Chapter Text
With the night of the winter solstice came the birth of the heir. “The first has arrived,” the people whisper in hushed tones, hands covering their mouths as they pass along the news. “She’s cursed,” they also say, voices low and somber. A silent infant is a bad omen, much more so for the crown princess. And although an official announcement revealing the birth of the heir was never made, palace staff are experts at gossip, and the news escaped the palace before the sun even rose.
The people don’t expect her to survive the week.
But when a week comes and goes, and then two, and then four—the people are confused. The queen’s pregnancy was well known—celebrated, even—yet there’s still no news about the heir. Unease festers from the silence, and rumors bubble up alongside it.
“It’s because of the prince,” one man sneers, the pub falling into a shocked silence as frothy beer spills from his mug. “He’s cursed the royal family! He seduced our queen with his petty parlor tricks and doomed ‘er heirs-”
“Quiet!” a barmaid snaps, relinquishing the drunkard of his beverage with barely contained fury. “The prince saved Her Majesty with the very same petty parlor tricks you speak of. Show the royal family some respect!” The man grumbles as she walks away with his drink, pointedly ignoring the various glares thrown his way from the other patrons. As he steps out of the warm tavern and into the cold, winter night, a shove against his shoulder makes him stumble. Turning on his heel, he opens his mouth to argue when a hooded stranger interrupts him.
“You’re right, y’know,” they mutter, face hidden under the shadows of their worn, brown cloak. “Magic users will doom this kingdom, and the people are too blind to see it. How quickly we have forgotten,” they muse. “-why we fight the spirits in the first place.”
“What’re you blabbering about?” the man sputters. The hooded stranger sighs, stepping away with barely a shift of their cloak.
“Sooner or later, the kingdom will fall,” they warn. “Spirits will overtake us, and we will burn as a result of the royal family’s heresy.”
A blink later and the stranger is gone, a lone pair of shoe-prints in the snow being the only indication they were ever there.
The very next morning brought news of the princess.
Knights from the royal army scatter across the kingdom, addressing crowds of various sizes in every city and town.
“Her majesty Queen Hikari and his Highness Prince Isao are delighted to announce the birth of their daughter, the crown princess!” they declare, cheers erupting from the people.
Soon, visiting nobles begin to file into the kingdom, bringing with them gifts and blessings for the princess.
“Congratulations, your majesties,” says Duke Hoshina, rising from his kneel with a smile. A young boy with white hair stands with him, clutching his father’s coattails. Hikari grins tiredly from her seat on the throne.
“Thank you, old friend. Your presence is greatly welcome; how lovely it is to see you once again! Please, tell me—how does your wife fare? She also gave birth not long ago, no?” Duke Hoshina nods.
“Indeed, she did,” he says, resting a hand on his son’s shoulder. The white-haired child holds his clasped hands in front of him, staring solemnly at the plush carpet. “My wife is recovering well and our baby is healthy, and Soichiro has been showing great promise with the sword. I have much to be grateful for.”
Hikari turns to look at her husband, reaching over to run her fingers gently over his hand.
“Yes,” she agrees. “There is much to be thankful for.” Isao flips his palm over and raises Hikari’s hand to leave a chaste kiss against her gloved knuckles, making her giggle. Turning back to their audience, Isao gives Duke Hoshina a look.
“I will anticipate your son’s eventual debut in the Solar Tourney,” he states, eyeing the young boy with interest. Soichiro risks a peek at the man, blushing when he gets caught. Isao gives him an approving nod, and the duke pats his son’s shoulder firmly.
“Yes, I am confident that he will compete once he is old enough. He is showing remarkable progress for his age,” Duke Hoshina says proudly. Hikari glances at her husband, a thoughtful look on her face. Looking back quickly, she smiles at the duke, albeit more restrained than before.
“Thank you once again for coming to visit,” she says. “I’m very grateful for our friendship.” Duke Hoshina bows and his son quickly follows, acknowledging the obvious dismissal.
“It is an honor to be held in such high regard by your majesty,” he says calmly. As they leave, Soichiro glances back one last time before they disappear amongst the crowd of nobles. Hikari’s smile drops and she begins to tap her fingers against the arm rest of her throne.
“Do you think he’ll be the answer?” she asks lowly, wary of prying ears. Isao hums, closing his eyes.
“If she takes after me, it will not be long before civil unrest threatens her position. A sword-user from a family with a long, decorated history will help mitigate that,” he mutters solemnly. Hikari breathes in sharply, stress evident in the way she continues to tap her fingers rhythmically; her nanny was never able to kick that nervous tick out of her, no matter how hard she tried.
Hikari lets out a small sigh before straightening in her seat. Many nobles still await her greetings.
“Let’s discuss this further in private,” she murmurs.
“As you wish, my queen.”
Later, when the moon has risen high in the night sky and festivities have long since ended, the new parents crowd around a lavish cradle. A small infant sleeps within it, her face pudgy and skin soft. Hikari gently pushes back the infant’s hair, caressing her cheek. The child whimpers at the touch, yellow sparks coming from her fingertips as she tries to shift away. Hikari frowns.
“She’ll require your guidance,” she starts, frustration seeping into her tone. “Preparing her for the crown will be difficult enough without the constant damning eyes of disapproving nobles on her for something she had no choice in. The love and support from her father—someone who is just like her—it will be invaluable in building her confidence. She’ll never instill trust in the populace if she cowers at every event.”
Isao rests a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulders, holding her close when she leans into him.
“And she will have it,” he affirms, looking down at his daughter. “I’ll teach her everything I know, and with her parents behind her, there is nothing she won’t be able to accomplish.” The queen closes her eyes, turning around to bury her face in her husband’s chest. Isao rubs her arms gently.
“I worry,” she whispers. “That we won’t be enough. But I refuse to throw my daughter to the wolves. She’ll be the best ruler this nation has ever seen—even better than us,” Hikari finishes softly.
Turning to look out the window, Isao thinks.
He’s long had his own worries regarding his place by his wife’s side. Although many—if not most—of her citizens approve of their marriage, there are still those who sneer at the sight of him, and subsequently his magic.
His wrists suddenly ache at the reminder.
Shaking the thoughts away, Isao vows to himself—and his wife—that his daughter will not suffer the same fate. She will grow stronger than the both of them.
As the years pass, the princess grows.
A crawling baby quickly becomes a wobbling toddler, and then a nimble child who escapes her nannies and guards with terrifying accuracy. The maids have began keeping a scoreboard for fun, and it was pointedly not in favor of the staff. Even the palace chefs have started helping her little highness when she comes looking for sweets, much to the despair of her guards.
But as smart and elusive she may be, the crown princess was still a child, and children can be quite predictable. The first place they always look is located in the west wing of the palace.
