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wisteriashouse · 2 years ago

Text

the crowned jewel.

pairing: kamado tanjirou x sumiyuri hayami (oc)

genre: royalty au; romance;

word count: 16021

a/n: this fic took me tf out lmao i hope you like it @hinokami-s

The renowned Sumiyuri Palace, crown jewel of the Sumihana Empire, is a breathtaking piece of art, an architectural marvel. Every pillar is carved of the finest marble from the Stonemount Duchy, accents crafted from solid gold and precious metal, expansive grounds covered by rare flowers and shrubs brought in by foreign dignitaries from across the oceans — the palace truly is befitting of its role as the official residence of the ruling family.

And yet, Archduke Rengoku Kyoujurou thinks to himself as he continues his long walk across these very expansive grounds, they could not think to construct the crown princess’ quarters a little closer to the main palace?

The Violet Lily Palace is located near the Southern wing of the palace grounds, furthest from the main gates. The Empress had said that the palace was constructed with the intention of allowing the frail Crown Princess more privacy, but Kyoujurou knows the truth.

Not aloud, of course. The Empress has eyes and ears everywhere in the palace.

Kyoujurou gives the knights standing station at the doors an affable smile as they greet him with firm bows, handing them his sword. He feels oddly vulnerable without its familiar weight at his side as he steps into the cool shade of the Violet Lily Palace, but it is proper etiquette that he must follow. To bear a weapon into a room with a royal would constitute treason of the highest order.

“Archduke Rengoku.” Kyoujurou looks up to see a familiar red headed figure descending the stairs, hair, shirt and trousers all impeccably straightened out and neat, as usual. “Her Ladyship did not mention that you would be coming by to visit today. If I had known you were coming, I would have made sure that the place was properly prepared to receive a guest.” His tone is cool, the corner of his mouth pulled down in an imperceptible sneer.

It’s clear that he did not expect and does not want the Archduke there, but Kyoujurou only laughs, the sound loud and strong in the quiet guest hall. “I am sure that the royal lodgings of Her Highness are more than fit to welcome a simple Archduke such as myself,” he says, making sure to keep his voice light. “There is no need for you to go out of your way to accommodate me, Hirata.”

The head butler’s amber eyes flick over him with what Kyoujurou can only describe as well concealed annoyance. “You are far too humble, Archduke.” After a moment, he relents and turns, gesturing for Kyoujurou with a gloved hand. “I will bring you to the drawing room and have refreshments prepared. The servants have already gone ahead to inform Her Highness of your arrival.”

“You have my gratitude.” Kyoujurou follows the man through the many grand hallways, glancing over the state of the place as he goes. Before he had started making these surprise visits to the Crown Princess’ estate, the condition of the Violet Lily Palace had shown a severe lack of housekeeping, not at all befitting a member of the royal family. It seems now that the servants are far more wary, Kyoujurou observes.

The two of them stop outside an arched mahogany door decorated with painted lilies of the valley. “Her Ladyship is already inside,” Hirata tells him, before he turns to knock lightly at the door with his knuckles. “Your Highness, Archduke Rengoku has arrived.”

“Send him in.”

The Crown Princess is seated at a lace covered table when Kyoujurou steps into the drawing room, half gazing out over the gardens with a porcelain teacup in one elegant hand. With the late morning sunlight filtering in through the massive, arched windows, Her Highness Sumiyuri Hayami indeed shines as the most beautiful jewel of the empire.

“Your Highness,” Kyoujurou puts a hand over his chest and bows, smiling slightly. “It’s a pleasure to see you. You look as beautiful as ever on this fine morning.”

The Crown Princess’ mouth lifts at the corners demurely, but that simple expression is enough to change her face from merely lovely to as radiant as the crimson dawn. At times such as this, she truly resembles her mother.

“You flatter me, Archduke.” She turns to her butler, who has been standing unobtrusively next to the door. “Hirata, you may leave now.”

“Your Highness, Her Imperial Majesty commanded me to attend to your every need—”

“Silence.” She quiets him with a cold stare. The quiet clink of porcelain on porcelain as she sets her teacup down speaks enough. “I would like to receive my visitor properly, and you are refusing your master’s orders, disgracing the royal family in front of one of the most noble Archdukes in the kingdom with your shameful behaviour.”

Hirata bows his head, mouth pulled into a thin line. “Apologies for my over-excessive enthusiasm, Your Highness. As per your command, I will take my leave now.”

It is only a few, long moments after the door has clicked shut that Kyoujurou turns to the Crown Princess, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “For a moment there, I truly thought you resembled the Empress, your Highness.”

“Don’t even make that joke.” The Crown Princess of the Sumihana Empire groans aloud, slumping over in the chair that she’s sitting at and the fingers of one hand pressed to her temples. “He’s been following me around for days now, unwilling to let me out of his sight. Why, if you had come only one day later, I think I might have gone properly insane.”

“Then it is fortunate that I chose to drop by today,” Kyoujurou laughs, amused by how fast she’d dropped the prim and proper act. Rarely is it that Kyoujurou gets to witness her whine and complain like a child. The fifteen year old child that she is supposed to be, he has to remind himself.

If her mother were to hear about her unbecoming behaviour, she would surely be whisked away faster than the blink of an eye.

Sumiyuri Hayami is fortunate that Kyoujurou has no love for the Empress of the Sumihana Empire. Or for any member of the ruling family, for that matter.

“And if I have to deal with those traitorous maids one more time, I think I might hurl in their faces myself.” It seems that the crown princess is not yet done with her little tirade. Archduke Rengoku Kyoujurou simply smiles, both hands clasped behind his back, mildly amused by this display.

“While it is better to let these feelings out rather than keep them in, it is not proper for a lady of your station to use such language, princess,” he reminds her, his deep chuckle reverberating in the spacious expanse of her drawing room.

Hayami curses, a vulgar word slipping between her lips before she catches herself with both hands clapped over her mouth. “Shit, sorry— what I mean to say is, apologies, Archduke Rengoku, I beg that you forgive my coarse language.” She lets out a bone weary sigh that makes Kyoujurou tired just listening to it. “It seems that I have yet to completely put ‘Hayato’ behind me.”

Sumiyui Hayato, the Crown Prince of the Sumihana Empire, the male twin of the princess sitting before him at this moment and the declared successor to the throne. Not only is he a swordsman renowned throughout the land, best known for his contributions in defending the Empire’s borders against the Demon Moon Kingdom, Sumiyuri Hayato also has a reputation for being notoriously elusive. It is said that it is easier to spot a ghost wandering the palace halls than to catch a glimpse of the Crown Prince.

Kyoujurou wonders just how the people, nobles and commoners alike, would react to the knowledge that their frail and sickly crown princess is also that very crown prince they gossip so much about.

Their frail and sickly crown princess who only attends tea parties and balls when she manages to put together the strength to leave her bed is the crown prince with the ability to cut through ten dark mages in one swing of his sword. Quite a mad deduction to make, Kyoujurou thinks.

And yet, he turned out to have stumbled across one of the biggest secrets of their Empire.

“I understand you, princess. There is no need to worry about offending me,” Kyoujurou reassures her, making sure to keep the tone of his voice kind and amicable. Princess Hayami often second guesses herself when it comes to recognising a joke or a teasing remark — a byproduct of her mother’s gaslighting for majority of her childhood, he supposes. “Still, it would be in your best interest to remember proper decorum. I would hate for you to make a mistake in the presence of the Empress.”

At his words, Hayami straightens up in the plush, velvet seat of the armchair she was reclining in, shifting uncomfortably as she does so. “But you do understand, do you not, Kyoujurou?”

Ah, his first name. The Crown Princess continues, sounding more desperate now. “I’ve told you of my mother’s plans to force me into the role of the Crown Prince for the rest of my life. My eighteenth birthday is but three years from present, and if my parents cannot find an orphan to assume Hayato’s identity, I will have no choice but to masquerade as a man for the rest of my life.”

She’s at the end of her rope, and Kyoujurou can’t help the pang of concern that runs through him. He’s watched her grow up since she was just a child, from a young princess to a graceful lady to a commander wielding a blood stained sword on the battlefield. He does not want to see the light in her eyes fade even more than they already have.

The spell to change her appearance to that of a man is no easy feat, and it is one that takes a heavy toll on her body. A simple glamour would often do the trick, but the Empress’ paranoia runs deeper than the waters of the Stillwater Dukedom. Every time Hayami leaves the castle for the battlefield, a team of imperial mages sworn to secrecy are called in to transfigure her completely with complicated, secret magicks. Voice, build, height, hair — it’s virtually impossible to tell that she is a woman after the spell is cast.

The physical transformation is painful, but the Empress spares no expense to keep her secrets, especially when she is not the one who has to bear the price. Still, to entertain the idea of using transfiguration magic for the rest of one’s life… Kyoujurou wasn’t sure that the Empress could stoop much lower than she already had, but well, she always manages to surprise him every time.

“I understand,” Kyoujurou repeats, letting his voice become more firm. “However, as powerful as my position as Archduke might be, it is not quite influential enough for me to help you the way you wish.”

“I am not asking you to rebel against my parents,” Hayami insists, her face crumpling like wet paper at his words. “I merely require some… assistance. I am not so selfish as to ask you to put your duchy on the line for my sake.” Rengoku’s brows pull together at that.

“A moment, princess.” He allows his magic to spill from his form, where it is usually contained with iron discipline, spreading it out around the two of them like a heavy blanket. It reaches every corner of the drawing room, through the curtains and the walls and windows, all the way out to the grounds of the building.

Hayami flinches when the heat of his magic rolls over her in waves, but otherwise keeps still. When he detects no other magical signature other than his own and the princess’, he allows the spell to dissipate, turning to Hayami.

