Chapter Text
His drink tastes like ash.
It's supposed to be sweet, at least according to the servant who came to offer it, not so long after Sakura left him to go in search of the Kikuchi woman. A sweet wine with undertones of peach and honey, supposedly.
Quite honestly, he'd rather have another cup of hibiscus tea.
Swallowing down a sigh, Hayato peruses the dance floor, taking in both the dancing pairs and the groups that stand off to the side. Lively as ever, it's clear that they haven't missed him much. Good. There's still some people to charm and others to dazzle (and maybe a couple or so he needs to remind that there's a reason why they are the only Empire in the continent), but for now he'll rest a little longer.
His mother would certainly scoff at him, or throw him one of those glares that promises painful retribution if he doesn't do what she wants him to, but what Suo Tomoe doesn't know, she can't use against him.
Such thought, though, isn't quite enough to quiet the scathing voice at the back of his mind that warns him that, as the sole member of the Imperial Family left in Cison, all the responsibilities fall on his shoulders. Even if it's the male one that adds, half between threat and reminder, that he can not fail.
The next sip of wine washes away the grimace that threatens to overtake his features, even if barely so. Still, with the thought already planted in his mind, he finds himself running a mental tally even before he's conscious of it.
There's the representatives from Vigusus to the corner, hoarding the refreshments table with the same possessive care a dragon would spare to its most prized possessions. Just as they've been doing since the beginning of the night, just as they were doing when Hayato stopped by them earlier, after the first couple of dances. A little off to the side, one of the envoys from Breidia is doing his best to flirt with the youngest son of the Ito family, while his friend watches on with unbridled amusement. Hayato resists the urge to scowl just from remembering how handsy the man had been during their dance earlier - but, at least, his duties to that particular ally had been met. The minister from Moidsa, on the other hand, seems particularly taken in with Hiragi, and considering Hayato has never seen him dance so many times with only one person, he'd say his friend seems equally as taken.
Umemiya will have a field day as soon as Hayato tells him about it.
It saddens him that Triumvir Yarra wasn't able to attend - she's been coming to Soledo's Lovers Balls since before he was even born, and out of the three rulers of the Triumvirate of Peilipha, she’s the one he gets along with the most. Still, with the mourning period for Triumvir Larend still far from over, and tensions over his replacement already starting to rise, he more than understands her absence.
His gaze stops for a second on the envoy from Drunhull. Though he'd never met Yua before today, the distinctive combination of white hair and violet eyes clearly marks her as a Princess from one of the minor branches. It's odd that Druhull chose to send a representative, what with Yasuhiro and Toshiko at their court, arranging his brother's marriage to yet another of the minor princesses. Then again, Soledo's Lovers Ball has always been known as a fantastic opportunity to establish… advantageous connections. And a Princess from one of the minor branches needs all the connections she can get.
One way or another, he already shared two dances with her, more than enough to exchange the necessary pleasantries and inquire about his siblings’ stay at Drunhull. Which leaves him with only the representatives from Hrisaf and Ostrog to talk to.
He… should probably get to it now. While having both Sakura and Kiryu stand ominously by his back would be an immense help in dealing with the ambassador from Ostrog, he supposed he'll be able to make do with only one bodyguard.
Or he would, if the thought of getting back on his feet weren't so damning revolting. Perhaps Sakura's nagging isn't totally unfounded, perhaps he really hasn't been resting as much as he should. It's the only reason he can think of why he's so tired, retreating to his throne when normally he'd still be at the dance floor, dancing the night away with whoever gave him the juiciest information.
Maybe something sweet will give him the energy to get back on his feet. A snap of his fingers is all he needs to call back the servant that brought him his wine earlier, the man squirreling away just as quickly as he came once Hayato asks him to bring him a piece of the most tame came.