Towering sunflowers lined stone walkways and sturdy willow trees offered cool respite from the unforgiving sun. While all of the palace gardens are renowned for their beauty, the Light Garden is often overlooked in favor of the bolder—and admittedly more impressive—Garden of Rubies, full of everlasting blooming roses and meticulously trimmed hedges.
Soft footsteps patter along the stone accompanied by high pitched giggles.
A small boy—no older than ten—startles from where he sat in the grass, frowning slightly when the hummingbird he was watching flies off. Soshiro crouches, hiding behind the trunk of a large weeping willow. A young girl skips down the path followed by a striped, white cat. Her ruffled dress flutters around her legs, and she almost glows in the afternoon sunlight. Soshiro squints, looking closer.
No, she really was glowing.
Flecks of light follow her fingertips as she almost floats down the path. The cat suddenly stops in its tracks, ears perking as it snaps its neck toward him. Soshiro almost yelps as he falls back behind the tree.
There’s a pause before the footsteps resume, but to Soshiro’s horror, it’s coming toward him. He holds his breath. Why did he ever consider wandering off in the palace? He should’ve stayed with his father and brother, who cares if the meeting was boring—it’s better than getting punished for intruding-
“Who are you?”
Soshiro’s panicked thoughts come to a screeching halt. He peeks open a single eye and flinches, gaze honing in on a nose that was so close to touching his own. A chubby face pulls away, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The cat—which is much bigger up close—growls, its ears flat against its head with unblinking eyes fixed on him.
A huff, and then from above- “I said, who. Are. You?” you demand, small fists resting on your hips. Soshiro squints, unable to open his eyes fully.
“Who are you?” he counters, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Your jaw drops in shock.
“I asked you first!” you sputter indignantly, flailing your hands around. A few fingers come dangerously close to hitting your cat, who quickly dodges and makes its way around the tree to sniff at Soshiro’s back. Soft fur brushes against his wrist before something decidedly wet swipes his skin. Soshiro snatches his hand back with a grimace, cringing at the slick saliva coating his palm. The cat looks up at him curiously, but noticeably calmer than it was before. A small sniff, and then-
“Oh!” You gasp. “Bakko likes you! She doesn’t like anybody except for me…” you wonder aloud. Soshiro lifts a tentative hand (after wiping it clean with a handkerchief), and places it gently on Bakko’s head. The cat closes her eyes and begins to purr happily, laying down and plopping her head on Soshiro’s thigh.
You follow her lead and pick up your skirts to sit cautiously on the grass. Dusting away any flecks of dirt, you rest your hands on your lap and face him curiously.
“Well,” you start hesitantly. “If Bakko likes you, then I guess you must be okay.” Soshiro looks up, still a little wary, but as far as he can tell you seem genuine in your faith. Distantly, he wonders what types of people you’ve met to place so much trust in your monster of a cat.
He continues to pet Bakko’s head absentmindedly, much to her delight. There’s a rustle to his right as you adjust your dress beneath you.
“How come you’re in the gardens?” you ask quietly. Soshiro frowns a little.
“…I got separated from my father. We were walking and I got distracted and couldn’t find him after,” he admits guiltily, embarrassed of his childish behavior. It was unbefitting of the son of a duke.
You hum for a moment before replying. “I ran away,” you say, looking up to watch the clouds. “My parents are busy today, and I didn’t feel like practicing the sword.” Soshiro looks at you, surprised.
“You use the sword?” he asks incredulously. You flush at his tone.
“I’m not that good at it!” you say hurriedly, tugging at a strand of your hair. “But my mother insists that I practice. For my own safety. I don’t really like it since it hurts my hands, though.” Soshiro nods in understanding. He opens his non-petting hand revealing tough callouses.
“I practice every day, but my older brother is better than me. I try my best to keep up but he’s always been stronger,” he says sadly. Your face falls.
Right as you’re about to respond, you’re interrupted by frantic shouting coming from deeper in the garden. A distressed woman comes rounding the corner, strands of hair escaping what used to be a neat bun. A pair of primly dressed knights follow after her, albeit less obviously winded.
There’s not enough time for the two of you to hide—you’re wearing a heavy dress and he has an even heavier animal napping on him—so when the woman spots you and Soshiro, you’re unable to do much more than freeze.
“Oh no,” you whimper quietly. But before Soshiro could ask what’s wrong, there’s two guards pointing swords at him. He stiffens in fright, but when they don’t come any closer, the fear shifts slightly to confusion. Below him, Bakko blinks one eye open, and when she realizes they have an audience, she gets up from her place on Soshiro’s lap reluctantly.
“Your highness!” the woman gasps, shooting a dubious glance at him before quickly reaching to help lift you to your feet and dust off your backside. Soshiro’s eyes widen in shock.
“Your mother is requesting your presence, my lady,” she says, doing her best to help fix your skirts. Bakko twists around to stare.
“I thought I wasn’t required for today’s meeting,” you pout, allowing yourself to be preened. You sigh as the woman fusses over your hair and dress, standing tall once a bejeweled crown sits upon your brow. Soshiro looks away, not wanting to be caught staring at the princess. The guards already look like they want to kick him off the grounds.
“Come, we should not keep her majesty waiting,” the woman says, taking your hand. She squints at him before turning to the guards.
“Please escort Duke Hoshina’s son back to their meeting room,” she instructs them, waving her free hand dismissively then leading you away toward the palace. Soshiro watches as the two of you leave, Bakko stalking behind protectively.
He turns back to the guards who have already put away their swords. The one on the left nods at him stiffly.
“Please refrain from exploring the grounds unattended, sir,” he says, before turning on his heel. The other gestures for him to pass and Soshiro falls into step between them as they guide him to his father. Palace staff pay him little mind as they walk by, too preoccupied with their own duties to care about a little boy—even if he’s being personally escorted by two guards.
They approach large, wooden doors guarded by two knights stationed at either side. His escorts explain the situation to them and give him a shallow bow before leaving. One knight opens the door for him with a small nod and Soshiro slips inside, ducking his head at the disapproving stare from his father and the haughty glance from his brother. Queen Hikari smiles at him gently from where she sat next to a impassive Isao, motioning him to come forward. He bows, greeting them, “Good afternoon, your majesties,” before sitting down in the empty seat to his brother’s left. Soichiro leans over to whisper in his ear.
“Stop causing trouble, you’re making our family look bad,” he hisses, polite mask never slipping from his face. He straightens, returning his attention to the conversation. Soshiro remains carefully still, refusing to look up from the embroidered tablecloth.
