon Hiroo's arrival in the gardens behind him.

"Young master." Hiroo bowed, voice flat.

"Whaddya want?" He shoots back, ill-tempered and crude for a royal.

"Do you come here often?"

"Whatsit to ya?"

"Just wondering." Koji seats himself comfortably next to Yamamoto on the stone bench and watches a butterfly flit around his head.

They sit in silence. Eventually, as the sun starts to melt into the horizon, Yamamoto stands up and leaves. Hiroo spends the rest of the evening essentially stalking Yamamoto, trying to gauge his routine.

The next day, he finds Yamamoto in the gardens at the crack of dawn, staring intently at the thick of trees that enveloped the far end of the garden. He offers the Taketora a steaming mug of milk, which he takes. That's something they have in common, he supposes.

After an hour of staring, Koji speaks.

"Waiting for someone?"

"None of your business."

"You know, you're pretty far from the estate. Dangerous to be out alone like this. Especially considering your status." Hiroo smiles placidly, swirling the dregs of milk in his mug around, easy to finish off if he so pleased. Easy to finish off. He spares a glance toward's Yamamoto's throat and the dagger strapped to his thigh weighs so heavy it digs into flesh.

"You threatenin' me?" Taketora growls like a tiger. Always on the offensive, like a wounded animal. Which was funny enough, because he hadn't been stabbed. Yet.

"No." Hiroo's eyes dart back to his mug, his lips curving to form a more genuine smirk as he laughed at his own joke.

The conversation for that day ends. Hiroo adjusts his plan.

On the third day, Yamamoto snaps, a mere two hours into their mutual staring into the woods contest. His eye twitches and he snarls out his words, getting spittle onto Koji's fine silken robes.

"Why are you here?"

"To cure your sister, and hopefully get rewarded handsomely," Koji smiles into his mug, now filled with honey in addition to the usual milk. "What about you?"

"You'll laugh."

Hiroo raises his eyebrows. 'Go on.'

"It's the Taketora family legend. Supposedly we have a spirit watching over us. The shrine is right between those trees."

Guardian spirits? Hiroo wants to snap the handle off his mug. Guardian spirits are fables for hopeless little children, to shackle them to the ground and keep them from thinking too much. He wants to laugh a harsh, mocking laugh right into Yamamoto's face. instead, he blows the steam out of his face and looks at the trees.

"Is that so? You believe the spirit will heal your sister?"

Taketora only nods, and continues to look at the trees like they held the meaning of the universe in their big, leafy arms. No, they didn't, all they held were squirrels. Squirrels that Yamamoto could probably grab in his freakishly calloused palms and sacrifice in the name of the tiger spirit or whatever other deity a mother might conjure to placate a child. Tigers ate meat. Snakes ate meat. Solidarity.

Hiroo makes conversation with the queen later that evening, snappy banter for a woman wiser than her years. her decades. her centuries. Lady Taketora is far too smart to just be a lady, Hiroo thinks. He thinks too much, he thinks. Oh to have a conversation partner. He sends an pigeon back home with a scrap of bread and a progress report.

Two weeks later, Hiroo holds a glass container above his head, letting the rising sun hit the vial grandly and turn the rays a shade pink. A poison. The pigeon looks at him from the window, and Koji looks right back at it. Stupid thing. Stupid animal. Bird. People. All the same. The elegantly curled silver snake pendant lying in his satchel glints in the pink, reminding him of solemn smiles, ink, hushed whispers and lives sold over tea.

It doesn't matter who his real parents are. Nohebi is his home. No life is worth more than the king's. People can be ink on a list to cross off, they may as well be. Only the smart deserve to survive and only the cunning deserve to thrive. This is what he thinks as he snaps his quill in half while writing, and feeds his pigeon a spoonful of poison. The Idiot bird drinks it, because it is stupid. He doesn't feel sad for 'Idiot bird' because he hasn't given it a name because Hiroo does not care about anyone or anything.

