Work Text:
Target of Opportunity
There were some benefits to being friends with a princess.
Sakura’s fathers were both busy this evening. Her chichi was finalizing this month’s guard roster with Deputy Warden Hartmann, while her papa went over the reports on the progress of Mizuno Fortress sent by General O’Broin (with Uncle Robert’s help since Chichi, O’Broin and King Gerhard all complained that Papa didn’t write down enough words in his own reports).
With the rest of her family preoccupied, Roslyn had offered to accompany Sakura - or Sakura was the one accompanying Roslyn, since Roslyn was a princess and Sakura the daughter of her castle warden, which must mean she was also in the service of Aart’s royal family - to a formal dinner.
The dinner itself was rather dull, long tables filled with stuffy adults chattering on and on about boring adult things. But the food was really good - even if there weren’t any nikuman - and Roslyn made it fun, telling lots of wild stories (that might not be at all true) about the lords and ladies surrounding them, gossiping and jesting with the stewards who cleared their plates between courses.
After the dinner itself was done, though, there was dancing to look forward to. Sakura was almost certain that Roslyn had requested she accompany her partly to keep Sakura entertained, but mostly because she wanted Sakura as her dance partner. When several young men accosted the princess almost as soon as they entered the ballroom, each requesting a dance, Roslyn took visible delight in turning them all down.
“Sakura is my partner for this evening,” she told them; at least, that was what Sakura thought she said, with her steadily growing grasp of Aartan. “She is by far the best dancer present and a charming conversant, so of course I want her company above all others. In fact, when she is old enough, I might even propose to her.”
Leaving the young men suitably shocked, and her dance partner somewhat stunned, Roslyn turned with a toss of blonde curls and took Sakura’s hand, leading her out onto the dance floor.
Sakura wasn’t sure if she had properly understood Roslyn’s words. “Princess-sama,” she began; she had Roslyn’s permission to address her by her name, but felt shy about doing so in front of so many people who curtsied and called her by her royal title. “Did you just say that you would… propose? To me? As in… marry?”
“Not until you’re old enough,” Roslyn casually retorted, finding a space for them among the couples already dancing and arranging them both in the prescribed hold for the waltz that was playing. The hems of their dresses swished together as they swayed through the gliding steps of the dance. Sakura still favoured the kimonos that she had grown up wearing and seen others wear all her life; but they did not flare out when one spun, so for dancing, an Aartan-style gown - blue with a floral pattern, very like the cherry blossoms on her kimonos - with a full skirt was a must.
“Your chichi would throttle me if I became betrothed to you before you properly came of age,” Roslyn went on, as if she were contemplating it in real time. Roslyn was fun to talk to because she often just bluntly said whatever she was thinking, though it often meant conversations with her were very surprising. “Your papa would likely help him, and my parents would have whatever was left executed. But they have no right to oppose me if I choose to wed a woman, not when your fathers are married to each other.”
“Would you… want that?” Sakura asked. Since her fathers were married, she supposed that two women might also wed each other, but until now the possibility hadn’t really occurred to her.
Roslyn shrugged slim shoulders beneath the voluminous sleeves of the gown she wore, the delicate silk her signature shade of pale blue. Sakura recognized the delicate wave-patterned cloth as the bale of kimono fabric that her Uncle Takahiro and Aunt Chiyuki had sent as a gift to the princess. Roslyn had had the castle seamstresses make it into a dancing gown which she declared was her favourite. She often wore it when she took Sakura out to ‘accompany’ her. Sakura often wore her blue kimonos and hakama to match, Roslyn never failing to compliment what she wore. Sometimes Roslyn wore a kimono too; or even a light yukata when she felt like shocking some of the more conservative lords and ladies of the castle, accustomed as they were to wearing heavy wool and velvet, layering themselves with reams of linen even in the warmer months.
“None of the men who would wish themselves my suitors interest me,” Roslyn sniffed, turning up her pert nose just at the thought. “They are so boring, always talking about their family estates and going hunting and the type of carriages their fathers own and how many storeys their townhouses have. Your conversation is far more interesting, and you are a far better dancer - as you should be, since your chichi taught you.”
“Papa taught me too,” Sakura corrected. She had learned to dance alternately balancing on the toes of Papa’s boots so she could mimic his steps, and whirling round the room in Chichi’s arms with their long ponytails trailing them through each spin.
“Huh.” The princess considered this. “I suppose your papa likely taught your chichi the steps, since Ren was a fine dancer practically from the moment he arrived in Aart. I’ve never danced with Arman, he only ever dances with your papa. I’ll have to corner him sometime, make sure he knows he owes me several dances to make up for holding out on me. Oh, I love this one!”
The musicians had finished the slow waltz they were playing and now struck up a livelier tune that Sakura didn’t know the name of, but recognized as one of her favourites for dancing.
