Chapter Text
CLANG
CLANG
CLANG!!
The deafening sound of metal didn’t faze a blacksmith like Rui Kamishiro, who possessed the hammer and metal that caused the stimulus in the first place. Although his ears took note of this, sometimes ringing until hours after he finished his work, the young royal blacksmith enjoyed the rhythm of hitting metal until it took shape. His furious sweat glands excreted a comfortable amount of liquid that would roll down his face and drip onto his clothes. Even though the sheer heat of the forge would boil the average Serenian, his years of desensitization to this environment caused him to find comfort in the temperature.
After a couple minutes passed, the clanging finally halted as Kamishiro paused to admire his work. The previous brick of steel finally started to take shape into what would eventually be a ceremonial sword for the prince. Though he had never seen the royal in person, he made sure to adjust the gravity point so as to not put strain on the wrists; he learned from shadowing the late blacksmith that it was a common mistake for commission pieces, and as much as he enjoyed working in the forge, Kamishiro would cry if he had to reshape the metal.
Finally satisfied with the inspection, the royal blacksmith dunked the unfinished piece in the water, closing his eyes as the liquid responded with an angry roar of steam. This part was always his favorite: hearing, breathing, and feeling the liquid rage before leaving behind a cool piece of metal. Finally, he set the sword into the kiln to temper as he prepared to exit his forge for the evening. I should wipe my hands, he thought to himself, before letting his eyes wander to the single, half-torn, soot-covered towel, nah. Kamishiro knew he was probably covered head-to-toe in compounds he still couldn’t pronounce right, but it was night and the young man’s small house was too close to the forge to even constitute a walk. “Goodnight, everybody!” he called out, though he knew that none of his workers would be present at this hour; they all had a tendency to slink away when the royal blacksmith was in his element. He smiled as he was greeted with no response, typical.
After snuffing out the last of the flames, the young blacksmith finally opened the door to the forge, the cold summer air latching onto his skin like a parasite. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, quickly regretting it as this shift in temperature made way to his airways and into his bloodstream. His cheeks, already flushed from the feverish heat of the forge, seemed to drain of color as his body shifted toward the cooler environment. Once his eyes reopened, the loss of color seemed to accelerate, for he knew he was no longer alone. For starters, he could feel the heat of another body in his personal space, and, the more obvious evidence, the eyes of the first-in-line prince of Serenia were currently meeting his own at nearly eye level.
“Your Highness!–” Kamishiro winced at his sharp tone, a side effect of being in the loud forge all day, “Do you have business with me at this hour?” The royal blacksmith tried to keep his tone formal, but he had to admit that the surprise visit from a man he had never seen face-to-face stripped his voice of usual filters. Another thing that had been promptly taken away was his confidence, for Kamishiro suddenly felt very ashamed wearing his dirty, old uniform. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his line of work; he felt quite the opposite on the daily, believing that every job that served Serenians was of importance. Still, this outfit contrasted starkly with the prince’s royal blue coat that was trimmed with silk lace and twenty-four karat gold, which in turn messed with his neural pathways, for it was an unspoken requirement to dress formally when in the close vicinity of royalty.
His Royal Highness, Prince Tsukasa Tenma I, cleared his throat. “I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but this situation is dire,” he began. The prince was quietly known around the kingdom for his dramatic way of speech, but the blacksmith couldn’t blame him. Based on the rhythm and tonal frequency of Tenma’s speech, Kamishiro sensed that it was simply a quirk from childhood that refused to fade with age. “My sister, Her Royal Highness, Princess Saki Tenma I–” he took a subtle breath to recover from the long title, “has the anniversary of her birth a few weeks from now. I am aware that this conversation is more suited for the royal goldsmiths, however they tend to, well, in discreet terms, gossip with Her Royal Highness, Princess–” he inhaled again. Out of respect for the prince, Kamishiro did not attempt to intervene in his very-poorly-masked hyperventilation, “Saki Tenma I, so naturally I found this commission best suited for you, Master Kamishiro.”
