Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The torch grinds against the stones, spitting pitch and sparks in her ear. “Stop running,” Mihaya snarls, his voice entwining with the hiss of the flames. “You’ll be taken good care of! Just cooperate.”

Shirayuki curls her fingers into fists, hidden behind her back. She wants so badly to change his mind, but he’s made it clear that her desires don’t matter to him. She didn’t let the prince of Tanbarun decide her fate, and she’s not about to let some stranger in Clarines do it either, whatever it takes. She’s failed to outrun him, she’s failed to out-think him, but if it’s all she has left, she will do her best to fight.

With a gasp, Mihaya lurches away from her, his torch tumbling end over end to lie abandoned at her feet. Shadows dance madly against the wall as Zen leans in, eyes sky-blue and confident. “Hey there, Shirayuki,” he says. Her heart pounds in her ears, too much for her even to answer.

Zen takes charge of everything, and as much as she appreciates it, as relieved as she is to be hiking down the mountain toward Wistal and not dragged off into the unknown, she can’t help but notice how calm he is. It’s as though this is no surprise to him, like it happens all the time-

She doubts she wants her path to run so close to the palace, if it comes with risks like this.

The smell of the apothecary’s shop brings tears to Shirayuki’s eyes. The bouquet of herbal notes fills her nose, spiced with the tang of antiseptic, and she remembers all too well the night she took down the bell from her own shop’s door, no more than a few weeks ago. Back in Tanbarun it may still be there waiting, the taint of mold overtaking the clean dry smell as nobody airs out the rooms and maintains the drawers. Tears threaten, but she won’t let them fall. It’s a chapter of her life she’s put behind her, now. She was never truly qualified, anyway.

At the far end of the counter a boy, not even into his teens, peers into a box of herbs. He wafts the smell toward his face with a practiced motion, then crushes a leaf and inspects the dust on his fingers. The white-coated man behind the counter, presumably the apothecary himself, waits breathlessly for the verdict.
The boy nods, and the man’s relief is palpable. “I’ll have your order delivered to the palace today, “ the apothecary says. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, as always. Please send my regards to the Chief Pharmacist.”

The boy’s shoulders hunch at the apothecary’s obsequiousness. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, he chokes out a “Thank you,” and drives for the door as though he can’t stand another second indoors. Shirayuki holds the door for him, and he marches through without acknowledgment.

The bell jingles once more as the door swings shut, and Shirayuki is the only customer left in the shop. “Can I help you?” the apothecary calls out, and she hesitates.
But one never gets anywhere without taking a first step forward. “I’m not here to buy anything,” she says, standing straight at the counter. “But are you looking for any new employees? I have experience gathering and preserving herbs, and some in compounding medicines.” She rubs at the heel of her hand, the callus where she held the hub of her grinding wheel suddenly itchy.

The apothecary eyes her suspiciously, his eyes flickering down to track the motion, and she tries not to wither under his gaze. “I ran a local pharmacy in Tanbarun,” she adds, pushing back against the doubt trying to seep in. “It was never as grand as this, but it was there for everyone who needed it. It made a difference.”

That’s what she misses, what she needs- if she isn’t helping people, what’s the point? She stands firm, waiting for the apothecary’s response, and reminds herself that nobody he could hire would be more qualified than she is.

“Yes, I think we might actually have a place,” he says at long last, and she takes one step forward. One step closer to where she’s meant to be.

Chapter Text

Obi should be more content with this job than he is. The pay is nothing to complain about, more than enough for a roof over his head and three actual meals a day. His employer, an actual noble, has the kind of money and grievances that can lead to repeat work if he’s satisfied with the outcome. And yet, somehow, he’s feeling supremely unappreciated. He poured all his skill into a real work of art of a forgery, the guards accepted it and closed the gates to the redhead, and she just turned around and went home without so much as a tantrum. It was all so boring he just about fell out of his tree.

His surveillance nest is high enough up he’d certainly rather not fall out of it, up on her neighbor’s roof. It’s got a nice view of her apartment, comfortable enough he’s dozed off there a time or two because the entire neighborhood is so wholesome he could gag. The apprentice florist is having an affair with the fishmonger, which he personally would find a bit inexplicable, but maybe they’re both numb to scents at this point. The lamp-lighter is getting on in years, and the entire neighborhood seems to have worked out a conspiracy to keep him from ever having to climb a ladder. Every time he sets it up, a kid will pop out of nowhere begging to help. Shirayuki herself leaves at the same time for work every day, comes straight home, and reads. She sings to herself when she’s alone, and her only vice seems to be a new pot on her balcony every couple of days. Some of them have plants in them, but about half are just dirt. He has to admit he’s a little curious about what’s going to pop up.

And at the rate things are going, he’ll be there long enough to find out. He’d thought for sure the prince would be at her door every other day- the man looked every bit as smitten as the marquis had led him to believe- but since she got locked out of the palace he hasn’t seen hide nor grey hair of him. Maybe the marquis has him on lockdown, or maybe he’s playing hard to get, but either way there’s nothing for Obi to do.

The crowd in the street surges oddly, giving someone space, and Obi sits up. Finally, there comes the prince. Not dressed for his station, of course, he does have that much discretion, but his noble clothes stand out nearly as much. Obi had thought of just straight-out mugging the guy, because he’d be too embarrassed to show up at his girlfriend’s covered in bruises, but the bodyguards make that a far less desirable plan. He could probably take the prince in a fight- the man is short, and a prince to boot- but the knights would tie him in knots and sit on him. The women in the flower shop watch them go by with calculating faces, but the prince doesn’t look aside, just bounds up to Shirayuki’s door and knocks.

Obi resolves to have a better plan before the next time.

If Obi’s going to be entirely honest about it, the marquis probably would get better use out of the money he’s been throwing at Obi by bribing one of the bodyguards. There’s really not much Obi can do about the prince’s behavior, although he only shows up once every few weeks. Obi’s at a bit of a loss as to how he’s supposed to make anything happen.

His nest above the apothecary’s shop isn’t near as comfortable as the apartment-watching one, either. The tiles are going to make a permanent crease in his spine, if he doesn’t expire of the stench first. Of course the only roof with a view is on top of a pub best known for its fish special. He’s never going to eat fish again, assuming he doesn’t die of exposure first; winter is coming soon enough and he’ll stand out like a gargoyle up there against the snow.

“I swear, how long does it take to get one prescription out of the back?” He can’t quite see the owner of the voice, in the street somewhere below the edge of the roof, but it sounds interesting. He inches closer.

“You know it’s going to work, when you get it, but the line’s always so long!” This voice sounds younger and maybe a little less irritated. “They’ve been so busy lately they’re barely keeping up.”

“I thought the novelty of the redhead would die down, but she’s just so- nice.” Obi snickers to himself at the frustration in the word. “And she’s competent, too, almost as good as Lambert is.”

“Don’t say that where he can hear it.” They both snicker. “But I know what you mean, she has that smile- it just makes you feel better. She’s really in the right job.”

“When she’s doing apothecary stuff and not running the cash register. Nobody in the whole store is competent with that thing.”

The last thing Obi hears as the two voices trail off into the distance is, “They need a desk clerk or something.”

Obi’s experience to date does not make him a particularly good candidate for the job. The last time he checked, apothecary shops were entirely lacking in the need for unarmed combat, stealth, or knife skills.

However, he is not without resources. In a narrow alleyway in Wistal’s darkest corner, he knocks a code on a wooden door. Only the silhouette of an oceangoing ship scrawled across the adjacent wall marks the entrance to the Drowned Schooner gin house. Harelip Merle, the owner, answers the door himself, notorious lip pulling into a sneer as he squints against the shadows. Obi shakes back his hair to expose the scar on his forehead.

“Nanaki? What are you doing here?”

“I need a favor. Something only you can do for me.” If there is one skill that Obi can count on, it’s that he is a quick learner.

“Anything,” says Merle, and beckons him inside.

Obi’s waiting outside the pharmacy when they flip the sign the next morning. The bell tinkles overhead and the floors underfoot are so clean his boot soles squeak against the tile, and he’s never been more convinced of the wisdom of stealth as when Shirayuki smiles at him from her perch on the ladder. Apothecary Lambert eyes him from behind the counter, as tall as the prince’s bodyguard, half the width, and with less than a quarter as much hair. He peers through his glasses. “How can we help you?”