Soon she and Roslyn were spinning round the room like a blue-clad typhoon, both of them laughing when the princess dipped her low then swooped her back up so they could whizz in the other direction at breakneck speed. Roslyn had promised that once she got taller, Sakura could take the lead, steering her partner wherever she wanted round the dance floor. Until then, Sakura was happy for Roslyn to lead, getting spun round and round far more times than Papa ever spun Chichi in a single dance.
By the time the song ended, they were both dizzy from all the twirling and slightly winded from laughing, so they opted to sit the next dance out. Roslyn tugged Sakura over to a table where they could each get a glass each of sweet, fruity punch (the Crown Prince, Charles, hovered subtly nearby as Roslyn secured their drinks, likely making sure his sister didn’t snatch them both glasses of wine instead).
Thirsts quenched, they wandered the vast room, looking for a spot to cool down away from the crush of bodies surrounding the dance floor.
With the hand that wasn’t holding hers, Roslyn took her fan from where it was tucked into the sash of her dress and fluttered it idly, wafting air that pleasantly cooled both of them. Sakura resolved to ask her fathers if she could get a fan of her own. As a cooling device it was very practical; and she was sure if she asked Chichi, he could help her figure out how to hide a few knives in one.
As they wandered the hall, they met up with two young ladies who curtsied to Roslyn in a somewhat flustered manner, then engaged the princess in conversation. One of them, Sakura recognized as niece to the Minister of Civil Affairs, the other she thought might be the daughter of one of the lords who sat in parliament. The castle was chock full of people who had government titles she couldn’t begin to understand the function of, and their many relatives who desired to live at court. Chichi and Papa had assured her she didn’t have to worry about learning what the myriad administrative roles all meant, not until she was older. They readily confessed that even they did not understand the countless titles nearly as well as Chamberlain Frei did, and anyway most of them were purely for ‘bureaucratic purposes’, whatever that meant (Sakura didn’t really understand the term in either Aartan or Shiirein).
Roslyn introduced the two ladies to Sakura. The pair blinked at her curiously for a moment, then apparently dismissed her as a child too young or a Shiirein too foreign to bother with, talking to Roslyn over the top of Sakura’s head.
Sakura didn’t particularly mind. She had been treated far worse by other girls at her orphanage, and she wasn’t sorry to miss out on a discussion of the latest hairstyles in Scovia. Roslyn, at least, kept hold of her hand and turned towards her as she spoke, as if she were including Sakura in the conversation. In actual fact, it was so Sakura was the only one who could see how she rolled her eyes in silent mockery of the insipid talk about whether silk ribbons were superior to satin.
Sakura stayed close, but let her mind wander. Now that she had a moment to do so, she pondered Roslyn’s earlier words.
Would it really be alright for Roslyn to marry a woman? As the princess of Aart, and a very pretty young woman of sixteen, she had no lack of potential suitors, though as far as Sakura had seen only young men had openly expressed interest in her. Maybe none of the court ladies were inclined towards women; or the possibility had never occurred to them, since same-sex relationships were still rare in Aart. If Roslyn truly didn’t reciprocate the affections of any of the boys, perhaps she should try courting a girl instead? Though if Roslyn claimed that the boys were dullards, surely the girls had even less of interest to say, if the current discussion of how many ruffles were allowed on a dress before it ceased to be plain but started to become gauche was any indication.
Would Roslyn really want to marry Sakura? Would Sakura want to marry Roslyn? Or marry any woman, for that matter?
She had never considered such a thing before. All her young life, from the time she had been old enough to understand how precarious her position in Shiirein society was, she had been preoccupied with her own survival, struggling daily just to get enough to eat, her only plans for the future devising ways to avoid the workhouses. She had been unable to live openly as the girl she was, barely able to make friends among her contemporaries, let alone entertain the thought of one day having something as unattainable as a love match. The only time she had considered marriage was when she had fleetingly contemplated entering an omijei, seeking a man who might marry her and treat her acceptably in favour of finding herself working in a brothel. She had quickly dismissed the idea. Not only had the concept been repugnant to her, but as an orphan with no parents to find a proper suitor for her, her chances of entering an arranged marriage had been unlikely in the extreme; not to mention the chances of her being mistreated by a potential husband extremely high.
But now, as the cherished daughter of a respected general and a coveted castle warden, she had the luxury of expecting to marry for love. In fact, she was pretty sure that her fathers would accept nothing less. Chichi often professed how glad he was that she was still too young yet for courting, already lamenting that he would one day need to fend off unworthy suitors with a stick (given how formidable Chichi was even without the stick, she was sure he could frighten off anyone with his reputation as a fierce fighter alone).
Very rarely, Papa would mention a man who, before they married, had entered into a dalliance with Chichi while secretly engaged to a woman - Lady Harriet Kastner, who was now also happily married and often invited them all to dinner - and who now was serving a thirty years’ jail sentence for treason, based on evidence that Chichi and Aunt Harriet had compiled against him. Whenever Papa spoke of this Lord Giles, his eyes would harden and an angry tick would develop in his jaw, until Chichi smoothed it away with a kiss.
