Sakura didn't know much about castles; she had only seen engravings in one of her father's books. She had thought Uchiha Castle would have airy flounces and furbelows, slender turrets, a pile of rose-colored brick in the setting sun.
Instead it was four-square and masculine, with the aggressive look of military fortress. The two turrets were round and squat. There was nothing lyrical about it. It bristled, its wall thick and bossy, like a stout watchman with someone to scold.
The carriage trolled down a gravel drive, through the stone archway and into a courtyard. The door to the carriage swung open and Sakura stepped down, taking the hand of one of Masako's groomsmen, to find that the courtyard was so crowded with people that she was tempted to turn and peer under the carriage to see if they had accidentally run someone over.
A confused stream of persons was clattering in every direction, heading for arched passages on all sides. As she watched, a donkey cart piled with sacks of laundry narrowly avoided a man holding a stick, from which hung at least ten fish, bound for the kitchens, no doubt. He was followed by a man carrying a crate of live chickens, their heads poking between the slats. Two boys were carrying bunches of roses bigger than their heads, and narrowly missed being drenched as a maid tossed out what one could only hope was nothing worse than dirty water.
Castle footman, dressed in elegant, somber livery, quickly ushered them over the flagstones and through a second archway, into a second courtyard…where everything was transformed. Here was a quiet, beautiful space, as if the castle fiercely repelled those outside the walls, but celebrated its own occupants.
The last rays of the sun caught Sakura's eyes and dazzled them, making the windows look like molten gold, and the people strolling through the inner courtyard like denizens of the French court: beautiful, relaxed, noble.
The castle was sober outside, and drunk on champagne inside.
She felt a flash of pure fear. What on earth was she doing, descending from a carriage in an ill-fitting traveling costume, pretending to be–
She glanced at Kiba and saw the tight anxiety in his eyes and knew that he didn't belong here either: that this gathering of people shouting at one another in a different language, so carefully elegant and carelessly beautiful, was more than he had experienced before.
And he was her family, or he soon would be. "You look splendid," she said warmly. "Just look how unfashionably that gentleman is dressed!"
In fact, she had no real idea what was fashionable and what wasn't, but it was a fair bet. The man in question had almost no collar at all, whereas Kiba had three.
He followed her gaze and immediately brightened up. "Dear me, just look at those buttons," he remarked.
They were greeted by a Mr. Uzumaki, who introduced himself as the majordomo of the Castle. He announced that he would personally escort Sakura, trailing Riku, to a bedchamber in the west wing, and sent Kiba and his man off in the charge of a footman.
They walked through long corridors illuminated by the deep eyes of slitted windows open to the outside air, and then through a room hung with a worn tapestry depicting two knights on horseback.
It all fascinated Sakura. How did one keep the castle warm in the winter, when most of the outside windows seemed to have no glass? And what happened when rain drove through those narrow slits, as it sometimes must? She paused for a moment and peered through one of the little openings onto the courtyard. She found, to her delight, clever gutters built to drain away water. The wall was extraordinarily thick, at least the length of her arm.
Naruto had waited for her. "I was just investigating the gutters," she told him.
"The windows are slanted to reduce wind pressure," he told her, setting out again. "The west wing is just ahead. This is the main gallery. All chambers in this wing lead from this hall; yours is the second from the end on the left. I have given you a room facing the courtyard, as even in this mild weather, those facing the outside can be a tad chilly at night."
The gallery was punctuated at regular intervals by doors, on either side of which sprouted pillars. After one glance, Sakura broke out laughing; at the top of each pillar was a cherub, a frivolous, laughing cherub. And they were all different. On one side of her door was a naughty child with flower petals in his hair, and on the other, a little priest with starched wings instead of a neck cloth.
Sakura stood in the middle of the corridor, turning around to make sure that she saw everyone. Finally she glanced down again to see Naruto patiently waiting, not in the least annoyed.
"How on earth did this come about?" she asked.
"As I understand it, a young son of the Uchiha family traveled in the 1500s to the Land of Thunder and found himself enamored of Italian sculptors. So he stole one and brought the poor man here. The sculptor was so irritated by his kidnapping that he turned everyone in the household into a cherub, and when he was finished, escaped in a butter churn and was never heard from again."
"He escaped with a sculptor?" Sakura asked, fascinated.
Naruto nodded. "This is your bedchamber, Miss Haruno. Please do not hesitate to ring if there is anything we can do to further your comfort." And he showed them where the bell cord was to summon Riku, and how the tin bath was cleverly secreted under the tall bed.
He cast one look around the room, frowned at a vase of roses as if warning them not to droop, and took himself off.
"Oh miss," Riku said, "didn't it take us an hour to walk here, then? And that cold stone went straight through my slippers. My, but I'd hate to live here.
"Really?" Sakura said. "But it's so interesting. Like living in a fairy tale."
"Not a fairy tale I'd like," Riku said. "The place must be horribly damp by the water; just feel the stone over by the window. Ugh. And I expect it smells when it rains too. I prefer Haruno House, with nice wood paneling to keep a body warm, and a proper water closet. I do love water closet."
"But this is the kind of place that people committed crimes to build," Sakura said, rather dreamily. "I wonder what the Uchiha family was like. From what I saw of one portrait we passed, the men had long upper lips and hawk noses. Perhaps he was the one who stole the Italian sculptor."
"That's not a nice thing to do," Riku started. "Though I did see an Italian at the fair once that was so small he would probably fit in a butter churn easy-like. When do you suppose those footman will be bringing up your trunks, then? I'll say this, the room has wardrobes enough for Miss Hinata's garments, and that's handy."
Naruto was nothing if not efficient; there was a brisk rap on the door and in came a string of footman carrying the trunks, as well as cans of hot water ready to be poured into the tin bath.
A few minutes later, Sakura settled into that bath with a sigh of pure joy. All in all, she'd done less so far that day than she had for years, since her position was not the sort that allowed one relax of a Sunday—or even Christmas day, for that matter. But somehow it was as exhausting to travel in a coach as it was to ride a horse.
"I don't wish to hurry you, Miss Sakura," Riku said after a time. "But Mr. Uzumaki said that once the bell rings, you must make your way down all those stairs to the silver drawing room, wherever that is, though I believe he left a footman to guide your way. Still, I'm worried about the fit of this gown."
So Sakura reluctantly climbed from her bath, though she wouldn't allow Riku to dry her. "I'm not a child in the nursery," she said, positively wrestling the maid for the toweling cloth. "I'll do it myself."
"It isn't proper," Riku said, yielding.
"Why on earth not?" Sakura demanded. "Why shouldn't a lady dry her own body? If you ask me, the impropriety is in having someone touching you all over."