“You should be more careful,” Rengoku warns, although not unkindly, “about speaking such words aloud so casually. You are already aware of your ladies’ loyalty to the Empress. A little more caution would do you good.”

The Crown Princess swallows, sinking deeper into the softness of her chair. “You have the mind and foresight of a war general both inside and outside the battlefield, Archduke,” she mutters with a shake of the head. “I would do well to learn that from you. Apologies for my foolishness.”

She looks trapped, suffocated. Kyoujurou does not like it.

“You do not need to apologise to me,” he repeats. Looking at the empty seat opposite her for a moment, Kyoujurou eventually sighs deeply before seating himself there, so that he can look the crown princess in the eye.

Hayami’s eyes widen as he does. This sort of behaviour is commonplace between the two when they are on the front lines, sitting side by side at the campfire and sitting close together to preserve warmth and body heat, but she is not used to this sort of behaviour as… herself. “Your Highness, what you must do is make up your mind instead of waiting for fate to make your choices for you. Whether you decide to rise to the throne as the Crown Princess or flee the palace, this is a choice that you yourself need to make, and your time is running out.”

The Archduke is right, as usual. Hayami knows that, and yet she has hesitated for so long already, blindly hoping that things might just somehow take a miraculous turn for the better. Neither choice she makes will be an easy one, of course. But as Rengoku had said, she must be the one to make a choice and act on it—

— or else, fate will be the one to decide it for her.

“I will take your words to heart.” Hayami pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. The more she thinks about this, the more her headache grows. Wanting to steer the topic to something else, she turns to Rengoku. “What about the matter we discussed the last time we conferred?”

At that, the Archduke’s face hardens slightly, but there’s an apologetic look in his eyes when he finally answers. “Senjurou is a hardworking child, but he has no talent with a blade and dealing with political opponents. To ask him to serve in the palace even knowing this… as his older brother, I cannot do such a thing.”

Hayami understands, but she also wants to put her hands in her face and scream. Instead, she busies herself with nibbling at the corner of a jam filled pastry. The sweetness of the treat manages to settle her nerves just a little.

Opposite her, Rengoku picks up a pastry, giving it a cursory glance before popping it into his mouth. “Delicious!” he declares.

Senjuru is a lovely, kind boy, and having him as her closest aide and confidant would remove a massive burden from her mind. Still, Rengoku is right once again, unfortunately this time. To bring that softhearted child into a pit crawling with vipers and snakes…

Only years of propriety ingrained into her help her resist the urge to run her fingers through her hair in frustration.

“However,” Rengoku begins, and Hayami’s head turns so quickly that she’s almost overcome by dizziness for a moment, “I would like to propose an… alternative, if you are willing to listen to it.”

“Of course.” Any sort of help at this point couldn’t hurt.

“I might be unwilling to send Senjurou into the palace, but I am able to adopt some children more suitable to palace life — children of good and suitable character — and place them under my care. With my position as the Archduke of the Flameheart Duchy, they would have enough status to enter the palace to support your position.”

Hayami considers this for a long moment, before a gasp escapes her. “That— that is a wonderful idea, Archduke! I never even considered adoption, but…” Her eyes are practically sparkling now, and Kyoujurou thinks that this might be the first time in a long while he’s seen her so excited about something. Truly, no powder or rouge could rival the beauty that hope brings to a person’s face. “With the backing of the Rengoku family, none of the other nobles, not even my mother, would be able to question their entrance into the palace. Rengoku, you’re amazing!”

The Archduke merely smiles, bowing his head. “Your humble subordinate is simply doing his job. There is no need for gratitude, your highness.” He rises to his feet, groaning lightly under his breath when the old injury at his side throbs with a phantom ache. “Then, your Highness, I’ll be heading off to find a child of suitable character.”

“You make it sound as though you’re going to search for apples at the town market,” Hayami smiles, but there’s a familiar furrow between her brows. Worry. “How do you intend to… determine a person of suitable character?”

Of course she would be concerned about this, and she has every right to be. The one who Rengoku brings into the palace will become the person who remains closest by Hayami’s side, her staunchest supporter and her greatest ally. It must feel terribly helpless, having to trust someone else’s judgement regarding something as important as this.

Still…

“This is something that you’ll have to trust me on, princess.” Rengoku glances back at her, an amused smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Have I ever been wrong regarding such matters?”

That seems to be enough to allay her fears, because a quiet laugh escapes the crown princess. “I suppose not,” she says, her eyes softening when she looks at him. “Then, Kyoujurou, I’ll put this matter in your hands.”

The Archduke bows. “As you command, your Highness.”

At midday, the capital of the Sumihana Empire is buzzing with activity.

Merchants on horse drawn carts make their way down the cobblestone roads, a steady stream of traffic flowing towards the town centre. Shopkeepers and customers alike call out to one another, their voices stirring up the air with a lively atmosphere. And tucked in a quiet avenue of the town stands a little bakery with humble red shingled roofs, a sign bearing the words “Kamado Bakery” hanging outside its door…

“Nezuko, pass me that bag of powdered sugar, would you?” Kamado Tanjirou, possibly the youngest bakery owner in Sumihana and currently covered head to toe in flour, calls over his shoulder. “And please take the raspberry muffins out of the oven! I think they might turn black if they stay inside much longer!”

His younger sister sets a brown paper bag next to him before rushing over to one of the many iron ovens stacked up against the far wall. Heavy, clunky rectangles of metal that belch out smoke and glow red with heat from all the fired coal, these ovens have been in use ever since his great-great-grandfather first opened this bakery.

They’re named “Breath of the Fire God”, his father had told him jokingly, back when Tanjirou had first stepped into the kitchens and immediately shied away from the heat of the flames. If you eat enough baked pastries, you’ll be able to withstand the heat of the flames forever.

His father had then demonstrated the validity of this claim by immediately sticking both bare hands into the oven to pull out a baked treat, something that had caused young Tanjirou to burst into tears and his mother to smack her husband over the head with rebuke.

Don’t go putting any silly ideas into the children’s heads now. He still remembers the sound of his mother’s voice as though she had only spoken the words yesterday. More than the sound of her voice, he recalls the scent of her, of cinnamon and sweet jam and charcoal.

And the smell of blood, that seems to follow wherever tragedy strikes.

“Brother!” Tanjirou is startled out of his thoughts to see Nezuko looking at him, one hand cocked on her hip and the other busily dusting the flour from her apron. “Brother, what are you spacing out for? We need to get these orders ready before that secret lady’s maid comes to get them.”

“Right, right.” There is no time to dwell on these memories, especially not when there’s such a large order to be completed. Rushing over to the tray that Nezuko had just pulled out of the oven, he begins spreading a thick glaze over the tops with a brush. “She seems to have quite the penchant for round sweets, doesn’t she? Donuts the week before and now muffins. She even requested for her sandwiches to be cut into circles if possible.”

Nezuko snorts as she begins to measure out cups of blueberries. “I can only hope that she doesn’t eat all of these on her own,” she says honestly. “While they’re great business for the bakery, this amount of sugar would probably be enough to give a grown man a heart attack.”

This esteemed customer has been their mysterious benefactor for the past three years, whole purchases alone tided them over the painful period when the two siblings were still coming to terms with the deaths of their family. While other patrons had chosen to try out other bakeries instead, this patron had been adamant on only a specific desert from their bakery.

The knowledge that this patron simply would not relent had gotten Tanjirou to his feet and driven him to fire up the ovens once more. And three years later, well, here they are with the business bigger than it had ever been during the time of their parents.

Till this day, every week or other, a well dressed maid arrives at their bakery to place an order for sweets, and another comes by later in the day to pick them up. Tanjirou might not recognise the tailoring of their clothes (he’s friendly with almost every shop owner in the town), but he’s able to tell that the clothes are of fine make. The one behind these purchases must be a considerably wealthy person.

Although they have never come by in person before, he knows their tastes and preferences by heart now — they have a massive sweet tooth, enjoy flavours that lean towards fruity or floral, and have a strange penchant for circle shaped foods. It’s a little bit of an oddity, but Tanjirou finds it endearing, in a fond sort of way.

“Brother, we don’t have enough blueberries for the fruit jam,” Nezuko calls with a frown. Tanjirou glances over at the bowl, gauging the amount already inside — and Nezuko is right, of course. Her eyes are far better at estimation than his are.

“Old Man Saburo should have some blueberries that he can spare us,” Tanjirou says, beginning to pull off his apron. “He owes me a favour since I helped carry his goods up a hill this week.”

Nezuko gives him a dubious look as she scoops some sugar into the mixing bowl. “And you also dropped some of his eggs while doing it.”

Unfortunately, his younger sister is right. “He probably won’t be too cross if I explain the situation to him.” The elderly town grocer is infamous for his awful temper, lives alone about two streets down from the bakery and treats them as though they are his own grandchildren. His actual children and grandchildren had died in the same dark mage attack that had killed Tanjirou’s family. He’ll likely still throw a slipper at Tanjirou for cracking his eggs, anyhow. “I’ll go over to his shop right away. Watch the shop for me, alright?”

All in a day’s work, he supposes. Tanjirou is halfway out of the kitchens when Nezuko cries out after him.

“Brother, change out of your clothes first! You’re still covered in flour!”

He looks down at the front of his trousers in surprise.

“Ah.”

As most plans go, things are usually far easier said than done — things such as searching the empire for a child of both good and suitable character. While there are many children in the Sumihana Empire who are kind hearted, compassionate and empathetic, that is not enough for one to survive being thrust into the palace.

And Kyoujurou does not want to put such a burden upon someone who must struggle in the palace. He wants to find someone who can thrive among the wolves.

“Do you have something on your mind, Archduke?” Rengoku turns to look at the man next to him. Murata’s eyes meet his, frowning slightly as he adjusts his grip on the reins, his body swaying slightly with the movement of his steed. “You looked as though you were, uh, lost in your thoughts.”

