Wedged in the corner of what was likely the seediest bar he has ever been in, Mitsuhide’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly around his tankard as cheers for the new royal couple ring throughout the bar once more. He thought that two days of hard riding from Wilant would have been far enough to outpace wedding gossip, but he supposes he should have known better than to think an inch of Clarines would not be focused on the marriage of the Prince to the veritable (and now literal) Princess of the North. Every post, every inn he had stopped in to change horses had copies of the commemorative wedding issue available in storefronts or posted in windows.

And who could blame them, he muses as the cheers fade and the women continue to chatter about the details of Kiki’s dress and Zen’s coordinating suit. Their story, for all it was a political move to join the most powerful lines of a still-distinct North and South, seemed a fairytale. A comforting tale of friends turned lovers after years spent together in the crucible of life. A secret courtship, fulfilling the fondest wishes of the bride’s long-departed mother and stirring the hopes of a thousand couples waiting for their own happy ending.

His mind drifts as he recalls the wedding. It had been a truly beautiful ceremony. Illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun, the bride, iced in ivory silk and draped in pearls, seemed to float down the aisle; a perfect match to the regal Prince who awaited her at the dais. Gleaming rings – one plain, the other set with a sparkling Wisteria blue sapphire – exchanged as a sign of devotion. Vows solemnly made, and sealed with a kiss at the very moment the sun slipped behind the clouds…

His stomach twists painfully at the thought, and he brings his drink to his lips to assuage the ache. I should probably eat something, he thinks, taking another drink from his cup. He wasn't exactly feeling hungry – he hadn't felt much of anything since leaving the castle – but he also couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten.

Blinking to clear his bleary eyes, Mitsuhide scans the room for the waitress who had last filled his cup. Although he can’t recall the details of her face, he has a vague recollection of blonde hair swept in a messy bun. His first scan is unsuccessful, so he straightens from his slouch with a wince, craning to get a better view of the crowded room.

Must have been a shift change… he acknowledges after a more diligent search fails to locate a single blonde waitress. He also notes the lanterns scattered through the in the room have been lit to offset the rapidly dwindling sunlight. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed – he had stumbled into this inn sometime before noon, and it couldn’t be more than a quarter hour or so to sunset now – but he can’t bring himself to feel more than momentary concern at the swift, yet crushingly slow passage of time.

He took some solace in knowing he was not the only person to drink the day away. A large party of travelling merchants had claimed several tables in the center of the dining room shortly after Mitsuhide had arrived. They had proudly announced to all and sundry that their firm supplied the wines served during the wedding reception, an honor that had led to a flood of orders from nobles all around Clarines. This blessing had apparently inspired quite a spirit of generosity within them, as they had purchased several rounds of drinks throughout the day, each one accompanied by enthusiastic toasts to the royal couple’s health.

Most of the waitstaff that Mitsuhide could see were flitting in and around the merchants’ table, topping off drinks and ferrying steaming platters of food. Considering the men were now as drunk on ale as they were their successes, it was no wonder the staff were being so attentive. The bolder of the waitresses were taking full advantage of the merchants ever-increasing “generosity”, tittering sweetly in their ears and pressing close as they refill glasses.

As he watches, one of the drunken men raises his mug, sloshing ale over his hand as he calls for yet another toast to the royal couple’s health. He grimaces, stomach twisting once more as the cheers echo through the room, but when another voice rises to call for blessings of fertility to find their way to the royals, he just can’t take it anymore. He lifts his drink, hoping to drown this feeling, to wash away the image of mouths on necks, but nothing remains in his tankard. He stares into the vessel – empty again, like everything else in his life – and tries with some desperation to recall how many times today this exact view had greeted him.

Disgusted by his inaction, Mistuhide sets his tankard down with more force than is strictly necessary. Planting his elbows on the table, he rubs his hands harshly over his face in an attempt to gather himself. If only he could scrub his mind of these useless thoughts as easily as he had cleansed his body of the accumulated dust of his flight away from the capital…

“Needing a refill there, sir?”

Lowering his hands from his face, Mitsuhide looks up to see a tawny-haired waitress approaching with a mug of freshly drawn ale. He feels a bit of heat creep up his neck as he realizes the petulant thunk of his empty tankard striking the table must have attracted her attention.

“Please,” he requests, ducking his head to obscure the blush he hopes is not visible in the mostly lantern-lit room.

She bends close to set his new drink on the table, and catches a glimpse of his face, “You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” Mitsuhide feels the heat creep up his cheeks as her eyes sweep the length of his body. “Tall too,” she hums appreciatively, shifting her weight to lean across the table.

“Say, are you free tonight?” she purrs, a hand rising to press against his chest, “After all, it’s not every day we get a man like you in these parts…”

He shrinks backwards against the back of his chair, hands raising in supplication as he stutters excuses; but she follows him back, her gaze returning to get a better look at his face. Once she does, she blinks and straightens.

“Hey wait,” her tone shifts, halting the words spilling from his lips, “aren’t you that handsome man that was traveling with Obi?”