“-We’ve been having her father train her, and as much as Isao is a beast on the battlefield, the sword is not a weapon he has much experience with,” he hears Queen Hikari say. “ Anti-magic sentiment hasn’t died down as much as we had hoped in the past decade. She’s strong, and her swordsmanship is advanced for her age, but her ability to harness the power of spirits will cast skepticism over her and her rule.” Soshiro’s father hums contemplatively.
“Who currently looks over her physical training?” he asks, frowning.
“I do,” Hikari sighs. “At least, when I can. However, there’s only so much time I can dedicate to training my daughter in between meetings, paperwork, and appearances. The short sessions we share in between her more frequent lessons with Isao are not enough to foster noticeable improvement.”
“Why don’t I take over her training?” Duke Hoshina offers. Soshiro looks up in surprise. “I already teach my sons, as my father has done for me. An additional student will not make much of a difference, especially as the princess already has experience.”
Hikari looks to her husband, a thoughtful expression on her face. “That’s actually… not a bad idea,” she admits. Isao nods his head.
“There’s a dedicated training ground used solely by the royal family that the knights do not have access to. You may use it to teach her, along with your sons, of course,” he proposes. “Having training partners her age will also be better for practice,” Hikari adds on.
Soshiro’s mind drifts as the adults continue to work out a plan. Practicing his swordsmanship with the princess doesn’t sound too bad, he muses. While you confided in him your dislike for the weapon, he selfishly admits to himself that it’ll be nice having another person in their lessons that’s closer to his skill level.
His thoughts get interrupted as the doors behind him open with a creak.
“Her highness, the crown princess, has arrived,” a guard announces, ducking his head as he closes the doors behind him. Soshiro quickly stands alongside his brother and father to greet you, bowing at the waist. You curtsy in return.
“Hello, Duke Hoshina,” you say politely. Soshiro’s father smiles warmly.
“Good afternoon, your highness.” You turn to face him and his brother, who parrot their father’s greeting. Your smile is stiff, Soshiro notices. Making your way around the table, you stop to accept a kiss on the cheek from your mother before sitting to your father’s right.
The queen reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Darling, you know how we don’t get to train together as much as I’d like?” Hikari asks gently. “Well, we think it would be ideal for you to train with the duke alongside his sons.” You straighten in surprise, eyes flitting to Soshiro briefly before settling on your mother.
“…I didn’t know the duke was accepting students,” you say confusedly. Isao and Hikari share a look.
“Unfortunately, your mother cannot give you sufficient training on top of her current duties,” Isao tells you. “It’s imperative that your skills are improved upon, and quickly. The duke is one of the best swordsmen in this kingdom, and his offer to teach you should not be taken lightly.” Soshiro’s father nods in agreement.
“It would be an honor to be your teacher, your highness,” he assures. Your eyes flit between your parents, an unsure look on your face before settling on the duke, giving him a polite smile.
“Then I would be honored to be your student,” you say in return.
Soshiro glances at his father suspiciously.
The Hoshina family has never taken on outsiders as students, much less a girl. Ancient techniques and practices were passed down from father to son for generation after generation, and although one could argue that the royal family could be an exception, it’s never been done before. What does his father gain out of adopting the princess as a pupil?
Hikari claps her hands once, catching everyone’s attention.
“Well then, I believe we’re finished here!” she declares happily. She stands, motioning for you to follow. Isao hovers closely behind the two of you as Soshiro’s family follows suit. A guard nods at them respectfully before opening the doors and the group slowly makes their way to the courtyard where the duke’s carriage awaits.
Soshiro takes the time to look over the princess as they walk down the halls. You’re much different here than how you were in the garden, he notices. You stand taller, your expression carefully neutral and movements reserved. Although he can only see your back, your presence just feels smaller than it was in the garden.
Outside, the sun has begun to set over the horizon, casting long shadows on the palace. His family says their goodbyes and soon they’re off back to the Hoshina estate, their coachman driving the carriage with practiced ease. Soshiro’s father looks out the window contemplatively while Soichiro sits still beside him, staring blankly at his tightly clasped hands.
The sky slowly dims as their journey progresses, and the moon is high in the sky when they stop for the night at an inn; it would take another day of travel before they reach the duchy. The rooms they’re staying in are hastily put together by the flustered innkeeper, and admittedly his bed is a lot less comfortable compared to his plush mattress at home. Despite that, Soshiro is grateful for the privacy, no matter how thin the walls of the inn were. With only his thoughts to keep him company, he drifts off, dreaming of whispered teasing and soft fur.
But the princess’s first training session was unfortunately underwhelming.
A month later, Soshiro returns to the royal palace along with his father to begin their joint lessons. The queen insisted that they stay close by so they’ve been given rooms within the palace to stay as long term guests. Unfortunately, Duke Hoshina still had many more responsibilities regarding the duchy that he couldn’t abandon, so Soichiro was left behind to aid their mother in managing day-to-day affairs.
Soshiro knew you said you weren’t that good, but he didn’t expect you to be this bad. Don’t get him wrong, you’re still leagues better than the other kids their age, but compared to Soichiro—or even himself—you still had a long ways to go before you would be able to hold your own in a sparring session with either of them.
Repeatedly swinging his training sword in a familiar arc, Soshiro does his best to focus on his own practice dummy rather than the crown princess just a few meters away from him.
Today, your hair was tied up with a purple silk ribbon—your current favorite hair accessory—and brown leather gloves adorn your small hands which grip your wooden sword tightly. Soshiro’s father corrects your form and movements—”Do not waste energy on unnecessary movements, your highness,”—while your father scrutinizes you from the sidelines.
Prince Isao makes for quite the intimidating figure—tall and bulky with a severe expression—Soshiro doesn’t know if he ever smiles. But you keep looking to him with a hopeful expression, and he always gives you a small dip of his head in acknowledgement which fuels you to work harder. In the corner of his eye, Soshiro sees you quickly wipe the sweat off your brow and swing with a determined pout.
And after three long months, Duke Hoshina finally deemed you ready to spar against his son. The duke had worked hard with you almost every day—which was quite the adjustment—and was pleasantly surprised at how quickly you had improved.
With his approval, soon the training grounds are filled with the sharp sounds of clashing wood and small grunts as you and Soshiro try to strike each other with your practice swords. Soshiro dodges to the side as you swipe at him from the left, raising his sword above his head and bringing it down in a fast arch. You block his sword with your own, gritting your teeth as you struggle to hold him off. Soshiro suddenly jumps back, causing you to stumble forward with a surprised gasp from the abrupt release of pressure. He rushes at you, body close to the ground to slash at you from below, but just as he gets close you sneakily grab a fistful of dirt and fling it at his face. Soshiro quickly snaps his head to the side but it was too late. Hissing in pain, he retreats with his sword held close to his body in a defensive stance. His eyes are tearing up and they sting badly, but he couldn’t help but admit that your idea was sound.
