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Prince Yuma had made the promise lightly.
He had been sixteen, sprawled across a velvet chaise in the sunroom, half-listening as his parents discussed alliances and future stability. His siblings had already secured admirable marriages. Taki had married Hirota Maki, a brilliant scholar-prince from the southern coast, and Yudai had wed Asakura Jo, a diplomat whose calm presence balanced Yudai’s fire perfectly.
It had all worked out beautifully.
So when his mother turned to him with a knowing smile and said, “And you, Yuma? What shall we do about your future?”
He had laughed.
“If I’m not married by twenty-one, you may choose for me,” he’d declared dramatically. “I trust you completely.”
His father had raised a brow. “Careful, son. A royal promise is binding.”
“I know,” Yuma had replied, waving a dismissive hand. “I won’t regret it.”
He had not anticipated turning twenty-one without so much as a single serious courtship.
He had not anticipated this.
<><><><>
It was announced over breakfast.
His mother was glowing. His father looked satisfied in the way only kings do when political chess pieces fall perfectly into place.
“We have selected your match,” his father said.
Yuma sipped his tea calmly. “Oh? Already?”
“You will be wed in one month,” his mother added. “To Prince Fuma of Koegawari.”
The porcelain cup slipped from Yuma’s fingers and shattered on the marble floor.
“...Fuma?” he repeated faintly.
Prince Fuma.
That Fuma.
The insufferably polite, maddeningly composed, infuriatingly gentle prince of their neighboring kingdom.
The one who smiled at him during treaty meetings.
The one who always said “It’s good to see you again, Yuma,” like they were friends.
The one who had beaten him in fencing at fourteen and then apologized for it.
Yuma stood so abruptly his chair screeched.
“You cannot be serious.”
His parents exchanged glances.
“He is intelligent, kind, and well-loved by his people,” his father said evenly. “The alliance will strengthen both kingdoms.”
“He is my worst enemy!” Yuma snapped.
There was a pause.
His mother blinked. “Yuma, darling… Fuma has never once spoken poorly of you.”
“That’s not the point!”
<><><><>
The “rivalry” had begun when they were children.
Fuma had arrived at the palace to spend the summer with Yuma’s expensive tutors, soft-spoken and unbearably charming.
Yuma had immediately decided that he disliked him.
Fuma was good at everything.
Swordsmanship? Graceful.
Languages? Fluent in four.
Diplomacy? Effortless.
And worst of all, Fuma was kind.
When Yuma sulked after losing a sparring match, Fuma had offered to train together.
When Yuma snapped at him during a debate, Fuma had listened patiently.
When Yuma stormed out of a banquet, Fuma had followed, not to scold, but to ask if he was alright.
It was intolerable.
Yuma had declared him a rival.
Fuma had… simply smiled.
<><><><>
One month before the wedding, Fuma arrived at the palace under a sky streaked pink and gold. Yuma stood at the top of the grand staircase, arms crossed, prepared for a battle that likely would never happen.
Fuma stepped from the carriage.
He had grown taller. Broader. His features were sharper, though his expression was just as warm.
Their eyes met.
Fuma smiled, softer than Yuma remembered.
“Yuma,” he said, bowing slightly. “It’s been too long.”
Yuma stiffened. “Not long enough.”
There was a flicker of amusement in Fuma’s eyes.
“I’m glad to see your spirit is unchanged.”
“I would say the same,” Yuma muttered, "but I'd rather not think of you at all."
Fuma did not rise to the bait.
That was the problem.
<><><><>
Fuma was infuriating.
He thanked servants by name.
He complimented the palace gardens.
He listened attentively during council discussions and offered thoughtful insights without arrogance.
He brought Yuma’s mother rare books she had once mentioned in passing.
He beat Yuma in fencing again, but this time, instead of apologizing, he grinned and said, “You’ve improved. Truly.”
Yuma blinked.
That… was new.
And then there were the small things.
Fuma noticed when Yuma skipped lunch and brought trays of food to his chambers himself.
Fuma remembered that Yuma disliked overly sweet desserts.
