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milky-aeons · 9 months ago

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[3] — STAR-STRUCK

a/n: i wrote this story during a very tough time of my life, and reading back over it brings me so much bittersweet joy. i hope you guys enjoy chapter three!

warnings: female reader, sexual content, toxic!dazai, mentions of misogyny, mdni, w.c 7.5k

౨ৎ . . . chapter THREE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗. — Pablo Neruda

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄. Needlessly. After Doctor Yosano had seen to the last maid, who was white in the face with fear and confusion at everyone else's reactions to being checked over, each woman was sent to the servant's bathing area.

Two girls who were unfortunate enough to be the first the Head Maid seen to were plastered up against the side of the huge bath. Steam rose in heavy clouds, curling their hair and warming their bones, but nothing could stop them from visibly shaking with trauma.

"[N-Name]," One of them chattered. "Was it the General Practioneer of Yo we were seen by or a worker of the Devil?"

You swallowed beside Naomi, attempting to force your fright to relax. It made your spirit rebel — how a Court Official had this much of an effect on you. But that woman, the Head of all Maids, was no regular Court Official.

"Let us hope..." You said in a quiet whisper. "Let us hope that we do not run into medical troubles while we're here."

Naomi gave a curt nod. "Lets."

At least you weren't totally alone in your terror — every single woman in the baths seemed to have a similar reaction. The heat did nothing to tame the violent shivers breaking across their skin after a medical examination by Doctor Yosano Akiko. Each of them were checked over for any obvious diseases and given a necessary smallpox injection to protect the Royals if it was true they hadn't been vaccinated before. Which, coming from a commoner's background, it was likely they had not.

Whatever other examinations apart from those, you believed, was unique to each and every one of you. And just as terrifying.

It was obvious that now; every training maid of the Yo Palace would think twice about overstepping boundaries. Not when they witnessed just how easily the Head Maid handled a silver scalpel, or the smile on her face as she did so.

"When you were being checked over," Naomi whispered in a small, shaky tone. "Did she—?"

"I think it best not to speak of it." You shot her down. Apparently, the Head Maid had left lasting fear in her recruits that would follow them throughout their time in the palace. And, perhaps a lifetime. "If she is a worker of the Devil, then recounting her actions will only bring about misfortune."

Naomi made a small squeak followed by a rush of water when she slapped a hand to her mouth.

You were beginning to think that simply surviving Palace Life would be a lot harder than you thought, and not at all because of your habitual loose tongue.

"Are you aware of your duty?"

Even though it was not the Captain of the Ko Cavalry asking her the question when the King had assigned him with this task, the severity of it was no less. If she could offer some input, hearing such a question from this man made her wish to be successful even more. Although maybe that was a matter of her heart.

"I am." The blond Spy-woman answered. Dressed to pose a Yo Maid, she wore colours of white and black with a blue ribbon tying her hair securely. Standard servant attire for the Castle of Yo. How these two members of the Ko Court knew as such would be down to the man she was speaking to

Dressed in nothing but black save for the white tips in his hair, he commanded every Spy in the Ko Kingdom as a Spy-Master. His duty was to collect and listen to secrets. And occasionally reprimand those who choose unwisely not to provide them.

"Tell me again what your orders are." He asked her in that smooth, toneless voice.

The Spy-woman steeled her spine. Like an automated machine, she spoke the words; "I am due to arrive at Yo as a servant woman. My duty is to infiltrate the Castle and confirm if Yo really is struggling financially due to a rumoured drought. Once I affirm this, I am to return. Without being caught or discovered."

The deep grey eyes of the Spy-Master, akin to thunderclouds in a vicious storm, regarded his subordinate for a moment. She had a bright and intelligent crimson gaze, fair skin and a neat cut of blonde hair she trained into a knot. If he was an average man of the Court, he would surely be of the popular opinion that Higuchi Ichiyou was a rare beauty. Unfortunately, Ko's Spy-master was nothing but a hollow husk of a man that did nothing but obey what his King asked of him.

It was why he was so good at his job.

It also enabled him to say such unemotional, practical words to his most enthusiastic of subordinates.

"Prove that your useful, Higuchi. If you are caught and executed, then that will be all you were worth."

Higuchi was a trained Spy of the Ko Court, honed like a steel blade and fierce in her work. Although she was a young woman with a huge secret no Spy-woman should have. And it was that secret that allowed the words of her Commander to turn into icicles and pierce her heart. But being a Spy-woman came with the perks of hiding inner-pain, so she simply nodded her head and quietly memorised his pale face and large, dark eyes so she could visit them in her dreams a Kingdom away.

"I will be successful," She assured. "Akutagawa-senpai."

There were three ruling Kingdoms in this mythical land. Each Kingdom decided upon their own colours; Yo preferred neutral colours of blue and white, Ko was obnoxious in their affairs with shady black and reds decorating their hallways. Hama was the largest and most influential Kingdom of all and took a lavish liking to gold and gentle pinks. Together, the Yo-Ko-Hama country was a melting pot of colours and interests to anyone wishing to visit.

You did an experimental twirl in a cracked mirror stationed above your bunk. After the baths, the maids were dried and each given a designated bed inside a drab sleeping chamber with little light and life. Not that you particularly minded, as to your right was, miraculously, Naomi's bed. Your luck was looking up somewhat, you had thought with a sigh upon hearing the news.

The girl was dressed in the same uniform as you, although she was somewhat more ecstatic.

"Oh, [Name]!" Naomi gushed. She took the black skirts up in her grasp and twirled it as you would a ballroom dress. "Isn't it wonderful?"

You pursed your lips and turned back to the mirror. Caked in dust and not at all what you'd expect from Royals, but at the same time, would in a commoner's sleeping room, you inspected your own reflection.

Placing your ongoing spat with the monarchs that ruled over you all aside, you could admit that the Seamstress had a magic touch for fittings.

The basic black dress that collared at the neck and reached just above your ankles was not too heavy nor scratchy, like you had imagined. In hindsight, it was rather comfortable. Paired with the simple white apron typical to maid-wear and the blue ribbon tying your hair back, you could admire that you looked the part of a working woman.

Just not in the job she wished to be in, the thought came to you with a sinking feeling. You found some happiness in Naomi's glee, though. Who had abandoned spinning like a dancer and was attempting to tie the ribbon in her hair. It was with little success.

"Here," You said with a small laugh. Naomi immediately yielded and passed the blue silk over to you.

"It is not as easy as it looks." She muttered with a pout.

"No, it is not."

"Says you! Your bow is perfect."

Stationed in front of Naomi's mirror which was a little cleaner than your own, you carded your fingers through the long tresses. They came easily into a half-up hairdo, making the delicate features of her face more prominent. You smiled at her in the reflection. "I have been tying bows all my life."

"Truly?"

"Truly." You slipped the blue ribbon in place. "I used to work for the Miyazawa Farm. Skirts are not what a woman should wear when uprooting weeds but alas, that is all I had. So, I improvised. A strong bit of ribbon and my skirts became shorts."

Naomi's grey eyes that sometimes appeared violet blinked rapidly at you in the reflection. Her brows shot up, and all at once, she was in a fit of giggles.

You tied the bow with a frown. "What?"

"No, I mean no—no offense, but," Her giggles quietened and in their place was a bright smile. A talent of hers, you were noticing. You were fairly certain Naomi's warmth could ignite even the coldest of hearts. "It's just—Gods, you are the strangest woman I've ever met."

One brow raised at Naomi. With fingers still on the bow, you gave a tug and the ribbon came undone.

Naomi cried, reaching up like a bucket of water had been tipped over her crown. "[Name]!" She whined with fingers digging into her bangs. "You cruel woman!"

Despite it all, there was a smile on each of their faces. A mischievous upturn of your lips and the same sunshine grin on Naomi's, both of you contesting with silly stares. There was a shift in the relationship now; an upgrade from common acquaintances to budding friends. Inside these lying Palace walls and arrogant, sometimes insane Royal Officials, you were glad that at least something good was coming out of this job.

Perhaps it would make surviving that bit easier.

However the friends weren't fortunate enough to continue with their jests. In a second the radiance was shattered with a handful of words;

"Look! The Prince, it's The First Prince!"

The air took a steep fall in temperature once the title was said in an excited, womanly shout. You and Naomi locked eyes at the same time in the mirror, only moving when every other maid did so.

The lady who had spotted him apparently did so from the window — which was where a gaggle of women now squashed into. You secretly slipped your hand around Naomi's arm. You were never one to be overly affectionate, but after the sudden passing of your late parents, protectiveness came fiercely and uninvited into your personality.

Naomi didn't mind. If anything, she brought a hand to yours in quiet thanks.