Though Chichi openly professed that he had always been attracted to men, Papa had felt no true attraction towards anyone of any gender, save for Chichi. Both parents encouraged her to marry only for love, telling her that they were living proof that there was nothing better than marrying your best friend.
Roslyn was without a doubt Sakura’s closest friend - the best friend she had ever had, in fact. They had become companions even before Sakura had left Shiirei to live in Aart, Roslyn having stayed with them for a time in Shiirei, the two girls getting well acquainted during that time. It had been a great relief to already have someone she knew well outside of her fathers and Uncle Robert when she first arrived at the castle.
Even though Roslyn was a princess of the royal family, she always made time for Sakura, sought out her company, planned outings they would go on together or visited at her rooms in the evenings, the latter a habit carried over from when they had shared a room at the hotel in Shiirei.
Roslyn was very kind, and certainly very beautiful. If her fathers’ advice to her was to marry her best friend, she had no friend at present who was better than Roslyn, and she doubted anyone could best the princess in any regard.
But did that mean that Sakura should marry Roslyn, if she asked for real? She couldn’t imagine turning down a royal proposal, though both her fathers had impressed upon her that politeness was no good reason to do anything that she didn’t truly want, let alone anything as life-changing as agreeing to marriage.
Oh well, maybe Roslyn wasn’t truly serious - she often teasingly called Chichi and Papa her ‘hubbies’, if only to make Chichi sputter like a wet cat and Papa smile indulgently - so she likely wouldn’t ask for real even when Sakura was old enough. Probably her chichi was right, 10 years old was too young to be considering romance yet. She could wait to figure out whether she wanted to marry a man or a woman when she was older.
For now, as the conversation with the young ladies dragged on - Roslyn was nodding along with the discussion of whether buckles on shoes were superior to laces, only the subtle tapping of her foot betraying her impatience - Sakura let her attention drift.
Having grown up first in the narrow back lanes of Yamanashi village, then the bustling city streets of Mizuno, she was good at staying aware of her surroundings. Since coming to Zonhoven Palace, she had used her keen observation skills to learn as much as she could about her new home as quickly as possible. Using listening skills she had honed while running errands at the fortress work site and the surrounding township, she tuned in and out of the conversations going on around her, most of them just as mind-numbingly tedious as the ladies’ spiel about the ‘correct’ length for midseason jackets.
“… couldn’t find the blasted pocket book anywhere, turned out the valet had tidied and somehow it got hidden underneath the…”
“… will schedule repairs to begin this fall, I hope these workmen are more meticulous than the last ones who broke the…”
“… told him that taupe cushions would much better match the rest of the carriage interior, but the man has no sense of …”
“… obviously only want that little Shiirein strip to warm their beds with, is it any wonder when she looks like she's a …”
Wait. What?
“… must have scraped her up out of a gutter somewhere, there’s no other way men like that could find a woman who would…”
Regrettably, her ears had not been mistaken; the same voice nattered on, heaping insult upon insult.
Blood heating and temper rapidly rising as she recognised the kind of crude jibes she had unfortunately heard many times before - though this was her first time hearing them spoken in Aartan - Sakura scanned the gathering. This corner of the ballroom was still quite crowded despite being further away from the dancefloor, the chatty courtiers here having sought out a spot where they could converse without having to raise their voices over the music.
She initially had trouble pinpointing which voice amongst the finely-dressed lords and ladies surrounding her had uttered such heinous things. Finally she located him, a relatively young man; he might have ten years on herself so at least double her age, no more than twenty years older if she was able to judge. He stood out among his fellows thanks to the ostentatious jacket he wore, edged with silk trim that must cost the same as a month’s supply of rice, the gestures with which he punctuated his talk displaying more silk in a gaudily-embroidered pattern lining the inside of it from cuffs to hem.
Sakura focused, wanting to be sure she had the right person. Watching him, she saw that the shapes his mouth made matched his words.
“… say they don’t like women, obviously they only like women young enough for them to enjoy. She’ll likely only warm their bed for a few more years before-”
“Sakura-chan…?” Roslyn said beside her, voice questioning and concerned.
Sakura realized that she had unconsciously clenching her friend’s hand in anger, the grip likely bordering on painful.
She quickly let go. She might soon need both her hands free anyway.
Roslyn’s query finally made the two women stop talking, and caught the attention of the people around them, including the man who had spoken ill about herself and her fathers. The man saw that she stared at him, did a double-take, then looked utterly unrepentant, leering across at her.
Sakura had not one but two fathers who were both very skilled glowerers. It was gratifying to see the full-grown man who was nearly twice her height falter slightly under her glare.
“Apologize,” she demanded, voice clearly audible now that the chatter around them had ceased, every eye within earshot turned upon them.
