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As the New Year festivals drew to a close, the first flowers began to bloom at Hakkei Palace. Taiki had learned the name for them, and though it was cold outside he would swaddle his coat around him and run through the gardens to the high wall that surrounded Seishin. The trees grew in a row along the wall's southern side, sheltered flush against stone where the warmth of sun would pool and linger. Their branches were sparse, bare except for the yellow blossoms that smelled like heaven.
Flushed from running, Taiki would reach to touch the lowest boughs and close his eyes, lift his chin, breathe in. He thought that if he stood there long enough, the scent might cling to his clothes and stay with him when he went inside the palace, to follow him through corridors all day long. The live flowers smelled much stronger than the sachet from the Kouki market, which had faded but was still pinned inside his wardrobe in White Plum Hall. He wanted to press his face against the petals, to feel them bend, to nip them from their buds with his teeth. The impulse astounded him. It was such a strange thing to imagine doing. He wondered if the wanting came from his animal self.
One of the groundskeepers saw him there, among the trees, and brought cut sprigs to his residence. The maidservants arranged them in tall cloisonne vases, which they set in the main chamber and in the foyer, so that when Taiki returned from his midday meal with the king, he sniffed and exclaimed the moment he came through the door. Fragrance filled the hall. It was like vanilla, like fruit and spices, but not exactly like any of those. Taiki leaned into the spray of cut branches. Furtively, just for a moment, he nudged the flowers with his cheek. His maidservant Gyokuei caught him at it, but she only smiled and asked whether he cared for tea.
"No, that's all right. Can I thank the person who brought these?" asked Taiki. He lifted a hand to rub his face in case the pollen had clung to his skin.
"I took the liberty of conveying my lord Taiho's thanks. There's no need for my lord to speak with the groundskeeper directly."
"Oh."
"Will my lord be riding this afternoon?"
Taiki nodded. He was supposed to ride with Seirai, since Tansui was on leave to visit family in southern Zui. Saying that she would ready his riding clothes, Gyokuei bowed and left him in the hall. Taiki turned toward the vase of flowers. He pressed his lips together and made up his mind.
"Gouran?" he whispered.
The fanged voice rose from somewhere below his shadow. "Here."
"When I was by the trees, did you see a groundskeeper anywhere?"
"A man clearing fallen branches. Yes."
"Could you find him again?"
There was a pause as if of consultation. Taiki fidgeted. He hoped none of the maids would suddenly reappear.
"Taiho, I will look for him." It was Sanshi's voice. "Gouran will stay with you."
"Thank you!" Taiki straightened, feeling as close to devious as he ever did, and trotted upstairs to change his clothes.
*
There was no snow on the ground. The sun shone pale, more colorless than gold, as Taiki and Seirai left the stable. They rode across bare grass on their usual route toward Koutoku Hall, Seirai astride a bay mare, Taiki on his dapple gray. The horses' breath whitened the air in staccato clouds. Though he carried his head like a thoroughbred, Takara was only a pony, three hands shorter than Seirai's bay.
"My lord is outgrowing his mount," Seirai observed. "I'm sure Tansui has said the same."
Tansui had, but the prospect only dismayed Taiki. He laid his hand on the pony's ash-gray mane. "How can I give up Takara?"
"His Majesty will provide another horse. I'm afraid His Majesty might provide a whole herd of them if he thought it would please my lord Taiho."
At that moment Takara snorted and shook his head, spraying flecks of spittle. Taiki had to laugh. "What would I do with that many horses?"
"Therein lies the problem. Perhaps if my lord were more selfish and greedy, this old man might have something to scold him about." Seirai thumbed his bristled chin. "I was looking forward to my lord at last reaching a difficult age. If things continue at this rate, all my teeth will fall out before I get to swat him even once."
"Your teeth won't fall out, ever!" Taiki laughed again, but later, as he made his way back to his rooms, he mused on how mistaken Seirai was. Maybe it was true he didn't ask for things, but that didn't mean there was nothing he wanted. There was as much greed in him as in anyone else. Just today he'd had his midday meal with the king, and now he wished they could eat dinner together on top of that, and breakfast tomorrow--tomorrow and every day after--when he knew it was impossible.
