Moonlight Sonata

By: Ceriadara

"They say that blood is thicker than water. What they don't say, however, is that otherwise it's not that strong." Rei is the son of the Emperor of China who falls in love with a Russian mercenary with cold crimson eyes. Now, he is caught: will he choose his throne...or his heart?

Chapter One: Concerto

To love and win is the best thing. To love and lose, the next best.
- William M. Thackeray

They say that blood is thicker than water. What they don't say, however, is that otherwise it's not that strong.

In my father's domain, China, family is to be held in the highest regard, and to be put before all at all costs. This unspoken law has inspired many of the peasants and slaves who toil on the land and in the houses day and night, giving birth to a land of loyalty and love. Inside the high stone walls of the palace however, there is quite a different tale to be found.

I awake every day with new bruises on my body - on my cheek, along my jaw, across the small of my back. They are left behind by my father, who despises me more with every breath I take. They are there to remind me that I am only a prince, not yet an emperor, and I have no say in my - or anyone else's - life. They are tokens of his hatred.

I am Rei Xing Kon, fifth generation of the Kon dynasty, and Crown Prince of China. I am revered and loved across the land, and that impersonal love is the only thing of its kind I have ever received. My mother, Xue, died in childbirth. Soon after her death, my father took one of his concubines as his first wife, and gave her charge of me. She promptly assigned a nurse to raise me, claiming that she had "no use for a child birthed by another whore". The nurse was impersonal towards me, as is proper for anyone who serves in the palace.

My father grew to hate me over time. At first, when I was very, very small, he would come and dote on me. This I have gathered from various elderly servants, who claim that he used to weep over me, saying that my eyes were my mother's, and that he would raise me with the love he had given her.

After a few years, however, I barely saw him. I could not remember his face, and when I saw him I could not connect him with the word "father", a meaningless symbol to me, something that I had only been vaguely reminded of having. He finally came to see me on my fifth birthday. My hair was down to my shoulders then, and tied back in a small ponytail. I recall looking up at him, and seeing his eyes shift from gentle to cold.

I have no knowledge of what triggered the change in my father's attitude towards me. All I know is that as I grow older, he gets increasingly violent with his treatment of me. He becomes irritated with me if I have even a hair out of place when I appear in his presence, verbally assaulting me before sending me out of his sight, and order which I am always too glad to follow.

I have changed, my maid sometimes tells me as she makes my bed. I used to be, she recalls, the most precocious and sweet toddler that one had ever laid eyes on. She then tells me that as I grew, my attitude, my personality, seemed to change. I became quieter, more submissive, less troublesome altogether. She says this, and sometimes I think I see a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. I will never speak of this, however, for that would mean instant dismissal. Personal emotions are not allowed to interfere with royal and common interactions such as those.

It is morning outside, the sun peering tenatively over the mountainous horizon. I have been up for several hours now, and I sigh as I greet the sun yet again. I climb quietly out of bed, keeping the winces of pain off of my face as I stretch backwards. I leave my room and head for the only other sanctuary in the entire estate: the library.

This particular library was supposedly my mother's favorite spot in the entire castle. She used to spend hours in here, dusting off books, placing them carefully on shelves, touching up the damaged ones, and letting the words entrap her tightly in their grasp. Sometimes, I wonder if this is where her spirit lives, for while I am in this room I have never once felt alone.

I watch the golden sunlight creep through the wide bay windows like fire, licking slowly up the walls and onto the carved wood shelves. I slowly makes its way to me as I stand, transfixed by the sunrise's beauty, in the doorway. It creeps up my legs and onto my chest, where my long black hair, loose as it always is in the mornings, catches the light and gleams softly. My eyes turn away and look at the bookshelves.

A title catches my eye, and I pull the book down from the shelf, thumbing through it gently first to see its condition. Some of the books in here are from thousands of years ago, and some are much more recent. This one must be somewhat in-between; the pages are just beginning to yellow and become frayed. I sink into the seat beneath the wide bay window and curl my legs under me and let myself be immersed in the book, willing the words on the page to rise up and take me away from this universe of pain and solitude.

