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The bitterness of defeat has never looked more beautiful than Wilant Palace does tonight.
The clouded, ominous midnight sky is a striking contradiction to the twinkling merriment below. Phostyrias, pale-gold and glorious, a true crowning glory of the Lylias research team, glimmers against the midnight green backdrop of the palace garden’s ice-encased winter shrubbery left behind by a frozen fog earlier this evening.
It’s absolutely breathtaking.
It’s nauseating .
Shirayuki tucks herself into the comfort of the shadows of the terrace outside the ballroom, allowing them to cloak her in anonymity, if only for a short while. She'd never really understood Obi's love of blending into a dark corner, but now? Now she gets it. She chuckles at herself, though it is resentfulness at her situation rather than any measure of amusement.
The past few hours have been an emotional siphon as she helplessly watched on as Izana rubbed the nose of every leader of every northern noble household in a failure that was as much theirs as it was her own.
She hadn’t been able to convince them to foster the growth of Phostyrias as a natural light source in the frozen north, it is true. But, as accommodating as they were to their guests, they were less-than willing to hear about it once Zen’s impolitic antics revealed her closeness to the crown.
After that, they had only been interested in Phostyrias insofar as they could use accepting its use as leverage to garner favor with her and, by extension, members of the royal family. Once Shirayuki declined the quid pro quos they offered and made it clear to them she wouldn't further her goals or theirs by using her adjacency to Clarines’s rulers, they merely humored her until it was time to send her off to be rejected by the next house in line.
Each spurning yielded a letter to Izana in which Shirayuki accepted full fault for the failure. Each letter sent to Izana was met with a response in the king's personal handwriting, holding a disconcerting level of cool collectiveness even the bitter northern wind couldn’t cut through. A half-dozen letters in and no approval in sight caused Izana to launch an investigation.
When Zen’s role in the failure of her team's burn-after-reading mission had been revealed by an unnamed source, Shirayuki, Obi, and Ryu were recalled to Wilant Palace. There, they had been tasked with the planting and caretaking of the plants the Lylias team had created while they were busy failing missions from one side of the country to the other. Zen, for his part in their inability to yield satisfactory results, was summoned to Wistal to be kept away until the impending gala.
Under the former Queen-Dowager’s watchful eye, they had turned the grounds into a certifiable winter wonderland in time for Izana to announce that the yearly party to welcome the new year would be held at the northern estate instead of Wistal Palace. Every Phostyrias stone the Lylias labs had forged thus far turned the gardens in front of her into a sea of stars rivaled only by the magnificence of those above, which were currently obscured by low-hanging clouds promising more snowfall by morning.
She scoffs into her champagne flute as she takes a long sip. She nearly chokes on it when the wind kicks up, frigid by itself but even more so when it sends the freshest, untread fallen powder to dust over her.
Pretty as it is to look at and comforting as it is to be able to recharge alone, the warmth of the fires and shared body heat of the people dancing inside has seeped out of her already. Buts it's the frigid northern winter air and cutting breeze that helps ground her against further intoxication and her own mind.
Her shoulders, neck, and face are exposed and they burn, an implication of frostbite if she doesn't shield herself from the elements soon works its way into her bubbly-fuzzed but still medically-trained brain. She just… can’t bring herself to go in. Not just yet.
It’s so peaceful out here and she's so tired, the sort of bones-deep exhaustion that hits at the end of near-constant traveling and endless meetings that ultimately serves no purpose except to cast a cloud of doubt over her achievements since coming to this country.
Shirayuki lets go of the heavy sigh that's been building in her since she stepped away from the swell and ebb of the orchestra and the dancing party-goers and she takes another unladylike swig from her champagne flute.
She needs to head back inside, she knows. She will catch her death out here if she doesn't… and Ryu will be mad at her because she knows better ... but, for now, it's just easier to face down illness than it is to confront her shame.
"Thinking some long thoughts, Miss?"
Shirayuki smiles into the rim of her champagne flute at the sound of the voice she knows better than any other- even her own. "Have you already tired of the nobles fawning over your charm and battle scars," she teases, not taking her eyes off the sprawling park before her as she downs the last sip.