She prided herself on the fact that the one word, spoken in Aartan, had barely any perceptible accent to her own ears. Likely Chichi would have had more to say than that one word, but she was sure Papa would deem her brief request adequate; this person certainly didn’t deserved to be addressed as ‘lord’.
The man drew himself up and adopted a condescending expression. Darting a glance at the cronies who smirked alongside him, he said in a tone that could not be mistaken for anything other than mocking: “Young lady, I don’t know what you wish me to apologize for. You’ll forgive me for pointing out that Aartan is not your language. Whatever you thought you heard, you are thoroughly mistaken, I only-”
Sakura had been this angry only once before, but his blatant insolence pushed her even further. She was absolutely livid. She heard no more of what he said over the blood rushing in her ears.
Instead, it was Chichi’s words that came to her, repeating what he had told her on her first night with her new fathers: If you have to take an adult down a peg, I will still have your back. If they bring the fight to you, you make sure you end it.
How dare this man question her worth, question her beloved fathers’ morals. He had brought the fight to her. It was up to Sakura to end it.
The young lord, having finished whatever he said and exalted in the laughter of his friends, was back to sneering at her, regarding her as if she were a bug that ought to be squashed.
Now she heard Papa’s words, telling her the Brahms family motto: Do no harm, take no shit.
She would do no harm. Well, not much. And she certainly wouldn’t take any shit.
Her temper at breaking point, she didn’t hesitate any longer, reaching inside her sleeve.
Fsh! Thunk!
The throwing knife made a very satisfying sound as it sunk into plaster, pinning the hem of the young lord’s fine coat to the wall behind him.
It took him a moment to realize what had happened. He staggered slightly as the impact of the knife dragged him back a step. Regaining his footing and looking down to find he was fastened to the wall by a deadly-sharp blade, he let out a squawk of indignation.
“I understood what you said,” Sakura said, still in Aartan, her words clearly audible in the hush that had fallen. Even the musicians had come to a stop, the whole room drawn to the developing ruckus. “Apologize. Now.”
Disconcerted by so many eyes on him, the young lord spluttered, trying to bluster his way out. “How dare you-”
“How dare you!” Sakura shouted over him. “How dare you say such horrid things about me, Papa and Chichi!”
She only realized after she spoke that not only had she called her parents by her personal names for them, she had also reverted to Shiirein. She cursed inwardly, searching her learned vocabulary for the words she needed. Before she could translate herself, a voice beside her said, pitched to clearly carry and in natural Aartan:
“How dare you speak such vile words about myself and my fathers!”
Glancing aside, she saw that Roslyn was standing steadfast at her side, acting as her translator.
The princess had taken lessons in Shiirein from Chichi, Papa and Robert in turn, the whole time Sakura had been learning Aartan alongside her. Roslyn’s fluency in Shiirein about matched Sakura’s own in Aartan; though Roslyn had the advantage of being six years older, having a more advanced mastery of her own native language and in turn picking up more equivalent vocabulary in that she was learning. Sakura was once again thankful that her friend had gone to the trouble of making sure she could converse with her in her native tongue, despite Sakura herself making every effort to learn Aartan. It meant that right now, Sakura could focus on channelling her anger and demanding satisfaction, while Roslyn handled the translation for her.
As if to assure her that she had her back, Roslyn turned slightly towards her and gave her the barest nod. Then, with the outraged dignity only a royal princess of the realm could wear, she fixed the young lord with a steely gaze.
Returning to her task, Sakura continued to speak, Roslyn repeating her words in Aartan at the pause between each sentence.
“How dare you. I am the daughter of a lordly general and your own castle warden. My fathers adopted me, saving me from life on the street. They bestowed upon me the honours they themselves accumulated, assuring me that my own talents and attributes made me worthy of them as family. Yet you accuse them of committing the very atrocities their kindness spared me from.”
Sneaking a look over her shoulder, she saw that Roslyn’s expression was growing darker with every word, the looks on the faces of those surrounding them also becoming irate.
While some of the people at Zonhoven Palace were frivolous and shallow, Sakura had so far encountered little in the way of prejudice. The people she met here of every class mostly reacted with friendly overtures when they saw her about the halls and gardens. Very few, if any, looked down at her for being a foreigner.
Furious though she was, she was gratified to see so many taking her side. It was surprising, and very touching. Back in Shiirei, when she had defended herself and her fathers from drunken slurs, the watching crowd of her countrymen had been nothing more than curious about the fight. The people of Aart were actually angry on her behalf. They valued her, cared about herself and her fathers. Papa had said that Chichi was much loved by the inhabitants of the castle as their warden. Not only was that true, they had extended that affection to her as well. Never once had she dreamed that she would have so many allies.
Even now, she could see guardsmen Chaz and Wilkes approaching, drawn by the disturbance. Chaz caught her eye, and she quickly shook her head, indicating that she could handle this without assistance.