A smidge more pleased than before, and certainly more pacified, it isn't long before Hayato finds his attention straying back to where he least wants it to be. It's not as if he minds looking at Sakura - gods only know how hypocritical it would be of him to say so, with how much he stares at his bodyguard on the daily - but it’s somewhat upsetting that looking is all he can do right now.
He'd planned on stealing a dance from him at some point in the night, had actually been just about to suggest it when Yua came into the picture. Contrary to the costumes of Drunhull or even Peilipha, dancing with one's bodyguard is actually viewed as a positive sign in Soledo. A show of trust and companionship, and of a contract celebrated equally by both parts. Though he can't be sure of Sakura's knowledge of that aspect in particular, it didn't matter. It would be the ace up his sleeve if Sakura ever asked.
Except the opportunity hadn't come and now, now Hayato's here, standing half a room away from Sakura and feeling that distance starting to eat away at his sanity and patience. Having his sight stolen from him and his taste rotten from jealousy.
How fucking pathetic.
A small cream coloured plate appears at the edge of his vision, the slice of matcha cake perched on it more of an art statement than actual food. Still, beggars can't exactly be choosers, so he takes it with a grateful nod towards the man and directs his attention back to the room at large. He takes a bite. If he times himself well, m-
Oh. Oh no.
No, no, no, this cannot be happening.
Resting the plate off to the side, Hayato does his damned best not to panic. Because panicking will only cause his heart rate to rise, which will only serve to make whatever poison is travelling in his veins reach his heart faster, which will result in his beautiful body seven feet above ground much too soon.
At least, he thinks as a small consolation to himself, he's not yet melodramatic enough for his emotions to bleed into the taste of his drinks.
Still, that doesn't quite erase the problem at hand, does it? He has to think of some way to get to the healer as soon as possible without disclosing that there's anything wrong to the general public. Things are already shaky enough as it is, the Empire doesn't need to know that there was an attempt on the life of its only ruler.
At least, he damn well hopes it stays as only an attempt.
Come on, Hayato, think! How can he get out of this fucking room without panicking everyone?
“You seem troubled, my Prince.”
Sakura. Thank the gods. This time Hayato won't even question the bloodhound nose his bodyguard seems to possess for whenever he is in trouble.
Beckoning the man closer, Hayato tries to fit his swirling thoughts into a structured sentence. In the end, though, what comes out is a garbled “get me out of here, please.” Which does nothing to explain the poison running to his system, the cake that didn’t taste like cake at all, the tiredness of his limbs, and he wouldn't fault Sakura for not understanding.
To his credit, though, Sakura barely even nods before he seemingly disappears into thin air, there in one blink and gone in the other. Even though a big part of Hayato is relieved beyond words with Sakura's efficiency, certain that his bodyguard has taken the matter into his own hands, it's not enough to completely shut off the instinctual panic that explodes in his chest. Rationally, there's no advantage to Sakura remaining by his side, but rationality isn't exactly at the forefront of Hayato's mind right now.
He swims through the limbo for an identified amount of time, as he does his best not to panic and panics even further when that doesn't work quite as expected. Thankfully, nothing truly hurts, he's mostly just feeling tired. If it weren't for the peculiar taste of the cake he wouldn't have even noticed it until it was too late, which, in hindsight, must be precisely what his killer tried to achieve.
In a twistedly ironic sense, he's almost thankful for his jealousy and how it'd spurred him to get back to his feet sooner. Even if the major goal at the time had been to snag a dance with Sakura for himself before long, it had been motivation enough to break his usual pattern of not eating at official functions.
“Please hold on for just a little longer, my Prince” Sakura reappears just as quickly as he disappeared, a looming, imposing figure at his side and a gentle pressure between his shoulderblades, hidden away from the rest of the room. Hayato finds himself relaxing back into it, foolishly wishing that his own clothes were thinner if only so he could feel the warmth of Sakura's hand on his skin. Even so, it's enough for the most stubborn edges of panic to begin ebbing away.