Duke Hoshina suddenly whistles, catching his attention.
“Enough!” he calls, and Soshiro releases the tension in his body, breathing heavily. His sword hangs at his side and using his other hand he tries to wipe the dust out of his eyes. Out of nowhere, he feels supple leather wrapping around his wrist and pulling.
“Follow me,” a familiar voice says. You lead him somewhere to his left and he obliges when you gently push his shoulder to lean forward. “It’ll be cold,” you warn, before there’s suddenly freezing water pouring over his face. Soshiro sputters in shock, but quickly cups his hands to hold the water and rinse out his eyes. When he rises, you’re failing to hold back a laugh, but you hold out an embroidered handkerchief which Soshiro accepts gratefully, dabbing his face dry.
Prince Isao and his father approach them, an approving look on both of their faces.
“Smart thinking,” Isao says, lightly patting your back. “When facing an opponent stronger than you, you must think outside of the box to protect yourself and gain an advantage.” You beam at his praise and Soshiro struggles to look away. His father hums in agreement and rests his hand on Soshiro’s shoulder.
“As we’ve discussed, your highness,” Duke Hoshina starts. “We shall begin incorporating sparring into our lessons. Please continue to practice your regular exercises outside of our meetings.” You nod, eyes flitting to Soshiro briefly before looking away. Prince Isao reaches out and gives his father a firm handshake.
“Thank you again. Hikari wanted to express her appreciation herself, however she’s stuck in meetings until late tonight and couldn’t be pulled away,” Isao says. Duke Hoshina shakes his head.
“That’s quite alright. Please tell her I don’t mind in the slightest,” he assures. Isao nods, and Soshiro and his father bow deeply, excusing themselves. Returning to the palace, the two retire to their respective bedrooms where a maid readies a bath for him, and soon he’s dressed in fresh clothes and eating dinner quietly in his room. Holding a hand up to the candlelight, Soshiro examines the handkerchief you had given him earlier that day.
Small sunflowers lined the edges of the soft fabric, little green leaves sprinkled in between the spaces. Your initials are embroidered in one corner, and when he brings the kerchief up to his nose, it smells faintly of something sweet.
Covering the now finished tray of food, he silently pads over to his bed and sits on the edge of the mattress. Soshiro traces the embroidered letters with his thumb, a small smile on his face before tucking the handkerchief into his pants pocket and climbing into bed, pulling the covers over his chin. Outside his room, he can hear the muffled footsteps of other patrons walking down the hall and the occasional hoot of an owl from his open window. A cool breeze wafts through the room and Soshiro shivers, snuggling deeper under the covers. The exhaustion from the day washes over him, and he quickly falls asleep dreaming of bright, toothy smiles and purple ribbons.
And it’s great, for a while.
Soshiro becomes a familiar face in the palace in the two years he spends as the crown princess’s training partner. Several maids have started doting on him, sneaking him snacks in between his lessons. He’s grown a little taller, his friendship with you had grown a bit stronger, and his swordsmanship continues to shine.
Even his relationship with his brother had improved. Soichiro continues to take on more and more responsibilities back home at the duchy on top of his training with their own knights. The distance has done them good, and now that he’s free of his brother’s ever looming shadow, Soshiro has been able to break out of his shell and grow more confident in his skill with the sword. His father praises him more often during training too, even going as far to suggest he compete in the Solar Tourney like his brother had the year prior.
Life is good, until it’s not.
The day Queen Hikari goes into labor again is the start of everything falling apart.
Her second pregnancy was just as difficult as her first, although she did her best to hide it. The palace was in uproar from the moment her water broke, Prince Isao especially tense and shouting at doctors and midwives alike. Maids and butlers ran up and down the halls under orders from the queen’s ladies-in-waiting to fetch more towels, more water, more pain relief. Frantic shouting was near constant, but after a grueling twelve hours, it was over.
Queen Hikari passes with the birth of their second daughter, Princess Kikoru.
The funeral processions begin a week later with the ceremony following shortly after.
To be honest, the entire thing is a blur in Soshiro’s mind. All he can remember is Prince Isao’s unmoving back and your poorly-stifled sobs. Princess Kikoru was noticeably absent, being tended to by her nursemaids far away from the somber event. One by one, noble families approach the deceased queen’s decorated casket and kneel, leaving behind a single white lily as the next family takes their place.
After everything is over, his father pulls him away from the crowd with a severe expression on his face, nodding at Soichiro who quietly follows their mother out of the palace. He checks their surroundings briefly before turning to Soshiro, looking at him seriously.
“The duchy will be under attack in roughly three days,” he reveals bluntly, voice low and tense. “A spirit of unprecedented size emerged in the south and is heading directly our way. Due to the nature of its size, it cannot traverse the mountainous land quickly, but your brother and I will be leading our knights in a defensive battle.” Soshiro’s eyes widen in shock. “You will remain here at the palace-”
“Father!” he protests. The duke shakes his head firmly, tightening his hold on his son’s wrist.
“You must stay here,” he insists sharply. “Soshiro, what do you think will happen if your brother or I die in battle? If the spirit breaks through our defenses and destroys our lands? Who will remain to rebuild? To lead our knights and denizens? To take care of your mother? I cannot have both my sons die in one night. I will not allow it.” Soshiro drops his head, clenching his fists and jaw tightly as tears threaten to fall from his eyes.
“I… I understand, father,” he grits out. Duke Hoshina releases him, rubbing a hand over his face and letting out a shaky sigh.
“Do not attempt to follow,” he warns him. “Stay here with your mother. I’ve already informed Prince Isao and he’s allowing you to stay in your current accommodations until I return.” he nods numbly. The duke then turns on his heel and Soshiro follows, watching as his mother clings to his father and brother tearily. He clutches the worn, embroidered handkerchief in his pocket and watches as their coachman guides their carriage off the palace grounds.
The next few weeks are spent in constant anxiety. Isao has holed himself up in his office, now holding the title of Prince Regent as you were still too young to rule. His mother paces endlessly, weeping every night as each day passes with no news. In an attempt to hide himself away, Soshiro chooses to practice at their usual training grounds. The repetitive motions help to keep him calm—as calm as he could be waiting to hear if his brother and father are still alive—and he embraces the stinging pain of blisters forming on his palms.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The training dummy wobbles with that last hit, teetering slightly before righting itself. Soshiro breathes heavily, reaching up to wipe the sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp clumps and his cheeks are flushed with exertion. Readying his sword, he’s about to swing again when a small voice calls out to him from behind.
“Soshiro? What are you doing here by yourself?” He sighs, letting his sword drop to his side.
“Why are you back here, your highness?” he asks you tiredly. “Shouldn’t you be with his majesty?” You rub your arms shyly, choosing to stay a few feet away.