"You'll just have to accept it," Riku said. "Ladies don't towel themselves. Not ever."
"Goodness gracious," Sakura said with a sigh. "I suppose it's too late for me to try to become a lady. It would take a magic wand at this point."
"You are a lady," Riku said stoutly. "It's in your blood." She braided Sakura's hair and pinned on a frizzled wig in a delicate shade of violet, with a jeweled comb to hold it in place.
Her gown was cream-colored and sewn all over with pearl embroidery. Riku had stitched pockets into the bosom and filled them with mounded wax, so Sakura looked miraculously endowed in the front.
"It's not terrible," Sakura said, viewing herself in the glass.
"How can you say that?" Riku demanded. "You look wonderful, miss. Just beautiful!"
Sakura turned to the side. The gown was caught up under her wax breasts and the cloth fell lightly to the ground, with just the tips of her slippers showing. They too were embroidered with pearls.
"I'd put you in a pair of glass slippers," Riku said, almost to herself," but they're only good for one night, and it's just a family dinner. They won't be inspecting your toes."
Sakura turned herself square to the glass and forced herself to look critically. "I look like my stepmother," she said finally.
"You don't!"
"I look as if I'm trying to be young. Virginal."
"Well, but you—" Riku stopped. "You're no old biddy, miss! You should be—"
"No," Sakura said flatly. "I look as if I'm past my first blush, which I am. I don't even mind that, but I don't want to look as if I'm pretending. Do you see what I mean, Riku? The way my stepmother pretends to be thirty."
"You make yourself sound haggish!" Riku protested. "You've no more than what, twenty years?"
"Twenty-three," Sakura said. "And I'm tired. I suppose there are some twenty-three-year-olds who would carry this off with assurance, but I'm not one of them. I look…wrong."
"Well, miss," Riku said, "one of the seamstresses spent four hours altering that gown, and I shaped the wax inserts myself, and that's what you're wearing."
Sakura gave her a swift hug. "I'm being a beast, and I apologize. It doesn't matter anyway, does it? I just need to smile at the prince, so that he will approve Hinata's wedding."
"And go to the ball," Riku said. "I brought three ball gowns, but I hadn't yet—"
We'll discuss that when the time comes," Sakura said firmly. She'd already made up her mind there would be no wax breasts at the ball. But why give Riku sleepless night worrying over it?
"I saw Kiba's Golden Fleece this afternoon," Sasuke told Naruto just before the evening meal, "and we can forget the idea of trading my Russian fleece for his."
"Really?" Naruto cocked an eyebrow. "After meeting your esteemed relative, I cannot help but think that the young lady may succumb to your charms, impoverished though they are."
Sasuke gave him a wry smile. "I'm not that desperate. My uncle nearly ran down their carriage because he thought he heard his dog barking. The yapping came from a pack of mongrels the size of fleas. And the Fleece was unattractive as her dogs: overdressed, overly bold with her eyes, and overly gaunt. I have minimal standards, but I have them."
"I like her," Naruto said thoughtfully. "And she has only three dogs."
"They're the kind that spin in circles and bite their own tails. Which is what I would do if I had to spend much time with her. She looked at me as if I were a disreputable banker. I think she didn't like my hair."
Naruto grinned. "Now we're getting somewhere. Disapproved of you, didn't she?"
"Soundly."
"Well, you'll have to get through dinner with her, because I've put her at your right and I'm not switching places at this point. I have you dining in the morning room and rest of the horde in the dining room proper. There are more arriving tomorrow, so I'll have to switch the great hall for meals."
"You don't mind all of this, do you?" Sasuke asked, looking at the boy he'd known his whole life, now grown to a man.
"I was made for it."
"Well, I'm glad I got a castle for you to muck about in."
"You should be glad for yourself," Naruto pointed out.
"I'm not," Sasuke said. "But I have a brotherly pride in the fact I spared Itachi the sight of you."
"Not very nice of the Grand Duke," Naruto said, pouring himself a small glass of brandy and tossing it back. "Throwing out his own brothers like that."
"Itachi would prefer to forget that our father left quite so many counterfeit coins with his own face."
"I don't look like Itachi," Naruto said, revolted.
"That's because he resembles my mother, whereas you and I take after the old devil himself."
Naruto's mother was a laundress, and Sasuke's a Grand Duchess, but the distinction never bothered either of them much. They were born mere days apart, and their father had promptly brought Naruto into the nursery to be raised with his legitimate children, not to mention a pack of other assorted half siblings.
"He was a ripe one," Naruto said. "I always liked our papa."
"Did we see him enough to judge?" Sasuke asked. "Here, give me some of that brandy."
Naruto handed over a glass. "We saw him the right amount, I'd say. Look what happened to Itachi, after he had to spend every day with him."
It was true. Sasuke and Naruto shared a bone-deep conviction that being the last on and an illegitimate son were far better fates than anything closer to the crown.
"I know why you're brooding over Kiba's fiancée," Naruto said. "It's because you're nervous about the arrival of your own."
"She's the look of a shrew," Sasuke said. "I'll admit, it gave me a doubt about Tenari."
"I know," Naruto said, "you want beddable and biddable."
"It's not as if you're looking for anything different," Sasuke said, stung by something in Naruto's voice.
"I'm not looking for a wife at all," Naruto said. "But if I were, I wouldn't want biddable."
"Why?
"I'm easily bored,"
"I wouldn't mind a bit of shrewishness," Sasuke said. "But the Fleece has no figure. I could tell, even though she was bundled in a shaggy traveling costume. She doesn't look as if she'd be fun."
"Wives aren't supposed to be fun," Naruto said, putting down his glass and straightening his neck cloth. "Time to go down and jockey everyone into proper places. The cook that we brought over is threatening to leave. Plus I had to hire three more downstairs maids. Thank God your bride is on the way; I don't think we can afford another such event."
"We've got enough money without her," Sasuke said, stung.
"More or less. I have a bad feeling that repairs to this castle won't come cheap."
After Naruto left, Sasuke sat for a while, staring at his desk. It was inestimably better in Konoha.
It was wonderful to own a castle. It really was.
Without really noticing, he pulled over the copy of Ionian Antiquities that arrived two days before and started reading it. Again. Which was foolish because he had the whole issue memorized.
