Chapter Text
The storm raging outside her bedroom window does nothing to quell her racing heart.
Instead, it fills her with a gloomy sense of foreboding, certainly a rite of passage for the terrible omen that was surely to come her way.
She twists and turns in her bed -feeling as restless as the princess who slept on a pea- and worries.
Thoughts of the kingdom's farmers' fields plague her, how they might fare under the harsh conditions of the storm, ponderings on how the livestock manage to sleep (if they sleep) soundly through the rumbling of thunder, and other matters float around her mind, begging for her attention and leaving her more distraught than ever.
Lightning strikes and its thunder echoes grimly in the distance, beyond the comforts and safety of her chambers, and she's forced to address the lingering pit in the depths of her stomach -her largest predicament by far.
Yashiro Nene, the sole heir to the crown of her kingdom, was engaged.
When she had first heard the news, made aware of so kindly by her father -who had already shook hands on giving his only daughter away- she was ecstatic.
Her betrothed -husband to be, the mere thought filled the girl with glee- was the son of a wealthy neighboring kingdom in the East, a land filled with obscure history that even she didn't know of.
The mystery surrounding the prince enraptured the girl, leaving her to imagine and conjure up fantasies to her heart's content in half-hearted attempts to soother her burning curiosity and excess energy.
A prince: someone who'd come to sweep her off her feet and dance with her til midnight, walk along the sandy expanse of her kingdom's borders at the crack of dawn, and listen to her each and every ramble of her favorite romance novels.
She could already imagine his dreamy gaze and strong arms, sun-colored tousled hair that would look perfect from every angle, and refined elegance befitting of a future ruler.
His skin would be as pale as moonlight, with eyes as blue as the sea surrounding her kingdom, and he'd be absolutely enamored with her, down to the very bone.
Perhaps she had gotten a tad bit carried away with her fantasizing.
Either way, that was then.
Now, however?
In the middle of the night, with sleep having fully and, regrettably, seeped away from her and into the mattress in which she lay, she couldn't help but feel the reality of her situation settling in.
It was an arranged marriage, nothing more and nothing less. Watered down to a means for concreting a political alliance, possibly even creating a heir for the throne in the inevitable future, but other than that?
Experiencing true love wouldn't even be a guarantee.
Caught up in the excitement and dazzle of meeting someone new from a faraway land, the logistics and intricacies had completely gone over her head, leaving her the slightest bit ashamed despite there being no audience to witness her naivete.
Other than the prince's kingdom and family name, she knew absolutely nothing of her betrothed!
And although she could still hope that, despite their formal arrangement, the two could grow to love each other, the princess knew first-hand how slim those chances would be.
Her parents were the undeniable proof that marriage for royalty was procured -not out of love- but from the size of your army and the weight of your crown.
Her parents never discussed the topic with her, aside from the purely necessary details that she ought to know as heir, but, from what she could gather, her making had not been amorous in the slightest.
Brief mentions of a decade-long war, peace sought and attained by a marriage of last resort, and...
There were reasons as to why her mother couldn't bear to be in the same room as her father for long.
The princess didn't like to think about it too deeply.
Especially now, the day before her fiancé was supposed to arrive!
Her heart beat in tandem with the rain pouring outside her window, lower lip trembling as she clutched at her covers and buried her face into her pillows.
Though her mother and father loved her greatly, she still ached for the kind of affections that platonic caring could not provide.
Seeing her parents' relationship only made her wish harder, absolutely determined to not wed out of obligation, but out of love.
And so, with mind in a flurry and heart beating in a frenzy, Yashiro Nene stared at her domed ceiling until the storm subsided, lightning seemed to strike less, and thunder no longer crackled and rumbled through the ground.
When the first rays of sun had speared through her window, her eyes had barely just begun to droop.
Her morning went by in a hurry.
It has felt like just an hour had passed since she fell into slumber when a servant -the first of many- came to fetch her from her chambers.
She spent more than a quarter of an hour rousing from bed, feeling the weight of a thousand carriages on her body just begging her to lay back down.
After an innumerable amount of shakes and yanks, the princess was led to her bath, discarding her night garments and letting her hair down for the daily wash.
When the frigidity of the water touched her skin and freezed the last remnants of sleep, the servant closest to her only smiled weakly and reminded, "It would've been warmer if you had woken earlier, Your Royal Highness,"
Without further promoting, she slipped fully into the tub, embracing the delicate fragrances entwined with the water and sinking into the soft touches disentangling her hair.
A soft hum rang out as her servants worked, perhaps a harmonized song they all habitually knew, and the princess could almost ignore the pit-pattering of her heart behind her chest.
It fluttered like a hummingbird locked inside a gilded cage, flapping a thousand beats per second and wanting nothing more than an out. Despite her attempts to stay calm and optimistic, positive and gracious, she couldn't help but feel a sense of impending doom, mixed with a fuzzy feeling of excitement coiling within.
It was an odd sentiment -worrying yet trilling with exhilaration, as juxtapositary as a cat purring contentedly while swashing out with feisty claws. Or maybe nauseous would be the best way to describe her feelings presently.
