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What glorious weather — perfectly suited for a ride to escape the reality that calls itself his mother. The fresh wind, smelling of grass and washed-out rain, brushes against Shinichi’s skin and plays with his hair. The black mare beneath him snorts; Moro’s hoofbeats thunder across the forest floor, which is covered by a light mist. For once, Shinichi is glad he is wearing shirt, waistcoat, and jacket, as befits a gentleman of his standing.
He wears the colors so customary for his family: his shirt in a soft cream tone, the waistcoat wine-red, and the jacket a deep, almost black blue. Gloves and boots of black leather reflect the light dully and match his horse’s saddle. Moro’s mane is too short for the dark strands to lash into his face, for which he is very grateful. Instead, at this speed, Shinichi must take care not to be struck in the face by a branch. He ducks, dodges the hanging branches and their leaves, and cannot help feeling like a boy being challenged by the forest to play.
What a shame that his everyday life cannot always be this light.
As the sole heir (and of marriageable age at that, as his mother reminds him far too often), he has much to do. Especially now that the ball season is beginning anew.
Shinichi sighs at the thought. Which season is it for him now? The second? Or already the third? The women he has met so far do not entice him. The conversations are flat, the dances too proper. No, that is not how he imagines his partner.
It must be more than just a pretty décolleté adorned with pearls and diamonds.
Sometimes he wonders whether he should not have married young Miss Mouri. Ran, whom he has known since childhood, but who now lives with her mother in another corner of the country. Shinichi is certain she would have said yes, and he could have become a good husband to her. It could have been easy. It could have been … good.
But as things stand now? Perhaps it is even better this way. Even though he does not believe in true love (something Ran firmly believed in, as she always used to tell him) he wishes only the best for her.
And that was not him.
After a while, Shinichi slows his pace, gently pulling on the reins. Gallop turns into a light trot as Moro and he approach a lake. The pale blue sky is reflected on the water’s surface, where a few gray clouds drift. Just then, two swans land upon the water, and Shinichi looks away as the two come to a stop side by side on the lake.
He shakes his head. They are only swans, he scolds himself and rides on with his chin raised. And yet… from the corner of his eye he regards the white pair of lovers and cannot help wondering whether he will one day meet someone with whom he can stand as an equal.
With his hand, Shinichi shields his eyes, as if he could banish the idea and the image that way. What he does not see is not there. What is not there is not a problem. Quite simple.
Shinichi would have gladly continued his rather depressiv thoughts had not a dog suddenly leapt out of the forest to his left. Moro, who is otherwise always stoic and calm, startles briefly at the sudden appearance and the barking now directed at them. She rears up, and Shinichi presses his thighs tighter around her powerful torso.
“Oi!” he calls, trying somehow to calm Moro while the dog with the unusually bright fur continues to yap and skillfully avoids the hooves.
A shrill whistle makes the dog halt, its ears twitching in every direction. From the very bushes from which the dog had just leapt emerges another figure. A silvery-gray horse with a wild mane. Upon it a rider in simple clothing: a white linen shirt, dark gray trousers, and black boots that have seen better days.
Shinichi raises his eyebrows, studying the newcomer. Moro has calmed enough to only prance restlessly and tug lightly at the reins. Shinichi pats her warm neck. “Your dog startled my horse,” he says bluntly, though without arrogance. A simple fact to inform the dog’s master.
The stranger comes closer. Panting, the dog remains at his master’s side, as though it has fulfilled its task. The stranger’s hair stands in all directions, perhaps from the wind? Crystal-blue eyes regard him with amusement; a grin steals onto his face. “My deepest apologies. Sometimes I get the impression Lupin forgets the difference between a horse and a duck.”
Shinichi’s mouth is faster than his thoughts. “I wonder whom he takes after.”
The other man’s eyes widen in surprise before he throws back his head and laughs loudly.
The swans startle. Water splashes beneath them as they rise from the lake and gain height until they are no longer to be seen.
Shinichi snorts. He wants to turn away. He has no desire to waste his time on dull banter. If he longs for meaningless conversation, he need only wait for the coming season. He has already drawn the reins to turn Moro when—
“I admit, the only thing he can truly hunt are my nerves.”
“Oh,” Shinichi says, as an intelligent reply.
The stranger guides his horse a little forward. Shinichi studies him once more. The bridle and saddle are made of exquisite materials, reddish-brown leather with golden ornaments. Somehow the rider does not suit his horse at all… is it perhaps stolen? Or is he merely a simple stable boy amusing himself by riding out his master’s horse?
Shinichi tilts his head. This riddle demands to be solved. “I have never seen you here before.”
The stranger nods. His grin softens into a smile, though his eyes still gleam mischievously. “Ah, yes. I have only just arrived.”
“I see,” Shinichi replies — and does not. “And from where?”
“Oh, I do not think you would know the place.”
“Perhaps I might?”
“Perhaps not.” The stranger leans forward, resting his arm upon his horse’s head. The stallion seems unbothered, perhaps it is a familiar gesture between them. “And you? Are you often to be found here?”
Shinichi rolls his shoulders. This conversation should not be about him. “Perhaps not,” he answers and catches himself smiling.
The stranger inclines his head, conceding him victory in this round.
The dog, Lupin, barks once loudly. Both flinch briefly, looking at him as he sweeps up leaves with his wildly wagging tail and seems to wait for his next command.