Of course he couldn't run off to the Land of Earth. He tried to wrench his mind back to the present. He had to go to his chambers and submit to Pole's ministrations, put on an evening coat, and greet his absurd nephew. He should be happy to have an estate, and be able to house the zoo, and his uncle, aunts, illegitimate half brother, and the court jester…
If only he could stop dreaming of being in the heat of the Land of Earth, finding out for himself whether that dig truly held the remains of Dido's city. He had loved the story of the Land of Water as a schoolboy, caught by the determination of Aeneas sailing away to found Rome, leaving Dido behind, and then living with guilt after she threw herself on a funeral pyre.
He got up with a sign.
Time for dinner.
"We're eating with the family," Kiba said nervously.
"Do you know anything of the prince's entourage?"
But Kiba knew nothing of his mother's family and had never, it seemed, bothered to inquire.
The meal was served in a delightful room that, although Naruto referred to it as the "small morning room," was bigger than any single chamber at Haruno House.
The prince himself sat at the head of the table, of course. He was wearing a midnight blue evening coat over a violet waistcoat with gold buttons. In fact, her wig and his waistcoat would go very well together.
All in all, he looked magnificent and outrageously expensive. And bored.
She wouldn't have minded watching him from afar, but in fact, Sakura was rather horrified to find herself seated at the prince's right hand. She sat down in a haze of embarrassment, acutely conscious of her diamond necklace and diamond encrusted comb. She was tatted up like the daughter of a rich chit, thrusting herself into company in the hopes of a wealthy husband.
Which, she reminded herself, I am not. My father was the younger son of an earl. An earl. And never mind the fact that her father died without leaving her a dowry, or that her father married a woman of ill repute or that…
Or all the other ways in which her father had disappointed her. Blood is blood. I am an earl's granddaughter, she told herself.
With that, she raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. The prince was talking to a stout lady on his left, who was discoursing with deep earnestness on…something. Sakura listened hard, only to realize that the lady was speaking German, and he was responding in French. The gentleman to her right was occupied, so she nibbled her fish and listened to the prince's French replies.
The lady said something; the prince characterized her comment as a wild guess. The lady replied; the prince broke into German, so Sakura watched him under her eyelashes, since she couldn't understand enough to eavesdrop.
The first thing one noticed about him was that he was a prince. That was stamped on his face. She couldn't call it simple arrogance, though he was certainly arrogant enough, she thought, cataloguing the harsh line of his jaw.
She thought it had more to do with the way that he looked so easily commanding, as if he'd never seen anything in the world that he couldn't have for the asking. She considered it for a moment. A prince would never have done any of the things she had found herself doing in the past years. The time she'd helped with the birth of a calf came to mind as a particularly unpleasant chore.
A prince would not have three small dogs locked up in her chamber at this very moment.
A prince…
She took another bite of fish.
"What are you thinking about?"
His voice was like velvet, accented and deep.
"I am contemplating the fish," Sakura told him dishonestly.
And he knew it. There was a devil in those eyes, and they registered her fib. "I would guess," said he, "that you are thinking about me."
Everything in her rose up in protest at his effrontery, at the nerve of him saying such a thing.
"If it will make you happy," she said sweetly, " I was indeed."
"Now you sound like my majordomo."
"Ah, Naruto is Japanese, is he?"
That caught his interest. "As it happens, Naruto grew up with me and I've known him my whole life. But what would it mean if he were Japanese?"
Sakura shrugged. "We never ask people if they are thinking of us."
"Why not? Since you are unable to inquire, I was thinking of you."
"Really." Sakura gave the word all the coolness with which she addressed the baker after he overcharged for loaves of bread.
"Your wig," he said, with another one of those wicked, sideway smiles. "I've never seen a purple wig before."
"You must not often travel to Konoha," She told him. "Or Suna. Tinted wigs are all the fashion."
"I think I would prefer you without the wig."
Sakura told herself to be quiet, but she simply couldn't. "I can't imagine why you think that your preferences are of any interest when it comes to my hairstyle. That would be as odd as you assuming that I have interest in your hair."
"Do you?"
The nerve of the man knew no bounds! Sakura felt all the irritation of the dispossessed. Just because he was a prince, he apparently assumed that everyone was fascinated by him.
"No," she said flatly. "Your hair is just—hair." She glanced at it. "Rather unkempt and slightly long, but one must make allowances for a man who clearly has no interest in fashion, and does not travel to Suna."
He laughed, and even his laugh had a slightly exotic sound, like his accent. "I had the impression on our first meeting that you disapproved of it. Having exhausted the subject of our respective hair, Miss Haruno, may I inquire how you are finding the resident here?"
"It seems quite lovely," Sakura said. And then, before she stopped herself, she asked, "How is it different from your home?"
Of course, he smiled. She's done the expected and turned the conversation to himself. She let a shadow of contempt steal into her eyes, though she doubted he would even catch it. Men like that didn't recognize scorn directed toward themselves.
"It's much greener here," he said. "It occurred to me while I was out riding that Konoha's countryside is the opposite of the people here, really.
"How so?" Someone had taken her fish while she wasn't looking and replaced it with another plate, which made her suspect that this was one of those dinners she had only read about, with twenty-four removes, and fifteen sweet things to finish. A royal table indeed.
"The Konoha people are so restrained in their fertility," he said, smiling at her. "Whereas the plants are all bursting with reproductive fervor."
Sakura's mouth fell open. "You—you shouldn't speak of such things with me."
"What an instructive conversation this is for me. Apparently nature falls into the same category as hair: not to be discussed at mealtimes in Konoha."
"Do you discuss fertility with young ladies where you live?" she asked, keeping her voice rather low in case the sturdy dowager across from her caught the question.
"Oh, all sorts of fertility," Sasuke said. "A court simply bubbles with passion, you know. Most of it of a very short nature, but all the more intense for its shortness. Though not my brother's court, at the moment.
Despite herself, Sakura was fascinated. "Why on earth not? Has the Grand Duke suppressed his court somehow? You seem so—" She caught herself once again. It wasn't for her to characterized men of his stripe.
"How I'd love to know what I seem to be. But fearing you will cut me off, I'll just say that last year my brother welcomed a desperate preacher to the court, and within a matter of a week or two, the man had convinced most of the court to give up any frolicking not approved by the church."
"I suppose you were the exception," she said. And then realized she'd given him an opportunity to talk about himself again. It must be a gift given to princes: to draw all conversation into their own orbit.
"I turned out to be impervious to the man's rhetoric," he said grinning. "It was rather unfortunate, particularly when it became clear that my brother Itachi thought that the man's ideas were, shall we say, divinely inspired."
"What precisely did the priest recommend in place of frolicking?"
"He was particularly disturbed by what he called 'smock treason,' which was essentially anything that women and men might choose to do together. So he established a board in the drawing room with a sort of point system. The reward, naturally enough, was life everlasting."