Her body is scrubbed down with castile soap and other aromatic oils, no doubt preparing her for her fateful meeting with the prince.
Once she is deemed as sufficiently cleaned, she is rinsed and dried with even stronger-smelling cloths and ushered back into her chambers.
Her hair is brushed with an urgency the princess all -but understands, her corset is laced to a suffocating degree, and she is soon dressed in an exquisite gown.
She has no chance to fully appreciate her appearance before another of her servants knocks at her door with an all-too familiar rhythm.
The name is out of her mouth before she knows it, and she leaps from her cushioned seat and springs to open the door before the nearest servant can.
"Akane!"
The brunet man gives a subtle flinch at the princess's eagerness, but quickly gives a light bow to compensate.
He wears a long coat and a beige button-up shirt as always, a vast contrast from the drab and simple attire belonging to the common servant.
Aoi Akane, the King's personal courier and, simultaneously, one of the princess's closest friends.
Not the last face she'd want to see this morning, she decides.
"Best of mornings to you too, Your Royal Highness."
At the title, the aforementioned curtsies, a broad smile gracing her lips as she struggles to withhold her pure and overflowing excitement.
Akane's visits were few and far between, sparse and rare due to his constant trips to and from the kingdom. If she was lucky, sometimes he'd bring pocket-souvenirs from his travels, always leaving them on her bedside-table before briskly embarking onto his next mission.
To be able to see him here is nothing short of a luxury.
She is almost able to forget the day's royal visit, all her worries and concerns slowly slipping from her mind, when Akane speaks.
"The Minamotos are about to be here, Princess; Your presence is required."
And just like that, her feet are back on the ground, and she's slowly being led to the throne room, where the root of her worries invariably waits.
Akane is quiet as he leads the way, fists clenched unsubtly and boots thudding loudly across the large and empty hall.
A few servants pass them, some carrying brooms and cleaning supplies, while others hold books and pages scribbled with reports pertaining the kingdom's affairs -no doubt petitions and notices belonging to the realm's people.
All of them scurry once they see the two, no doubt alarmed by Akane's stone-hard expression and the princess's own nervous one.
Tripping over her words, she tries to alleviate the palpable tension between the two, and asks into the silence, "What do they look like?"
She guesses that Akane quirks up an eyebrow as he responds, though she can't know for certain with his face turned clearly away from her.
"The Minamotos?"
She nods her assent out of habit, but ends up quickly vocalizing it instead.
"Yes, I suppose you've seen them when delivering the two king's correspondence?"
"That's true,"
It's all Akane says and, for a solid second, the princess worries that meant the end of their conversation.
"There are three children of the Minamoto bloodline,"
Her ears perk up immediately at that, and she can't help but feel like a rugged street-cat who's just had a fillet of fish waved underneath its dull-pink nose.
"Two males, and one young princess. All with heads of spiky blonde hair. It's an eyesore to look at, if you'd ask me,"
The princess mentally cheers for the fact the prince shares the same hair color as the object of her daydreaming, before she quickly exclaims in imprudence, "That's all you know? C'mon Akane, there must've been juicier stuff!"
She hears a soft chuckle bubble out of the brunet, and can't figure out if it's mocking or in kind.
"You'll meet the prince soon enough, Your Highness, you'll get enough time to form your own opinions about them soon,"
The princess lets out a huff and visibly deflates, powerless once Akane fully makes up his mind and sets an ultimatum.
Still, it doesn't stop her from murmuring in defeat, "Fine, but I told you to just call me by my name when we were alone -you're my friend,"
A second of silence passes, then another, before Akane half-heartedly mutters, "I am the King's servant first, your friend second; It'd be off with my head before I ever dare to refer to you with such casualness."
Akane is stiff for the duration of the walk, and the princess belatedly wishes she hadn't said a word after all.
"We're here, Your Royal Highness."
She barely utters her appreciation before Akane is off again, doubtlessly on his way to another errand.
Sometimes, she envied the way in which he could leave as he pleased, the sceneries he has probably encountered in his travels, and the amount of people he's surely met.
A life spent freely exploring the world of which she dreamed of, beyond the murky waters surrounding her kingdom, and traversing through open fields.
Perhaps she was romanticizing a courier's life too hastily, though, since the man himself never seemed to be in a fully pleasant mood.
With slow and tentative steps, she enters the throne room, breathing a sigh of relief at only spotting her father, accompanied by his usual array of servants.
As was customary, she curtsied before addressing her parent, sparing a small, yet genuine nonetheless, smile at those surrounding him.
"I'm here, father, what is it that you need?"
The ruler of the kingdom, simultaneously being her mother's husband and captor, her own dad, doesn't look like her.
He's slightly pudgy and stout, with dark-colored hair and tired down-cast eyes. Yet he holds the strength to rule the realm with a sternly gentle hand -as far as she's concerned.
Sometimes, the princess wonders if he's so terribly fond of her because she takes after her mother. Other times, she wishes she could become as good as a ruler as her father.
Still, in the present moment, she can't help the sentiment of being terribly small as she's beckoned to her father's side, very much feeling like a trophy about to be handed away.
She pushes those thoughts aside, however, as best she can, and waits not so patiently for her father to provide further instruction.