During the two weeks of the New Year no morning court was held. Instead there were rounds of feasting, ceremonies, the procession in Kouki--it was the one occasion during the year when king and Taiho appeared publicly in the world below, Seirai said--and intervals of idleness in which Taiki had no engagements. The king's schedule, too, was freer than it often was, and they sometimes spent the better part of days together. When Gyousou had documents to read and seal, Taiki sat with him in the study, writing cards to En Taiho and Kei Taiho, to the king and Taiho of Ren, to Youka and the other sages on Mt. Hou.
It was being near Gyousou so much that made him greedy to be nearer always. Kirin were supposed to be selfless creatures, too. Taiki blew a sigh as he passed through the gate to Seishin, then slowed his pace. A white shadow had glimmered at the edge of his sight.
"Taiho, I've found him."
He drew up short, turning to the glimmer that was Sanshi. "Which way?"
"Where the trees are."
Taiki hurried in the direction of the south wall. "Did you talk to him?"
"I told him to wait."
"Oh, he must be scared out of his wits. I bet he thought you were a ghost, or the New Year's beast."
When he reached the row of wintersweet trees, he found a middle-aged man in outdoor clothes crouched quivering on the ground. At Taiki's approach the man cringed lower, into a prostration, and made no sound at all.
"Please, it's all right. I'm sorry Sanshi scared you. She's--one of my servants." Taiki looked down at the bent head, then sank to his knees and folded his hands in his lap. "I wanted to say thank you for the flowers. Please, it's all right to sit up."
Cautiously, inch by inch, the groundskeeper raised his gray head. He would not look Taiki directly in the face, but stole sneaking upward glances. "My lord," he said, in a voice that sounded parched. That alone seemed to exhaust him. He fell mute again.
Taiki wished, as he often did, that he were as deft with people as he was with animals. "It was nice of you to bring them. They smell so good. Will the trees be in bloom for a long time?"
The man took a minute to muster his reply. "Until the plums start, sir." After a strained silence he said, "If--if it please my lord Taiho, I'll cut more and leave them with the ladies at my lord's residence."
"Oh, I have enough for me, but--" Taiki paused to glance toward the bulk of Seishin. "I wonder if Master Gyousou would like some."
"His Majesty?" The gardener looked faint.
"Is it all right to cut so much, though? I mean, it won't hurt the trees?"
It won't, murmured the gardener, but he had turned so wan and glassy-eyed that Taiki asked him to bring the flowers to White Plum Hall, after all. He couldn't blame anyone for being awestruck by the king. "If you bring them to me, I'll make sure Master Gyousou gets them."
The man prostrated himself again, stuttering thanks--as if being loaded with extra work were something to be grateful for, thought Taiki. He felt foolish, thwarted in his purpose, with no clear idea of how the thwarting had occurred.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sure you're very busy. Just--if you have time to bring them." The gardener mumbled inaudibly into the grass. Taiki stood up and gave a slight bow, more out of ruefulness than old habit. "Thank you again."
As he trudged back toward White Plum Hall, Sanshi's voice rippled out of the air. "Taiho. I apologize for causing distress when I spoke to him."
"You didn't do any worse than I did. Maybe I shouldn't have."
"You don't think His Majesty will be glad of the flowers?"
"Oh--well. That part." Taiki bit his lip. "That was maybe all right."
*
He ate dinner early, and after that had to change his clothes again. The maids had laid out his black brocade coat that fastened near the shoulder on one side. To pin it there was a gold broach that held a sprig of fresh flowers: two just opened, one still in the bud. When Taiki shuffled out of the dressing room, glancing down at himself without conviction, Gyokuei and her assistant beamed. They picked at him here and there, adjusting, straightening. Taiki stood uncomplaining through the fuss, minding his posture the whole while. Gyokuei held up a pair of golden combs and looked narrowly at his hair, which fell glossy and loose to the middle of his back, then shook her head.
"Gilding the lily," she sniffed, and put the combs away.
Gyousou's summons came at sunset. Taiki left White Plum Hall and made for the king's residence. He could not quite hold himself back from a trot, but on arrival he paused in the doorway, since there were still dishes spread on the table. He was ashamed to interrupt what was probably a hurried meal.
Gyousou saw him and beckoned him in. "Come in, sit. There's tea, and something else if I'm not mistaken."
