#so soon. SOON. only two chapters before his debut 🤣

[sabraeal]

Like Going Home, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Now that House Rougis is aware she is in residence, Hisame becomes singularly inescapable. Invitations pile upon her plate: lunch after lunch, dinner after soiree; enough that they cannot be ignored. Not unless she wishes to imply a calculated offense.

Oh, were it only her reputation to be impugned, Kiki would not hesitate. But as the heir to her father, as Seiran’s next lord--

Well, one did not make enemies because they misliked the fall of their fringe. Not even if said hank of hair flopped over their eye, requiring management so regular that she was quite tempted to ask if a stable had lost a yearling with all the tossing and snorting.

With blood feud removed from her options, Kiki was instead relegated to attending the interminable lunches at the Rougis estate. Worse, she had to submit to the count’s terrible seating arrangements.

There were few women in the countryside that would be considered eligible; most girls of a sociable age would be situated at court, jockeying to be in the queen’s retinue or catching the eye of an acceptable prospect-- and their mothers with them. The only acceptable ladies left were far into their dotage or hardly out of the schoolroom. And, of course, Kiki.

Which meant that all too often, she found herself caught between His Highness to one side, and young master Rougis across. An odd configuration if there was a conspiracy to cultivate their connection-- or at least, it would seem so if the young master could be appreciated more as a dinner partner rather than a portrait. But with his skills at conversation...

Well, it was clear that Count Rougis hoped that she would not discover his son’s deficit until after the curtains closed on their wedding night. Men always assumed a marriage would be happier if only a woman entered into it unwittingly. Strange how much marital bliss could be invented when a lady must make do.

Her only consolation is that though Mother is much recovered from her little scare, she is still far too unwell to attend these soirees. Though the second son of Rougis has a personality that would repulse Father upon association, his looks would be enough to send Mother into a frenzy. Between his eagerness and Mother’s singular talent for twisting a situation to her favor, Kiki would doubtlessly find herself engaged before dessert. But she sleeps easy knowing that there’s miles between the royal villa and the count’s table, a comfortable buffer between Kiki and her terrible fate/

That is, until His Highness so generously extends an invitation for dinner.

“What are you thinking?” she hisses over her eggs, fingers twisted into the royal sleeve. Damn him, but that fabric is soft. “If you have them here, then Mother...”

With delicate precision, he prises her grip from the linen. “I am thinking that Lady Seiran would appreciate the chance to socialize now that she is able. And that the repayment of Count Rougis’s hospitality is much overdue.”

It is not in her to deflate, nor back down, but the mention of Mother does steal more than a little wind from her sails. “But--”

“Surely you can appreciate how neatly this solves both our considerations, Lady Kiki.” His mouth cants, slanting at the precise angle that makes her want to wrap her hands around his neck and wring him like a pheasant. “And it is only proper that Her Ladyship meet Rougis himself before your houses are to be joined--”

She stiffens, fork clattering against gold trim. “I’ll thank you to remember, that is not decided at all.”

Those elegant brows of his lift, even as his teeth flash beneath them. “Oh, is it not? I could have sworn from how closely your heads were bent together only days ago--”

“You shoved me into him!”

“Did I now?” he hums, far too amused. “To what possible end? Seiran holds formidable power in Clarines’ court, more than even some of the oldest houses of the south, but surely you cannot think that such things would concern a prince.”

It would, she thinks so loud she wonders he cannot hear it, if our mothers’ designs placed you at the altar instead. Or your brother.

It takes a breath to calm herself; it would be unbecoming for a lady to raise her voice at the breakfast table. That would not normally be any cause to rein in her temper, she has spent enough time with the first prince to know: bad manners will only lose her ground.

“I think,” she says, so careful the edges of it could cut. “It amuses you.”

A boy might reply in heat-- his brother would, to be certain, with as much puffed up pretension and oversized ego as that undersized body of his could hold-- but Izana Wisteria is a man, his manners forged and tongue honed by Clarines’ court. He does nothing so much as allow a curl at the corner of his lips, but on his mouth, it is as cruel as a laugh. “Perhaps.”

It is a relief that when evening comes, Mother is only well enough to take dinner propped up on her pillows rather than at the table with the prince and his guests. Even still, she tries to cajole the maids to dress her and charm the footmen to carry her to the table; a disaster only averted by Kiki disrupting their attempts at lifting her from the bed to her vanity.

“I will stay with her,” she informs one of the girls sternly, once they have Mother back abed. “Have our dinners brought up once they are ready.”

“Oh, there’s no need to wait here on my account, darling,” Mother insists, looking weary from the effort. Or maybe from having half a dozen girls attempt to manhandle her into couture. “Please, go down. Enjoy yourself. For me.”

