Author's Note: I'll never abandon you all, even if it's been near two years since my last update.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs
IV
It was nearing eleven o'clock at night when Okita walked through the halls of the castle, balancing two small silver trays on his palms. His brother had gone off to heal the King Takagi, leaving him with a little bit of time to attempt to make amends with their new houseguests.
He arrived at Tokio's room first, placing one of the trays at the door and raising his fist to knock.
"C-come, come in," came her hesitant reply, and when he opened the door with a smile, she shrieked, turning her back. She was in nothing but her nightdress.
"I'm sorry!" he cried out, turning to face the doorway, "I didn't realize you were indecent."
Tokio hurriedly grasped for her dressing gown, pulling on the soft pink robe with more failed attempts than successful ones, a furious spreading of red across her cheeks.
"I thought you were my maid," she admitted, tying off the belt. With a deep sigh and a slight fanning of her face, she turned, and forced a smile. "It's alright now."
He grinned in return, setting the tray down on her writing desk and with a flourish, lifted the cover. A small cake for one sat there with a cup of steaming chocolate.
"I'll admit I'm unaccustomed to visiting a lady's chambers when she isn't expecting me," he told her sheepishly, "I should have announced myself."
"It's your castle," she pointed out, crossing her arms. "You can do as you please."
There was a bitter tone in her voice and he recoiled slightly. "I didn't intend to embarrass you, your highness," he said truthfully.
Tokio's jaw was set. This prince hadn't yet given her a reason to dislike him, but if what Zhan has said was true, he was still a threat.
"You can't win me over with sweets," she snapped, "don't think I don't know what sort of man you are."
Okita blinked, stunned, then his shoulders slumped and his upper lip curled slightly as he muttered, "Zhan."
"Don't come any closer," she warned, eyes narrow as she gripped her bedpost, "I am not nearly as delicate as my sister. Prince or not, I will defend myself and my honor."
Eye wide, the prince stepped back. She certainly was a fiery little thing! "I have no intention of having my way with you, princess," he told her, "I only wanted to bring you a bit of dessert."
Tokio relaxed, if only slightly, so he added, "and to tell you that Hajime isn't nearly as horrible as he appeared to be tonight."
"You have to say that," she snapped, "you're his brother."
"I have to say that because it is the truth."
His words were stern, yet gentle, and even though Zhan had warned her that he was a dangerous man, there was honesty in his eye and hope on the small upturn of his lips.
"He carries a lot of hurt," he whispered, "he'll never show it, but inside. . .he just wants to be healed."
"Healed from what?" Tokio inched forward, the dessert before her tempting and decadent.
Okita smiled softly. "Everyone we've ever loved is gone, your highness. The kingdom we had worked so hard to build has been reduced to less than a thousand villagers. Time passes and we live on but we have no purpose. We're nothing more than a novelty."
"Why are you telling me this?" she demanded, "He's set on marrying my sister."
"Well," he started, thinking on it, "there's two of you and only one of him. If she can't be what he needs, perhaps you can."
"I doubt that," she shot back, "besides, there's two of us and one of you as well. Aren't you hoping to get something out of this deal?"
"Hajime and I both want the same thing," he agreed, "but for vastly different reasons. "
Tokio eyed him carefully, silently wishing he would leave this room and let her be.
"You needn't fear me, Tokio," he continued, his voice soft and earnest, "I won't be wooing either of you. I am merely a spectator in this game."
"Why?" she wondered, her voice losing its edge as she gathered the courage to take the plate from the desk. She was too close to him. He sensed this, and took two steps backwards.
Okita didn't answer at first, his eye focused somewhere on the floor, trying to come up with the right words. "I've killed every woman who has ever loved me. It's been three hundred years and I'm still not ready to endure that pain again."
A knot formed in Tokio's throat and she stared ahead at him, stunned. She hadn't expected such an answer.
"I don't think you killed them," she replied. "Perhaps you put too much blame on yourself, your highness." If she were to make her way here she ought to be at least on good terms with one of the princes, no matter how dangerous they were.
He smiled at her, but this one was blank and haunting. "I wish that were so."
The cake was no longer pulling at her taste buds and she set it down with a soft look of longing. What a waste. Okita put a palm to his forehead.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, "it's been so long since I've had someone other than Haji to talk to. I must have ruined your night."
