Chapter XI
In Which the Prince Removes his Pants
Shikamaru wasn't given a moment to gather his thoughts (as they had sped out of control with the strong urge to punch that little—) as Temari took his arm and grabbed his hand.
Sweat had gathered on her brow, probably from the pain of her wrist, making her look sickly and unwell. Her lips had drained of color, contrasting sharply with the tan glow of her skin.
"Promise you won't mention this," she demanded.
He was taken aback. In the few seconds after he'd finished mending her hand, he half-expected her to leap up, scream bloody murder, and chase off after Sasuke in an attack of spiteful justice. It came as a surprise to see her so complacent, sitting perfectly still, not even shaking from anger.
"He just broke your hand," Shikamaru argued. "Shouldn't you be angrier?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm fuming," she assured him, though the words were shaky and tinged with the hint of pain. "But… he brought up a good point."
Silence. He waited for her to continue but found her mouth had pursed into a thin line. As the seconds grew longer and she still said nothing, he felt his anger boil. "What did he say?"
Shikamaru never believed Temari capable of feeling uncomfortable, but that is exactly what she looked like as she refused to meet his eyes. "Whether or not he attacked me is irrelevant. I am the stranger here. The people will be more eager to believe an Uchiha and Konohanese noble than a foreign princess whose morals are questionable simply because of her culture."
"That's not the point—"
Her brows drew together in frustration as she finally looked at him. "But it is, Shikamaru!"
The effect was immediate. He couldn't understand the meaning of her words; he was aware only that she had said his name. It made the hairs on his arms stand on end; electrifying shivers ran down his spine to the ends of his toes. He swore he felt his heart melt as the last syllable fell from her mouth and into his ears. Suddenly, the world had gone still and in that small, miniscule moment, everything was well and there was no Sasuke and no broken wrist, just the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes upon and the distinctive way his name sounded like a prayer on her lips.
Of course, as Life often works out, the moment was gone, and he felt her nails digging into his skin, begging for attention.
"I want to hurt him so badly," she muttered darkly, her face drawn in anger, "but there is nothing I can do. He has power. If you were to argue my case… you'll appear a manipulated, smitten teenaged boy who was seduced by the evil, conniving Sunan princess."
"Then how are we to explain your wrist?" he asked pointedly, gesturing grandly at the hand gathered limply in her lap. "Say you fell down the stairs?" He couldn't help the sarcasm laced in the words.
She shrugged, seemingly uncaring. "Sure. That's plausible. People break their wrists from falling down flights of stairs all the time, don't they?"
He slammed his hand on the table, rattling the few bowls the cooks had left behind. "I just want to—"
Temari's good hand grabbed his chin and pulled his face close to hers—so close he could feel the air she expelled from her nose. "Oh, let it go. Even if you went out there right now, you wouldn't be able to do a thing!"
"It's better than sitting here and pretending it didn't happen," he shot back.
"Just let it go. He won't try anything for a while. There is no reason why this should bother you so much." Her grip loosened. Her fingertips pressed lightly against his skin while sweat broke out on his palms (whether from anger or something else, he had no idea).
That was when he knew.
He had lost. Completely and utterly, without even much of a fight, he had lost entirely to the exotic woman before him, whose hands were surprisingly soft on his skin and who needed only to say his name to turn him to putty.
"You need to understand," she continued, "that as much as I would like to leave this place and not have to get married, I don't have any desire in being a part of a plot in bringing about the end to this kingdom."
A tiny part of him ached at the words 'not have to get married,' but he tried to pay no mind to it; which proved surprisingly easy considering he was more upset about her broken wrist and the cretin who'd done it.
She continued, his short distraction gone unnoticed, "And that is what would happen if you were to let yourself be blinded," she glanced at her broken wrist, "by this." The words sounded so matter-of-factly, so out of place in her vocabulary that he wanted to shake her and snap her out of it.
Instead, he said, "This? I'm angry that he hurt you."
She rolled her eyes and leaned away from him. "It's just a broken wrist."
Clearly, she did not understand.
And Shikamaru was not sure he could make her understand.
He did not try to reason with her. He could barely reason with himself (or begin to try and figure out whatever it was he was feeling) that he couldn't be expected to try to talk Temari out of whatever nonsense the idiot had fed to her. So he took her good arm and helped her out of her chair, ignoring the strange look he got in return, and escorted her back to her room.
"You should sleep," he told her as she stood awkwardly by the doorframe, holding the wooden door ajar with her shoulder.
She nodded her head. "Yes, I suppose I should…"
He turned to leave but her voice stopped him.