The tea was stronger than Taiki liked it, but he knew it had been brewed for his master rather than himself. The something else was a platter of sweets shaped like tiny snowballs, still untouched. He had an inkling that they were not meant for the king. Their outsides were coated with coconut, fine shavings that flaked onto Taiki's fingers and scattered across his lap when he chose one from the plate. He brushed at the scatters, then bit into the coconut and uttered a sound of surprise. Inside was a soft, sticky mash of pitted dates. It was very rich. His eyelids fell half-shut as he chewed. When the first snowball was gone he reached for another.
"You must be tired of sweets by now," said Gyousou, so straight-faced that Taiki shook his head and tried not to giggle around a mouthful. "Not yet? During the New Year I think the chefs are fattening us to eat us." Then Gyousou's glance fell on the broach pinned to Taiki's coat. "Ah. It does suit you. Do you know the song?" Before Taiki had time to shake his head again, Gyousou continued, "No, no one could have taught you in Hourai. It's a very old song."
Taiki's eyes went wide. The king rarely mentioned poetry, nor did he employ musicians at the palace except when ceremony required. "How does it go?"
His master did not sing, but recited in a low voice:
Moonlight, my friend,
How many times have you accompanied
My flute beside the wintersweet blossom?
We plucked a sprig to arouse beauty
In the brisk and frosty air...
The dialect was rough, as if bred from some feral line of the northern tongue that no one had bothered to tame. It sounded so different from the language spoken at court, or even on the streets in Kouki, that Taiki was amazed he could make sense of it, although he knew no speech was foreign to immortals of this world. Gyousou broke off the recitation, looking wry.
"Now what's this about you chasing after gardeners?"
"Eh?" Taiki blinked. He hadn't imagined anyone would notice, let alone report to the king. In a fluster he dropped his hands to his lap. "He brought the flowers to my rooms, and I wanted to thank him...Gyokuei said she did it already, but I thought...."
Gyousou tapped a hand for more tea. He waited until the attendant retreated before he spoke again. "You make no distinctions, do you."
"Is...I suppose a Saiho is too high up to talk to gardeners." Taiki looked down at the plate of sweets with dying appetite, then mournfully up at Gyousou. "Am I in trouble?"
The king laughed. "You're not in trouble. Talk to gardeners all you like. You only need to be cautious if they ask you to do things for them, or suggest that you should in exchange for some gift. You must tell me if they say something that troubles you, even something that makes you unsure." Gyousou drank his tea. "That goes for more than attendants. Officials, too. Anyone."
"Do things? Like...grant favors and things? Like...." There was a word for it. It felt cold and prickly in Taiki's mouth. "Bribery?"
Gyousou nodded.
"Because I'm a kirin?" His chin sank. The flowers had made him happy. The gardener hadn't asked for anything in return. It was hateful to think that behind every gift lay ulterior wiles.
"Because you might fall prey to your own kindness, and because you have the ear of the king." Gyousou leaned closer. "Kouri. You've done nothing wrong. You're not a politician by temperament, I know. That's all to the good. We need our share of honest souls in this place." He leaned back. "I expect your groundskeeper only wanted to spoil you, like Seirai and Tansui and Risai, and every last one of your maids--"
"And Master Gyousou."
Taiki ducked, but he knew better than to be afraid. Red eyes flashed at him.
"What, am I the worst?"
He nodded. The king was smiling. Taiki smothered his own smile behind his sleeves. Then he lowered his arms and sat up.
"I'll be careful. I promise."
"Good enough." With a glance at the waning light through the window, Gyousou stood. "Finish your tea. I'll be back to meet you when I'm dressed."
That night was the Lantern Festival that marked the end of the New Year. In Kouki there would be a dragon dance, but at the palace king and Taiho must offer incense at the Grand Shrine, then go to the Hall of Blessed Longevity to hang lanterns in the roboku tree. They would leave together from Seishin. The ceremony wouldn't start in earnest until they reached the shrine. Taiki waited, then decided he ought to have one more snowball with the last of his tea.
When Gyousou returned, he was in formal robes, black on gold on red, and a dark cloak lined with pale fur atop them. He looked so stately that Taiki felt a flare of shyness, and at the same time a tremor of pride. The pride was not new; it had seemed brazen to him when he'd first felt it, until he remembered that this was his king, the one he had chosen.
"Shall we go?" said Gyousou.
Flush with gladness, Taiki got up from the chair and went to his side.
