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When the Noxian Crown Prince’s father announced to him that the king of Lumen had honored them with the betrothal of him to the Crown Princess Mahiru, Fuyuhiko felt as though his intestines had been gently pulled out and now he was being forced to look at them.
It sounded laughable at the time. The two kingdoms had been at odds for seemingly all of history. But apparently, the two kings had met by chance on neutral ground and had come to an accord–a swift end to the war in exchange for a marriage of states.
Fuyuhiko had resigned himself to this arranged marriage–for the sake of his nation, his family–Mahiru would be his wife, because he was Nox’s crown prince and responsible for carrying forward the honor of the Kuzuryu dynasty. But that didn’t stop him from crying huddled in the lap of his loyal knight Peko in private, crying at the chilling finality like a child, over being promised to a complete stranger from a hostile kingdom, one he could never grow to love, not the way he loved his family and his knight.
At the time, Peko had put a hand on her young master’s shoulder and said, “Please, Young Master, do not let your heart grow bitter. This does not change anything. I will remain your tool to use as needed.”
The words had been temporarily effective, but deep down they almost made Fuyuhiko feel worse. But even so, he wiped his face and returned to being the perpetually angry heir, who didn’t cry and make a fool of himself, who needed to be strong in order to eventually lead his family and his nation, not the other way around. Fuyuhiko would fight and he would hope.
Tragically, it wouldn’t be good enough.
♚♚♚
Spring had finally come, and it was Fuyuhiko’s turn to be wed. The Lumenese royal family had traveled for two fortnights to the capital city of their neighboring kingdom, and new ally. They had arrived about a day ago, tired from the long journey. There had unfortunately not been much time for them to rest, as the preparations for the royal wedding had been in full swing and many formal documents for agreements to sign.
He was wearing a striped hakama, black kimono and haori of the montsuki traditional for grooms, embroidered with the white emblem of the Kuzuryu dynasty. He hated every single inch of the outfit, but he didn’t fidget. He couldn’t, especially not in front of his family.
Fuyuhiko wondered if Mahiru felt as uncomfortable in her clothing as he did in his. Come to think of it, he had barely caught a glimpse of her as her family had arrived in the capital. He saw little of her before this moment, but it had seemed like the same couldn’t be said for his sister.
Natsumi had hated Mahiru since before she even arrived in Nox, and she hadn’t made her feelings a secret. In fact, she loved to tell her retainer Hajime everything she thought about Mahiru, and didn’t seem to really care whether Fuyuhiko happened to catch wind of what she was saying. He had tried to tune her out, but the retainer accompanying Mahiru obviously couldn’t.
If there was one thing Fuyuhiko had always known about Natsumi, it was that she had been crazy since the moment she was born. But badmouthing his bride the night before they were to marry, within earshot of the knight who always followed her? That was a war just waiting to happen. But even so, he had tried to keep his focus on what would be happening the next day.
He would be marrying Mahiru. As much as he didn’t want to deep down, it probably wouldn’t be as terrible as he was making it out to be in his mind. If nothing else, it was likely that Mahiru was at least not as awful as Natsumi thought she was.
He forces his mind to stay in the present–where the hell was she? He must have been waiting for at least half an hour and she still hadn’t arrived. He looked at the left side of the audience, where Mahiru’s family filled the rows of wooden pews. And then he looked at the right side, where his family would be…
Okay, forgetting about Mahiru, where the hell was Natsumi? She wasn’t in the audience at the very front like he would have expected her to be, and he knew for damn certain that she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to grin at him ‘encouragingly’. Her absence only increased Fuyuhiko’s discomfort. He could feel sweat gathering down his back and between his shoulder blades, and this stupid kimono was unbearably itchy, but he couldn’t even scratch as the sweat made it worse.
And then he heard someone scream. A few moments later, everything went to hell, and Fuyuhiko realized that all of his hopes weren’t enough and nothing would ever be okay again.
♞♞♞
Peko had stood behind her young master all throughout the funeral of Natsumi Kuzuryu, and remained with him when Natsumi was cremated. He was holding up rather well. So far, he hadn’t lashed out at anyone or run away to sulk and brood. She knew, of course, that he would never do such a thing. Not in front of his family, and not even at a time like this.
And especially not in front of the Lumenese royal family, who appropriately looked like nervous prisoners. They hadn’t been allowed to leave since Natsumi’s body was discovered outside the palace walls, having fallen to her death from a balcony. But of course, it would never be as neat and simple as just a ‘fall’. Though nobody had explicitly stated it, she knew that both her young master and the rest of the family suspected foul play, and probably rightfully so.
After the funeral, her young master stormed the palace halls, and Peko followed closely behind. She didn’t know where he was going or what he intended to do now, and it wasn’t her place to ask him. But even so, this wasn’t safe. If the same person who had undoubtedly assassinated Natsumi were to get to him…
“Young Master–”
“Just leave me alone, Peko.” He swatted back at her.