Obi’s hair is combed down over the scar today. It won’t hide anything for long, but he wants them interested in his charm, not his distinguishing marks. “I heard you might be looking for a desk clerk. I’m new to the area, but I’d like to stay.” Looking harmless isn’t his usual approach, but he’s been watching Trow charm marks long enough to pick up the basics. “Would you be willing to consider me for the job?”

“I wasn’t looking for-” Lambert’s rejection is reflex, but before he finishes, there’s a crash from the back of the room. The ruins of a clay pot are scattered across the floor in stripes of black soil.

“Oh no,” says Shirayuki, and she definitely has not had training at the feet of a good liar. “I was just about to start the willow concentration, but I can sweep this up first.” She lingers on the ladder a moment more, and Lambert holds up a hand.

“Young man, how are you at cleaning?”

“The cleanest.” That, at least, is no lie. If there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s make a mess disappear.

Lambert’s frown deepens as it settles on the counter. “And you know how to run a cash register?”

He does now. “An expert.”

Obi holds back a smile as he watches the apothecary come to a decision. “We’ll give you a trial today, then. If I’m happy with your work, we can talk wages tonight. Shirayuki, show this man to the broom and then go start the willow. I’ll be in my office.” He avoids the mess, long legs eating up the space in just a couple of steps, and disappears into the back.

Shirayuki hops down from the ladder, no longer hesitant. “It’s about time. Welcome to the team!”

Obi pops the buttons on his coat the moment Lambert turns his back. It’s silly enough putting him in a lab coat like he needs one. Making him keep the buttons done is a hill too far. Shirayuki, of course, has all of hers done neat and tidy. “Got any plans for the weekend?” he asks, casual as he can make it.

Her head pops up from the book, wide-eyed like he caught her at something, but immediately the look softens into delight. “If the weather’s good, I’m going to go foraging! My last trip to Mount Koto didn’t go so well, so I do need to go back up there at some point, or maybe I’ll check out the shoreline upriver.”

Obi’s certainly had to resort to foraging before, plenty of times, but not when he’s this well-paid. She’s only getting paid for one job, but Lambert doesn’t stint on their paychecks. She should have plenty to live on- he stares a moment, appalled that he could have missed an expense as momentous as her being blackmailed, before he remembers who he’s talking to. Of course she’s just after medicinal plants. “Do you find much by the shore?”

“I don’t know!” She looks delighted by her ignorance. “I’ve never lived so close to the ocean before. Back in Tanbarun, the forest was right over the hill and I had a garden. It wasn’t nearly as big as Lambert’s, but it was growing…” She trails off, wistful. “I suppose I shouldn’t miss it. I have a good life here, and I’m learning so much, but I was proud of that garden, you know?”

Obi can’t relate. He’s been proud of his work, from time to time, but it’s always quick. One task and he moves on, getting out before anyone gets too attached or too angry. He should probably already be on the move, unfinished or not. He’s sealed the castle gates to her, at least until someone cares enough to get the paperwork all ironed back out, and the prince doesn’t strike him as a real paperwork stickler. It’s a pretty tidy solution, if anyone asks him, although Marquis Haruka gave him no more for it than one of those scowls. Nobody appreciates an artist.

Her question needs some kind of answer, so he shrugs. “Never had a garden, myself.”

That makes her frown, a little line forming between her eyebrows just like Trow gets when there’s no meat with dinner. “You should try it sometime! I could show you the basics here when we plant in the spring, and they sell clay pots at the Saturday market. It’s such a comfort to have something green and growing where you live. Every day it’s changed, new leaves popping out or twisting toward the sun. And it can even be a help, if it’s an herb or a berry or something.” Her eyes are sparkling now, her hands folded.

“I-” Really, he has no interest. Why pay for a pot he’d be leaving behind any day? Yet somehow he can’t say that to her face. She’d be a magnificent con, he realizes, and wonders briefly if recruiting her would be an acceptable way of meeting his contract. No, he’s already seen her attempt at lying closehand, and nobody more attentive than Lambert would have bought it. Thankfully, Obi is an expert. “I don’t get enough sunlight. Better to plant them where they can actually grow, right?”

She can’t hide her disappointment, either. “I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” she says, and to her credit she leaves it at that.

Chapter Text

The kid from the palace comes by once a week. He’s labor intensive- always has a big list of herbs and stuff he’s looking for, and while Lambert and Shirayuki take it as a challenge, it’s clearly one they look forward to. The moment Shirayuki spots his tousled head rounding the corner she waves at Obi to start tea and runs to knock on Lambert’s office door. The front door swings open on the most collected and industrious the apothecary staff ever looks, just as it does every week, but everything turns to chaos as the boy’s companion joins him.

“Garrack?” Apothecary Lambert’s voice is so unstrung, Obi almost pours boiling water on himself.

“Long Tall Lambert! It’s been a while!” The tall blonde grins like she’s having the time of her life, but the boy by her side cringes so hard it’s got to hurt. He looks like he’s trying to hide in his hair. Obi offers him a cup of tea first, just to give him something to do.

“Still can’t let that go, can you?” Obi’s never heard Lambert so disgruntled, but with a mighty effort he summons back his professionalism. “To what do we owe the honor? How can we help you today?”

“Oh, Ryuu’s here for the usual,” Garrack says. “I just tagged along because I had nothing better to do.” The boy blows into his tea, but his hand’s shaking. Obi glances at Shirayuki, and she hasn’t missed it either.

“If you have a moment, Royal Pharmacist Ryuu, could I consult with you in the garden? We’re having an issue with the-” Her invention peters out there, and she meets Obi’s eyes in a panic.

“Wasn’t it the apple tree?” Obi is far from an expert. He just carries the heavy bags and occasionally digs holes where he’s told, but he can vouch for the presence of an apple tree in the courtyard garden.

“Yes, that was it. Thank you, Obi.” Her grateful smile leaves an afterimage when she turns to the boy once again, and Obi has to blink to let it go. Even after the two of them have fled through the back door, Ryuu’s teacup left steaming on the counter, he can still feel its warmth.

The woman Lambert calls Garrack watches Shirayuki so closely it makes Obi uneasy. He’s seen assassins look at a mark with less intensity. He offers a teacup, but she waves it off, and Lambert sighs. He doesn’t roll his eyes, but he does reach under the counter and pull out a glass bottle. “You never have nothing better to do, Garrack, don’t give me that.” He pours her two fingers of the contents, and Obi wonders if he could get a sip himself. It stings his nose in the best of ways. “What are you really here for?”

“Considering poaching your apprentice, actually. Ryuu comes back every week singing her praises, and that’s not like him. I figured either he’s got his first baby crush on this girl, or she must be something special. Maybe both.” She sips the liquor like it were tea. “Either way, I had to come check her out. Tryouts for the royal pharmacy are coming up again in a month, you know.”

Lambert grits his teeth, and Obi’s so enthralled at all the new emotions he’s seeing today he almost forgets what a giant pain it would all be if she were to take the job. “I’ll post the notice as usual,” Lambert grinds out. “I would hate to see her go, she’s been very good for us.” Neither of them notices when Obi sets down the tea-tray, and nobody even looks as he sneaks out the back door.

Shirayuki and Royal Pharmacist Ryuu are chatting under the apple tree when Obi enters the courtyard. Again, nobody notices him. Shirayuki’s nodding enthusiastically as Ryuu talks about harvesting; it seems she’s already alerted him to the ruse. “I wouldn’t go back in for a few minutes, there’s a very scary contest of wills going on in there,” Obi says, and they both jump.

“Sometimes it’s difficult to get a clean cut, like when you’re cutting mistletoe with the long pole,” Ryuu continues, side-eying Obi like he’s a potentially dangerous animal.

“Why a long pole?” Shirayuki asks, which is exactly what Obi would have asked if he were participating in the conversation. “Why not up close, with a sharp knife for more control?”

“Because it’s up a tree,” Ryuu says. The period at the end of that explanation is so decisive even Obi can feel it.

“And nobody can possibly climb a tree,” Obi says because he never knows when to keep his mouth shut.

“I can’t,” says Ryuu, and even Shirayuki frowns at that. One would think a kid his age should at least admit the possibility of climbing trees- unless he’s never had the chance.