*
In the Grand Shrine, too, there was wintersweet, splayed in offering with sprigs of pine on an altar draped in silk, but Taiki could catch no whiff of it through the smell of incense. Joss sticks trailed threads of smoke toward the roof, until the scenes of heaven painted across it dimmed and were hidden amid gathering dusk. All around the altar and the shrine steps sat paper lanterns, still unlit, some round and big as pumpkins, some square and small like jewel-boxes, red and gold and green and blue. Those were for the ministers and officials, for members of the palace staff who would attend throughout the night.
The king's lantern was huge, trimmed with tassels, tipped with jade beads and tiny bells. The tassles fell in a fringe that would stroke the ground if Gyousou held the lantern any lower than waist-high. Taiki's lantern was no smaller, gold instead of red. When the shrine priest lit the candle inside, it shone white at its center, like a star. Taiki held his breath as he carried it, following his master through a pillared arch toward the other shrine where the roboku grew. There were people gathered on both sides of the pathway, prostrate, soundless, as if none of them dared to breathe. Taiki fixed his gaze on the lantern, then on Gyousou's back just ahead. It seemed to him they were not walking but floating, and the darkness kept deepening all around.
They passed through the Gate of Blessed Longevity. Though the shrine was called a hall, it was really an open courtyard, octagonal and roofless, with the strange, bare tree stretching convoluted branches outward from its heart. Inside the gate there were no onlookers, but it seemed to Taiki that the roboku itself had a presence, as if it might notice him standing there. Gyousou approached the tree. Without wavering he raised the lantern to hang it high on a curved bough. It swayed only for a moment, bells chiming, then hung glowing and still. Its shine mellowed the stark lines of the braches, cast serpentine patterns on the earth beneath the tree.
Taiki padded forward. The year before Gyousou had picked him up to help him reach, but this time the king stood aside, faintly smiling, so Taiki chose a branch and stood tiptoe. His heart stuttered with resolve not to drop the lantern, but it was easier than he expected to loop the golden hook over the bough. He backed away to where his master stood surveying. Together they looked at the tree and its two lights, red and gold, one on each side. Then Gyousou turned to cross to the far end of the courtyard. There was a place for king and Taiho to stand and oversee while the officials brought in their own lanterns, one by one, until the roboku could hold no more.
It never occurred to Taiki to ask why the lanterns must be hung. For him it was enough that they were beautiful. The tree full of lights reminded him of Christmas in his old homeland, and the trees he'd seen in public plazas and department stores. The memory brought with it homesickness like a swelling in his chest, not strong enough to hurt, only to make him sigh. He looked at the roboku's loveliness and edged a step closer to his master.
Clerks from the Office of the Treasury were still standing in line to place their lanterns--miniature ones, no bigger than apples--when he and Gyousou left. On the walk back to the residence Taiki was so quiet that Gyousou laid a hand on his shoulder and asked him what was wrong.
"Nothing. It was just so pretty, it made me remember." He told Gyousou about Christmas and Christmas trees, how they were always pines or firs that smelled so green and good, but how sad it was that they would turn brown and die, afterward, because they had been cut down. "I like this better, with a tree that's alive. But isn't it dangerous? All the candles?"
"A bearing tree won't burn. Even in a wildfire that destroys everything else, the yaboku will be untouched. It's the same with riboku, or the roboku here." Gyousou glanced at him sidelong. "Are you tired?"
Not at all, Taiki assured him.
"Come with me for a while, then. We'll have a drink to warm up after all this standing outside."
Taiki felt like cantering. He asked if it was really all right, and the king laughed.
"It ought to be, if I say so."
Inside Seishin they went to a sitting room in Gyousou's chambers. Taiki thought his master would call for tea, but instead Gyousou told an attendant to open one of the bottles from En. The attendant returned with a tray bearing a porcelain pitcher and two shallow, moonlike cups, which he set on the low table in front of Gyousou and Taiki.
"That will be all," said Gyousou. The attendant bowed and retreated as Taiki peered at the pitcher.
"Is it sake?"
"Of a kind." Gyousou lifted the pitcher to pour. "You had a taste of mao tai at the banquets last week, didn't you."
"Yes. But I didn't like it very much." It had seared his tongue and throat; he remembered the struggle not to sputter it all over the table in front of four ministers, General Asen, and a lady ambassador from Han, who had sipped the liquor as if it were rose-petal tea. All of them had roared at the face he'd made as he tried to swallow, and the lady from Han had said Tai Taiho is green yet when it comes to Tai spirits, I see.