She hears the door to the patio close with a soft click and the clasp of his cape let loose. She moves away from the wall, turning from the door to set her glass down on the table beside her. In the span of only a breath and utterly silent as is his way, he is behind her, and his strong arms are wrapping his half-cape around her bare shoulders and back.
"Never, miss," he whispers as his deft hands begin to massage at the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. Her head tilts to the side as she relaxes under the gentle pressure he pushes into her. "But what kind of protector would I be if I were to let you get sick because you stayed out here with nothing to keep you warm?"
In her newly relaxed and only slightly intoxicated state, memories trickle in. Waking up briefly as he sets her in bed and tucks her in after she fell asleep on the research strewn about her desk… again. The amusement and wonder she felt as he blushed when she dared mention that he looks good in the firelight. Jealousy and panic when she and Zen followed him to his marriage meeting and the then-curious relief she felt when he revealed he had turned the woman down and had only gone to get her brother to leave him alone. She can't help it when she shivers.
He seems to not notice and steps away to a much more proper distance, just in front of her and a step to the side. They stand in silence for a long moment, both taking in the taunting glow of two years of hard work and a year of ignominy as they traveled and fell short, crumpling under the weight of expectations placed on their shoulders and circumstances outside their control.
Shirayuki moves back to the shadows, propping herself against the wall once more. Obi stays rooted in his vigil, back straight and hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world like the knight he has grown to be in recent years.
She's proud of the man he's become. He wears his new station well, a deserved badge of pride most men born to the anonymous beginnings of an orphaned street urchin could only dream of once they were so deep into their cups they’d never remember such dreams the next morning. He’s grown so much since his time as the guarded cast-away hired to scare her away.
They've both grown, really.
She was never one to be timid or yielding. Part of her tug and pull with Izana over the years was that she is opinionated and makes herself heard by any means necessary. But confronting romantic feelings has never been her strongest suit.
But it's passed time- their time . And someone has to take that first step. And he never will. For as much as he’s grown, he still sees her as high above his worth despite how his knighthood makes him her superior.
"Obi."
He hums but doesn't turn.
"We have things to discuss," she says, keeping her voice soft to beckon him closer.
He turns to face her with an arched brow. A beam of light from the high Windows of the ballroom only hits a fraction of his face, illuminating one amber eye and leaving the rest cast in the darkness he still prefers. "Like what, Miss?" He always has been the curious sort and also willing to listen when she has something to say. It’s a weakness she is going to exploit, and a drip of guilt ripples the surface of her composure.
There's a hint of teasing in his voice but, when she struggles with voicing an answer, humor is quickly replaced by concern settling into his features as a wrinkle at his brow and subtle frown rounds the sharpness of the shadow across his face. He closes the space between them, perching beside her with a lazy lean.
"Us." She waits for a moment as thoughts begin to turn over in his mind. "We need to talk about us. " It's true, what they say. Eyes really at the window to the soul if one pays close enough attention to detail. And she witnesses the moment he lands on her obvious meaning.
His eyes round into surprise, before crinkling in confusion. Then the mask sets in, a carefully crafted facade he's been mastering since childhood. His personal security blanket he pulls out to cover himself when she treads too close even for her… perhaps especially for her.
To her disappointment and shame, he tenses and steps away from her. She breathes another heavy sigh, wishing she had another glass of champagne to sip from now that her boldness has been met with rejection. It would be nice to have a reason to look away.
She was wrong earlier.
The bitterness of defeat has never looked more beautiful than Obi, dressed in his dress blacks, backlit by a party, and bathed in the glittering jewels of Phostyrias all around them like fireflies in a summer field.
She huffs out a frustrated laugh and leans her head back against the stone wall, letting the bite of frozen masonry temper the emotional sting with a physical one. In the periphery of her vision, she sees Obi rubbing his shoulder.
He'd been doing it more and more as the meetings failed and it became increasingly evident that they were going to fail Izana's task but never before had it been directly caused by her. Another drop of guilt falls into the well of emotions she’ll be wishing over later when she can retire from the festivities without appearing rude. She turns her face away to allow him some privacy so he could fight whatever internal battle is raging in him.
This is not how it was supposed to go.