His brow was furrowed and Tokio could tell by the way he was pushing the heel of his hand into the bridge of his nose that he was regretting everything he had said to her. It was funny, and almost cute, how at this moment, the lethal three hundred twenty-three year old prince resembled little more than a sixteen year old boy, kicking himself for his own words.
She relaxed and sat at her writing desk. "It's alright," she told him gently, "I don't think any of us are ourselves tonight."
He removed his gloved hand from his face, eye wide and curious as he looked at her. Was she no longer afraid?
"Can I ask you one thing?" she queried, tapping her fingers against the desk in a sporadic rhythm.
He nodded.
"Everyone, yourself included, has told me how dangerous you are. Is there anything we can do to. . ." she considered her words carefully, trying not to offend his highness, "to remain unharmed?"
"Just don't touch me," he answered, placing one hand on the handle of the door, a signal that he was through with this conversation, "never touch me."
It was a strange sort of request, one that Tokio regarded with a suspecting look, but she said nothing as she bowed to her and bid her goodnight.
Shutting the door behind him, Okita bent to retrieve the other tray and moved to the next door, inhaling and giving the wood a gentle knock.
There was no reply from the other side so he tried again, this time with an added, "Your highness?"
Light peeked out from under the door and though he knew he shouldn't have, he pressed two fingers down on the handle, testing it. It was unlocked, so he pushed it down all the way, opening the door a crack, hoping he wouldn't be upsetting this one too.
Unlike her sister, Shousha had not been keeping busy. Instead, she was fast asleep on the bed, still in her traveling clothes. Okita's mouth turned up at this and he put the dessert down on the desk, reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill.
He jotted down a quick note, and moved to her bedside where she had left the candle burning. He wondered for a moment if he should call her maid in to dress her for bed, but then decided perhaps he ought to just let her sleep soundly for the night. She'd had a rough day, after all.
Folding the note in half, he propped it up on the table beside her bed and observed her silently. He thought for a moment. There was no one about, so with a slow movement as if he were doing something he ought not to, he pressed a hand to his patched eye. He would try again.
Like before, it was the vision of a nightmare, but this time the image wasn't fleeting.
White flashed across his sight, accompanied again by a woman's scream. Her scream, and she was calling his name, begging him or begging for him, he couldn't decipher. It was loud, so loud he couldn't think. His hand dropped from his eye and his knees buckled from under him.
As he fell, he felt blood splatter across his face. It was warm, fresh and sticky, and it rolled down the side of his face, dripping onto his neck. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his palms to his ears. It was so loud. Why was it so loud?
The brilliant white of the light continued to assault his vision, and though the pain was shooting through his entire body, he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't hear it, but he felt himself whimper.
Then, like a vice equipped with knives, something clamped onto his left forearm. Opening his mouth to cry out, he clutched the arm. Something had bitten him. He curled around himself, pressing the injured limb to his stomach. She was crying now, wailing as if seeing him hurt this way was the greatest torture she had ever been forced to endure. But why? She didn't even know him.
"I'll be fine, princess," he managed to ground out, "stop crying."
And she did.
In fact, everything stopped. The world turned to silence and in a snap, the white light disappeared, replaced with the common fuzzy blackness of closed eyes.
Okita exhaled, exhausted, and opened his human eye.
He was in Shousha's bedchamber, huddled on the floor next to her bed, gripping an arm that hadn't been touched by anything at all. He raised a hand to his face and found it completely devoid of blood. Best yet, the princess herself lay still and silent, her small chest rising and falling in a peacefully steady rhythm, completely enveloped in her slumber.
A hallucination. That's all it had been.
Standing on two shaking legs, the prince let out another ragged breath. Something wasn't right. He'd have to talk to Zhan about it.
But yet. . .
As he watched her sleep, he couldn't find it in himself to leave. He shouldn't have been there like that, he knew. He also should not have been removing the glove from his right hand, but it couldn't be helped. The leather slid off with ease and as he lowered himself to his knees, he swallowed.
Elbows on the mattress, he reached forward. He just wanted to touch her. Just once. She was beautiful; how did Hajime not see it? Her skin wasn't pale and porcelain like her sister's, but a smooth, light caramel like the treats at the autumn festivals.