“Can’t or just never have?” Ryuu’s stare shifts from wariness to outright suspicion as Shirayuki talks. “This apple tree is the best climbing tree here. There’s a nice view out over the buildings- you can even see the sun on the water in the distance. And there’s always more breeze than you find at ground level.” He still looks unconvinced, but Shirayuki is just the opposite. She braces a foot on the scar of an old branch and before Obi can say a word about her white coat, she’s sitting on the lowest branch.

Ryuu stares up at her as though he’s just seen magic worked. “Would you like to join her?” Obi asks. There’s a second branch that would make just as nice a seat. The boy stares up at it as though it’s three stories up.

“I don’t know how,” he says, and that’s just what they’ve been waiting for.

“That we can do something about,” he says.

Twenty minutes later, Garrack stops and blinks as she steps out into the sunshine of the courtyard, staring as though she doesn’t believe her eyes. Shirayuki and Ryuu are still talking about harvesting methodologies, but they’re both sitting up in the apple tree. Ryuu has a smear across his chest where he overbalanced and tried to spin around the branch. It took him a few tries to get a leg up and over and to get himself stable, but now he looks like a natural, and there’s a little smile on his face that they’re not used to seeing. “On second thought, maybe I should just send Ryuu down here more often,” Garrack says.

“Don’t let him fool you, Miss Ida,” Shirayuki calls out from under the desk, where she is digging through completed prescriptions.

“Would I lie to you?” Obi leans forward across the desk, favoring Ida with his very best smolder.

She reaches up - way up, because only her eyes and her gray topknot peek over the tall counter - and pats Obi on the cheek. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, dear. Just tell me what you’re trying to talk me into buying this week, and I’ll consider it.”

Shirayuki giggles from beneath the cabinet, and Ida’s eyes crinkle. Obi has enough self-control to keep from joining them, but only just barely. “Why, Miss. I merely meant to suggest that a visage as radiant as yours could only be complemented with a scented hair rinse. My lady here makes them in lavender and peony…”

“That sounds lovely,” she says. “See, that’s all you had to tell me. If Shirayuki’s making it, I’ll take one of the lavender. No need to butter me up.”

“Aww, but what if I enjoy complimenting such a lovely lady and such a faithful customer?” Obi lets the genuine smile through at last, adding one little purple bottle to the little pile of soaps and trinkets she’s already accumulated.

Shirayuki bumps his shoulder, reaching across to lay two envelopes on the pile. “There’s been no changes to your prescription. I assume you know how they’re to be taken, but just in case I copied the doctor’s notes to the packaging.”

“It’s always a pleasure, dear.” She looks over her shoulder at the window, which is still glaring bright in the noontime sunshine. “Now don’t let old Lambert work you too late at night. He may be used to long hours, but it’s not safe for a young lady like you. They say there’s been a prowler sighted on the rooftops at night.”

Either Obi’s losing his touch, or someone’s horning in on his territory, and it’s hard to imagine the word could have gotten around without him having had a glimpse of whoever it was. No, probably he got sighted by a drunk. He’ll have to lie low for a bit.

Shirayuki wobbles, and Obi steadies her with a hand on her back. She’s just a little too chipper when she catches herself. “Thank you for bringing us your business!”

Obi totals up the bill and offers it to Miss Ida. “Will you be adding this to your account?”

“Nonsense. I believe in paying my debts.” She digs in her sleeve for a moment, then frowns. From the corner of his eye, Obi sees a fluttering- Shirayuki points to herself, then the back room, then mimes grinding herbs in the mortar. Obi nods, then winks, just because he can and because it makes very cute pink spots appear on her cheeks. She flees, and when he looks back to Ida, she’s only just at last finding her coin purse.

The bell rings again even before she’s made it to the exit. “Thank you, young man,” Ida says as she shuffles her way out into the street, and when the door jingles its way closed again, Obi is alone with the Second Prince of Clarines.

“I thought Shirayuki was working today,” he says, looking very out of place. He’s no bull in a china shop, but he’s certainly someone very conscious that he’s wearing a sword in a room full of glass bottles.

“Am I not to your liking, Highness? Please allow me to serve you.” Obi sweeps a bow.

“I’m not-“ The prince pinches the bridge of his nose as though trying to hold back a headache. “I just would like to see Shirayuki. Is she here?”

Obi shakes his head, tsking. “I don’t know, Highness, it’s not very sporting to come into a place of business and disturb a skilled craftsman at work, without at least making a purchase to offset the disruption…” Obi lets his gaze drift off into the corner, but he can hear the irritated huff. A moment later, a tin slams down on the counter. He lets his gaze flicker down for a second, then hums. He really shouldn’t play this game, but the prince turns so pink he just can’t resist. A second tin joins the first. “That’ll be twelve dil, and she’ll be right out.” He reaches out and dings the bell on the counter.

“How can I- Really, Obi? You’re right there- Oh!” Shirayuki has a cloth tied around her hair now, and her cheeks are pink. There’s no telling whether it’s from struggling with the burner or the unexpected arrival of her beau, but either way it’s a cute look on her. If Obi had to put money on it, the soot streaks on her hands tip his bet toward it being the burner’s doing. “Zen! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

The prince blushes too, just as cute and definitely not due to any outside issues. This must be why Haruka hired Obi to keep these two apart - the level of concentrated adorableness cannot be healthy for the kingdom. Fortunately, Obi is immune. “Ahem,” he says, interrupting their mutual gazing with his hand out. Shirayuki looks at him, confused, and the prince’s face immediately drops into a scowl as he digs into his pockets.

He presses a twenty-dil piece in Obi’s hand. “A minute, please?”

Obi blinks. If the prince thinks eight dil is a sufficient bribe, Lord Haruka has neglected his education. He really should take him aside and give him a lesson on the going rates, but Obi can give him a first installment here and now. Slowly he opens the till, pulling out eight individual dil coins. He counts them a second time, still eight. “Your change,” he drawls.

The prince, to his credit, does not quite grind his teeth, so Obi relents a little. “I’ll go see about restocking the extra strength hemorrhoid ointment, since somebody bought the last two,” he says, and the look of horror as the prince looks down at his purchases is worth every dil. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

In the stockroom, he counts to thirty. That should be more than enough time. But when he pushes open the door with his elbow, arms full of little tins, there’s nothing to interrupt. The prince is leaning over the counter, Shirayuki’s hands clasped in his own, but all he’s doing is close talking. “Just promise me you’ll be safe,” he says. “No wandering around alone at night? And you’ll ask if you can come with me on Thursday?”

“I’ll ask,” Shirayuki agrees. She’s perfectly placed to lean forward and reward the prince’s efforts with a kiss, but without even an embarrassed glance at Obi, she doesn’t do it.

“Don’t forget,” the prince says, backing slowly toward the door. Shirayuki smiles and waves, but the moment the bell tinkles and the door shuts, she lets out a held breath.

Evening takes them by surprise, the sky already dark when Lambert calls the work done. Obi stretches out his sore shoulder- he’s not ready to call this cushy job hard work yet, even if sometimes he does have to move ten times his body weight in dirt, because nobody’s tried to kill or arrest him in well over a month. The novelty is still pleasant.

Shirayuki pauses in the doorway, mouth opening and then snapping shut as though she thought better of whatever she’d been about to say. Her chin sets, and she’s clearly about to set off into the dark expressly against the prince’s advice, but Lambert calls after her. “You’re not going to walk home alone in the dark, are you? Haven’t you heard about the prowler?”

“I’ll be fine,” she starts, but he waves it off.

“You’re far too valuable an employee for us to let you get kidnapped off the street. Obi, walk her home. I’ll call it an extra half hour on the clock.” Obi watches the little furrow between her eyebrows set in, but he doesn’t give it time to set root.

He does so love when people pay him for things he already wants to do. “Got it, boss,” he snaps out with a sloppy salute, just to make Lambert roll his eyes and Shirayuki glare. The bell jingles behind them, and they’re alone together on the quiet street.

Or at least the street is quiet in the sense that it’s empty of other people; there is no lack of sounds from the surrounding buildings as they walk. The baker sings to himself as he banks the oven-fires for the night. A man and a woman argue in an upper room, while across the street a different couple is engaged in a far more pleasant pastime. Obi entertains himself with imagining her reaction if he pointed it out. “I’m not going to get kidnapped off the street,” she insists, too stubborn to let the argument drop.