A sigh escapes the stranger. Shinichi would like to know why. And then wonders why it interests him at all.
“Well then.” The stranger nods, a simple farewell. “I am already expected.”
Ah, thinks Shinichi. His master? Or his family? Perhaps even his wife? Without returning the farewell, he turns Moro and gallops away. Away from the lake. And away from the stranger who watches him go.
On the way back, Shinichi is annoyed that he did not ask for a name to look into later. Horse and rider seem so different and yet so familiar that it will not leave him. But by the time he reaches home, his thoughts are already occupied by other problems.
Clack-clack clack-clack. Trotting, Shinichi rides through the open gate and reaches the marble steps leading to the front door. With a swing he dismounts, reaching for Moro’s reins to lead her to the stable, when the double entrance doors open noisily and his mother, radiant and loud as always, appears.
“Shinichi!” she calls, her pastel blue-and-rose dress billowing under her quick steps. “You went out riding again! Even though you promised me—”
“Mother,” Shinichi interrupts her gently but firmly. It takes him great effort not to roll his eyes. “You know I am not fond of those tea gatherings.”
Kudou Yukiko inhales sharply. And Shinichi regrets choosing honesty rather than a silky lie to wrap his mother around his little finger. One of the stable boys approaches from the side to take Moro from him so he can devote himself entirely to his mother. He nods gratefully and resigns himself to his fate, which turns out to be his pouting mother.
“‘Those tea gatherings’?” she repeats his words, crossing her arms. Shinichi steps up a few stairs so they are at eye level. “Those tea gatherings are famous! They are utterly unique! And the opportunity for you to—”
“Mother, please,” Shinichi tries again, sounding a little strained. He knows what she wants to say; he has heard it often enough. “The season has not even begun.”
“Don't be ridiculous!” Yukiko waves away his concerns like a simple fly. “One can never begin too early! Besides—” her eyes begin to sparkle dangerously as she links her arm with his and leads him inside, “I now know who will host the first ball!”
Shinichi sighs. “Will it not be the Suzuki family?” as every year, he adds silently.
“No, my darling! Not this time!” Yukiko pats his hand before he gently stills hers, which she hardly notices. “The Royal Investigator will open the season to introduce his daughter!”
“Ah.”
“Shinichi!” his mother scolds him for his lack of enthusiasm. “The young lady will surely not object to your, ah, well, interests in crime.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Adroitly, Shinichi frees himself, plants a quick conciliatory kiss upon her powdered cheek. “Shall we see each other at dinner?”
Before Yukiko can reply, Shinichi takes the stairs and sprints up to his room, locking the door behind him.
He leans against the white-painted wood. Closes his eyes and tilts his head back. A long sigh escapes him.
Wonderful. Now he knew exactly what his mother had in mind.
♛
Shinichi, however, had not expected his mother to act so quickly.
He stands unsuspecting in the salon, violin tucked between chin and shoulder, while his father sits on the lounge and, over a fine cup of tea (yes, brewed by his mother herself — Yuusaku otherwise drinks no tea), reads his book.
The piece Shinichi plays is unfamiliar even to himself. He lets his thoughts drift. To a lake. To two swans flying away and never landing again. To a silvery stallion merging with the mist.
“Oh,” comes from the doorway, and Shinichi stops abruptly, the final note slightly off. Yuusaku and he turn toward the door, where Yukiko stands with a young lady. “That sounds… somehow sad.”
The young lady’s eyes widen; her hand flies to her mouth before she bows. Yukiko only smiles, places her hands on the girl’s shoulders and announces to her men: “This is Nakamori Aoko, the daughter of the Royal Investigator. I have invited her for tea!”
“Eh—” Shinichi blinks, the violin still in his arm.
Yuusaku clears his throat. He is the first of them to recover, sets his book aside, and rises to welcome Aoko. His smile is friendly and warm and does not betray how surprised he once again is by his wife. And by her attempts to matchmake their son.
Shinichi places the violin in its rightful spot. Now every inch the viscount’s son, he walks over to Aoko and his mother and gives a slight bow. “Welcome,” he says once he has straightened again. “And forgive me. The piece was— it was not meant to sound sad.”
He studies her. Not because Aoko interests him, but because it is in his nature to observe and understand things. Her hair is gathered into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, a few curled strands falling free to frame her face. With her large eyes she reminds him a little of Ran, though they are not the same color.
Ran’s eyes had always reminded him of violets. Aoko’s look more like forget-me-nots.
Her dress is a soft violet, embroidered with silk flowers. Tulle sleeves reach to her elbows. What he notices (and what he genuinely likes) is that Nakamori Aoko wears no jewelry. No necklace, no pearl earrings, no golden hairpin.
She wears only her smile.
“That was not a reproach,” Aoko replies. “Even sad songs can sound beautiful.”
Shinichi blinks in surprise. “Do you play an instrument as well?”
Aoko waves the thought away. Shinichi leads her to the other lounge, away from his parents, where they can speak more or less undisturbed. While he remains standing, leaning against the fireplace, Aoko sits down with her back perfectly straight.
“Unfortunately not,” she answers his question. “Although I believe I would be doing many people a favor. Or so I’m told.”
The corners of Shinichi’s mouth twitch upward. Out of the corner of his eye he sees that his father has returned to his book (or pretends to), and that his mother has taken up a new embroidery (or pretends to).