"Oh, look! There he is!"

"Such a dream, isn't he?"

"A dream? That's too weak a word. Our Prince is a mythical being incarnate! Strong and brave and handsome."

"Ow — do not push!"

"If you were not so selfish, Cathryn, then I could gaze upon him easily also!"

The sickly, almost indoctrinated words of those who were star-struck by the Prince of Yo almost made you feel sick. Prince-struck, you decided upon while watching the maids fight like schoolchildren to get a look at him. Completely unable to help your curiosity, you found a pocket between the bustling bodies and peeked out. With just enough space to see clearly down into the Palace courtyard—

The Prince of Yo.

You had truly, never before seen him in person. As an only child, the First Prince was labelled with the Throne's Heir since he was but a babe. His fate was set in stone before words could come out of his mouth. So ever since then, he has been pampered with extra care and kept moderately inside the Palace Walls. There were rumours that he spent some time in the Kingdom of Ko in his earlier years, but you knew little of those wonders.

He was not what you expected.

The fierce nickname Demon Prince of Yo had some serious connotations. In your imagination, this enigmatic Prince who instilled the fear of God into the hearts of his people was a large, terrifying looking man. Perhaps with facial hair and an eyepatch.

However this man you were looking at was a stark opposite. He wasn't large, he was fairly slender, however towered over the two Guards he was sharing a joke with. You could not see his face as he was turned away and facing the far Gardens, was only greeted by the curly mass of brunet hair that was tossed when he laughed. With Royal attire of blue and white accompanied by golden embellishments that gave his status away, he looked every bit a pampered Royal Boy of a sheltered court.

In summary; not at all what you expected. Which made confusion dampen your nerves, because why did those men sound so afraid of him? Why was he named after a servant of Satan?

Outside the lancet window, you watched as the Prince stiffened slightly. Then turned right around to look up, and smiled at the attention he was receiving. A chorus of excited squeals erupted when he waved at them. That was right when you stumbled backwards thanks to the hip of another Prince-struck maid and your vision of him was cut short.

Naomi was there to steady you, hissing at the rude woman who cut across you so quickly.

You weren't paying attention, too busy analysing the sheer impact of seeing the Prince's face to care that a maid had near sent you to your behind.

Normal.

It was the first adjective that came to mind; his smooth skin flawless and evident of a spoiled life, curved eyes that tugged his smile up, generous thick waves framing his face. Everything about him is so normal, you thought, beside yourself with shock. All this time you entertained the thought that the First Prince was a terrifying man. That, with one look, you'd feel your heart still and skin freeze.

But you felt none of that. None of that at all.

Could it be that the Heir she naturally hated was just an innocent Prince laid victim to delusional drunkards and their nicknaming?

"[Name]? [Name]." Naomi was shaking you hard when you came back into the room. "Oh, [Name], what did that brutish woman do to you?"

Quickly to assure her and stop the said brutish woman from feeling Naomi's wrath — you looked down to her.

"I'm fine. It was nothing." Squeals and frantic waves from the maids were filling the quiet room still. Obviously, The Prince was one for attention and still waving at his new maids.

Naomi's bright eyes were wide with worry. "You were away for a moment. I feared that—" Slow recognition flitted across her face. "The Prince." Was all she said, although it held the weight of a million questions. "Did you see him?"

Partly because you wished to speak of something the other maids didn't agree with, and because said maids were becoming agitating with their over-zealous mewls, you ushered Naomi far to your original beds. The shorter girl didn't at all complain.

You told Naomi to sit back in front of the mirror so it could appear your were just doing her bow.

"Yes." You breathed after a moment. "I did."

Your friend strongly resisted the need to whip right around with a million questions on her tongue. Naomi waited until the maids quietened into a dreamy din when the Prince stopped waving to let her nosiness come through.

And the first question was;

"Is it true?"

Your lips thinned at the obvious loaded question. You were still wondering of the answer to that question, yourself.

Is our Prince truly a Demon?

And all you could offer Naomi was the truth.

"That's the thing," A sharp silence as most maids came back to their beds, many with stars in their eyes. You were careful to lean down to Naomi with a quiet tone. "It... outwardly appears... that it is not?"

This time, Naomi didn't hesitate to swivel right around. The ribbon fell from her hair and framed her saucer-like eyes with wild strands of black. "It is not—!? Mm!"

You had slapped a hand across her loud mouth.

And warranted the attention of a maid with bright red hair and a deep, confused frown. Desperately, you stretched your lips into a false smile that physically hurt and hitched your tone high. "Excited, isn't she? I'm afraid seeing the Prince has left her star-struck."

You had said it with the hopes that this red-headed maid was another Prince Worshiper like the rest of them. Thanks to some heavenly power, your hope was in the right place, because the maid smiled in genuine understanding.

"I can understand," She assured, reaching up to run her hand through her long ribbon-kept tresses. Both eyes glazed. "Our Highness has that effect on people. Especially us. Oh, how I wish to serve him in his room!"

Your laugh was strained and had every possibility of turning into a wheeze. It was a wonder it didn't. When you were sure the maid was whisked off someplace far away, you returned your attention to Naomi and took the hand away from her mouth.

"F-Forgive me." Was the first words off her tongue.

"I never thought it would be me scolding you to keep your tongue in your mouth."

Blush exploded across her cheeks. "I was just—just surprised. You think he is not?" Her brows dipped. "You, [Name], are telling me the rumours are fake?"

"I said no such thing." You countered with a haughty whisper. Your own confusion was taking an agitated route, which was not warranted nor what Naomi deserved. So you stopped, took a deep breath, and carefully turned Naomi back around.

"I said it appears that the Prince is not what those rumours say." You continued quietly while gathering her hair back up once more. "I'm just as shocked as you."

"I'm more relieved than shocked," The shorter woman said. With that confession was an obvious sigh that dropped her shoulders. "But what makes you say so?"

You took a little more time to answer, trifling it out with the very normal image of the rumoured Prince of Demons as you tightened the blue bow.

Mannerly brown eyes, a smile that was polite and loving to the maids, the Guards who laughed with him about a jest.

Naomi looked at you expectantly in the mirror. You sighed tightly.

"On first look," A beats pause. Your brows clashed. "He appeared... everything a Demon's opposite. The Prince was all a spoiled Prince was meant to look. And his smile," You didn't know why your teeth gnashed. It was the confusion, perhaps. "It was kind and warm towards his maids. Deserving of their desperate waves in its genuineness."

With every word, it was as if Naomi's own brows raised higher and higher until they had no room left. When she digested it — a lot better than how you had, very evidentially — she said; "Why is it that I don't feel at all reassured?"

It was a question you had no answer to. And even if you had, wouldn't have been able to, because a sharp bell tinkled through the air which signalled every new maid to duty.

You constructed a faux smile that hid any new found confusion around your Heir and took Naomi's arm to come with you. The girl knew that looking into it would only cause unwanted stress when she was expected to tend to the Castle.

Wonders and worries were reserved to the late nightly hours. Now, they were expected to smile and move ahead.

Although you had an odd feeling in your gut that you knew would stay throughout the entire shift. Confusion and dislike were not a fond mix. It made you constantly revisit The Princes short, snapshot image in your mind for some confirmation. How his smile lit his face up, how he waved in appreciation, the Guards laughing. Not all all the man who made drunk men confess their deepest fears or women tuck their children up safely at night.

Later

Water sloshed about in the tin bucket when you dumped another rag inside. A little too forcefully, but with annoyance steadily brewing in your gut and knuckles rubbed raw with dehydration, you were surprised you hadn't cracked what it was that you polished.

For the worse half of the afternoon, you had been stationed in an expansive hallway in the West Wing of the Palace. Given completely unique duties independent to Naomi, you were in her own company surrounded by the distant murmurs of Guards and consistent, maddening scrubbing of polish against wood.

"Royals, Royals, Royals." You hissed with every scrub. Trust the pompous family to have a simply random cabinet holding nothing but China in the middle of an unused hallway. "They just have all that—that tax money to waste on fruitless things, don't they?" You asked the spotless wood, albeit quietly, as the walls had ears. "What needs does a hallway have for fine China?"

Your reflection answered you. Wild and untamed thing that you were; your hair coming undone from the bow and cheeks dusted rose. Well, if you were to actually succeed as a housemaid for a month, you thought with a huff, reaching to tie the bow neatly again, you should learn not to scrub forcefully enough to shake your hair loose.

When the bow whispered and tightened did you drop your hands into your apron pocket and produced the small notebook every training maid had been gifted. Most women coming to the Castle had very little, if not no educational background. So, for the first few weeks they were permitted to take down their daily tasks instead of memorising them. Whether it was through sentences or broken pictures if they were illiterate enough, Miss Yosano did not mind.