“Father is angry all the time now… I don’t want to be around him,” you mumble. Soshiro raises a brow.
“You ran away again, didn’t you?” he accuses. Your gaze falls to the floor as you tug on your hair.
“He’s been really upset with all the aids. I don’t want to get yelled at too, and Bakko’s asleep so I don’t want to wake her up, either.” You sniff, reaching up to quickly wipe at your puffy eyes. Soshiro’s chest tightens at the sight. He glances back and forth between you and his sword and bites his lip, trying to figure out what to say. The wind suddenly picks up, ruffling your hair revealing a golden earring that sparkles in the late afternoon sun.
“Can you show me your magic?” he blurts. You freeze, looking up to stare at him with wide eyes. Soshiro blushes.
“I mean—I always thought it looked really pretty…” he admits shyly.
“…Okay,” you say, approaching him cautiously. He follows you to a nearby bench, quickly brushing off any dust and leaves before you sit down. Adjusting your skirts, you turn to face him hesitantly. “What did you want to see?” you ask. Soshiro shrugs. “Anything is fine with me, your highness.” You frown a little. Soshiro watches as you hold up your hands between your bodies, palms raised to the rapidly darkening sky. A brief moment, and then-
“Wow,” Soshiro breathes. Sparks of yellow shimmer from your hands, swirling around your fingertips as flickers of light race up and down your arms like miniature bolts of lightning. Your faces are lit up from below by your powers, and Soshiro thinks to himself you look rather pretty like this. Reaching out, you gently place a hand on his wrist and close your eyes. To his shock, Soshiro watches as the blisters on his hands slowly heal themselves, the fluid filled bumps receding back into his skin. With it came a very pleasant tingly sensation that filled his body with warmth.
“I figured out I was able to do this a few months ago,” you say quietly, releasing him. “I’m not that good at it yet—I can only heal really small injuries like cuts and bruises—but I’m working on it. Father is much better at it than I am, but he can only heal himself.” You clench your fist, cutting off your powers. “Maybe if I was better, Mother wouldn’t have…” you trail off, choking on a sob. Soshiro quickly reaches up to grip your shoulders.
“It’s not your fault,” he says firmly. You sniff.
“It sure feels like it,” you mutter, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at your eyes. Biting his lip, he cautiously begins to rub your back in what he hopes is a comforting manner. To his surprise, you lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder. Neither of you say anything for a long moment, the silence only broken by your occasional sniffle.
“I heard about your father,” you whisper. Soshiro closes his eyes. “The advisors were talking really loudly earlier today—something about sending troops for backup—I didn’t really understand it.”
“…A spirit is attacking the duchy. My family is leading our knights in the battle, but apparently this spirit is the largest one ever recorded. Father forbade me from going, which is why I’m stuck here at the palace with my mother instead of fighting,” he says bitterly.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble. Soshiro shakes his head.
“The only person who should be sorry is me. I always knew I was weak,” he admits. At that, you sit up and face him with a frown.
“You’re not weak. If you’re weak then what am I? Pathetic? I’ve never won against you in a spar,” you retort. Soshiro flushes.
“I–I didn’t mean it like that, your highness,” he stammers nervously, making you giggle at his panicked expression.
“I know you didn’t,” you smile softly. Glancing up, your grin falters at seeing how dark it’s gotten. Soshiro follows your lead as you stand and start to make your way back to the palace. Your pace slows, allowing him to walk beside you.
“Soshiro,” you start. He hums.
“Yes, your highness?” You shoot him a glance out of the corner of your eye.
“…Thank you for being so kind to me.” He almost stumbles at that and looks at you confusedly.
“I don’t understand. Why would I be anything but kind to you, your highness?” You give him a noncommittal shrug and begin to walk more briskly, leaving him behind.
“No reason!” you call out, and Soshiro can see a hint of a smile gracing your lips from over your shoulder. He watches as you turn the corner and leave him, the ruffles of your dress fluttering behind you. Sighing, he turns on his heel and walks back to the training dummy with his hands clasped behind his head.
The sun is slowly disappearing behind the palace walls leaving a slight chill in the air, making him shiver. As he leans down to pick up his abandoned sword, Soshiro takes a moment to appreciate the newfound clarity in his head—your talk helped him feel lighter—and the feeling of the wood beneath his fingers grounds him in a way that it hadn’t before. He swings, the sword going in a wide arch before slamming into the side of the dummy with a thud. His palms are still rough and calloused—your powers only got rid of his newly formed blisters—but the slight sting from the friction brings a sense of accomplishment; his efforts aren’t in vain and he is improving, one swing at a time.
He spends the rest of the evening there, swinging again and again and again until his mother’s aide comes to collect him for dinner. They eat in silence, only occasionally interrupted by his mother’s poorly muffled sniffles. Her eyes are bloodshot and her hands have a tremor she can’t seem to shake off. The steak is well seasoned and tender, yet Soshiro can’t bring himself to enjoy it as he usually would—too worried about the state of his family and their soldiers who are surely injured, or worse: dead. He struggles to even finish his meal, pushing the half-eaten plate away with a rushed “sorry,” and excuses himself to his room with a lingering taste of ash in his mouth.
That night, he stares at the ceiling for hours, unable to fall asleep despite his body’s exhaustion. Turning to his side, he stares at his calloused palms for a moment before clenching his fist tightly. Soshiro flips the covers over his head and curls up, reaching under this pillow to wrap his fingers around something soft and tugging it out. Hugging the worn, fraying dragon to his chest and closing his eyes, Soshiro chokes on a sob.
He hopes his father and brother come home soon.
The sound of rapid knocking startles him awake. Soshiro rubs his eyes groggily, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and stumbling to the door. The knocking doesn’t stop—if anything, it gets faster.
“Young master! Young master, are you awake?!” a muffled voice calls out to him from outside. Soshiro opens the door wearily, frowning when he sees the frazzled state of his mother’s aide. She wrings her hands nervously at the sight of him.
“Young master,” she starts shakily, making him tense. “Your father and brother have returned. They’re currently being tended to in the medical wing and your mother requested I bring you there as soon as possible.”
“…I see,” he whispers, clenching his fists. “Very well, please give me a moment to dress and we can leave.” She nods and ducks her head allowing him to shut the door for privacy. Soshiro leans against the ornate wood, shutting his eyes and inhaling deeply. Although he was waiting anxiously every night for news of their return, the thought of actually seeing the damage done to his brother and father from their battle is more distressing than the months he spent alone. He pushes himself off the door to get a pair of plain trousers and a shirt from his wardrobe and quickly dresses, making sure to grab a coat on his way out after sliding on his shoes. His mother’s aide bows at him before turning on her heel and walking briskly down the hall, Soshiro following quickly behind her.