“You’d fetch good money,” he says, obnoxious as he can be. “Why take the chance? You heard it yourself, you’re an investment.”

“And yet you’re the one getting paid to walk home.”

Obi holds up a finger. “To your home, miss. I’m not being paid to walk home, unless that’s an invitation to spend the night.” She seethes in silence instead of responding to that, she clearly he hasn’t provoked her enough yet. “So where is the esteemed prince taking you on Thursday? A romantic mountain getaway? A stately sailing yacht?”

“I think it’s in the mountains?” Either she misses the point of his needling entirely or she is a worthy opponent indeed. “He wants me to go to Raxd with him and his aides.”

Obi has to think hard about that one. There’s no town or river with that name, but he got a real good look at a map of military outposts once. He was chained to a chair at the time, awaiting processing, but he can dislocate a thumb and memorize a map at the same time when there’s a need. There was a speck on that map called Raxd, about as far from anything interesting you could get while still within the borders of Clarines. “Oh, a secluded romantic getaway with the prince, how scandalous!”

She plants her feet, stopping so precipitously he has to dance to the side to keep from bumping her. He’s never seen her look so appalled. “That’s not what this is at all! It’s a border fort! He’s doing inspections!”

“Just you, the prince, his two favorite knights, and twenty to fifty guardsmen…” They’re really not making his job all that difficult. He struggles to keep the note of innuendo in his voice, when all he really wants to do is laugh. “Very sneaky of him. I thought the other prince was the crafty one, but…”

His wink sets her off, and she wheels and resumes marching along the road like she’s on a schedule. It’s not fair that he gets paid for this. He’d needle her for free.

“I was going to tell him I had to work,” floats back from her rapidly retreating figure, and Obi skips to catch up. “But now I’m certainly going to go. I’m going to see the countryside, and be helpful, and I’ll even bring back herbs.”

“Don’t forget the silphium,” he sings, and she puts on another burst of speed. “My, miss, maybe you didn’t need the scary escort after all, you can just outrun kidnappers on your own two feet-“ He dances to the side when she stops again. He may have the upper hand, but she does keep him on his toes.

“You’re not scary,” she says, all embarrassment forgotten now that the topic of conversation has apparently changed. “You keep saying that, but it’s not true.”

Of all the topics for her to get serious over, trying to deny his thug face is not a battle she’s going to win. “I could name a few sources that would say otherwise.” Some of them are even still among the living.

“Well, they’re wrong. I don’t think you’re scary.”

If the scar over his eye hasn’t given her the message, he has a sudden urge to unlace his shirt. Anyone with common sense would understand what that meant- but knowing her he keeps his fingers away from the laces. There’s no knowing what she’d say. “That’s because I’m nice to you. And you’re not scared of anybody.”

She pauses, just a momentary freeze before her cheeks pull into a smile that almost looks genuine. “Miss Ida doesn’t think you’re scary. She says you’re cute, and when she comes in on your off days, she looks so sad she missed you.”

“She’s not afraid of anything either.” There’s a reason Lambert hides in the back when she arrives. “And even if she was, only a real loser goes around scaring old ladies.” He is not cute. That’s ridiculous.

“Exactly,” she says, grinning victoriously.

Chapter Text

Raxd fortress, from the foot of the walls, is definitely bigger than the speck on the map would suggest, but it’s still pretty damn desolate. The mossy stones have an ancient look to them, probably haunted, and the specters confronting him don’t do much to dispel the feeling. “State your business,” the prince’s lady knight says, as chilly as the snow dusting her hair.

“I heard there was something unusual going on around here, thought there might be a use for someone in my line of business.” His breaths don’t puff out through the facemask, instead hanging around his face in a mist. “I hunt. I track. You need something found, I’m your guy.”

It’s probably foolhardy, talking to the prince’s face like this, but he knows where he stands. A dark hood, a mask, a change of scenery, and it’ll never occur to the prince that this mysterious woodsman is his least favorite pharmacy clerk. In fact, he probably could have dispensed with the mask, because the prince never even meets his eyes. “Bandits,” he says. “We’re looking for bandits who were here three days ago, disguised as traveling merchants.”

A flash of red catches his eye, Shirayuki darting past an open door followed closely by the prince’s hulking bodyguard. “Not much of a difference, sometimes. Sounds like fun. You taking them in for questioning?”

The prince’s jaw tightens. “No,” he says.

Really, the bandits don’t put up much of a fight. The prince frowns about leaving the weapons behind, but just building a cairn over the bodies was enough work for the four of them, and none of the horses are cart-trained. Obi marks the trees as they trudge back; Raxd can send soldiers to reclaim their property when they’re feeling better.

“We’re lucky you came by, Nanaki,” says the tall knight, a Sir Mitsuhide if the prince’s battle shouts are to be believed. He’s leading his horse so it’s not so awkward to talk with Obi; it leaves them trailing the other two by a bit. “You’re a good fighter, and we certainly wouldn’t have found them as quickly without your help.”

Given that he was right there with Obi all along, that’s certainly an exaggeration, but he’s not about to correct him. They were, as much as he hates to admit it, a great team to work with, all competent and not a single one trying to stab him in the back. The Raxd clearing opens out before them, the gates still wide open but guards in place. The two horses’ tracks show signs of a pause at the gate, but they’re already out of sight on their way to the stables.

“Shirayuki!” He hears the prince call out, voice echoing off the stones of the courtyard.

“I guess this is where I leave you,” Obi says at the gate. As confident as he is in his thin disguise where the prince’s party is concerned, there’s no way of knowing what Shirayuki would say when she laid eyes on him. It would not be the first time he’s been reduced to pretending to be his own estranged identical twin, but it’s not one of his favorite excuses. It makes him a novelty, and that makes him memorable.

“At least come in for a few minutes,” Sir Mitsuhide insists. “The least we can do is get you a hot drink.”

“Oh, I don’t need that. Cold-blooded, you know.”

Sir Mitsuhide barks out a laugh. “That I would believe. But I don’t think you would want to miss out on your reward.” The glance he shoots Obi isn’t nearly as jovial as his voice, and somehow Obi finds that reassuring. He can outmaneuver another chess player; it’s the ones who don’t play the game that he has to fear.

And, to be fair, a hot drink and a reward do sound nice.

Shirayuki drags into the shop more than twenty minutes after opening, looking like she’s spent the night under a bush. “Good morning!” Obi trills from his spot behind the cash register. He hasn’t slept a wink himself, of course, running through the night to beat her back from the snowy hinterlands. She rode the whole way cozied up against a knight at least, possibly even a prince. “Was your romantic interlude everything you dreamed?”

“It wasn’t a romantic anything,” she hisses, blushing, and Obi does experience one very small pang. She did save the lives of a couple of dozen soldiers, and somehow he suspects she got even less of a reward for it than he did.

Lambert throws open the door of his office and instantly recoils. “You’re not planning to work like that, are you?”

Shirayuki’s hands fly to her hair. “I just need a cup of tea,” she pleads. “I promise I’m more awake than I look. I’m ready to work!”

Lambert’s lips purse. His eyes meet Obi’s, and even though Obi has no idea why his opinion could possibly be relevant here, he shrugs. “I’ve got the counter,” he says unnecessarily.

“Fine, you go tidy up the garden,” Lambert says. He tries to make it sound like a real order, but as Shirayuki drags herself past him, he adds to it under his voice. “Drink lots of water, not just tea, and if you happen to fall asleep in the shade, nobody will wake you.”

She turns to thank him, and if Obi hadn’t already suspected that fatigue makes her clumsy, Raxd had shown him the truth. Watching her fall on her face was not one of his proudest moments, her box shattering on the paving stones and sending vegetables scattering across the snowy courtyard. But he gets to make up for it now, already in motion when he sees her wobble and tip, hands at her shoulder and hip setting her upright. She’s softer than she looks, and warm, and the smile she turns on him is dazzling. “Your reflexes really are amazing, Obi. Thank you!”

He snatches his hands back. He wasn’t doing it for praise, just- “And you’re tired. Be careful. No sharp objects.” She grins and nods, and wobbles her way out the back door without further incident.

“That girl,” Lambert cups his hand on his forehead like she’s giving him a headache. Obi can sympathize. With a glance at the back door to make sure it’s shut, he adds, quietly, “Do you think the prince is serious about her?”

Perhaps Obi is a little more tired than he thought. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” he says.