What she did mind was that every task was finished at the time of the last bell. And if it wasn't — a bead of sweat came down your spine at the notion — you didn't want to imagine what punishment could possible await.

Fortunately, despite being against it all, you upheld your promise to Naomi and got every job done. Now, there was only one left;

Rake ashes from Guestroom One. Polish fireplace in Guestroom One. Think of how useless it is to have ten Guestrooms. Perhaps sweep the ashes under the pillow. Pray for strength. Card, beat and straighten Guestroom One's mattress. Check for mites behind Guestroom One's mirrors. For Naomi, for Grandfather. Empty chamber pot in Guestroom Five. Tend to the Guestroom guarded by too many men.

The last task was taken down in a haste, hence its apparent vagueness. A poor, appalled [Name] heard the words empty a chamber-pot come from the Head Maid's mouth and zoned out with shock. It was degrading enough that you were serving under a House of Royals that had no respect for their people, so you were beside yourself upon learning maids dealt first-hand with their utmost private waste, too.

For those curious individuals; you had not a pleasant experience, and secretly used the Guestroom's sink to rinse your hands until the waxy soap began to sting.

Yet you had snapped out of it enough to hear the warning that the room would be "guarded by many men", so that was all you scribbled down. A Lord, perhaps. Most of the Guestrooms you had been tending to today were kept in check by one outstanding Guard. Sometimes not even that. These West-Wing rooms were not used too often, you were told by Yosano before setting off.

However, the East-Wing of the Palace was. And you were also warned to be especially careful of your manners.

Let me see how long I shall last, the amusing wonder came as you walked bristly with the can of water. You thought herself fortunate that you had not bumped into any Royal Officials or — God forbid, the Royals themselves — while on duty. But now, you were entering an area that was apparently crawling with them.

Keep your tongue in, [Name]. For Grandfather, for Naomi.

You considered your execution if you snapped at a Palace Dweller, and then saw an empty bed beside a broken-hearted Naomi. It was what made you swallow tightly and try the damnedest to get this task done quickly as possible. For it was almost dusk; the sky outside the lancet windows was bleeding orange and blush.

The Castle of Yo was situated on a small incline in the Kingdom, far above any village houses or common squares. But you knew everyone existed under the same sky, and wished your Grandfather could see the same gorgeous display of twilight.

Do you miss me, you old wart?

"You better do." You answered, although a smile was on your face. "Who will you play chess with now?"

Images of the chipped board and hand-crafted pieces came with voice and laughter — all trinkets of the past. You were not given the liberty of reminiscing, because you had now turned a corner east. A new Wing of the Palace was where you found yourself. And Yosano had not been kidding, but she had also not been firm enough with her warnings, either—

The place was crawling with Royal Guards!

Everywhere you looked; beside the lavish paintings against the walls, potted plants watered by housemaids more experiences than you, lining every single doorway, there was men with swords and the hilt and hard expressions. Your hands tightened on the bucket, not feeling the nicest with so many eyes suddenly lasered on you. What, am I that threatening? You wished to ask. I'm carrying a bucket, for Gods sake! Hardly a weapon of destruction.

Alas, none of them would take their eyes off of you as you made way to the most protected room of all. An impressive diplomat, he must be behind those doors. With golden lining the wood and four men on each side, you couldn't help but wonder if he was a visiting Guest or a permanent resident. Or just a high-standing man of society who wished for more Guards than he needed.

You would not be at all surprised.

You came to a stop right before the Guard who looked wildly different than the rest of them. He was tall and fierce looking, with grey hair let fall around his shoulder and silver eyes. A wolf, was the first thing you named him while taking in his strange dress. They were definitely not Palace colours. No, this stranger wore a robe of murky green and had a thinner, longer sword sitting at his side.

A foreign diplomat, the man he's guarding must be. The Guard looked at you and you had to straighten your spine. This Guard is not from here.

"What business have you here?" Was the only question he asked you. A level, strong voice. Not commanding, like you initially expected. The aura around this man, the very way he stood. You were quickly understanding that perhaps this foreign man did not command for anything. He simply received it.

Resisting a huff — what do you believe my business is, Guard? I'm in maid's clothes with a maid's pale, you shook the bucket in your hand. "I am to tend to this room, My Lord. It is almost time for the bell and it's the last on my list of duties."

Cool grey eyes slipped down your form in inspection. The Guard deemed you acceptable with a short nod and a step aside.

Although before you entered; "I am no Lord."

Water sloshed dangerous in the bucket when you backtracked to look at him. "Pardon me?"

"You addressed me as a Lord. I am none, nor have I ever been."

Your brows pinched. Truly, such bizarre words from a man of a Royal Court. Perhaps he was not from this Court, but still — it was common to address those higher in society with the appropriate label.

"Then..." You ventured with an unsure, albeit curious tone. "What shall I address you as?"

The strange Guard had his eyes closed now and returned to looking ahead. "Fukuzawa." Was the name he said, a unique one not from this Kingdom.

Was he asking you to use his name? In a Royal Court? Or was this a test?

You thought it probable that this man could be messing with you just to see a poorly maid whipped. In a Palace, no sort of deceit would surprise you. "If that is your name, my Lord, I cannot use it. It is improper."

"Then you may address me as Wolf."

"... Truly?"

"Indeed."

So he does not intend to whip me. He is just another outlier of the Court more stranger than the rest. Although you chose not to protest further with the odd Guard and pushed your way into the room. After all, you were still a training maid, and the time of sunset was almost upon you.

"Wolf. Honestly." You chuckled quietly once inside. Shaking your head, you set the bucket down on the floor. "What type of title is that?"

Although it could not be disputed that he didn't give you the same agitation other Royal Guards did. It was a thought you placed quietly aside, right where the ones of the Prince were to mull over later. Because now it was time for tending—

The wind was knocked right out of your empty stomach.

Gold. Everything in the Guestroom you stood inside was tipped and coated in the finest notes of gold; from the walls to the tables. A huge poster bed with the sheets only creased and not slept in took up most of the room's decor, its silk complimenting the curtains that tossed delicately in the wind. Painted a pale blue with intricate arts of white, the walls were embellished with paintings and the ceiling was high. From there, a chandelier glittered and danced with the settling sun.

You swallowed, having never seen such an obnoxious display of wealth. And then, the wonder and awe soured into sharp anger.

The Royal Family have this much money to spend on Guestrooms when their people are wasting away? Just for a foreign diplomat? A diplomat that didn't even sleep in his bed, but merely lay on top and turned just a few times. Nor did he touch his food tray. The silver platter had a delicious display of cheeses and breads, fruits and candied oranges, cracked eggs that were collecting grey with how long they have been left.

The shamelessly wasted food made your stomach growl and rage thunder. Whoever this man was that lived in here, he ought to be ashamed. To the highest order. Wasting a platter of breakfast and not appreciating a warm bed. But truly, what had I expected from Royals and their contacts? They would throw food and wealth at others to impress, do anything to cover up the breaking pegs of the Kingdom that held it up.

With a new-found shame and disgust at your monarchs, you busied yourself with everything you had conducted in the other Guestroom. Fixing the bedsheets, carding the mattress, polishing even specks of dust on the mirrors, however in this place you did it with a genuine snarl on your lips. Especially when you picked up a full entrée of food you hadn't even tasted before, much less seen, and dumped it right into the waste bucket.

Such a shame. Grandfather would be appalled when she told him. Or perhaps he'd attempt to defend them.

But how could you defend this? Wealth slapped against the walls and wasted food? You saw absolutely nothing but guilt in the action, making your frown deepen.

Although one part of the room that made your skin physically tight with anger allowed the frown soften somewhat.

A chessboard.

Situated on a table of its own with two plush chairs, there sat the most beautiful chess board you had ever cast your eyes upon. It was not out of place in this room of gold, but fond memories of your Grandfather made you look upon this ornament not with hatred, but gentle curiosity.

Oh, but you could not help yourself. You had such a soft spot for the game and the memories it held. Carefully walking over to the table right at the window, you reached out to finger some of the tiles. The stone was cold to the touch — pure marble, and not wood. The pieces were akin to crystals. Glossy, cloudy glass for the white and murky black for the opposing side. You knew it was just another ornament, another gaudy display, but you picked up a piece in anyway.

A pawn. Your lips kicked up when Grandfather's words echoed in your mind;

"My favourite piece? That's easy lass. A pawn."

"A pawn? But—But they're the weakest piece on the board, Grandfather."