The royal blacksmith in question smiled simply whilst the prince dug into his coat pocket with utmost decorum, “I assume that you wish to commission a piece of jewelry for Her Highness?” His tone sounded more nasal than normal, for it resonated with a smile, which only grew as Tenma breathed out an exhausted “yes”. The royal blacksmith lacked a sibling himself, but witnessing such a human bond in real time filled his heart with a feeling he correlated to hope. Furthermore, practicing with the patience and care gold and silver pieces required could do him well.
The area around the two distinct men filled with silence for approximately five seconds, until the prince finally retrieved a bunched-up cloth. He poured an abnormal amount of care and attention into this object–there is probably some sort of precious stone inside. With an encouraging nod of approval, Kamishiro lifted his hands up to take the hidden item. The prince gently unfolded the cloth, revealing an emerald no wider than the blacksmith’s fifth fingernail. “I read it in a book once,” the prince hummed absentmindedly, “her birthstone, that is.” He seemed somewhat proud of his findings, briefly flashing an innocent grin that resembled more of a child than a future king before realizing he was still making an official commission. “If it is possible, I would love to see it made into a bracelet for young Saki–” he paused, “ah, Her Royal Highness, Princess Saki Tenma I. Apologies.”
Don’t apologize, Your Highness, you’re allowed to address your sister casually! Kamishiro’s heart pounded against his ribs, weakly crying out these words; however, his heart and his larynx were different organs, so he held his tongue. The prince lightly placed the emerald in his dirty palm, deliberately spending more time to put his white-gloved fingers under the blacksmith’s, cupping them and curling them in to ensure maximum security for the gemstone. His hands carried a warmth that eased the artisan’s exhausted muscles, yet physically felt rather cold against the remnants of the forge heat. It’s been a while since I’ve seen hands this delicate, Kamishiro’s heart remarked, fluttering erratically. He savored the touch briefly, enjoying this odd sensation that crawled up his arms and all the way to his central nervous system before his conscience returned, and he rapidly withdrew his hands as if he was burnt.
So much for being polite. “Your Majesty!” He remarked, grimacing as he saw his painfully obvious hand and fingerprints staining black on the prince’s satin gloves. Heat rushed to his face in immediate mortification, for his encounter with the royal sealed itself somewhat-permanently into the fabric via the coal dust he chose to not wipe off, “Oh, God.” He imagined the prince returning to the castle that evening, nonchalantly mentioning how he held the master blacksmith’s poor, dirty hands in his pure, regal ones. The royal sewist would destroy him too, learning that she would have to sew yet another pair of gloves for the prince because of his folly.
Tenma appeared equally as distressed, yet instead of flushing red like the blacksmith had, his face drained of color completely. “Of course my curfew passed as well…” he whined, covering his eyes with the clean back of his gloves. Kamishiro’s breathing paused at the noise, for he normally witnessed Tenma speak in a composed manner. The future king seemed to notice it too, and he quickly straightened up, “Apologies, it’s just that I’ll probably be confined to the castle for life once they know.” He shuddered at the thought, and Kamishiro instantly deduced that the prince was referencing his parents. He never knew much about each and every royal process, but he knew enough to know that the immediate royal family tended to have strict guidelines that made him grateful for not having everything handed to him on a silver platter.
All of a sudden, the prince ripped off his delicate gloves, stuffing them into the blacksmith’s freehand with a delicate urgency, “Would it be alright if I just left these with you to burn or something?” His amber eyes finally locked with Kamishiro’s, twinkling like the stars above the two; they also held something that made the blacksmith’s mind pause for once as his heart began to race. “I– I need to get back to the castle and wash up. Goodbye, Master Kamishiro. I will mail you the commission details later.” He gave a slight bow before turning on his heel, and beginning his semi-short run back to the palace. The gloves felt heavenly in Kamishiro’s hand, somewhat distracting him as he watched the royal appear smaller and smaller in his vision, returning to his entirely separate world.
Once the prince’s visibility lost to distance, the blacksmith finally sat down on the grass, appreciating the night sky, “Goodnight, Your Royal Highness, Prince Tsukasa Tenma I.” The name caused him to break into another grin, and an eventual laugh from the mouthful of a royal title that catalyzed Kamishiro’s stress. He remained on the ground for just under fifteen minutes, savoring the cool night, before commencing his walk home, emerald still in hand.