Rengoku considers him for a moment. Murata is a good natured boy, decently talented with a blade and willing to work hard. Still, he has a tendency to be a little cowardly and freeze up in times of crisis, which makes him unsuitable for accompanying Hayami to the front lines as her guard. A low sigh escapes him as he shakes his head.

“Archduke?”

“It’s no significant matter.” He squeezes his thighs together, spurring his horse into a leisurely trot. The steed’s hooves clip clop rhythmically on the cobblestones, adding to the sounds of the bustling town. Murata frowns, clearly not convinced, but knows better than to press his superior for the issue. “Come, let us finish our patrol for the day and meet up with the rest of the men. It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, Archduke.”

The two of them continue on their patrol route through the town, nodding and greeting the townspeople as they go. Things had been tense in other regions after the recent dark mage attacks, but it seems that the mood in here remains relatively undisturbed, which is a strong indicator of how far fear of the Demon Moon Empire has progressed. It’s good that things are peaceful…

“Help!” Kyoujurou feels the waves of fear rolling through the air just seconds before the shrill, panicked cry breaks through the bustle. “Someone help!”

“Murata, on me.” He’s already turning his steed in the direction of the commotion as his subordinate scrambles to grab the reins. The horses (and the very recognisable Archduke) part the forming crowd easily, and Kyoujurou soon arrives at the scene with Murata right behind him.

He takes stock of the situation with a single glance. A young woman is on the ground, holding what seems to be a fresh bruise on her cheek with wet eyes, a woven basket and its contents spilled over the ground at her side. It must have been her cry that he heard.

In front of her, two men tussle on the ground. The one below is barking curses and flailing wildly, but the man — no, boy — straddling him has him firmly pinned to the ground by the hips. And he seems to be… lecturing him? “You can’t just attack women in broad daylight,” his voice is firm, his brows furrowed as the man under him continues to struggle. “If she’s turned down your advances, the proper thing for any decent man to do is to respect her wishes.”

Kyoujurou hides his snort of amusement with a polite cough. For a man to be pinned down and lectured by a boy probably half his age, in public no less… It must be humiliating. . He doesn't think this is quite the situation or time for a scolding, but the boy surely has caught his eye now.

The man under the boy snarls and starts to thrash more violently now, and Kyoujurou can see the boy straining to keep him under control. He begins to dismount, but at that moment, the violent man manages to break free from the boy’s grip.

Kyoujurou raises his hand, heat already flooding through his fingers, but before he can intervene, the boy only sighs in exasperation, before he leans back…

…and headbutts the man, hard.

The sound of two foreheads colliding rings out through the air, and Kyoujurou blinks, astounded, as the man slumps back to the ground, completely knocked out. Behind him, he hears Murata babbling, sounding just as surprised as he is.

“Did you just hear— oh, heavens above, how is that boy’s head not broken after a stunt like that?” Kyoujurou watches as the boy gets off the unconscious man without an ounce of shock, as though headbutting violent men twice his age is something he does on a regular basis, before moving over to return the fallen items to the basket and helping the woman up gently. She sniffs and thanks him profusely, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “His skull must be as thick as a rock, really—”

“Murata.” His subordinate cuts off his rambling at once, snapping to attention. “Have the man arrested and brought back to cells for harassment of citizens and disrupting the peace.”

“Yes, Archduke.” Murata is about to dismount when Kyoujurou adds on. “Do not mention that you are here with me. I’d like to have words with the young man.”

“The criminal, sir?”

“No, the boy, Murata.” Kyoujurou lets out a laugh of amusement and claps his subordinate on the shoulder, hurrying him along. As he’d thought, Murata would probably be eaten alive if he were to enter the palace. “Really…”

He watches unobtrusively from behind as Murata steps through the crowd, the crest on his uniform on proud display. A pair of magic cuffs around his wrists, and a stream of water summoned from a washerwoman’s tub nearby to lift the unconscious man into the air. “Everything is under control,” Murata announces loudly to the onlookers. “There is no need for any worry or panic.”

With the dramatics over, the crowd slowly begins to disperse. Kyoujurou, on the other hand, runs a hand along his horse’s mane and casts a cloaking spell over the two of them — a complex magic that completely diverts any attention in their direction away from them. Spell in place, Kyoujurou nudges his steed, who sets off at a calm trot.

The boy escorts the young woman back to what Kyoujurou deduces is her house, smiling brightly and waving before he sets off once more. Kyoujurou follows him from a distance the rest of the way, down the winding streets to one of the quieter avenues, where he steps through the door of one of the shophouses.

Kyoujurou gives the shophouse a cursory glance. The sign hanging above the door says “Kamado Bakery”.

When the boy does not exit after a few moments, Kyoujurou directs his magic into his ears, sharpening his hearing and tuning out all surrounding noise.

“... and there was this man who was trying to get a lady to go out with him, but he got all violent and angry when she refused!” The boy’s voice is surrounded by heat and flames — some sort of stove or oven, perhaps? — and he seems to be talking to someone else. “So I headbutted him.”

“You are so reckless, brother…” Another voice, distinctively female and sounding amused, replies. “And you still forgot to bring back the blueberries for the order!”

A pause, before he picks up a slight hint of embarrassment radiating outwards from within the shop. Kyoujurou dismounts his steed, brushing off his pants before striding over to the door. “Right, it completely slipped my mind. I’ll go get them right away—”

“No, no, I’ll go. Knowing you, you’ll probably forget them again playing hero or something to another victim in distress—”

Kyoujurou knocks at the door lightly.

“—a customer?”

“I’ll go and check it out—”

The door swings open.

The Archduke can’t be standing outside their door.

It must be another man with flaming red and yellow hair, a sword hanging from his hip and those blazing amber eyes who’s at the entrance of their humble bakery, because there is no way that that man is the Archduke of the Flameheart Duchy.

The Flameheart Duchy is one of the five major archduchies in the Sumihana Empire, alongside the Stillwater, Thunderclap, Stonemount and Whirlwind Duchies. A prominent bloodline in the Empire that has endured for generations, the Rengokus are second in authority and prestige only to the royal family. For its Archduke, of all people, to be here…

Yes, hallucination seems far more likely. She’s been inhaling too much fumes from the ovens, and needs a long extended vacation to the Stillwater Duchy — she’s heard many things about its beautiful, calming lakes.

Nezuko opens her mouth, closes it, stares at the door handle she’s holding — wondering if shutting the door would cause the hallucination to disappear, when the hallucination speaks.

“A pleasant day to you, young lady.” Even his voice sounds refined and polished, rich as mahogany and solid as cedar. “Might you be the owner of this bakery?”

A choked noise escapes Nezuko. The Archduke mercifully does not seem to mind her unintelligible response, instead smiling slightly down at her. “I’d like to purchase some bread, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Wouldn’t mind? If she wouldn’t mind? Who is she to mind?

“Of, uh, of course not.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and Nezuko craves the sweet release of death. Fortunately, she at least remembers to bow low when she ushers the Archduke in. “Please, make yourself at home.”

Make yourself at home? In the bakery? Before she can beat herself up over her choice of words, the Archduke has already stepped inside, glancing over the pastries on display. She cannot understand why the archduke of the Flameheart Duchy would choose to come to their humble bakery when there are so many more bigger, reputable bakeries in the capital. Their family bakery has the best baked goods in Nezuko’s completely unbiased, objective opinion, but their primary customers are the local townspeople, not archdukes!

She trails behind the Archduke wordlessly, as timid as a mouse. The tall man glances over the many breads, looking over the selection thoughtfully before he moves over to the pastry section.

He stops suddenly, and Nezuko’s heart drops into her stomach, nerves making her stomach go funny. “Do you make these yourself?” he asks, pointing at… a tray of round jam-filled pastries.

“N-no,” she manages to say, staring at the tray and wondering just why he had pointed that specific pastry out. Is there something that he finds unsatisfactory with the quality? Will the archduke report them to the authorities? Are they going to have to close the bakery? “My older brother bakes the sweets and desserts — I’m better with bread.”

“Ah, of course,” the Archduke smiles pleasantly at her. So they’re not in trouble after all? “It’s a beautiful bakery that you have here. Does it belong to your parents?”

“The rest of my family died in the dark mage attack three years ago.” The words drop from Nezuko’s mouth like stones. “It’s just my brother and I now.”

The Archduke’s gaze turns sympathetic. “I am very sorry to hear that. My apologies for bringing up painful memories.”

“No, no,” Nezuko shakes her head vigorously. “It’s nothing that you need to feel sorry about, your Grace—”

“Nezuko, what’s taking you so long?” Her brother calls from the kitchen, sounding completely unaware of just who he’s interrupting outside. “If you don’t get the blueberries now, we won’t be able to complete the order in time.”

The Archduke turns in the direction of the voice, before glancing at Nezuko with a smile. “Would you do me the favour of asking your brother to come here? I’d like to exchange some words with him, if he’s not too busy.”

Brother’s dead. The Archduke is going to cut off his head for interrupting him, and then she’ll have to figure out how to bake sweets on her own if she wants to keep the place running. Luckily, her older brother saves her from having to send him to his death… by walking to it of his own accord. “Nezuko, really, what are you doing that’s taking so long—”

He freezes upon seeing the Archduke in their bakery.

“A pleasant day to you,” the Archduke says lightly. Her brother stares at the man before him, hands frozen on the whisk and mixing bowl in his hands. Behind the Archduke, Nezuko flails her arms wildly in an attempt to catch her brother’s attention. Bow! Bow right now, he’s the Archduke, you absolute clown!

Her brother’s attention is not caught. Instead, he continues to gape at the Archduke until the man speaks again, smiling. He must be used to people going tongue tied around him. “What are your names, young man?”