"I thought not. You might find this more to your liking. It seems to be a favorite of En Taiho."
"Really?" Taiki sniffed at the cup his master had poured for him. The mao tai had smelled like nothing at all, but this drink smelled like the juice of crushed plums. He tipped the cup to let the wine wet his tongue, hesitant. At first there was only sweetness, and then a faint burn, not nearly as fierce as the mao tai. He sipped again, held the sip in his mouth. It really did taste like plums.
"It's kind of good." He glanced at Gyousou's cup, which was still empty. "Ah--may I?"
"Please."
As he poured for the king, he asked, "King En and En Taiho sent this? Did we give them something, too?"
"Mao tai." Gyousou did not quite grin. "You think it was a poor trade?"
"Um. Maybe I'll like it better when I'm older."
"There's no hurry. But there'll be fewer surprises at dinner once you've grown used to it."
"That was awful. Master Gyousou was laughing, too."
"Forgive me. I ought to have given you a taste beforehand, to warn you if nothing else. Still, it was no disaster. Whether you meant to or not, you put everyone at ease." He raised the pitcher of plum wine. "You don't mind this?"
"No, I like it." Taiki looked down and blinked when he found his cup empty. He'd only been taking sips, but then again, it was a very small cup. Gyousou leaned to refill it. The king's crown flashed gold as his head tilted in the lamplight. The red strings that held it in place were tied snug under his chin. It did not look comfortable. Taiki drank from his refilled cup--more than a sip--and said, "Master, isn't that heavy? And the ceremony's over..."
"Since you mention it." Gyousou paused with his fingers on the string. Then he went to his knees in front of Taiki's chair, looking grave. "I wonder if you'd do the honors. They fasten it in confoundings ways." Taiki gulped down giggles as he nodded and scooted forward. "Now you're laughing at me," said the king.
"I'm not!" He pulled the red string undone, but the crown didn't budge. The string was only to steady it, Taiki realized: underneath the crown was a knot of pale hair bound tight, stuck through with pins. The pins were what really held the crown in place. They would be hard to remove without pulling if you couldn't see. "It's silly how we have to wear things we can't put on ourselves."
"To teach us humility, you suppose?"
"Maybe." With painstaking care he drew out the pins. The crown came free in his palm, dense as a stone, and he let the shock of silvery hair down to Gyousou's shoulders. There were kinks in it from being knotted so tight; to Taiki they seemed funny and very dear. He set the crown on the tabletop, wishing for some more reverent place to put it.
The king rose and moved back to his couch. There was empty space beside him. Taiki leaned toward it, restive but shy. "Master," he murmured, "can I sit by you?"
Gyousou looked almost bemused. "You don't need permission for that."
At once Taiki rounded the table and nestled into the empty place. He felt better then, with his master’s sleeve draped around him like a cloak.
"Are you cold, still?" Gyousou asked.
"No, I just..."
Gyousou's arm shifted to wrap him a little more warmly. "Tell me more about this festival in Hourai, the one for the birth of a god."
He had forgotten to explain how people gave presents to the ones they loved. There were presents on Valentine's Day, too, but that was different. Midway through the telling he began to confuse the two, even though they were perfectly separate in his mind. His voice trailed off. He blinked slowly at the room. Lamplight had washed everything--carpet, chairs, his own clothes--with a flawless golden haze. It was somehow extraordinary. He looked up at Gyousou. The king's face was turned to him, softened as if by that same haze, and Taiki felt a twist in his chest that squeezed the breath from him. It was not happiness. It was more like longing. He slumped and huddled into his master's side.
"Kouri?"
"We'll be busy tomorrow. I won't get to see you nearly as much." When he said it aloud it sounded petty, absurd. Gyousou would be disappointed in him--but there was a hand on his hair, petting in broad, consolatory strokes.
"Have you been lonely? Is Seirai neglecting you?"
"No. But Seirai's not Master Gyousou." He would have to tell Seirai later: see how greedy I am? And selfish. He should know better than to talk like this, but his mouth seemed to be blurting indiscretions of its own accord. His thoughts moved sluggishly, as if through syrup. He licked his lips, swallowed, withheld a whimper. "My head feels funny."
His master reached to pluck away the cup Taiki had forgotten he was holding. "A little too much, I think. Time for bed."