"Wait!"
Shikamaru looked over his shoulder to see her, uncommonly vulnerable beneath the flickering lamplight of her room, her dress slightly rumpled but otherwise flawless. She was still somewhat pale, her lips chapped, her hair a messy mass above her face—but he'd never witnessed her looking more beautiful.
"Thank you," she said gruffly, avoiding his eyes. She looked as if she were in pain for saying the words. "For… everything."
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "Of course."
She shrugged and moved away, letting the door shut with a soft thud.
Now he had to figure out what to do with that Uchiha.
He didn't have time to figure out what to do with that Uchiha.
Temari burst into his chambers a few days later, clad in questionable attire (as usual), and wearing a very worried expression.
"You're not going to like this," she said when she reached him, holding out a folded piece of parchment.
Shikamaru looked at it questionably before meeting her eyes. "What is it?"
"A letter."
Obviously. He felt his heart drop a little into his stomach when he caught sight of the Royal Sunan Family seal on the front. "From your father?"
"Worse."
Impossible. No one was worse than fathers. That much he knew from watching Ino's father claim death to any man who even thought of his daughter inappropriately.
"I don't—" he began.
"From my brothers," she explained. And then she opened the letter and held it out for him to read.
Temari,
We have been informed that an Incident has occurred and that you have been injured. We shall be on our way to Konoha in a matter of hours to make sure that you are well.
Gaara & Kankurou
P.S. If I find out it was that kid you're marrying, I'm going to kill him. –Kankurou
P.P.S. He means it. –Gaara
P.P.P.S. Gaara said he'd tear him apart, limb by limb. –Kankurou
P.P.P.P.S. Stop adding things to this letter. And I never said such a thing. Do not make up lies. –Gaara
P.P.P.P.P.S. Yes, you did! -Kankurou
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. No. –Gaara
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Whatever. I'll break his little neck. (So will Gaara.) –Kankurou
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I have never mentioned taking any violent actions. (Although, if I must, I will.) –Gaara
Not many things scared Shikamaru. Not spiders or trolls or goblins or enchanting mermaids that sold kidneys in the Black Magical Market or even the weird, creepy Orochimaru wizard.
But Temari's brothers had terrified him to an utmost degree where he knew that if he had been wearing boots, he would most definitely be shaking them.
"When are they coming?"
Temari was exasperated. "Look at the date," she said, shaking the parchment before his face.
And so he checked.
And realized the letter had been written three days before.
And calculated the distance from Suna to Konoha to take approximately three days.
And knew that Temari's fearsome brothers were only a day, if not hours, away from arriving to the palace and murdering him for Temari's broken wrist.
And then,
"Wait, do you have a spy here?"
Temari scowled, "I would not have a spy here. I don't need my father to be aware of every move I make."
"Then how would they know? Did you tell them?"
"Are you calling me a snitch?"
He shook his head. "No! I'm just—this is—how would they know?"
The blonde princess was just as perplexed as him. She took a seat on his bed, unmindful of wrinkling her skirts, and regarded the letter with frightening intensity, as if she meant to read right through it and figure out everything merely by staring at the piece of yellow parchment.
"I haven't the slightest idea," she finally declared.
"Who could it be?"
In a matter of seconds, Shikamaru ran down a list of all possible suspects.
Only it was an extremely short list with hardly a single person on it.
The better question, then, became: Who would benefit from telling the Sunan Royal Family of Temari's misfortune and, even more concerning, who would know of the Incident?
His parents knew because, as it was, they were the King and Queen of the Palace and had eyes and ears in every conceivable place (except the closet where the bastard had tried to do what he had tried to do). Chouji knew because he was his best friend. Ino knew because Chouji was in love with her and would tell her anything and because she had been tutoring Temari.
And because Ino knew, that meant the rest of the Konohanese court knew as well.
Suddenly, Shikamaru's list became a mile long which made his head hurt, partly because there were a lot of names and partly because he had come up with the names in only a few seconds.
Temari didn't seem to care about his list, or the names, or, for that matter, who could have been the mystery informer. "I don't think that matters. If I may gently remind you, my brothers are coming and we must come up with a very, very, very good reason as to why I have a broken wrist." She paused to give the letter another glance. "Very."
"Would they really hurt me?"
"Honestly?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
That was wonderful.
The girl on his bed didn't look very happy with the way events were turning out, either. Only she didn't have to worry about her death by the hands of two overprotective brothers.
It wasn't like he had broken her wrist. Perhaps indirectly, seeing as he had invited the Uchiha to the party, therefore allowing the man to enter the Palace and attempt to—no. Those weren't good thoughts to think.