If tonight’s guest list left enjoyment as possibility, Kiki might have been tempted; Mother had such few pleasures left to her during this confinement, to deny her something so simple would be cruel. And yet...

“I find this company infinitely preferable to any table,” Kiki assures her instead, lowering herself into her customary chair.

Mother’s hand darts out, stilling her where she stands. “But I heard Count Rougis would be in attendance tonight. And his son as well.” Her smile is as charming as any debutante’s. “Surely you would rather spend time with children your own age rather than been cooped up here.”

It is very specifically the ones her own age that she is most eager to avoid. Still, Kiki smiles, giving Mother’s hand a comforting pat. “But we have not yet finished that novel. The one with the pirate lord and the young lady--”

“I can read just fine on my own,” Mother lies crossly. “You should go to dinner.”

Kiki shakes her head. “What sort of daughter would I be if I left you--”

“A married one.”

Her fingers stiffen to claws in her skirts; it takes all her best manners to uncurl them and let her smile besides. “But I thought you wanted me to hold out for a prince, not settle for the second son of some country lord.”

“I’ll take anyone, so long as they stand between Seiran and your idiot cousin.” Mother has always been fluttering lashes and coy looks, but now she is serious, her thin cheeks looking all the more gaunt for it. “You’d think he would have learned from his father: when you get in neck deep with the Bergatts, you lose what’s above the waterline.”

Kiki cannot help but stare. “Why worry about him? I am father’s heir. It’s not as if I have to marry him.”

“No,” Mother agrees. “But you do not know the lengths to which a man might go in order to clutch to the skirts of power. It’s best if you simply marry before--”

“But I don’t like any of them.”

It’s not until her mother stares at her, nonplussed, that Kiki realizes that she’s the one who has spoken. No, not simply that; that the dam inside her has broken, and all her frustrations are rushing to be let out. “Prince Zen is a baby, Prince Izana is a snake, and Hisame--”

A knock shatters all her unspoken words, scattering them to the four winds. Mother lies still, every line of her grim and gaunt, a specter already resigned to its haunt.

“We will speak of this later,” she says, the same way she would when Kiki made mischief in front of company. Brighter, she calls out, “Come in!”

By the time the door opens, Mother is smiling again, as if she had no more thoughts in her head than what to embroider upon a pillow or paint upon a table. Which is fortunate, since it is the prince that walks through, dressed and groomed until he practically glows.

“Your Highness.” Mother preens, shifting herself to her best light. Ill as she is, she still makes for a pretty picture, the sort inked between the pages of sensational novels, her hair spread in a great gold halo behind her. “You honor me.”

“The honor is all mine, Lady Seiran.” The heat has been downright oppressive the last few days, and yet, here Izana stands in coat and waist, not sweating a single drop. “I only thought I would drop by before I would be expected to entertain. Your comfort is ever on my mind. I hope you know that I am ever at my lady’s service, eager to render you even the most humble assistance.”

“His Highness is too kind.” That should be where the pleasantries end, winding on to inconsequential topics before the prince must excuse himself. Instead, Mother’s mouth takes a troublesome tilt. “But since you have mentioned how eager you would be to give me aid...”

“Mother,” Kiki hisses, just as Izana hums, “Any at all, my lady.”

The look that passes between her mother and the prince is far too conspiratorial for comfort.

“I’m afraid I find I cannot yet settle tonight.” Mother’s lashes flutter as Kiki’s mouth pulls thin. “As you know, my dear daughter is far too modest for her own good. She is positively incandescent with the thought of taking dinner at the table tonight, but at home she is never without an appropriate chaperone--”

--To think, the woman who taught her that honesty was a virtue could lie with such ease--

“--with my husband yet in the North, and as you know, your grace, I have not been blessed with sons, she cannot bring herself to go with no escort.” Mother’s eyes round, far too innocent on a woman at her age with a daughter nearly grown. “For propriety’s sake.”

It’s a ploy that should have no hope of working; only days ago this very same prince had dragged her up the sea cliffs in her unmentionables, a dead snake in their wake. And yet, his mouth cants, the barest spark glittering in his eyes before it’s smothered.

With a sweep of his arm he bows, as a gallant would to his mistress, even if he cannot bring his knees to bend. “Then consider me at your disposal, my lady.”

The prince does not rise; no, instead he peers up, those unfathomable eyes fixing to her as he says, “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than seeing Lady Kiki at dinner.”

It takes a concerted effort to unclench her teeth enough to mutter “Don’t you mean to dinner?”

His lips twitch. “Do I?”

Dinner is interminable.

