Chapter 1


Oito cannot believe her fortune.

She serves King Nasubi in the teahouse on several occasions, humoring him with her knowledge of the world over ceramic cups and the sweet scent of camellia. He returns again and again to drink and speak with her, reveals to her that his favorite is white peony—that even if it doesn't taste as pleasant here, her company is enough for him to finish his tea.

Enough that he invites her to come to Kakin with him.

She stutters an answer and a flush of heat rises high on her cheekbones. She isn't anywhere close to being suitable for royalty, when her blouse is singed and her skirt doesn't look any better. Her face is bare and her dark hair is falling out of the loose bun it's been in since she arrived to work for the evening. It's all she can manage, when she tries to earn honest money instead of resorting to criminal means to support herself and her family. She lowers her head, apologizing that she appears to be so unrefined.

But King Nasubi only laughs and touches her hand, finding her so very charming.

She cannot fathom which part of her he falls for. He smiles widely, and it is a smile unconstrained by the worries that should plague a monarch, undisturbed by the deaths of his people.

If he wants her, if he's willing to give her the wealth and comfort that can only be found in her faraway dreams, then there will be no one else for her but him.

Leaving behind her siblings and parents, she walks away without looking back.

The scent of white peonies follows her all the way to the Kakin Empire.


The air is refreshingly clean in Kakin's capital.

This is the first time she's been away from Meteor City, and it's the strangest thing. She has read that air pollution is rampant in Kakin, but perhaps that can't even compare to the scent of ash, of blood and gunpowder. High walls and vibrant hues stretch into the distance rather than the empty expanse of dirt and rubbish, and the roads are all broad and paved stones that feel much better than the earth beneath her feet.

It's the loveliest place she has ever seen, and she walks alongside King Nasubi and numerous royal attendants while immersing in every sight.

When King Nasubi brings her presence to the attention of the other wives in the palace, she's met with a succession of gasps and contemptuous stares. He intends to marry her—only a girl from the slums—and the desperate efforts from his entire family are not enough to sway his heart.

In a whirlwind of a ceremony, she weds him, swathed in a robe of red silk befitting of a queen.


The early days are like those out of the stories that formed her understanding of romance. King Nasubi bequeaths upon her a garden, inviting her to spend as much time in gardening and flower arrangement as she wishes. He indulges her with luxurious silks and unsurpassed jewels, bathing her in everything she never had a chance to appreciate. There is the promise of a bright future by her husband's side, and that is nothing short of pleasant.

Oito belongs to a different caste of life now, and while some days she pours tea for herself with practiced motions, most days she does not. It is a task that belongs to the servants, but it is not something that she is willing to give up.

When her footsteps resound through the hallways, the white fabric of her gown trailing behind her, she sometimes crosses paths with the other wives. The cold and disapproving stares she receives is nothing new and she smiles unapologetically at them, assuming the role of her new status with a newfound grace. She quickly earns respect from the servants, from who she is rather than what she is—

King Nasubi's eighth wife.


They come together during the evening for one thing, and one thing only.

She rests next to King Nasubi on the bed, unsure but also expectant. He leans in to kiss her, but she turns her head away, and his lips meets her cheek instead. She only lets him kiss her once, on the day of their marriage, because there is still something too intimate about this for her. She's not certain if she can truly give up everything about herself to him.

King Nasubi reminds her, slyly, that she has everything—his heart, his name, his fortune.

But all he has is this.

If she has to bear the expectations, the burdens of continuing the family line, she will.


The novelty wears off quickly.

No matter how sweet the wine is or how exquisite the dishes are, they all grow bitter on Oito's palate. She spends less time with King Nasubi now, when his endless greed has distanced her from him. She cannot confess the matter on her mind to him—when she has exchanged her family for a lifestyle of luxury, there is no doubt that the weight of guilt is heavy in her heart.

Always, she finds herself searching for something when she regards her reflection in the length of the mirror. The ornateness of gold paints the curves of her body and gemstones adorn the lines of her dress, glinting along the layers of fabric. When the cloth drapes across her shoulders, the weight grows heavier and heavier, threatening to smother her entirely. She understands the necessity for pageantry, but even so, it will never be enough to cloak the girl from the slums.

Her dark hair, sleek and straight across her forehead but wavy across her back, is inherited from her mother. Brushing the strands away from her face, she thinks of the times her elder siblings teased her for her hair, when everyone else possessed hair as fine as silk. But most of all, she thinks of how her youngest brother bore the greatest resemblance to their mother.

When the burden of five children became too much to bear, they abandoned the youngest in the outskirts of the city. It is something that she has always thought about, has willed herself to forget, when he doesn't even know that she exists. Tears well up in her eyes, and she banishes them with the sleeve of her dress.