The palace is quiet besides the occasional guard making rounds until they reach the medical wing. When the doors finally come into view, Soshiro’s heart squeezes at the scene: bandaged soldiers trail in and out with varying degrees of injuries, many sporting visible wounds and some picking at blood-soaked wraps in desperate need of changing. They freeze when they see him, eyes darting between him and somewhere inside, out of sight.
Taking a deep breath, Soshiro walks inside, passing by his mother’s aide who had decided to wait outside out of respect. It’s incredibly hectic with nurses running back and forth carrying supplies and equipment and doctors shouting at each other from across the room. Every single bed is occupied and Soshiro struggles to find his family in the chaos, sidestepping staff and the wounded alike in his search. A hand suddenly lands on his shoulder making him flinch, and when he turns around, he comes face to face with a masked doctor.
“Are you Duke Hoshina’s son?” she asks, voice muffled behind the fabric, to which Soshiro nods. She gestures for him to follow and leads him to another door that opens to a more private sector of the medical wing; there were no wandering soldiers here and it was much quieter. They walk to the left side of the room which is curtained off, only to startle when a nurse suddenly ducks under and walks out. She bows to the doctor then whispers something in her ear, a severe expression on her face as she did so. Glancing at Soshiro, she bows once more and takes her leave. The doctor sighs, then steps forward to lift one side of the curtain and motions for him to step inside, but doesn’t follow.
Immediately, he’s hit with the smell of antiseptic. His father looks up at him tiredly from where he sat on his hospital bed, a bandage wrapped around his bare chest and his right leg elevated in a sling. Beside him sat his mother with a blanket thrown over her shoulders, hunched over and weeping into her hands.
Soshiro approaches them cautiously, eyes fixed on the red seeping through his father’s white bandages.
“…What happened?” he asks, voice low. Duke Hoshina closes his eyes, leaning back to rest his head against the wall. It takes him a long moment to speak.
“The spirit has been defeated, otherwise I would not be here. However, we’ve lost more than half of our soldiers in the battle,” he croaks. “It was… truly monstrous. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was taller than the estate and had dozens of eyes, each the size of an average mare, and the beast walked on all fours—if you could even call it that. A spider would be a better comparison with the amount of limbs that thing had, easily crushing our troops beneath it. It’s a miracle I escaped with the injuries that I have… many of our men did not survive the journey back.”
The duke lets out a long sigh, rubbing his bandaged side with a wince. “Your brother-” Duke Hoshina suddenly lurches over, clutching a hand over his mouth as he coughs violently. Soshiro and his mother both jerk forward and reach out to help steady him, his mother’s blanket falling to the ground forgotten. He waves the two of them off, reaching over to grab a cup of water on the bedside table once his coughing fit subsides and takes slow, careful sips. Soshiro’s mother rubs his back with one hand and wipes her tears with the other, sniffling as she does so.
Now calm, Duke Hoshina sets aside the cup and leans back against this pillows with a low groan.
“Thank you, dear,“ he rasps, patting his wife’s hand. She gives him and Soshiro a lingering kiss on the cheek before excusing herself, wrapping the blanket tightly around her shoulders as she ducks under the curtain and out of view. Duke Hoshina clears his throat and turns back to Soshiro with a grim expression.
“As I’ve said earlier, most of our men received grave injuries in the battle with many not surviving at all. Your brother is among the injured,” he reveals, and Soshiro’s stomach drops as the duke continues. “Soichiro is currently undergoing surgery with the royal physician after losing his right arm and a substantial amount of blood. It is… unclear if he will last through the night.”
“…I see,” Soshiro chokes out, clenching his fists tightly. His father pinches the space between his brows, looking much older.
“You should go see him,” he says lowly, clasping his hands together and resting them on his lap. “Your mother will be there with you.”
Soshiro nods stiffly, frozen for a brief moment before turning on his heel and ducking under the curtain. Outside, his father’s doctor stands waiting while scanning a packet of papers. She looks up at the rustle of the curtains and squints when she sees him, tucking the papers under her arm.
“You should come with me,” she says seriously, motioning for him to follow as she starts to speed-walk to another room at the end of the hall. In the corner of his eye, Soshiro can see his mother speaking with another nurse across the room. She looks up briefly seeing him pass by before turning back to the nurse, continuing their conversation with hushed tones.
“Is something the matter?” Soshiro asks, scrambling to chase after the doctor.
“We’ve found something regarding your brother that is… concerning, to say the least. I serve the royal family, first and foremost,” she discloses, glancing at him briefly as she walks. “And as such, any information I discover about my patients that may jeopardize or be of concern to the royal family is something I cannot keep hidden, nor would I want to.” They come to a stop in front of a heavy metal door hidden in a discreet corner, which she swiftly unlocks. Beckoning him inside, she shuts the door which almost completely muffles the noise from the medical wing. Her shoulders relax a bit with the silence.
“To be frank, what we’ve discovered about your brother is something that may affect you, as well. Considering your relationship with the crown princess, I found it irresponsible to keep you in the dark. Prince Isao has already been briefed of the situation and agreed to include you in the investigation, and your father will likely be informed later on.” Soshiro mulls over her words as they walk down the brightly lit hall.
Despite it being connected to the medical wing, wherever the doctor is taking him looked much different from the main area. The walls here are made with dark, porous stone in contrast to the hospital’s neatly decorated wallpaper, and there are no windows, only metal doors with large padlocks. Soshiro would’ve thought they were in the palace dungeons if not for the fact that they did not go down any stairs.
They reach a fork in the hallway and turn right, running into the first person they’ve seen since entering this strange new space. A nurse stands vigil outside an unlocked door and looks surprised to see them approach, straightening up as they come to a stop in front of her. With only a brief delay, she quickly turns to open the door for them and keeps her eyes trained suspiciously on Soshiro as he walks past. The grating sound of metal against metal echoes as the door locks behind them, leaving Soshiro and the doctor alone in the cold, dark room.
Looking around, he takes in the tall cabinets and dim torches lining the walls. Every visible surface is spotless, just like how it is in the medical wing. When he peers closer, he notices the cabinets are filled with various bottles and containers, each a different shape and size containing vague fluids and some even having what looks like preserved remains, much to Soshiro’s horror.
He shivers and takes a large step back, doing his best to ignore the cabinets altogether. Looking back to the doctor, he sees her stand still in front of a heavy curtain. She turns back to him and looks at him with sorrowful eyes, making him pause.
“Prepare yourself,” she says, voice low. “I will not fluff my words: beyond this curtain is your brother’s body. Neither the duke nor his wife are aware that he has already passed, and what we have found during his surgery is very likely to be within you, as well. It’s easier to just show you.” With that, she slides the curtain open and walks to the covered bed where another doctor—presumably the surgeon based on his attire—stood waiting.