Protocol steals Izana from her side, placing him at the head of the table; his due as both host and future king. Across from him the seat lies empty-- “For the countess,” he says with warm smile that hardly melts his eyes-- which leaves her with the count’s second son as her dinner partner, tossing his hair between breaths. By the time the cheese course comes around, she’d cut it with her own steak knife, if only to keep him still.

And yet, she is not the most unfortunate at the table.

“It must be a nice change of pace to get away from the court,” Count Rougis remarks, smiling with strained affability as the youngest princes prods his cheese to crumbles. “I remember in my own boyhood how exciting my summers were when we were in the country.”

Zen barely spares him a glance before he mutters, “It’s boring out here.”

At the corner of her vision, Izana stiffens, his whole body poised to reprimand, but the count’s laugh holds him at bay. “Then we must find something to entertain you! Do you sail, your highness?”

He grunts, hardly a positive noise, but it’s all the encouragement Rougis needs. “We have a fine little ketch my boys like to race around the bay. Out to Yuris and back in only a few hours!”

“How diverting,” the eldest prince remarks, too wry for earnestness. “Perhaps we should plan an excursion?”

It’s an effort to catch the protest before it can rumble much further than her throat, smothering it to the barest groan. It was bad enough being stuck at this table with this company, let alone trapped out on a boat where she couldn’t simply walk away when she tired of the conversation.

“Oh my, well.” Rougis holds up his hands, humble. “I’m afraid that I’ve lost my legs for it after all these years. That sort of speed is a young man’s game, after all! But I’m sure Hisame would be happy to take you round, should that please you.”

The prince glances at her, mouth curling when he replies, “I think we could all do with the diversion.”

A sigh slips out. She does try to drown it in her drink-- Father’s favorite maneuver during tiresome company-- but when she sets it back down on the linen, Hisame is waiting for her with brow raised. “Do you not like sailing, Lady Kiki?”

He does her the favor of pitching his voice lower, keeping the conversation from catching the attention of the whole table. Still, it does not endear him to her.

“I wouldn’t know,” she admits, not bothering to hide her boredom. “I’ve never been on the water. But I will confess, the idea does not excite me.”

“Oh really?” The other brow joins the first, and oh, the smile the surfaces makes her want to drown it at once. “Why, Lady Kiki, you don’t have a fear of boats, do you?”

“What?” Her head whips around to meet his self-satisfied smirk. “No, not at all. As I said, I’ve never--”

“Ah, so you can’t swim.” His mouth twitches, too amused. “That’s the problem.”

She draws her spine straighter than even her corset could engineer. “Of course I can,” she lies, just as smoothly as her mother. “I’m an excellent swimmer.”

“You?” coughs the second prince, for once interested in conversation. “Didn’t you just--”

“Your drink,” Kiki blurts out. “It’s empty, Your Highness. Let me--”

“--I wasn’t talking about--”

“Excuse me!” She turns to the footman standing at the sideboard, summoning her father’s most commanding tones. “His Highness’s glass is empty.”

The ensuing chaos is enough to distract both princes and count, burying that thread beneath a half dozen footman struggling to fill the same glass. Kiki sits back with her own, the crystal obscuring what smile she allows herself. But when she places it down--

Well, she is not the only one who has not been distracted by the hubbub. Hisame glances at the scene, brows draw, but when his gaze traces to her...

There is speculation in it. No, a cold calculation, and she can’t help but wonder if he likes the answer.

It would be traditional for men and woman to part after dinner, each sex seeing to their own entertainment. But with such a small table, Kiki finds herself with an empty glass over port in the study, wishing she could charm footmen as easily as her mother. At least then it might be filled.

“A pity your mother could not join us,” Hisame hums without a note of contrition. “I hear she was the toast of her season.”

“The flower of the court!” Rougis adds, his smile grown wider with the addition of wine. “We were shocked when she chose to marry a man so far from it! Why she could have been-- er--”

The count takes a hasty drink, as if a draught could drown his meaning. He even spares a guilty glance for the princes, as if they could not know, as if it did not weigh heavy in every whisper when they buried her first brother, and then a second. She could have been queen, the very shadows seemed to say, and then how close we would all be to ruin.

That court is a poison, Father spat, the first and last time she ever saw him lose his temper. A pit of serpents, and every one of them pretending to be kingsnakes among corals.

As carefully as the count swallows his words, the mood sits shattered, ruined as thoroughly as a rock through a shop’s window. And yet Izana smiles, shining all the brighter with his brother’s glare beside it, and says, “You are not yet out, are you Lady Kiki?”

She stares. “No.”

“But you must nearly be the age for it,” Count Rougis blusters, cheeks flushed. “You can’t be much younger than, what, sixteen summers?”

There is no graceful way to refuse an answer, much as she would like. “Fifteen.”