Tanjirou fumbles to reply. “Kamado Tanjiru— I mean, Tanjirou, your Grace.” He gestures awkwardly at Nezuko. “That’s my younger sister, Nezuko.”

The Archduke nods thoughtfully at that, folding his arms across his chest. “Tanjirou, Nezuko,” he repeats, before he turns to Tanjirou. “Young Tanjirou, would you like to become the sole heir to the Flameheart Archduchy?”

The bowl in Tanjirou’s hands nearly goes clattering to the ground, but the Archduke catches it right before it can make a mess, setting the bowl on the counter before turning back to the two of them. Nezuko can’t help but think that this is all really just one big hallucination. “What do you think?”

“I uh, I’m, uhh…” Tanjirou manages, sounding as though his mind is somewhere far, far away, “but I err… need to buy blueberries. For this order. It’s a, uhh, really big order.”

The Archduke laughs, a warmth, rich sound that makes Nezuko’s gut turn in confusion. He doesn’t sound… upset, or as though he’s laughing in contempt at them for their response to his joke. Because this has to be… some sort of joke among the nobles, right?

“I will have the finest blueberries in the capital sent over from the palace in a moment to make up for your lost time,” Archduke Rengoku reassures, still smiling pleasantly. “About my proposition, however… would you be willing to consider it?”

“I, uh. Sure.” Tanjirou sets the whisk aside before he can drop that too. “But uh, if your Grace doesn’t mind me asking… why?”

The Archduke hesitates for a moment, the first expression of unsurety that Nezuko has seen him wear ever since he stepped into their bakery. “Well,” he begins slowly, careful not to mention the Crown Princess, “a very good friend of mine in the palace needs a person of good and reliable character that they can trust to serve as their aide. Due to most of the people within the palace already bearing existing loyalties, I came here to find such a person.”

“And you decided on me,” Nezuko’s brother says slowly, as though he’s still trying to wrap his head around all of this. “But if I may, uhh, ask, your Grace, I don’t see what this has to do with me becoming the sole heir of the Flameheart Duchy. I’m just a commoner.”

“Not if my father, Rengoku Shinjuro, adopts you,” the Archduke says very seriously. Rengoku Shinjuro, the previous Archduke of the Flameheart Duchy, adopting Tanjirou? “With that, you would be qualified to enter the palace and stand at Her H— my friend’s side.”

Tanjirou licks his lips, eyes darting left to right until they meet Nezuko’s. She tries to convey the idea that he should be jumping at the opportunity right now. If the Archduke is speaking the truth, this offer would be a chance like no other. When else would an archduke come to a humble bakery and offer to adopt a commoner?

Guessing from the hesitant, uneasy look on her brother’s face, however, Nezuko has the feeling that he’s about to do something stupid, which he does.

“I’m afraid that I have to refuse, your Grace,” he says, slow yet straightforward. “As the older brother, I have to stay and take care of my sister.”

Nezuko puts her head in her hands. What is he talking about? She can take perfectly good care of herself, thank you very much! The Archduke seems to share the sentiment that he is saying something ridiculous, because he laughs.

“Worry not,” Archduke Rengoku then says. “Of course I would not separate two such close knitted siblings. Nezuko will be adopted as well, educated as any of the other noble ladies, and a title will be conferred upon her. Should you agree to my proposition, of course.”

Nezuko’s eyes go wide at that. Educated as a noble lady… does that mean she will be able to wear the pretty dresses she’s only been able to read about in her novels, walk about in a luxurious estate, and attend romantic balls?

“I must warn the two of you, however,” the Archduke continues, “that the life in the palace is nothing like the fairy tales depict it. Political strife and underhanded sabotage tactics are common among some of the nobles, and you will need to learn to deal with such incidents. The training will be difficult, but I believe that the two of you will be able to overcome the challenges.”

Tanjirou hesitates, before he manages a firm nod. “Since you’ve chosen the two of us,” he says slowly, “I assume that you think that we are suitable. I’ll believe in your judgement, Your Grace.”

The Archduke smiles at that, before turning to Nezuko. “And if you do well in your training,” Archduke Rengoku adds, as though he can read her mind, “you will be able to enter the palace as well, as a lady-in-waiting.”

Nezuko turns to look at her older brother, eyes sparkling and her hands clasped. “Brother.”

Upon seeing the look on his sister’s face, Tanjirou holds back a smile, turning to the Archduke hesitantly. “Well then, if your Grace would be so kind…” The Archduke, however, holds up a hand to stop him. Nezuko and Tanjirou both look at him, immediately cautious. Is there some sort of twist to this offer?

“Since you will be my adopted siblings very soon, the two of you should get used to calling me older brother,” the Archduke — no, Kyoujurou — says, a lighthearted glint in his amber eyes as he gives Tanjirou a friendly clap on the shoulder.

Tanjirou splutters at that, while Nezuko beams in delight. “Older brother!” she says instantly. Kyoujurou laughs, amused by her eagerness.

“I see that you are a quick study,” he remarks, and Nezuko practically glows at the praise. “I’m sure that you’ll fit right into nobility in a matter of months.”

Tanjirou watches all this with a tentative smile on his face.

This is the beginning of a new life for them both.

More than a year passes before the Flameheart Archduke — no, Older Brother — declares Tanjirou and Nezuko finally ready to enter the palace.

For the entire duration of their training period, Kyoujurou had kept them completely hidden away in the confines of the Duchy. “I’d prefer for certain… people to keep their noses out of my Duchy’s business,” Kyoujurou had explained to Tanjirou when he’d asked.

His older brother has not yet revealed to him just who it was that he was adopted to protect, but there are only so many people in the palace who are of higher rank than an Archduke. Tanjirou feels butterflies fluttering in his stomach whenever he thinks about being the personal guard to a royal, but today, the butterflies feel more like a hive of angry hornets.

Today is the day that he is to be formally introduced into noble society, after all.

Tanjirou stands before the full length mirror in his chambers, tying, unfastening and then retying the silk cravat at his neck. He’s lost track of just how much time he’s spent going through the same motions, only to end up unsatisfied with the result. His favourite silk cravat is a misbehaving thing today, refusing to fall or fold in a satisfactory way.

He is going to meet his master for the first time today. Tanjirou cannot allow himself to give them a less than satisfactory impression, under any circumstance.

“Brother, if you delay any longer we’ll be late for our visit to the palace!” The doors to his chambers suddenly burst open, Nezuko striding inside in a flurry of pink and white skirts. “Don’t tell me that you’re getting cold feet now!”

“Don’t be silly, Nezuko,” Tanjirou sighs, studying the cravat at his neck once more. He’d pulled the knot a little too far to the left, and if he adjusts it now, the black and green squares that decorate the silk will not be aligned properly. His younger sister steps up next to him, crossing her arms over her chest.

The little strings of crystals twisted into her hair catch the light of the chandelier, her neck and ears adorned with perfectly round freshwater pearls. A gift delivered by the Stillwater Duchy’s Archduke Tomioka, upon hearing of Kyoujurou’s plans to introduce the two of them today. Tanjirou’s own gift sits at his hip, a beautifully crafted and lacquered scabbard furnished with mother-of-pearl lining.

“We’ll never make it to the palace if you keep on sighing like that,” Nezuko chides, and before he can answer, she plucks the cravat from his hand. Her fingers are quick and deft as they secure the green silk in place, and gentle when they tug to tighten the knot. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Tanjirou glances in the mirror again. For some reason, the cravat doesn’t look the least bit out of place now. Then again, Nezuko was always better at decorating the cakes in the bakery than he was.

He manages a smile, turning to Nezuko, who’s smiling brightly at him. “Thank you,” he says, reaching over to pick up his outer coat and shrug it on. The ironed and pressed fabric falls down to his knees, the cut of the dark green wool giving him a refined silhouette. It’s strange, looking at his own reflection like this. “Who would have ever thought that we would be dressed like this?”

Nezuko laughs behind him. “Surely not I, for one.” Reaching out, she tugs at his wrist, pulling her along with him. “Come now, this isn’t the time for nostalgia! It’s a wonderful and exciting day, so let’s get going!”

The two siblings make their way to the grand hall where the Archduke is waiting for them. Kyoujurou grins widely when he sees Tanjirou. “Why, you were taking so long that I thought that you had decided to run away!”

“That thought never even crossed my mind,” Tanjirou answers, knowing full well that the Flameheart Archduke is teasing him. The Archduke’s eyes run over the two of them standing side by side, then nods, looking pleased.

“The two of you would blend perfectly into high society right now,” he says approvingly, before his tone turns more professional. “Let us head for the palace.”

The carriage ride takes up the better part of the morning. Still, the distance feels too short when Tanjirou steps out of the carriage, nearly forgetting to help Nezuko out after him with how his nerves are thrumming with anticipation.

Two servants immediately rush up to greet them as Kyoujurou makes his way into the Sumihana Palace, Nezuko and Tanjirou flanking him. The luxury of the Flameheart Estate might have taken Tanjirou by surprise when he’d first stepped through its doors, but the opulence of the royal palace steals the air from his lungs. It nearly takes every ounce of self control in him to avoid craning his head around like a curious owl as they make their way through the palace.

At the end of yet another long, finely decorated hallway, they meet a young woman with striking pink hair the colour of Nezuko’s dress. Tanjirou instantly recognises her, having seen her around the Flameheart Duchy on occasion despite never having actually spoken to her in person.

“Oh, Archduke Kyoujurou! You have no idea how long I’ve been anticipating your arrival today,” the young lady gushes, laced skirts swishing about her gracefully as she hurries over to them, her cheeks radiant and eyes sparkling with excitement. “These must be your charges! They look absolutely lovely!”