Sakura thought about that as she ate her pork. "I've heard rhetoric of that sort from the pulpit."
"Yes, but priests tend to be so vague…a reference here or there to Pearly Gates and perhaps clouds. The priest had the courage of his convictions; his promises were quite explicit. Furthermore, his point system allowed one to earn little rewards for memorizing parts of the Bible.
"And those awards would be?"
"The right to wear robes of spun silver rather than plain white was a particular favorite among the ladies."
"I'm training my dogs with a system quite like that," Sakura said. "Of course I'm using cheese instead of heaven as the ultimate reward, but for them, it's likely the same thing."
"Well, that's probably why I was such a failure. I dislike cheese."
Back to himself, Sakura thought. She ate another bite rather than return to his favorite subject.
"Aren't you curious about my particular failures?" he persisted.
"I haven't got all night," she said favoring him with a smile. "If you wouldn't mind terribly, I'd rather hear more about your brother's court. Did everyone eagerly submit to the system?"
"They tried, after Itachi indicated a keen interest. That's the nature of a court."
"Does your court operate on the same principle?"
"Mine? I don't have a court."
She looked around. "Tall stone walls, and tapestries that must go back to the days of Queen Elle herself. Lovely courtyards. Loads of servants. Why, I do believe I'm in a castle!" Considering her point made, she smiled at the footman standing to her right. "Yes, I am finished with this pork, thank you."
"A castle is not the same thing as a court," the prince said.
"Dear me, Your Highness," she said sweetly. "Of course you're right, Your Highness." It was actually quite fun to see his jaw go a little rigid. The poor prince…obviously so used to people kissing his toes that he couldn't even be playful.
"A court serves a useful purpose," he pointed out. "The king or grand duke, as in my brother's case, rules his lands. I rule no one, Miss Haruno. Therefore, this is no court."
"Then you are doubly lucky. You needn't worry at all about whether you are useful or not," she replied.
"I suppose you would say that I am not?"
"You yourself said that you were a prince without subjects. Of course you are not useful, but that is hardly your failure. It's a matter of birth, and your birth, Your Highness, means that you need never be useful. Or question the market value of anything, which I would consider an even better inheritance."
"You believe a prince is someone who knows the price of nothing?" There was something in his smile, something a little dark and mocking that made Sakura suddenly wonder if she was over her head, being too clever.
"I expect," she said more delicately, "that you know the value of a great many things, if not their prices."
He stared at her for a moment, and then leaned just a trifled closer. "I did hear somewhat that the price of a woman, my dear Miss Haruno, is above that of rubies. Or was that the price of a good woman? How unfortunate that the priest is not here to settle the question."
"It was indeed a good woman," she told him.
The prince smiled at her, the calculated, tigerish smile that he probably used to seduce wayward ladies. "And are you a good woman?"
She returned the favor, giving him the gentle smile one gives to a deluded infant. And in case he didn't entirely understand, she patted his arm. "If you don't mind a word of advice, one never asks a lady to set her own price. If you to ask, the answer will always be more than you can afford."
The elderly man on her right turned his head at that moment. "Do tell me more about your war museum," Sakura said to him. "I've always thought that milk bottles were remarkably versatile. No, no, you're not interrupting anything. His Highness and I are boring each other silly."
Sasuke felt like laughing aloud as he blinked at the back of Miss Haruno's head. It served him right for jumping to the conclusion that all women wanted to be princesses. Or that any Konohawoman would like him simply because he was a prince.
The woman had decided within seconds that he was a self-important ass. He'd seen it in her eyes, in the way she looked down her straight little nose.
Perhaps her nose was a little too long. Wasn't Kiba's fiancée supposed to be a raving beauty? He didn't think she was. There were dark blue shadows under her eyes, for one thing. Beauties were supposed to have a glowing skin the color of peach blossoms.
A lady of the court would have plucked her eyebrows to high, airy peaks…her slashed over her eyes, giving them punctuation. Rather extraordinary eyes, he had to say. They suited that foolish purple wig of hers.
Another question: What color was her hair under that wig? Perhaps she had one of those short cuts that he hated, but could quite imagine on her. It would highlight her cheekbones and—
He realized his aunt was clearing her throat ominously. What on earth was he doing? Likely Naruto was right, and he was obsessing over his nephew's betrothed simply out of dread of his own.
Tenari probably had a perfect short nose. And sweet eyes that would look at him with approval.
The thought came into his head, willy-nilly: Miss Haruno was the epitome of beddable.
But biddable?
He turned to his aunt with a lavish smile.
Never.
"Do you truly plan to go to bed?" Kiba inquired, when the party had finally moved to a drawing room. "I know that you haven't been out much, but it's outrageously early."
Not been out much was a nice way of summing up Sakura's life in Masako's house. "You stay here," she told him. "The less I'm in company, the better. Apparently a Mr. Shikamaru met Hinata last spring. We were lucky that he wasn't offended when I accidently snubbed him a minute ago."
Kiba shrugged. "You should smile at everyone, just to be sure. The important thing is that the prince seems reasonably pleased with you. Who would have thought that so many people would be here? Lord Haku just told me that the whole of Konoha is dying of curiosity about my uncle."
The way he said my uncle was entirely different now that he'd met the man in question. Sakura had the definite impression that Kiba would be dining out for years to come on his relationship to royalty.
"I'll see you tomorrow morning," she told him, turning toward the door of the drawing room. The room was thronged now, and the air filled with clamor of fifteen simultaneous conversations. Sakura was almost at the door when an extraordinary woman blocked her path.
She was probably forty years old, stunning in an opulent, deluxe sort of way. Unlike most of the women in the room, she hadn't shorn her hair; instead, she piled it on top of her head and then powdered it strawberry color. It clashed madly with her golden brown eyes, but, somehow, the effect was marvelous.
"You!" She said.
Sakura was trying to slide sideways, but at this command she stopped.
"I know you."
She could hardly say, "You must know my sister," so she plastered on a rather mad smile and said, "Oh! Of course, how are you?"
"Not know you that way," the woman said impatiently, waving a jeweled fan in the air. "Now who are you? Who are you?"
Sakura curtsied, "I'm Miss—"
"Of course! You're the spitting image of Hino. Devil's spawn that he was." But she said it affectionately. "You've his nose and his eyes."
"You knew my father," Sakura said, stammering a bit.
"Quite well," the woman said, grinning. It was the sort of grin one didn't expect from a lady so obviously well-born. "And your name is Sakura. How do I know that, you might ask?"
Sakura suddenly realized with a pulse of alarm that anyone might overhear the conversation. "Actually—" she began, but was interrupted.