"Aye, they may be considered weak. And they are. But at least they never back down."

"They never back down..." You parroted quietly. A steady ache bloomed in your heart when you turned the smooth piece over. Unsurprisingly, you found yourself preferring Grandfather's chipped wooden counterpart; those pieces never felt so cold and unloved.

A sudden creaking of a door behind you.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage and you snapped around — placing the piece blindly back onto the board.

It was the peculiar Guard. Wolf, per his request. He was looking at you with calm eyes, although one brow was raised ever so slightly.

"Miss Maid," He began. "Your service is appreciated, but I thought it worth mentioning the sound of a bell I just heard."

A bell? You frowned, wondering why that applied to you. Although realisation of why it did hit you with the terrifying force of a freight train.

That bell!

"Oh!" You gushed. Then quickly gathered composer with a tight cough. Acting ladylike in front of a Guard, even a strange Wolf Guard, who were you really? "I am done." You affirmed.

Gathering your skirts and rushing to take the bucket, you brushed quickly passed Guard Wolf and into the hallways. This was the first day and you were already behind time. Any other Royal Official and you would have went out of your way to be late. But the overseer of maids in this Castle was a terrifying woman who sent shivers up your spine. You pushed harder, only noticing that you failed to check over the room one last time before leaving.

One final check. Always. Don't you dare leave without it. Yosano's voice in your head. It was obvious that it was more a threat than friendly advice. No matter, you dismissed quickly. That room was untouched enough. You could wager your neck nothing was out of place even without it.

Unfortunate it was for your neck. What this particular training maid failed to consider that in her haste, she had left one item out of place in the room of gold and diamonds.

High, pleasure-riven cries were what filled the small room that the Prince of Yo was wasting some of his time. At present, it was with the most stimulating of distractions; sex.

He steadily eased his long fingers in and out of her — this high-standing Lady-in-Waiting who was becoming a little too frequent for his liking. Attachment of a woman such as herself could indeed prove a headache. But no matter — they were future worries that had no worth in the present. With long, luscious waves of deep red that matched the blush spreading across her cheeks, Rosette was the most impressive Lady of his Court.

He's be foolish, however, to think her anything but the venomous viper that she was.

"Oh—Oh, My Prince," She mewled for him. Rocked her hips into his skilled touch greedily. "There, it's there."

Dazai raised a brow and moved his quick touch to everywhere that wasn't there. "Hmm? Giving your Prince orders, Rosette?"

With a wicked grin unlike the smiling Prince his maids knew him to be, he listened at her agitated cry. It was followed by a rushed apology, of course, and then a desperate plea for him to spare her. That was the one thing Prince Dazai was always sure of - he'd never enjoy his maids in a sexual way. It was, as his Father would reprimand him, an unsightly display and encourager of more labels. Maids had loose tongues when not in Court. But Women-in-Waiting.

He felt her hands on his broad shoulders — a quiet beg, another shift of her hips into the hand underneath her immaculate skirts.

Women-in-Waiting tended to keep their love-affairs to themselves, unless it was to make other Women of the Court jealous. It was, in their minds, a race for the throne after all.

"My Prince—!" Rosette's whine was wanton again. It was becoming irritable, Dazai was noticing. Laced in a false tone that hid her want to cage him, lure with her charm so she could one day be Queen. With her strongly-scented perfume and painted lips, Dazai looked her right in the eyes and lowered his voice.

"You will never be Queen."

Rosette's equally red brows clashed in confusion. Bright, hazel eyes became wide. "My—?"

Although Dazai gave her no time to finish. In a frenzy, and partly because he wished her to silence, he attacked her lips with his and manoeuvred his touch back to where there was. He had it memorised, and whatever confusion was tightening Rosette's muscles melted away. She eagerly returned his attention with quick, tiring movements of her tongue and encouraging moans.

Her hips snapped harder into his touch. He pressed, twirled, sunk his teeth into her bottom lip and her movements stuttered.

"Hah—ah!" The Lady-in-Waiting came undone underneath him. Pressed up against the wall, her hands fisted into his shirt and she threw her head back. "Oh, My—My Prince! Ahh...!"

Dazai removed his fingers from her when she was finished and completely released her. He was cruel in that regard; sex was a passer of time, not an intimate act. Reaching for a cloth in his pocket, he cleaned his hand and hid the strangely cold smile playing on his lips.

Prince Dazai of Yo did not believe in intimacy. Love was difficult for him to feel. Wicked and intelligent, he was given constant praise for being it, so he could comprehend why humans would want to feel love. They were lonely, wishing for a deeper meaning to life than simple existence.

One thing he did not understand, however, was the want to look for a deeper meaning in existence. Sometimes, Dazai felt as if he was the only truly awake one in the room. Life had no meaning, existence was bleak as it was taxing. Humans only felt truly released when they allowed themselves to die, and that was where his opinion ended.

Perhaps that was why he kept seeing such dull, grey walls.

"My Prince?" Rosette called his attention back. Although he did not look to her, he heard how she smoothened down her gown and fixed her mused hair. Happy after-pleasure made her words light. "If I could ask, what was it that you said to me? A few seconds prior? I'm afraid I was too... preoccupied, to really understand."

Clever. Dazai fixed his expression back into Princely charm and lifted his head. Such a bright smile, his eyes closed and curved with it. "Forget it. I was too preoccupied too, it seemed. You do have that effect on men, lovely Rosette~"

The barest flicker behind her soft, hazel eyes. No one except for the Prince of Yo, who was perceptive to a point where it bordered unnatural, could catch it. Sadistic glee raced in his bloodstream — she had heard him. Loud and clear.

And she was far from happy.

It seemed that the most beautiful Lady-in-Waiting was not used to being denied. But he was her Prince, so she was cautious with her wording. "Oh, but allow me to beg you," She reached up to clasp her hands and rest them on her generous breasts. "For it'll haunt my dreams to know. I do respect everything you say, My Prince."

Dazai didn't allow his smile to drop, nor his tone to deepen. Although he made a quick decision that this little triste was coming to its close, and he needed to make himself clear. "Will you insist if I keep my secrets?" He sang with ribbons of playful tease.

"I believed we were past secrets."

There was his reason. Nail stamped in the coffin. "Well, how could any man resist you, Rosette?" The barest tilt of his head left. "I said we should stop seeing each other."

Rosette's face was like a mask had just collapsed right from it. Her false smile went from bright to completely slack, her eyes let their walls down to show nothing but intense hazel fury. "M-My Prince?" Although she could be given credit, for her tone was the same sugar-poison as always.

Dazai opened his eyes and all of a sudden, gone was the happy Prince many in the Court knew him to be. Now, he was appearing how he did to only a handful of unfortunates in the Palace. Blank, deep brown eyes. An uncaring smile. The Demon Prince of Yo saw the fractures in Rosettes plan and decided he'd tear it down until it existed as mere broken shards.

"I said; our triste has gone on long enough, and I wish to end it. I don't particular wish to be collared, and yet you are attempting to collar me. Perhaps there are men of the Court who wish to sleep with a viper who'll bite them after they do, but I am not one of them." Cold, amused laughter. "To answer you properly, I said you would never be Queen. Queens of snakes belong in a small burrow and not a Kingdom's golden throne."

Finding immense pleasure in the way Rosette's skin had drained in shock until it was mere rice-paper, Prince Dazai lifted a hand to the door. "You are free to leave." Was how he ended this distraction, his tone a teasing lilt.

Quiet amusingly, Rosette's ashen complex heated until it was the colour of her hair. With no words to her Prince, because after all, she was a Lady-in-Waiting and he a King's Son, she furiously gathered her skirts and rushed from the room. Leaving behind an unamused Prince who watched her go with unfeeling eyes. The Demon Prince of The Yo Kingdom. A man who cared not for other humans emotions and say everything in life through a lens of grey.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #kunikida doppo #naomi tanizaki #crowns of stardust #headers by astralnymphh #dividers by saradika!#port mafia #armed detective agency #🪄— milky writes #fukuzawa yukichi #akutagawa ryuunosuke #higuchi ichiyo

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milky-aeons · 10 months ago

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[1] — STARGAZER

a/n: i wrote this story years ago! and while i was rereading it out of pure boredom, i decided i wanted to breathe some life back into it again. this shall be multi-chaptered! take your time with it, and please read the warnings before you embark, loves!

warnings: class differences, oppression of women, mentions of illness, mentions of death, depression, violence against women, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, superstitious natures, spoilers, mdni, w.c 7.4k

౨ৎ . . . chapter ONE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚜.

— Grace Willows, To Kiss a King.

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆. Dotted studs of white fire, splattered over a glassy night sky that sometimes bloomed with purples and indigos of rare supernovas, if you were lucky enough to see them.