Oddly enough, that makes Lambert smile. “Good for you,” he says, and claps Obi on the back before disappearing back into his office.

Little old ladies are a faster source of news than any town crier or royal messenger; all these years Obi has been relying on entirely the wrong informants. But now that his eyes have been opened, he knows that the first prince has returned even before he pulls himself over the wall into the castle grounds.

It’s just his regular check-in, time to deliver his excuses to the marquis and claim another month’s pay. Usually it’s a quick in and out before anyone even knows he’s there, but the prince’s arrival throws off his usual dance with the guards. He’s already running late when he settles in his usual tree, prepared for Haruka’s monthly scolding, but the courtyard is empty. Likely the marquis is caught up in the prince’s orbit as well, and he’ll certainly expect Obi to be waiting whenever it pleases him to arrive.

Which is fine. For the amount Obi’s being paid, he can sit around in a tree as long as necessary. And after last night’s overtime, he’s ready for a rest- even double agents need their beauty sleep. With the branches hard against his back, he dozes off.

A sting across his face wakes him, blade in hand before he’s even all the way awake, and a sardonic voice follows it up from below. “I must have been gone longer than I thought - I had forgotten the squirrels in the palace were so large and so well-armed.”

It’s almost funny, if he overlooks his own carelessness. His jams his knife back into the sheath. “But sir, you are mistaken. I am, in fact, the royal tree inspector, and I was performing a detailed assessment of this specimen.”

“Indeed,” the noble says. If Obi trusted the tenor of his voice alone, he may be amused, but it’s not evident on his face. “And what shall your expert assessment report about this particular tree?”

He’s entirely prepared to wax rhapsodic about the excellent shade and branch angle, with diversions into the quality of its nuts, but Haruka marches into the garden like a one-man military parade, only to screech to a halt in the gravel. “Your Highness,” he breathes, folding into a deeper bow than he’s ever shown to the second prince. Obi’s heart skips a beat. Refuge in audacity usually serves him well, but this time- he may have made a very big mistake.

“Ah, then this creature here is one of yours?” Haruka’s face twists at the prospect, but he doesn’t deny it. Obi’s touched. “Then I shall leave him in your care.” The prince swans off toward the door where Haruka entered, his coat belling out behind him like a sail. If his younger brother had half of this style, it would have been a much harder prospect to turn Shirayuki’s head.

But there’s no time to dwell on the image, because the moment the prince is gone, Haruka reverts to what Obi’s used to. “Are you going to make me wait all day? Get down from there and talk like a man.”

Shirayuki is agitated. Obi would have to be blind to miss that, and it bothers him that he doesn’t already know why. His ladies have failed him. The store has been humming all morning, mostly a younger clientele than usual and more interested in cosmetics than medicine. Shirayuki pauses by the plate-glass windows, staring out into the street, then without a word darts back into the stockroom.

The two girls Obi’s in the middle of ringing up look at him, startled. “She’s a little excitable,” he says. “Brilliant people usually are. So what’s got everyone so worked up around here today? Is there a festival coming up?” He does enjoy festivals, when he gets the chance. The food is plentiful and fried and sometimes there’s entertainment- Shirayuki seems like someone who’d really enjoy a puppet show or a play, laughing at all the jokes so hard her eyes would close-

“Even better,” the taller of the two breathes, stars in her eyes. “The prince of Tanbarun is coming to Wistal.”

“He’s the heir to the kingdom, and he’s unmarried,” the shorter one recites. “Tomorrow he’s going to walk through town with Prince Izana. I hear he’s handsome.”

Obi’s heard more along the lines of self-centered and incompetent, but has no particular opinion on the prince’s looks. The first prince of Clarines, on the other hand, is near the top of the list of people Obi does not want to see again up close.

“Two princes at once, can you imagine?” The tall one is all but vibrating with excitement.

“And what if he met a common girl from another kingdom? He could fall in love at first sight, and it would be so romantic,” the short one sighs.

“Well, if you’re trying to catch his eye, surely you’re making the right purchases.” He stacks her pile of cosmetics gently in the bag. “Good hunting,” he wishes them, and they giggle all the way to the door.

The pharmacy is silent in their wake. Errands in the stockroom usually come with a low rumble of sound: a steady clatter of drawers, a rattle of glass jars, and when Shirayuki is the pharmacist in question, snatches of humming or song. But today there’s nothing but emptiness. Obi abandons his post at the till for a peek- if she’s escaped out the back door, he’ll have a hard decision to make- but as soon as he peers around the doorframe he sees her shoes. She’s got her back against the wall, knees drawn up and her forehead resting against them, a ball protecting itself from the outside world.

“They’re gone,” he offers, and she jolts. He can’t tell through the screen of her hair whether she’s been crying or not.

“It’s not them,” she says, unfolding. Her feet slide out in front of her, and her shoulders drop from their defensive station.

“Is it something I can help with?” She hides her problems well, but now that he’s seen her like this, she has to know her excuses won’t work.

She pushes herself up from the floor, already shaking her head. “No, and I’ve been feeling sorry for myself for long enough. I’m getting back to work now.” She runs a finger down a checklist on the counter, her hair again falling over her face to hide her expression. But her fingers still shake.

“I’ll get back to the front, then,” Obi says. His job is just to make sure she leaves the second prince alone. Anything more than that is none of his business. It’s just a job, not anything more than that-

Yet, as he busies himself stacking lozenge-boxes in the window, he can’t forget the look in her eyes in the moment before the curtain of her hair came down. She’s trying to hide it, but she’s afraid of something, and he doesn’t like that one bit.

It may not be a festival in the eyes of the castle or the nobles who run the city, but the people in the street have made it indistinguishable from one. The bar across the way has moved their fried fish business into the street. Men and women both throng the road in their best clothes, trying to look busy. The two girls from the other day pass the pharmacy arm in arm, in all their ribbons and painted to perfection. They do look very wholesome, although in Obi’s experience that may not be the best choice of bait for princes. They wave at him and he smiles encouragingly anyway.

Even Lambert has caught the bug. Obi’s spent the last two days setting up the window displays to his employer’s most stringent demands. He’d be hard put to say whether the pastilles and patent medicines in the window are any more appealing than they were before, but he will vouch that there’s not a single speck of dust. Every white coat in the building has been bleached and starched to a point, and after the third time Obi got snarled at, he even left the buttons done. It’s not as bad as he thought it would be, honestly.

The sun is nearly overhead when a dull roar starts in the distance. Heads turn on the street, and Lambert leans out the door to get a better look. “They’re coming,” he says, almost star-struck. “Everybody should be out in the front.”

“I have a solution on the burner,” Shirayuki says, and Obi would applaud her excuse but Lambert waves it off.

“Go turn it off, then,” he says. “It can be redone later. I want you out here for now.”

There’s nothing left to do. Everyone on the street is focused on the disruption approaching at walking-speed, a whorl of activity centered on the princes. Shirayuki’s hands, resting on the counter, are bloodless, and Obi hopes the second prince isn’t in the royal party. Surely the crown princes of two nations will walk right past a simple apothecary shop, no matter how neat and tidy.

The door swings open, pushing the crowd back to make room. “And here we have Wistal’s premier apothecary shop. Apothecary Lambert is well-respected in the kingdom and even our royal pharmacists come here for supplies,” says an all-too-familiar voice.

Shirayuki gasps and tenses, every muscle tensed for flight. Lambert will be angry if she runs, so Obi steps out in front of her, just as two men center themselves in the shop door.

While a prince may bleed like any other man, there’s something in the way he holds himself that sets him apart. Not having to live in fear of consequences for your actions can do that to one, Obi has observed. The self-assurance on Prince Izana’s face is supreme, entwined with a rather smug sense of amusement. Obi can’t tell exactly who is the butt of the joke, but the other prince is definitely a candidate. Prince Raj looks like he’d rather be just about anywhere else, hot and sweaty and tired. “Good for them. Shall we-”

“Ah, but Prince Raj, one of the apothecaries here is known to you.” Prince Raj turns to stare at Prince Izana, uncomprehending. “A certain girl from your country? Such a skilled worker must be such a loss to your kingdom.”

“A girl-” Fear dawns with understanding in Prince Raj’s eyes, just as Shirayuki clenches a hand in the fabric of Obi’s coat. She makes a warm lump against his spine, but he would almost swear she’s shaking. There’s too much here for Obi to make sense of without more information he’d never thought to ask for.