Peko remained where she stood, silently. “I am sure you understand what I’ve been tasked to do since the beginning. With tensions as high as they are, I cannot break my oath.”
Her young master turned on his heel and barked at her, “What part of alone do you not understand?!”
“Forgive me for being so bold, Young Master. I am only your tool, so–”
“Shut up, Peko! I don’t need a tool, and I don’t need anybody! So just leave me alone!”
He bolted before Peko could say or do anything else. Peko stood there for a moment in the hall, and then when enough time had gone by, slowly passed through without making a sound.
♞♞♞
Somehow, Peko knew deep down that her young master was going to seek revenge on the assassin. A slight against his family was a slight against him personally, and that he could never forgive. She could almost pity whoever this assassin was if she hadn’t looked at the current suspects and seen how guilty each of them looked.
There was the faerie friend of Princess Mahiru’s, Hiyoko Saionji. Nothing about her seemed suspicious on the surface. Hiyoko was small enough that it would have been difficult for her to push Princess Natsumi from the balcony, even if she had taken her by surprise. That itself should have been impossible, given that Sir Hajime should have been there and he was an apt enough defender…
…but Princess Natsumi had still died, and Sir Hajime had ended up with a concussion from a hard blow to the head and a slash through his chest that could very well have killed him. Even so, Hiyoko was an athlete, in a sense, given that she was a talented and nimble dancer. So that would have to be taken into account. That, and, those of her species couldn’t be trusted no matter how much she claimed to be fond of humans.
Peko supposed that Princess Mahiru herself was also a suspect, if what the king and queen had said after finding their daughter’s body was anything to go by. They had planned this , they had claimed. Those filthy Lumenese are hungry for war. Though, Peko wasn’t certain of Princess Mahiru’s physical prowess, and nothing else about her stood out to her as suspicious or even particularly remarkable. On the other hand…
Even more suspect was her retainer, Sir Kazue Satou, who usually just went by her family name. She was sour and defensive, and followed her liege like a shadow. She seemed to have an ever-present scowl on her face whenever she looked at anyone–or anything–that wasn’t Princess Mahiru. Peko could personally understand that devotion, but if the Lumenese truly were seeking to betray them all along, that devotion made Sir Satou as suspect as anyone else. She more than likely had the athleticism to do it.
Peko wondered if she was just being paranoid, or if her young master was thinking the same thing as her.
Peko had not had a moment of sleep since Princess Natsumi’s assassination. Death was not normally something that kept her awake, and it wasn’t as though she hadn’t killed people before. It was a necessary evil that was part of serving the crown. She would slit throats swiftly, then sleep that same night. The stench of sweat and copper would haunt her dreams, and she’d have trouble keeping food down the next morning, but she slept.
Except this time, she was not by her young master’s side.
He didn’t want her help. He didn’t want her to do anything for him. He didn’t even want her to gather any information.
Thus, instead of sleeping, she trained, swinging her blade into the night like a wild beast. A sword was a strange and beautiful thing. One swing of a blade could communicate more than a lifetime of words, but ultimately it served one function, to kill. A sword only responded to flesh with the force applied by its wielder, and communicated only that which the wielder wished to. It had no thoughts of its own, no feelings of its own, and no actions that are not to its wielder’s desires.
A sword was silent and obedient. It had to be, lest it hurt its master. But even so, the sword is never asked why it was not drawn in time, nor why its master has fallen, nor even whether it is fine with sitting in its sheath and waiting for another master.
A sword should have no thoughts or feelings of its own. But Peko was imperfect. She couldn’t stop thinking, she couldn’t stop feeling, and…it was no wonder why her young master didn’t want to use her, no wonder why he couldn’t trust her, no wonder why he hated her. She was a sword, a tool , no more and no less. Or at least, she should have been, and perhaps the fact that she should’ve been meant that she wasn’t.
He told her that he didn’t need her or anybody else. That was the same thing as ordering her to leave him alone, right? She wouldn’t be to blame for what happened to him in that case, and—no. No, no no no no no no .
The purpose of a sword was to keep the blood off of the wielder’s hands and spare them the pain that settled in their bones that came with the act of murder. Peko could not do much else for her young master except for that, but it was her function and she would do it, orders be damned.
Peko knew her young master well enough to know that he would go after Princess Natsumi’s assassin himself. Whoever it was among the three primary suspects, they were all connected by one person: Princess Mahiru herself.
♞♞♞
Peko trailed Princess Mahiru that night without her ever suspecting or looking back. But then, not many people turned around to look at their own shadow being cast behind them, did they?
The fact that she was even outside at night in a castle that was not her own was suspect enough for Peko to lose all doubts in her mind and heart. She knew–as well as the guards hiding in the shadows all around–that Princess Mahiru was guilty, whether she had dealt the killing blow or not.
Princess Mahiru had turned and stepped out into the balcony, leaning dangerously out over the rail, staring down at the ground—where Princess Natsumi had met her end. Peko drew her sword and blocked the entrance from the balcony.