You could lie here for hours, like this, gazing at the wonders above. Counting as they winked at you from far away, feeling the evening breeze nip at your cheeks and whisper through the field. And above everything; allow yourself to imagine. To think, secretly, what it would be like if everyone thought like the stars did.

They didn't discriminate, stratify, hate or detest. They simply shined brightly, each of them made of that very same material everyone in the world was also made up of; incandescent, special speckles of stardust.

If only they could see that. If there could be some way to force through the social ladders of your society, to break away from the labels placed upon you. Perhaps the world would be a better place if we thought how the stars did — believed that everyone, no matter how rich or poor, was the very same on that fundamental level.

Intertwined within our souls was the stuff of stars that made us no better or worse than the person next.

Perhaps the world would be just as beautiful as a sky on a peaceful, undisturbed night when every person was allowed to shine just as brightly as the stars above. But this stargazer locked that thought up deep within her heart, just like all others that expected too much from her rank, her social label, and staggered to her feet with a heavy sigh.

The Village of Yo, January, 1831

A chipped, wooden horse came down hard against the worn chess board with a force that rattled all the other pieces. Hand-carven, they were fragile and you should have been a little less vigorous. But caught in the grips of victory, you had little room for such caution.

"Checkmate," You smiled giddily, knocking the King piece off the board. "I win."

Your opponent; a willowy old man with lines streaked across his forehead and an impressive beard grumbled with narrowed eyes. Reaching up, he rubbed a hand down his face. "My, lass. I knew one day you'd catch up to me, but I didn't think it'd be this quick."

Still smiling, you reached down to pick up the King from the floor where it'd landed. You brushed off the delicate carvings on the piece with care, hoping you hadn't damaged it any more. A terrible habit of yours it was; becoming too excited about games and strategy. It was bad enough that one of the castles was missing its parapet because you had become angry at a sneaky strategy your teacher had used. And hurtled the poor piece across the room.

But now, you placed it carefully back, it looks as if said teacher has been bested by the student.

"You should take pride," You assured through a grin. "It means you're a great teacher."

"Teachers don't teach to be bested by their students, lass. Maybe it's my eyes. I didn't even see your counterattack in place, at all."

"Ah, I see. Go on, then. Blame your eyesight." Your lip jutted in a playful frown. "God forbid that a woman beats you at anything. What will the village think? You'd be locked up and subject to a shower of rotten fruit."

"[Name]!" The wood whined as he rapped on it three times. Superstitious to an art form, your Grandfather has always been. Which of course, was why you spoke so loosely to him in the first place. Receiving a rise out of him was one of the ways you loved to keep entertained in this small, handwoven cabin typical to that of common folk.

His cheeks tipped rose when he exclaimed, "You mustn't feed the air with talk of such events!"

You, the victorious Chess Champion, stared your Grandfather in the eye. The pair of you didn't reach the third second before a low chuckle escaped the older man. It was hoarse in a way that spoke of his age, an obvious hallmark of his weakening health you didn't think about so much.

He shook his head. "Aye, my Granddaughter has bested me. Are these lungs of mine finally getting to my head?"

Three consecutive knocks rang through the air. This time, it was you who had copied your Grandfather's superstitious habit and tapped the table. "Now who is feeding the air with bad thinking?" You asked him softly.

"Not bad thinking, lass. Pure truth."

"Grandfather." You frowned even more. Talk of your Grandfather's weakening health sent a thousand small stabs through your heart, opened doors to thoughts of an empty cabin without him there. You couldn't bear to entertain anything but the thought that the new medicine you've received would work. No, it had to.

It must.

The man gave another rattling cough, followed by a scowl. "Rather than wasting money on all that fancy apothecary, why not more food? You're an awful liar, [Name]." His eyes similar to your own — that clear tone which rivalled the smoothest of glass — riveted into you. "You believe you hide your stomach growls, but you doubt the hearing of an old man with poor sight."

On instinct, you placed a hand to your stomach, pressing hard. Through the simple dress tied off at the waist, you could feel the tight skin, the lumps of your protruding ribcage. The hunger spasms had drawn your muscles taut, but the pain was tolerable. Grandfather needed the food more than you, after all. He needed to get better.

"It is nothing," You mumbled. "There has been drought throughout the summer. You know that. Food is sparse. I'm young, I'll live."

The older man studied you with a shaky hand stroking over his beard. It was a long moment before he let out a chuckle. "You've got your Mother's selflessness and your Father's poor deceit. Really, what'll I do with you?"

Images of the young couple that birthed you were gone as quickly as they came. It didn't hurt as much to think about them anymore, as you knew they too, existed in the stars that looked down upon you all. [Name] of the Willows family was strong and always kept her backbone in check, but would be lying if you said you were ready to be completely alone. Not after the sudden passing of your parents.

Even if you had to work in a farm trudging through mud picking up weeds and other unpleasantries, you would keep your Grandfather here on this earth. Your only living relative — one you couldn't bear to let go.

It did not help in the slightest that this drought was financially crippling not only the farming community in the village, but the whole Kingdom of Yo as a nation. They were mainly an agrarian province that got most of its income off of produce. Drought of any kind, especially one lasting this long, was bound to cause chaos in every aspect of the Kingdom. And it had — chaos that was quickly balanced by raising taxes in order to stabilize the economy.

An idea offered by the Royal Family of the Yo Palace.

You ground your teeth every time you thought about the monarchs all were meant to bow down to, to marvel and respect. When they were treated like nothing but cattle to be milked of everything they had? The Miyazawa farm you worked on hardly has any money for themselves in this current climate, not concerning your wages, which had been shaved down as of recently. You had no reason to blame them. No, the people you directed such distaste to were the money-laundering aristocrats that stood on top of it all.

If anyone was responsible for your forced fasting in order to afford basic medicines for your Grandfather's health, it was them.

You were unsure about many things in life; marriage, family, food, but if you could count on one thing; it was that you hated the Royal Family. With everything you could possibly gather within you.

"It's a terrible thing you can't get rid of me," You continued with Grandfather's remark, trying to distract yourself from the depravity of it all. You carefully set up another chess game with the delicate, whittled pieces. Your favourite game. "Who would wake you up in the morning, then?"

"The taxman at the door, that's who." He scoffed.

Whatever water you had in your stomach went sour. "The Royals ought to be ashamed of themselves, taxing us like we have it all to give. Do they not know the people they rule over? How we're struggling?"

A sigh filtered through the air. "Don't be quick to blame the Royals for everything, [Name]. Running a Kingdom is not often black and white. If I had to guess, I believe they don't have a choice."

Suddenly very taken aback by your Grandfather's point of view when his very body was wasting away because of the people he was defending, you shot up. Eyes blazing a bright inferno, neck tight. "How could you defend them?"

"I'm not defending them, lass. But it is wise to think before you project." He rounded his own clear eyes on you. "How would you save a Kingdom if it was falling apart?"

You were about to give into that same habit of reacting when worked up and lash out. They tax us silly, uncaring of how many lives they leave in ruins! But before you barely got a word out, there was a loud commotion outside.

An explosion of high, excited chatter that caught both your attention. Cautiously, you left the chessboard and Grandfather's company to venture to the front door and peer outside. What could it possibly be at this early hour? You wondered with a huff, blinking the sunlight from your narrowed eyes. It was midday; the time of lunch, if one was lucky enough, and perhaps quiet work.

Not an entire gaggle of women hurriedly knocking on doors and running around with their skirts gathered up in their fists.

Wary, you almost scowled at the lady who scurried towards you. The lady was too excited to notice, it would seem.

"Oh, darling!" She gushed, taking you by the hands. "Oh, it's amazing! A miracle!"

"What is?"

The lady shook her clasped hands. "You truly don't know? You have not heard?"

I would have not asked if I did, you wished to remark. Women such as these who were nothing but charm and gossip unnerved you the most. But instead, you remembered basic propriety. "Pray tell? For I have not."

"The Royals, my darling! They've smiled down on us and heard our cries! Recruitment, they have just promised, for all young women under forty and unwedded. With a promised wage! They wish to help those in need in these taxing times! Oh, we've been saved. Saved, my darling!"

Your twitching brows knitted. You were having serious trouble understanding what you had just been told. "Pardon, Miss?"

"The day is wonderful, my Darling!" The lady took her hands away from you and twirled happily on the spot. Her cheeks were stained a delicate rose when she stopped. "I'd place my name down quickly with the Registrar, [Name] Willows! Unwedded and in these troubled times, a servant's job will be a blessing to you!"

Servant's job?

