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Long, long ago...or was it far, far away?
Or perhaps, neither long, long ago or far, far away, but merely in a world passing tangent to ours, there lived a prince and a librarian.
When the prince was but a young boy, the empress, his mother, passed away from a wasting illness; despite this early tragedy, he grew up to be beautiful and accomplished, an object of admiration and awe for those who saw him from afar. From his graceful seat on horseback to his calm ruthlessness on the chessboard, he seemed in all respects to be the perfect prince.
At court, full of capricious and fickle aristocrats who played at politics, rumors soon spread that the prince inspired nothing less than complete and unwavering loyalty in not only his intimate friends but also anyone who unwittingly entered his orbit. Did they fall in love with the classical proportions of his face? Or did he exert some form of magnetic charisma? No one knew the answer.
So it came as no surprise that before he even came of age, his imperial father had already received many delegations from neighboring lands bearing requests for Prince Seijuurou's hand in marriage. On the eve of the prince’s sixteenth birthday, the emperor silently had the Court Auxiliary Amanuensis present him with the names of the suitors.
Seijuurou glanced down the list and handed it back without changing expression.
“I trust that you shall make the correct choice,” said the emperor, leaning back in his throne.
Seijuurou bowed. “Indeed, I will give the matter due consideration.”
The next morning, he rose early as was his wont and wrote, in elegant, unhurried script, a brief announcement, which was delivered to the Chief Chancery by the time the sun rose. It was duly copied and distributed to every street corner in the capital, every town and village within the borders, and every country that bordered or traded with the empire.
“Prince Akashi Seijuurou,” it read, “will give his hand in marriage to any person, of whatever birth or station in life, who can complete three tasks set by the prince himself and thus prove their worthiness to fill the seat of Imperial Consort.”
When the sun set, the five courtyards of the palace were already swarming with men and women eager for the challenge.
***
The prince’s tasks soon became legendary throughout the realm.
“I heard that he asked for a bowl of rice,” gossiped one courtier to another, behind an unfurled fan, “where every grain was inscribed with a different chapter from the Seven Dissertations on Military Tactics!”
A merchant, holding up a glass vial no larger than his thumb, would claim to his customer, “This is oil from the finest sandalwood, found only in the groves of a temple found at the foot of the tallest mountain in the world...the same oil that Prince Seijuurou demanded that a suitor obtain in sufficient quantities to polish and perfume the imperial throne!”
In the evenings, a sleepy girl might say to her mother, “Can you really weave a robe from the silk of a four hundred-year old spider?”
“No,” her mother might reply, “because the prince expects the impossible.”
But she was wrong, for Seijuurou was a rational young man. He did not believe in dealing with impossibilities. The tasks he set his suitors were all achievable with time, talent, and of course, a twist of luck. No, he did not expect the impossible; he simply did not believe in settling for anything less than the very best.
***
And what of the librarian?
To be precise, he was only the sixth Assistant to the Imperial Bibliothecary in charge of the departed empress’ world-renowned collection of spellbooks, enchanted codices, and other magical tomes. One year ago, he had arrived at the palace, with a letter of recommendation from his tutor, and after being passed between court bureaucrats and functionaries, he found himself placed in his current position. Like the other younger children of minor nobility who had made their way to the capital in search of employment, he wore his long and unimportant title with little hope of advancement.
He whiled away the hours, overlooked and ignored, dusting the shelves and reading, one by one, the books of the collection. From the grand gold-embossed and leather-bound texts used to instruct apprentice mages to the fragile manuscripts written by hand on vellum, he consumed them all, following no curriculum other than what caught his eye. By the end of his first year, he had acquired a haphazard and unorthodox knowledge of magic.
It was how Prince Seijuurou happened upon Kuroko Tetsuya for the first time: sitting in the aisles between two shelves and frowning over an elementary spell for generating flame.
“That doesn’t seem to be the wisest choice of reading while surrounded by paper,” said a voice wryly, cutting into his thoughts.
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t get it to work,” Tetsuya said absently before glancing up to see the imperial crown prince standing before him. “Your...your Highness!”