“So how do you pass the time? Do you go for walks?” He does not intend it to sound as condescending as it inevitably does — even though he means it that way. The only ladies he has for comparison are Ran and Suzuki Sonoko, who very much enjoy taking long walks only to discuss the latest fashion and gossip.
“Well,” Aoko stretches her arms forward, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. Shinichi’s gaze drops to her hands. Delicate. Unscarred. The hands of a well-protected young woman. “I do enjoy walks, but I enjoy riding out even more.”
As if of its own accord, Shinichi’s thoughts leap to the mist-white horse and its rider.
He forces himself to smile.
Aoko continues, “My father taught me to ride when I had only just learned to walk, on a pony — very willful creatures.” Something Shinichi can only confirm when he remembers his first encounter with his own pony. Her cheeks redden further. “I used to sneak into the stable to the larger horses and simply ride off. The son of a friend always had to come fetch me.”
His forced smile turns genuine. He imagines the young girl in a short dress, slipping out of her parents’ house just to reach the stables and ride away.
“You could be a character in a novel,” Shinichi says. Once again without thinking much beforehand.
He expects an eye roll, an offended look, the premature end of the tea visit — instead he receives a radiant smile.
“Really?”
Even Ran would never have reacted like that to such a remark. Shinichi blinks in confusion, then nods, hesitantly taking a seat opposite her.
“You seem to… like literature?”
She nods eagerly. “Oh yes! My father is often away, and he and a friend always send me books from all over the world— You… you don’t think that strange? A woman who reads?” Now it is she who furrows her brow and studies him with open skepticism.
Again she mentions this friend. Is it the same friend who used to bring her home when she rode out against her father’s wishes? Why was she sitting here with him now, what had become of that friend? Aoko speaks of him with clear fondness.
“Everyone should have access to stories,” he replies calmly, thus setting off another cascade of literary questions they take turns asking each other.
Who is your favorite author?
Do you have a favorite book?
Or one you regret having read?
The hours pass. Pleasantly, without dragging. The tea grows cold, then is brewed anew, until the large clock in the hallway chimes for evening and Aoko must take her leave. Shinichi and his parents accompany her to the hall. The double doors open to reveal a carriage and driver. The horse is white, almost silvery, and Shinichi is about to step outside to take a closer look—
Aoko bows. Thanks them for the invention. “I hope we shall see each other again at my father’s ball.”
“Certainly,” Shinichi replies and, surprisingly, means it.
The doors close behind Aoko, but Shinichi quickly goes to the window to watch as the driver jumps down from his seat. He wears a top hat; his face remains hidden as he helps Aoko into the carriage.
Behind him, Yukiko is beside herself with delight. She throws her arms around her husband’s neck. “Oh!! That went better than expected!” she exclaims, planting a kiss on Yuusaku’s cheek, both right and left.
Shinichi remains at the window. Just as he decides to step outside to confirm his suspicion—
the carriage is gone.
♛
The day has been long and eventful, which is precisely why Aoko is so animated, even though the fire in the hearth has burned down to warm embers and crackles softly to itself. Unconsciously, without knowing it Kaito mirrors Shinichi’s earlier posture, leaning against the mantelpiece. Only difference is that he holds a glass of wine in his hand and is still wearing the driver’s clothes. Aoko sits in a deep dark-green armchair, her arms laying on the armrests.
“He was completely different from what I expected!” Aoko says, sitting up to loosen the ribbon at the nape of her neck. She shakes her head, her now-open hair falling over her shoulders as the weak firelight plays with the shadows in her face and softens it further.
“Oh?” Kaito sets down the glass, resting his head against his fist instead. “What were you expecting?”
Aoko does not need long to consider. “Well. Sonoko said he was rather brusque and arrogant. Haughty and proud. But he is the future viscount! Doesn’t pride come with that?”
Kaito shrugs. “How should I know? Maybe?”
She shoots him an annoyed sidelong glance, eyeing his clothes from top to bottom. “And what is that supposed to be about? Jii could have picked me up.”
“So that I lose the best seat in the row to watch you make a fool of yourself? Never.”
Aoko grabs the small cushion behind her and throws it at him. “Argh, you’re such an idiot!”
Laughing, he dodges. “I know, I know.” He pops up behind the chair, first on the right as Aoko looks left, then on the left as she turns right. Finally he jumps into her line of sight, startling her.
“Bakaito!”
“Tell me more,” Kaito says simply and sits cross-legged on the carpet in front of her, ignoring her insult.
Aoko falls back into the chair, her gaze unfocused as she recalls the hours in the Kudou salon. She plays with a silk flower on her dress, silent. Lost in memory. “He seemed so… hurt.”
“Hurt?”
She nods without looking at him. “Yes. Before he noticed me, he was playing that piece — he plays the violin, you know? — and it sounded… sad. Melancholic. As if something was… missing. And you don’t know exactly what.”
Kaito says nothing in response, remains silent, which Aoko does not mind, as she tries to recall the melody of Shinichi’s playing. Without success. The notes slip away from her; only the feeling of the moment remains.
Then she smiles. Laughs softly, drawing Kaito’s attention back to her. “What?” he asks.
Aoko shakes her head, both hands covering her mouth, her ears growing warm.
“What??”
“No!”
“Come on, tell me!”