“I'll try my best, Sakura-kun. Just for you” the promise extracts a snort out of his bodyguard, or perhaps it's from the drawl it is delivered in.
“Then try your best to think, too. Do you have any idea who could've poisoned you?”
“It's hard to tell, without knowing if it was in the food or drinks or something else. But judging by the, ah, rate I'm deteriorating at, it can't have been more than half an hour ago.” He tries to focus, remember what he ate or drank and who gave it to him, but every wisp of concentration keeps slipping through his fingers. The images muddle one into the other, appetisers blending into drinks blending into cakes blending into a colourful mix of everything and nothing at the same time. “I could still taste the tea you brought me, so it mustn't have been in effect by then.”
Sakura stills, unnaturally so. “Do you think it was the tea?”
Hayato waves away the thought, and with it, hopefully, Sakura's concern. “You would've seen more cases like mine if that were the case.” And not everyone has the same training in poison resistance as he does. Unless this is something new, or brought from out of the continent… deaths would already be happening if anyone else had been subjected to it.
The front doors open, the spectacle grandiose enough to attract some attention, as always, but not nearly enough to cause any chain reaction. From it steps a determined Sugishita, his tall figure looking all the more imposing from the dark colours characteristic of the Order of Bofurin's attire. It's either that or the massive scowl on his face that makes the crowd part like the sea before him, and so it's in a blink that he makes his way to Hiragi.
Hayato watches it all with a curious eye, taking in the lull of Sugishita leaning in to whisper something in his superior's ear, to glance up at his bodyguard. As if sensing his attention upon him, Sakura glances down at him and moves his hand to Hayato's shoulder, squeezing tightly.
“Your Highness!” Hayato blinks to see Hiragi right in front of him, expression so worried that Hayato bets he'd be reaching for his faithful pills if he had any at hand. “An urgent message just arrived from Rolokoe. The messenger has asked to speak to you right away!”
Ah, so that's the play. Smart. Ignoring any urgent need of Rolokoe, of his own little piece of territory, is one of the few things that would be more frowned upon than leaving so suddenly with little explanation.
Maybe letting Sakura read documents he's not supposed to isn't quite so bad.
Rising from his seat is a far harder task than it should be, and Hayato has to forcefully swallow a bout of shame when only Sakura's hand at his back prevents him from falling back down. Fortunately, his bodyguard has been glued to his heels enough during the night that no one even bats an eye at his presence right by Hayato's back as he makes his way down the steps.
Kiryu appears at his other side and, distantly, Hayato thinks he hears Hiragi apologizing to the nearest crowd on his behalf. He's too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to properly hear the words being said.
“Turns out you were right after all, Sakura-kun” the thought comes to him, unbidden, just as they get close enough to the door for it to be visible even with his swirling sight. Just a few steps closer, he just has to hold on for a tiny bit longer. “It looks like one dance will really be the death of me.”
The doors close behind them.
The world goes black.
Prince Suo's breathing is far too frail, far too stilted for Haruka's liking. Even more worrying is the croaking that accompanies his inhalations every now and again, a sound no human should make. Like his lungs are struggling to accept the oxygen he tries to intake.
With a dying Prince in his arms, Haruka runs through the long, dark corridors of the castle, the pounding sounds of his footsteps reverberating through the almost eerie silence. Kiryu has run up ahead, unburdened by the weight of an unconscious, uncooperative body, to alert the healers of the Prince's arrival, along with his condition. It would've probably been smarter to have done it earlier, along with the preparations for Suo's leave - it would've certainly given the healers more time to prepare themselves and gather all the necessary instruments and ingredients. But time had been of essence then just as much as it is now, and the added weight of the need for discretion had, in the end, been the one to guide his hand. As much as his pink hair might be as eye-catching as Haruka's own bicolored one, Kiryu hasn't done anything to attract as much attention as Haruka's does. Moving around unnoticed comes, naturally, easier to him.