“Kanroji, meet Tanjirou and Nezuko,” Kyoujurou nods at them both with a proud smile, “Tanjirou and Nezuko, this is Lady Mitsuri of the Kanroji of the Kanroji Marquessate as well as one of Her Highness the Princess’ ladies in waiting.”

“Lady Mitsuri,” Tanjirou reaches out to take her hand, pressing his lips against her gloved hand. Behind him, Nezuko dips into a graceful curtsy, lowering her head.

“It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Lady Mitsuri.”

The lady in question giggles after Tanjirou releases her hand, pulling out a lace fan to cool her blushing cheeks. “My, my, haven’t you taught them exceptionally well, Kyoujurou?” The Archduke simply laughs at that, waving it off.

“It was all Senjurou’s tutoring that is to be praised — I myself am far from exemplary at etiquette.” Kyoujurou turns to Nezuko. “Nezuko, Lady Mitsuri here will be introducing you to Her Highness the Princess now. You can trust that you’re in good hands with her.”

Tanjirou catches his sister swallow slightly, but other than that, she maintains all the poise expected of a born and bred noble lady, nodding demurely in response. “I understand, Older Brother.”

“Good.” Tanjirou watches as his younger sister is escorted away by Lady Mitsuri, the older woman already beginning to chatter about the earrings that she’s wearing. “There is no need to worry.”

Tanjirou glances up to see Kyoujurou looking meaningfully at him, arms crossed over his chest and his expression relaxed. “Lady Mitsuri is a lady of fine character and has a hospitable and welcoming nature, not to mention a friend that I have fought with side by side in the demon wars. Nezuko will be fine with her, I assure you.”

Tanjirou nods slowly, grateful for Kyoujurou’s perceptiveness. “Thank you, Older Brother.”

“There is nothing to thank me for.” The Archduke reaches out to squeeze Tanjirou’s shoulder before steering him in the opposite direction. “Now, let’s go take a look at the Royal Barracks before it’s your turn to meet Her Highness.”

Nezuko follows Lady Mitsuri through the palace grounds to the Violet Lily Palace, which Lady Mitsuri tells her is the residence of the Crown Princess Sumiyuri Hayami. The place is stunning beyond compare, decorated with floral motifs of a great and numerous variety, but Nezuko finds it difficult to push down the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

She’d only seen the sickly Crown Princess once a few years ago, on one of the rare occasions when her Highness had left the palace to welcome her twin brother back from fighting the demon wars. Even then, sitting in a carriage and half hidden behind a veil of white lace, the Crown Princess had taken her breath away with her beauty.

There have been ballads, poems and songs spread in the local taverns ever since then about the Crown Princess’ enchanting looks, calling her the greatest and fairest beauty in the land, surpassing even that of the Demon Moons’ Enchantress, Daki.

Still, Nezuko had never paid them much mind — most of what the minstrels sang tended to be heavily exaggerated for the sake of performance. Regardless of how beautiful the princess might look, all of it will be worth nothing if she has an awful personality.

“We’re here.” Lost in her thoughts, Nezuko snaps out of her own head to realise that the two of them are standing before a door. The swallows and flowers are etched into the wood with gold, and Nezuko knows at once that the princess is on the other side of it. “Her Highness is inside, waiting to meet you. Go on in!”

Wetting her dry lips, Nezuko reaches out tentatively to grip the gilded door handle, careful not to be too loud as she pushes it open. The door swings open silently and upon stepping through the doorway, Nezuko is immediately greeted by the soft, subtle fragrance of chamomile tea.

Seated at the table, dainty and elegant, is a young woman with long platinum hair that spills down her back and soft, regal features. She reminds Nezuko of the porcelain dolls that the toymaker along her street would make sometimes, with pretty pink lips and beautiful, elaborately embroidered dresses. The portraits of the Crown Princess don’t do her beauty justice at all, Nezuko thinks.

“Greetings, Your Highness.” Nezuko’s knees tremble a little when she does her curtsy, and she desperately hopes that the Crown Princess does not notice when she straightens up once more. “My name is Kamado Nezuko, ward of Archduke Rengoku. It’s my honour to meet you.”

“It’s my pleasure to meet you as well, Lady Nezuko.” Even her voice sounds like the tinkling of wind chimes in the breeze. “I heard that you are to become my newest lady in waiting. I’m honoured that you would avail yourself for this position.”

“I-I—” She is honoured? Why, Nezuko is the one who is honoured to be accepted as one of the Crown Princess’ ladies in waiting! “The honour is all mine, Your Highness. I, um, permission to speak, Your Highness?”

The Crown Princess raises an eyebrow over the rim of her teacup, surprised, but acquiesces with a nod. “You are my lady-in-waiting now,” she says, “of course you may speak freely around me. In fact, I’d much rather prefer it if you do.”

Nezuko glances at Lady Mitsuri standing by her side, who nods encouragingly. Well, if Older Brother Kyoujurou had said that she was to be trusted, then she would put her faith in him. Slowly, she opens her mouth.

“Your Highness, you are so, so pretty,” Nezuko gushes instantly, her eyes wide with awe. “I’ve seen portraits of you before, but none of the painters did you any justice — you’re really like a fairy princess come to life! And your skin is so nice and smooth — I’ve been trying to get my own that clear for ages now, but I just can’t seem to figure out how. How do you do it, your Highness?”

The Crown Princess blinks at her, looking surprised — Nezuko is almost worried that she might have spoken a little too much out of line — but then Her Highness suddenly laughs. She sounds amused.

“Oh, Archduke Rengoku was right — you truly are an endearing child,” Crown Princess Hayami says. Lady Mitsuri laughs, nodding in agreement. “Well, how about I let you try out my skincare routine? You can see what works for you.”

Nezuko gasps. “You’d really let me do that, Your Highness?”

“You are my lady-in-waiting now, so it is only expected that you should become intimately familiar with my daily routine to serve me better.” There’s a spark of amusement in the Crown Princess’ soft lilac eyes. “And what better way is there to do that but to experience it yourself?”

Nezuko flushes with excitement, trying her best to contain her smile. It seems that she and the Crown Princess will get along very well.

Tanjirou’s introduction to the Crown Princess goes just as smoothly.

“When His Highness the Crown Prince Hayato leaves the palace for the warfront, you are to accompany him to fight on the frontlines,” Kyoujurou had explained, when the Archduke had first taken him in. “However, in the time that he returns to the palace, you are to assume position next to Her Highness the Crown Princess Hayami as her personal guard.”

Never in his life would Tanjirou have thought that he would ever meet the Crown Princess of the Empire face to face, much less become her guard. Her Highness is infamous throughout the country for her otherworldly beauty, inherited from her mother the Empress, as well as her frail, sickly constitution.

Outside the door to her Highness’ drawing room, the Archduke pauses to look over his shoulder at Tanjirou. “You ready, Tanjirou?”

“I don’t think I ever will be,” Tanjirou answers honestly, adjusting his cravat. With nothing left for him to occupy himself with, he takes a deep breath and nods. “Let us enter.”

The Crown Princess is seated at a tea table, helping herself to a jam filled pastry when Tanjirou and Kyoujurou walk into the room. She glances up, hand pausing halfway to her mouth as though instinctively guilty for being caught eating, before she realises who it is.

“Archduke Rengoku,” she says, holding out her hand so that Kyoujurou can kiss it, which he does with all the refinement of a seasoned gentleman. Her pale, lilac eyes slide over to rest on Tanjirou, and Tanjirou is overcome by the urge to avert his own, although he manages to resist it. That gaze feels as though it is peering into his very soul. “And this is…?”

“Your Highness, this is Kamado Tanjirou, one of the charges that I have taken into my house.” Kyoujurou clasps his shoulder firmly, urging him forward. “Tanjirou, this is Her Highness the Crown Princess, Sumiyuri Hayami.”

“An honour to meet you, Your Highness.” Tanjirou bows his head as he takes the princess’ hand, pressing his lips lightly against her silk glove. The subtle scent of fresh jasmine, rose and petrichor cling to her clothes and skin. Has she just been out in a flower garden?

“As it is mine.” Pleasantries exchanged, the two of them simply… look at each other for a moment before glancing away. Tanjirou’s heart is pounding just a little too hard in his chest. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say.

Ever the perceptive man, Kyoujurou glances between the two, and, sufficiently amused by their mutual awkwardness, decides to remove himself. “I’ll be heading out first, Your Highness,” he tells the crown princess, who nods somewhat reluctantly. “Pardon me.” With that, he’s gone, leaving nary a laugh behind him as he goes.

And then, the two of them are left alone.

Tanjirou glances at the princess out of the corner of his eye, too awkward to initiate a conversation. Her long, platinum hair falls all the way down to her hips, pulled back in a thick braid reminiscent of Lady Mitsuri’s — her handiwork, perhaps? — and styled with an amethyst clasp that sparkles in the sunlight, the precious stone the size of a babe’s fist.

Still, after meeting the Crown Princess face to face, Tanjirou does not quite understand what is so frail about Her Highness. He’d heard multiple times that Crown Princess Sumiyuri Hayami has a weak body and poor constitution, but the beautiful, radiant young lady before him does not seem frail in any sense of the word. In fact, she seems to be glowing with energy.

“You are to become my personal guard for as long as my brother is in the palace,” Tanjirou’s head snaps up at the Crown Princess’ softly spoken words, “is that right, Sir Tanjirou?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

At that, she smiles for the first time — at him — and Tanjirou fights the urge to duck his head down immediately once more. “Would you take a seat opposite me, then? I’d like to get to know the man who will be guarding my life properly, and we can start by having afternoon tea together.”

“Oh, there’s no need for your kind consideration, Your Highness,” Tanjirou rushes to reassure her. He and the Crown Princess of the Sumihana Empire sitting at the same table, having tea and snacks? His past self would have fainted upon hearing such a thing. “I am perfectly alright with remaining at a standing position by your side.”