She swallows, sits upright again, but looks toward the window. Outside it is dark, and without sunlight the estate and the usually green grounds are hard to discern. The path from the gate, around the fountain and to the entrance is barely visible. Aoko has been asking her father for years to install more lamps. Again, without any success. He refuses to listen.
“He said,” she begins, feeling the heat in her cheeks, “he said I could be a character in a novel.”
“A character in a novel,” Kaito repeats almost breathlessly. “He said that?”
Aoko nods. “He… he really likes books.”
“… who would have thought.”
Aoko turns her head to him, studying his thoughtful expression. “Bakaito,” she says, leaning toward him, eyes narrow down. “You’re keeping something from me.”
Kaito lets himself fall back, arms beneath his head, legs crossed. “As if anything could ever escape you!”
Another cushion flies in his direction, hitting him square in the face.
“Ow! What was that for??”
“No idea,” Aoko says, rising and smoothing her dress. “Pick something.”
With a swift motion, Kaito sits up as well. “When will you see him again?”
Aoko startles. “I— I don’t know. At my father’s ball, I suppose?”
Kaito nods.
He could not wait that long.
♛
The morning mist hangs between the trees, hiding the sun’s rays, which would have struggled to reach the ground today anyway.
Shinichi rides Moro at an easy pace, taking his time. After all, he has it. Truth be told, he does not even know what he is doing here, what this is meant to be. He never rides out this early in the morning, and certainly not into the forest. His father will ask him endless questions once he returns home, in case his mother does not get to him first.
At the thought, Shinichi lets out a long sigh.
His mother… is a very special woman. Even though he loves her, he sometimes wishes she would restrain herself a little more and allow him to make his own decisions, especially when it comes to his love life. One that does not exist. But that was probably a bit too much to ask.
The path before him ends, the forest thins, revealing the lake. Shinichi lets Moro come to a halt. Her calm, warm breath forms small milky clouds. On the lake, neither the sky nor the swans are visible. Perhaps they have already moved on?
Shinichi dismounts and leads Moro by the reins to the water so she can drink. Which is clearly the reason he came here in the frist place. And he waits. No — he is not waiting. What would he even be waiting for?
He listens into the silence. No dog, no other hooves. Only the soft lapping of the water as Moro drinks and Shinichi pulls his coat tighter around himself. The wind is fresh, nearly icy. It tugs at his hair and his clothes, making him shiver.
Despite the leather gloves, Shinichi can feel the warmth radiating from Moro as he strokes her neck.
And then. Out of sudden.
Hooves galloping across the earth.
Just in time, Shinichi looks up to see a wild head of hair and a silvery horse vanish between the leaves. Within seconds he is back on Moro’s back, digging in his heels to pursue the rider into the forest.
“Wait!” he calls out, on pure instinct.
Moro snorts, trying to catch up. Leaves and branches lash at them. While Shinichi grips the saddle with his legs, he raises one arm protectively to shield his face.
He would very much like to keep his eyesight. And to not fall of her back.
The stranger seems not to share that concern. Shinichi hears him laugh as he jumps over a fallen tree trunk, Moro close on his heels.
Shinichi tenses along with his horse as the mare gathers for the leap. Earth sprays upward as they land and slide to a halt in a clearing so as not to crash into the stranger.
The white stallion paws at the ground. The bridle, as at their last encounter, immaculate and noble. The stranger… rather less so. If possible, his shirt is even more worn, his hair even more disheveled.
His gaze even more alive.
Shinichi breathes heavily. Wide-eyed, he tries to take in every detail while Moro slowly calms beneath him.
“Good morning,” the stranger says, inclining his head slightly, almost mockingly. “You are up early.”
Shinichi swallows. Then: “What are you doing here?”
That was not the question he had meant to ask. Not the question he should have asked.
The stranger blinks, smiles as though he can hear his thoughts. “I felt like some fresh air. As did you, I assume?”
Shinichi merely nods.
The stranger urges his horse closer. Their horses first stand nose to nose… until they are side by side.
Shinichi cannot look away. He studies the stranger’s fine features, the sharp cheekbones, the dark lashes framing those crystal-blue eyes. A brief glance at his hands. Strong, long fingers marked with fine scars.
“You had hoped to see me.” The stranger pulls him from his observations. Shinichi looks up abruptly. The smile is still on the stranger’s face. “I had hoped to see you as well.”
“I—” Shinichi wants to protest, but his mind is incapable of forming a proper sentence. “I was curious.”
“Curious? I see.”
Shinichi nods. “Your clothes are dirty, worn. But you ride a Lipizzaner, a very exclusive breed. The bridle bears gold ornaments and is made of fine leather, without any signs of use.” Before he can stop himself, he continues: “The scars on your hands do not fit either. Your hands are strong, but without the usual calluses of a stable boy, or— or a servant. Those are the scars of a swordsman.” Shinichi exhales shakily and waits.
The stranger does not retreat. But he does not answer either. He simply looks at him, and for a moment Shinichi believes he is being seen straight through.
He does not ask the real question. The question that brought him here in the first place.
Something like admiration flickers in the stranger’s eyes. “You are truly… extraordinarily perceptive.”
“The way you say that, it doesn't sound like a compliment.”
The stranger folds his arms loosely, letting his stallion step back. “I merely wished to verify something.”
“And… what would that be?”
“You shall find out soon enough.”
“Wait!” Shinichi calls before the stranger can disappear again. “What is your name?”
The stallion and his rider are already turned away from him. “You may call me Kid.”
