Chapter Text
As Sakura sits down to dinner with her family, she considers how much this feels like her last meal.
The food is delicious, even more so than usual; her mother has certainly outdone herself. But try as she might to eat, her stomach squeezes itself into a little ball, and she can’t manage much more than a few bites of plain rice.
Her parents, too, do not talk. They have never been much of a quiet family; dinner, especially, is usually filled with chatter and laughter. Not now, though. Their hands shake, and chopsticks clatter against plates. Sakura’s teacup rattles on the table. All these sounds add up to create a symphony of disarray.
Her mother clears her throat hesitantly. “Sakura,” she whispers. “You…you don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”
Sakura smiles, or tries to, at least. Her face is stiff, muscles refusing to cooperate. She tells herself she should smile more while she still has the chance to — it is unlikely that she will be able to from tomorrow onwards.
“I know,” she says, setting her chopsticks down. “But I’m still going to.”
Her parents’ eyes fill with tears. They both reach over, covering her hands with their own. Her father looks conflicted, like there are a thousand things he wants to say. Finally, he settles on one.
“Sakura,” he says. “No matter what happens, your mother and I are very proud of you. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t,” she promises, and it is the truth. She does not think she will ever be able to forget that. "May I be excused? I want to go and visit Ino's parents before nightfall." It is a struggle to say the words and get them out without them catching in her throat, but somehow she manages it.
"Do they know?" her mother asks. "What you are..."
"They do," Sakura says. She understands her mother's dilemma. She does not know if she would be able to be as strong if she were in the same position. That is one certainty, though, that she will never have to go through what her parents are now.
That is not as comforting of a thought as it should be.
Her father clears his throat. "Are you all packed?" His tone is light, inquiring, as if she is only about to set off on a little trip and not go risk her life in the name of revenge.
If her parents are putting in this much effort, then the least she could do is meet them halfway. "Yes," she says. "I spent all morning preparing."
She does not dare to say more, for the walls have ears here, but her parents relax ever so slightly in their chairs. They understand what it is that she does not say.
She spent all morning sharpening her best knives.
As expected from someone in her position, Sakura does not get even a wink of sleep all night, and morning comes far too soon to greet her with the inevitability of her situation — one that she chose for herself, all but holding the knife to her own throat.
The carriage should be by soon to take her away to the kingdom. Sakura spends one last moment in her room. She inhales deeply, allowing the comforting smell of her surroundings to wash over her. By her nightstand, she hesitates. There is a hair clip sitting on it, bejeweled and sparkling.
She allows a fond smile to come over her face. Ino loved that clip. She had saved every coin she could find to finally be able to afford it. Sakura still remembers how Ino's parents had huffed with exasperation when she returned from the market brandishing it proudly.
Last night, Ino's father had pressed it into Sakura's hands, despite her many protests.
"What you are doing for us — for her," he said, "it means more than we can say. And Ino...she would have wanted you to have this, I know it."
Now, Sakura picks it up gingerly, using it to clip her own hair back from her face.
"Ino," she whispers, trying hard to hold back tears. "This is for you."
From outside, the telltale clopping of horse hooves reaches her ears. The carriage has arrived.
Sakura takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and she looks in the mirror one last time. She is wearing the nicest dress she owns — which admittedly, is not that impressive. If her future husband is displeased with her appearance, though, she doesn't think she can bring herself to care. In fact, the mere thought of it brings a small amount of defiant pride to her.
Let him say that she is ugly. Let his eyes fall upon her too-flat chest and her too-large forehead and her too-sharp knife and let him reap what he has sowed.
The rest of her meager possessions, along with her weapons, are stowed away in a small knapsack she carries over her shoulder.
Her parents wait by the door, eyes shiny with tears. They have already let in the man who came in the carriage to collect her. It makes some part of her blood boil that her future husband sent someone else to bring her — his advisor, by the looks of him. As if she is nothing more than prized cattle to be transported.
Perhaps the hardest part of this entire situation will be for her to squash down her anger. Ino would always be around to pull her hair or punch her shoulder, reminding her to keep her temper in check. Now, Sakura will have to do that for herself.
She does not look at the king's advisor. He, too, does not say anything. Instead, he waits politely by the door for her to make her goodbyes. She wishes he was not within hearing distance, but it's all right: she has already said everything she needed to say to her parents.
They both descend upon her in a flurry of arms, squeezing the breath out of her. Sakura's breathing comes out shaky and hurried, and she presses teary kisses to both of their cheeks.
"I love you both," she whispers.
"We love you too," they say in unison. Then, too low for the man by the door to hear, "Come back to us."
"I will," she promises.
Her mind whispers thoughts to her: that she cannot truly promise that, that she has no business getting her parents' hopes up unnecessarily, that she stands no chance against the King of the Leaf. She does not allow herself to linger on those thoughts for long. If she does, she may as well slit her own throat right now.
And then the farewells are done and the man is gently helping her into the carriage. Sakura does not look back at her parents, for fear that her courage will leave her and she will run back and hole herself up in her room, safe behind a closed door. The man gives her a surprisingly genuine smile. Everything about him seems cheerful: his blond hair is like the sun, and his blue eyes remind her of a clear cloudless sky.