When I at last close the book, the sun is well above the far-off mountains, but it is not the change in time which has brought about a rather abrupt end to my reading; rather, it is an echoing soud which I have never heard before. It sounds like thousands of iron-clad feet, marching in unison. I rise to my knees to peer out of the window, and I am momentarily stunned.

In the wide greeting courtyard before me stand one hundred soldiers, all clad in iron and bearing weapons. They stop before the large wooden doors of the mansion, saluting their captain before standing still, awaiting something. Their captain, a man with a brawny frame and a goatee, knocks furiously on the wooden door. I hear people rushing on the floor below me, making ready for something - but for what, I am not sure.

My silent query is answered when I catch sight of the captain standing back and my father emerging, dressed in his finest gold-embroidered robes. His black hair is pulled back into the tight bun that all emperors before him have worn, held in place by a small bejeweled crown which will someday sit upon my head...so I am told. I watch as he begins to converse with the commander of the soldiers, and my inbred curiousity gets the better of me.

I gently, silently lift the window latch and slide the window open the slightest bit, hoping that my sensitive hearing will pick up their words. I am lucky, I suppose, for their words drift towards me, clear as daylight.

"We are honored to be of assistance, Emperor," the captain simpers.

"Yes, well, your mercenaries are infamous...just what we need in this war against those vile Japanese insurgents."

I blink. Are we at war with Japan officially now, or is this merely a safety precaution.

"We will annihilate them for you, Sire."

Apparently it is a war. I sigh, wondering when I was going to be informed of this - or if, indeed, I was going to be informed of it at all.

"Please, General Dvorak, come inside and share my midday meal...I am most anxious to confer with you."

"I am honored to accept your invitation, Emperor." The man - General Dvorak - turns towards his men and barks at them, in a language a recognize as Russian, "Y легкость, люди." (1) The soldiers saluted once more before relaxing a little bit. They made their way out of the front gate in straight, ordered lines. Suddenly, Dvorak cried out, "Ivanov, Kuznetsov, Hiwatari! приходитьздесь." (2)

Three of the soldiers turn back and return to him, and he addresses them briefly in a low voice that I cannot hear. He then motions for my father to give his opinion, and he nods in agreement with something the general said. Apparently the matter is settled, for my father and the general make their way inside, followed by the three soldiers. I frown and wonder what exaclty this forbodes.

I return to my room just in time. A maid appears no less then two minutes after, looking for me. "Master, the Emperor seeks you presence at the meal today," she says respectfully. Seeks my presence - what a term to use.

"I will go, then. Where is it?"

"It is in the main banquet hall, sire," she replied in her same emotionless tone.

"Alright...thank you, Huan." With a bow, she leaves as quietly as she came, and I began to move about, looking for proper clothing to wear.

It has always been customary for the prince's maids to dress him, but I find the custom to be tiring and useless - I am not so stupid as to not know how to fasten a knot. I informed "my" staff at a very young age that I wished to dress myself, and after the initial shock it was never brought up again.

I slide into sleeveless gold-and-white shirt, and some white, gold-rimmed pants, the colors of the Kon dynasty, and glance at myself in the mirror. The shirt is embroidered delicately, with infinite attention paid to the small details. A long golden dragon wraps around my torso, golden bejeweled flowers sprouting up here and there. I run my hands through my hair and sigh, reaching for a white ribbon that lies on my bamboo dresser. I tie most of my hair back from my face with it, deciding to leave my bangs down. Sliding my feet into my black slippers, I head towards the dining hall, wondering exactly why my father wants me there.

I stop before the large oaken doors and I wonder if I should knock or just enter. Before I could decide on either one, however, my dilemma is solved for me: two servants open the doors from the inside, and I am granted a view of the dais at the head of the hall. My father sits in the center, as usual; the spot on the left, that of the revered guest, is taken by the General. His right side is left open for me, and beside me to my left, the three mercenaries are seated.

"Here, General Dvorak," my father says, "is my son, Prince Rei."

"It is a pleasure, sire," the General addresses me, standing and bowing as I draw nearer to the table. I nod my head, slightly uncomfortable; I do not like the feeling that this man gives me. I take my place beside my father and, out of the corner of my eye, glance at the mercenaries. All three of them had bowed when the doors had opened, and now they gave no sign that anyone else was at the table. They ate silently, their eyes fixed on their plates. I take in their strange appearances slowly.