“Kid?” Shinichi repeats, drawing his brows together. What kind of name is that?
Before he can ask anything further, Kid spurs his stallion and vanishes into the forest once more.
Shinichi cannot wait to get home.
♛
The sky remains covered in dull gray clouds. The sun is nowhere to be seen as Shinichi stands in their library for hours, still wearing his riding boots, much to his mother’s dismay. He scans the many spines, some thick, some slender. The titles gleam in gold, others in silver. Or black.
Shinichi does not even know what exactly he is searching for.
Kid.
It could be a nickname or simply a name meant to confuse him. If it is even a real name at all.
He runs a hand through his hair. A headache begins to form, and he is annoyed that this almost-name refuses to leave him alone.
Kid could be a simple stable boy, a man of lower rank.
Perhaps Kid will be gone again tomorrow, since he claimed not to be from here.
But… why had Kid sought him out? Provoked him even?
Sighing, Shinichi massages the bridge of his nose and places the half-open book back on the shelf. There is no sense in searching without a proper goal.
He turns around and barely startles when he sees his father standing in the doorway. The lenses of Yuusaku’s glasses reflect the faint candlelight that Shinichi had lit despite the time of day.
“Are you looking for something specific, my son?” his father asks with a smile, stepping closer.
Shinichi considers denying it or lying, but it is entirely possible that his father knows something.
“Do you know a Kid?”
Yuusaku blinks in surprise; the smile fades. He turns his head toward the large walnut bookshelf beside him, running his fingertips along the shelf. “I once knew a man who was called that.”
“Really?” Shinichi’s voice cracks briefly before he clears his throat and steps closer. He notices the past tense. “What happened to him?”
“He died.” With his hands now clasped behind his back, Yuusaku straightens. “It must have been almost ten years ago now, when he and his wife were shipwrecked.”
What?
“Did they have family? A son or— or did he have a brother?”
Something. Anything!
Yuusaku merely shrugs. “I cannot answer that question,” is all he says, and it seems Shinichi will receive nothing more.
Dissatisfied, Shinichi presses his lips together. Does this mean his father knows more — but does not wish to reveal it? Or does he simply not want to admit he does not know the answer?
Either way: “Did you want something from me?”
“Ah,” Yuusaku says, nodding, the smile returning, as if the former conversation never happened. “Your mother sent me to fetch you. There has been an invitation to a hunt.”
“A hunt?” As if that were not enough, Shinichi thinks. “Thank you, but I have better things to do.”
Yuusaku raises a questioning brow. “And that would be?”
Shinichi searches feverishly for an answer. Opens his mouth, closes it again, then decides spontaneously: “I shall be taking a walk with Miss Nakamori.”
His father’s smile grows a shade wider, almost knowing. “Your mother will certainly be pleased.”
Shinichi inhales and exhales deeply.
That was what he had feared.
♛
The sun is considerably braver the next day than it was before. Shinichi has exchanged his riding attire for something more elegant, though still comfortable. Beside him walks Aoko, without the usual parasol carried by the other young ladies they pass, who cast her disapproving glances, for which Shinichi feels faintly guilty.
It is not that he finds the walk unpleasant. For someone who has always mocked Sonoko and Ran for strolling about, this one with Aoko is rather agreeable. Their topics of conversation are interesting, once again shaped by literature, and Aoko proves to be curious and understanding once more.
As his mother had predicted: as the Royal Investigator’s daughter, Aoko has no issue when he speaks of murder and manslaughter.
Her dress today fades from cream into a soft orange; her hair is once again gathered at the nape of her neck. Today as well she seems to have chosen against wearing jewelry. Perhaps that explains the sour looks.
The park around them is peaceful, as befits the beginning of the season. The first flowers are in full bloom: deep red meets bright yellow. Shrubs clad in lavender and rosehips. He hears gentle splashing at the small pond that is their destination in the center of the park. And although Shinichi knows those are simply ducks landing and taking off from the water … for a brief moment he wonders whether they might be the swans from the forest.
And whether the rider of the white stallion will ride in again today — or whether he has already had enough of him.
Shinichi briefly holds his breath to gather his senses and bring them back to the present. It would not be fair to Aoko to use her as an excuse and then not listen to her. She is just recounting another story from her childhood.
“— it must be said that he has always been a fantastic rider.”
Shinichi blinks. Damn. Was she speaking about her father now?
“Forgive me, of whom are you speaking?”
Aoko does not seem to take offense. “Oh, did you not hear that the Earl has called for a hunt?”
Why was she speaking of the Earl now? Which one? Did she know him personally?
“Yes,” he replies hesitantly, “but… I did not feel inclined.”
“Ah,” she says simply, glancing aside uncertainly. Shinichi notices her fingers fidgeting, a nervous gesture.
Guilt gnaws at him. He wets his lips, unsure whether to introduce a new topic or return to the previous one.
“Kudou,” she suddenly says, and Shinichi startles. He stops as she does. Her expression has turned serious and … is that nervousness in her eyes? “I— I would like to ask you a favor.”
“A… favor?”
Aoko nods, looking down. Her hands are clenched at her sides. “I… I may not have been entirely honest. And— and I hope you do not misunderstand me; your company truly is a pleasant change compared to— well. The others…” She takes a deep breath and seems to gather all her courage, for in the next moment she looks up at him, her face bright red. “But there is already someone I care for very much. And— and I wanted to ask you to help me.”