“So you mean to tell me that you desire to refuse my order?”

Tanjirou nearly chokes. “No, of course not, Your Highness!” At his response, the Crown Princess lets out a laugh, raising a silk gloved hand to stifle the sound. Tanjirou thinks it’s a pity that high society demands for such reservedness. The Crown Princess’ laughter sounds like music to his ears. “If it would please you, then I would like nothing more than to join you.”

She smiles at him then. “It would please me.” And so, Tanjirou finds himself sitting at the table with the Crown Princess, three perfectly macarons placed on his china plate. “I hope you enjoy sweets, Sir Tanjirou.”

“I do.” Tanjirou can’t quite tell her that he used to be a baker, so he accepts them graciously. “Thank you, Your Highness.” The Crown Princess looks at him with a flash of amusement in her soft lilac eyes.

“You can tone it down with the formalities, Sir Tanjirou,” she tells him, a playful lilt to her voice. “Your Highness sounds so stifling… You can simply call me Princess Hayami, if you’d like.”

For the second time that day, Tanjirou nearly chokes on a bite of macaron. Coughing as the sweetness floods his mouth, he reaches for the napkin as he shakes his head desperately. “I couldn’t possibly, Your Highness,” he says in alarm. “Doing so would be terribly rude, especially from a lowly one such as myself—”

He pauses for a moment. Well, since the Archduke of the Flameheart Duchy did adopt them into his family, Tanjirou would technically be considered as a member of high nobility now.

“Truly?” The Crown Princess remarks, looking surprised. “Not even when you are one of the few men in this entire Empire with the status to ask for my hand in marriage?”

Tanjirou momentarily wonders if the Crown Princess dislikes him after all, because she seems to be trying to get rid of him today by getting him to choke. Mind painfully blank and his tongue thick in his mouth, Tanjirou reaches for the steaming pot straight off the brazier without thinking, intending to pour himself a cup of tea to calm his frazzled nerves.

“Oh, Sir Tanjirou, you must not touch the pot with your bare hands—” The Crown Princess begins to cry out, her voice sharp with concern, but her words trail off when she realises that Tanjirou is not at all affected by the heat. She pulls out a fan when she seats herself once again, looking embarrassed. “I did forget for a moment there that you are a member of the Flameheart Duchy.”

The Rengoku bloodline — and the Flameheart Duchy, by extension — are famed far and wide for producing the finest fire-wielding mages in the Empire, generation after generation. That had been one of the other reasons why the Archduke had decided to take him and Nezuko in, after realising that the two of them had innate talent for similar magic.

“I apologise for startling you, Your Highness,” Tanjirou says gently, setting the pot back down after filling his own cup. “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, other than my pride.” She tugs at the end of her long braid, looking slightly awkward — her expression tugging at Tanjirou’s heartstrings, and he’s just met the Princess today! — before glancing to the side. “Well, I suppose that the two of us are getting to know each other, just as I’d hoped, so I cannot make a fuss about it.”

Tanjirou feels his heartbeat pick up at her words, but has to quickly remind himself that he is here to be her guard, and imagining anything more will do him no good. “I, too, am looking forward to knowing more about you, Your Highness.”

The Crown Princess smiles at him, and Tanjirou instantly knows that he is doomed for failure.

The Crown Princess loves the flower gardens, Tanjirou learns after a week in her service. Sometimes he worries that she might be too frail and run into some sort of mishap outside, but Her Highness hasn’t had such an incident yet. “Besides, taking walks outside and enjoying the sunlight would be better for me than being cooped up in my chambers all day,” she’d insisted, and well, who is Tanjirou to disobey the Crown Princess?

“Some of the flowers here are planted by my own hand,” she tells Tanjirou conspiratorially on one such walk through the rose gardens. “When I was younger, my mother wasn’t fond of me leaving my chambers, so I would have to sneak out to tend to the plants that I’d seeded. Look at these,” she points to a set of beautiful trellises leaning against the wall in the shape of honeycombs, “I told the head gardener that I wanted to grow some sweet peas so he had these made for me, but in truth I used it as a ladder to sneak out of my bedroom at night.”

Tanjirou stifles a laugh behind his hand. “You seem to have been quite the spirited rule breaker when you were younger, Your Highness.”

She’s dressed in a light, cream coloured dress today, her layered skirts floating about her ankles like the morning mist. Her hair is pulled up into a simple french twist today, kept in place by several gold hairpins with jewelled flowers. As he watches, the Crown Princess plucks a small white daisy from the grass and tucks it into her hair.

“I don’t deny that. I also used to sneak out of my chambers when my cousin’s tea parties were happening.” Princess Hayami continues to make her way through the gardens, Tanjirou following closely behind her. When they reach the red brick wall that makes up the perimeter of the Crown Princess’ residence, she reaches for one of the bushes lining the wall and tugs it away — revealing a cleverly concealed hole behind it. “If you go through this and follow the path on the other side, it would take you straight to the Water Lily Garden. I did this for ages until the head butler caught me with my muddy knees.”

Tanjirou is quiet for a moment. For all the childhood memories she’s described to him thus far, it seems that her direct family — father, mother and twin brother — are all absent from her life. The Emperor is negligent while the Empress never shows any concern, and her brother… The entire time Tanjirou has been by the Crown Princess’ side, Crown Prince Hayato has not visited his sister’s residence even once.

Tanjirou cannot imagine ever treating his own sister, Nezuko, this way.

“Sir Tanjirou?” The Crown Princess leans down to frown at him, confused by his sudden silence. “Sir Tanjirou, are you feeling unwell, perhaps?”

He immediately shakes his head. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you that I am alright, Your Highness.” At his answer, Princess Hayami hums contemplatively, twirling the stem of a flower between her slender fingers before she lights up visibly.

“Let us sneak through into the Water Lily Garden,” the Crown Princess suggests all of a sudden.

Tanjirou blinks at her, caught by surprise. “Your Highness, you are no longer restricted by Her Majesty the Empress — you are free to go anywhere you’d like in the palace. We can simply walk over to the Water Lily Garden if you’d like.” The princess shakes her head at him, a playful smile curling at the corner of her painted lips.

“It’s not about the destination, Sir Tanjirou, it’s about sneaking out,” she tells him, and before he can say anything else, is already squeezing herself through the small opening in the wall. Tanjirou stares in open mouthed shock as the Crown Princess of the Empire disappears from his sight, before a pale hand sticks itself back through the hole, gesturing for him to follow. “Hurry and come through! And make sure to cover the hole behind you!”

Unable to disobey his master’s orders, Tanjirou glances around, desperately hoping that no one is looking, before squeezing himself through the hole as well. The top of his head almost brushes the circumference of the hole and he nearly forgets to tug the false bush back into place after him, but he still manages to make it safely out on the other side.

“Follow me,” the Crown Princess says excitedly, taking Tanjirou by the sleeve of his coat. Together, the two of them make their way down a little dirt path that winds through walls of thick hedges. “This is a hedge maze near the Water Lily Garden,” she explains as she navigates them through the confusing paths. “I memorised the way out with how often I came through here. If we hurry, we might be able to catch one of my cousin’s tea parties happening right now.”

She does make one or two wrong turns, but always rectifies her error almost immediately — Tanjirou’s nose can already begin to pick up the scent of water lilies and high tea. All this time, her fingers remain tightly grasping onto his sleeve, as though worried that he might get lost if she lets go.

The two of them eventually emerge from the hedge maze, sparrows and butterflies fluttering about. A distance away, Tanjirou can see a high tea party ongoing, with several noble ladies seated at a gazebo situated in the middle of a crystal clear lake. The hum of their idle chatter drifts across its surface, dotted with pink water lilies, to reach the two of them.

“It’s as you said, Your Highness,” Tanjirou nods, brushing a stray leaf from his shoulder. “Lady Kagami is indeed having a tea party at the moment. Shall we head over to join them?”

The Crown Princess, however, only stares at the tea party happening on the lake — a picturesque scene straight out of a fairy tale, with beautiful ladies and laughter and tea and cakes all around — before she turns back to Tanjirou with a slight, more… bittersweet smile on her face. “This is enough,” she says quietly, still smiling. “This is what I used to do — watch from a distance. The Empress didn’t like me interacting with too many of the noble ladies from lesser houses, and I wouldn’t know what to do now even if I wanted to participate in one.”

Tanjirou frowns openly at that. “Nearly all of the houses in the Empire are beneath the Royal family. Does this mean that you’ve never had the opportunity to experience one?” The Crown Princess nods, before she turns away. “Come now, we should return to the Violet Lily Palace before Head Butler Hirata catches us. He’d be delighted to have any opportunity to report me to my mother.”

“Understood, Your Highness.” Tanjirou holds out his arm to Princess Hayami. She looks down at it with surprise, before it melts into a smile.

“Let us be on our way then, Sir Tanjirou,” she says, and the two of them make their way back through the hedge maze, through the little hole in the wall and up the honeycomb trellis — for nostalgia’s sake, the princess says. And when he waves her farewell from the garden, Tanjirou’s mind is already whirling with a hundred different ideas — and only one mission that he must achieve.

A few days later, Tanjirou greets the Crown Princess in the late morning just as he always does, except this time, he extends his arm to her once more, just as he had that day in the hedge maze. “I am to escort you to the rose gardens, Your Highness.”

Hayami frowns, a little at a loss and vaguely confused. She does not remember having anything scheduled for today, but in the short time she has known Tanjirou, she has learnt that he is detailed and diligent and far less forgetful than she is — so she simply takes his arm and allows him to escort her down to the rose gardens.

“Remind me, Sir Tanjirou,” she phrases her question carefully, “who am I meeting again today?”