Rebellion was beyond him, but the instinct for resistance welled. To be apart was the last thing he wanted. He made thin, reluctant sounds. "Do I have to go back?"
Gyousou looked at him for a long time, saying nothing. The color of his eyes was like banked fire.
"For now, I think you'd better," he said at last. "Come on. Come here."
His arms closed around Taiki. He gathered him close and stood up with no hint of strain. "You keep getting taller, but no heavier."
"Because I'm a kirin," mumbled Taiki. His limbs felt heavy, replete, and his head drooped like a pendulum. All resistance had seeped out of him. He wondered if he should claim that he could walk--he suspected he could, though he would probably wobble--but it was too nice to drape across his master's shoulder and be held. At length the room began to fall away in front of him. He was slow to realize it was because Gyousou had begun to move. The room became a corridor. Taiki shut his eyes. "Like birds, they have air in their bones." He hardly knew what he was saying. "I wonder if I'm like that. It's so strange."
"Is it." Softly. He loved his master's voice, didn't care what it said as long as there was no displeasure in it. There was no displeasure in it now. He tightened his arms around Gyousou's neck, listened to the cadence so close to his ear. "How did you know that? About the birds."
"I read it in a book. From the library...not here. Over there." He waved a hand feebly as if to gesture toward the other world.
"In Hourai."
"Air in their bones, that's how they can fly. They have the sky inside them."
Laughter: he felt the huffs of it against his chest through layers of robe. "Now you're a poet."
"I'm n--ah--" Cold struck his face, and he blinked at darkness. They were outside the residence. His master hefted him gently, re-settled him as he clung on tight. There was no sound but Gyousou's stride on the path, and then a rough humming--Moonlight, my friend--the song had a tune, after all. Taiki was too lulled to be astonished, or even surprised. Only his face felt the chill of night. The rest of him was wrapped snug in his coat and the arms that held him. He sighed and shut his eyes again.
The next thing he heard was a woman exclaiming "Taiho!", but it was the smell of flowers, thick as honey, that told him he was back in White Plum Hall. The king spoke calmly.
"It's all right. I'm afraid we overindulged. I'll take him up."
The maidservants murmured obeisance from the floor where they had knelt. None of them followed. Gyousou's tread on the stairway was steady and slow.
In the bedroom a lamp was lit, and flowers bloomed. Their scent soaked the motionless air. It befuddled Taiki until he thought of the groundskeeper, who must have brought more cut sprigs of wintersweet. The maids had gotten it wrong: those were meant for Gyousou. He knew he ought to say so, but his throat felt hot, his eyelids too heavy to lift.
At the edge of the bed Gyousou lowered him. Taiki mumbled and unwound his arms. Gyousou bent, fingered the broach on Taiki's coat, unhooked it, then undid the coat clasp and let it part. The robe beneath was tied with a cloth sash: Gyousou loosened the knot and left it rumpled in Taiki's lap. He stooped to wrap a hand at Taiki's heel and pull off one shoe, then the other.
"The rest can wait," he said.
Taiki swayed. In front of him spread the broad gold collar of Gyousou's outermost robe. All he could think was that he wanted to nose against it, as he had nosed the yellow petals on their branches, and nuzzle through layers of silk until he could breathe the smell of his master instead of wintersweet. He was on the verge of not thinking but doing it when warm hands eased him back into the bedcushions. At once his body went limp, slack, amenable. Strands of mane trailed like cobwebs across his eyes. He blinked dimly through their tracery until Gyousou spared a finger to brush them aside.
The fingertip paused, then slid toward the lobe of Taiki's ear, as if to chase the strands back and catch them there, but in the end Gyousou let them lie. There was a tautness in the pitch of his voice.
"You make a thorough teacher."
Between the hour and the wine and his master's hands, Taiki took in almost nothing of the words. He felt sure he had misheard them. "...Teacher?"
"Of patience." And the tautness eased. The one hand slid from his hair, the other from his shoulder. In the midst of that loss Taiki made a doleful sound deep in his throat. Behind his head the pillow gave. Gyousou's arm was there, bracing. The king leaned low. "Good night."
For a moment warm flickering engulfed him. By the time it receded he was past answering, or even protesting its retreat. At his temple there was a tender place, lightly wet, and another on his forehead. Taiki curled his hands, ungrasping, but dreams consumed him before he understood he had been kissed.