"Because I'm your godmother, that's why! My goodness, it's been forever. Appalling how the years go by. You were just a wee thing last I saw you, all plump cheeks and big ears." She peered closer. "Look at you now. Just like your father, though that wig does nothing for you darling, if you don't mind my saying so. You're lucky enough to have his eyes; for Goodness sake don't pair them with a purple wig."
Sakura felt a little flush rising up her neck, but her godmother—her godmother?—wasn't done surveying her. "And that padding in front isn't doing you any favors either. There's too much of it. It looks like you've got two pudding bags suspended from your neck."
The flush was up to her ears. "I'm just retiring for the night," Sakura said, dropping her curtsy. "If you'll forgive me."
"Offended you, have I? You're looking a bit feverish. Now that was one thing that Hino had control of: his temper. Didn't control anything else, but I never saw him blow his dickey, even when he was three sheets to the wind."
Sakura blinked. Blow his—
"Offended you again," her godmother said with satisfaction. "Come along, then. We'll go to my chambers. The butler put me one of the towers, and it's utterly heavenly. Like being stuck in the clouds expect for the pigeons crapping on the windows."
"But—I don't—what is your name?" Sakura finally asked.
She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Didn't your father ever tell you about me?"
"I'm afraid he died before he had a chance."
"The old sod," she said. "He swore that he'd tell you all about me. I'll give you the story, but not here. This castle is crammed with people longing for gossip and making it up as fast as they can. No need to feed the blaze."
Sakura held her ground. "And you are?"
"Lady Tsunade. Jaraiya, my husband, is over there getting drunk with the Prince of Wiitersburg. Poor Jaraiya simply can't bear to let a glass of brandy pass him by." She reached out and took a hold of Sakura's wrist. "That's enough of introduction; let's go."
She towed Sakura up the stairs, through corridors, up more stairs, and finally into her chamber, pushed her on the bed, and plucked off her wig. "You're a beauty, then, aren't you?"
Sakura felt as if a whirlwind had come out of nowhere, picked her up, and deposited her in the tower room. "Did you know my father well?"
"I almost married him," Lady Tsunade said promptly. "Except that he never asked me. I still remember meeting your father for the first time. It was at the Grand Theater."
"Was my mother there?" Sakura asked, feeling a surge of loyalty for her poor mother, who appeared to have been overlooked not only by Masako, but by Lady Tsunade as well.
"No, no, he hadn't met her yet."
"Oh," Sakura said, feeling better.
"We had the most delicious flirtation," Lady Tsunade said, looking a bit dreamy. "But your mother already had her eye on him, and within a few months her father—your grandfather—had reeled Hino in like a half-dead trout. Hino was fantastically poor," she explained.
"Oh," Sakura said again.
"Luckily for him, he was a handsome beast of a man, all that dark buttery hair and your green eyes, then the cheekbones…if things had been different, I would have married him in a moment."
Sakura nodded.
"of course, he would have been unfaithful to me and then I'd have shot him in a private area," Lady Tsunade said thoughtfully, "so it's just as well."
A giggle escaped Sakura's mouth. It was wrong to laugh, just wrong, when she was listening to tales of her father's rampant infidelity.
"He just couldn't help it. Some men are like that. I suppose you've met the prince? He's one of them. No woman will be able to keep that man at home, and though they're delightful to play with, it's best to avoid them. I've been married three times, darling, so I know."
"So my godfather must be dead," Sakura said. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"It was a long time ago," Lady Tsunade said. Then she gave Sakura a lopsided, secret smile. "Your father and I—he—"
"You had an affair," Sakura said, resigned.
"Oh no. Perhaps it would have been better for both of us if we had. We were young and foolish when we met, which meant that it was all talk of love and roses, rather than beds. And Hino couldn't marry me because my dowry wasn't large enough."
The more she learned of her father, the less she liked what she heard.
"Classic Romeo and Juliet," Lady Tsunade said, "but without all the stabbing and poison, than you very much. Instead you father imply married your mother, and that was the end of it."
"Did you know her as well?"
Lady Tsunade sat down at the stool before her dressing table, so Sakura couldn't see her eyes. "Your mother hadn't been strong enough to have a proper season, so I didn't meet her until your baptism."
"I have wondered how my mother and father managed to meet, since my mother was so frequently abed," Sakura admitted.
"Oh, they didn't. She saw him passing in Wave Park, and inquired about his name. From there, her father took over."
Sakura felt even more depressed at that revelation.
"And of course I married as well," Lady Tsunade said, swinging around to face Sakura again. "You mustn't think it was all sackcloth and ashes. I fell in love with my husband and I daresay Hino did the same with your mother. Over the years we saw each other occasionally. Not, I hasten to add, in any sort of clandestine fashion."
Sakura nodded.
"A few years later, I found myself dancing with him at Cronohall. I had just lost another child; I was never able to carry a babe. I wept all over his shoulder."
Sakura would have patted her hand, but somehow Lady Tsunade was not the sort of woman one consoled in that fashion.
"Next thing I knew, Hino had wrangled it so that I and my first husband were your godparents."
Sakura smiled weakly.
"I wanted to kill him. Oh, we did the ceremony, of course. How could we not? But I was so angry at his blindness, thinking that godmothering his child with your mother would somehow make up for my own lost children. His child of all people!"
"My father was not very perceptive," Sakura said, remembering how cheerfully he had told her that he was bringing home a stepmother, at a time when she was still grieving her mother's death. "But surely he was well-meaning?"
"Of course…but at the time I was so heartsick about losing another babe that I couldn't see it. I'm afraid that I put you out of my mind after the ceremony. In fact, in a fit of pure spleen, I pretended you didn't exist. But here you are!"
Which reminded Sakura. "I'm not actually here as myself," she confessed.
"Really?" Lady Tsunade glanced at her reflection and then powdered her nose. "I wish I weren't too. Sometimes I get so tired of Jaraiya. I'd love to be someone else, although if it meant I had to wear a purple wig, I might rethink it."
"The purple wig is part of it," Sakura said. "I'm here as my half sister, Hinata, who…" and she blurted out the whole story, largely because Lady Tsunade didn't look in the least sympathetic, but just kept nodding and saying things like "Hino, what a loose fish," in a tone that didn't seem judgmental, just definitive.
She neatly summed up the situation. "So at the moment you're playing Hinata, who's betrothed to a man name Kiba, who's dragged you here because he needs the prince's blessing for the wedding that has to happen because Hinata is as much of a light frigate as her mother."
"That makes her sound like a trollop," Sakura protested. "She's not, she's just in love."