He clears his throat, sounding suspiciously pained. She gives him the courtesy of pretending it sounded normal by deliberately not looking at him even though the urge to do so is a siren's call.
"They, ah…” His voice cracks and he clears his throat before starting again. “They brought out the big clock a few minutes ago," he offers, changing the subject. "Want to head inside and join everyone for the countdown? I'm sure a particular fair-haired prince will be looking for you as midnight draws near."
She winces. He could have slapped her and it would have stung less. She doesn't want Zen. How had that not been obvious? It just took her too long to realize that wanting to be an asset and ally to him doesn't mean she needs to be his princess. She doesn't want to be a princess- Zen's or otherwise. She doesn’t want to waste more time talking about Zen.
She wants quiet nights at home with Obi and Ryu. She wants Obi casually pressed against her back in the library as he reaches over her to grab her a book she needs on a shelf that's too high when she’s too stubborn to ask for his help. She wants lunches out in public where they are free to share food off each other's plates. She wants… him.
Nothing more and nothing less.
Just him and the life they have already built together. A life filled with happiness, support, and love and to share all of it with the adolescent they both love as much as they ever could love their own children.
This isn't an epiphany. It wasn’t some awe-inspiring beacon that called to her. It was a slow revelation, like accepting research that has been tried and tested over and over again, yielding the same repeating results. She's known it for a while but just needed to finally see what was written on her heart. The only newness was the need to voice it that has been growing increasingly insistent the more they've traveled together in recent months.
"In a minute," she says, closing her eyes hoping to rest and quiet her mind. To her relief, she feels him close the distance to once again lean on the wall beside her. His arm burns where it rests against hers, even through the long sleeves of her off-the-shoulder dress, the fabric of his cape protecting her shoulders, and the thick wool of his dress uniform.
"In a minute they'll be counting down to midnight," he reminds her.
I know , she thinks. That’s the point. I want midnight with you .
"Let them," she responds, failing to keep her tone light. It's flat and bordering on irritated even to her own ears. How can she make him understand when he is deliberately closing his eyes to what she is trying to show him.
"What about Zen?"
He doesn't mean to keep assaulting her with Zen's name, she knows. She has never mentioned in exact words that her heart has long ago deviated from the original plan they'd laid out all those years ago.
But things happen, people grow, and time changes all things- including hearts. And this particularly oblivious man could have done a better job picking up on the hints she's been dropping all over the northern countryside.
"Zen is irrelevant," she says petulantly, rolling her eyes.
True to his intentionally obtuse nature when it comes to her hints, Obi misses the point and laughs it off. "Come on, Miss. Let's get you back inside," he says, moving to stand in front of her. "And maybe get you some water," he adds, raising his hands back to her shoulders.
"I'm not drunk, Obi," she chides, defensive against the implication. This is a long time coming and just because she happens to be a little more irritable than usual about the topic doesn't mean alcohol is the cause.
The revelers in the ballroom shout in unison. "Ten!"
Obi blinks, apprehension creasing his forehead with lines that have gotten a bit deeper since she met him all those years ago.
But she doesn't want a stolen kiss from Zen, tucked far away from prying eyes. They've never been official to anyone outside their little circle of friends so it's not like it would be able to be done in the middle of the dance floor. And the gathered gentry would notice if Prince Zen disappeared right at midnight. If she were to kiss Zen tonight, it would only be after he has the ability to slip away. And it's not what she wants anyway.
She’s made her decision. She just needs to get through to Obi .
"Nine!"
Shirayuki plants her heels as an idea begins to form. For some reason, it feels like it's now or never, like this is her chance to make him finally see what she's been trying for months to make him understand. For as much as he is a man content to talk about everything and nothing at all, he is first and foremost a man of action.
The possibility of them is something he guards close. So closely, in fact, that it kept her own curiosity in him at bay until she couldn’t turn a blind eye to him anymore. He has so willingly shut himself away from himself as though the thought was something he could or would never consider.
"Eight!
Obi swallows, hard. His lips part just the slightest bit and maybe, just maybe , he's thinking about what she said. Rearranging puzzles of images from their time inseparably together. Reworking mathematical equations he had created himself that had lead him to thinking he was a disposable number, to be cast aside as little more than the remainder of a long division problem the moment she was officially announced as Zen's intended.