Chaz gave a knowing smirk in response. Sakura was pretty sure the guardsman timed his morning patrol so he could be at the training yard while she and Chichi were practising. She had caught sight of him more than once lingering by the fence, watching her throw knives at targets or practice grappling with Chichi, until his palace warden called to him that he should be continuing his rounds instead of loitering and gawking. The look on Chaz's face now was that of a man who had just spied the best enetertainment he was likely to see all year.
She was thankful that Chaz wasn’t about to stop her or try to take over. In fact, he elbowed Wilkes and whispered something excitedly to his fellow guard, keen to watch whatever was about to unfold.
Seeing that favour was not falling on his side, the young lord attempted again to defend himself. It didn’t help that he squirmed like a worm stuck on a pin, unable to properly stand up because the knife pinning his coat was a bit lower than the level of his knees, forcing him to stoop or risk tearing the hem off completely. “I said nothing of the sort, I merely-”
“I heard what you said!” Sakura interrupted him again. Roslyn continued translating for her, her voice growing louder as the meaning dawned on her, and her own temper sparked anew. “You not only insinuated erroneously that my fathers only pretend to prefer men over women, you falsely stated that they like female children and are only keeping me for their bed, you filthy son of a-”
The translation abruptly stopped when Charles clamped a hand over his sister’s mouth. “Roslyn,” he said, though his eyes were fixed on the young lord and his tone was cold enough to freeze a glacier. “I don’t believe Sakura actually said the curses you were about to spout.”
Shifting free of his hand, Roslyn pouted. “I was interpreting her unspoken will. And I’ve been waiting for a chance to use Shiirein curses. They are so much more descriptive than our common Aartan ones.”
“I’m sure you would say the best curses from my country with perfect pronounciation, my Princess,” a voice said from Sakura’s other side.
Recognizing it instantly, Sakura turned to find Chichi standing beside her.
Wearing his warden’s livery, with his sheathed katana strapped to his hip and his stern military bearing, he looked more than a little intimidating. His expression would not have looked out of place on the face of a shinigami.
Sakura noted with satisfaction several people shivered when they caught sight of him standing there, every inch of underlying tension in his stance suggesting that he inwardly contemplated murder and mayhem. Even the young lord who had insulted her stopped trying to pull free the knife that kept him pinned to the wall, freezing is place like prey riveted by the gaze of an approaching predator.
She rarely saw her gentle Chichi in such a fury, but every time she had, he had been on her defence.
“Sakura-chan,” Chichi said, his low voice loud as thunder in the suddenly silent ballroom. “Has Lord Kulmstead done you wrong? I believe I have told you that you can go to any of the guardsmen if someone gives you trouble. Chaz and Wilkes are here on duty tonight.”
Was Chichi upset with her for making a scene, or worried on her behalf? Seeing the way his stare softened considerably when he transferred his gaze from Lord Kulmstead - so that was the offensive pig’s name - to her, she guessed that it was more concern. Both Chichi and Papa encouraged her to stand up for herself, though they also impressed upon her that she had many guardians she could go to should she need them, themselves foremost among them. Chichi was probably wondering why a child such as herself was demanding an apology - with Roslyn’s translation - in a room crowded with adults, any of whom could have interceded on her behalf.
“Oto-san,” Sakura said, purposefully using the proper formal address for her father, since they were in polite society and she was a proper lady. “This fight was worth a coin purse.”
Chichi’s eyes blazed. His hand instinctively twitched to the hilt of his sword, making Kulmstead blanch and several courtiers take an involuntary step back.
“I see,” Chichi said, in a quiet tone that loudly communicated that he was absolutely furious.
He paused a moment, head cocked as he considered Kulmstead speculatively for a few long moments. The young lord’s brow was becoming dewed with sweat, understandably since Ren’s scrutiny boded nothing good for him.
Chichi broke his glare by turning to Sakura, now wearing the mischievous grin she knew so well. It was the same smile that made Galvanth curse because he knew it meant he was about to end up face down in the dirt of the training yard. “Daughter, shall we continue?”
Sakura returned the feral smirk that she had learned from him, the one that made urchin pickpockets and Mong warriors alike pause in their attack. “Let us continue, Oto-san.”
With a twinkle in his eye, Chichi gave her a nod, then strode to a corner table, plucking a ripe apple out of the decorative fruit bowl set upon it.
“As you can see, my daughter Sakura is a skilled combatant,” he stated calmly, as if instead of standing in front of a stunned gathering of courtiers, he was giving a lecture on strategy to a new intake of guardsmen recruits. “Despite her young age, she is already an expert at throwing knives. While we were in Shiirei overseeing the building of Mizuno Fortress, our worksite came under attack on two separate occasions. Blades thrown by my daughter's hands slew multiple Mong raiders.”