Not even children.

Small hands, tablecloth, a crown too big for a kid's head, toothy greetings, contracts.

Ugh.

He sprinkles in the herbs, turns the poison into a cure and goes to tell the Lady that her child will live. It's not like the survival of another Taketora would throw a wrench in the works. Not a short-term one at least. Hiroo is familiar with the vicious cycle of blood, tears and rage that follows him and his knives. But that would be another wheel chasing him. And he isn't going to stop running any time soon.

Predictably, they are grateful, and keep him around. Daishou sends a Royal Pigeon hurtling into Hiroo's room three months after the cure, demanding an update. Hiroo feeds that bird poison too, and sends back a horse with a scroll strapped to it's side. Why? Why not. Hiroo Koji is nothing if not a cold, calculating, blood-soaked menace.

Six months pass. Hiroo could have ended this mission months ago, but he is cunning, and the cunning deserve to thrive. So he thrives, bagging promotion after promotion, slithering seamlessly in plain sight.

Plus, he had kind of made a big deal out of the whole Only Three Months thing, and he is going to milk that to it's fullest extent.

On the very last day of his designated ultimatum, he unsheathes the dagger from the folds of his robes and lets the moon catch it's blade in it's light. The metal looks hungry. He would satiate it best he could.

There are two things Hiroo would have learned at assassins school, if it existed. Maybe it did. Hiroo learned these things anyways, through practice and steel sawing bone.

Number one, is that you break the spirit. The spirit in this case, would be Lady Taketora, and the land the Taketora's presided over would be the body the spirit used as a host. An amateur might have made the mistake of killing Lord Taketora. Hiroo is not an amateur, so he kills the Lord. It's comically easy to slip the metal between his ribs as he snores and shove a fist in his mouth to muffle the screaming before his wife wakes. His wife would wake anyways, roused later by the wetness of blood and dead fingers cupping her mid-section in bed. Still, she would take enough time to realize.

What sets him apart from an amateur, is the reason he kills the Lord. its not because he is in power. Quite the opposite. The Lady is in power. The Lady is attached to the Lord. If the Lord is dead, the Lady is distraught and vulnerable. The Lady is smart, but she is in love, so she is weak. Loving is a weakness, Hiroo muses while instinctively shoving his knife into the neck of the guard posted outside the bedchamber. He wipes the dagger clean on the chest of the guard as the man gurgles blood and prayer in his final moments.

Number two, is that you extort the spirit.

Hiroo knows Yamamoto is outside in the gardens, because it is a full moon and his stupid spirit or whatever is supposed to bless the land or whatever. Where is your god now, Hiroo thinks, tossing his weapon from his right palm to his left back to his right again. Where does He sleep, when the people you love die? He is outside now, approaching the thicket of trees like death.

Yamamoto is kneeling in front of a stone altar, moonbeams hitting the pool of water in the middle of the clearing. To be honest, Hiroo doesn't give enough of a fuck to look at much else. Trees, trees, target.

Blade meets throat, just as he had fantasized all those months ago. Yamamoto looks up, fear and confusion in his eyes. Hiroo presses a finger to his own lips. It's clear.

"Stand. Follow me. Shut up. Say a word and I'll make sure your sister ends up like your father."

Yamamoto growls like a wild beast, because he is a stupid wild beast. Hiroo presses his blade patiently into skin and watches him calm down, much like a stupid wild beast. He knew Yamamoto didn't fear for his own life, but his sisters. Yamamoto isn't smart, and he's in love, so he is weak. Loving is a weakness.

Hiroo ties him to a wooden beam in the stables and shoves a slightly frayed piece of rope into his mouth to keep him shut.

Koji steps back inside the castle.

He has a deal to make.

Chapter Text

Kuguri doesn't say a word when he is assigned a strange, urgent infiltration mission from his king. It does not matter that he is new, or doesn't have any blood to his name. Yet. He shows promise, and King Daishou is being irrational these days, according to the palace whispers.