The woman was already scurrying off to the nearest house ready to spill the news when it caught up to you. Your mouth parted to draw a shaky, disbelieved breath. No, this can't be. You turned to look at the other houses along this path. Each and every one of them looked busy, some already ushering their daughters out the door so they could place their names down and help the family income.

Hold on a moment, the Castle is suddenly accepting women to become servants for the Court?

In this financial climate?

Such a handful of women who were desperate for income, like you, were currently taking to the streets with hastily wrapped scarves around their heads. It was a sea of excited commoners, close in age and status to you. Some of which, you were close friends to.

The sight of it all made you suddenly take the severity of what was happening seriously and gather your skirts to turn back into the house.

"Grandfather," It was a hurried whisper on your tongue. "Grandfather, where are you?"

The older man was already standing at the small kitchen you shared, his back turned. Unbothered, he never really was one for dramatics when they arose in the society. "Why do you sound like you've seen a ghost, lass?" He asked while pouring a shaky cup of water. "Don't bring any of that societal malarkey into this home."

"No, Grandfather, this is not—this is," You were having trouble getting coherent words out. Because surely, this couldn't be true. "The Castle—they're—?"

"Use words correctly," A small tap on your forehead that made you blink. You hadn't been flicked as such since your teenage years. But it seemed to do the trick — because your were shaken right out of your startled haze. One tight swallow and you were right back in the room.

"The women," You began quickly. "They've come saying that the Castle is looking for new workers. Servant women, able and unwedded. They promise of a wage, Grandfather." Your expression suddenly grew tight. "Do they mean to mock us? First they take away our taxes, now they take any women who are able for a family?"

Silence followed your obvious open question. It made you frown when he stared into the murky water with quiet contemplation.

"Grandfather?" You pressed, now confused.

It was a few more moments of a now heavy silence before he tipped the water down his throat, followed by a rattled cough. "So, what are you waiting for?" He suddenly piqued, irritated. The cup came down heavily onto the kitchen table. "Where is your scarf, your bags, your birth papers? You'll be a fool to think that they will accept just any woman who doesn't get there first!"

Warmth spread quickly from your chest up to the top of your neck. Like a slap to the cheek, the words from your Grandfather were hard and unexpected in their impact. Your hands clasped into shaking fists at your sides.

"What are you saying? Do you honestly believe I would work as a servant woman in their Castle—?"

"Better a servant girl than pulling weeds up in that Miyataza farm you work on."

"Miyazawa farm, Grandfather. It is the Miyazawa family."

"Does it matter, lass? I could bet a Castle job would pay you far more generously than weeding. Servants are treated well. They are fed and warm when they sleep."

The heat was creeping into your cheeks now. How dare he try to send you away? How dare he even think you would consider being sent away?

"I'm not leaving you." Was the hard-line, final statement. You stood straight and taut, daring your Grandfather to wish you away.

Truthfully — due to the mechanisms of this time and the harsh needs of society; you really couldn't stand in the way if Grandfather truly wished to send you to the Castle. Because you were a woman, and he led the house as a man. Misogyny was the only thing a tomboy, unwedded woman like you could not break down with nothing but her soul and stubbornness.

But you could damn well try. Every day, you could try.

"Grandfather," You put every emotion into the soft plea. Begging him to understand that this would rip a hole in your heart. That you would better uproot weeds from a farm with your skirts bunched than polish a lavish Palace hall. Would rather feel the pang in your stomach from days of foodless meals than not see him every morning and night. "Please, don't send me away."

The answer which greeted you was icy and so unlike the man who cared for you. "That's enough, lass. You're going. It's an opportunity not to be missed."

"I don't want to leave you!"

At that, Grandfather glared at you. But it was softer around the edges — the glass of his eyes now a gentle powdery colour. For a spared moment, you were hopeful that guilt had finally swayed him. Even more so when he reached up to pet your hair; an affectionate gesture of his own. You dropped your eyes and leaned into the pat, knowing that the hope would crackle and burn around you. Like everything else in your miserable life you continued to struggle against.

"Servants of the Castle are permitted to return once a month. You won't miss this ol' shack that much, lass. Tending to me and my rotten coughing. Your parents would have wanted it for you," He spoke softly. The gravel of his lung condition made the words a raspy wheeze. "A servant woman of the Palace. You couldn't ask for anything better when we're all drownin' in poverty."

A choked sob was steadily rising in your throat, but you pushed it down and averted your eyes. In a shaky whisper, you attempted one last time, "The Royals are the last people I would ever serve, Grandfather. Even if they promise of a wage."

You could hear it in his chuckle — the knowing grin he always wore. Oftentimes, it reminded you vaguely of your Father.

"Remember, [Name]. If your Kingdom was in ruins, how would you save it?"

The village of the Yo Kingdom was still buzzing with excitement hours after the news was relayed to every single door. Mothers and Grandmothers alike who did not meet the criteria for work waved their younger daughters off, some with cloths up to their mouths to hide the tears. Of elation or despair, you didn't know.

It was with a heavy heart that you packed your things in the small area you and Grandfather shared for sleep; him on the bed while you took to the floor most nights. Not that it ever bothered you. Something about the musty scent of oakwood and the tuft of hay you treated as a pillow stayed with you as you wrapped the scarf around your head. Home, you thought with lines bracketing your frown, this was your home and you were only permitted to return once a month.

Could you truly serve the family you hated so much?

You didn't let the hope in your heart dwindle. Having spent a generous deal of time arguing with Grandfather while getting ready — perhaps the Registrar was no longer there. Maybe a good number of women had beat you to it first and you were too late. With a deep breath did you continue your walk across the small village street — following some stray women as they hurried along the same route. Constantly, you turned around to look at your Grandfather once more. But you had ventured far into the city now — your home was around the bend and well out of eye's view.

If the Gods smile down on you, then perhaps you wouldn't have to leave for too long. The Registrar will be full, and you could return right back to where you wanted to be.

Perking a little, you entertained how you would laugh right in his face when you returned home. Ha! Would you look at that, you senile old man. It just wasn't meant to be! A servant woman is not where the Heavens want me to go! A small giggle rushed through you, lifting your spirits ever so. It seemed more probable now the more you walked; there was a high chance the Palace would not accept any more applicants after the previous sea of women bombarded them.

Yes, you told yourself, that's right. And then I can think of what to make Grandfather for dinner tonight. No more will I have to entertain the thought of aiding that horrid, despicable family—

You rounded the sharp bend, only to feel your stomach plummet to the floor.

Sitting in the middle of the cobblestone pave-way was the table you were desperately hoping would not be. Women flocked around it; an ocean of scarfed heads and chattering voices. If it wasn't for another lady brushing passed you would have stayed there frozen and allowed the small sack to fall through your fingers. The Registrar, you quickly realised with dread, he's still here.

You hadn't been too late, after all.

The Gods continued to hold their frown on you.

"Oi, you!"

You snapped to attention when someone singled you out. A burly man, dressed in robes of blue and pure white with a sword at his hilt. The Palace colours. Everything about his demeanour told you swiftly that he was a Royal Knight.

And this Royal Knight was glaring at you intensely.

"I asked you to move into line!" He thrust a gloved hand to the suddenly startled row of women, whose eyes darted frantically. "You block any woman attempting to come through standing there!"

Survival instincts instructed your body to move on command, knowing full well a Royal Knight was not a man to be trifled with. Especially one twice your size and brandishing a terrifying sword. But because you had a stubbornness that could border dangerous in the wrong situations, you projected a tempered glare his way.

"Forgive me, my Lord." You said through tight teeth.

The Knight bared his own teeth and opened his mouth — obviously, he was unused to common village girls who didn't bend underneath his command. Damned Knights, it was a bitter thought quick in your mind as the Knight brought his hand up, everyone attached to those Royals believed they were above everyone else!

Bracing for a crack to your cheek — like so many others you had witnessed, especially when commoners were loose-lipped with those in high command — your eyes snapped shut. Women shrieked and moved away from the scuffle. Your whole body tensed in expectation.

"Sir Francis!"

It was a strong, steely voice that sliced through the air. Because it was taking too long for the pompous Knight to impact, you risked opening one eye. Then the other when your possible assailant wasn't looking your way any more. What in the world...?

The Knight was staring over to where the table was when you trained your eyes there, following every other woman's gawks, also. Seated at the table and the obvious owner of the words was the man that took the names down of possible servant candidates.

The Registrar.

His grey eyes gleamed impatiently underneath the square glasses he donned, mouth stitched.

"—disrespectful, my Lord." You caught the tail-end of what the Knight was saying. "I was teaching her a lesson."