He remembered her eyes, so big, dark, and full of despair. He didn't want her to look that way. No, Okita wanted to see them shimmering and bright, full of life and laughter. His fingers hovered over her lips for a moment. They looked so soft, so smooth. If only he could run his thumb along the bottom one, a gentle display of affection. How long had it been since he'd touched a female?
Three hundred years.
How long had it been since he'd appreciated doing so? Far longer than that.
He was close to her, so close he could feel her breath against the pads of his fingertips. It was warm—warm, soft, and steady. She was lovely.
She sighed in her sleep and he froze. A cold chill ran through his body and he felt his jaw clench.
What was he doing?
Jerking his hand back, he stood, stumbling until his back hit the wall. He raised his bare hand to his face, staring at it in horror, then snapping his eyes to the limp glove in his left hand. Why had he taken it off? What had he thought to accomplish?
Shoving both hands into his hair, Okita stared at the floor, soaking in his own lack of control. He knew better than this. Why was he giving into temptation now?
With a hastily whispered apology, he snatched the dessert tray from the desk and tore from the room. He deposited the uneaten food in the kitchen, pulled on his glove and with quick and purposeful strides, began to scour the castle for the wolf.
He found him curled up by the fire in Saitou's study, back from his journey, though the elder prince was not present. Zhan cracked open one of his eyes, a gesture in sardonic humor as they both knew he couldn't see.
"I've been hallucinating," Okita stated.
Zhan rose, and yawned as he stretched. "Perhaps you should mind what you eat then, your highness."
Unappreciative of the joke, Okita set his mouth in a firm line. "This is about the eye, not wild flora."
The wolf knew as much and without much interest, began to walk away. "Don't be so foolish as to assume you can look into your own future, Soushi."
Okita wanted to argue that he hadn't, but he doubted Zhan would have much of an answer for him. He never did.
"Oh, and your highness,"
The prince blinked once, beckoning the wolf to issue what was surely an insult.
"Unless you want to be locked up again, you shouldn't go touching big brother's things."
That bastard. He already knew what had transpired in Shousha's chamber. Of course he did. Zhan knew everything, but revealed nothing.
Instead of showing his distaste, Okita laughed, shaking his head. "Yes, it wouldn't do to lose Haji's hope for a bride now would it? It was a lapse in judgement and it shan't happen again."
"Indeed," the wolf agreed, "besides, we all know what happened the last time you had a lapse in judgement with his woman."
Keeping his jovial grin, the prince plopped himself down in an armchair, picking up a book. "Oh no, Zhan," he corrected, "you can be assured that time was quite deliberate."
The large creature bared his teeth in a short snarl. "I hope these girls bring about your death."
Though his smile didn't disappear, it faded slightly, turning into something less maniacal and far more earnest, filled with longing.
"As do I," he whispered.
xxxx
When Tokio stepped out into the hall the next morning, Shousha was just emerging from her room as well. Tucking a pin into place, she smiled at her sister.
"Did you sleep well, Tokio?"
She hadn't, but never one to admit weakness, she nodded. "Yes and today is a new day, with new hope."
But Tokio didn't believe this. In fact, she felt significantly less hopeful than before. Now they were faced two two potential foes: the bitter and cutting Hajime, who seemed difficult to please and quick to anger, and the much more frightening and deadly Soushi who, if what she gathered was correct, killed people by accident.
While it was fair to say after a night's rest she wasn't afraid of him, per se, she wasn't particularly eager to be near him either.
"I wonder if Papa is any better yet," Shousha wondered as they headed towards the breakfast room. She hadn't intended to have breakfast with the rest of the castle's residents, but a note on her bedside table had persuaded her otherwise.
Please join us for breakfast. I'd love to hear you speak again. -Soushi
It had been a simple request, but Shousha was a simple minded girl. The younger prince had consistently been kind to her and no matter what Zhan said, she was open to his friendship.
Tokio took her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't know. I hope so."
They stepped into the breakfast room and to the relief of both of them, Hajime was absent. Soushi, however, was seated as he had been the night before, grinning like a schoolboy at the two ladies before him.
"I'm so happy you'll be breaking your fast with me!" he laughed, clapping his gloved hands lightly. Tokio stiffened.