“I got six of them,” Sakura helpfully elaborated. Even though she doubted she would have the opportunity to improve upon her tally any time soon - not with Chichi and Papa banning her from taking part in any future skirmishes, despite how many times O’Broin had assured them of her competence - it was a respectable number.
“Indeed you did,” Chichi drawled, eying her proudly.
Kulmstead gulped, apparently realizing for the first time the true calibre of the opponent he had picked a fight with. He made an undignified noise of distress when Chichi grasped him by the collar, bodily shoved him against the wall - her chichi was far stronger than he looked - and dragged the young lord’s arm out so that it was extended by his side, resting the apple upon the back of his outstretched hand.
“Don’t move,” Chichi said, then stepped back out of the way.
When the man looked from father to daughter and caught sight of another knife in her hand, he realized what was about to happen. He gave a strangled scream and writhed in terror, dislodging the apple so that it tumbled to the ground.
Beside her, Roslyn chuckled darkly. Several others laughed - some sounded like nervous titters - as Chichi crossed back to Kulmstead and picked up the fallen apple, scolding the terrified man as he replaced it.
“Stay still, give her a stationary target. Her aim is always impeccable, but still slightly better when her intended mark is immobile.”
The words took a moment to penetrate his panic. Gleaning what he meant, Kulmstead froze in place, ceasing even to breath.
Sakura made a show of casually weighing the knife in her hand, wondering briefly if she could prolong things until the man went blue in the face and passed out. She decided that the point was far better made if he was conscious for this.
Bending her knees for leverage, relaxing her muscles to smooth her movement and priming her arm as she had been taught, she locked eyes on the apple that was her target - enjoying how Kulstead cringed with fearful anticipation in her peripheral vision - stepped forward on her right foot, rotated her shoulders, and threw.
Fsh! Thud!
The knife sank into the apple, pinning both it and the edge of Kulmstead’s sleeve cuff to the wall.
The entire room erupted in a round of applause.
Everyone clapped except for Kulmstead, who craned his head around, making sure her blade had caught only fabric not flesh - of course it hadn’t, she wasn’t an amateur - then slumped in relief.
“Well done, daughter,” Chichi said.
Sakura always preened under this man’s praise, knowing that he didn’t give false compliments, and how difficult he could be to impress since he was so accomplished himself.
Still, she couldn’t help but pout a bit.
“Ren, why does she look unhappy with that?” Roslyn asked, her tone impish. She obviously did not think that enough mayhem had been wrought, and she was eager for more. Sakura seconded the sentiment, some vestiges of her outrage remaining. Was Chichi really done already?
“She has no reason to be disappointed,” Chichi assured them all, making sure to lock gazes with Sakura to show he truly meant it. “Likely she wishes that she had thrown the blade hard enough to split the apple completely in two. She is capable of it over shorter distances, and will be able to do it from where she stands once her arm strength has built up a little more.”
Sakura made a mental note to lift weights more next time she went to the training yard. She had an old satchel of Papa’s that she’d asked Uncle Robert to fill with rocks for her, since even the lightest of the dumbbells the adults used was too heavy for her to comfortably lift for multiple repetitions. Currently the rocks inside it were each about the size of her fist. Uncle Robert had promised to gradually fill it with bigger and heavier rocks, until she was ready to lift the same weights as the adults.
“Perhaps since you have been so amiable as to give us a lesson on knife throwing,” Roslyn said to Chichi, her tone full of false innocence, “you can demonstrate for Sakura and the rest of us how that should be done?”
With a smile better suited to a wolf than a man it was so full of viciousness and teeth, Ren stalked over to where Sakura stood. He gave her shoulders a quick one-armed hug, before he gently nudged her aside, standing in her place.
“Daughter, if I may have lend of one of your knives?”
“Of course, Oto-san.”
She plucked another knife from inside her sleeve and handed it to him. He hefted it thoughtfully, assessing its weight. She knew that Chichi’s usual knives were heavier than hers, suiting his strength and weighted to generate more force combined with the momentum of his throw.
“Galvath,” Chichi said to his friend, who was standing beside Princess Alexandria, watching along with everyone else, his face a portrait in ferocious glee. “If you could fetch another apple and place it on His Lordship’s shoulder?”
Grinning broadly, the bodyguard did as he was asked. Kulmstead, having hoped that he was done being part of this impromptu demonstration and his body no longer in danger, tensed all over again.
“No, the apple won’t stay balanced there, place it higher. Higher than that! A bit closer, yes, that should do it.”
Galvath stepped aside with an air of satisfaction, having perched the apple on the narrow ridge afforded by Kulmstead’s skinny bicep. It sat barely an inch shy of the man’s left ear, a fact that he appeared to be painfully aware of. It was lucky his wrist was still pinned to the wall by the second knife Sakura had thrown; the man was obviously straining to keep still, but couldn’t help the fine tremor wracking his limbs.