"A lesson, huh?" The Registrar wondered. If you could believe, it looked like he was displeased with the Knight's actions. Surely not, you shook your head minutely amidst the surprise, it was common knowledge that most Knights mistreated commoners. Slapping women was not the worst they could do.

The Knight nodded stoically.

"Bring her here." The Registrar asked with a quick flick of his wrist. "Quickly. Hindrances will only delay the schedule."

"M-My Lord?"

"Are you wasting my time, Sir Francis?"

"A-Absolutely not!" The Knight exclaimed. Then before you could react, he wrapped a strong hand around your frail arm and roughly hauled you forward. Your habit kicked up again on reflex, hurling every disrespectful word you could at the Knight — even attempting to kick him in the shin. But he was Palace trained and you hadn't eaten in days. Any attack you attempted would have been laughably akin to a toddler's in your state.

An unhinged, furious wreck; you were thrown before the Registrar's small table. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the wood so you wouldn't sink to your knees. No man would make you result to your knees; Royal Guard or the King himself.

But your fumble did result in an ink bottle tipping over and spreading a river of black all over the parchment of names.

"Ahh! T-The names!" One voice wailed. Another Royal Guard. His tone quickly became seething when directed your way. "You useless cur! You'll atone for this with a whipping—!"

"There will be no whipping."

Blinking, you shot up to see the face of the Registrar staring you down. Tall and faintly handsome; he had smooth skin of porcelain that threw his grey eyes into sharp focus. A mane of golden hair was kept neatly in a tail at the back of his head — not a piece out of place. You hated how his heavy stare made you gulp. Especially when there was an irritated tick to his jaw.

But then, he sighed. "Fetch me another bottle of ink," He spoke to the Knight over his shoulder. "There should be a Craftsman nearby. You have two minutes."

"My Lord, this behaviour is uncanny. You should not allow her to—!"

"Whipping is a sore waste of time when we have so much women to get through." The Registrar hissed in a tempered whisper that could very well be a chilly breeze. He tossed his eyes back to the Knight, and you noticed the bob of his throat. "Are you attempting to tell me what to do?"

It wasn't a question. It was a careful, dangerous threat.

And the Royal Knight answered him correctly. "N-Never, My Lord!" And with that, he was spun around and off he scurried to find the ink bottle. You noticed the barest droop in the Registrar's tense shoulders, and couldn't help it when the words came tumbling forth;

"You saved me from a beating."

The Registrar slid his eyes to you. You knew you shouldn't have said it — not because it was improper and lacked propriety, because it did. You had no care for that. It was because he was looking at you now as a human would stare at an insect, and you were reminded of why Royal Court Members were people you'd never show gratitude to.

Straightening, you steeled your spine and hardened your glare. "I don't know what I can offer you." You hissed.

The Registrar may appear as if he is looking at a bug, but now his eyebrow raised. An interesting bug, perhaps. "I do hope you don't believe you can become a servant with no etiquette."

"Oh, I don't want to be a servant." You said proudly. "It was my Grandfather who sent me."

"Surely, he does not place the hopes of income on you?" The faintest ribbon of amusement in his tone. You caught it, and grinned.

"Better on me than a useless airhead woman who has no backbone when expected to serve in a Castle of Thieves."

Were you purposely attempting to jeopardise your chances? Perhaps. Your sharp tongue was more to do with the gleam of jest in the Registrar's cool grey eyes. It rubbed your nerves wrongly, how the Royal Workers thought the people they ruled were amusing little rodents; only to give money and anything else material.

"The Castle of Thieves?" He ventured, albeit lowly. It would surely be odd if the Registrar repeated such accusations of his place of work. You couldn't help but be taken aback by his curious manner, but hid it well.

The Registrar leaned back. No longer an insect, you thought as he regarded you with indifference. You had upgraded to a comical animal. The barest smile on his lips gave it away.

"You speak boldly." Was all he offered.

"Someone in this village has to." You countered.

"Speaking boldly in the Palace will result with your skin being littered with scars. Court Members are everything but lenient."

"Well, then that's that settled! I'm just too improper to be a servant woman. Truly, a shame." Secretly elated, you were preparing to turn right around. "I thank you for listening to me, My—"

"Wait."

Your bones and muscles snapped, froze. With an uneasy feeling in your gut that your habit had just upset the Registrar, who commanded the Knights around him, did you hesitantly look over your shoulder. When he said nothing but stared did you hold back a sigh and turn right around.

"Yes, My Lord?" You got out. A beating? Or perhaps you will be forcefully robbed of your innocence? It was unwise to question the extent of punishment a high-standing Official could mete out. But were you sorry? You grit your teeth, never in an aeon of existence.

The Registrar was quiet for a second, only studying you with everything but a livid expression. It not only made you perplexed, it also made you more nervous than what a glare would do. "Do you have your birth papers?"

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"Your birth papers. I expect you have them on you?"

Indeed, but you weren't about to give them up to this man. Although two Royal Knights had suddenly flanked either side of you — attracted by the commotion and why you were taking so long. So, with a jaw locked and eyes daggering into the man before you, did you reach into your sack and produce the heavy parchment.

He took it in his long, nimble fingers. Studied it with eyes downcast under his peculiar frames.

"[Name] Willows. Of childbearing age," He glanced up. "I assume you are unwedded?"

He assumes. You forced the annoyance down into your gut. Right where the other hatred for the Royals and their henchmen resided. "No." The Royal Knights and their weapons made you spit, "My Lord."

You and the grey-eyed Registrar didn't break the stare-off, not even when the Knight came stumbling back with the fresh ink-bottle in hand.

"My Lord!" He yelled breathlessly. "My Lord, I have fetched the ink. Some new parchment too. Courtesy of the Craftsmen Charlisle."

"He has my thanks," The Registrar opened his palm behind so the bottle could be placed there. When it was, did he spread the new parchment out and dip a fine quill in. "[Name] Willows," He said the name like a condemning sentence. The very end to all of your happiness. Your wide eyes tracked each swirl of the quill, every dot and dab. No way —

The Registrar sat up and smiled at you. It was that unnerving half smile. One that set all your nerves alight and spread fire coursing throughout your bloodstream. "Congratulations. Starting today, you shall be a training servant woman. May you enjoy your stay in the Castle of Thieves."

You let every bit of your pride go in the moment of shock. Mouth gaping, eyes widened. Surely there had been a mistake. There was no way the Castle accepted women who didn't keep their thoughts, voices and tongues to themselves. It was a matter of propriety, and in the Castle — propriety was held at the highest value. The Registrar was still studying you when the red cleared from your vision.

"Miss [Name]," He questioned. "Did you hear me correctly? There are others we must see to."

This damn Registrar, your fists clasped at your sides, practically vibrating with rage, this man was messing with you! He had to be!

"You can't be serious." You whispered. "The Castle would never allow it."

"I'm the Registrar. My duty is to choose what women I believe will make the most able servants. And perhaps, dare I say, you've enlightened me. It's true. Women who, as you say, 'have no backbone' will never survive serving under the Prince and King of the Yo Court."

The sentence was sealed in stone. Due to your habit, your humanly need to not be treated as scum by the higher-ups in society had just landed you in your worst nightmare. A job at the Caste, serving under the monarchs you hated the most. Being given a wage made from the taxes these villagers were being squeezed of. And there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

Already plunged into hell, you figured you may as well go out with a bang while you descended.

"What is your name?" You whispered to him.

His golden brow cocked. "I'm the Registrar."

"You mean to tell me your Mother gifted you with that name?"

A beats silence. The Registrar stayed still, contemplating long enough to deceive you into thinking he would not answer. Of course he wouldn't, pompous Court Official that he was. But after the silence was up, he leaned over the table. This wicked grey-eyed man who had just sealed your fate under lock and key.

"Kunikida Doppo," He said to you. "Secretary to The Throne. I will also be controlling your wages, Miss [Name]. I do hope your time-wasting habit does not carry over to your work."

You met him with a challenging smirk. "My Lord, Kunikida Doppo. How grateful I am to be granted this chance. Of course, I won't waste my time." Then, your voice dipped into a deadly whisper. One that was uncanny to any woman of society. Or any woman who wished to keep alive, period. Yet you, in that moment, couldn't find it in yourself to give a damn. "But I can promise you that I'll do everything to waste yours."

Outside the Throne Room, the Royal Palace of Yo

Court Officials; dressed in their beautiful garments of fine silks and studded gems, waited cautiously outside the Throne Room. The women with fans open in front of their faces to hide their frowns. Frowns, after all, stressed the skin to a point of wrinkles. No woman of the Court should be caught doing such a thing. The men had their hands of the hilt of their swords, swearing under their breaths and chattering in low voices.