“Princess Mahiru Koizumi of Lumen,” she said, coldly but with not a hint of malice or any other emotion to speak of.
Princess Mahiru turned around sharply, gripping the balcony rail behind her and shrinking as Peko slowly stepped forward. “Y-You’re…”
Peko lowered her sword, turning it so that the blade caught the moonlight in a silvery line. “You know who I am and why I’m here, so don’t ask. Leave the questioning to me.”
“But—But I didn’t—”
Peko’s grip on her sword tightened. “What didn’t you do? Tell me.”
“I…I know this…” Princess Mahiru stammered. “I know my being here looks bad, but I didn’t kill Princess Natsumi, I swear!”
Peko twisted the sword, as if to let Princess Mahiru know that the edge would come for her if she invited it. “Then why are you back here, at the scene of her death?”
Princess Mahiru’s lip trembled, and her shoulders shook. She turned her head, glancing back over the rail, before turning her head back around…
…and being met by the tip of Peko’s sword at her throat.
“You have blood on your hands,” Peko said coldly. “But I can believe you didn’t kill Princess Natsumi if you tell me who did. There is no way you don’t know. So tell me, while you can still talk.”
“I…I can’t–”
“You can, and you will. Who killed her?”
“N-No, I won’t–”
“Who. Killed. Her?”
“You can’t make me–”
Peko pressed the blade in and slit a red mark on Princess Mahiru’s throat with the finesse of a calligrapher.
“Perhaps I cannot make you talk,” Peko said, “but I am more than capable of making you stop.”
Princess Mahiru gasped as blood trickled down her neck, staining the collar of her gown as red as her hair.
“I-I…Satou…I didn’t order her to do it, I swear! She…she was always standing up for me after Princess Natsumi said horrible things to me. And to her…I didn’t realize it at the time, but…after the princess’s death, something was…wrong with her. She always acted…on edge, from then on. I thought it was natural after what had happened, but…eventually I figured out it was her…but even so, I didn’t understand what had happened or why she would, and I didn’t want Princess Natsumi to die, honest! Please don’t kill me, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Peko withdrew her sword. It had served its purpose, so she sheathed it. Princess Mahiru sank down against the railing, clutching her throat.
“You should retreat while you can,” Peko warned. “Because of Satou, war is on the horizon once again.”
She didn’t wait for a response from Princess Mahiru before she walked out.
♞♞♞
Peko sprinted down the hallway, forcing her body to move faster even as the pit in her stomach threatened to weigh her down.
Satou could not have been far from where Princess Mahiru was, and if her young master had figured out what she had, then he wouldn’t be far either.
Peko ran and ran, and she wasn’t sure what room she’d stopped outside of but she could hear a stifled shout from inside. It was him, her young master. As she steps towards the door, she could hear Satou shouting back. Peko grabbed the doorknob, forced the door open, and charged in…
Her young master held a club in his hands, and Satou was cowed on the floor in the corner, both hands broken, her sword kicked aside across the floor, legs twisted in unnatural directions…but undoubtedly alive. Peko loosened her grip on the hilt of her sword, cold relief pouring down her shoulders.
“Peko,” Her young master didn’t even turn back to look at her, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I…Confirming that Satou is responsible. I interrogated Princess Mahiru.”
“You didn’t need to do that! I told you to leave me alone!”
“Young master, please understand, I only intended—”
“To stop me?” he snapped. “You think I’m weak, don’t you?”
“No,” Peko replied, “But young master, if you had told me you—”
“I did tell you! I told you to leave me alone! I told you I didn’t need you! And I don’t need you! I don’t need anybody !”
Satou tried to use her elbows to push herself up.
“Let me go, you monster!” she hissed.
“Shut the fuck up! When did I say you could speak to me, bitch?!”
Fuyuhiko raised the club and promptly brought it down on Satou’s head. The sound of Satou’s skull cracking echoed through the room and was enough to drown out the racing of Peko’s heart. Satou’s head fell sideways, hitting the floor, and blood pooled from beneath it. Peko stepped forward, pulling Fuyuhiko back before the blood could touch his feet. She had expected him to resist, but he made no effort to.
He dropped the club. “So this is…this is what you…”
He didn’t have to finish that sentence for Peko to know what he meant, but it didn’t matter now anyway.
“You’re to be king one day,” Peko said. “You cannot have blood on your hands. That is the purpose of your sword, and as your tool, young master—”
“Stop,” her young master croaked. “You’re…you’re not a—”
Peko unsheathed her sword and eyed Satou’s freshly dead body. She was not going to hesitate. The club didn’t when her young master had hit Satou on the head. She plunged the sword into Satou’s chest and took on her young master’s faults as her own. She could hear him slam the door behind her and sprint into the hall and away from what he had done.
Peko simply wiped her sword and sheathed it, and cleaned her young master’s involvement off of the club. She told herself that she felt nothing, that a sword could not be faulted for doing what it was made for, and hoped that her young master would forgive her for this.