Love Letters

Summary: Somehow, she can sense every unwritten word not printed in the black ink that is neatly covering the page. OneShot- Kiki.

Warning: based on a tiny fun fact from vol 13. The rest will forever be AU.

Set: story-unrelated, future-fic.

Disclaimer: Standards apply. One quotation by Shuji Terayama, Japanese dramatist.

"You have received a letter from the Palace, Mylady."

Roose Boston had been the head butler in Evergreen Manor as long as Katherine Seiran could think. After so many years of servitude, his trustworthiness and unbridled loyalty to the House Seiran ran unquestioned. Every time Kiki looked at him she saw the man who had patched her up again and again when she was a child, the man who had brought her hot chocolate when she could not fall asleep, the man who had always been there, even more so than her own father: he hadn't changed at all. Even his hair had been white as snow as long as she could remember.

The smile that stole onto her lips came easy to her, these days.

"Thank you, Roose."

"You are very welcome, Mylady."

The letter.

The stationery was heavy and expensive; with her name written on it in black ink in a bold, masculine handwriting.

Familiar.

She had seen it almost every day throughout the eight years she had spent in Wistalia Castle. Carefully, she cracked the Royal Seal and unfolded the parchment, almost greedily scanning over the content of the letter. Kiki wasn't aware she had begun to smile until her father set down his tea cup with a soft clang and cleared his throat.

"News from the palace, Katherine?"

Paradox: her father calls her by her nickname only when other people are present.

Outside the window, a bird sang.

"The Second Prince sends his regards," she said, folding the paper again. She did not put it back on the table, or on the silver tray Roose still was holding for her in a respectful distance. "He and Lady Shirayuki will travel to Tanbarun in a few weeks."

Her father smiled. "I doubt he wishes to take you with him again as his Sword."

There was no ire in his voice. There never had been anything between them that had been cause for irony and hurtful words. It was just an observation, calm and steady, much like the way Kiki regarded the world. Still, having spent so many years apart from her father and away from her duties as heiress of the Seiran House, she had learned to see the world with different eyes. The truth was not always the thing that need to be said, Kiki had learned that. Sometimes she wondered whether her father had known exactly what he was doing when he allowed her to live in the palace to serve the Second Prince.

As if he wanted her to learn something he could not teach her.

"No." For a moment, she debated putting the letter away but her dress had no pockets. In moments like these, she missed her uniform. She finally laid it down next to her plate, close enough that her fingers skimmed it whenever she moved her hand. "His Majesty wishes to visit us on the return trip. It seems there is something he needs to talk to you about."

"Perhaps His Majesty wants to inspect the garrison." Her father looked back at her with steady eyes. "Or He wishes to talk to you, and it is merely a courtesy visit."

"Perhaps," Kiki conceded.

"Will Lady Shirayuki be accompanying him?"

"He will bring the Lady, Obi, Mitsuhide and half a company of soldiers." Only read once and still, the words from the letter were burned into her memory. "They will require some part of the stables for their horses. The soldiers will relieve a company of soldiers from the garrison."

The garrison closest to their estate was small, but well-kept. It was part of Lady Seiran's duties to make sure the soldiers sent there were housed well.

"They won't stay long," her father prophesied. "They will be expected to return to the palace before the summer solstice."

The Midsummer Ball. Kiki hadn't forgotten it, but she rarely thought of it. Going back to the castle, even after two years, still felt like coming home in many ways. In others, Evergreen Manor was her home and always would be. And, finally, there was–

"Will you attend the reception as well, Father?"

Lord Seiran looked pensive. "I think I just might. Even if it is just to put off Lord Haruka."

"Are you still baiting him?"

"I beg to differ. I do not bait." There was a glint in his eyes, one that reminded her, uncomfortably, of Obi. But her father was different in many other ways, even if he had displayed an ability to annoy the Lord that was shockingly similar to the shinobi's. "I merely enjoy a good encounter between the different kinds of humor Lord Haruka and I possess."

He finished his tea, put down the cup and motioned with his right hand. His personal assistant hurried to his side, carrying a stack of papers. Her soft words were lost to Kiki, who focused on the food on her dish and tried to ignore the whisper of the letter to her right-hand side. She could almost hear the voices of the people she had not met for such a long time. They had been so close.

So, so, so-

So far away.

It was difficult to explain the emotions that echoed through her whenever she received correspondence from the Palace. There always was gladness at hearing the news, even if they were clipped and mostly hidden between the lines. (Not that it mattered much. The Seiran Family had their own ways of obtaining information.) Next came a certain wistfulness at the memory of her own days in the palace, of training with the soldiers, sparring with Mitsuhide and of working with Zen. Spending time with Shirayuki. Even Obi and his ways – so much like her, and yet so different – were a part of it. Fondness for her friends and her prince. Worry, a touch, because who knew what they were getting themselves into this time? Gladness when they decided to alter their journeys so they could meet, and annoyance when it wasn't strictly necessary and ate up so much of the time the prince could employ otherwise. And, finally: a gnawing, uncomfortable, bone-deep and raw longing.

Don't turn back. There are no dreams behind.

Kiki was a rational persona through and through.

She did not believe in dwelling on the past.

But oh, she missed them.

Once upon a time the emotional spring tide would have irked her.

Kiki had been taught to hide her emotions before she had discovered that it was only human to feel. That she did not need to remain distant from everyone for her entire life. That she was not expected to always tell the truth, no matter how harsh. That she was allowed to miss people, and to make stinging but humorous comments, and to spend a day scouring the village for nothing special and merely for the sake of being among people. In the eight years following her formal education, Kiki had learned to yield. She did not have to be stone: she could be a flower, or a tree, or even a leaf. She did not always have to win, did not always have to be strong. The thought of closeness, likewise, it did not scare her anymore. Kindness was not a fault. Softness was nothing to be ashamed of, and neither was warmth and trust in others. Zen, Mitsuhide, Shirayuki and Obi had taught her this.

(Mitsuhide was kind.)

There was no point in dwelling on such things, no.

But she was allowed to miss them; they were her friends, after all. One last time, Kiki touched the heavy stationery and then focused on her breakfast and her father's voice.

Only Roose Boston noticed the tiny smile that remained on her face and, satisfied, went to find and set straight the silly maid that had tried to – and failed – clean the silverware with dishwashing soap.

(Kiki hadn't noticed it in the beginning.

It had been just another aspect of her life, just another detail she paid attention to but that was of no further importance.

It had been that way since the start of everything, since that time when the Second Prince's letters to her consisted mainly in requests for duels and his expressed hope that they would be able to meet again soon. Only later, when she saw Zen hovering over the desk with his Sword and aide at his side, she remembered the handwriting: bold, masculine. Strangely hesitant.

Familiar.

In all those years, it had not changed.

The one who wrote the Second Prince's personal correspondence was not Zen himself.)

(It was Mitsuhide.)