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Hidden among the trees of Hakuho forest is a modest castle of limestone brick and moss. It towers above the small village at its feet, nearly level with the elder trees of the forest as if the castle spires also compete for sunlight. Wrapped around its vicinity is a babbling brook, teeming with life. Traders and merchants direct small canoes down the narrow stream and connect the small village to riverside trade routes. While the subjects of this village were content and well fed, what made them happiest was gossiping about royalty.
Yes, a favorite topic of the villagers was their fair prince, Nagi Seishiro. He was not noted for his immense strength or stunning charisma — all typical traits of a budding king. No, instead, Seishiro was infamously recognized for three things: his mysterious genius, his immense laziness, and his stark white hair.
Rumors circulated from inside the castle to outside its walls of Seishiro’s impressive marks in his curriculum. He was always ahead of his age group since childhood, even stumping his tutors with his acuity. They would watch, mesmerized (or perhaps horrified) as Seishiro would race through his lessons at immense speed. No sooner than his quill is laid to rest, Seishiro would follow suit, collapsing onto his desk to nap.
Further fueling the rumors of his character, Seishiro rarely made outings to the village. The few times he was paraded around in a palanquin, such as his coming of age celebration, the villagers had gathered in droves for the rare chance to see their crown prince. They cheered at his arrival until an air of confusion swept through the crowd at his unveiling; their prince was nestled into the palanquin, fast asleep.
Aside from the qualities of his character, his appearance was also a subject of debate amongst the commoners. His stark white hair made waves through the village since his birth, matching neither mother or father in appearance. Many wondered if Seishiro was cursed by an unruly spirit or a witch — turning his hair white and endowing him with sloth-like laziness. Others wondered if it was the source of his genius abilities, contrasting the rumors of a curse with that of a blessing. Regardless, the handsome and mysterious prince managed to accrue many nicknames over the years despite his lack of involvement with his subjects, with the most notable being ‘Snow White’.
For Seishiro, palace living was a pain. Growing up sheltered inside a castle, where everything was provided to him at his beck and call, should have given the lazy boy an immense satisfaction. Palace living should be the ultimate free ride in life — he could eat when he pleased, nap when he pleased, and bathe as much (or as little) as he pleased. However, for someone meant to be the crown prince of their village, Seishiro quickly learned from a young age that palace living actually meant very little freedom. He was poked and prodded on the daily by nervous attendants, urging him to be presentable for any castle guests. They would pull him into stuffy clothes, fuss over his unruly hair, and pluck at his face in all manners of unpleasantness. Seishiro would merely sigh and close his eyes, just waiting to get it over with.
Additionally, as crown prince, he needed to be practiced in all manner of academics and swordsmanship. Many days were spent in the company of tutors, drilling histories into his skull behind his heavy eyelids. It all felt so pointless, leaving him listless with each passing day. To make matters worse, since his coming of age ceremony, a deep discomfort had taken root in his stomach. A daunting future, filled with the royal responsibilities and kingly duties, was inevitable. Much to Seishiro’s dismay, the king and queen were unsuccessful in producing any other children, leaving Seishiro as their sole heir.
Such a responsibility came with its own set of unintended consequences, as Seishiro came to learn quite quickly during his parents absences.
Yes, the biggest pain of castle living was by far the assassination attempts. Seishiro begrudgingly learned that there is only so much tutors can prepare him for, and the first attempt on his life had been a trial by fire. Seishiro was maybe ten of age when he noticed something wrong with the color of his soup. He swirled the silver spoon against the broth, watching the way it separated against the currents. When Seishiro removed his spoon, he noticed how it tarnished.
“Ne, Squire Zantetsu,” Small Seishiro had uttered to his attendant, lifting his spoon. “This soup is spoiled.”
Even an idiot could recognize the effects of poison on the utensil, and young Seishiro was whisked away to his room by his speedy attendant and locked there the remainder of the day as an investigation began. Seishiro found this to be the best outcome; he was able to laze about his chambers while the rest of the castle descended into madness.
The attempts didn’t stop at age ten. Despite a careful vetting of all castle staff, wall reinforcements, and guarded patrols, stubborn assassins managed to slip through the cracks with an intent to harm Seishiro. The rumors of the prince’s laziness preceded him, but no one was ever prepared for how crafty he could be. Poisons would fall flat. Cursed items were snuffed out immediately. Even more brutish attempts on his life were adeptly thwarted by Seishiro’s prowess with a blade. He bested all manners of attempts on his life with a signature sigh, usually preceded with an utterance of “what a pain”.