"You're Sakura, right?" he asks.
She only nods. If she speaks, her displeasure will be obvious.
"My name's Naruto," he says, seemingly not noticing her current state. "I'm the king's advisor."
Sakura smiles to herself, happy to receive confirmation of what she suspected.
Naruto has not given the coachman a command; yet as soon as they are both seated, the carriage begins to move, accompanied by the sound of horse hooves.
The windows of the carriage are small but they still allow her a view outside. As they travel down the road, she realizes with a start that almost the entire village has come out to see her off.
Sakura is well known in the village — if she chose to abandon modesty, she would even describe herself as well-liked. And yet in spite of that — or rather, because of it — none of the villagers look pleased to see her. They do not look like they have come to congratulate her on her upcoming nuptials.
They look like they are watching her be led to a funeral pyre.
Sakura turns away from the window and does not speak another word during the entire carriage ride to the palace.
As expected, the castle is beautiful. Tall turrets rise up above the clouds, towering above the rest of the village. Sakura hardly gets a single moment to appreciate it, though. As soon as they disembark the carriage, Naruto says it is time for her to get ready for the wedding, which will take place shortly.
He does not mention her parents, as she expected. The parents of a commoner have no place to stand at a royal wedding.
Her knapsack is taken from her by a nearby servant, and when she can't help but express concern, he tells her not to worry, that it will be waiting for her in her chambers.
Her chambers. Already her previous life has been all but erased, only to start fresh at this palace.
Sakura is almost immediately whisked away by a trio of women. They lead her up to a room where a bath is already filled, waiting for her. The water is warm and fragrant, and there is some kind of oil poured into it that makes it silky to the touch. One girl begins to wash Sakura's hair, while another takes her hand and begins to file her nails.
The overwhelming scent of jasmine fills the bathroom. They had not asked Sakura what kind of scent she preferred; she has a feeling it has been chosen by her husband-to-be. The three women primp and prime her, and when her bath is done they dress her in gold robes that feel more expensive than anything she has ever seen in her life. They work quickly and efficiently, but their touches are gentle. At one point, Sakura looks in the mirror and catches the gaze of one of the women. She is looking at her with an unexpected amount of pity.
Sakura immediately turns away. She has no need for pity.
She is not used to so many hands on her. The only people who have touched her like this, who have gently carded their fingers through her hair and helped her get ready, have been her mother and Ino. These women...their touches set her on edge and make her skin crawl. She does not know them. They are strangers to her.
Part of her wonders how many times they have been through this, how many times they have prepared a bride for her wedding to the king, only to lead her to her death.
Finally, they proclaim her ready. Sakura does not dare look in the mirror; she does not want to see how they have prepared her, how her future husband has deemed she look for him. As a final touch, they drape a veil over her face, partially obscuring her through the gossamer material. One of the girls speaks for the first time, breaking the silence that the three of them have worked in thus far.
"Please wait here, my lady," she says. "We will go tell His Majesty that you are ready."
And then they are gone in the blink of an eye before Sakura can object to the title they have granted her. She supposes she should get used to it. After the wedding, she will be their queen, no matter how brief her reign may be. Though if all goes according to plan, the king will be the one whose reign is cut short.
Sitting there on that stool that those women have left her on, it occurs to her just how insane this entire situation is. She has not seen her future husband's face, nor has he seen hers. Even all that she knows about him she has only learned through whispers in the village marketplace.
Whenever she pictured her future husband, it was always a handsome man, one who loved and cherished and promised to protect her, no matter what the cost — and in return, she would do the same for him.
She never imagined herself marrying a man who would kill her.
As a child, people said, the king lost his entire family, though no one knows if that was in an accident or something more sinister. All she knows is he was forced onto the throne much too early, a boy king in charge of the lives of his people. Public opinion about him varied, but he kept the villagers safe, and that was all they could ask for.
In recent times, however, rumors began to pick up again. The king was in need of a bride, they said, as it had already been a few years since he came of age. Girls in town whispered that the king was the most handsome man that they had ever seen, though Sakura doubts that was anything more than wishful thinking.
One woman volunteered. Sakura had seen her around the village a few times; she was a nice person, all smiles. She ventured off to the palace, married the king, and was proclaimed the new queen.
The next day, she disappeared.
Perhaps people would have been more concerned if the king was as well, but he did not comment on the disappearance of his wife. A week later, another announcement rippled through town: the king was in search of another bride.
This time, women were less quick to volunteer. There were always a few who did, however, and the cycle continued. Rumor had it that the families of all the king’s brides received quite a hefty compensation in reward. Sakura wonders how much money is worth a life.
She still remembers when she had visited Ino the night before her friend was due to get married. As usual, Ino was primping.
"Oh, enough, Forehead," she had said in response to Sakura's eye roll. "I'm going to be your queen soon. Why don't you show me some respect, huh?"
Mockingly, Sakura bowed. "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty," she said. The two locked eyes in the mirror before dissolving into laughter.