“I am looking for the journals of Tawara Touda,” the prince said. “I seem to recall seeing it here--“
“Two shelves down, between the Encyclicals of the White Cloud Abbots and Treatise on the Manipulation of Aqueous Matter. I’ll show the way.” Tetsuya scrambled to his feet, grabbing the book he had been studying and hurriedly reshelving it on the top shelf.
The prince caught Tetsuya’s wrist lightly and leaned in to peer at the title. “Foundations of Volitional Combustion. I’ll have to remember that. Can you get anything else to work?”
Tetsuya blinked. “Excuse me, your Highness?”
“You mentioned that you can’t get the spell you were studying to work. Can you get anything else to work?”
“Yes,” Tetsuya said and slid his hand free of the prince’s grip. “But I have no formal training.”
Seijuurou took a step back and clasped his hands behind his back. “Show me.”
For a brief but excruciating moment, Tetsuya could not remember even the simplest charm or incantation. Then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and wove his fingers together into a complex configuration. He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes.
Through the thick fog that surrounded them and expanded to fill the entire library, he could barely make out the prince’s blurry silhouette. He shifted his hands and let the fog disperse, revealing Seijuurou’s momentarily startled expression.
“That is...more than I expected from someone who was struggling with a basic text on firestarting.” Seijuurou stared at him intently. Tetsuya flushed underneath the scrutiny; he was not used to being noticed, much less the focus of anyone’s attention.
“I seem to have little affinity for spells that involve light or fire.”
“I see.” The prince walked past him, down the aisle and two shelves down, where the journals he was looking for were shelved. “What’s your name, librarian?”
“Kuroko Tetsuya, my lord prince.”
“Ah. I’ll have to remember that too.”
***
“Did you hear?” Shigehiro--the third Assistant to the Imperial Bibliothecary in charge of the books in the emperor’s study and Tetsuya’s best friend--asked as they breakfasted with the other librarians.
“Hear what?”
“Lord Midorima--not the father but the son, Shintarou--has completed his first task.”
Tetsuya paused. “One of the prince’s tasks? Surely not.”
Shigehiro shook his head. “It’s the truth. The whole palace has been abuzz with the news!”
“What...what was the task?”
“To perform the Song of Heavenly Harmonies on a five-stringed zither, if you can believe it. They say it’s supposed to be played by an orchestra of flutes! But his Highness took one of the court musicians’ zithers and cut eight of the strings, then told Lord Midorima to perform with the instrument.”
“Which eight strings?” Tetsuya asked.
“What does it matter? But Lord Midorima merely asked for some time to practice, then returned at the end of the day with a flawless performance.” Ogiwara grinned. “Prince Seijuurou didn’t tell him that he could not alter the instrument further. Apparently he had them reshape the body and retune the strings.”
Tetsuya nodded. “Clever. His lordship must be quite the prodigy.”
“The entire court is gathering to see Prince Seijuurou deliver the next task.” Shigehiro glanced down the table where the head Imperial Bibliothecaries were sitting, then winked at Tetsuya. “Want to go? They’ll never know we’re missing because they’ll be there watching too.”
***
The second task was to bring the prince a flower that bloomed only within the cracks of a glacier found more than a thousand days' journey to the north. Lord Midorima Shintarou looked affronted upon hearing the task. He adjusted his spectacles several times and clutched the wooden headrest, which he had tucked under one arm for reasons that no one in the court could discern. "I will endeavor," he said finally, "to fulfill your request."
But by the day's end, Lord Midorima had to admit defeat, and he left with his entourage, holding his head high despite his disappointment.
Tetsuya, however, had spent the day searching for an illustration in a book that he remembered seeing once before, and that evening, Prince Seijuurou found within his chamber the very flower that he had told Shintarou to find.
With some surprise, he reached out to touch it. It dissolved at his touch; it had no real substance. But it had been, to the last detail, a perfect rendition of the flower, down to the faint scent of resin that had been described as the odor of its nectar.
