This is my first Yuri fan fiction. So be nice.
Although I do have a clear grasp on where I want this story to go, suggestions are always welcome.
The Dance of the Butterflies
For her, longing came as a dull resonating ache without beginning or end. Her sense of longing only heightened with awareness; desires surfaced in consciousness with brazen thoughts, but were concealed by her own mortified propriety. It was always there, masked by the everyday things in her life, robes, titles, the tenderness of her sex, and veiled in fear, duress, anxiety, apathy. Friendship.
In spite of all her desires, there were rules to be followed.
Limitations. Impositions. Duties to be performed.
She lived in perfect world order structured around what she symbolized. Her longings could take no shape or form in this place yet she held onto them like a secret lover. She drew from their existence and learned to be satisfied with the mere knowing that they existed when they shouldn't have. They were hers and she would flirt with them in secret, defying their seduction, permitting nothing more than the indiscretion of a dance.
That alone should have been enough.
She lay asleep in the shade of a willow tree, a book on her chest opened to the first page, and her reading glasses pushed up over her forehead. A tint of hue stained her cheeks from a day spent too long in the sun, yet her face was surprisingly serene, unfurrowed by her usual range of dynamic child-like expressions. Her hair sprawled over the grass in waves of red, no longer bound in her signature braids. And for once she was out of her uniform, favoring the simplicity of civilian attire. Miss Maria would have never approved; she believed that as an Otome to the Queen, Arika was as much a symbolic representative of the Windbloom kingdom and was obligated to her duties even on her personal time. But Arika had long since graduated from Miss Maria's stringent pupilage and felt no obligation to such severe restrictions.
And so today she decided that she would enjoy a visit to her alma mater and drop a hello to Headmistress Kruger and crabby old Miss Maria, and maybe—just maybe—she could do a demonstration or two of her skills before the adoring and impressionable students. Ever since Miss Viola let it slip that some of the girls had started an "Arinko" fanclub, Arika had not been bashful of letting the students' brazen admiration get to her head.
"Who needs the paparazzi anymore?" Mashiro had once complained privately to Aoi after another of Arika's over-the-top demonstrations. "Arika's silly antics hit the rumor mill long before they make it to the newsstand."
Arika may have been enjoying the excitement of the media circuit and the adoring crowds, but it was Mashiro who had to deal with the disapproval of the council; a disapproval which had lead to the formation of a committee exclusively dedicated to "Arika damage control," or as Masaru Pitzer, her stuffy Secretary of State, preferred to call it, "Collateral Damage." But that was only one of many concerns that kept her tied up in one meeting or another these days. Meetings that Arika was beginning to resent.
Arika had only caught glimpses of her queen in the past two weeks. It seemed that whenever Arika was entering a room, Mashiro was leaving it; oftentimes she'd only catch sight of her trailing coattails as she vanished behind closed doors.
She longed for a break from the loneliness of the castle walls. With Mashiro neck deep in political discourse and the castle staff clamoring about in preparation for yet another diplomatic visit, Arika felt more than a little in the way. Even that stupid bloated cat seemed too busy to spare her any time.
"You really shouldn't mind Mikoto. It's just the nature of cats," Aoi had told Arika earlier. "Everyone's just on edge right now. Secretary Pitzer is very anxious over this visiting diplomat and has us all working around the clock. He wants to be sure everything is in perfect arrangement for the Sovereign."
Arika had huffed at the mention of the Secretary of State.
"Why don't you get out of the castle, maybe pay a visit to Garderobe?" Aoi had suggested.
Yet she managed to get no further than the courtyard when she was bombarded with more reading assignments by the Queen's far too uptight Secretary of State. Three-hundred and thirty-seven pages on the rituals and social customs of the Northeastern Island of Gristholm. Gristholm? Where was that? Why she should even be concerned with that island was beyond her. Even with Miss Maria's absence, Arika could not escape homework.
And that's how she ended up trapped, yet again, within castle walls. At least she could let her guard down in the West Gardens. She enjoyed a good sprint among the jungle of flowers and grew drunk on their fragrance. In her euphoria, she crafted a crown of flowers and imagined herself a privileged maiden encircled by a flock of fervent suitors. Arika immodestly thanked her imaginary consorts for their attentions and extended her hand, offering it to be kissed. At first she imagined that it was a faceless suitor kissing her hand. Like the many that kissed Mashiro's hand. But then he began to take shape; squared jaw, broad chest, firm shoulders, and that scar that trailed down his forehead and between his brows.
Her face warmed, recalling a distant moonlit night, Sergey's arms around her, and the anticipation of the kiss that never came. A melancholic smile crossed her lips, dwelling on the bittersweetness of first love. She imagined that she was the only person in the world to suffer the pangs of unreciprocated love, but knew she wasn't. Mashiro knows it too. Arika's face burned, singed by the startling onset of another memory and a shared first kiss. It was a lie, she reasoned. And it wasn't.
She stared, almost stupidly, into space, pondering the meaning of the repressed and forgotten kiss, when her thoughts were interrupted by the machinations of Mashiro's pernicious cat. Without warning, Mikoto came flying from high above and landed his massive furred bottom on Arika's head, knocking her back on her own ass. Without a moment's hesitation, Mikoto swiped the crown, leaving Arika with a bruised ass and a claw marks down her forehead. Stunned by the sudden ambush, it took her more than a moment to realize what had transpired.
"You better watch your back, you stupid cat!" She called after him as she scrambled indignantly to her feet, blood trickling down her cheek. He glanced back at her, his jaded eyes undaunted by her threats, and disappeared beyond the foliage.
She pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket and wiped off the blood. The universe seemed determined to keep her drummed away in boredom. To her surprise, she found herself aimlessly rummaging through the pages of her assigned reading, but couldn't muster enough interest to read complete paragraphs; her eyelids grew heavy with sleep every time she tried. She pondered why she never heard of the island country before and vaguely recalled her refreshing naps during her World History class back in the academy. And during Political Science. And Chemistry. And Public Speaking. Her mental block was overwhelming, and before she knew it, she was sleeping soundly beneath Mikoto's favorite tree.
She had searched from one room to another and another before she decided that the castle was simply much too big. A castle of this magnitude was advantageous when trying to hide, but not when you are the one doing the looking. I don't even want to think about the secret passages.
"Have you seen Arika?" the queen inquired of her kitchen staff. "She's been missing all day."
The head chef recalled seeing Arika squabbling with the Secretary of State in the main hall.
"I don't know where she went off to after that, but Lady Yumemiya appeared to be rather distressed," the head chef explained.
"Yeah," the younger cook chimed in, "and it looked like she wanted to pop the Old Pisser a good one, too."
"Ginta!" the older chef hissed, "mind your manners!"
"But that's what she calls him. Everyone heard h—"
The old chef bowed before his queen, forcefully pulling on Ginta's arm to do the same. "My apologies, Your Highness. This imbecile is my sister's son, and I'm afraid he still hasn't picked up any manners."
Mashiro smiled and motioned for the men to stand at ease. "Don't worry. I have not been offended, Tomas. Although it would seem that your nephew is not the only one who is having trouble with manners these days."
Just as Mashiro figured, searching the main hall turned out to be a dead end. No one had seen where Arika had gone from there, although a few had admitted to overhearing the altercation between her Otome and the Secretary of State. Arika had never been shy to let it be known to Secretary Pitzer, or all of Windbloom for that matter, just how she felt about him. For the past two years the two had been at each other's throats, and Mashiro was beginning to lose patience.
"He has to go!" Arika had demanded for the umpteenth time just two weeks ago.
"I'm not going to restructure my staff just because you don't know how to play nice," Mashiro had countered trying to pacify yet another of Arika's tantrums.
"He's the one with the problem; he doesn't have your best interest at heart."
"You're right; his priorities are better directed with the well being of this country."
Arika seemed to be at a loss and Mashiro assumed that it marked the end of their conversation. With a heavy sigh, she turned and walked away, leaving a motionless Arika behind. It was just as she reached for the door handle that Arika spoke.
"It's because he knows. And he holds it against me." Mashiro paused and was struck by the solemnity and caution in Arika's voice. Before she could ask Arika what it was that Secretary Masaru Pitzer was supposed to know, the door opened and a nervous Page announced that Mashiro's presence was requested for the next meeting with the Council.
They had talked little since then. Endless meetings had kept her busy, addressing everything from the nation's dept, to welfare reform, but of most precedence, the impending visit from the Sovereign ofGristholm. Secretary Pitzer and the Council had advised that a political alliance between Windbloom and Gristholm would benefit both nations. With Windbloom's technology and Gristholm's resources, an alliance could likely bolster an economic boon and ratify new trade agreements with neighboring countries. Of course this also meant a growth in production, jobs, and tourism. Mashiro was more than convinced, but Secretary Pitzer was pushing for a more concrete political union now that she was turning twenty. And Mashiro wasn't sure she was ready for that kind of commitment.
She needed to see Arika. With all her meetings concluded for the day and resolutions and reforms taking a life of their own, Mashiro was freed from her political obligations. Only now Arika was nowhere to be found.
Mikoto made his way to the West Walkway and followed the stone path toward the Castle. He could not keep up his quick pace and slowed, heavy breathed and suddenly sleepy. At his old age, he was as mischievous as ever but lacked the energy of youth. He pressed himself against the coolness of a nearby tree and dropped the stolen crown beside him. The flowers were surprisingly intact, having suffered little under Mikoto's rough handling.
He was dead asleep when Mashiro came upon him. He slept on his side, his wide belly exposed and a paw in mid air, pawing sporadically at things only present in his dreams. His master rubbed his belly and he pried open an eye before he went back to sleep.
Mashiro picked up the crown of flowers and after a moments inspection, knew exactly where to find Arika. She made her way down the West Walkway and into the West Gardens up the small hill of Mikoto's favorite tree. On the other side of the slope Arika laid sprawled on the grass, her lips slightly parted and her flowing hair and lashes fluttering against the wind. Dressed in cargo pants, a white tank top, and bright red suspenders, Arika appeared so out of place in the castle grounds. She could be the gardener, Mashiro mused as she sat beside her. She quietly adjusted the crown of flowers on Arika's head and held it in place with hairpins taken from her own hair. Arika was too far-gone in sleep to notice and this made Mashiro smile.
"You're a heavier sleeper than Mikoto," Mashiro said tenderly as she played with Arika's soft strands. She pressed her cool hand against Arika's warm cheek and trailed her thumb along her lower lip. And still Arika slept on.
"It's because he knows. And he holds it against me."
Mashiro paused remembering those last words, and then inched closer, momentarily forgetting propriety. "What did you mean by that, Arika?" But Arika's soft full lips replied with noting more than the warm breath of sleep.
Author's Note: I will be exploring the potential of Arika and Mashiro's relationship in a handful of chapters. Your thoughts and reviews are always appreciated.