His shoulders sink in relief. His gaze softens. The way she speaks to him now truly does remind him a little of Ran. “How can I help?”
Aoko’s eyes widen. “You… you are not angry with me?”
Shinichi laughs softly. “No, how could I be? It is much the same for me.”
Delighted, Aoko claps her hands. “Wonderful! So— not about that.”
Shinichi gestures back toward the path, and they resume their walk. If anything, with lighter steps. “Would you tell me who it is, so that I may help?”
“Um…” Color returns to Aoko’s face. “It is… surely you know Lord Hakuba?”
With a faint smile, Shinichi nods. He has encountered the young baron several times, and although they share similar interests, it has never developed into friendship, likely because Shinichi’s colleague and close friend Hattori Heiji cannot stand the half-British nobleman.
Shinichi can, however, quite easily imagine Aoko happy at Hakuba’s side. “Have you already devised a plan?”
And Aoko confides in him.
♛
The hunting party ends punctually, so that all the guests may arrive in time for the evening of the season’s first ball. The sun has not yet fully set, bathing the grand estate in a warm, radiant gold. Carriages circle the fountain to deliver their passengers to the wide staircase. At the great entrance doors stand enormous vases filled with colorful bouquets. Along the corridor, where numerous candelabras already glow, more porcelain vases have been arranged.
Even in the foyer, Shinichi can hear the music and the many voices. His mother stands at his side, his father had the great fortune of being allowed to remain at home. Had he not promised Aoko to help her out, he would not have bothered to come as well. He suppresses a sigh and makes an effort to smile when he feels his mother’s gaze upon him.
Around her neck rests a heavy necklace of white gold and diamonds that matches her hair ornament, which holds her hair in an elaborate arrangement. Her dress is the same shade of indigo as his, though hers is cut from silk, while his suit is made of heavy brocade.
Yukiko’s eyes sparkle in the candlelight as she admires the paintings on the walls. “The Royal Investigator truly has taste,” she whispers softly to him. The hands resting on his arm squeeze gently.
His mother knows nothing yet of his arrangement with young Miss Nakamori, but that is a problem for the future, not for this evening. So Shinichi nods dutifully and leads her down the corridor, across the dark red carpet and into the magnificently decorated hall. He would not have expected the Nakamori estate to be so splendid. For a moment, his breath catches as they stand at the threshold of the staircase descending into the ballroom.
Three majestic chandeliers hang from the ceiling, with countless candles and glittering jewels reflecting the light. On the wall opposite the stairs, the orchestra stands upon a raised platform, playing gentle music meant to accompany conversation rather than interrupt it and summon the crowd to dance. Along the other walls hang floor-to-ceiling mirrors, making the room appear endless.
Shinichi already feels the first glances settling upon him. He himself discreetly searches for Aoko and, in the same sweep, for Hakuba, to save himself time later. Unfortunately, he finds neither, and so he stands awkwardly beside the dance floor with his mother.
More and more guests of high society arrive; the hall fills. Hakuba Saguru is finally among them. Shinichi catches his eye for a brief moment and nods in greeting. His mother pats his arm, expecting his attention to return to the conversation she is having with an acquaintance.
Suddenly the music softens, until the final note hangs in silence. The crowd looks expectantly first to the orchestra, then collectively turns toward the staircase, where the Royal Investigator enters the hall with his family.
It is only thanks to his mother’s grip that Shinichi’s knees do not give way.
Nakamori Ginzo, the Royal Investigator with his stern expression, descends the stairs with his wife at his side. Behind them stands Aoko, tonight in a red-violet gown that accentuates her eyes. Her hair is artfully braided and pinned at her nape. A delicate necklace rests at her throat.
At her side walks Kid.
Kid wears an impeccable suit, neither white nor entirely gray, but something in between. His waistcoat and shirt are light blue, and a single flower — the same shade as Aoko’s dress — adorns his lapel. Though he smiles, something about him feels faintly annoyed. Shinichi can’t say how he knows, he simply does. Perhaps it lies in the way Kid carries himself: upright posture, squared shoulders, proud chin. His gaze does not sweep the crowd; Kid’s attention rests solely on Aoko.
Shinichi swallows. His throat is suddenly dry; his heartbeat roars in his ears, drowning out the music as it resumes, this time in a quicker tempo.
The dance floor is opened.
As if in a trance, he excuses himself from his mother and approaches the host family, who are now surrounded by other guests. Fortunately, Aoko spots him quickly, her face lighting up. The small crowd parts to let Shinichi reach her.
The first whispered words about them are exchanged.
Kid still stands with his back to them, speaking with Nakamori, yet Shinichi sees him flinch almost imperceptibly when he hears Shinichi address Aoko.
“How lovely that you are here!” Aoko exclaims cheerfully.
Shinichi inclines his head. The smile on his face exists only through years of practice. “The pleasure is entirely mine.”
There. That is the moment Kid stiffens. Shinichi would even go so far as to say that Kid freezes before slowly turning and stepping to Aoko’s side.
Kid and Shinichi stare at one another. Aoko notices none of it, resting a hand upon Kid’s shoulder in a familiar gesture as she says, with a hint of pride in her tone despite her words, "May I introduce you to my childhood friend? Earl Kuroba Kaito."