He spent the rest of the evening wondering about who had left the flower but gave it no further thought when it was clear that no one would step forward to claim the credit.
But the following week, it happened again.
A new suitor--this time, the son of a minor gentleman named Furihata, who had ambitions of a court debut--had asked to be set three tasks, and the prince, gauging his abilities with a single glance, told him to brew a wine that had the flavor of lychees, the color of dark honey, and the potency to cause the drinker to see and hear the other side of the world.
It came as no surprise when Furihata's son, young master Kouki, did not even return at the end of the day to announce his failure.
Yet when Prince Seijuurou entered his rooms, there lay waiting a white porcelain cup, so thin that he could see the dark honey hue of the liquid within through the ceramic. He lifted the cup to his nose; indeed, it smelled, very faintly, of lychee.
He paused. Of course, it could always be an assassination attempt; his food had been poisoned before. He called for one of his attendants and held the cup out to him.
"Take a sip."
The man obligingly turned away to sip at the cup before setting it back on the table.
"Do you...see anything? Hear anything?"
"Your Highness?"
"No, never mind." Seijuurou felt a certain disappointment. He gestured for the attendant to take the cup away.
"What--what is this?" the attendant called out suddenly. "What's happened? Your highness? Where are you? Where am I?"
The prince blinked. "Are you all right?"
"Your highness?"
Alarmed, he strode forward and shook the attendant by the arm. "What is it? Was there poison?"
The man shook his head and blinked several times. "I'm sorry, your Highness. I don't know what came over me."
"What happened?"
"I...I...for a moment, I thought I saw a vast ocean and heard the song of whales as they rose to spout jets of water from the surface." The man put a hand to his forehead. "I apologize, your Highness, I swear I'm not inebriated--"
Prince Seijuurou picked up the cup again and smiled. "I see."
He sat at his desk and poised his brush on paper. He hesitated, which in itself was unusual enough that he felt some irritation with himself. Two tasks had been completed, after all, which meant that it was time for the third.
The third task--
He quickly penned a note and told his attendant, "Have this message delivered to Kuroko Tetsuya. You'll find him in the librarians' hall, I believe."
***
Tetsuya let himself melt into the shadows with a spell of invisibility and slipped past the third watch of the palace guards into the gardens. It was a clear but moonless night, the only light available was the dim flicker of torches by the gates and the constellations above. He followed the winding gravel paths as they led past thousand-year old trees and rare, fragrant flowers, whose scent still hung in the air despite their closed petals. He walked, step by step, towards the narrow footbridge that arched over a large pond, leading to an island shrouded by rocks and a grove of bamboo. The smooth black surface of the water reflected the stars littering the night sky.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to see, as he crossed the bridge. Was there a movement in the shadows?
He stepped onto the island. He turned about, not knowing what he was supposed to find. Was this the third task? To solve this riddle?
Behind him, he felt rather than heard the shadows move. He looked over his shoulder.
A yellow eye, its pupil slit like a cat’s, looked back at him.
It was a beast: huge and waiting in the formless dark.
Tetsuya turned and ran.
***
He left the capital in the morning and returned home to the provinces, where his parents welcomed him with bemusement. He then took to traveling, from one city to the next, apprenticing with different thaumaturgical masters. He wandered as far as he could, from the provinces to the colonies, from the colonies to the furthermost borders of the empire.
News from the capital mostly came in garbled hearsay and exaggerated tales: the prince had disappeared, the prince was fatally ill or possessed or haunted, the emperor had disowned him--
And then, even though he tried not to listen, mentions of a horrible creature, a monster, a beast.
Tetsuya shuddered and muttered a spell to muffle all sound under his breath.
He finally settled for several months in a border town called Seirin, which was so far away that they had never heard of Prince Seijuurou or his legendary tasks. He found employment as the resident mage for the Aida merchant clan, which controlled most of the trade between the town and the neighboring kingdom.
Perhaps here, he thought, he could forget.
But then one day, an announcement came from the capital: the emperor would offer a great reward to whatever hero could defeat the beast.