She confides to her closest servants, of how she longs to see her family. Barred from traveling to Meteor City alone and without a method of delivering letters to her homeland, she sends a messenger in her place.


"Please forgive me, Queen Oito."

Her servant looks at her, solemn, more honest than anyone she has seen in this palace. He takes a steadying breath, and delivers a set of photographs to her. Ash and charred remnants mark the demise of not only her home, but the teahouse as well.

"Five remains were found at the site."

There is no room for words yet. She can't quite prevent the broken sound that tears from her throat, can't stop the way her chest aches. Her body trembles from the knowledge, from the beginnings of a sob, and her servant deftly comes to her side, holding her hand throughout it all. If anything, the tears come faster.

Oito has never mourned like this before, never so wholeheartedly. Her servant has never seen her like this either, and he does his best to hold her together, because she is falling apart. She does not scream, because that is unbefitting of her, so she does not scream for her father, her mother, her sisters, her brothers. She does not scream, but she weeps until she cannot bear to anymore.

That night, she does not want to sleep, but does not want to be awake either. She swathes herself in the suffocating warmth of her blankets, answering to no one, and wonders if she can bury herself in her grief.


The life growing within her makes it better, makes it worse.

Sometimes she feels hopeful, if it means she can protect her child.

Other times she feels guilty, when someone like her has no right to bear a child, when her parents and siblings will never be able to meet them. She sleeps alone in her bed chamber and exists in a neverending haze of weariness. The fatigue that plagues her in the early mornings, the increased whispers in the hallways, the physicians that descend upon her—only now does it truly sink in.

Her husband cares for one thing—that the child would be male and carry his name, and for that, she hopes they will be a girl.


King Nasubi declares a succession war, and her world will never be the same again.

It's easy to hate someone like him. The birth of her daughter should celebrated, and instead, she fears for her future.

When the other queens and princes arrive to pay their respects and offer their congratulations, she cannot help but narrow her eyes in suspicion when they linger in her periphery. Even Prince Momoze, sweetest of them all, knits clothing for Woble by her own hand and still makes Oito wary of her company.

A future where their children will be lying in their graves, holding white flowers in hands folded above their chests, is not a future she wants to be part of.

She cannot afford to lose her daughter too.


For many months, Oito pours tea for the dead.

She prepares five cups with the finest tea leaves, because when she had been a girl, when she had been a daughter, that is what she did. The sixth cup is never filled, when that would mean mourning for her youngest brother.

Seizing the power that comes with her status, she requests in secrecy that her servants and messengers search for her remaining family, despite that there is no chance that he is even living. She divulges as much as she possibly can—the district where her family abandoned him, the age he should be, and what she expects him to look like now.

When the seasons come and go, when the lotus blossoms are in full bloom above summer waters, he comes to her in the form of the photographs. They are acquired from a fight at Heaven's Arena—one so severe that it is said to have devastated the upper floors of the building. There's a young man depicted in his twenties, his face blank without a smile. But with dark hair and even darker eyes, he looks just as she remembers.

My youngest brother, Oito thinks, is alive.

She holds her grief at bay, for a later time. It's one thing to leave him to suffer through a difficult childhood, when she couldn't do anything to help. It's another thing entirely to stand by and watch him slip through her grasp, and there's nothing within her that is capable of doing that.

She would rather die than abandon her family again.


"I have a request," Oito says, almost apologetic. "Another that extends beyond your duties."

It is well into the evening now, and while the other servants and guards are resting, Kurapika continues to look over her. Over the expanse of the table, she places several photos in full view for him. She asks too much of him at times, but he is more than willing to take a look at them.

"I've heard that a man dressed in this ensemble has boarded the ship." A photo where he's dressed in that gaudy fur coat makes her shake her head, but the sight of his face fills her heart with hope and relief. "Will you help me find him?"

Kurapika's face quickly grows pale. He makes no effort to respond, until the photos capture Woble's attention too. She makes a soft sound of contentment, pressing her small hand against the pictures.

A little wary, he nods. "I'll see what I can do."


Notes:

I guess I was lying to myself when I said I wouldn't upload any new stories. This was sitting in my drafts and I saw that a similar theory was floating around, so I wanted to share. I'm still on hiatus, though.

Life is still rough, but I hope you enjoyed reading this. It's my first time writing a kurokura fic that isn't entirely centered on the pairing itself. It's also really interesting to see how things would change if Kurapika has to protect his enemy's family as well.

Please leave a comment. I'd love to know what you think about this fic so far.

You can also reach out to me on Tumblr at seiyuna.