Yet, the announcement never came and never will.
"Seven!"
Shirayuki bites her lip, nerves getting to her. If she has misread his every action of the last five years… She hasn’t, she knows. He says I love you a thousand times a day without saying anything at all. She knows. But, even in stories, there is always doubt when a heart is on the line. No matter the feelings, rejection is always possible. And, even though Mitsuhide loves Kiki more than life itself, he still walked away in the name of his duty to Zen. For all she knows, Obi can do the same.
This will either be everything she's ever wanted or the biggest mistake she's ever made. It’s out of her hands after this.
"Six!"
The world around them falls away except the echoes of voices counting down to midnight, though they might as well be counting down to the moment everything changes one way or another. Time seems to fluctuate. Moments between shouted numbers seem to stretch as her heart rate increases to what feels like impossible speeds.
She could never understand when others talked about how time is relative before. Not when anything other than books and research was concerned- certainly not for romantic reasons. For her, it had always seemed constant and, in recent months, so had been the feeling that, even in its consistency, it was running out, like the grains of sand slipping through to the increasingly full bottom of an hourglass.
But now, as the nobility of Clarines count down to the first moments of the new year, she gets it. Her nerves are on fire but, despite fearing he may walk away from her for the first time ever, she holds course.
Out away from the crowd, away from the visual aid of the clock as it's second hand inches closer to its own true north, it feels like they're counting down to eternity.
He followed her out a tower window once. Hopefully he will follow her now as well.
"Five!"
Obi's hands tighten to just the right side of painful where he grips at her shoulders, a silent plea for her to rush inside. To seek out Zen like he thinks she is supposed to. To maintain the status quo in this weird isosceles triangle with her and Zen together and him looking on from far away. She hadn’t even seen it until she had been sent to Lylias and he had followed her. But his grip on her also feels like she is his lifeline to the present, just as he is hers. He's scared too.
Good .
Maybe he is finally figuring it out. Maybe he is realizing he isn't the only one that burns . Maybe her actions are breaking through his tragically romantic stoicism far better than any words she could ever say to him. Maybe she stands a chance.
"Four!"
Her hand fists tighter, squeezing between the buttons of his dress coat. There's still so much space between them. Arms-length is not anywhere near close enough. She pulls with everything she has, not knowing if he'll come willingly, but she has hope.
If not, she will let him go. She lacks the power to physically hold him if he chooses to walk away and she wouldn't want to restrain him anyway. That’s not what their relationship has ever been about. He may joke about someone holding his reins but he is as free a man as any other, even with his title. He’s a knight, not a member of the nobility. Sure, he would need to follow certain measures of protocol, but he could be reassigned with only a formal request to Zen. He's free to make his own choices, just as she is free to make hers. She just hopes making it clear that he's her choice is enough.
"Three!"
The dull thud of his hands hitting the wall on both sides of her head reverberates through her when he loses his balance and falls against her. It would be amusing to see him so uncharacteristically off-balance if she wasn't in the middle of offering her heart and a future together so openly.
With his hands bracketing either side of her head, she's trapped… but even with his ability to turn and leave, he may be more so. Her hand is still fisted in his coat and his eyes are impossibly wide with fear or, hopefully, disbelief that this is how the night has turned out for them.
Both are viable emotions. Both lead to very different outcomes.
"Two!"
The moment is charged, like the air in a storm. Electricity surges through her as her anticipation swells, crackling as it crashes like lightning to earth and dry flora, threatening to cause a spark. If nothing else, she will have this: a singular moment they will both either remember fondly or be haunted by for the rest of their lives.
It's either the beginning of forever or the end of a dream. The time for the dissatisfaction of stasis is over. One way or another.
"One!"
He breaths out, rough and ragged, as though he has just been running for his life… or, more likely, her life. Their time together has been nothing short of a turbulent whirlwind of adventure, after all.
There's been kidnappings and rescues, love and love lost, research and success, battles and rebellions, sickness and health, goodbyes and welcome homes. And that is the crux of it, isn't it?
Home .