"I've conferred with the king of the Minamoto kingdom myself, I believe this marriage will be in our best interests,"
She nods in understanding quickly, willing her father to go on.
He drones on about how the engagement will both solidify relations between the two nations and deal with the matter of procuring an heir -the princess visibly winces at the latter half, feeling much too young to be thinking about children.
She was barely twenty-one, for the Lord's sake!
But, in all, nothing out of her realm of knowledge was covered. Her father finishes his speech with a kind reminder to be optimistic, and to remember that it was all for her own good.
So, if not for herself, then she'll attempt to ease the turbulent storm within her for her father's sake.
He was the king of their nation first, her father second. Her worries and concerns would always come after the matters of their kingdom.
She tries not to let the realization sting as much as it normally would, and redirects her attention elsewhere.
All too suddenly, the throne hall's doors opened, and one of the king's valets stepped inside hurriedly.
A few seconds pass before the princess realizes what is going on.
Her father is a few steps ahead of her.
When he stands, his broad shoulders in wide display and balding dark hair hidden by the majesty of the crown, it takes everything in the princess to not shake like a fish out of water. Her knees bump against each other, and she could swear that her legs were just about to give out.
The servant at the door begins to speak, voice loud and booming, and the princess is forced to remember that princesses act with grace.
"Please welcome His Royal Majesty, Kou, of the Minamoto Kingdom,"
But then she sees the prince, her prince, and she's just-
Oh!
He has charming blue eyes, blond (but unkempt) hair, and (slightly tanned) skin as smooth as a hamster's coat.
He looks exactly like her dreams, and she could pinpoint the exact second in which she swoons.
Quite literally.
The next thing she knows, her feet are moving by themselves and she's falling head-first to the ground by the prince's feet.
As she's bracing herself in preparation for her inevitable collision, muscles tense and teeth grit, she feels something- someone holding her up.
By her hair.
She lets out an unladylike screech and flails wildly, arms wheeling out in all directions as she struggles to get back on her feet.
The pain in her scalp is too much, it feels like her hair is going to be ripped off, and with one last look to identify the perpetrator, she sees...
Not her prince?
She's dropped unflatteringly to the floor with no warning, falling flat on her back and with no choice other than to lock eyes with her... Savior? Attempted murderer?
Jester?
It's a lanky man with even tanner skin, though she cannot fathom if it's a product of the sun itself or the boy's natural skin tone.
Choppy strands of dark brown hair -the same shade as wet Earth, she thinks- peek out from under a fool's cap, the color not distinct from the cacao beans imported into her kingdom. He's dressed in -what she believes is- a jester's garments, a ruffled white collar adorning his neck, and gold buttons lining down his shirt.
Most noticeable, though, is the wicked smile the man bears.
All sharp teeth, with twinkling amber eyes that hold the shine of a thousand suns.
He's holding his hand out for her, and, for a second, the princess wonders if it's as rough as it looks.
(Her heart does not skip a beat, not at all!)
"You okay, Princess?"
His voice is gravelly, yet pleasing to the ear -the same way that a crow's somber call can craft the most delicious of sounds- and has a specific accent that she can't really place.
Her cheeks are still flushed bright red due to the embarrassment, and she's still not quite certain whether to be mad at the man or not.
He did lessen her fall, after all.
She lets her hand linger in between the two, somehow having gravitated to the man before her in between her thoughts.
But then the man lets out a laugh, a snarky and humiliating sound, and the princess swears that she'll kick him out of the palace grounds then and there.
It feels like she has been momentarily struck by lightning when she realizes that he's looking at her ankles.
She slaps his hand away and rises off the floor on wobbly legs by herself, attempting to smoothen out her dress and regain some of her dignity back.
How embarrassing! How could this happen to her in front of her betrothed? She's never ever ever EVER going to get over this-
She can feel the onslaught of tears threatening to pour out from underneath her eyes, heart beating quickly and incessantly as she tried to steady her breathing.
The man is still standing a few feet in front of her.
It takes her a while to register another presence by her side.
It's her prince.
Had he been watching everything unfold from a distance? Why hadn't he sprung to action sooner?
"Your Highness! Are you okay, my Lady? That was a nasty fall, would you wish for me to escort you back to your chambers?"
"I.. I am okay, please do not trouble yourself, I will fare well on my own."
And just her luck -what God above had she irked so? The prince... Kou, was overwhelmingly eager in his requests to aid her.
"Please, my Lady, I-"
In any other occasion, she'd be delighted to have a charming prince at her beck and call, overly eager and attentive to her every whim -but now? After the horrible incident that had transpired a few minutes ago, she wanted nothing more than to escape to her chambers and wake up til the sun had risen once more.
Her father clears her throat, tearing the prince and his jester's attention away from her, and she can only breathe out a sigh of relief.
"Let my servants get you acclimated, yes, Prince Kou?"
Immediately at the words, the man in question straightened his posture and turned away completely, wholely devoting his attention to the king like a mutt to its master.
Using the opening her father had so kindly created for her, the princess quietly treaded back into the hallway and towards her dormitory, palms sweaty and face flushed.
So much for a first meeting.