To her surprise, however, her usually-steadfast guard simply answers with “You’ll see soon, Your Highness.” Hayami doesn’t know just what he’s being so evasive for today, but it doesn’t make her feel any less nervous about this meeting. Is it Sir Agatsuma once again? There had been a period when he’d relentlessly tried to pursue her, but that time is long over — or at least, that’s what Hayami had thought.

She’s still fretting over this when the two of them reach the rose gardens. It’s a beautiful day to be out, the warmth of the late morning sun punctuated ever so often by a gentle breeze and jewel butterflies fluttering through the air.

One thing that stands out in the middle of her familiar rose gardens, however, is a small white tea table and a matching chair situated under the shade of a large oak tree. An assortment of baked treats sit atop the table — macarons, jam-filled pastries and little cupcakes — alongside a porcelain tea set, already steeping tea if the subtle jasmine scent in the air is anything to go by.

And there is no one there but the two of them.

Before Hayami can ask Sir Tanjirou what this is all about, her guard speaks up first. “I recalled that you mentioned not having attended a tea party before.” His voice is hesitant, as though not too sure whether she would be pleased with him for organising this. As if him going out of his way to create such a lovely experience for her could ever displease her! “So I procured some snacks suitable for an afternoon tea and had this set up—”

“It— It’s lovely, Tanjirou— words cannot express how much I love this. Thank you so much, truly.” Hayami cannot remember a time when someone other than Archduke Rengoku, her trusted ladies-in-waiting, or her cousin had done something like this for her. And the two of them have only known each other for less than a month. “If there’s anything that you’d like as a reward, anything at all—” But Sir Tanjirou shakes his head immediately.

“There would be no greater reward than for you to enjoy the snacks and tea that I have prepared,” he says, pulling out the chair and indicating for her to sit. “Your Highness.”

Hayami takes a seat, staring wide eyed at the spread of delicacies spread out over the table. All of them look delicious, absolutely appetising — and for some reason, oddly familiar. Picking up a blueberry jam pastry, she carefully places it in her mouth.

Both berry tartness and sugary sweetness burst across her tongue. The flaky pastry is buttery and light, just the way she likes it — and just the way she remembers it, from the bakery that her maids had always purchased her snacks from. Although she had never visited it in person, the pastries made there always somehow managed to convey the warmth of home, something Hayami could never quite find anywhere else. The establishment had closed down one year ago, much to Hayami’s dismay, about the same time that…

… about the same time that Hayami and Kyoujurou had their conversation about adoption.

“Oh,” Hayami says suddenly, realising too many things at once. “Oh.”

Sir Tanjirou glances up from where he’s carefully pouring her a cup of tea. “Your Highness?”

“No, the pastries are just really, really good.” She nods, taking another bite. “Where did you get these, Sir Tanjirou?”

He looks a little awkward at that question, shifting on his feet. “Well, Your Highness, I hope that you don’t tell anyone but… I have a secret hobby of baking. I apologise if they might not compare to the standards of the royal baker or confectioner.”

“So you made all these treats by yourself?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Hayami laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. Kyoujurou had told her that he’d adopted peasant children into his family, but the topic of what they had been doing before that adoption had never come up in conversation. She feels as though she has found her runaway baker at last. This sweet man with steady hands and a warm heart that took care of her so gently — perhaps, it wouldn’t be too bad to be married to someone like him?

“I’ll keep your secret on one condition,” she hums, pretending to consider it. “If you allow me to taste your sweets whenever you happen to make them.”

Sir Tanjirou looks at her, surprised, before he smiles slightly. “Your wish is my command, Your Highness.”

One week later, Tanjirou accompanies Hayami to a fitting done by the Royal Tailor, who flits around waving all sorts of fabrics, ribbons and sashes everywhere while commanding a small army of assistants. From the sidelines, Tanjirou thinks all of them resemble ants scurrying over a hot surface — chaotic yet organised, in an artistic sort of way.

The Crown Princess stands in the middle of this whirlwind, perfectly still and poised as a life sized mannequin even when the tailors poke and prod her. There is a ball coming up in a few days to celebrate the Empire’s recent victories against the Demon Moon Kingdom, and as the Crown Princess, his master must of course attend.

Her twin brother, on the other hand, had sent word that he would be too busy training — and so had deigned not to attend. Now, Tanjirou has yet to meet the man that he would fighting side by side on the front lines with, and neither does he like to form impressions of people before he’s met them personally, but at the moment, he has quite some choice words that he’d like to convey to Crown Prince Sumiyuri Hayato, one day.

“Oh, I cannot tell whether the lilac silk or burgundy satin will look better on you, Your Highness,” the tailor frets, shaking her head. The spectacles that she had been wearing earlier now sit on top of her head, lopsided. She looks extremely frazzled. “Deeper colours have been in the trend lately, but lilac suits your skin so well…”

“I’ll try on both,” the Crown Princess says. Almost immediately she is whisked away behind the changing curtains, and Tanjirou awkwardly averts his gaze as he’s left alone in the fitting room. Even when he had accompanied Nezuko to get dresses made, he doesn’t remember them being this exhausting.

“Sir Tanjirou?”

Tanjirou is roused from his own musings when he hears the Crown Princess call for him. When he lifts his head, he sees her step out from behind the changing curtain, adjusting the satin sash cinching in her waist. The pale lilac silk has a light, silvery sheen much like her striking hair, and under the light of the chandelier she very nearly glows with a gentle sheen. She gives him a smile, one that threatens to steal the air from his very lungs. “How does this look on me?”

“It’s—” You are— “beautiful—” breathtaking— “Your Highness,” he manages to make out without tripping over his own words. As lacking as his words are, his master seems pleased by his answer.

“Let’s go with lilac,” the Crown Princess decides quickly, and then there are a flurry of other options such as sashes, adornments and accessories. By the time her Highness has picked out the right hairpins, earrings and gloves, the sun outside the window is already starting to set.

He brings her a glazed donut when she finally slumps onto the velvet couch, completely drained. Tanjirou barely has the chance to say “You must be hungry—” before she’s already reaching out for it.

He stifles a laugh and hands it over obediently. “I’ll get you a cup of tea as well, Your Highness.”

“No, no,” the princess shakes her head as she chews on her donut, looking blissed out at the taste. “You need to go for your fitting now.”

Tanjirou looks confused. “Your Highness, I’m not particularly in the habit of wearing ball gowns—” She laughs at that.

“Not ball gowns, silly. A suit. A tailored one, specifically.” She tilts her head to the side to look at him, long platinum hair slipping over her shoulder. “Did you forget that you would be attending this ball by my side? You are my personal guard now, after all.”

He had forgotten completely about that, unfortunately. “Of course not. But surely I wouldn’t need a new suit as a guard? All the attention should be on you, Your Highness.”

Princess Hayami sighs, leaning against the velvet seat. “You could be the most handsome man in the entire Empire and still far too much attention would be on me,” she laments with a shake of the head. “Besides, you must have a tailored suit, at the very least to look presentable for the opening dance.”

“Opening dance?” Tanjirou feels awfully silly with all his questions. “Will I be participating in the opening dance?”

The Crown Princess looks at him with a frown. “Does Sir Tanjirou not like the idea of sharing a dance with me?” So he was supposed to dance with the Crown Princess at the celebratory ball? Older Brother Kyoujurou hadn’t mentioned this to him at all!

“Of course not, Your Highness,” he says quickly, trying to remedy this. “I would love to dance with you, it would be a great honour.”

The Crown Princess’ frown vanishes in an instant, replaced by a playful smile that throws Tanjirou completely off guard. “Is that so? Then perhaps you should ask me for a dance, Sir Tanjirou.”

Wait, so he wasn’t meant to dance with the Crown Princess? He looks at her, finding himself at a loss, and watches her stifle a giggle behind her hand. “You are having fun at my expense, Your Highness.”

“Apologies,” she says, but she can’t quite keep the amused tone out of her voice. “Still, I was being serious earlier. Do you wish to dance with me? I have no desire to force you to do something you do not want to.”

“That’s not it at all,” Tanjirou insists. “I would be honoured to dance with you.” He takes a deep breath, before bowing his head to her. “Would you give me the honour of being able to dance with you at the celebratory ball, Your Highness?”

She looks very pleased at that. “Of course I would. You can’t back out now, Sir Tanjirou.”

The rest of the fitting goes without a hitch, with the Crown Princess making him model what had seemed to be the entire menswear collection the tailor had on hand. She does personally pick out a sleek linen olive green suit for him and matching cufflinks after all that, and from the happy smile on her face, she seems to have enjoyed herself thoroughly.

The Royal Tailor bows to the Crown Princess on her way out. “Year after year, you grow lovelier and lovelier, Your Highness,” she says approvingly. “I’m sure that you will be the fairest in the Empire soon — you resemble the younger Empress so much already, you’ll surely look more like her when you grow older.”

The change in Princess Hayami’s expression is almost inscrutable, but Tanjirou catches the way her smile turns ever so slightly brittle, like pottery on the verge of shattering. “Thank you for such a lovely compliment, Royal Tailor,” she says, “ but I’m afraid I will never surpass my mother in terms of beauty. She’s far too beautiful.”

Tanjirou catches her staring into one of the floor length mirrors when he returns from escorting the Royal Tailor out, prodding lightly at her face and tugging at her hair. She’s used a spare clip from the fitting room to pin her hair up, so that the silvery platinum strands frame her face the same way Her Majesty the Empress’ does — and from the expression on her face, she doesn’t seem to like the results.

“Your Highness?” Tanjirou calls gently, careful not to agitate her. “We can leave now for dinner, if you’d like—”

“Sir Tanjirou,” the princess interrupts, sounding uncharacteristically serious, still staring at her own reflection in the mirror, “do you think that I look like my mother?”