Soshiro forces himself to move (Soichiro is dead) and stands next to the bed across from the doctor and the surgeon. When the surgeon reaches over to pull back the sheet, Soshirio can’t contain his gasp as he sees the mutilated corpse of what’s supposed to be his brother.
Soichiro’s skin is a pale grey with dark purple veins covering his entire body, his usually pristine, silky white hair matted with blood and dirt. His cauterized shoulder confirms his father’s claim that he had lost his arm, and there are countless bruises lining the stitches along his brother’s torso from where the surgeon tried to save him, but clearly it wasn’t enough. Beyond that, slowly oozing from a stitched-up wound on his stomach is a strange black pus emitting a metallic odor. It’s unlike any injury or disease he’s ever seen and Soshiro feels ill. He suddenly lurches over and quickly swipes a nearby waste bin before hurling, acid burning his throat. The stone floor is freezing against his knees, even through his trousers.
A gloved hand presents him with a washcloth which he accepts gratefully, getting to his feet with shaky legs and wiping the sick off his lips.
“My apologies,” Soshiro rasps, clutching the soiled washcloth between his fist. “I didn’t mean to lose myself, there.” The doctor waves her hand dismissively, reaching over to take the rag and chucking it into a metal bin behind her.
“It’s nothing we haven’t seen before,” she says as she removes her now dirtied gloves and replaces them with a fresh pair. The surgeon clears his throat, catching their attention and the three turn their gazes back to Soichiro’s body, focusing on the blackened skin of his stomach.
“This dark liquid flowing from his wound contains spirit remains; he was likely punctured by the spirit during the battle which explains the foreign material,” the surgeon explains, voice muffled behind his mask. “However, we quickly realized the dark liquid is actually his blood, which is reacting unnaturally to the presence of spirit remains. After taking a sample and cross-checking with a sample from Prince Isao, we now see that the reactive nature of Soichiro’s blood is similar to the prince’s.”
“What… what does that mean?” Soshiro asks, voice wobbling. Turning around, the doctor picks up a metal tray from the counter and places it on a moving table which she pulls close. The tray held three vials of dark blood, each labeled accordingly. On the left is his father’s, the middle his brother’s, and the one on the right is the prince’s. Immediately, Soshiro notices the similarity in consistency between his brother’s blood and the prince’s.
He picks up the vial on the right and lifts it to the light. Swirling within its contents are tiny, black specks that shimmer slightly—wait, no—the specks are glowing. They give off a subtle golden light, not dissimilar to the color of the crown princess’s healing.
“This isn’t the first blood sample we’ve taken from Prince Isao,” the doctor reveals. Soshiro lowers his hand and looks at her confusedly—why would they need to check his blood at all?
“When she was born, a bright light had filled the room with the crown princess’s first cry. Immediately, the queen had us take a sample from the infant to compare with her father’s and the results were quite similar,” she tells him. “Now that we have this third sample—your brother’s—we can assume that certain people are simply born with a special type of blood that contains traces of spirits. To be frank, we don’t understand how these traces enter one’s body at all, and maybe if this happened only once, it could be passed off as an extreme case. Twice is a coincidence—understandable within the same bloodline—but three instances is something we cannot ignore, especially now that we have an outside party involved.”
“…What does this have to do with me?” Soshiro asks hesitantly, rubbing his arms to try and chase off the chill that’s started to seep into his bones despite his coat.
The two adults look at each other for a brief moment before turning to him.
“We have reason to believe your blood may also contain trace amounts of spirits,” the surgeon tells him, eyes serious. “I’ve heard you’ve already become acquainted with the crown princess’s healing. What you likely didn’t know, however, is that her healing only works on others with what we’re deeming ‘spirit blood.’ This is a recent discovery,” he assures, acknowledging Soshiro’s shocked expression. “A few weeks ago, her highness attempted to help one of the cooks who had sliced their finger, only to be disappointed when her powers did not work despite having worked before on herself, her father, and now you.”
“I don’t understand,” Soshiro says desperately. “Why didn’t she tell me this when she healed me? She only did it just yesterday, shouldn’t she have already known?” The doctor shakes her head.
“Her highness is not aware, as per orders from her father. We passed off the incident with the chef as her simply having exhausted herself. The only reason why we are telling you now is because the prince has decided that you must know, for reasons even we are not privy to. He will be calling for you soon, so prepare yourself—Prince Isao is not a man you wish to cross, even with your family’s history,” she warns.
Soshiro gulps, staring blankly at the floor. The revelation of his blood—his spirit blood—is one he struggles to swallow. How would his father react if he knew—when he finds out? Generations of Hoshina’s prowess with the sword had built centuries worth of pride and prestige, only to be toppled by two sons dirtied by magic. His father would surely disown him, his only remaining son, if only to save his reputation with the populace.
The silence of the room is broken by the rattling of the table being wheeled away.
“We cannot be sure of your blood without taking a physical sample,” the doctor says, plucking the vial from his hand and placing it back on the metal tray. “Until we receive it, we can only assume based on circumstantial evidence. You do not have to give us your blood if you do not want to, however.” Her voice softens for the first time since Soshiro’s met her as she kneels down to hold his clenched hands, massaging his knuckles until he relaxes.
“You’re still a child, and I do not agree with forcing children to take part in procedures they are not comfortable with. My own daughter is close to your age, and I want her to feel comfortable saying no,” she says gently. Soshiro scowls slightly.
“I’m thirteen, not a child,” he grumbles. She laughs at his response, patting his shoulder once before standing up. Soshiro watches as she takes the sheet and pulls it over his brother’s body, hiding Soichiro from view. The surgeon pulls out a chair and gestures for him to sit.
“Do you agree to giving us a sample of your blood to test for spirit traces?” he asks. Soshiro shifts in place, biting his lip nervously.
“Will you tell my father the results?” he whispers. Both adults shake their heads.
“This entire spirit investigation is being held tightly under wraps in order to protect her highness. Your father—albeit highly regarded by the royal family—has not been given clearance by Prince Isao, and we are bound to follow his highness’s orders.”
“Then… I’ll give a sample. I don’t want to leave without knowing for sure,” Soshiro declares, smothering his nerves.
The next hour passes slowly. It stung a lot when the doctor sliced a small cut into his palm, but he simply grit his teeth and held his tongue. He watches as she lets his blood drip into an identical vial and cork it before taking a roll of bandages and wrapping his hand tightly.
“Maybe you can ask her highness to heal that,” the doctor teases, voice light. The surgeon snorts into his mask and quickly coughs to try and hide his amusement. Soshiro blushes but doesn’t deny her statement; it would be nice, actually. To say he didn’t want to see you again would be a lie, and Soshiro is not a liar—Mother raised him better than that.