The muscles in Shinichi’s face begin to ache from faking his smile for so long. He bows deeply and straightens slowly. Kid lies on his lips. A name, likely nothing more than a jest at his expense. He does not know whether he is hurt or angry, so he is neither and remains polite. With his arms behind his back, he hides his clenched fists. “Your Lordship.” The title tastes bitter on his tongue and burns in his throat.
Seconds pass — seconds that feel like eternity.
Kuroba Kaito inclines his head, gaze lowered, before those crystal-blue eyes lift to meet his again. “The young Viscount in person. I have heard much about you.”
Shinichi’s gaze flickers briefly to Aoko, who looks between them, clearly sensing the tension but unable to place it. He cannot blame her; he himself is utterly at a loss.
“I would advise you not to put too much stock in what is said. Much of it may be fabricated stories.”
He sees Aoko draw her brows together thoughtfully, lips pressed tight.
Kid Kuroba Kaito lets his smile curl into a grin. “Quite true. I prefer to form my own opinion.”
“And are you satisfied?” Shinichi asks. “With your inspection?”
His eyes flicker to Kuroba’s lips as the other wets them with his tongue.
Kuroba clears his throat. “There remain… a few inconsistencies.”
“I see,” Shinichi replies, lifting his chin. “How unfortunate that I have promised this evening to Aoko.”
To emphasize his promise, Shinichi offers her his arm. Aoko hesitates, glances briefly at Kuroba, who merely nods. Only then does she take Shinichi’s arm, and they step away from the Earl without Shinichi looking back, though he feels the other’s gaze upon him.
Once they are a few steps away and out of earshot, Aoko whispers, “What did I miss?”
Shinichi allows himself a sigh. “I fear I do not know myself.”
Aoko stops; Shinichi halts automatically as well. “You know each other.” Not a question, an observation.
Shinichi avoids her scrutinizing gaze. “I… am not certain. Besides—” he searches the hall for Hakuba, finds him (of all places, beside his mother), “this evening is not about me, but about you.”
His words make her blush. They quicken their pace, eager to reach Hakuba before another lady sweeps him onto the dance floor.
Hakuba sees them approaching from afar, his expression neutrally curious. His mother appears less neutral, though equally curious.
“Hakuba,” Shinichi says, omitting the title out of camaraderie, nodding to his mother, “I would like to introduce you to someone.”
And thus he sets the stone rolling.
At first, Aoko is nervous and reserved, a side of her that seems to please Hakuba. Yet what pleases him more is when Shinichi steers the conversation toward literature. Hakuba nearly beams upon learning that Aoko has read almost more than he has.
“Who is your favorite author?” he asks, while Yukiko and Shinichi stand merely as decoration. “In which languages do you read? Oh, there is a book you absolutely must read—”
Skillfully, Shinichi leads Yukiko away from the two and onto the dance floor. A new song begins. He offers her his hand; his mother accepts with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, though she pouts.
“You little scoundrel!”
Shinichi guides her across the parquet floor as his father taught him. Their steps are swift and elegant, well-practiced as mother and son. “Forgive me,” he replies, spinning her once, “I guess you were likely expecting a different outcome.”
Yukiko exhales deeply. “I was expecting dozens of grandchildren!”
Shinichi nearly stumbles. His face grows warm. Now he is the one rolling his eyes. “Mother…!”
“What?” she asks softly. “One may still dream!”
“Then kindly leave me out of your dreams!”
Yukiko strikes his shoulder, half-annoyed, half-playful. "Well, now I have lost my bet with your father because of you!”
“A bet? What bet?” Shinichi would have liked to stop dancing, but that would have been rather inappropriate in the middle of the floor. "Because of me?"
“Oh.” Yukiko resumes the rhythm as if nothing had happened, as though they were merely discussing the weather. “Your father may explain that to you later. He’s always so careful to stay out of everything.”
She has a point, Shinichi thinks, snorting softly.
Against the rhythm, Yukiko suddenly stops, her expression turning unusually serious. The dancing couples around them are anything but delighted. Yukiko skillfully ignores them. She places both hands on his shoulders, then cups his cheeks. Shinichi blinks. Where has this change in mood come from?
“Shinichi,” Yukiko says, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks, “I hope you understand that I love you — with or without grandchildren.”
Shinichi opens his mouth, but the ability to form thoughts has deserted him.
Yukiko continues, “You are my son, and the only thing I wish is to see you happy.”
He wants to smile, he has grown accustomed to it over the years, but he does not know if he manages. Before answering, he clears his throat. “Why— why are you saying that now?”
One last time, she strokes his cheeks with both thumbs before releasing him. “Because a handsome young man seems to be hoping for a dance with you.”
Shinichi dares not turn around at first. He does so only slowly, wanting to see whom his mother has found over his shoulder.
It is indeed Kuroba.
The Earl approaches cautiously, as though ensuring he is welcome. Upon reaching them, he takes Yukiko’s hand, bows deeply, and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Lady Yukiko, you are as perceptive as you are beautiful.”
Yukiko beams, tucking a perfect curl behind her ear. She leans toward Shinichi, though Kuroba can hear every word, and whispers, “Ohh, I like him!”
Kuroba straightens, releases his mother’s hand, and turns to Shinichi, offering his own hand, palm upward. “May I have this dance?”
Shinichi studies the offered hand, the fine, small scars. Then the Earl’s face. The high cheekbones, the still unruly hair (if it can be tamed at all), and finally those blue eyes, which do not look at him pleadingly. A little hopeful. A little sad.