He doesn't say a word, except to introduce himself to the easily trusting Shibayama house. His pupils flit up from where he bows and he meets eyes with their son, a sweet little thing that stumbled over his words.

Sometimes, he finds himself with the Shibayama's son, alone in the library. On week three of his mission, the son stutters out his name.

"Call me Yuuki," Yuuki says, and then doesn't say anything after that.

"Yuuki." He says it like a prayer, hushed and delicate between his lips.

Neither of them say anything after that, but Kuguri starts bringing a plate of biscuits to the library, after overhearing that Yuuki likes them. Gain their trust, Hiroo's stern voice echoes, and he says that like a prayer too, except in his head and without much sincerity.

He enlisted as a butler, so he does what a butler must do. And if he prefers serving Yuuki over any other member of the house, then that would be another secret to add to the tightly sealed vaults of his heart. He's good at saying nothing at all.

"Hanako," Yuuki says, one month after his arrival, using the name that Kuguri had fashioned for himself out of a roadside flower and half a thought. He can barely remember that it's his. He perks up, wedging a finger in between the pages of 'A Scion's guide to War Strategy'. Kuguri stares at Yuuki. Everything about him is so small and fragile, from his thin fingers, to his wide, round eyes. Sometimes, they're alight with passion, like when he talks about mythology and legends. Right now, they're unsure and unsettled.

"A- Are you scared of thunder?" A fist curled into fabric. The rain outside patters aggressively. His eyes glisten when they meet the glass panes of the window for a split-second.

"No." Naoyasu replies, because nothing much fazes him at all.

"It's a little silly, but I am."

"That's not silly," and he means it.

"Will you- If you would- Accompany me-" Yuuki bites his lip when it starts to tremble and looks at the floor. This is when his father calls him a sniveling child. Kuguri is not his father though, so he merely does what his brain tells him would be most helpful, without inhibition.

"Okay."

They traverse the small castle that the Shibayamas own, Yuuki staying half a step behind him. Whenever lightning struck, the torches in the castle flickered with reverence, and thunder that followed made most people flicker a little too. Some more than others, Naoyasu muses as Yuuki clings to his side. He offers Yuuki half of his cape, which he takes.

When they reach his room, Yuuki holds his cape fast and asks him to stay a while longer. Now would be the perfect opportunity to kill him, or extort him, or both. Naoyasu does none of these things. In due time, he tells himself, kicking off his boots and making himself comfortable on the edge of Yuuki's ridiculously plush bed.

Yuuki brings out a chessboard, and they play until Naoyasu falls asleep, his naturally drowsy disposition overtaking his unnaturally sharp mind. He wakes up to Yuuki eating breakfast on the small round table at the other end of the room, and a blanket on his torso that wasn't there before. Kuguri takes up the offer to sit with him, and they converse until a rooster crows somewhere outside. Yuuki rushes him out of the room after thrusting a piece of fancy bread, a plate of fruit and a mug full of tea into his hands. His parents mustn't know that he let a servant into his quarters.

These sleepovers become common, once or twice a week Yuuki manufactures some new excuse until excuses aren't necessary, he simply asks Hanako to come, and Kuguri obliges. Usually they play chess. Occasionally they exchange gossip. Kuguri sends back pigeons with bits and pieces of this gossip, but never enough to condemn Yuuki.

Four months into his mission, he makes the first and last mistake of his assassination career.

Yuuki invites him to stay the night, and he does, ignoring how his heart thrums with increased excitement whenever Yuuki says 'Hanako'. He wonders how Yuuki would say his given name. His real name. Would he make it sound just as elegant? Would he say it quietly, shy and secretive? He nearly walks into a wall at the thought.

"Yamamoto taught me something in his last letter," Yuuki puffs his chest out, as he always does whenever he talks about Yamamoto. Kuguri questions as to how lightly Hiroo is taking his job if the Taketora's eldest is still able to write casual letters to friends. Then again, it isn't like he has much room to criticize.