“As a gesture of goodwill, perhaps we should return her to you, given that she is such a favorite.” The prince of Clarines twinkles, ever more charming the more the prince of Tanbarun shrinks away. One step to the side, and Shirayuki would be revealed to the two princes. Prince Raj’s excuses would fall apart like paper, Prince Izana forcing his power play through to his desired conclusion. Shirayuki would be out of the second prince’s life for good, freeing Obi to move on to his next job with the promised bonus in hand-

He doesn’t move a muscle. “There is nobody here I wish to see,” Prince Raj insists. “Shall we continue? Sakaki, procure us a cold drink immediately. Have you not noticed that we are parched?” He pulls back from the doorway, striding into the street.

Prince Izana takes a second longer to move. Perhaps his gaze simply sweeps aimlessly across the room as he turns to leave, his lip still caught in the residual smirk of his game with Prince Raj, but the way his eye meets Obi’s feels intentional. There are more sides to this chessboard than he accounted for, and it’s not entirely obvious who he’s playing for anymore.

Chapter Text

“Remind me again what I’m paying you for.” Marquis Haruka sits straight and regal in his chair, somehow managing to glare down his nose despite the fact that Obi’s standing. He’s supposed to fidget, there alone in the center of the rug with nowhere to sit and no distractions, but he’s no little castle page to squism under a noble’s gimlet eye. He’s faced down for more dangerous men and women in far less luxurious rooms.

And he knew just how to infuriate them all. He relaxes his shoulders and spine, slouching into the sloppiest pose he can hold without a wall to lean on. The line between Haruka’s eyes deepens and Obi squelches a smile. “I’d say I’m getting results, actually. They haven’t had more than ten minutes together in the last month.” He leaves out the fact that he had very little to do with that; their jobs keep them busy enough that he didn’t have to do much of anything at all.

“Ten minutes is still ten minutes too much. I want him to forget her. He has responsibilities.” Obi knows far too much about Prince Zen’s responsibilities. Shirayuki reminds him at length every time she talks about him. “I expected more results out of you. If your stomach’s too soft to threaten her, you should have at least seduced her by now- must I do all the thinking for you?”

Just today he found her in the stockroom reaching for a jar on a high shelf and reached over her. Her hair smelled of flowers, and her eyes were so round and thankful as he closed his hand on the item she wanted- more and more he finds himself imagining how those moments could go differently if he were the one she wanted. She would pretend to be unaffected by him, but the pink in her cheeks can’t lie. She would huff a startled breath when he touched her, her lips falling open to either kiss or scold, and when he lifted her up against the shelves her hands would pull him closer- “That wouldn’t work on her. Not her,” he says, and Haruka doesn’t seen to notice his breathlessness.

“Standing around watching her isn’t enough. You’ve had plenty of time to work, and nothing to show for it. Remove her from the prince’s thoughts, or our agreement is over.” Haruka turns a key in the lock to his left-hand drawer, the one he’s pulled Obi’s stipend from in the past. It’s not the click of unlocking, but a hiss of latching.

The last time Shirayuki and the prince were together, he talked of places and people she’d never see; she spoke of formulas and dreams he’d never understand. They’re over already; they just haven’t noticed. Obi could draw out this arrangement another month or two, in hopes of the bounty he was promised months ago. But he finds he doesn’t really want to, anymore. “Guess we’re done then. It’s been fun,” he says, and turns his back on the marquis. He’s got a perfectly good paycheck from the pharmacy; he won’t starve, and the hours are much better. There really is something to this regular job business, after all.

Haruka recovers fast, Obi does have to give him that, but he talks too much. “You useless-“ he starts, and Obi shuts the door on him.

And then he runs for the safety of the trees. He’s not dumb, or at least he’s not the kind of dumb that sticks around a palace where he’s not wanted. He’s the kind of dumb that gives up a perfectly good paycheck because he likes a girl. But somehow, he can’t find it in himself to care all that much.

His resolve wavers right outside the apothecary door. A castle wall and a few minutes of walking is not much of a buffer between him and an unsatisfied client. Generally he puts at least three counties behind him when he poisons a well like this. Rumors will get around, and there’s not going to be any opportunities for him when he needs them most-

The bell tinkles as the door bursts open right in front of him. “Come on, Obi, don’t wait out in the cold! I brought muffins for everybody!”

Her smile is as bright as sunshine, and she’s towed him through the door before he ever truly decided to move. “There are two for you,” she adds, hauling him to the counter where the plate of treats are still steaming.

“Nobody else got two,” grumps Ivan, Lambert’s part-time herb-gatherer.

“Look at him, he needs them,” she insists, and for one silent moment Obi is the center of attention in a way he never asked for. So many eyes on him shouldn’t feel this warm, this friendly, but Shirayuki presses a hot muffin in his hand, and Apothecary Lambert grunts and turns away, and everyone just goes back to work. Maybe he doesn’t have to be in that much of a hurry to go, after all. He does have a job, and sometimes it comes with muffins.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon when Obi arrives at Shirayuki’s rooms by momentum alone. He’s talked himself out of this outing at least three times, and yet he finds himself perched on her balcony. The street below is as silent as the darkness behind the glass- everyone closes for a festival day, even the apothecary- and he wipes off his hands before rapping on the glass. There’s no retreating now.

“Obi?” Her hair isn’t as messy as he’d imagined. It still falls fine and straight, startlingly red as ever in the dawn light, as she blinks at him through the gap in her window.

“Good morning,” he says as though they were talking over the pharmacy counter and not in her own private space. “Dawn’s almost here.” The windowsill is cool where his fingers clench.

She would be entirely within her rights to shut the window on him and go back to bed, but instead she pulls the rest of the latches, swinging the sashes wide to invite him inside. “What are you doing? It’s early!”

“I did say that.” She watches him crawl through the window- if he had any sense of self-preservation he wouldn’t make it look so easy, but when she’s going to look at him like that he just can’t help but show off. “Oh, is this what your place looks like? The light really is good.”

There are at least as many more pots in here as there were on the balcony. The light from the rising sun spills into the room, illuminating little green shoots in at least half of them. “Don’t ignore me, Obi. Why are you here?”

He should have asked her directly the day before, when they were together at the pharmacy. He should have told her he wanted to go to the festival with her, to see her try new things and walk by her side. Honestly, he could say that right now and mean it just as much. But somehow the truth doesn’t come easily to his tongue. “You have the day off, today. Let me steal you away.”

Somehow, that works. She blinks at him for a moment- she did just wake up, after all- but then she smiles. He may not understand why, but he doesn’t want to question it. If she doesn’t want him around, she’ll tell him. As long as she does- “Why don’t you make some tea while I get ready,” she offers, waving him toward a tiny kitchenette in the corner. “Is there anything I should be prepared for?”

Obi hasn’t gone to a festival simply to have fun since he was a child. For years, they’ve simply been opportunities to lift purses from the unwitting, to dupe the unwary, or to sneak into the upper floors while everyone is off making merry. He has no idea what he’s doing. “I honestly don’t know,” he says, and somehow her smile gets even brighter.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask if you could ride,” he says. It’s not the first time he’s apologized, and it probably won’t be the last. Her body sways against his again, the hired horse not too thrilled at either the distance or the double load.

“I probably should learn. Back at the inn I helped in the stables, so I know how to take care of horses and how to feed them, but I never had many opportunities to ride.”

She sways against him again, and one hand lets go of his belt to clutch at her scarf. It’s not the first time she’s had to work on it today. “Is it coming loose?”

“A little. It’s a little frayed and it’s gotten hard to tie securely.” The scarf, white with embroidered trim, hides her hair pretty well.

“Did you make it?” That seems like the kind of thing that women like her do, when they had nice childhoods with enough food and people to take care of them and teach them how to make pretty things. Not that he’s known many of them for any longer than it took for him to get what he wanted out of them and disappear into the night.

She laughs, so close he can feel her voice in his bones. Yurikana can’t be much further.

The city is filled with flags and streamers. The sun’s nearly overhead when they stroll out of the stable and into the streets, so Obi suggests they start with some food. “I think I saw fish rolls on the way in,” Shirayuki says, and even though she picks up the pace, there’s a hitch to her walk that wasn’t there this morning.

“Should we try to find an apothecary first?”