Haruka rounds a corner, his shoes slipping on the ground for a second before he rights himself once again, feeling the Prince's body sway from the abrupt movements. He chances down a glance, just to check if everything's okay, but no more than that.
Every time he looks at the Prince, he can't help but remember the way he'd fallen as soon as the doors to the ballroom had closed behind them, crashing to the ground like a marionette whose strings were cut. Haruka had been able to stop his fall, thankfully, but by the time he turned Suo's face towards him, the man had already been unconscious.
His last words - which he prays to every god willing to listen not to be his last words - keep ringing in his ears, like a particularly excruciating song. It is not as if there had been any particular reason or sixth sense at play when he'd scorned the idea of dancing with anyone at the ball. Nothing but misplaced jealousy and greed, really. Greed for the time spent by his Prince's side, if only as the bodyguard staring down each and every person who had approached him. If there had been any bad feeling at play, it had only been the guilt rotting the bottom of his stomach of wishing for his glare to be enough to ward off any potential suitors. And now-
Never before has been proved right felt so wrong.
He's swarmed by a group of healers as soon as he bursts in through the doors to the infirmary. The head healer directs him to place the Prince in a cot by the corner while her subordinates shout at each other and run all around, gathering a mix of the most varied items.
“Has anything happened since he lost consciousness?” questions him the woman, expression severe but otherwise clear of emotions as she analyses the Prince.
“There's a croaking sometimes, when he inhales” she nods, moving to open Suo's mouth and peer inside “beyond that, I haven't noticed anything.”
“Very well. Thank you for getting him to us so quickly, Sakura-san, we'll take care of things from now on.” Which is as much of a dismissal as if she'd said it word by word, so he glances down at his Prince's pale, pained face one last time and steps away. Immediately, a couple of healers rush in to take his place.
Kiryu, who'd been observing the scene from a corner, falls into step with him with only a glance. He looks troubled, uncertain as he continuously shifts between glancing at Haruka and at the healers buzzing around the Prince, shouting symptoms and numbers and calls for ingredients between themselves. When he speaks, his voice is barely louder than a whisper “Sakura-chan? What will we do now?”
“We let them work” Haruka resolutely keeps his eyes on the door ahead and the corridor that extends beyond it. He knows, feels it like a truth, that if he were to glimpse back even once, even for the slightest moment, he'd be overtaken by the concern he's been trying so hard to keep in check. Rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch while the healers do their best to save the life of the one who's slowly but surely became the most important person in his life.
But he's worth nothing to his Prince like that. Doesn't Suo sometimes jokingly call him a bloodhound? Then he'll do what bloodhounds do best.
“We've got some work of our own to do.”
By the time the sun rises over the horizon and the ballroom has been completely cleared of guests, a list of every single person that stepped foot inside it during the night takes the center place of Prince Suo's desk.
He would've used the one in his own quarters, but it seemed more fitting this way. Not because he's sure the Prince will want to see it later, once he wakes up - because he will wake up - but out of some twisted sense of irony that Haruka isn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused at. How fitting, isn't it?, to investigate an assassination attempt on the desk of the very victim of said attempt?
Haruka pushes a breath out of his lungs, and then pushes his hair out of his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time. Whatever style Kotoha had managed to wrestle it into at the beginning of the night is long gone, lost from far too much running around and too many instances of running jittery hands through it.
For a moment, he looks away from the paper just to glance at his own hand, scrutinizing the minute trembling that doesn't stop even when he forces his muscles to lock. Weariness or worry, he wonders absentmindedly, clenching and unclenching his hand as if that'll somehow put a stop to the trembling. There's a heaviness under his eyes he's no longer used to, the weight of a night filled with anxiety and the lack of sleep it heralds. And still, he finds he can't stop just the same, not until he has any news of the Prince's state.
Taking the list of the designated waiters and waitresses for the night in hand, he wanders off towards the only window in the room that faces east and sits down beside it, uncaring for the cold wall that meets his back or the even colder ground under his body.