Yes, castle life proved to be truly dull for Seishiro. Despite having everything, the one thing Seishiro lacked was a moment’s peace. He was hit with the realization just that morning.
Seishiro had been lazing in bed, bored to the point of drawing glyphs in the air with practiced fingers, when the door to his chambers burst open.
“Hah?” He barely raised his head in time to see his assailant clamoring towards him with a roar. They wore a dark hood over their face, but Seishiro was far more distracted by the jagged dagger they held overhead. They sprung forward, burying the knife into Seishiro’s pillow mere inches from his face. It would have split his head in two had he not dodged. He sighed, willing his body to sit up to deal with this problem as his assailant struggled to free their blade from the depths of Seishiro’s mattress.
“This is seriously such a hassle. I just wanted to sleep in.” He uttered before decking his assailant across the head with enough force to drop him to his knees. Seishiro reached to his bedside table to grab a small maroon pouch. He stood over his opponent, carefully pulling the strings of the pouch open. Careful not to inhale, Seishiro deposited a sprinkling of iridescent dust into his palm before kneeling down and blowing the contents into his assailant's face. The man shivered before collapsing to the floor in a deep slumber.
Seishiro stood with a sigh, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He pocketed the small bag before walking into the hallway. Where had all his guards gone? Eyeing the slumbering figure on his floor, Seishiro felt a pang of jealousy over the nice rest his assailant was surely having. With a sigh, he returned to his chambers long enough to grab a cloak before walking out of his room.
✧˖°⊹ ࣪ ˖✧˖°⊹ ࣪ ˖✧˖°⊹ ࣪ ˖
Annoyed with this morning's transgressions, Seishiro makes his way down the hall. As he descends the grand staircase, he spots Knight Zantetsu chatting with another castle employee.
“Ne, Zantetsu. Another one.” Prince Seishiro says simply. Zantetsu’s mouth drops open at his words.
“My Prince, I’m sorry, you mean to say…?”
“He’s passed out in my room. I don’t want to deal with it. Can you?”
Zantetsu stiffens at the request, completely forgetting about his previous conversation.
“Yes, right away my Prince.”
He runs past Seishiro with enough force to blow the cloak around his body.
I’m so sleepy. What a pain.
Seishiro exits the castle with a sigh. Before he closes the castle door, he hears the shouting of his servants and knights as they realize yet another assassination attempt happened. Not wanting to be caught up in the mess, Seishiro adjusts his cloak over his head, keen to keep his hair hidden as he descends into the village below. As he ponders where to go, the heat from the sun overhead persuades him. A nap in the sun sounded quite nice.
Seishiro walked with his head down until he made it out of the village. On the other side of the brook was a meadow hidden deep in a thicket of trees. It’s remained a favorite spot of Seishiro’s since childhood, as not many ventured into this part of the forest. When Seishiro discovered it in his youth, he had been yanked back across the water and lectured about what lies beyond the safety of the village. Something about curses or witches, things Seishiro couldn’t be bothered to care about. Assassins bothered him in his own bedchambers, after all.
Feeling worn out, he lay among the tall grasses and lavender blooms, soaking up the rays of the sun as if they meant to bless him with sleep. He lets out a breath, finally feeling content with the day as he drifts into slumber.
✧˖°⊹ ࣪ ˖✧˖°⊹ ࣪ ˖✧˖°⊹ ࣪ ˖
Judging by the sun’s position, Seishiro was successful in sleeping for maybe an hour before he was rudely awakened. He raises with a start when he feels a foot collide with his leg, and his ears pick up on a startled squeak. Seishiro’s eyes shoot open, taking in his surroundings with practiced precision. A billowing grey cloak is in front of him, and the person it contains is headed into the ground. Empty hands outstretched. A glint of red.
Seishiro’s arm shoots out on instinct, grabbing the red item before it hits the ground. The same cannot be said for the person, as they tumble forward with an “umf!”
Seishiro watches with his guard up. This person doesn’t move with the hastiness or fighting spirit of an assassin, but he can’t be too careful. Seishiro watches as they slowly raise themself up to their hands and knees, grumbling under their breath. The slowness of the action reduces Seishiro’s worries, and it gives him time to observe the object still in his hand.
An apple?
“What the hell did I trip over? A root?” The person mutters as they bring themselves to sit on their knees. Their back is still to Seishiro as they dust themselves off. Seishiro notices how this person starts looking around, as if missing something.
“Um. Are you looking for this?”