~.~
“Hey, stranger.”
Kamishiro yelped in surprise, toppling off the couch. He blinked groggily, his vision still a little blurry from what he assumed was an unplanned nap. Right in front of him stood a fairly tall woman around his age, with unmistakable wavy pink hair tied into a side-ponytail. Ah, Mizuki, he recognized. If there was one person Kamishiro entrusted all of his life’s secrets to, it would be the royal sewist, Mizuki Akiyama. She was the closest thing he had to family, his partner in crime, roommate, and apparent alarm clock. Her hand was extended, which the blacksmith tiredly took. “There are better ways to wake me, y’know…”
Akiyama simply grinned mischievously in response, patting her friend on the head before moving to sit next to him on their stone floor, “I suppose, but none of them are as fast, Rui.” The blacksmith simply rolled his eyes in response, before stiffening in reaction to the sewist grabbing his right hand, “Did you even wash your hands after coming home?” She scolded, immediately noticing the mass amounts of soot, coal dust, and other random elements that made Kamishiro’s body look like part of the forge itself. The thought of the forge reminded Kamishiro of the evening’s previous events, and he hastily looked around him to find the precious objects the prince handed to him. Thankfully, he spots the prince’s gloves neatly folded on the coffee table, and a small ring box on top, which the blacksmith vaguely remembers placing the jewel in. “Hey, are you listening to me?” Akiyama called out.
Kamishiro playfully shook his head, barking out a laugh as the sewist playfully shoved him in the ribs, “Okay, okay! Yes, I am listening to you loud and clear!” He twisted his body slightly to check the time, watching the clock tick to one in the morning on the dot. The time shocked him slightly, for his roommate tended to turn in for bed early, and wake up as late as possible. He turned back to Akiyama, and, now that he was focusing, immediately noticed the eyebags that were starting to show, “Why are you awake?”
Akiyama paused for a second, before immediately twisting her face into a play-scowl, “Because I have a question for you, mister.” She pointed towards the gloves on the table, and Kamishiro’s heart resumed that weird flutter it began earlier. He had nothing to be ashamed of, or truly hide from his friend, but heat crawled up his neck and on his face just the same, “Listen, I’ve sewn this exact pair of gloves, so I know damn well that they belong to His Royal Highness, and most certainly not you,” She stopped speaking, and the blacksmith knew it was to let her words sink in deep, “so, please, enlighten me on how they ended up in your possession.”
Kamishiro groaned, rubbing his eyes in shame as his face turned a deeper shade of red, “You’re going to think it's so dumb,” The ceiling suddenly became very interesting to the blacksmith, for he didn’t remove his gaze as he continued to speak, “But I… uh…” his heart only starting to beat louder as he attempted to continue, much louder than it was at the forge. He also rolled up his sleeves, because it felt as if the very temperature of the room was crawling up, “I received an unexpected commission, let’s just say.” It wasn’t that he wanted to lie to Akiyama, quite the opposite, frankly. However, Kamishiro lacked the ability to share every single detail whilst sparing the prince’s privacy, as well as the fact that he didn’t know what happened exactly either. He silently prayed his explanation would be enough to satisfy Akiyama’s curiosity, but from the years of experience he had living with her, he knew that the odds of that happening were impossibly low.
“Oh~, I see…” Akiyama poked Kamishiro in the shoulder, her voice switching toward a more light and teasing tone, “let me guess, you like the prince.” Her eyes were squinted in a slightly cocky expression, and now it remained impossible to erase the smile on her face. Meanwhile, Kamishiro’s brain began to buffer at the thought. Of course he liked the prince– who in Serenia didn’t? Despite this, Kamishiro couldn’t be fooled easily. The sewist’s tone made it painfully obvious that she was implying a romantic relationship, which couldn’t be anything further from the truth.
The blacksmith shook his head immediately, “No, no. In no universe could we be in love. It was an odd commission, that is all.” Kamishiro went quiet after that, a mysterious heaviness sitting in the place where his heart was previously racing. He didn’t understand the sudden shift, but he didn’t like it in the slightest. It made him feel sick, almost.
Akiyama, noticing the atmosphere turn, chose not to tease. “Whatever you say.”