“Traveling with Obi…?” he parrots back, arms lowering as he stares at the waitress. He fails to place her at first – clad in the same black dress as the rest of the staff, she looks like every other waitress he had seen today. Memories begin to stir as she preens under his gaze, however, and a sensual smile curves her lips. She flutters her lashes, and he recalls the same brown eyes sparkling with mischief, framed by the long chestnut hair that is now swept in a high tail. She tilts her head, and her earrings jangle, drawing his attention. The heavy gold discs, each set with a sparkling red stone, are unmistakable, and he recalls the press of her body warm against his on that long-ago night, the surprise of finding her with Obi in that abandoned manor, and the press of her lips against his cheek the next morning.

“I thought so,” she laughs, delighted by her unexpected discovery, and he realizes she must have read the recognition in his eyes, or perhaps from the blush that burned once more across his cheeks. “I could never forget a blush like that.” She leans closer once more, resting her cheek against her shoulder, “So what brings you all the way out here, good sir?”

Her question reminds him of the realities of his life, or more accurately the aching uncertainty of what his life would become moving forward. The blush fades from his cheeks as he considers how he wound up drinking away the day in the seediest inn middle-of-nowhere Clarines could offer.

After stumbling out of the antechamber outside of Zen and Kiki’s chambers, Mitsuhide had attempted to return to his own rooms, but was waylaid by Izana along the way. The King had taken one look at him with those all-seeing eyes and beckoned him to come to his office for a chat.

“You won’t be needed for the next three weeks,” the King informed him, his words blunt but not unkind, “The honor guard for the wedding tour will be made up of local soldiers selected by the council at each of the stops.” He steepled his fingers, gauging Mitsuhide before deciding to deliver the blow cleanly, “When you return from your break, we will discuss your…new duties.”

He couldn’t recall how he had responded to Izana after that, only that the King had stared at him for a few minutes once more before waving him away. Mitsuhide had followed Zen for years, had made protecting him and the interests of the Wisteria family his top priority – his only priority – for so long he couldn’t imagine what a life without that would mean. He had made his way to his room, thrown together a basic pack of supplies and coin, and ridden until he couldn’t stand riding any more.

“You alright?” a voice breaks into his thoughts, and he realizes the waitress – he can’t recall if he knows her name – is still waiting for an answer. She looks at him with a mix of concern and amusement, one brow quirked up in question.

“I’ve been…given leave from my duties for a while,” he settles for a version of the truth, “I- I couldn’t stay, so I picked a direction and rode away.” He reaches out for the tankard of ale, and just resists the urge to drown the entire draught, “This place just happens to be where I stopped.”

“I see,” she hums thoughtfully, not missing the way his hand tightens around his drink, “That explains the clothes.” Mitsuhide glances down at his shirt, a slightly ill-fitting, homespun replacement purchased on his last change of horses since his usual clothes had not survived the days of hard riding unscathed. The material wasn’t dissimilar to what he had worn while in-training at Sereg, but after years of wearing fine linens and silks the slight irregularities of the simple weave felt harsh against his skin.

“But it doesn’t necessarily explain the lack of companions,” she continues, hands flattening on the table in front of him as she leans close once more, “Tell me, where is your lady, good sir?”

“Gone,” he says shortly, remembering the sparkle of Zen’s sapphire against Kiki’s skin a scant few mornings ago. Those dark feelings rise within him again, and although he tries to drown them with another gulp of ale, words twisted with bitterness slip out, “She was never my lady to begin with.”

“Ahh…” she breathes, her smile taking on a sympathetic tint, “Not with Obi, then, right?” He shakes his head, and must pull a face, since she leans back to laugh. “I didn’t think so – as much as she would be his type, she was way out of his league. Plus he seemed to have a thing for that red-headed healer.”

“You could say that,” he admits, thinking of Obi and Shirayuki. He hadn’t seen them in months – since the rumor mill had yet to die down, they had not been able to return for the wedding – but they had sent their well-wishes along with a package overflowing with teas and spices from whatever exotic country Izana had sent them to “negotiate” with. They seemed well, but he still felt a twinge of guilt whenever he thought of his role in the mess that had sent them out of the country to begin with.

“So, with that that elegant man, then?” she asks, breaking his train of thought.

He doesn’t say anything in response, just stiffens and takes another deep draught of his ale, but his silence is apparently answer enough for her. She slides from the table and approaches his chair from behind.

“You never answered my question, you know,” she comments, sliding her arms around his neck, “Are you free tonight, Mister?”

He intends to say no. He’s already said too much, and the last thing he wants to do is to drag someone down with him. But as she presses close, he feels her warmth seeping through his rough cloth of his shirt. He feels the soft puff of her breath against his ear. He feels the press of her chest against his back, sparking a curl of desire, even as color stains his cheeks once more. He feels something with her, after days of feeling nothing but emptiness and pain.

“And if I am?” he rasps, mouth gone dry as he realizes what he’s agreeing to, “What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, Sir,” she purrs, somehow pressing even closer, “That would be telling.”

--

Kiki never considered herself to be the type to get homesick to a place, she can't possibly miss the cold sun in the north when it is the same one that rises in the south, but still, something in her heart aches and warms at the same time upon the sight of snow-covered streets, the way her coat is thick and tight around her body to cover all the crevasses and hold the warmth in and the cold out.