At his words, the person nearly jumps out of their skin. They whip around with enough force to nearly dislodge the cloak from their head, yet their eyes soften when they see the prince.
“Oh gods, I’m so sorry.” They uttered sheepishly, gesturing with their hands. “I didn’t mean to mistake you for a tree root. Are you hurt?”
Seishiro blinks in response. If this is an assailant, they’re not very good at their job. When he sees the other person is still waiting for him to answer, Seishiro shakes his head slowly.
“Thank the gods. I apologize for my clumsiness. I’m usually not this crude.”
Seishiro blinks again. This is probably the most words he’s had spoken to him in a week, outside of his studies. What a curious person here before him.
“It’s fine.” Seishiro utters, just thankful this hasn’t turned into another quarrel for his life. He turns the apple over in his hand. Its unnaturally deep red color catches Seishiro’s eye, as if the fruit had been dipped in mulled wine.
“Hey, your hair…” The person is still kneeling in front of Seishiro. Seishiro is propped up on his elbows and looks at them.
Ah, my hood must’ve fallen when I sat up.
“...What about it?” Seishiro asks, feeling an unfamiliar heat rise to his cheeks over how intently this stranger is staring at him. The stranger’s hair is hidden by their hood, but violet eyes peer out at him with a strange curiosity.
“You’re the neighboring prince, right?” The stranger lilts. “The one they call ‘Snow White’?”
Seishiro shifts his weight and lays the apple against his chest.
“Or,” the stranger speaks again, and Seishiro catches a mischievous glint in his eye, “I’ve also heard he’s called the Thousand Year Sleeping Beauty by some.”
Nagi pouts at that nickname. He can’t exactly argue against it, but it still feels cheap.
“...Well, who are you?” He counters as he tracks his eyes to the apple on his chest. “And why are you wandering around the woods with an apple cursed with a sleeping draught?”
The stranger's eyes widened at his words. They extend their hand, imploring for the apple, but Seishiro holds back.
“How did you know?” The stranger asks, tilting their head to the side.
“The color. It’s a potent draught.”
The stranger laughs at this, soft like the tinkling of silver bells, and it makes something in Seishiro’s chest shift.
“That’s amazing! You must have some skill to be able to tell all of that just by looks!”
“Ehh? I think it’s pretty obvious. Anyone could figure this out.” Seishiro holds the apple up to his face. His eyes trace the swirls of discolored mauve on the skin of the apple. It’s a subtle detail, indicative of tampering. The stranger cries out when Seishiro brings it to his lips for a small lick.
“Hey, careful!” The stranger rushes forward, arm extended to snatch the apple back, and his hood falls away in the process.
Seishiro takes in the violet hair that spills out from behind the hood. It’s pulled back in a small low ponytail, leaving silky locks to frame the stranger’s face. He’s handsome, Seishiro realizes. It’s fitting, seeing him framed by the lavender of the surrounding meadows. Purple. The correct color of royalty.
“Why would you do that?” The stranger grumbles, wiping the apple off on his cloak. He pockets it, and then crosses his arms at Seishiro. “You just told me it was potent.”
“It is.” Seishiro replies and absently wipes at his lips. They tingle from the contact. “You should be careful. If someone takes a bite, it might knock them out permanently, you know.”
The stranger pales at this. “...Is it really that strong? Then why did you-”
“I came out here to take a nice nap.” Seishiro shrugs and leans back into the grass, hoping to surrender himself to sleep. “This is the best place for a nap.”
The stranger huffs in response and sits back, extending his legs out toward Seishiro.
“You’re strange.”
Seishiro had closed his eyes, but opened one to stare at the stranger. Why was he still here?
“Oh, I never introduced myself properly. Only fair I suppose, since I exposed you.” The stranger runs a finger through his bangs, and Seishiro is mesmerized at the way his locks sway. “My name is Mikage Reo. But, you can just call me Reo.”
Seishiro opens his eyes fully at that. The Mikage Reo? Heir to the largest kingdom in their entire continent? He swallows against his nerves.
“Sorry again for startling you. Are you sure your leg is okay? Isn’t your home nearby? Why is their prince sleeping outside in the dirt?”
So many questions. Seishiro wonders if the effects of the sleeping draught will be enough to overcome this interrogation.
“Hey, are you listening?”
Seishiro gives in and sits up, his body still feeling heavy with sleep.
“...Just wanted to get away.” He answers simply. Reo cocks his head curiously, then smiles big and bright.
“You’re like me, then!”