His mouth goes a little dry at that. As someone who’s had the privilege of remaining by the Crown Princess’ side for the past month, it’s easy to see that there’s no love lost between mother and daughter. Besides, from the little bits and pieces he’s picked up from the interactions between Older Brother Kyoujurou and the Crown Princess, it’s clear that neither of them think very highly of the Empress.

Still, Tanjirou does not want to lie to Her Highness — she would be able to tell, either way.

“Your hair and features strongly resembles Her Majesty the Empress,” Tanjirou says slowly — and catches sight of the Crown Princess’ brows pinching together in a frown. She looks… troubled. “Still, I think that the two of you are very different in many ways, if people know where to look.”

The princess turns to look at him. “Different? In what ways?”

Tanjirou licks his lips nervously. “Well, first of all, Your Highness’ eyes are a lot softer than Her Majesty the Empress’. Her brows are often arched and sharp and her expression… stern, while the Crown Princess has a gentle but firm gaze.”

The Crown Princess nods slowly at that, considering his words carefully. “Go on.”

“Secondly, Her Majesty the Empress has thinner lips that tend to be pulled into a line. Your Highness has softer and fuller lips that curve upwards slightly, even when you are trying not to smile.”

Her lips pull into that very smile that he was just describing, a cupid’s bow loosening an arrow that goes straight to. “You’ve been spending a great deal of time paying attention to my lips, haven’t you, Sir Tanjirou?”

“I—” He begins to protest, then promptly gives up trying to explain himself. “Yes, I have, Your Highness. As your guard, it is my responsibility to notice everything about you.”

Her mouth curls into a proper smile now. “And you always do your job to the utmost standard,” she hums lightly. Turning back to glance in the mirror, she sighs before pulling the clip from her hair, allowing the long platinum strands to tumble down her back in a long, silvery waterfall. “Truly, Sir Tanjirou… I like to think that in my heart, I am a damsel in distress in need of a Prince Charming to come save me, but when I look in the mirror, all I can see is an evil queen who is unworthy of true love and genuine kindness. I would… I do not like to be compared to my mother. Ever. In any way at all.”

Tanjirou remains quiet for a while. “I cannot… provide you with a Prince Charming on a white steed, like the fairytales describe,” he says honestly, when he speaks at last. “But I think that Your Highness will be able to change the way people view her, as well as the way she views herself, with her own efforts and merits. And this lowly guard will be by your side all the way, should you desire it.”

The Crown Princess takes a moment to ruminate over his words. And then suddenly she smiles, dazzling, as bright as the sunrise, and for the first time, Tanjirou feels his heart twist in his chest — not a simple skip, nor just a quickening of its beat — but a physical ache that he doesn’t quite recognise nor know how to handle.

All he does know, however, is that he has made a vow — and that he would gladly lay down his life for the woman before him.

They don’t make it to the ball.

About one week before the celebratory ball is to happen, the Crown Princess gets poisoned — in her own palace, in her own drawing room. During teatime, the head maid Rin Sunada delivers a tray of snacks and tea, which Tanjirou would watch Her Highness eat as the two of them talk of the garden’s flowers and the latest gossip Tanjirou has picked up from the palace grounds. It’s a simple, ordinary routine that Tanjirou has long gotten used to, enjoying her company and the snacks she occasionally manages to convince him to try — which might explain why he’s stunned into stillness when he catches sight of crimson dotting the corner of the Crown Princess’ mouth.

“Your Highness!” He says urgently, and when she does not respond immediately, a cold tendril of fear wraps itself around his heart and yanks hard, constricting the air in his lungs. Instead, she presses a delicate hand to her chest — the hand that he’d just kissed this morning in greeting — and coughs, a choking, breathless, wheezing sound.

And blood spills from her mouth.

“Your Highness!”

Only his trained reflexes allow him to catch the Crown Princess falling from her seat before she can hit the floor. She lies in his arms like a broken doll, unresponsive, eyes half lidded and lips stained red. “Your Highness, please respond! Your Highness! Hayami!”

Still she does not respond, and Tanjirou shouts himself hoarse for a physician. The servants tell him that it will take some time for the physicians to arrive, so he snaps for them to move aside, puts the Crown Princess on his back, and promptly runs all the way to the medical wing.

The entire situation feels like a dream of some sort, his mind covered by a thick fog and his memories of the incident blurry, but when he finally connects with reality once more he’s standing next to Her Highness’ bed with an aching throat and his hands balled into tight fists. There’s a heavy, reassuring warmth on his shoulder, and when he glances up, Older Brother Kyoujurou is standing next to him, eyes hard as he looks down at the bed the Crown Princess is resting in.

“Who did it?” Tanjirou barely recognises his voice with how sharp and flat it is. The room is empty aside from the two of them. Nezuko had been in here earlier with the Princess’ other ladies in waiting, but had to be escorted out with how badly she was crying from the fright. “You must have some clue as to who the culprit is.”

“I do,” Older Brother Kyoujurou says, an answer so straightforward that Tanjirou is taken by surprise. “I know exactly who did it, and so does the Crown Princess.”

Tanjirou frowns at that. “Then why are we not taking action immediately, Older Brother? With an enemy who could slip poison into the palace and past all of the Crown Princess’ maids… surely she will continue to be in danger if we don’t eliminate such a large threat.”

The Archduke sighs, rubbing his temples before shaking his head. “You will not bring this matter up outside of this room, Tanjirou,” he says sternly. When Tanjirou begins to protest, he cuts in sharply. “I’m sure that you already know that this isn’t an uncommon occurrence for Her Highness.”

“Of course,” Tanjirou hesitates, turning back to the bed that the princess is lying in. Her eyes are closed, her breathing slow, and her skin so pale it almost appears translucent — for a moment, she truly seemed more akin to a porcelain doll than a live human. “Both she and you explained to me that she had many enemies… but surely eliminating one is still beneficial towards her safety?”

His adopted brother glances over his shoulder, and Tanjirou immediately feels the slightest burst of heat erupting from the Archduke’s form — so subtle it can barely be detected, even for someone who is intimately familiar with the man’s magical signature. The silencing spell spreads over the walls of the room, sealing off all conversation inside the room.

“Listen here, Tanjirou,” the Archduke says at last, turning to face Tanjirou so that he can look into his eyes. Kyoujurou’s flaming amber eyes are serious as grave when their gazes meet. “The culprit of the Crown Princess’ poisoning attempt, and most, if not all, the assassination attempts on her life, were orchestrated by the Empress in some sort of way.”

Kyoujurou says the word Empress as though it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but Tanjirou is stunned beyond belief at such a reveal. The matriarch of the Empire, attempting to poison her own daughter? Even if he knows that the two don’t particularly share a good relationship, no mother should ever do such a thing to their own child!

“The Empress has long used such poisoning attempts as an excuse to get rid of dissenting members of the Imperial Council,” the Archduke continues. “And the princess has been training to resist poison in this manner ever since she was a child. This is not something out of the ordinary, Tanjirou.”

Tanjirou does not know what to say. He recalls his own mother, how unwavering she had been in raising and feeding her children, waking up even before the crack of dawn every morning to knead bread and make sure that they had enough to eat. If not for her, Tanjirou is sure that neither he nor Nezuko would be even half of the people they were. To hear that the Empress of Sumihana would stoop so low, he almost can’t believe his own ears.

For a moment, he almost wants to ask what the Emperor’s stance — but quickly realises that it is simply not possible for the highest person in the country to be completely unaware of the happenings in his own palace. He knows, but simply cannot — or chooses not to — interfere with his wife’s actions. And that too, in Tanjirou’s eyes, is just as unpardonable.

“I know this is asking the sun and the moon of you,” Kyoujurou says at last. “But this is the reason I had you and Nezuko brought into the palace, so that you could stand by the Crown Princess’ side and support her. I am not… asking you to protect her from every storm and gale that might come her way, but even then… I’d like to know that there’s someone who will stand by her side no matter the enemy she faces.”

“Even if that enemy is the ruling family of this empire,” Tanjirou finishes for him, quietly.

The two of them stand over the Crown Princess’ sickbed in silence for a while, before Kyoujurou steps away. “I should get going first to explain things to the rest of the Archdukes and the Imperial Council,” he says, squeezing Tanjirou’s shoulder firmly. “I’ll leave Her Highness in your hands.” With that, he steps out of the room, taking his warmth with him as he goes — leaving Tanjirou all alone with the sleeping princess.

After the door swings shut with a soft click, Tanjirou stands next to the princess, quiet, observing, forlorn. Just yesterday, she’d been laughing with him when he’d described a young nobleman’s affections and efforts to pursue his younger sister, regaling him with tales of entertaining incidents that had occurred in the palace before his arrival.

And now…

“Wake up quickly, Your Highness,” Tanjirou murmurs quietly, his voice vanishing like smoke in the silence of the Crown Princess’ chambers. “I know that I am no Crown Prince, and that no kiss of mine can wake you from this slumber, but still…”

She continues to sleep. The royal physicians had declared that she was in no real danger — the poison, while deadly, was something that the Crown Princess had been building resistance to ever since she was a toddler. The thought of the bright and cheerful princess, being fed poison as a child… there is a bitter taste in Tanjirou’s mouth.

Standing over her bed, looking at her sleeping face, Tanjirou speaks aloud a pledge — a vow.

“I, Kamado Tanjirou, from this day on, pledge to dedicate my sword, my life, and my heart to Her Highness the Crown Princess Sumiyuri Hayami.” Tucked in her blankets and eyes still closed, the princess doesn’t even stir. “Typically, these sorts of vows are sealed with a kiss to the hand, but…” he glances down at her hand, which is covered in gauze — a broken piece of pottery had sliced open the skin there. “Apologies for my insolence, Your Highness. You can chide me all you’d like after you wake up.”

Gently, he presses his lips to the Crown Princess’ brow.

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