One word. Nestled in the heart of another person. Home isn't a place; home is the people you love and who love you in return for no reason other than because they choose to. And he has been the first true home she has known since her grandparents passed away so long ago.
He is her chosen home and she is his. A place of strength and softness in equal measure, sturdy foundations and protection from the world around them.
Choice.
A concept so important to her very nature she had fled Tanbarun to keep her ability to wield it. A recurring theme in her life: following any path she chooses to walk down. Once, it was the winding road to anywhere but within Prince Raj’s grasp. Once, it was a path to Zen. Once, it was researching Olin Maris and a way to make it a safe and viable light source.
Now? Now she doesn't care what path she takes, so long as he's the man that walks it with her.
"Midnight!"
The crowd inside bellows as the clock begins to ring out its twelve chime, silence sweeps through as couples ring in the start of the year. Uncharacteristic, given the usual goings on of court life, but nobles are nothing if not steeped in tradition from birth to the grave and kissing a chosen partner is tradition.
Yet, a painful moment passes between them, warm breath clouded from the cold mingles in the scant inches between their faces. She's given the invitation, made it obvious what she wants from him.
She knows he's a former assassin. She knows his life before coming to her side was predatory- as not life but the truest urges of self preservation tend to be.
But predators don't miss shots unless they don't want to hit their target. She has deliberately put herself in his sights and given him his chance- his own choice. If he doesn't let go, she has her answer.
True doubt and resignation to the second rejection in a span of minutes inches in as the orchestra beings to play a lively tune and laughter rings out through the glass panes of the balcony door. She wants to look away, to shield herself from pain more intense than any she would have felt had he hit her with the arrow he carefully placed inches in front of her face, not even an hour before the first time they met face to face.
She has to ask, before she loses her nerve entirely. They've missed midnight. There's no more sand in the hourglass. Everything has been laid out and inaction is an action in its own right. Now or never has come and gone but she isn’t content to let him get away without an answer beyond inaction.
"Obi, are you going to kiss me or not," Shirayuki asks, her voice is low and a little gravely and far more sultry than she could ever hope to intentionally make it.
His breath hitches but, more importantly, when he moves, it isn't to close the distance between them.
She lets go of his jacket when he shifts, moving his left hand away from the wall. She won't keep him there if it's not what he wants. Pain, searing her from the inside out as the fire that had been boiling through her veins a mere second ago reaches her heart and flairs. It feels like her heart actually ruptured even though the more rational part of her brain assures her she's not actually hurt, just hurting.
She turns her head to where his hand had been, using the frozen stone of the wall to cool the sting and bring her focus away from her fractured heart. She can't look at him now, afraid of watching his back growing smaller as he leaves her there. She closes her eyes, willing the tears to stay away until he is gone. But the weight of his presence refuses to leave. He still surrounds her.
"Don't-" he pleads, slipping his silk glove covered hand between the wall and her cheek. "Don't hide from me. Not right now. Not ever."
He sounds so broken but she can't look at him. He stayed but that doesn't make it hurt less. For the first time since they met, his presence isn't comforting, it's unsettling. For the first time ever she wants to run from him.
"Shirayuki," he breathes her name like he’s dying but she doesn't move. She can’t . "Shirayuki, please. Please, look at me."
He's never said her name before. It has to be the end if he's going to use her name instead of 'Miss.' A particularly merry swell of music dances its way out to the balcony, mocking her shattering heart with a trill from the woodwinds.
There's nothing left but to face the destruction of her world. She's jumped out of towers, stood toe-to-toe in disagreements with royalty of two different countries, and fought for everything she's become. She can face this, too, even if it feels as though it will kill her. Just because it feels like she’s dying, doesn’t mean she actually will.
Willing herself not to cry with every ounce of strength she can muster, she swallows what little of her pride remains and turns her sad eyes up to him. What she finds is startling enough she forgets to breathe. He looks awed, possibly in shock for how pale he is and how he doesn’t seem to be breathing either since no more fog lingers between them and maybe that is more symbolic of the moment than anything else.
