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Today, there are guests in the throne room.
The trumpets had begun to play at their entrance. At the helm of their procession walked a young woman, dressed in a fine silk gown that dragged across the carpet. Her hair was studded with platinum and rubies that glinted under the light of the throne room. She was small— smaller still flanked by her two guards: a woman with fierce red eyes and chestnut hair and a blond man, tall with an easy grin on his face— but the way she bore herself demanded the full attention of everyone in the room, the calm confidence of someone who was born to rule.
A noblewoman, you deduce. Perhaps even royalty. She had also come bringing presents. A suitor...?
You're proven correct; just as you always are. The master of ceremonies announces her as Princess Haru from the Kingdom of Astarte, here for the hand of the prince. She stands at the foot of the throne, her eyes locked onto those of the prince, as her gift-bearers offer up two small chests, both encrusted with the same rubies that adorned her short brown curls.
You stand vigil beside your prince-- on his left, instead of his right as dictated by custom; you’ve never been one for tradition yourself. Your hand casually rests at the pommel of your sword at their approach, clenches as they open their gifts to reveal gold and jewels, lying in a bed of rich velvet, and all afforded by the prosperous fields of their domain.
The prince stands and you see Princess Haru's guards tense as he walks down the steps of his throne. You follow closely at your prince's heels, wary of any sudden movement, any hint of a threat from the two. While you are certainly used to your prince's little whims, your guests aren't sure what to make of his devil-may-care indifference to protocol.
Over the prince's shoulder, you give them a little nod; it's barely any assurance, but it's enough to convince them to stay their hand.
And to your surprise, the princess takes this all in stride. she curtsies at the prince's approach and giggles as he bows back in greeting.
Your mood sours when the prince leads her away to dance. The gift-bearers still stand uncertain before the throne before the royal advisor rubs his temple in dismay and waves them off. Let the ministers sort them out, you think, your eyes busy tracing the prince's movements across the floor.
"What was that all about?" the blond guard says, breaking you from your stupor. You hadn't even noticed him or the other guard draw nearer, perhaps to commiserate the absence of your respective wards.
You grunt in reply, turning back to the dance floor and to keep an eye on your prince. You find him and the princess deep in conversation as they twirl together by the sides. From the corner of your eye, you see the blond guard's brows knit together in hostility.
"The hell's wrong with you, you jerk?"
"Ryuji!" the other guard elbows her companion in rebuke before she turns to you. "I'm sorry about him," she says, "We just weren't expecting his highness to approach the princess like that."
You tear your eyes from the happy couple and smile apologetically at the two guards, "I am sorry for His Highness. He has his quirks, but he means no harm."
The three of you converse start to converse lightly, about your kingdoms, your lieges, and your fighting styles. It’s strange, how well you get along with these two. You volley a few lighthearted jabs back and forth. During a lull in your conversation, Makoto, the female guard, had taken to picking out the various members of the princess's entourage from the crowd. She introduces the tall blue-haired noble eating his fill at the refreshments table as Sir Kitagawa, master artist and former prentice to the famous painter Madarame. You, on the other hand, introduce the blonde woman he had been framing as Lady Ann Takamaki, one of the prince's closest confidants.
It wasn't until an hour later that your two wards peel apart. You bid the two guards farewell and walk back to your post by the side of the throne.
"You look good together," you say as soon as the prince collapses on his seat. You wave over a servant to fetch him a cool glass of wine.
"You think so?" the prince replies after he's caught his breath, now leisurely sipping on his wine. "Trying to marry me off already?"
"It's a good match. The Astarte Kingdom commands the most wealth and influence in the region. Her presents were more than adequate for your station," you say. You almost wish for a glass for yourself, but your sense of duty prevails. "And the two you seem to get along well."
The prince laughs. "You know I'm not someone to be bought with gold. Nor do I have any desire to play politics more than I have to." He swirls the wine around in his glass, "But Haru is interesting. I think I'd like to talk with her more."
"So you plan on accepting her proposal?"
The prince shoots you a look, one whose meaning you can't quite decipher, and shakes his head. He drains the last dregs of his wine from his cup and says, "I think I shall retire for tonight."
You tilt your head in question, but he says no more. You follow him down the steps of his throne, down the quiet hallways leading to the royal chambers and bid him good night at the door.
Hours later and you can’t sleep. You can feel your mind turning endlessly throughout the night, but your thoughts feel strangely blank. You throw on a cloak over your thin shirt and wander out into the cold outside.
The gardens are quiet tonight; the party had wound down and your guests had retired to their rooms for tonight. The moon sits dark in the sky, but you can navigate yourself between the trees and through the shrubbery even under the faint starlight .