Shirayuki turns back, startled. “What-” she starts, standing unnaturally straight, then catches herself. “Of course you noticed. I don’t think it’s that big a deal, it’s just sore.”

He knows better than to let her get away with that. “Is that what you’d say if I were limping?”

“Of course not, there’s no reason to walk around in pain- oh.” He grins, because that was far too easy, and after a moment she sighs. “All right, fine. But then fish rolls.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady. Medicine, then fish rolls.” He sweeps a bow and she laughs again. Her stride is just a little lighter as they go.

All the apothecaries are closed, but there’s an herb-seller in the market happy to part with the ingredients for a salve. Shirayuki smells just a little like lemon balm as they’re enjoying their lunch.

“It haven’t had these in so long,” she says, eyes sparkling. “I didn’t even know anyone in Clarines ate them.”

“Clearly you just need to go to festivals more often.” Obi laughs, buttering another slice of bread. Her happiness is as good as alcohol at making everything so much more enjoyable- they haven’t done anything but make medicine and eat, and yet he’s having one of the best days he can recall. Even the food tastes better with her smiling like that.

“Does that mean you’ll take me to festivals more often?” From another mouth, Obi would think this was flirtation. There’s no calculation in her voice, no overt signals, and still he fumbles the bread.

“You need to learn to ride, so you can go anywhere you want,” he says, wiping butter off his hand. He’s already having more fun than he’s allowed, just being around her all day. He’d take her to any festival she wanted to go to, but that can’t really be what she wants. A crowd passes by, a swarm of children following a sign advertising an event starting soon. “Oh, a fighting tournament!”

“Do you like those?” She’s watching him closely.

“Like them? I win them,” he says. It’s got to be a bad idea, he’s hidden himself and his skills for as long as he’s known her, and yet somehow suddenly he can’t resist this. He really wants to win, and he wants her to see him do it.

And he never took her for this bloodthirsty, but she springs to her feet. “Then let’s go,” she says. He stuffs the last of the bread in his mouth in answer, and brushes the crumbs off his clothes. Smiling brightly, she catches his hand and pulls him toward the crowd in the distance.

“Shirayuki!” The second prince of Clarines bounds up out of the crowd, beaming like the sun and bookended by his knights. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

He stands just a little too close to her, not noticing when she edges back to a more comfortable distance. There’s nothing for Obi to do but watch her closely, the prince’s knights just as intent on him. If she so much as glances his way, he’s ready to step in no matter what scene it will make, but so long as she’s happy-

“I’ve seen you in the castle before,” Lady Kiki says. So long as she doesn’t recognize him from Raxd, all is well, but if the rumors around Wistal are true, she’ll out his heart at the slightest provocation. She tosses a candied almond into her mouth, and perhaps she’s too full of festival food to have room for hearts today. “You’re Haruka’s man, aren’t you?”

“Ha,” Obi says. “Someone like me, in the palace? You must be joking.”

“I don’t joke,” she says, but Sir Mitsuhide’s nose wrinkles in response so it just leaves Obi confused. Perhaps that’s the joke itself, but he doesn’t have the context to understand.

“Oh, I’m being rude!” Shirayuki breaks away from her one-on-one, chagrined. “Everyone, this is Obi. He works with me at the pharmacy- I know you’ve met Zen, but this is Kiki, and this is Mitsuhide.

Everyone smiles at her, because that’s what people do when addressed by Shirayuki, but still the air of the group was more relaxed before the prince realized Obi was there. He’s frowning now, and the knights are looking a little less welcoming. “We’re on our way over to the martial arts tournament,” she adds, and Obi braces for her to ask them along. It would only be polite, and she is almost always polite. “So we’ll have to catch up another time. Have a good day!”

The prince’s face as she takes off toward the arena is every bit as confused as Obi feels. He can’t help a little petty glow of pleasure that she wants that badly to see him fight. He’s going to have to make sure to put on a good show for her.

Obi really had nothing to worry about. If he needed to make some more above-board coin, all he would need to do is offer hand-to-hand combat lessons, because nobody around here seems to know how to fight. It’s barely even a contest, each of his opponents falling in no more than one solid hit. The crowd roars every time he’s announced, and Shirayuki’s right there in the middle of them cheering. She’s the only one who matters, his attention sneaking over to her far more often than it should. If anyone in this tournament were putting up half a challenge he would be in trouble, but as it stands he’s got a whole array of Shirayuki’s excited faces to pack away in his memory.

The tournament organizer shouts out his name, raising his fist in victory, and the crowd roars one final time. “You should get her something nice,” the man murmurs as he presses the prize into Obi’s hand, a token worth a credit at nearly any of the town vendors.

“Who?”

“Come on, man. You have to have noticed that redhead couldn’t take her eyes off of you.”

“Ah.” She’s cheering for him because she’s a friend. “We work together.”

“If I were you-” Obi doesn’t hear another word of the organizer’s suggestions, because a pop of red outside the arena turns into Shirayuki, bouncing on her toes and waving. Strangers clap him on the back as he pushes through the crowd, but he doesn’t care about any of them.

“You won!” she squeals at him, as excited as if she’d done it herself.

“Did you think I was lying?” He didn’t anticipate it would be quite so easy, but he did in fact say that he would win.

She stops her bouncing for a moment, searching his face, and something she sees there gives her the softest look she’s ever given him. “No, I didn’t think you were. You should get a prize.” Obi stops breathing because just about everyone he’s ever known would follow that line up with a kiss. Of course he wants to kiss her, but it doesn’t seem right that she would bring it up. It’s not her style. “I’m going to get you a hot cider,” she adds, decisive, and surprise punches a laugh out of him.

It’s unthinkable that someone with a prince in the palm of her hand might choose a rogue instead. It may be Haruka’s fault for ever planting the idea in his head. She has nothing to gain by getting involved with him, and yet as she grabs his hand and pulls him away toward the cider tent, he has to wonder if it would really be so bad after all to try.

Chapter Text

Wistal has gotten used to rumors of prowlers on the roofs. Obi’s perch is no less uncomfortable now that he’s not being paid for it, but his excess of caution is justified when he hears the clink of the noisy tile behind him. “Hah,” laughs the intruder and slides down the slope, settling companionably next to Obi. “Fancy meeting you here. I’d heard you got fired.”

“In a sense.” The guy may pretend to be friendly, but every word and every movement grates on Obi’s nerves. He doesn’t like him already.

“Word is you got soft on her.” The guy flips his scarf back over his shoulder; it’s a long one, a bad idea for someone about to be in a hand-to-hand fight. “Guess I’m the new you. Out of professional courtesy, are you going to make my job difficult?”

All this talking is just delaying the inevitable. Obi doesn’t owe him a thing. “Depends on how I like what you’re here to do.”

The man’s teeth shine in the moonlight. Obi doesn’t like his smile, either. “What you failed to do. Get her out of Wistal. For good. And I, for one, am not going to fall for her wiles.”

He idea of Shirayuki having wiles it hilarious in and of itself, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be taking part in this conversation. He braces his feet on the eave, letting the tiles dig into his back sharply as he grounds himself, then lashes out with a single toe strike. It would be ever so tragic for a stranger to fall off the roof and break his neck. Just what prowlers get for making mischief where they don’t belong.

Too bad the man doesn’t want to make it easy. He rolls sideways into a crouch, then draws a short-sword. “She’s not as innocent as she looks,” the man hisses and wipes a thumb across a scar on his jaw. It looks like a familiar motion to him. “She’s ruthless, and all you’re doing is giving me a chance to even the score. She smashed a lantern in my face, did she tell you that? Full of burning poison gas.”

“Somehow I feel like you deserved it.” Every time he thinks he couldn’t like her any more, something like this happens. The man lunges forward with the sword, steadying himself against the roof slope, and Obi bats it aside with a knife. He’s bigger and stronger than the other man, but the sword has a longer reach; staying here where he has limited mobility is just asking to get himself perforated. The roof peak above them would be no better- as quick as the thought settles, he tips himself over the eave.

Cornering him somewhere he’s this comfortable was never a good move on the other’s part. A hand on the eave rim, a foot set on the balcony, the other hand caught on a decorative pediment, and Obi lands in the street as silent as a shadow.