"In love," Lady Tsunade said moodily. "For goodness sake, don't ever fall in love before you get married. It's just too messy and leads to appalling consequences. The only time I ever fell in love out of wedlock was with your papa, and that's because I couldn't help myself, though I fought it tooth and nail."
Sakura smiled. "I'm not planning to fall in love, Lady Tsunade."
"Forget this talk of love; it's all a pile of nonsense. I wish Jaraiya and I had been in Konoha for the season, rather than on the Continent. I would have met your trollopy relatives and demanded to know where my godmother was. At any rate, the real question is whom you should marry. After you finish this little charade, of course."
Sakura felt a great easing in the area of her chest. There was something about Tsunade: She was all luxurious curves with a great expanse of white bosom, but her big brown eyes were steady. You could trust her.
"You aren't going to cry, are you?" Tsunade demanded, looking suspicious. "I can't abide tears."
"No," Sakura said.
"So whom do you want to marry, then?" I trust you're not planning to steal away your sister's Kiba. He doesn't sound like much of a bargain."
"I know just whom I'd like to marry," Sakura said promptly. "That is, I don't know precisely who, but I know the sort of man. Someone like my father, but not, if you see what I mean. He wasn't home much, and I'd prefer someone who likes the country. I love our house in the country. It's beautiful, and just the right size, big enough for lots of children."
"You want someone like your father but without the wandering eye," Tsunade said, going straight to the heart of it. "Hino had snug estate, thanks to your mother's dowry, but nothing-"
"It's just the right size for me," Sakura interrupted. "I don't want to marry an earl or anyone like that. Just a squire would be lovely. Or even a merchant who'd moved to the country."
"No goddaughter of mine is marrying a merchant," Tsunade stated. "For goodness sake, girl, you're the granddaughter of an early. And your mother was no country bumpkin for all that she couldn't get out of bed. She was a lady and so are you."
Sakura hadn't been a lady for years, not since her father died and Masako moved her into the attic. She felt her throat tighten. "I'm sorry," she said. "I am going to cry."
"Ah well, happened to the best of us," Tsunade said. She got up and went over to a little silver tray and poured out glasses of pale liqueur. "I cried buckets after your baptism. I was so convinced that you should have been my child, you see."
"You did?" Sakura mopped up her tears and tried to concentrate.
"After that I turned my back on Hino and never spoke to him again." She added, a little gruffly, "I didn't stop thinking of him, though."
"I'm sorry," Sakura said. "He really didn't have a very good moral character, as it turns out. I'd rather my husband was quite different in that respect."
"Here, drink your liqueur," Tsunade said, tossing back her drink. "I carry it with me everywhere because it's the only kind of drink that Jaraiya doesn't like, so there's a chance I'll still have some tomorrow."
Sakura sipped hers. It tasted like lemons, fierce and cruel to the nose.
"Limoncello," Tsunade said with satisfaction.
Sakura sipped her limoncello again and found herself smiling at her godmother. She was so funny and frank. "I don't have a dowry," she said. "That is, I have a small nest egg left to me by my mother, but nothing much."
"That doesn't sound right, Sakura. What's happened to you? I've worked out that you must be at least twenty-three, so why aren't you settled with two or three squalling brats on your knee? Your wishes are modest enough, and you're beautiful."
"Sakura finished her glass. "As I told you, my father married again, but he died shortly thereafter. And he left all his money to his new wife."
"That's just the kind of stupid thing that Hino would have done. Probably neglected to make a will. But his estate was beans…nothing compared to your mother's."
Sakura's mouth fell open. "What?"
Tsunade had a sleepy kind of smile, but her eyes shone. "He never told you?"
"Told me what?"
"your mother was an heiress. Your grandfather wanted her married, so he bought your father, and he…well, I'm afraid that Hino wanted her guineas."
"He must've spent it," Sakura said, deflating. "Because I have only a very small income from my mother. If he didn't spend it, my stepmother would have."
"I don't know," Tsunade said dubiously. "How would she get her hands on that money? I vaguely remember Hino complaining that he couldn't touch it. I'll have Jaraiya look into it."
"Even if Masako took it illicitly," Sakura said, "I couldn't do anything about it. I don't like her, but—"
"Well," Tsunade said interrupting, "It doesn't matter."
"It doesn't?"
"Your father gave you to me, Sakura. And though I was ungrateful for the present at the time, I feel differently now." Tsunade reached forward and put a hand on Sakura's cheek, for just a second. "I'd like to try being a proper godmother to you, of you wouldn't mind."
Sakura's vision blurred again. "I would be most honored."
"Good!" She said, standing up. "Now you must run off because I've learned that if I don't have my beauty sleep I'm a total beast in the morning. There's nothing wrong with that, but since Jaraiya is downstairs drinking brandy, it would make two of us. And that's two more than this castle can bear."
Sakura stood up too and then hesitated for a second.
"Come here," Tsunade said gruffly, and held out her arms.
For the first time since her mother died, Sakura felt safe.
When Sakura got back to her room she eyes the cord that would summon Riku to prepare her for bed, but she didn't feel sleepy in the least.
Images were jumping through her mind, memories of her mother's wistful face at the sight of her father, of her father's polite courtesy toward his wife. Could it be that he was still in love with Tsunade? Or did he then fall in love with Masako?
Her heart felt wrenched between her mother's sadness and Tsunade's, between the romance of young love and irritation at her father for allowing himself to be bought.
Finally she decided to take the dogs out for a walk. She calmed Caesar by fixing her eye on him, and then gave him a cheese bit once he stopped barking.
The great drawing room was still blazing with light as she entered the inner courtyard, the dogs pulling ahead. She walked the other directions, stumbling across the cobblestones.
The outer courtyard was only dimply lit, but there seemed to be a set of large cages lined up against the wall. The dogs were straining at their leashes, so she stopped walking until they calmed down. Then she gave them a round of cheese, and this time they stayed quite politely by her side.
"If you're good," she told them, "I'll bring you into company tomorrow." She had to do that in any case; Hinata had carried those dogs to be an essential part of her disguise.
They all looked up at her the moment she spoke. She was getting a bit fond of them, especially of Fusion. He was afraid of everything from a random fly to a dark shadow, but bravery is not a required virtue for dogs. Plus he was very nice to sleep with.
The cages were frightfully large. Light from the single lantern hanging on a hook on the wall didn't reach past the bars. The dogs stopped short of the first cage, sniffing intently at the dark enclosure. Sakura peered inside, but couldn't see anything. There was rather a fierce smell though.
"What on earth would a prince keep in a cage?" She said out loud. Caesar gave a little woof in reply, but kept his eyes focused on the cage. Fusion was huddled against her leg, showing no inclination to learn more. She reached up toward the lantern—when a big hand reached over hers and took it first.