There's something about the list that doesn't sound right. If this is indeed the work of the rebels, as Hiragi suggested when Haruka finally managed to explain the situation in full to him, then the easiest way to get the poison to the Prince would be through his food or drinks. The drinks more than the food, as Suo is famously known for barely eating in public outside of a ceremony. Either way, and going along with the Prince's reasoning, the lack of any other deaths means he was the sole target, which excludes the cooks. The more logical bet after them are the waiters, to whom it would only be too easy to slip a pill or a little bit of powder into a cup as they pass it along. But-
Thirty-one people served food and drinks during the night. Of those, six were in charge of bringing the food from the kitchens and carrying back the empty plates. The other twenty five never left the ballroom, their only job being to circle around with the pre-prepared trays. Twenty-nine names coincide with ones from last year's list. The only ones that don't are of a woman who had given birth recently, and another who had broken a leg, by this time last year. Both of them had participated in at least three balls before this one.
Even if one - or more - people belong to or at least sympathise with the rebels, it still begs the question: why? Why now? Because the Prince is the only member of the Imperial Family at the Empire for the moment? Or because of something els-
Urgent knocks distract him from his train of thought, and for a moment Haruka simply blinks at the door, stuck between his mind and reality. Then, his mind catches up with reality and he rises in a jump, hurrying towards the door and opening it as quickly as he can. The man awaiting on the other side hasn't even finished telling him that he's awaited by the healers and Haruka is already running down the corridor.
This time, the palace isn't quite as empty. With the dawn of the new day, there's already plenty of people getting up to begin their day of work. They know nothing about what happened, know nothing of the state of the Prince, and yet all rush to get out of his way as soon as they see him coming.
(As he passes, their expressions are of worry and unease. What sort of problem has arisen while they slept, for Sakura, dedicated Sakura, to be running so desperately, for him to be so far away from his place as the shadow of their Prince?)
His heart pounds in his throat as he skids to a halt in front of the infirmary doors. Were he to open his mouth and he's sure it would fall right off, beating and bloody. So he doesn't, keeps his mouth tightly shut as he knocks on the door and tries not to curse the calm footsteps he can hear from the other side. Calm is good, yes? Calm means that everything went well, calm means that his Prince is alive. Doesn't it? Or is it the opposite? It this supposed to be the calm before the storm, the moment they tell him that-
“His Highness is okay” the head healer, Gana, informs him before she's even completely opened the door. Probably predicting his state of agitation, he thinks with a small wince. Well, he did promise a painful retribution if he weren't informed as soon as there was any news regarding the Prince's state. “We've managed to administer an adequate antidote in time, and though more than a couple of days of rest await him, he should make a full recovery.”
Haruka lets out a relieved breath, feeling tension he didn't even know he had leave his shoulders. “Can I see him?”
“Of course” Gana extends an arm towards the same cot in the far corner, waiting until Haruka starts to walk to fall into step beside him. “It will probably be a while before he wakes up, and even then it's hard to tell if he'll be cognisant at first.” She waves him over to a chair, to which Haruka gratefully lets himself fall into. It's hard and uncomfortable as can be, but he pays it no more than a passing thought. “Whatever that poison was, it was quite strong.”
Haruka glances up at her for a second, before redirecting his gaze to the front, towards the Prince. His breathing is rhythmic, soundless, barely even agitating the blanket that covers his form. Haruka never thought he'd be so content to just sit back and watch someone do something as mundane as breathing.
And yet-
“Do you mean you don't know what sort of poison it was?”
He can see the shake of her head from the corner of his eyes, so he's not entirely surprised as she says “never something quite like this. Yenn said it reminded him of something he saw in Rolokoe, once, but even so it wasn't a perfect match. It did give us the base for the antidote, though.”
“That's good” Haruka says, making a mental note to thank healer Yenn in person when he catches him. “Anything else you can tell me about the poison?”