Shousha was less hesitant. With a sweet smile, she strode over to his side and dropping a polite curtsey before seating herself beside him as he had invited her to do the evening before.
"Thank you for the invitation," she whispered, leaning towards him slightly with a shy smile.
Shoving down everything that had transpired the night before, Okita laughed and offered her the fruit tray. "It's always so dull here," he admitted, "It's so lovely being in the company of women again."
"I imagine it is," came the sweet voice of Tokio. Seated across from the other two, she piled some eggs onto her plate. Only Okita picked up the hint of ice in her words, but he never faultered.
"I do hope you two ladies will enjoy your stay with us. We're a bit unpolished and probably outdated, but we will do our best to ensure your happiness."
It was then that Saitou made his appearance. He strolled in, toting a decorative wooden cabinet. Three heads tilted in curiosity.
He stopped before Shousha and before she could scurry to her feet and give him the honor of a low curtsey, he set the cabinet down behind her plate.
"A gift," he muttered gruffly, giving her a small bow, then taking his place at the head of the table.
At the front of the cabinet there was a door, and a tasseled key protruded from its lock. There was a strange smell coming from the box, one that wasn't unfamiliar to her, yet she was unable to place. Shousha was hesitant to open it, unsure if her new betrothed truly intended to court her, or if he meant to embarrass her once again.
Still, it was a gift and it would be rude not to open it, particularly when the giver was starting so intently, awaiting her reaction. So, even if it meant she would be the butt of yet another one of his cruel thoughts, she turned the key and opened the door.
As the contents were revealed, Okita stood with a loud cry.
"Haji!" he protested, slapping two hands on the tabletop, not at all approving his brother's decision of what was an appropriate gift for a lady.
Tokio came around the table, her curiosity getting the best of her, and clamped her hands over her mouth.
Shousha was smiling.
It was a small smile, subtle in nature, and her eyes held a spark of hatred, finally satisfied. Resting in the cupboard, staring blankly forward, was the head of her mother, the queen.
"You are a monster!" Tokio screamed, eyes flashing in Saitou's direction.
Okita pulled Shousha's plate away from her as blood leaked out of the cabinet and towards her food. His mouth was set in a frown and he glared at his brother.
"This is no way to be wooing a princess!" he scolded, throwing a strawberry at Saitou's face. "Chocolates! Gowns! Naughty underthings! Those are gifts for ladies. Not, not—" he made a flourishing gesture towards the cabinet, "heads."
With an insulted huff (though no one really knew why he was so put off by it), Okita moved to close the door and spare the princess of the sight, but her hand shot up and she gripped his arm, stopping him.
Tokio froze and her stomach flip flopped. Shousha was touching him. Would she lose her sister so easily?
But Okita didn't seem bothered by this. Instead, he glanced down at her with a questioning look. Her grip was fierce and even through the thick fabric of his tailcoat he could feel her fingernails.
"This is good," she said finally.
Tokio took a step backwards, relaxing, and Okita also withdrew his arm. Saitou picked the strawberry from his lap and without emotion, placed it on the table before him.
"Your father is in good health," he said, "and will remain so."
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible, but her happiness evident. "And what did you do with the rest of her?"
The good half of his mouth flickered up in a fierce grin. "Zhan was hungry."
"It was quite painful, I hope."
"Naturally," he replied, pleased at the success of his token, "I brought you back only what was left."
Left feeling unusually woozy, Tokio lowered herself back into her seat. Shousha had spoken about killing her mother many times before, but she had never imagined her sister would have actually been so thrilled to have it happen.
"And what should I do with this?" she asked. She didn't have much use for a head.
Saitou steepled his fingers. "Whatever you wish."
Shousha thought for a moment, her eyes narrow and vengeful. "Let the crows have it," she settled on.
Acknowledging this with a nod, the prince snapped his fingers, ordering a footman to do just as she said.
"Your appearance is acceptable today," he told her factually, fixing his coffee to his liking after giving her a stern once over.
She let out a small 'thank you', as she took her plate back from the younger prince and continued to enjoy her breakfast, appetite not lost. Saitou nodded at this, pleased.
He was making progress.
xxxx
Author's Notes: No, Saitou. You aren't making progress. And you've still got a bit of strawberry on your face. :3