Chichi toyed with the man’s fear, playfully balancing the knife by its sharp tip on the end of his finger, then flipping it in the air and catching it by the hilt, tossing it lightly to land point-down on his fingertip again. He had told Sakura that she was forbidden from trying this trick yet, but promised would teach it to her when she was older, after she'd had time to build up more callous.
All eyes were on Ren, the crowd watching with bated breath.
After idly flipping the knife in place one more time, he palmed the dagger and gave a sudden supple flick of his wrist, hurling the knife so fast it was almost impossible to track through the air.
Fsh! Thunk! Thud! Thud!
The knife buried itself in the wall, collecting a generous amount of Kulmstead’s collar on its way.
The two halves of the apple dropped to the ground at his feet, split cleanly in two.
After a stunned pause, the crowd of toffs and swells cheered like punters at a fairground, whooping in delight.
Kulmstead slumped against the wall, his lax posture suggesting he was on the verge of nervous collapse.
“Marvellous!” the Crown Prince roared, reaching round Roslyn to slap his castle warden companionably on the back. “Such skill! You’re a fearsome man, Warden Brahms.”
“I do try to regularly remind people of that, my Prince,” Ren retorted with a gremlin grin.
“Again, again!” Princess Alexandria called, her request echoed by several others in the crowd. “Keep going until there’s no fruit left!”
Roslyn had already crossed to the bowl and was rifling through it. “There are no more apples. How about a banana next?”
Behind her, Kulmstead whimpered.
“Kumquat,” a new voice suggested.
Sakura turned, as did her chichi, to find Papa standing there.
The general's gaze was alight with amusement and affection. Difficult though his steadfast expression was to read, Sakura could clearly see that as he looked down at her, he was pleased and proud of her. Then his eyes, the colour of sun-warmed sky, hardened to slate as he stared down at the half-collapsed figure fixed to the far wall.
“Or a grape. Have him grip it between his thighs.”
Chichi gave Papa the brilliant smile, so obviously full of adoration, that always made Sakura’s heart skip a beat, no matter how many times she saw it.
“Darling, you came at just the right time. Do their Majesties know how good you are at throwing javelin?”
“Mm.” Papa affirmed that this was a talent of his, a malicious gleam in his eye.
There was a loud sound of cloth ripping.
Lord Kulmstead had finally fainted, crumpling inelegantly to the ground, landing on and likely squashing one of the apple halves. As he fell, the weight of his body dragged his coat away from the points where it was stuck by the knives, tearing the fine fabric to shreds in an instant.
Served him right.
Eying the insensible lump of lordship on the floor as if he were a mess that needed to be cleaned up, Roslyn carefully leaned over him and attempted to pluck the knife-skewered apple from the wall. When it proved too difficult for her to dislodge, Galvanth did it for her.
She returned to the Brahms family, holding her prize up high for all to see.
The dagger had pierced straight through the apple, the wicked-looking point of the blade protruding out the other side. Sakura eyed her handiwork with satisfaction, though she still would have been happier if she had completely cut it in two.
“I will have this apple preserved in wax and displayed as Sakura-chan’s trophy,” she declared.
“It will stand out amid the hunting gallery as the finest bag ever caught,” Prince Charles agreed.
Sakura flushed. It was really nothing remarkable. Chichi often lined up a row of apples or oranges for her to use as practice targets. Speaking of which, she didn’t want to be short a knife at tomorrow’s training.
“If you are going to keep the apple, Princess-sama, may I have my blade back?”
Chichi quirked an eyebrow at her, then turned upon his spouse. “Husband, I believe you were responsible for dressing our daughter ready for this dinner-dance, since at the prescribed time I was walking the evening patrol, Robert was putting away laundry, and Roslyn was getting herself ready. Why was she wearing a brace of knives in the sleeve of her dress? No, don’t give me that of course she was why would you expect otherwise look, our ten year old daughter should not need to accessorise with throwing knives at a party surrounded by adults who are looking out for her welfare.”
Papa reached down to gently smooth the sleeve in question. “They matched the silver pins in her hair.”
Chichi did not look placated by this reasoning.
Seeing that Papa was not going to offer another word but just keep looking at his husband until he gave up the argument, Sakura took it upon herself to offer a verbal counterpoint.
“A warden of the castle must be prepared to defend his people at all times, a responsibility that extends to every member of his staff: from deputy warden, down to every guardsman under his command.”
Hearing the words he himself had imparted during one of their lessons, Chichi couldn’t help but smile down at her. “Are you one of my guards now?”
“I’m your daughter,” Sakura pointed out simply. “Protecting the palace is my prerogative as part of this family. Protecting the honour of my fathers is my prerogative as a daughter. Defending my own honour is my prerogative as a young lady who is capable of kicking any ass that deserves it.”