He brushes a fallen strand of hair behind her ear and lets his thumb graze over her cheekbone. She is absolutely lost in the moment- lost in him. His face is so, so close to hers. She can smell the lingering hint of the soap from the bath he took before getting dressed for the evening and the elder-wine and brandy he's had to drink, but there's also something else. Something earthy, like the forest trees he is most comfortable in- something uniquely Obi.
"Are you sure this is what you want," he whispers. It’s barely audible even with how close they are and his amber eyes smoulder with barely contained desire, almost entirely black here in the dark where they hide from the world.
There's a dangerous edge to him, written plain in how he angles himself to be this close to her, the hunger in his eyes as they search hers for any hint of doubt and find none, like opening this box of want could destroy them both.
So be it.
Her apprehension lifts like a weight dropping from her shoulders. It’s new, the look on his face, barely restrained like his half-wild anticipation of a fight but somehow different. She isn't afraid of him but he's never looked at her like this before.
She runs a tentative hand up the wool of his coat, causing his breath to come out ragged. It's an intriguing sound she's never heard before in this context, pain from a gravely injured person is the closest her mind can place it but that’s clearly not what’s happening and she wants nothing more than to hear it again. Zen is the only romantic reference she really has he certainly never sounded like that before a kiss or after.
Her hand glides up over his shoulder, and winds into the short bristles of his hair. Her nails scratch against his scalp as her hand fists in the hair at the nape of his neck and her breath hitches when he whimpers.
Again, she pulls .
His lips slide, tentative and testing against hers for a fleeting moment. They are dry and cracking from the winter night air, and scrape deliciously against the softness of hers before he pulls back just the smallest fraction of an inch. She licks her lower lip instinctively, the tip of her tongue grazing his lower lip in the process.
His barely held control snaps and years of careful suspension in what is and has always been between them crashes over them like waves at sea with every kiss. He growls and his hand moves away from her face leaving her cheek burning as though his hand is still there and the other pulls away from the wall. His hands hook under her thighs and he lifts her as though she weighs nothing at all, barely pulling her away from the wall to prevent damaging his cape and her dress.
One of his hands cradles her head to protect her when they fall against the wall and the other is splayed between her shoulder blades, his long arm running the length of her spine. She squeaks at the movement, laughing into the kiss as she closes her legs around his waist to hold herself up against him, silently thanking the king's stylists for putting her in a gown that allows full range of motion.
Urgency dissipates, desperation of lost time glossing over with a slow tenderness the future provides as they both begin to savor the taste of a kiss a half-decade in the making. Champagne and fresh fruit mingle, sweet and savory, with brandied elder-wine and cheese as his tongue traces along the ridges of the roof of her mouth.
She whimpers and holds him tighter to her but he taps her leg to get her to let go so he can put her down. When she's standing on her own two feet again, he smiles, pressing unhurried kisses along the ridge of her cheekbone.
"You really are going to get sick if we stay out here, you know," he says, turning shy as he rights her dress and takes her hand.
"If I do get sick, it will have been worth tonight," she says, her senses are still cloudy at the edges.
When they reach the door, the handle only jiggles. There's no give, no subtle twist to let them slip back in unnoticed. He tries to flag down a staff member to no avail as he glides by with a tray of champagne flutes. Shirayuki tucks herself against his arm, muffling her snickering in the wool of his uniform.
When Obi turns back to knock, they find a silent crowd and King Izana sporting a smug smirk staring at them from the other side of the glass. His beloved queen, wearing a matching amusement stands dutifully by his side as he unlocks the door to let them in.
"Ah, Members of the Court," he bellows in his official kingly manner, as if their eyes weren't already on him. "It appears a tall, dark, and handsome man has graced us with his presence as the first guest of the New Year-" he pauses for effect, and a round of polite applause ripples through the crowd- "and it appears he has brought a lovely red-haired woman with him. It appears we will have a very fortunate year ahead of us!"
They both blush as they are swept inside to make the rounds as the first guests of the year. Even Zen, as the last to see them before they are ushered out the door and into the dimly lit hall on the other side of the ballroom, greets them warmly with a northern noble daughter tucked against him.
Happy New Year, indeed, Shirayuki thinks to herself as the door closes behind them. She wraps her arm around Obi's and tucks herself in close as they head back to their set of rooms, where Ryu is waiting for them to come home.