His opponent’s descent is far slower. He benefits from the fact that Obi has no particular motive to kill him, because a single well-placed throwing knife could have accelerated his descent from meticulous to fatal at any point. The irony of his choices is not lost on Obi- he doesn’t much want to kill this guy, just dissuade him from the job.

It would be too much to hope to carry out that goal silently. Obi doesn’t make a sound louder than the occasional grunt of effort, but one face in the windows turns to two, then open doors, and by the time Obi’s attempted replacement is gasping on all fours, slow to stand up, an all-too-familiar red ponytail has joined the spectating crowd. He can’t let it distract him, because this is one job he has to finish.

“You know she won’t choose you. Look at yourself.” You can always tell a trained swordsman by the feet. Obi’s opponent may look like an ale-room brawler, but he primes himself for a fight like a noble. Also, he taunts like a child.

“Who says I ever asked her to?” Clearly the other man is expecting dirty tricks, and Obi is happy to oblige. His mouth curves into a smile when Obi slides his foot to kick dirt, never thinking to watch his hand too. The knife flies straight; it’s only his opponent’s quick reflexes that keep it from going straight through his shoulder. It caroms off instead, merely a bruise, and the look on the man’s face could sour milk.

Obi laughs. If this is what it’s going to take, then that’s fine. He hasn’t had a good stretch in a while. His second knife stings his opponent’s fingers, enough for a pinpoint kick to send his sword rolling across the street, and while he’s still looking offended, Obi’s on him with his fists.

Obi can grant him this; he doesn’t give up easy. Obi plants a knee on his back and leans in, ignoring the fruitless heaving of the man’s hips as he tries to flip himself over. “The job is done already, don’t you see? She’s no threat to the prince.”

“That’s why I’m going to get paid for this and you aren’t,” the man snarls. “You’re delusional.”

He follows it up with a fistful of dirt in Obi’s face and enough of a twist to wriggle himself free. Obi’s eyes stream as he tries to clear them, but he can still hear his opponent moving. He’s not making much of an effort to hide, continuing to talk. “You took too long, playing doctor with her in the little shop on the square while she strung along you and the prince both. It made you think you were better than you were.”

Everything he says is wrong, Obi knows, but still there’s a sting to the words. He’s fond of her, certainly. She made a friend of him when he thought he’d left friendship behind him. Half of him wants to stand back and watch as his replacement falls as much under her spell as everyone else does. It’s the other half that gives him pause, the half that doesn’t want to share. He hasn’t wanted to look that part of himself in the eye since he first realized it wasn’t just money that kept him from moving on.

But that’s between him and his mirror, and has no bearing on this. He holds his face down, covered, as though he’s still trying to clear it, and listens. A scrape of dirt, a single step- and he lashes out, taking his opponent to the ground yet again. The man grunts as his head impacts. “Shirayuki is no threat to the prince,” Obi says. He’s not whispering this time, he realizes at the same time it’s clear they’re not alone.

“We don’t get to decide that,” the man whines. “You know they’ll just come after her again.”

“And I will protect her,” Obi says. He barely recognizes himself anymore. “Tell the marquis that, if you have to.”

The neighbors start to close in, but still Obi’s the only one who hears his last words. “What marquis? I work for the prince.”

They pull his barely-conscious opponent off the ground and drag him off toward the constable. Some stranger shakes Obi’s hand, another pats him on the back, and then the crowd dissolves, leaving the last person he wanted to ever know about any of this.

Her hair is almost brown in the dusk, and she’s not smiling. “So all this time you were warning me about the roof prowlers?”

She always knows the truth, so he doesn’t insult her with a lie. “That was usually me.”

“And you intend to protect me, because some marquis is mad that I’m friends with Zen?”

“He’s convinced you’re more than friends.” Her jaw sets, and if she’s going to go knock heads together at the palace he’s inclined to let her. Except that she can’t, because he got her barred from entering the gates-

“Come on,” she says, and doesn’t give him a chance to resist, just grabs his hand and tows him across the street to her little apartment with plants in all the windows. There are even more plants and more books than the last time he was here, crowding all the furniture such that there’s only one chair available. “Sit,” she orders, and he does that too.

It’s a very professional-looking medical kit she pulls out, but after one serious look at his face she pushes it aside and comes back with just a towel and a bowl of water. “Did he even hit you with anything but the dirt?”

It’s a little late to pretend he’s not good at what he does. “Nothing serious. I really can clean myself up, you don’t have to do this-” Her hand clamps on his shoulder and pushes down, hard. “Or I can stay right here.”

“Good,” she says. The towel sweeps across his forehead, a runnel of muddy water sliding down the side of his nose. He closes his eyes, and Shirayuki catches it with the towel. Another swipe clears his right eyebrow, sweeping down his cheek. “How long has this been going on?”

There’s no telling where to even start with that. The towel circles his mouth, giving him a respite as she gently pries free a crust of dirt at the corner. “He’s the first one I’ve caught,” he answers, hoping that will be enough.

“But you already knew who wanted me gone before he said anything. Obi, how long have they thought I was a threat to Zen?”

He wasn’t there for that. He presses his lips together, and she tilts his face up, clearing the mud from around his eyes. This would all go so much faster with a dunk in a horse-trough, really, but he can’t bring himself to make her stop. “Ah,” she says, his silence enough of an answer. “I’ll have to deal with that, then. You shouldn’t need to fight in the street again for my sake. Thank you for that, by the way.”

It just makes him feel worse. His hands clench on his knees to keep from pushing her away, being so gentle with him when he’s lied to her about everything. It just means he’s even more unprepared when there’s a puff of air on his still-wet cheek, a warm pressure. Her face is still so close when he shies away, her eyes just fluttering open. She doesn’t seem all that surprised. “But-” he starts, and stutters to a stop.

“I know you’re not telling me everything, Nanaki.” She sits back, and the clever smirk on her face is tantalizing. The realization that she kissed him rings in his head like the loudest of alarm bells, making it impossible to focus on any of the hundred questions he probably should be worrying about right now. “Hunter, champion fighter, store clerk. Is there anything you can’t do?”

He used his nom de guerre at the tournament without even thinking, and if she hadn’t connected it to Raxd before tonight, that would have done it. She’s far too smart not to put all the pieces together. He’s brought this all on himself. The charade is over. “Keep track of my aliases, apparently. Guess I shouldn’t used have the same name so many times, huh.”

“Oh!” She brightens up like that’s a realization. “You did, didn’t you? I didn’t even realize.”

Now it’s his turn to stare, dumbfounded. “Then how?”

He never does get tired of seeing her blush. “It’s the way you move. You’re, um, graceful.”

“Graceful.” That’s one he hasn’t heard before.

“Agile, maybe?” Her blush is crimson now, and Obi’s afraid he might be just as bad. She watches the way he moves. “I saw you from a distance in Raxd and you did the same lean you do in the pharmacy, and when you won the fight at the festival it made a lot of things make sense. I always wondered why a store clerk would move like that.”

“I was hired to keep you out of the palace,” he blurts out, because letting her talk about his body is not something he can sit here and do any longer. He has to do something to keep himself from kissing her.

She laughs, and it doesn’t help. “So that’s what happened!”

She was supposed to be mad about that. She’s not supposed to keep looking at him that way. “It’s not a problem?”

“You don’t think I could have gotten Zen to fix that anytime? I was a bit annoyed at first, but really I like it better this way. There are some nice people in the palace, but everybody stares at me. It’s much more pleasant when they come out here to visit, or we all go somewhere together.” She looks rather smug about the fact for a moment, then the look fades into uncertainty. “You’ve distracted me, I was cleaning you up.”

The towel’s gone cold, and there’s barely any dirt left on his face. He catches her wrist, gently lifting the towel from her hand. It falls back into the bowl with a plop, but she doesn’t look away. She kissed him once before, and everything is telling him that if he doesn’t make the next move, she’ll do it again. “You’re sure about this?”

“Obi,” she sighs, and he doesn’t want to resist any longer. He pulls her close, up into his lap to mitigate the difference in their heights, and she devours him. Whatever fire he’s lit in her, she ignites him back, her mouth as clever as the rest of her. He’ll never get tired of this, he can tell already. She makes him want to be for real what he’s been pretending all along.

When at last she lets him go with a sigh, she nestles against his chest. It’s surprisingly comfortable. “Just to be clear-” he starts, and she makes a content little question noise from under his chin. “Do I get to tell people you chose me over a prince?”