Chapter Text
“Captain.”
Obi whirls to face to lord of Wistal with a wide, innocent smile, striving for casual.
“Your Lordship!” he calls out, waving at the rest of the guards behind his back. They don’t need to get caught practicing knotwork on their captain. Jirou shifts uneasily at his back. “What brings you?”
Makiri lifts an angled brow. “Am I not welcome among my men, Sir Obi?”
“Of course not!” The knot’s a mess, a product of a half dozen men tying by consensus vote, and it’s confounding if only because it has no sense to it. That’s one way to keep a criminal in bonds. “Just…surprised to see your esteemed personage.”
His lordship’s eyes narrow. “Hm.”
Obi tugs at the knot, and – and there, there is the give –
“If you would, Sir Obi.” Makiri turns his back – there’s no need for his lordship to ask for him to follow; Obi knows the sound of an implicit invitation. The lord of Wilant is not one for spare words when silence will do.
He shrugs. “If you say so, my lord.”
It gives him just enough space, and he slouches out of the ropes, holding them aloft to a chorus of groans.
Makiri whips around, glaring at his men. A half-dozen brilliant smiles await him.
“Hmm,” he says, turning back as Obi jogs to catch up to him. “I did not think you would be so well-missed, captain.”
“Oh, your lordship,” he drawls. “My men love me.”
Obi has expectations of a meeting with his lordship; namely hard liquor, sparring, and scolding. Not necessarily in that order.
He doesn’t expect this.
“My lady!” He drops into a hasty bow. “I didn’t –”
“Please.” Her smile is sweet and pleasant, the very picture of a benevolent queen. “I told my dear brother to keep my presence a surprise.”
Obi sends an inquiring glance at his lordship, one brow raised. “Is that…so?”
“I hope,” she says, just the slightest hint of wryness in her tone, “that it was a pleasant one.”
“Ah.” He resists the urge to rub his neck, turning all that nervous energy toward a casual lean and a flirtatious grin. “I don’t see how anyone could look upon you, my lady, and find the effect unpl–”
“Enough of that, thank you.” Makiri already has the brandy decanter in hand, pouring the amber liquid into two snifters. His sister coughs, polite, and he pours a third.
Obi’s eyebrows make a bid for his hairline. He hadn’t pegged the queen-to-be as an appreciator of hard liquor. Not quite the fashion for ladies, back in Wistal.
His lordship waits until they each have brandy in hand, and Obi’s taken a great gulp of his, when he says bluntly, “My sister wants you to be her guard.”
He does not spit out his liquor, but only just.
“I’m afraid I’m already guarding someone, my lady,” he says, when he gains the ability to speak again.
“You spend more time on the walls than guarding Shirayuki,” Makiri points out, no malice in his tone, only practicality. Obi hates him a little for it anyway. “Besides, she spends most of her time either in the castle or at the university. She’s well under guard in both places.”
Obi bites back, so is your sister. Makiri is not Master. They are friends after a fashion, but his lordship would not easily allow him to ignore his station, not in this.
“Please, Sir Obi.” Haki’s smile is not as sweet as Miss’s, but it’s a near thing. “I only need a man for the afternoons. I’m afraid my current guardsman for that time won’t be available for a few weeks, and has requested a less…demanding position, besides.”
She leans toward him, and even though there is a whole room between them, she makes it feel as if they are pressed close, sharing a study nook in the library, trading gossip. “His wife is due to have a baby, you see.”
He drags his gaze away, annoyed. Already he likes her.
“So this will be temporary?” he says.
Makiri nods. “A stop gap. Until Haki goes to Wistal next spring.”
Obi lets a breath hiss between his teeth. “All right. A few months won’t hurt.”
He’d be right, if only that was all Lady Haki wanted him for.
His first shift sees them taking a trip to the university – she needs to meet with members of the board, make plans for the upcoming years – but they do not walk, oh no. A lady cannot walk for a half hour, not in those shoes.
He blithely, stupidly suggests they take carriage.
She doesn’t even bother to hide her grin.
The carriage is a trap.
The door has hardly shut behind them when she pulls down every shade, casting the whole cab into darkness. His eyes have only begun to adjust when she throws herself onto the seat next to him, gaze dark as midnight.
“Finally,” she sighs, impatient. “We are alone.”
He recoils, pressing his back up against the windows. “M-my lady?”
“They can’t hear us in here,” she tells him, as if this should assure him. “The cobbles, you know.”
“I –”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you alone for the longest while, Sir Obi,” she admits, sounding – relieved? She’s so close it makes him anxious, makes him feel like a rabbit cornered by a wolf.
This is not the predator-prey configuration Obi is comfortable with. He is the wolf, thank you.
Too bad no one has bothered to tell her ladyship. “I had hoped we might talk alone to negotiate your position, but my brother would not allow it. I think he was convinced I might ask you for something indecent.”