The one farthest from me has a headful of platinum hair that gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the high windows. His eyes, or what I can see of them, are a light green, and his skin is paler than paper. He's tall and lanky, with long fingers and a lazy look about him.

The middle soldier looks much more feminine, though he appears to be important enough that he was able to hold his own against other soldiers. He has bright, spikey, flaming red hair, with two slender bangs that fall into cold, blue eyes. His skin is only slightly darker than that of his lanky companion. He sits with a stricter posture and a more guarded feel than the first.

The last soldier, the one who is sitting nearest to me, was by far the strangest in appearance. He has hair that is two different shades: his bangs are a light slate color, while the rest of his hair is a dark charcoal. He is somewhere between the second and first in size, and he is just as pale as his companions. His eyes, however, are what intrigue me most - they are a deep crimson color, something that I have never before seen in my life.

As I watch, these same eyes turn, almost unnoticeably, and our stares meet. I immediatly turn away, almost frightened by the intensity of his eyes...but somehow, it gave me a thrill. I fought the urge to look back again and merely begin to eat, staring down docilely at my plate while my father discusses tactics with the general.

My thoughts are drawn, as if by magnetic force, to his eyes and that look yet again. So many emotions were swirling in those red depths...there was a great power behind the man's hypnotic gaze. Never before had I wanted to meet someone's eyes again like I want to do with him. What should this feeling be called? This restless sensation, constantly growning inside of me?

I bite my lip in frustration, and I continue to eat my meal, determinedly keeping my mind blank.

After a while, I feel my father stand and see the general do the same. My father turns to the mercenaries and me and smiles a simpering smile he reserves for those whom he feels are important and need to be flattered. "Would you mind entertaining my son?" A pause and then he smiles again. "Thank you so much. Please, wait here until we return."

He sweeps out of the side door, the general following close behind, still talking ceaselessly of battle.

An awkward silence falls over the entire hall, as the clink of utensils on plates fades away as meals are finished or pushed aside.

"Um...how would you have us entertain you...sire?" the redheaded mercenary finally asks, gritting his teeth before adding "sire" to his question. I notice this and quickly decide to stop the foolishness.

"I'm no prince to you," I state. "You may spend your time here however you like, be it entertaining or not."

The redhead's voice is slightly less cold as he replies, "Alright, then. Tell me," he says, turning to face me head-on, "Is it true that you were taught the ways of the Shaolin monks?"

"The ways?" I reply. "I'm no monk, if that's what you're implying."

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I'm asking if they taught you how to fight."

"Yuri," the platinum haired boy says with a frown. Yuri looks at him. The man says something in Russian and Yuri visibly pouts before turning back to me again. The man with the two-toned hair has closed his eyes and seems to be meditating.

"So did they?"

"Yuri!"

"Yes," I interrupt, "they taught me how to fight."

Yuri claps his hands in apparent glee. "Then," he says with a smirk that almost makes me shiver, "what do you say to a little...spar with me?"

"...I may as well do something entertaining to pass the time, I suppose," I concede. He stands and pulls me to my feet.

"What will you use as a weapon?" he asked. I glance around for something suitable, and my eyes land on the pole of a bamboo lantern.

"This will do," I say, gently detatching the lamp from the pole and swinging it around in the air once or twice.

"A stick?" he asks with a raised brow.

"I know what I'm doing," I defend. "And your weapon of choice?"

He reaches for his scabbard and pulls out a long silver sword that gleams in the sunlight.

"What are the rules?" I ask.

He ponders for a moment before answering. "First one to surrender loses, obviously. No fatal blows, or anything that can break bones...no foul play...you know the standard rules of conduct, right?"

I nod.

"Good. Let's stick with those for now."

"Alright," I say with a grin. "Ready?"

"Go!" he shouts, and rushes at me, a feral grin on his face.

A/N Heheheh, I leave you there. . Yes, another story...which I shouldn't be writing...-sigh- I'm horrible.

Please review!

Oh!

(1) - At ease, men

(2) - Come here