"Who's—oh!" She swallowed the word in a squeak. It was the prince himself, looking even more sulky and brooding in the wavering light from the lantern. His unruly hair was falling out if its ribbon and his mouth look haughty. Thin-lipped, she told herself, raising her chin. Everyone knew royals were inbred.
"I keep a lion in this cage," Sasuke said, matter-of-factly. "There's an elephant over there, with her companion, a monkey. And there was an ostrich, but we moved her into the orchards along with some Hima goats." He raised the lantern, and Sakura saw a slumbering form in the back of the cage. As the light fell on it, one contemptuous eye opened, and the lion yawned, showing off rows of efficient-looking teeth.
"Teeth isn't really the right word for those," she observed.
"Fangs," Sasuke said with satisfaction.
The lion closed his eyes again, as if his observers were too boring to contemplate.
"You better keep those dogs out of the cage," the prince remarked. "The lion threw up all day yesterday after eating my uncle's dog."
"Not the pickle-eating dog?" Sakura said. "What a shame. Your uncle told me that he is quite convinced his dog will return soon."
"Would you, given that diet?"
"It wouldn't make me leap into a lion's cage," she pointed out.
"I doubt anything would make you so reckless."
That was the kind of comment she hated because it implied something about her personality—but what exactly? She certainly wasn't going to ask Prince High-and-Mighty himself for elucidation, so she just walked off in the direction of the elephant's cage.
He followed her with the lantern. "The elephant's name is Lyssa. She's too big for the cage, so we're making her a pen in the orchard. But if we put her out there, her monkey might run away."
The monkey was sleeping at the elephant's feet, one long arm curved around her leg. "I doubt it. It looks like love to me."
"If that's love I want nothing to do with it, " Sasuke said, his eyes laughed.
"I know just what you mean," Sakura said, a giggle escaping her. "You'll never catch me sleeping at someone's feet."
"And here I thought you were desperately captivated with my nephew."
"Of course I am," Sakura said, sounding insincere even to her own ears.
"Ha," the prince said. "I wouldn't want to stake out poor Kiba in the orchard and hope his presence would keep you in bounds."
He was rather terrifying attractive, when he wasn't smoldering in a princely way, but laughing instead. "Kibi would never allow himself to be put out to pasture," she said, trying to think of a magnificent set-down.
But he cut her off. "Shikamaru says you've been ill. What happened?"
For a moment Sakura's mind boggled and then she remembered Hinata's sweetly plump face and her own angular cheekbones. "Nothing much," she said.
"Other than a brush with death?"
"I hardly look that bad," she said sharply.
He tipped up her chin and studied it. "Shadowed eyes, thin face, something exhausted about you. You don't look good."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're terribly impolite for royalty. I would have expected that you were trained to be diplomatic in every circumstance."
He shrugged. "It must be your beauty. It brought out that rare moment of truth in me."
"Just my luck," she said crossly. "You bolt from diplomacy just in time to tell me how dreadful I look."
He put a finger on her lips and she stilled. It was as if she suddenly saw him again for the first time: all that restless energy and gleaming sensuality bound up with huge shoulders and a sulky mouth. "You, Miss Haruno, are talking rot and you know it. I can only imagine what you looked like with a little more meat on your bones, but you're exquisite."
His fingers dropped away and she felt her mouth curling into a smile, like a fussy child soothed with boiled sweet. He was leaning against the cage now, looking pleased with himself, as if he'd taken care of yet another little problem.
"What are you doing out here in the dark?" she asked. "Don't you want to return and be fawned over some more? Life is so short."
There was a moment of silence after she issued this appallingly rude statement. Then he said, rather slowly, "I actually came out to see if the lion was still vomiting up bits of pickled dog. And the Konohans do not fawn, in my experience."
He turned away to hang up the lantern, so hi voice came from a patch of darkness. "How did you meet my nephew, of you don't mind my asking?"
"We met in a cathedral and fell in love immediately," Sakura said, after a second's pause in which she wracked her brains to remember the story.
"In love," the prince said. "With Kiba. Whom you affectionately refer to as Kibi, I noticed. Rather like some sort of pond life."
"Yes," Sakura stated. "In love."
"If you knew what love is, you certainly wouldn't be marrying my nephew."
'I love Kibi," she repeated.
"You'll eat him alive by the time he's twenty," he said unemotionally. "You know he's younger than you are, don't you? Still wet behind the ears, the poor little viscount. Though perhaps you like it that way."
"You are a horrible man," Sakura said, shading her voice with just the right amount of cool disdain. "I am glad for your sake that your betrothal was a matter of imperial alliances, because I doubt you could catch a wife on your own." Which was a rotten lie, because she couldn't think of a woman who wouldn't slaver to marry him. Except herself, of course.
She walked off, then turned and said acidly, "Your Highness."
There was a flash of movement and an arm wrapped around her waist from behind. He was hot and incredibly large and she could feel his heart beating. He smelled wonderful, like a bonfire at night, smoky and wild and out of bounds.
"Say that again," he said, his breath touching her neck.
"Let me go," she said steadily, fighting the impulse of her body to relax back against him, turn her chin, invite—invite a kiss? She'd never been kissed, and she didn't intend her first kiss to be given by an arrogant and unruly prince who was irritated because she didn't fawn over him.
His voice was a smoldering, smoky demand. "I just want a taste of you, Miss Hinata Haruno." His lips touched her neck, and the feeling of it shivered down her spine.
With one swift gesture, she raised her pointed, jeweled heel and slammed it down in the spot where she guessed his foot had to be, twisting and wrenching away from him.
They had moved close enough to the walls that she could see him in the light from the windows. "You are an ass," she said through clenched teeth.
"Did you have to be quite so violent? These are my favorite shoes," he said. "And I don't think I'm always an ass."
She backed up a few more steps. "While I might pity you for your faulty thought processes, you have so many other attributed that command pity that I won't bother."
"If I am an ass," he said, "what does that make you?"
"Uninterested," she said flatly.
"A snappish little shrewd," he retorted.
His eyes were narrowed, and for the first time since she met him, he looked angry. Against all odds, the look of him made her laugh. "You look like a grocer whose daily allotment of potatoes didn't arrive."
"Potatoes," he said. "You compared yourself to a potato?"
"Look, you just can't go and kiss ladies whenever you feel the urge," she said. "Here, Caesar! Come back." Caesar had apparently realized the lion was asleep and had started sniffing at the cage bars again. "I don't want you to turn into the lion's supper."
"Why can't I?"