"It's called pillow fighting! He said I could use it to practice hand-to-hand combat," that's bullshit, but it's the kind that the older brother fed to the unassuming sibling, "with my fr-friends."

Yuuki stumbles over the word 'Friend." He's grown a spine since Kuguri joined the staff, and maybe it's because he finally has someone in his corner. Kuguri feels pride at that thought. Still, there are times, mostly when he's unsure, where his old stutter catches up to him.

Yuuki tosses him a pillow, and he catches it, barely blocking the ensuing attack of feathers and fluff. Kuguri retaliates, holding back so as to not hurt the young lord too badly. Still, when Yuuki throws a pillow into his face and then sneaks up behind him, Naoyasu falls back into habit and flips the shorter boy over his shoulder, onto the bed with a hefty Thwump. He straddles him, holding Shibayama's wrists together above his head with one hand, and his pillow with the other. If the pillow was a knife, this would be the part where he lodged it in Yuuki's heart.

Instead, they pause and stare at each other, breathing heavy. Yuuki let his hair grow out over the course of four months, and it's splayed almost artistically in a halo around his flush face. Like this, Naoyasu can see himself reflected in Yuuki's eyes. His eyes are black, almost dark-grey. They glitter like pools of water at night.

Silence that was once like a comforting woolen blanket turns electric, charged with something unsaid. The candle near the windowsill is extinguished by a draft of wind.

"Yuuki." Naoyasu says his name like a prayer.

Closer.

Closer.

Yuuki opens his mouth, name on the tip of his tongue, and Kuguri closes the gap between them.

He feels Shibayama sigh into the kiss, and his grip loosens, because kissing Yuuki is all-encompassing, it's blueberries and nectarines at dawn, it's a cozy alcove in the library at dusk, and Naoyasu does not believe in religion, but he just might make one out of the way Yuuki cups his face.

"Hanako," and the fantasy ends, shattered gloriously by the fake name Kuguri himself created. Realization starts to seep into him, realization of his feelings and their consequences. He is in love, and loving is a weakness. It's a target on his back.

Yuuki seems to realize too, and he lets a hand rest on Kuguri's neck, demanding his attention.

"What's wrong?"

There are a million things Kuguri could say. A million things he wants to say. So he does.

"My name isn't Hanako," is what he starts with, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Shibayama's.

"And I was sent here to kill you," he murmurs gently, hidden blades weighing like the universe against his thighs and duty weighing heavier on his shoulders.

Several emotions flit across Yuuki's face, all of them more painful than the last. None of them compare to how much hurt is condensed into his voice.

"Why?"

"I just have to," Naoyasu almost cries when he sees the grief on Yuuki's face. He grits his teeth and strengthens his resolve.

The blade is supposed to weigh like the universe when it pulls it from it's hidden sheathe, but it's only metal. He raises it above his head, ready to bring it down and end it all in one, clean strike.

Loving is a weakness, loving is weakness, Naoyasu chants it in his head like a prayer, but nothing is as potent as Yuuki's lips against his, Yuuki's name from his own lips, Yuuki's arms around his waist, Yuuki, Yuuki, YUUKI, YUUKI-

He misses, lodging the knife into the space next to Yuuki's head.

"But I can't."

"Huh?"

"My name is Naoyasu, and you should kill me." Both of his hands are on the hilt of the dagger, and they tremble as he speaks.

"Why do you have to die, Naoyasu?" Yuuki asks, wiping the tears from Kuguri's face as he cries his own. Yuuki says his name, and it's filled with pity and kindness. It's so warm, it hurts.

"I can't carry out my mission."

"That's no reason to die."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" Naoyasu murmurs as Yuuki cards his fingers through hair at the base of his neck and pulls him down so his face is buried in comfort and skin.

"We'll figure something out," Shibayama sighs and stares at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"For now, you should sleep."