His heart will not slow in his chest. “Is that….a thing you are known for doing?”
She waves a hand, unconcerned. “No, of course not. Not usually.”
“Not…usually.” The words come out faint, which is just how he feels when she slides closer to him on the bench.
She drops her voice low, gaze intent upon him. “I have been watching you for some time, Sir Obi.”
“Oh,” he squeaks. “Have you?”
There is not nearly enough air in this carriage. For one, wild moment, he considers opening a window, and then quickly reconsiders aggravating a future queen. He can – he can do this. He knows how to turn women down gently.
He’s just not quite sure Mistress Haki is acquainted with the word ‘no.’
“Yes, ever since I made my decision.” The cryptic turn of her words confuses him, but she forges on, “I’m quite certain only you have the skills to teach me what I must know.”
This is what he gets, boasting about his younger days in the barracks. No more buttered rum for him after late shift.
“Are you…sure?” he asks, wincing. Of course she is; he’s half convinced she’s right. It’s not like the rest of the guard gets out much, when half the city’s a cousin.
Her mouth curls slyly. “Who else could give me skills to impress a king?”
He knows he shouldn’t; he knows this is historically how people lose heads – both of them. The lethal pragmatist that still lives inside him screams in negative, but –
Obi puffs up, just a little. Taking a little flattery where it’s given has never hurt anyone.
“Well,” he drawls, “that is true.”
“Good.” She settles back, letting air rush between them. “Then you’ll teach me the blade?”
“Wait.” he blinks. “Come again?”
“I don’t think I’m the right man for this.”
She hefts a practice sword in her hand, arm sagging under the weight. It’s a light one, hardly over two pounds, but still she struggles to hold it out for more than a few minutes at a time.
“Of course you are,” she tells him easily, in a way he’s coming to realize is distinctly hers. It’s only his second shift, but she no longer puts on those demure airs for him. Sometimes, he misses them.
He test the weight of the blade in his hand, remembers how easily Master had just – disarmed him. He’d never been in a fair match with a sword; Mister and Miss Kiki had always insisted he use every trick when they sparred, and Master the same, once he grew accustomed to losing, but –
“The sword isn’t my weapon,” he warns her, feeling more and more like a fraud with every moment. “If you want to beat His Majesty –”
“Then I shouldn’t fight like him. Obi,” she sighs, letting the tip of her sword drag on the stone, “if I wanted to learn how to fight properly, I could have chosen a dozen different masters. I could have lured Kiki Seiran up here if I wanted.”
Obi doubts that, but knows better to say.
“I don’t want to fight like a gentleman.” A grin splits her face. “I want to win.”
He stares.
He has half a year. Six months. Six months.
Obi looks down at Haki, take in the sharpness of her smile, the light in her eyes –
“Then you’ll have to stop holding your weapon like a parasol and take this seriously.”
For a moment, he thinks she might call for a guard, might throw him herself from the top of the tower even with her noddle arms, but then something wolfish happens to her face and –
And she lifts up the sword. “So show me.”
“You should get something out of this too,” her ladyship tells him a few weeks in. She’s coming along nicely, though her form is still too stiff, but she’s a better hand at improvisation than he gave her credit for.
His cheek stings still, thinking about that slap. Ah, sorry, she says with a sheepish smile, unwanted suitors.
Use that, he tells her. If you want to win, use everything you got.
“Oh, my lady,” he drawls, dousing himself with the water the maid brings them. “Your radiant presence is enough.”
Her mouth sets, annoyed. “I’m being serious. Surely there’s something I can do for you. I owe –”
“No.” The humor drains from him. “Never think you owe me, my lady. Not for this. If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t.”
Something in her softens. “All right. Then something else.” She hums thoughtfully. “Surely there is something I could teach you.”
“I’m already proficient at cross-stitch, my lady.” He grins. “And embroidery.”
“Oh well,” she says dryly, “there go all my ideas.”
He tilts his head back, letting relief flood him as he puts his back to the wall. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“You don’t know cross-stitch.”
“My lady! I would never lie about the domestic arts.”
“Come now, not really.”
“Please, my lady. I’ll make you a pillow.”
It’s Miss, of course, who nearly discovers them.
Her ladyship’s shown remarkable improvement over the last month and change, and he’s taken to coming to her in the evenings once or twice a week. They need to build up her strength, and the hour or so they can fit in between engagements is not enough, not if she doesn’t want to get winded halfway through a match.
He’s coming down from the roof – the only place likely to be empty in the castle at this hour – sweat prickling on his back, his neck, his armpits –
“Obi!”
He doesn’t see her in time to stop. His miss collides with him, her hands clenching at his jacket to keep from stumbling over. It’s habit that make him put is own out to steady her, palms sliding against her waist.