"What do they think the Prince will do? If none of us could crack 'em, why do they think a pampered Royal can?"

He was met with violent shushing of another man. This one was a lot older and therefore, not as arrogant. Arrogance in the Palace of Yo got any man killed.

"Idiot!" He hushed. "Don't speak so easily of the Prince! Have you not heard his name in the halls?"

"His name?" The other man wasn't impressed. "'Course I have. It's common knowledge to know our Prince's—"

"No, his nickname. 'Demon Prince' is what the walls call him! You would be wise not to doubt his abilities of cruelty. Especially during interrogation."

The nickname of the Prince, the only Prince of Yo and heir to The Throne, sent violent shivers down each spine in the room. Women recoiled further behind their embellished fans, men cast their faces to the shadows with thin lips. It was all except for the gaudy original man, who had recently only joined the Court and was foolish in his thinking.

"Pwah!" He scoffed. The soft whisper of metal as he took out his sword. "I don't believe for a second that a spoiled Prince could do what actual Guards couldn't do! He was a lapdog his whole life — an only child!" There was an arrogant smile on his face. Perhaps the reason why he didn't notice the heavy sounds of doors opening behind him, or the desperate quiet pleas of the Court Members, was because he was so caught up in his bragging.

Whoosh, his sword sliced lazily through the air and he declared loudly, "I wager I could knock the brat on his behind with just one match!"

"Truly?"

It was a new voice that filtered through the air, stiffening everyone's bones in the hallway. Soft and mellifluous, the tone of the Yo Prince was rumoured to send men to their knees, women shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and government officials to tighten their jaws.

Today, his voice was echoed by the hiccups and tears from inside the Throne Room. The man that every Guard was interrogating without success was resulted to a blubbering, pathetic mess with just ten minutes alone with the First Prince.

The man brandishing the sword swivelled right around.

It wasn't only his voice that could break even the most hardened souls with wicked words. Rumours circled that it was his eyes — the shade of mahogany, of whiskey mixed with deep coffee. They bore into your spirit. Scanned deeply until you were stripped bare of everything you attempted to hide.

There was a sudden clang of metal on the tiles. The Prince didn't even flinch. He continued to stare at the now defenceless man, who was shaking in his boots.

The Prince cocked his head. "Would you be so kind to repeat yourself? I don't think I heard correctly."

Perspiration broke out everywhere along the man's skin. He was shaking so much now that he was sure of collapse. No one in the hallway was surprised, and braced themselves for the fate of the arrogant Court Official. He barely had lasted a week, and proceeded to insult the Prince to his face. Death, or something far worse, was imminent.

"N-N-Nothing—Nothing, My Liege." The shaking man regurgitated the words. Unashamedly, there was a growing patch of wet taking form in his tights. "I-I-I assure you."

The Demon Prince let absolutely nothing change in his expression. Silence befell over them, heavy and thick, coating everyone in a layer of sticky oil. No one dared breathe, blink or even move. Not when an execution was about to be sentenced.

But the Prince did something more than that, and objectively a lot more terrifying.

He smiled.

"Ah, is that so? Forgive me, Guard-san. It appears the interrogation has left me tired~" His eyes blinked once, twice, and the dark coffee was now a bright whiskey. That was the other rumoured thing about the Demon Prince; his usual persona was calm and silly, yet underneath there housed a terrible monster no one should get in the way of.

He turned to another Guard. "Officer-san?"

"Y-Yes!" The older man stood to stoic solute.

"He's a spy of the Ko Kingdom," The Prince said easily, gesturing to the man who was crying on the floor in the Throne Room. No doubt his soul had ben fractured into thousand irreparable pieces. "Was sent to gather information on our economy. Word is spreading quickly that our drought is near crippling. He was due to report back to the Kingdom yesterday," He let out a light, almost playful sigh. "But you see, the man got greedy and enjoyed himself too much in a brothel house last night~! Spilled his entire guts to a lovely whore he was accompanying. What do you say to that, Officer-san?"

The man almost turned green with pressure. "I—I have nothing to offer, only that it was a life threatening mistake on his part, My Liege."

"Ehhh, you think brothels are 'life threatening', Officer-san?"

"T-That is not at all what I was—"

A peal of perfect laughter rang out when the Prince threw his head back. His mass of brown curls fell perfectly over his eyes when he straightened, those eyes decorated with long dark lashed were shut in happy moons. Deceitful, that was the First Prince of Yo, and God love anyone who fell for his blindingly attractive charm.

"My, my, Officer-san. You're like an innocent school-girl! How about we go to a brothel and find a lovely lady to not tell your wife about~?"

"M-My Liege!"

"Come now, don't be nervous. Life if all about new experiences."

"I can assure you that I have—I have—!"

The atmosphere around the hallway was gently eased until the air was at least breathable again. Some brazen women snapped their fans shut now that their lips were upturned into a smile. Many of the men engaged in the Prince's easy banter. It was no small secret that, when he was in the correct mood, that the Prince had his way with people. Those who never touched or saw the other side to him naturally flocked to his presence.

The only remnants of his commanding, terrifying side was the sounds of wails in the Throne Room; a spy who stood no chance against the Prince's careful questions that everyone decided to stay ignorant to.

That and the shaken man who had been on the receiving end of the Prince's stare. The man who stared death right in the face through eyes of the darkest brown, and escaped, but was now resulted to a soiled, sword-less mess. Frozen to the spot, staring at the open Throne Room and unable to escape from the nightmare the Prince has traumatised him into.

"Were you successful?"

The Prince of Yo, nicknamed the 'Demon Prince' by many of those who were unfortunate enough to encounter that side, strolled into the Quarters he was summoned to. This room was laved in gold and expensive jewels, silk bedsheets and grand oil paintings. In those paintings was the man who ruled over the entire Kingdom of Yo. And, the owner of the voice that called to his visitor.

The King of Yo; King Dietrich. He rarely uses his family name, although the house they lived in was brandished with the surname Dazai.

With a sigh, the Prince waved his hand. "The man was like an open book. Too easy to read, I got him to talk within a minute."

The King turned from the window to gaze at his son. His only son, and yet, there was a rift between them that was too cold to be one of family. They were simply King and Prince, and their fondness never extended past those titles.

He raised a brow. "Officer Hijikata told me you were in there for ten minutes."

At that, the Prince smiled. It was a bone-chilling smile, one that sucked the light from his eyes. "There are other things to do to a man's mind when you take away all his secrets."

The King regarded his son for a long moment, through the brown eyes so similar to his. Then, let out the most regal of sighs. "Such an unsightly habit you have, Dazai. You'd be careful not to terrorise the new servants being trained. It's taxing enough that your branded with a nickname."

"Nicknames are commoner games. Do you think they use them to feel power? That brandishing another with labels is how they humanise?"

"There you go again, speaking so unsightly. These manners will slip out to the public."

Dazai Osamu, the Prince of Yo and Heir to the Throne, waltzed lazily over to his Father's desk and picked up a tumbler. It was gorgeously carved out of magnificent glass, intended truly to be a gift for the King.

He poured himself a healthy serving of whiskey and downed it in one go. Alcohol never did much to fill the indescribably gaping hole in his existence, but it made him feel something.

"Then let them. It'll only produce more labels. More ways of pointless humanising," He brought the empty glass to his lips and stared distantly. Through those eyes that broke men down, that instilled fear into those older than him, that yearned for amusement to distract himself from his outlook on life. "It matters not. I don't deserve the title of human, any way."

ྀི. Chapter Notes:

↣ "The Registrar" is a title I gave to Kunikida as he was taking names from the women who were registering to become a servant of the Castle. It's not his official title, however. His official title is The Secretary of the Palace. ↣ A "Secretary" to a Throne is someone who supports many aspects of a monarch's private affairs; such as finances, schedules and correspondence. The main duty of The Secretary is to communicate the monarchs wishes to different areas of Government. Sometimes, a Court Secretary can also be The Secretary of State. ↣ Prince Dazai's nickname; "The Demon Prince of Yo" is a direct play on his nickname "Demon Executive" of the Port Mafia during the Dark Era arc of the anime. And the Fifteen Light Novel arc, I think? I tend to mention these plays throughout the book as I don't want to discredit Asagiri and make it clear what are my ideas an what is parody. ヾ(≧▽≦*)o ↣ Dazai's closing dialogue of; "I don't deserve the title of human, any way" is drawn from both Osamu Dazai's book No Longer Human and his ability in the anime, No Longer Human.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

#bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #kunikida doppo #crowns of stardust #headers by astralnymphh #dividers by saradika!#port mafia #armed detective agency #🪄— milky writes

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