He chokes on his saliva.
How is he supposed to face his parents knowing his brother was dead? Who’s going to take over the estate? Soshiro wasn’t involved in learning how to manage the duchy at all—he was always under the assumption that Soichiro would while he joins the royal army, and maybe if he was particularly skilled (lucky, whispers his mind) then he could retire one day and get married.
Mother’s always had heart problems, and the death of her first born would likely break her (maybe her heart was weak because it pumped spirit blood). Father would recover—surely he anticipated either Soichiro or himself not returning—and the duchy would be under his rule for a while yet. But Father is not young anymore, and he’s only getting older. Does this mean Soshiro will have to begin lessons with his brother’s tutor? What will happen to his swordsmanship practice? What about his joint sessions with the princess? Will he have to leave you behind, too?
He’s shaken out of his thoughts by the doctor handing him a small chocolate chip cookie, and her eyes crinkle a bit when she sees his dumbfounded expression.
“After losing blood, it’s important to eat some sugars to keep your energy up. You should have some water, too, but we don’t have any kettles down here,” she says softly. Soshiro stares at her for a moment before taking a bite, savoring the sweetness as the chocolate melts in his mouth. Once he’s finished, the doctor helps him to his feet and guides him to the exit.
The two make their way back to the hospital, wincing at the bright light. Sunlight is starting to stream into the palace as dawn breaks, bathing the walls in golden light. It’s now that Soshiro notices just how tired he is, likely a combination from lack of sleep and getting his blood drawn. His palm stings at the reminder and he makes a mental note to go look for you as soon as possible—after he goes back to sleep, that is.
Mother is nowhere to be found and a passing nurse informs him that his father is asleep and not to be bothered. He makes his way back to his room after saying goodbye to the doctor, hiding his freshly-wrapped hand in his sleeve as he walks. To his relief, the room is empty when he enters. Soshiro closes the curtains and strips off his clothes before crawling back into his bed, pulling the covers up and over his head once again.
In the privacy of his room he weeps, crying for a life taken from him too soon. His heart aches with regrets, wishing so so badly that he could have just a few more moments with him—to thank him—and let Soichiro know that he never hated him. It was him who was insecure, expressing his childish frustrations as hatred and annoyance instead of being honest about his self doubt.
The pillow under his head is damp with tears and his dragon plush is no better; the soft fabric is wet against his skin where he holds the beloved toy clutched tightly against his chest. Somehow, it still smells faintly like jasmine—like home—and it only makes him cry harder, mourning for a simpler time when his only worries were if he could snag some biscuits before Soichiro ate them all after dinner.
He falls asleep with swollen eyes, exhausted and weak.
Down the hall, Duchess Hoshina wails at the news, sparking panic when she collapses to her knees in grief. The duke lets out a long sigh in his hospital bed, having already assumed his son had passed when no nurse or doctor came to tell him the surgery was successful.
Through her grief, the duchess plans a funeral at their estate, helping her husband walk as Soshiro follows them silently. It’s a solemn affair without many guests, although he knows their soldiers are having their own memorial down by the creek. The sun is setting past the horizon when they make their way to the empty field behind the mansion, the fading rays making the snow sparkle in the light, and Soshiro thinks to himself that his brother would have enjoyed the view.
His brother is buried in that very field next to their grandfather and uncle, just one more plot amongst a collection of stone plaques. He stands there long after his family had gone back inside, staring at the new plaque as snowflakes flutter around him. The winter air is biting against his face and the cold is starting to seep past his heavy wool coat despite the many layers he wears underneath.
It’s quiet, and Soshiro hopes his brother is enjoying it, no longer having to bear the burden of taking over the duchy and learning to lead their knights in battle.
The sound of snow crunching startles him, and he turns around only to kneel immediately.
“You don’t have to do that,” you whisper, rubbing your arms. Soshiro rises to his feet, patting the snow off his knees.
“What are you doing here, your highness? You should be inside where it’s warm,” he croaks, voice hoarse. You look off to the side, watching as a few birds take flight and soar over the tree line.
“Father is busy discussing budgets for the new year with some other nobles, and Nanny is watching Kikoru. I wasn’t needed, so I just… slipped away,” you admit sheepishly. Soshiro doesn’t reply, simply turning back to stare at Soichiro’s gravestone once again. He hears you come closer and shivers when you come to a stop next to him, taking his left hand in your own. Carefully, you slip off his leather gloves and peel away the bandages wrapped around his palm. He winces at the feeling, but the cold air admittedly feels refreshing against the swollen skin.
You remove your own glove and place your fingers delicately against the wound before taking a deep breath, and suddenly the cold is chased away as Soshiro’s body is filled with a fuzzy warmth. The redness quickly fades as the skin heals itself over, and when the light finally dissipates, all that’s left is a thin, pale scar. Flexing his hand, Soshiro is relieved to feel no pain at all and slips his glove back on immediately.
“Thank you,” he says, mustering up a small smile. You flush, looking away as you hold your hands behind your back.
“It’s nothing!” you stammer hurriedly. “Doctor Okonogi told me you cut your hand on some broken glass in the hospital and I wanted to heal it for you as an apology. She said she already scolded the nurses for leaving shards out, but I just wanted to apologize to you myself. You’re a guest and a dear friend, and I feel terrible knowing you got hurt in my home from something completely avoidable.”
“Doctor Okonogi…?” he mumbles, not familiar with the name.
“Oh! She’s the one that’s been in charge of your father’s care at the palace hospital.”
“Ah… I remember now. I’m sorry, she never told me her name so I wasn’t familiar.”
Unsure what to say, Soshiro stays silent, but luckily you don’t seem to mind. The two of you stand there in the snow for a few more minutes and he’s grateful for your company. Eventually, your nanny comes out and lets you know that your family is set to return to the palace, and he says his goodbyes beside his father and mother at the gates. You wave at him from the window with a sad smile on your face and he watches your carriage until it turns a corner and disappears from view.
Later that night in the safety of his childhood bedroom, Soshiro wonders if he should’ve told you about your spirit blood. The thought itself was potentially treasonous—he would have been disobeying a direct order from the prince regent, after all—but the pain of wondering if you could have saved your mother would probably ease if you knew that it was simply impossible instead of your false belief of being too weak.
For a brief, brief moment, he wonders if you could have saved Soichiro and spared him this pain, but the thought quickly leaves when he remembers your limitations. Life threatening wounds were not a possibility for you, and there was no point in agonizing over ‘what if’s’—Soichiro was dead, and nothing was going to bring him back. The only thing he could do now was move forward, using the pain as fuel for his own ambitions.