As Ino brushed her hair, Sakura sat down gingerly on the bed, wondering what the best way to bring up her concerns would be. Eventually, Ino noticed; Sakura had never been able to hide anything from her for long.
"All right, spit it out," Ino had said, turning to face her. "There's something you want to say, right?"
Sakura hesitated. "Ino, is this really what you want to do?"
It was a fact that Ino had tried her best to hide, that she had been sending letters back and forth to some boy from a neighboring village. Sakura stumbled across their correspondence once; the boy was an artist, and the pictures he drew were so lifelike that they looked as if they would leap off the page at any moment. If Ino kept them like this, she definitely must have treasured them. Sakura had simply replaced the letter where she had found it and never brought it up. Now, though, she cannot help but do so.
"Of course, it is," Ino said haughtily. "Who wouldn't want to marry a king?"
Sakura didn't take the bait. "You tell me."
The two studied each other in silence for a moment. Eventually, something in Ino's expression softened when she realized Sakura wasn't about to back down.
"I just—" Sakura broke off, trying to find the words. "I thought you would want to marry someone you loved, that's all."
At those words, Ino blinked. "Maybe," she admits softly, so softly that it is more akin to a confession. "But things change."
"Do they?"
Ino's fist clenched around the handle of her hairbrush. "What do you want me to say, Sakura?" she asked, raw anger poking through the seams of her carefully crafted facade. "That I'm being pushed into this? That I don't want to be queen? That I'm doing this so that maybe, just maybe, my parents will be proud of me?"
The words cut deep, but Sakura did not back down. "I want you to be honest!" she cried out, feeling her eyes burn. "Ino, I want you to be alive." Her voice cracked on the last word.
She hadn't meant to say that out loud.
Now, Sakura's eyes fix on the hairbrush in front of her, so like Ino's. If only then she had protested a bit further, had stopped Ino from going through with it. She blinks quickly, trying her best to keep the tears from coming. Those three women had painstakingly applied paint on her face; though she does not like it, she will not ruin all of their effort and hard work.
Ino's hair clip is still nestled in Sakura's hair. One of the women had reached for it, but she jerked away, and they let her keep it without a fuss. The rest of her things are still not here. Presumably, they have been sent to whatever room that Naruto deemed as hers. She hopes they do not rifle through them — she does not know how they will react upon finding the knives that she had carefully hidden among her clothes.
She wishes she had one with her now, but perhaps it is better that she doesn't. She won't kill him until they have been officially married.
In tune with her thoughts, one of the women from earlier enters the room once again. "His Majesty is ready, my lady," she says.
Sakura has to fight back the sneer that threatens to break out on her face. How kind of him, to squeeze her into his busy schedule. Although, she supposes, after being married so many times already, once more is nothing to raise up a fuss about.
Demurely, she follows the woman down the halls of the castle and into the courtyard. All preparations have been made for a formal wedding ceremony. Although, she cannot help but notice that no one in the courtyard looks like a real guest — the only people in attendance are the castle's staff. Most of them look bored, idly fidgeting or whispering to each other. Guilt courses through Sakura, that she has dragged them all from their duties in order to witness this sham of a marriage.
Her eyes sweep over the crowd; the only person she recognizes is Naruto, who gives her a cheery smile. She does not return it.
The king himself stands at the front of the courtyard. A black cloth covers his face, not unlike her own veil. She cannot help the stray thought that rises up in her mind, one that wonders if he is truly as handsome as the people say he is.
Sakura comes to stand beside her future husband. He does not say a word or acknowledge her in any way. She can feel his gaze on her; she keeps her own eyes firmly fixed on the ground.
The ceremony passes in the blink of an eye, made faster by the fact that Sakura is hardly paying attention. Her attention is only broken when the king extends a hand out to her. She hasn't been listening, but she supposes he intends for her to take it.
She lays her hand in his, praying that he cannot feel the way it shakes. His hands are rough, calloused, and his grip is firm — not what she had expected. They are the hands of a seasoned warrior as opposed to a pampered leader.
Sakura does not allow herself to think about the implications of that.
He slips a ring onto her finger. Despite the circumstances, she cannot help but notice it is beautiful, gleaming on her finger. Another ring is pressed into her palm, and she slips it onto his finger in turn.
And then the ceremony is over and Sakura is a wife and Sakura is a queen. The Queen of the Leaf.
They place a crown on her head, and it takes her aback at just how heavy it is. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, in more ways than one.
As soon as everything is done, the king drops her hand like it has burned him. Abruptly, he turns and stalks away without even a backward glance. She still has not said a single word to him, nor has he to her. Sakura is left behind asking herself the same question that she had asked Ino: hadn't she always wanted to marry someone that she loved? What kind of sham marriage has she gotten herself locked into now?
She mollifies herself with a reminder of her plan. If everything goes according to plan, then the king will be dead and she will be married no longer. Then she will be free to do as she wishes — provided, that is, that she doesn't get caught.
If she does, she will most likely be executed. But as long as she takes him down with her, Sakura will die happy.