Taiga, one of the mercenaries employed by the Aida, said with relish, “On moonless nights, it stalks the grounds of the palace and shows no mercy for anything alive caught outdoors. They say no hunter has managed to catch sight of it yet!”
“What sort of beast?” Tetsuya said, keeping his voice steady.
“No one knows. But it must be some sort of monster. It claws the heart from its victims. They’ve seen endless carcasses of deer, horses...even wolves and tigers.” Taiga’s eyes gleamed. “It must be incredibly strong.”
“It only attacks animals. Not men?”
“Not yet. But surely something so vicious must be dangerous to humans as well. What would I give for the chance to prove myself against a beast like that?”
Tetsuya nodded. Without Taiga noticing, he slipped from the table and went to pack his belongings.
***
It took him several months to return to the capital. When he arrived, the city was already heaving with expert trackers, warriors, and other adventurers, who hoped for a chance to defeat the mysterious, elusive beast.
"Where does it sleep?" they asked. "Does it only emerge on moonless nights? How long until the next new moon?"
Tetsuya wove shadows around himself until he disappeared completely. He retraced the same steps he took long ago: into the palace, past the main librarian hall and his old room shared with Shigehiro and the empress' world-renowned collection of magical books, through the back gates, along the garden paths, to the bridge that stopped at the island on the lake. There he waited, unseen by the guards who patrolled the grounds, for the sun to set.
At twilight, Tetsuya stepped out from the shadows, releasing his spell of invisibility. The new moon was not for a few more days, but he knew that the beast was there. It had always been there, after all. He closed his eyes and listened for movement.
There was a faint stirring of air. He could sense its presence behind him. He turned and approached the beast, who remained still and silent, as if in meditation. Only the near-imperceptible twitch of its whiskers indicated that it had even noticed Tetsuya’s presence.
Tetsuya stopped when he was no more than an arm’s length away. The beast’s yellow eye glowed, reflecting the dim light of the rising moon.
Tetsuya said, “Your Highness.”
He could see the slit pupil dilate at the sound of his voice.
Tetsuya repeated, more softly, “My lord prince.”
The beast’s head slowly turned towards him. Its other eye was human...and all too familiar.
Tetsuya said, in a voice little more than a whisper, “Akashi Seijuurou.”
And suddenly, in less than a blink of an eye, there was no longer a beast, only the prince lying naked and curled around himself upon the ground. Tetsuya knelt before him, flushing a little at the sight of Seijuurou’s well-formed limbs, his slender but muscular frame.
“So you’ve returned to complete the third task after all,” said Seijuurou, as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
“Yes.” Without a word, Tetsuya took off his cloak and held it out with both hands.
Seijuurou calmly took it and wrapped it around himself. Tetsuya studied the fine, elegant features of the prince’s face, who returned his gaze steadily.
“There are two of you,” Tetsuya said finally.
“No. Don’t you understand, Tetsuya? There has only ever been one Akashi Seijuurou.”
Tetsuya pondered the words for a while and finally nodded. He reached out a tentative hand and lightly touched Seijuurou’s bare shoulder, where the edge of the cloak had slipped. He asked, “What is it you want of me?”
Seijuurou’s mouth half-opened, as if about to speak, but he said nothing. Instead, his eyes darted to Tetsuya’s hand.
Tetsuya leaned in. He moved his hand up to cup against Seijuurou’s cheek. He drew closer and let his eyes fall shut as he pressed a kiss to the prince’s lips.
***
On certain moonless nights, (and sometimes on moonlit nights as well), Tetsuya wakes to the dry whisper of wings against the walls, the brush of a sinuous tail upon the floor. If he opens his eyes, he knows he will see a yellow eye, wide and burning, in the darkness.
Does he understand? Or does he simply accept without understanding?
Nonetheless, he falls back asleep, lulled by the pacing of clawed feet on the polished floors, and wakes in the morning to find once more a head of red hair next to his.
“Good morning, Seijuurou,” he whispers, who only murmurs in response, still fast asleep.