A mop of his dark bangs had fallen over his eyes and she had to admit that he looked like the sort of man who could kiss anyone he pleased. He looked explosive and utterly sensual and dangerous. Tsunade's assessment of him came back into her mind at that very moment: He was just like her father, the sort of man who would never be faithful.
Her smile turned bittersweet. "Because you're not for every woman," she explained, trying to put it kindly. "For goodness sake, are all princes like this?"
He walked closer and she eyed him, but he didn't look lustful as much as curious.
"You can't tell me that a woman simply enters a royal court from wherever you came from and expects to be kissed by any prince who happened upon her."
"Of course not!"
"Well, why on earth would you think I am available for kissing?"
"To be honest, because you're here in the dark," he said.
It was a fair point. "I'm only here because of my dogs," she said defensively.
"You spoke to me for quite a while. You have no chaperone with you. Naruto tells me that you arrived with a single maid to attend you."
Damn Masako for throwing their governess out of the house. "I would have brought my maid downstairs with me but she has indigestion," Sakura said.
"I think you forgot to summon her. I assure you that young ladies in the court never forget their maids, and they are never alone," he stated. "They travel together, like flocks of starlings. Or packs of dogs," he added, as Caesar growled at the lion.
She could hardly explain that her governess had been dismissed the day after her father died, and consequently she had never learned to travel in flock. "I should have been accompanied by my maid," she said, "but you mustn't assume that every woman wishes to kiss you."
He stared at her.
"This is a ridiculous conversation," she muttered. "Caesar, come here! It's time to go." The dog stayed at the cage, growling.
"Absurd animal," she said, scooping him up.
"I thought," Sasuke said, "that I might seduce you."
She turned around, mouth open. "You can't go about trying to seduce young ladies!" she squeaked.
"If I weren't betrothed already, I would consider marrying you."
Sakura snorted. "You might consider it the way you would consider a case of the measles. No, you wouldn't, and you shouldn't imply that you would."
Sasuke took one step and looked down at her with his dark midnight eyes. Some dim part of her mind registered that his lips weren't thin at all. Quite the opposite, really.
"I'm a shrew, remember?" She told him. "Look, what are you doing? You're a prince. This is remarkably improper conversation, and you shouldn't try to do it with other young ladies or you will be forced to marry someone, likely at the end of a dueling pistol held by her father."
"Your father?" he asked, still staring down at her.
"My father is dead," she said, feeling a queer thump of her heart. "But you and he had a great deal in common, and I'm afraid that that has given me immunity to your particular charms."
"Not to mention, you're in love with Kiba. Did your father want you to marry him?"
"My father died years ago. He doesn't belong in this conversation. Anyway, you're quite mad. You couldn't marry me, and it's unkind of you to raise my expectations. What if I believed you? You are marrying a Russian princess, by all accounts."
"It's true that I need to marry an heiress," Sasuke said casually. "You're one, by all accounts. I don't necessarily want someone well-connected. I just want someone rich." His eyes drifted over her bosom. "Beddable."
Sakura hoisted Caesar a little higher so the dog almost covered her wax breasts. "This is the most improper conversation I've ever had in my life," she observed.
"It must be your age that inspired my impropriety," he said. "I've had many improper conversations though not, I admit, with nubile maidens."
She felt that like a sting, though she didn't work out whether he was implying she was young or old. "Do you often confess your desire to marry a woman for her money, then?"
"Generally we speak of other desires."
"I can just imagine," she muttered. "This has been absolutely charming. Just so you know, I'm not available for marriage. And I'm not rich either." She buried the memory of Tsunade's belief in her mythical dowry. It was too fantastical for truth.
He cocked an eyebrow. "You're not? Does Kiba know that? Naruto seems to think you have a healthy inheritance."
"Absolutely," she said. "Kibi loves me anyway."
"Interesting. My nephew strikes me as the sort who would put adoration a strong second to monetary policy."
"Unlike you, who would apparently put it at the bottom of the list."
"As would you," he said cheerfully.
"Does this mean that I can walk my dogs without fear that you'll leap out at me from a dark corner?" she asked, putting Caesar back on the ground.
"One would certainly think so," Sasuke said. "But then…you're extraordinarily beautiful." And while Sakura was still registering that comment, he gathered her up in his arms in a businesslike fashion and lowered his head to hers.
And then he wasn't businesslike anymore. All that restless, wild energy she felt in him poured into his kiss, into a demand that she had no hope of denying. She thought kissing was about a brush of the lips, but this…this was about tasting and feeling. He felt like silk and fire.
He tasted like fire. She leaned into it, opened her mouth, feeling a tremor go down her back again. He murmured something into her mouth, something hot and sweet. She dimly remembered that she meant give him a lesson, to teach him not kiss any lady he met.
She ought to give him a slap.
But then he might take his lips away, or his large warm hand from her waist, or…it was only innate self-preservation that saved her. His kiss had started out with a question, but it was quickly turning into a demand, and inexperienced though she was, her whole body was answering in the affirmative.
Yet one rather small, cool voice in her head reminded her exactly who she was, and whom she was kissing.
She pulled back; he resisted for one second, one glorious blazing second, and then it was over.
Her first thought was utterly irrelevant: that she'd never noticed how thick his eyelashes were. Her second was that she'd done nothing more than feed his absurd conceit, and now he would think that he was irresistible even to Konohawomen.
She opened her mouth to say something that ought to shrivel his self-esteem, but he spoke first.
"Oh damn," he said, and there was a kind of hoarse hunger in his voice that spoke of truth,
"I wish you were my Russian princess."
And just like that, her irritation with his pompous princely self-drained out of her and she started gurgling with laughter.
"You're—" She stopped. Did she really want to compliment him, to add to his already monumental self-regard?
It was only fair.
She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. "If money could buy kisses like that, I wish I were an heiress. I'd even go so far," she added, "as to wish myself a princess's pedigree."
His hands came up and cupped her face. "I have to taste you again," he said with a queer kind of groan in his voice.
They were thinking the same thing, she thought dazedly, about tasting—but then she was tasting, and he tasted like dark honey and something smoother and wilder, something that made her tremble and—
And then he put her away.
"You are dangerous," she said slowly.
His smile told her that she'd said the wrong thing, fed that monumental self-conceit again.
"Princes," she said with a sigh. "I suppose you do have some usefulness after all."
That stung, and she noted it with satisfaction because her knees were trembling and her—her legs—
"No," he said, a bit harshly. "I have little utility, I assure you. Now, unless you wish to be caught and kissed by another stranger, Miss Haruno, I strongly suggest that you return to your room posthaste, and do not emerge again unchaperoned."