"What were you two thinking?" Makoto asked, concern warring with bafflement on his face. "Haru's supposed to get used to activity again slowly—not go brawling in the middle of the night!"

Rin reached to tug at the back of his crown and, finding it absent, tugged on his hair instead.

"The throne has been won less nobly in the past," Nitori said from behind Makoto—unheard by all save Rin. "My Liege did as I bade and nothing more. He deserves the crown he has borne these years."

"I'm sorry," Rin said, not looking at Makoto. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Makoto's face softened. "You've got a competitive streak a mile wide, and things are still unfinished between the two of you. But you need to take care of each other. No more sprained wrists!"

Rin nodded, swallowing the lump of shame in his throat. Guilt burned in his chest. His envy had injured an already weak Haru—it felt like an unbreachable chasm yawned between them. He'd burned the bridge that might have mended their relationship.

"I'm fine," Haru said, but his voice remained flat and unaffected.

How much of Haru had been worn smooth and featureless in the desert? And Rin had driven him to five years of exile over a petty fight and his own pride.

Haru fastened sharp eyes on Rin as if reading his heart. "I traveled for my own sake."

"And you better not go traveling again," Rin snapped. "Don't make me pull rank on you."

As if he deserved the crown. He couldn't bear to lose Haru again while knowing that nothing but death waited for him out in the endless sands—but he couldn't bear to sit in his shadow for the rest of his reign. If he deserved to reign at all. King of the world—and he'd broken an injured friend's wrist. Yeah, some fucking king he was.

"Rin, could you go get Haru some soup?" Makoto asked.

He began to nod before he realized how ridiculous it was to send a prince to get soup for someone. Glancing at Haru's injured wrist, however, he turned on one heel and walked out of the room.

"That was improper," Nitori said, winding beside him like water through a channel—he always looked less human when he moved.

"Makoto wants some alone time with Haru," Rin muttered. He kept his eyes sharp for eavesdroppers who might think him crazy. "Can you blame him? They were practically joined at the hip as kids, and now I've fucked everything up."

"You've done no such thing, My Liege."

"And enough of this my liege crap." Rin winced. "I don't deserve the crown."

"You are a good king—"

"Fuck no, I'm not. I'm not a king at all." Rin ducked into an empty room so he could look at Nitori properly. "And I'm going to give up the throne. Ruling's not for me."

Nitori's face typically shone warm and constant as the sun—or smooth and placid as an undisturbed pool. At his words, however, agony spread across Nitori's face. "You can't!" he shouted. "If you renounce your throne, we won't be able to talk again!"

Rin froze. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I may only speak with the rightful ruler of my waters," Nitori said. Tears pooled in his eyes. "You are my prince and my king. If you pass on your right to rule, we will never speak again."

Rin swallowed hard and looked away. "What if I share the throne?"

Nitori said nothing, and responsibility settled like sand on his shoulders. His kingdom deserved better. He'd had enough.

But he couldn't lose Nitori.

"Don't expect me to stick around forever," he muttered. It was pointless to try to reach out and ruffle Nitori's hair—he'd never even bothered to try making physical contact with the incorporeal spirit. But those relieved eyes shone up at him, and he couldn't help himself.

To his profound surprise, his hand met more than air. Nitori's gray hair looked like concrete but felt like cool water. He might have dipped his fingers into the oasis itself—it felt soothing and soft, just barely tangible. Nitori stared back up at him, and his hand grew heavy. He slid his fingers across Nitori's temple and ran a thumb over the stone-smooth skin of his cheek.

"My Liege?"

Rin yanked his hand back and used it to cover his burning face. "Haru needs some soup," he said roughly, twisting away. "And I'll put up with being prince a little longer."

"Thank you, My Liege!" Nitori beamed, and Rin's heart stammered in his chest. "I will do my best to ease your rule."

"Yeah." Rin ran his hand through his hair, reaching for his crown, and his fingertips burned when he realized it still waited in his throne room. He felt scattered, but he masked it with a confident swagger out the door. "Now I gotta figure out what soup will piss Haru off the most."