It is odd, because it has forever been the matter of who she was with rather than where she was.

Obi and Shirayuki managed to drag Mitsuhide to a nearby shop across the street and a little to the right, something about Mitsuhide being able to melt the shopkeeper's heart and possibly get them a discount.  

Shirayuki looks taken aback by the immorality of the plan but appears amused nonetheless.

Besides her, Zen laughs, his voice a burst of joy as he leans back on his arms on the bench, this floods her mind with memories of her early visits to the castle, before she was even assigned to be Zen's trustworthy knight, she was the daughter of an earl, there to gain the royal family's favour in order to protect her own house, by charming the young prince into her hand, rumours from how she both looked and acted similar to her mother.

Beautiful and seductive, but for her own good.

Zen seemed to be the only one to treat her decently, to treat her as a friend, along with Mitsuhide. And for once, her stay in the castle did not seem as horrible as she foreseen it to be. It was nice to, for once, be treated not as Kiki Seiran, but as Kiki.

And somehow that managed to drag on to how getting married to the second prince would not be as bad, even if it meant carrying the weight of both her house and this country on her shoulders, barely sharing the weight of one. But being married to a friend... doesn't sound as bad.

But that was from another time, she no longer needs to consider the complication of either marrying a prince nor a knight, not anymore. She has no place seeking a husband now, not to mention that she is also currently engaged.

When did things get so complicated so quickly?

Kiki was, and will forever be, the type of woman to take everything slowly, with great caution, every move precisely calculated. But now, things seemed to be going too fast for her even to comprehend.

And her breathing seems to be following the same rhythm.

Her hand tightens in the well-fitted wool of her coat and for the first time, she misses the several layers covering her body, she could always hide her shaking hands in the folds and ruffles without the notice or pity of others. Kiki bites her lower lip, making her teeth sink into the flesh, hoping that the pain will distract her body from her stinging eyes.  

Her eyes wander off quickly, maybe she can sneak off to a shop nearby to calm herself before Zen or Mitsuhide-

Mitsuhide...

"Kiki" the way Zen speaks her name is simple, it does not sound like a question nor a command, Zen calls her name to let her know that she is here, that he is here with her, that he was, and will always be, with her.

She bravely takes a decision to use the last bit of her voice, hoping that she is still strong enough to form words "is your offer still up?

"Hmm?" he is now looking at her, but she takes another deep breath, the cold air cooling her body as she inhales through her nose, she then meets his eyes.

"Is your chest still available for me?" Her eyes sting again, sharper than before, and she knows that blinking would only cause the first tear to leave the hiding of her eye, paving the way for a flood to follow.

Zen's arms wrap around her shoulders just as her eyes burst into tears, staining his shoulder before even touching the cold air. She nuzzles her face into the crook of his shoulder and allows her chest to shake and shudder as imprisoned feelings and tears run free.

He doesn't say anything, but his arms are tight and gentle, their presence reassuring, grounding her to the small reality where she is with him, where he has her back, where she is safe from all the prying eyes of the world.

She feels his fingers gently twisting the tips of her tied hair before his hand trails up to her head, where his fingers rest between the long strands. Her hands tighten at his back and he lets his head lean again hers as he whispers something, several things, that she can't quite understand over the wind brushing not far away from her ears and her own pounding heart.

Her chest feels light, lighter than she ever felt in years, a feeling she never thought she'd ever experience with such ease after she was burdened with responsibilities that she herself agreed to carry.

Not needing friends, not needing anyone.

People passing by walk without even turning an eye to her, not when Zen had his cape thrown over her back, blending her in with his own body, concealing her from the world. She never thought she'd be afraid of people's eyes when it was her entire life's work to please and work for them.

When her crying stops and her body calms, she reaches to pull herself away from him, her hands falling from his back to his arms to support herself, for if her body betrayed her once, it could do so again, but Zen holds her still for a longer moment "you can stay longer if you want" his hand falls from her hair to her lower back and every place is hand touches burns "they'd understand"

Kiki chuckles and squeezes his torso to hers for a second longer before pulling back. She doesn't meet his eyes, not knowing whether hers are red and puffed or not, but the look on Zen's face when she does confirms it.

One hand moves to rest on his chest, where his heart beats fast under her palm, a rhythm she knows is from worry, one he is trying to contain in order to handle her own.

"I'm fine" she breaths and her fingers twitch once at the thought of losing this warmth to the distance between them again "thank you" her hand falls from his chest just as her eyes do from his.

It is only one breath, a long deep breath that she is able to take before she feels a much-needed warmth against her cheek.

Ah! Right. He doesn't wear his gloves often when they go out like this.

"Kiki" he says with a sigh, his thumb brushing just below her eye, where the skin is still sensitive from the salt of her tears "don't ever think that you're alone. Ever"

Her heart flutters, and she releases a breath she wasn't aware she was even holding in.

"Thank you, your highness" the word leave her mouth effortlessly. Honest.  

Zen smiles, gently moving her head downward for his lips press to her forehead, right where her hair parts and falls around her face to frame it.