“Only that it was administered as a powder. We found traces of it by the corners of His Highness's mouth.” Gana pauses, reaching inside her pocket for a vial no bigger than her pinky finger. “I've already sent word to a poison expert, we should expect him in a week or so.”
“Thank you, head healer” Haruka inclines his head slightly in her direction. Then, “you look tired. Perhaps you should get some sleep.”
His suggestion is met with pursed lips “you as well, Sakura-san. I can tell from your face you haven't slept a wink tonight.”
He hadn't even tried, Haruka thinks to himself with a rueful smirk. “I wasn't busy saving someone's life.”
“No, you weren't” she agrees, tone far too sharp to stay at that. And, just as he expected, “rather, you launched a full investigation to find the one who tried to take it.”
Haruka shrugs, leaning a bit to his left so the edge of the chair doesn't bite too hard into his ribs. “I'm His Highness’ bodyguard. It's only natural.”
Gana scoffs, but somehow Haruka gets the sense it isn't totally directed at him. “It seems my judgement of you was wrong, Sakura-san.”
He snorts, taking it for the apology it is and dismissing it just as quickly with a shake of his head. “It's okay” he adds all the same “I'm used to it.”
“Just because you're used to it doesn't make it r-”
Movement from the bed draws his attention, as small as it is. When he turns towards the Prince, it's to see his face turned in their direction, a sliver of red barely visible through semi-opened lids.
“S'kura…” he mumbles, before taking in a long breath.
“I'll leave you two to it” Gana says, something gentle in the look she gives him before making her way to the door. Once it closes behind her, they're left completely alone.
Haruka turns back towards the Prince, startling when he finds him watching his movements. Scooting his chair forward until his knees nearly touch the edge of the cot, Haruka rests his elbows on his thighs and leans over. “It's good to see you awake, my Prince.”
That earns him a sleepy smile “did'a worry you?”
“Just a little bit” a whole fucking lot, actually, but it's better if they leave that particular conversation for when Suo doesn't seem about to fall asleep on him at any moment. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore” he whines, lips pulled down on a pout. “Like I could sleep fo’ a week.”
“Then sleep.”
“You'll go if'a do.”
Haruka snorts, shaking his head just so. Who knew that his Prince could be this dramatic even after a near death experience? “I won't “
“Don’ believe you” the Prince shoots back, before closing his eye. Haruka would think he's gone back to sleeping, but then he hears a rustle and feels, more than sees, Suo's hand shifting until it's freed from the blanket. He flops it, uncoordinated as it is, and manages to get it to stay palm up just at the edge of the cot. “Gimme your hand.”
“What?”
“Your hand. So you don’ go away.”
This man… this wonderful, ridiculous man. He'll really be the death of Haruka, won't he?
Taking the outstretched hand between his own, Haruka cups one over the Prince's knuckles and fits the other over his palm, slow and tentative. Suo, though, seems to be having none of it, clinging back with more strength than Haruka would've expected of him. His hands are bigger than Haruka's but, curiously, their palms are roughly the same size. He never noticed it until today.
“Happy now?” the tease comes out before he properly thinks it through, a bit of a botched attempt to redirect his attention from how warm Suo's hand feels against his.
“Hm, very much” his Prince says, sounding so satisfied that Haruka doesn't know whether to feel embarrassed or sad that there's no way for him to record it.
He's still debating over the dilemma when the Prince seems to run out of energy. It's the most logical reason for why he seems to be fighting to keep his eye open, and losing more often than not. Haruka squeezes his hand to get his attention and says, as gently as he can, “go to sleep, my Prince. I'll be right here when you wake up.”
“I'll… I'll hold you to it, then.”
He's asleep not even a minute later, his hand going slack in Haruka's grip. Haruka, meanwhile, simply leans back in his chair as much as he can without letting go of his hand, and shifts his gaze towards the closest window.
He's in for quite a wait, it seems.