Sometimes, in nights like this, you wonder how you even got here. How the whims of fate had turned a hopeless thief like you into the prince's most trusted knight.
Tonight is one of those nights.
You break out of your reverie when you reach a familiar oak tree. You look up and see the faint traces of lamplight coming from the room above: the prince's room.
You shimmy up the tree. The climb is simple and easier than you remember, even with the small basket containing your loot bogging you down. You make the leap from the tree to the prince's balcony just as easily. Your feet are light, barely making a sound as you land.
The prince peels back the curtains of the balcony doors at your knock. His eyes widen in surprise as you raise the little basket of goodies, and he's grinning when he finally opens the door. He ushers you onto one of the armchairs by the fireplace.
You've already popped open the wine bottle when you realize you've forgotten to bring any wine glasses. You take a swig directly from the bottle and hold it out to the prince when he settles down on the chair next to you.
He grabs it and takes a swig of his own. "Now this is a surprise. It's been a while since you've swung by like this."
You shrug, "I'm afraid I couldn't sleep, and it looks like neither could you. Too excited about your engagement?"
The question stirs an ugly feeling in your chest. You've always wondered how things would change once the prince gets married. Would you still talk and drink like this, like you had many times in the past? Would he still confide with you all his little thoughts, his little fears, all too dangerous to be heard by the court?
Would he still want you to be a part of his life?
These thoughts haunt you more than you care to admit so you snatch at the bottle to wash them away.
You swore to be the prince's sword and shield. Not even his marriage would change that.
Perhaps oblivious to your thoughts, the prince only snorts in response, "My engagement? No, I've already turned her down. She was disappointed but she took it rather well. We've even made plans to correspond regularly and visit over the summer months."
You hate how your head clears when you hear of his refusal. "Why?" You find yourself asking, "You like her enough. Why not marry her?"
"Because... she's not the one I'm waiting for," the prince answers. He has that look in his eye again, and its meaning remains a mystery to you.
So you look away and stare into the fireplace. The flames lick away at the firewood, an unstoppable force that promises to consume it, to turn every fibre of it into ashes.
You shiver and stoke the flames higher.
The prince is silent, and so are you. Your fingers touch as you pass the bottle back and forth.
In the silence, you sink back into your thoughts. The ugliest of your thoughts are gone, banished to the deepest recesses of your mind until the next suitor comes, and your find yourself thinking about the prince.
Your prince.
He is kind, you think, and brave. Handsome and dearly beloved by everyone in and out of the kingdom.
Dearly beloved by you, despite all your efforts not to.
"Why do you even continue with this farce?" You ask, but the prince doesn’t answer. "You've never stood for tradition before. Why wait for them to come to you and offer you their little presents? Why don't you just... fight for what you want?"
The prince's breath hitches. Your gazes meet and he looks stricken, even gutted. His lips wrap around the bottle's neck as he takes a long swig. You reach over and pull it out of his grip.
"He...he already has," the prince says, his hands fiddling with the long sleeves of his nightshirt, "Given me a present, I mean."
The lump in your chest is back, and you try to take a swig. Two drops of wine fall on your tongue before the bottle runs empty.
"I've never seen you meet with anyone new." you say.
"He gave me his first present years ago," the prince replies. “I’ve kept it close to me all this time. See, I have it here.” He stands and walks over to the little table beside his bed, starts rummaging through the drawer and eventually, he pulls out a tiny ring.
Your ring.
"It wasn’t easy being the prince. Especially for an adopted son like me. Everyday, the court would whisper about me, and I could only save my tears for the late hours when no one could hear me,” the prince says, drawing closer and closer. “But years ago, a little thief climbed the tree outside and broke into my room."
You shoot up from your seat, as if to escape, but your legs are frozen. Your head starts to spin and it takes all of your efforts to stay upright.
"But he didn't steal anything. He wiped away my tears and gave me this ring. He said it had belonged to his mother and it kept the loneliness at bay," the prince continues, "He said I looked like I needed it more. And he was right. every time I felt sad and alone, this ring reminded me of him."
The prince is mere inches away now. "But that was only the beginning. Now everyday, he gives me a new present," he says, "a smile, a helping hand,” his eyes flicker over to the bottle in your hands, “a chat over some drinks after a long day. I’ve been waiting but he's never asked me to marry him."
You gulp. you try to say something but your mouth is dry. Only a small whimper makes its way out of your throat.
"But you're right. it's time for me to take what I want," Prince Akira whispers. Your eyes grow wide when he kneels, a twisted inversion of your usual roles.
"Sir Goro Akechi, will you marry me?"