He had to figure out what to do with the brothers. He didn't need to meet them to be absolutely terrified and fear for his life. Temari was frightening enough—he couldn't even begin to imagine muscled men who looked like her and were probably much more willing to use their fists.
"How would I get on their good side?"
Temari stared at him for a long moment before laughing darkly, "They don't have good sides."
They were eating breakfast when it happened. He was moving his fork around, paying his eggs little attention as he watched Temari lift a strawberry, dip it in whipped cream, and take a small bite. He'd been watching her for so long he was sure he hadn't blinked since she started devouring the fruits at the table, dipping each delicate bite in the cream available.
She finally caught him staring. "What?"
He shook his head. "Don't you have fruits in Suna?"
She stared at him blankly, dropping the hand holding another strawberry to the table.
"I live in a desert."
Right. He forgot about that.
He shifted, uncomfortable under her gaze, and went back to his scrambled eggs even as his appetite faithfully disappeared. From the corner of his eyes, he watched her watch him until she shrugged and bit into her strawberry.
Shikamaru felt like a pervert but he just couldn't help it. Temari was a beautiful, albeit terrifying, woman he couldn't even begin to deny. She wore exotic, see-through dresses that accentuated the curve of her back and the cinch of her waist. He had never, in his entire twenty years, seen a woman eat something so sensually as Temari did. In fact, he was almost positive that anything she ate could be misconstrued as highly sexual. It was just the way her mouth moved, the way her tongue darted out to lick her lips—
"What the—!" He leaped away from the table, having knocked over a cup of steaming tea all down the front of his trousers. Temari dropped her food in surprise and half-stood, arm outstretched with a napkin.
"Damn," he muttered, wiping away with his hands, ignoring the burning sensation that was beginning to rise along his thighs. "Damn, damn, damn."
By then, Temari had reached him. "Did you burn yourself?"
"No."
He lied. He wouldn't have been surprised if he no longer had any skin on his thighs.
She knew. She rolled her eyes and dropped to her knees, giving him a good glimpse of her chest when he looked down to see what she was doing. She began to pat at his front with her napkin, making him hiss.
"Keep your eyes straight ahead," she warned him.
He did just that. And every time he wished to look down, he dug his fingernails into his palms, hoping she didn't notice.
At some point, he was sure that the tea had burned away any and all feeling from his lap.
"Shikamaru," she said, bringing his attention back to her.
He looked down, too eager.
She slapped the front of his trousers extra hard as she said, "To be honest, this isn't really helping. You might have to remove your trousers."
He choked back a squeal (because men, let alone princes, did not squeal). She regarded him with very little interest as she leaned back on her haunches.
"If you were burned, and I'm more than sure you were because you look like you just had hot oil poured over you that was then lit on fire, patting your trousers won't help. Let me take a look."
Seeing the intent in her eyes, Shikamaru backed away, the stinging pain on his thighs practically non-existent as he realized what Temari was going to do. He felt as if he were being backed up into a corner until he actually was.
"Just take off your trousers!" Temari ordered.
"No!" Shikamaru used his hands to shield the front of his lap, away from the hands that were ready to strike.
"What's the big deal?" she asked, annoyed.
"Really? Really?" He pointed at her and then at his groin. "It's inappropriate!"
Temari laughed mockingly. "I promise I won't look."
"T-that's not the point," he sputtered.
"I promise I won't be impressed?" she said, a hint of an evil spark igniting in her eyes.
He growled. "That's not it. We have your reputation—"
Her smile nearly split her face. "My reputation? We do things differently in Suna, you know."
Shikamaru couldn't help raising his hands in astonishment. "You're not a—"
She attacked him immediately. He hadn't been prepared for it at all. Temari's hand gripped his trousers and pulled, hard, until they slipped down his legs and revealed the frighteningly red skin of his thighs.
"Oh my gods," she whispered, reaching out with her good hand to touch the smarting skin, bright crimson and threatening to melt off.
Then the door opened.
"Princess Temari, your brothers—SHIKAMARU, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
Shikamaru did not know which was worse: that his mother stood at the door, staring at Temari while the blonde's hand was poised in mid air near his crotch, or that Temari's two brothers stood behind her, radiating all intents of murder, at the sight of their sister on her knees before her future-husband while his trousers were off.
Either way, Shikamaru was sure he was about to die.
AN: Thank you so much to everyone who has continued reading and has showed me support by reviewing! Please continue doing so!
And to new readers, please submit a review! It really strengthens my resolve to keep going.