Seishiro really doesn’t want to continue this conversation, feeling sleepy and warm from the peeking sun. The softness of the grass beckons him to lay back down, but he feels some unearthly pull to remain upright, eyes locked with this strange prince. When Seishiro doesn’t respond, Reo continues.
“You asked about the apple, right? You see, my parents want to keep me locked up in the castle. They say it’s ‘too dangerous’ for me to leave, and that I should be focusing more on my studies.” He blanches, and Seishiro finds it odd the way he talks so animatedly with his hands. He expends so much energy for the silliest things. “What I really want to learn more of is alchemy!” He gets a little louder, a little more excited, and Seishiro feels his sleepiness fade, as if absorbing some of Reo’s energy. Or, Seishiro realizes, maybe his sleeping draught isn’t very good.
“Ehh? Isn’t alchemy just common sense?” Seishiro asks blankly. The other prince balks at him.
“What do you mean? Are you saying you know alchemy?!”
Seishiro shifts again in his seat. He pulls out the small bag of powder from earlier, his own sleeping draught, and tosses it to Reo.
“Don’t breathe it in unless you want a nice nap.”
Reo holds the bag out, curious. He sprinkles a bit of the dust in his hands. Seishiro’s breath catches in his lungs when Reo suddenly leans forward, holding out some of the dust in Seishiro’s patch of sunlight. He’s leaning over Seishiro, eyes sparkling with delight, and the interaction leaves Seishiro feeling cramped and hot under his cloak.
“Wow, this is such a high grade! You made this?” He asks, pressing his face even closer to Seishiro. Seishiro averts his eyes, feeling overwhelmed by the attention, and Reo laughs suddenly.
“I can’t believe I found you out here. This must be fate!”
Fate? Seishiro crinkles his brow ever so slightly. Fate means being born into a family with the expectation of taking over as king. Fate tastes like an easy life, with no twists or turns to sour the experience. It’s encompassing, straight and narrow. Set in stone. Fate means not thinking. It’s predetermined. Somehow, meeting Mikage Reo feels like the complete opposite of fate. Nagi wonders briefly if he’s still dreaming.
“I made this apple for my parents.” Reo continues, apparently unphased by Seishiro’s lack of words. “I sneak out every once in a while in search of ingredients, like I’m doing now. That’s why I didn’t see you, you know.” He prattles on and on about looking for some moss on the trees (Seishiro knows it doesn’t grow here, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe that means he could run into this strange prince again if he continues his search). Seishiro watches in amazement at how the prince seems so full of life and vigor. Even though they share the same predetermined destiny, he seems to have some will to fight against it.
“So what do you say?”
Seishiro cocks his head to the side.
“...About what?”
Reo throws his arms up, exasperated. “Were you not listening this whole time?” He eyes Seishiro, and Seishiro watches as Reo’s face shifts into a look of concern. “Oh gods, my sleeping draught didn’t melt your brain did it?” He practically leaps into Seishiro’s lap, legs straddling each side of Seishiro’s hips as he grips Seishiro’s cheeks in his hands. Seishiro feels his cheeks being squeezed as his face is tilted in every which direction, and Reo’s eyes bore into his own. They’re beautiful, he thinks, even as his vision is obscured by Reo’s incessant fondling, and he thinks he might actually be dreaming.
“Rewro, ‘m fine,” He manages to say through squished lips. Reo releases him at that, sitting back on his legs. Seishiro can’t remember the last time he had this much contact with another human, if ever. Reo lets out an animated sigh, and brushes his fingertips against his forehead as if in thought.
“You had me worried. I’ve only been practicing alchemy for a few weeks.”
Seishiro nods at that. “Then, Reo is doing a nice job. Sleeping draughts are hard to master.”
“But it seems like you’ve already mastered them! Who is your teacher?” Reo asks, leaning forward again. The space between them vibrates with an energy Seishiro isn’t familiar with but finds electrifying anyway.
“Um…I don’t have one.”
What a pain. He thinks. How to explain I’ve only picked up on it because of the attempts on my life?
“You must be some sort of genius then. The rumors appear to be true.” Reo winks at him, and Seishiro’s chest feels like tonic water, bubbly and bright.
“My mentor’s name is Ba-ya. She’s under the employment of my parents, as a servant, but they don’t know her true capabilities.” Reo explains and Seishiro tries to focus. Maybe the sleeping draught is working, as his eyelids begin to feel heavy. He finds the sound of Reo’s voice oddly comforting.
“So anyway, like I asked earlier. Do you want to come with me?”
Seishiro blinks against the heaviness of his lids.
“...Come with you?”
“Yeah! I think the two of us could become the best alchemists in the world.”