She wondered if Chichi might scold her for breaking Rule Nineteen, but instead he laughed and patted her head, being careful not to disturb her hair, done up in an elaborate bun studded with decorative pins (Roslyn’s hairdresser had done this for her; Papa could do a basic ponytail, while both Chichi and Robert could manage a neat bun, but that was where their capabilities at dressing hair ended. Thank the gods Chichi had joined the military instead of entering one of the few professions previously allowed to gay men in Shiirei. Though he would likely figure out a way for her to conceal knives in her hairstyle without accidentally shaving her own head.)
“‘Kicking ass’ does not typically require blades,” Chichi pointed out. “Though if you must carry them, tucking them in your sleeve is not ideal. They might catch in the fabric, which would ruin the dress and blunt the blades. Perhaps we should see about getting you a fan. I will ask the castle craftsmen if they can fashion something that is both functional as a fan and able to hold several knives.”
Sakura gave him her patented plaintive look, gazing up through her eyelashes in the way that had proven effective at pulling both fathers’ strings as if they were her puppets. A fan that she could use to carry her blades in was just what she wanted.
Papa thankfully made no objections to this idea.
“Didn’t know you pair were putting on a knife-throwing act as tonight’s after-dinner entertainment,” he said to his husband, his tone mild but questioning.
Chichi, for his part, looked unrepentant, which was just how Sakura felt about it. Still, she thought she should attempt to explain. “Papa, that man was another who deserved a full coin purse.”
It only took a moment for Papa to discern the meaning behind her words. Exchanging dark glances with Chichi, he gritted out between clenched teeth, “I see.”
“Sakura-chan said something like that before,” Roslyn interjected, “and Ren immediately understood it. Is that some kind of code word?”
“Not quite,” Chichi began to explain, “but it is based on past experience. When we were in Mizuno-”
“Wait!” Catching him by the shoulders, Roslyn spun Chichi around and pushed him in Papa’s direction, quite a feat considering that the soldiers in the training yard usually couldn’t budge Ren an inch once he planted himself. “I want to hear this story from Sakura-chan! You go dance with your husband - though Arman, I command a dance from you later. I had no idea you could dance, you’ve been holding out on me and I insist you make amends for it. After Sakura-chan has told me the story, and you have broken the current record for how many times you can spin your husband in a single dance, you are to report back to me.”
Shooing them away and signalling at the musicians to start playing again - Sakura wondered if all royals were naturally authorative - Roslyn took Sakura by the hand and led her over to a corner. She saw the girl seated in a plushly upholstered chair, a crowd of adults drawing round as if she were a guest of honour.
“Now, Sakura-chan, please tell us. Your chichi hinted that this ‘coin purse’ episode was a fight you’ve been in before, and I assume you won?”
“Yes, Princess-sama.” Chichi was against pointless displays of false modesty, so Sakura allowed herself to preen. “I defeated three opponents - all of them grown men - by myself.”
“Excellent!” Roslyn clapped her hands in delight, then in her excitement bent down to kiss Sakura on the cheek. “You darling girl, life in the palace is so much more exciting with you here, I adore it! Tell us all about it, sparing no detail. I want to know exactly how you did it, so if three men ever bother me at once, I can do the same to them!”
Sakura resisted the urge to touch her cheek. This was the first time she had been kissed by someone other than family. Kisses were culturally an uncommon practice in Shiirei, something usually only lovers did. Since she had been adopted her fathers, Grandmama and Grandda had given her kisses; but she was still unaccustomed to it, and hadn’t expected to receive one from someone she regarded as a friend.
Quickly recovering herself, she realized that besides Roslyn, a number of courtiers were gathered round her, apparently also eager to hear the tale, hanging on her as-yet unspoken word. Most of them were women, but there were some men as well, a few of them ones she recognized from her mornings with Chichi in the training yard. She saw no derision in the gazes trained upon her; only interest, perhaps even admiration.
With a glance at Roslyn to make sure she could translate, feeling after all the excitement that she would be more comfortable using Shiirein with an interpreter, she began to speak to her audience, her friend dutifully repeating it in Aartan.
“This happened when we were stationed in Mizuno, overseeing the building of the fortress there. I had been adopted by my fathers for about a week by then. The work day was over, Papa - that is, Arman - and I were meeting up with Chichi - Ren - who had been running an errand in town, to have dinner together. As we were walking to the place where we had agreed to meet Chichi, I saw a cart selling… nikuman? Oh, those pork buns that are your favourite, Uncle Robert bought them for us for tea many times! They were delicious, you must help the palace cooks figure out how to make them. Returning to Sakura-chan’s story: I asked Papa if I could buy some buns as a snack before dinner, and he agreed, giving me his coin purse so I could pay for them. Ah, I see where the code derived from now. As I was following after the bun cart, I overheard some men talking, they said… Really?! If I am to say that, I must insert some swears, the occasion calls for it. Absolutely, I must. Fine, Charles, I can see you glaring from over there, I will refrain, though I will be saying them internally. Anyway, these three men were drunk, and I overheard them saying…”