Fuma stood slightly closer than necessary during formal events, not possessively, but protectively.
Yuma didn’t know what to do with that.
Hatred was easy when it was returned.
Kindness was much harder to fight.
<><><><>
The turning point came in the rain.
Yuma fled the palace after a particularly overwhelming day of wedding preparations. Expectations pressed in from all sides. Advisors. Tailors. Diplomats.
He had not asked for this.
He found himself in the training courtyard, rain soaking through his clothes, sword in hand.
He slashed at empty air.
“Angry with me,” Fuma’s voice came softly from behind him, “or the situation?”
Yuma whirled.
Fuma stood at the edge of the courtyard, already drenched.
“Go away.”
Fuma stepped forward instead.
“You don’t have to like this,” he said quietly. “I know this wasn’t your choice.”
Yuma’s grip tightened. “It wasn’t yours either.”
“No,” Fuma agreed. “But I don’t think it has to be terrible.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Fuma’s expression softened.
“Yuma… I’ve never considered you my enemy, no matter how much you seem to hate me.”
Silence.
“You didn’t?”
Fuma shook his head slightly. “I thought you were… remarkable, the first time I saw you.”
The word hit harder than any blade.
“You’re brave,” Fuma continued. “You speak your mind. You care deeply about your people. I admired you.”
Yuma stared at him.
Rain blurred his vision, or perhaps it wasn’t just rain.
“I was jealous,” Yuma admitted before he could stop himself.
Fuma blinked. “Of me?”
“You were always so… composed. Effortless.”
Fuma let out a soft, startled laugh.
“I was terrified every time I visited your kingdom.”
Yuma’s head snapped up.
“I wanted you to like me,” Fuma confessed.
The world shifted.
<><><><>
After that night, something changed.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
But subtly.
Yuma stopped snapping at every comment.
Fuma stopped holding himself so carefully distant.
They began walking together in the evenings. They debated policy, fiercely, passionately, but without hostility.
Fuma had a quiet sense of humor Yuma had never noticed before. He discovered Fuma hummed when concentrating.
Their hands brushed once in the library. Neither pulled away immediately.
Three weeks before the wedding, Yuma laughed, truly laughed, at something Fuma said.
Two weeks before, Fuma reached for Yuma’s hand intentionally.
One week before, Yuma didn’t let go.
<><><><>
It happened slowly, then all at once. Yuma watched Fuma speaking with village children during an outing, kneeling to their height, listening with complete sincerity.
Warmth bloomed in Yuma’s chest. Not irritation. Not rivalry.
Something softer. Something terrifying.
Fuma looked up and caught him staring.
Instead of teasing, he simply smiled, gentle and hopeful.
Yuma’s heart betrayed him entirely.
Oh.
Oh.
<><><><>
The night before the wedding, Yuma stood outside Fuma’s chambers.
He knocked, and Fuma opened the door almost immediately.
“Yuma?”
For once, Yuma didn’t armor himself with sarcasm.
“I thought I hated you,” he said plainly.
Fuma’s lips twitched. “I gathered.”
“But I don’t.”
The air between them stilled.
“I don’t want this marriage because our parents arranged it,” Yuma continued, voice unsteady. “I want it because… I choose you.”
Fuma stepped closer.
“You’re certain?”
Yuma swallowed.
“Yes.”
Fuma cupped his face gently, giving him time to pull away.
Yuma didn’t.
“I chose you years ago,” Fuma whispered.
And when they kissed, it was not political.
Not strategic.
Not inevitable, either.
It was theirs.
<><><><>
On the day Prince Yuma turned twenty-one, he walked toward the altar not with dread, but with certainty.
His parents watched with satisfied smiles.
Taki winked at him.
Jo squeezed his shoulder.
Fuma stood at the end of the aisle, radiant.
Not an enemy.
Not a rival.
His husband.
And as Yuma took his hands, he realized something quietly profound.
Sometimes the heart needs time to catch up to fate.
He had promised to trust his parents.
He hadn’t realized he would also learn to trust himself.
And with less than a month to learn how to love his “worst enemy”, he had fallen completely.