Until Shinichi accepts.
Kuroba’s hand is surprisingly soft and warm, his grip secure but not tight. His other hand settles at Shinichi’s lower back, drawing him closer. Holding him.
Shinichi does not look away. His hand rests upon Kuroba’s shoulder, and he is the one who takes the first step as the music reaches him again.
In a slow tempo, he leads Kuroba across the dance floor. The violins blend with the cello, carrying the rhythm. Neither of them breaks the silence. They simply dance. One dance, then a second, until it would almost be impolite not to ask someone else. After their third dance, Kuroba lets go, though reluctantly. Shinichi still feels the warmth of his hands where Kuroba had touched him.
“How about some fresh air?” the Earl suggests, and Shinichi nods, aware of the heat of the crowd around him.
Together they leave the hall, slipping through an inconspicuous, almost hidden doorway beneath the staircase that leads into a dim corridor and from there through several doors into the garden.
Above them, the windows glow, and only now does Shinichi realize that what he had thought were mirrors are in fact floor-to-ceiling windows that look like mirrors in the darkness.
The cool night breeze soothes his heated skin after dancing, and for a moment Shinichi closes his eyes, tilting his head back slightly. Out here, the world is quiet. No music. No demanding people with expectations of him and his title.
He opens his eyes and looks at Kuroba, who could be gazing at the stars or into the garden, but has chosen to look at him instead.
“I… owe you some explanations,” Kuroba says softly.
Shinichi shrugs. “The title and name does indeed not explain why you ride through the forest dressed like a stable boy.”
Kuroba spreads his arms. “Titles bring so terribly many expectations and formalities with them. Do they not?”
“Then let us discard them.” Simple as that.
Kuroba, no, Kaito, widens his eyes. Then he smiles. “As you wish.”
“So,” Shinichi considers which question to ask first among the many circling in his mind, “why not begin chronologically?”
“Chronologically?”
He nods. “Why were you in the forest?”
Kaito leans against the house wall, hands clasped behind his back. “Being an Earl truly comes with a dreadful number of expectations.” He grins mischievously, and for a moment Shinichi sees the young man from the forest in him — only quite better dressed. “I wanted a moment to myself, needed some fresh air. Lupin had other ideas.”
Right. Lupin — the dog who startled Moro and leapt from the bushes, followed by his master.
“And why Kid?”
Kaito’s smile dims. Now he does look up at the stars. “Kid was my father’s nickname.” Shinichi sees him swallow. “I gave it to myself.”
Shinichi hesitates, then says quietly, “My father… told me about an old friend of his who was called Kid. I am truly sorry.”
He does not elaborate what exactly he means. Whether the circumstances under which Kaito’s parents died, or the age at which Kaito was left an orphan.
Kaito likely understands, for he only nods in thanks and does not pursue it further. “Nakamori took me in. This house,” he knocks his knuckles against the cold wall, “is legally mine. But I was too young to manage it, and now I would not know why I should cast out the old man who practically raised me.”
It takes some imagination to picture that stern-looking man as a loving father. But Shinichi can think of two reasons that speak for it: the warmth in Aoko — and in Kaito.
The next question… is harder to ask. “In the forest,” he begins slowly, leaning against the wall as well, head turned toward Kaito, “what were you verifying? Why the whole charade?”
Kaito closes his eyes. “Aoko is like a sister to me,” he begins, surprising Shinichi. “One day she returns from a tea visit and tells me of a young man, a viscount, who spoke with her about books and called her a character in a novel.” Only now does he open his eyes again, looking directly at Shinichi. “I knew Aoko was infatuated with Hakuba. But I could have understood if— if she had chosen you. And yet,” he draws a breath, “I still had to make sure you would have been good enough.”
Shinichi leans slightly closer, head tilted. “Did I pass the test?”
“Unfortunately,” Kaito laughs softly, moving nearer, gaze dropping to Shinichi’s lips, “far too well.”
Kaito hesitates, glances upward once more. "Tell me why you came back to the forrest."
“You know why,” Shinichi replies without hesitation. “Or do I have to prove it to you first?”
A small grin steals across Kaito’s face. “Did I not already say that I put no stock in words and prefer to form my own picture?”
Shinichi closes the distance and pulls Kaito into a kiss. The answer Kaito had so urgently needed to feel. There is a brief hesitation, a genuine surprise, before Kaito returns the kiss and his hand, now cooled by the stone wall, slides to Shinichi’s neck to draw him closer.
The kiss does not last long, yet it feels right. Shinichi keeps his eyes closed as Kaito rests his forehead against his. Only now does Shinichi realize that both his hands are gripping Kaito by the lapels. He loosens his hold after stealing another brief kiss, one in which they both feel the smile.
“I still find Aoko’s choice questionable,” Kaito murmurs. “Hakuba is so, hmm, aristocratically overcorrect—”
Shinichi laughs aloud. “Oh? And I would have been the better alternative?”
“At least she would have proven good taste.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Shinichi grins, pulling Kaito close once more.
Inside the ballroom, Yuusaku unexpectedly joins his wife. He does not ask where their son is; he can well imagine. Smiling, he wraps an arm around her and presses a kiss to Yukiko’s forehead.
“I suppose I won the bet?”
Ever the lady, she lightly elbows him in the ribs.
And outside, the night composes its own music.