Ahh, a mistake, with his blood so hot.
He pulls away, scorched. “Miss!” he laughs. “Think of my poor heart!”
She flushes, a giggle escaping her lips. “I’m sorry! I just couldn’t find you at dinner, and Jirou said you’d be here, so –”
“Ah, yeah!” He coughs, rubbing at his neck. “Just…getting in some extra training.”
“Oh!” Her smile is far too bright for her to be this close. “Well, we’re all going to go out to Pavilion Street. Suzu says he smelled fresh roasted chestnuts there the other day.”
“It is getting close to Solstice,” he allows, “a little early even so.”
“Mm.” She sways in front of him, excited. “So will you come?”
“Ah…” His shirt is sticking to his back, rubbing at it in a way he’ll know will leave a rash. “I think…I’ll pass. I need a bath, I think, before going anywhere.”
“We could –”
He waggles a finger at her. “If you wait much longer it will be past the time where all good pharmacists go to bed.”
She pinks at that, ducking her head so that some of her hair falls forward, right over her eye –
Ah, what he wouldn’t give to be the man who could push it back.
“If you’re sure.”
“Yeah.” He pushes out a smile for her. “Have fun.”
He doesn’t breathe until she’s out of sight.
“Oh well now.”
He jumps. Haki emerges from the shadows, teeth white in the dark. “I think I’ve just figured out what I can give you.”
“I don’t need wooing lessons,” he snaps, shoulders up around his ears as the ride to yet another noble estate. “I do just fine on my own.”
“You do, and you’re not.” Haki peers out the curtains, grimacing as the edifice comes into sight. “That display last night was shameful.”
“Have you tried not slouching? You’re strikingly tall when you don’t.”
“I’m not –” He groans. “I don’t need help with this.”
Her ladyship gives him a look over the fur of her cloak. “You most certainly do.”
“I’m not – I’m not wooing anyone.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, I think we’re both agreed. No one is currently being wooed.”
“I’m not trying to woo anyone.”
She lets out a huff. “Now there is where our opinions differ.”
“She’s always with her friends, isn’t she?” Haki says, apropos to nothing as they stroll in some lord’s garden. He’d hope she’d drop this, get bored with her attempts at matchmaking, but it’s been weeks now – months, really – and she’s still at this same game. “Shirayuki, I mean. I’ve been watching her.”
His free hand rubs at his brow. “Ah, gods – not this again.”
“Of course this again.” She looks at him like he’s being particularly dense. “I am not suddenly forgetting that you are desperately in lo–”
“Don’t.”
There is finally something in his tone that arrests her. Her gloved thumb rubs at his elbow. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t, Obi.”
“Ah, now there is where you are wrong, your ladyship.” His smile is not as bright as he would like it to be; he can tell by the way her own mask falls, by the way her eyes search him. “There is every reason.”
She scoffs. “Oh?”
“Miss isn’t meant for me.” Every breath hurts. “She’s going to marry Master.”
“Oh, Obi,” Haki sighs, squeezing around his elbow. “Surely you aren’t so naive.”
He stiffens.
“I would hope you would both know by now,” she says, so soft. “Izana would never let that happen.”
“There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“Of course not.” He’s not used to seeing her ladyship this gentle, this soft. “But that doesn’t make anything right about her either.”
“You should take her to dinner,” Haki tells him as the descend their carriage, snow falling around them. It’s been another interminable visit with the university chairs, and they’re both ready to stretch their legs.
“We already eat dinner together,” he grouses. “When I’m not prodding you into shape.”
“I appreciate your efforts,” she assures him, eyes riveted to his cape. “But I meant alone.”
“Aren’t you tired of this?”
She reaches out, gloved hands smoothing the fabric over his shoulder, tugging on it trim to make it lie flat. “Of what?”
“The nagging.”
“I’m not nagging,” she tells him frostily. “Now stand up straight.”
His eyes roll heavenward, beseeching. “Yes, Mistress.”
“That’s – oh.” Haki’s hands drop from him, like he burns.
His brow furrows.
“Shirayuki,” Haki says warmly, smile unfurling on her lips. “I didn’t expect to see you!”
Obi’s head snaps over his shoulder, and there his Miss stands, mouth gaping, face bloodless and pale.
“I – I –”
“Miss,” he says, voice hoarse. There’s something wrong with this, with how the air feels between them. “Did you come to find me?”
“No. Yes. I –” She raises a hand to her cheek. “I don’t – I don’t know. I should – I should –”
“Miss?”
“I’ll go!” she blurts out, hugging her books to her chest. She bobs her head at her ladyship. “Mistress Haki.”
He stares at her retreating back, dumbfounded.
“Ah,” Haki sighs happily. “I think our lessons might be over soon enough.”