“Fifteen.” His echo is incredulous, as if time itself has conspired against the count’s expectations. “Well, I suppose there are girls who debut at fifteen. Your mother was one, I remember.”

A fork screeches across the china, the second prince letting his mouth curve into something like a smile as he says, “It is what ambitious men do with their daughters.” He looks smug as he meets her eyes, as if somehow she might take umbrage for a slight against a grandfather she never met and a father her mother never missed. “Marry them early.”

“It only makes sense,” Hisame drawls, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “If a young lady were to make a poor connection young, she could never hope to make a better match, even if the first conveniently disappeared.” He pauses, aiming his blow before he says, “Unlike some.”

That pale skin flushes, painting the space between his collar and hairline a red that looked more at home on a plate than a person. Zen’s mouth opens once, then twice, but ultimately--

“More’s the pity,” his brother drawls, so casual. “I’ve always found that young ladies are far more interesting once they have been crossed in love. Far less swooning, far more opinions.”

Rougis laughs, too loud and too eager to be anything but an attempt to sweep the remnants of the mood beneath the rug. “I wouldn’t have thought Kain’s son would hold such an opinion. He always held that the wide-eyed innocence of the debs made for the freshest blooms in his court.”

Izana’s smile stiffens. “I’m sure he did.”

“That must have been what he liked about your mother,” Rougis presses on, glancing over at her. “She was always such a happy girl, so eager to make merry.”

Kiki cannot make her own smile sit quite right. “And she still is, my lord.”

This time, there is warmth when Rougis laughs, a fondness when he says, “I’m glad to hear it, my girl. I’m sure you’ve got a bit of that too. Daughters are their mother’s legacy, as they say, just as much as sons are their father’s. Always meant to repeat their successes.”

Hisame’s mouth twitches. “And their mistakes.”

Across the table, Zen flinches.

“I do believe that Lady Kiki takes after her mother,” His Highness remarks, a little too loud for the easiness he aspires to. “She certainly favors her in appearance and intelligence.”

She stares at him, unsure if that is meant to be a compliment or an insult.

“I suppose temperament cannot be far behind, then!” Rougis chuckles, shaking his head. “And all the better for it, my lady. A tractable girl always is the jewel of her season.”

"A tractable wife would be pleasing,” Hisame hums.

“I’m like my father,” Zen announces. “I much prefer a smile over a scowl.”

Hisame’s grin hones to a point. “Then I hope you possess a better sense of what lies behind them.”

The prince pulls in a trembling breath, and for a moment, she thinks he might speak, might return whatever volley that second son had aimed at him. But instead--

Instead, he flies from the table.

“Zen--” he brother says, not so firm as Kiki would expect-- “I do not think--”

The door slams behind him, the servants shuddering with the silverware.

“Well,” Hisame drawls, turning back to her with a smile. “Now that we may speak without interruption--”

“Excuse me,” she says, far more collected than she feels. “But I think I am feeling unwell too.”

There’s no reason for her to jump to her feet. But still, Kiki cannot sit there and endure Rougis’s smug smile, not when she knows he drove him away.

It’s not until she sees his bowed back, legs dangling off the balcony’s rail, that Kiki realizes she has been searching for the prince. It’s not as if they are friends, after all; they’ve barely achieved more than tolerance in the few weeks since she arrived. And yet, when her mother lay in flux that night, he had tried to reach out to her. It only seemed fair to offer him the same.

“We’re only a floor up,” she informs him, arms folding over the balustrade. “You’ll at best break a leg.”

He jumps, flushing bright as he snaps, “I know that. I wasn’t going to jump.”

She hums, unconvinced.

“I wasn’t!” he huffs, settling back on his hands. “But if I did, a broken leg would still get me out of dinner.”

And probably half the social engagements for the next month. Kiki makes a show of contemplating the drop. “Do you think they’d let me out of it too?”

He blinks. “Why?”

It’s not easy to perch on the rail in skirts, but with a little creativity, she manages to get all her pieces over it. “To be your devoted nurse of course.”

Zen scowls. “I don’t see why you would.”

“I might as well. I have plenty of practice.” She leans back, meeting his glare. “I wanted to say that I am...sorry about what I said. About--”

“Don’t be,” he snaps, looking away. “You meant it.”

Her lips close around her teeth. She had in the moment, when she couldn’t bear to believe anyone could feel as she did, but now... “I didn’t--”

“You did.” A breath sloughs out of him, tight and terrible. “They were right down there, you know. We are all meant to make the mistakes of our parents.”

He swings himself off the rail, heels landing on the stone with a clack. “I will be a monster, and you--” he glares at her with derision-- “you’ll die early, weak from failing to make your husband an heir. Unless, of course, Hisame obliges you by making you a widow.”

This time when he leaves, Kiki doesn’t chase after him.