Seishiro is at a loss for words. He’s already spoken to this strange boy more than he has anyone else in the past year. And now, after only knowing each other for a sliver of time, Reo is asking this of him?
“What do you say, my prince?” Reo gently cups Seishiro’s hand in his own, like it is something delicate (and Seishiro remembers how the last thing this hand touched was the head of the assailant this morning), and he feels a bit lighter. He watches as Reo presses soft lips to Seishiro’s hand, and he doesn’t think anyone has ever shown him this amount of care and devotion. It’s electrifying. It’s addicting. And when Reo pulls back with a smile, hand still clasping Seishiro’s, he thinks seeing that smile could make life feel a little less like a pain.
“...Where do you want to go?” Seishiro asks, his eyes still connected to their junction. The warmth of the sun bleeds through his cloak, encasing his body in a gentle heat.
“Well, I can introduce you to Ba-ya. She has a hut on the outskirts of these woods where she practices. I think you’ll like her!” Reo’s enthusiasm still manages to take Seishiro by surprise. “If you can help me perfect this sleeping draught, I think I could use it to sneak out of the castle even more. There’s a neighboring kingdom that has an entire school dedicated to alchemy! It’s my dream to get into that program. My parents would never approve, but if I could sneak away…”
Seishiro wonders what his own parents would say. They had been gone for months at this point, claiming to be busy with diplomatic visits. Seishiro idly wonders if they are actually on a distant beach somewhere, enjoying a salty breeze while he fends for himself.
“I don’t know…” He finally admits, “It kind of sounds like a pain.”
Reo scoffs at this. “And your current life is so much better? That’s why you’re napping in the dirt?”
Nagi pouts at that, pursing his lips. Reo wasn’t wrong.
“We can live a more exciting life than this! I promise. Let’s dream of this together, my prince.”
My prince. The sentiment rests warmly in Seishiro’s chest, incubating in the sun and taking root in his chest. This prince is strange, and leaves Seishiro feeling even stranger.
“...Hmm, maybe another day.” He counters, slipping back into the grass. Reo still sits, straddling his hips. He leans forward, eclipsing Seishiro’s sun.
“So you're lazy too, aren’t you?” He quips. With a shrug, he continues. “Well, that can’t be helped. You just needed someone to discover your talent, that’s all.”
Talent? Genius? Seishiro heard these things in passing, but never believed in them. He finds that he wants to believe them when Reo speaks.
“Ba-ya is in her hut now. It’s not far from here, you know.” Reo prods his chest with a gentle finger, and Nagi stares into his eyes.
“...’M feeling sleepy,” He lies, not sure what the end game is here. It’s all a pain, but even has he holds back, he selfishly hopes this isn’t their last meeting. “And my leg hurts…”
Reo crinkles his brow. He stands suddenly, lifting his legs off of the supine prince. A chill racks through Seishiro’s body at the loss of warmth, as if the sun was suddenly blocked by a cloud, heavy with rain.
“I guess it can’t be helped.” Reo speaks as he stretches his body, and Seishiro thinks this is the end, I finally chased this stranger off. He’s confused when a wave of emptiness strikes him, as if he had found something only to lose it. He’s even more confused when Reo turns his back to him, but leans down into a crouch.
“Hop on.”
Nagi stares, noticing the way Reo’s hair curls slightly at the ends.
“...Huh?”
“You heard me. Hop on. You can nap on the way to Ba-ya’s.” Seishiro thinks he notices a small blush creep onto Reo’s cheeks, spreading to his ears and neck. Maybe not. “I’ll carry you. It’s an apology for kicking you earlier.”
Struck by this kindness, Seishiro doesn’t know what to say or how to move. His body, normally driven by instinct, stays still, as if processing something unnatural or foreign.
“...My legs are getting tired, you know. So hop on.” Reo chides again, and this time, Nagi complies. He crawls forward, surprised at the firmness and taut muscles hiding under Reo’s cloak as he lifts him to a stand. Reo grasps under Nagi’s thighs for stability and begins to walk deeper into Hakuho forest. The sleeping draught must be taking effect, catalyzed by the fuzzy warmth that has seeped into Seishiro’s chest as he nuzzles against the back of Reo’s neck with heavy eyes.
“...What does Ba-ya look like…?” He asks sleepily, and Reo laughs.
“That’s an odd question! You’ll see when you meet her.”
And Nagi closes his eyes against the back of Reo’s hair. He dreams of long witch noses, lavender hair, and a life full of bright smiles nestled far away from the pain of castle life.