As Kouze promised, everyone in the castle knew that Touga had declared his intentions by the time lunch was served to the cheerfully exhausted redhead and his slightly less worn out guest. Ruka wouldn't say anything about their sparring matches, but there were many pairs of opera glasses to be found in the castle and all of them had been trained up/down at the dueling arena. No one had to be told that the lord of the castle was enjoying himself, even when his injuries meant that Utena bested him. She appeared to be enjoying herself just as much, and guessing at their playful banter was the subject of many conversations. Those who had not seen the pink-haired girl interact with Touga had heard stories from those who had, and every eye was analyzing the way they seemed so comfortable now in each other's presence.

There were knots of weeping girls and fuming boys, of course, jealous that their Master had eyes only for Utena. But for every former student unhappy at the change in status quo, there were two or three who dared hope that the rumors were right; that one day soon they would all return to their normal lives. Some of those resented Touga for his control over them, but some understood that he was as trapped by the curse as they were. All clusters of speculation dispersed, however, when the horses touched down in the castle courtyard. Everyone agreed that they would not speak of the change in Master Touga, but all eyes were now on him, judging, weighing every word and gesture.

The castle held its collective breath the rest of the day, watching silently as would-be Prince and no-longer Playboy circled around each other, casual smiles held up protectively, words testing the edges of the other's guard, flicking out to score a hit here, be deflected there. If there was a scoring system in place for the verbal sparring, no one was counting points. It was clear that the once-empty heart of the Student Council President now harbored love for Utena, but no one knew how she felt about him. Wakaba, the newcomer, might have had a guess – but she refused to discuss it.

No one pressed the issue. Utena was the key to everyone's freedom, and they knew it. The problem was that no one knew exactly how the curse was supposed to be lifted.

Unsurprisingly, Miki was one of the minority who resented her for shaking things up – and his twin's firm support of her didn't help. Unfortunately, or fortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. He was all too aware that Kouze could muster stronger support for her stance than he could dream of. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of writing to End of the World about the pink-haired interloper and her effect on the Playboy, but in the end that idea was discarded. After all, no one knew how End of the World sent the letters, and a letter can't be sent if you don't know where it's going. It wasn't that he cared about what would happen if the curse was broken, or that he enjoyed his duties as majordomo. No, what drove him wild with impotent rage was that his sister – who once ignored him in favor of doting on Master Touga – now devoted herself to Utena. And still ignored him.

It was a very sulky majordomo that assisted his Master in undressing for the night, and the lack of sexual insinuations did nothing to reassure him.

Touga listened for the muffled boom signaling that his majordomo had left the wing and eyed the vast Master's bed with faint distaste. The enormous sea of red silk was a symbol for everything he was trying not to be. After a moment, he left the Master bedroom and considered each of the smaller bedrooms. No doubt they had been intended for a harem of favored sexual partners, but Touga had never used them that way. In the mirror-guarded hallway he stopped and took the hidden corridor to the Rose Room, arms spread absently so that his fingers brushed the walls on both sides of the corridor. As always, he wondered why the corridor was four feet wide when the room it ended in wasn't much bigger.

The heavy velvet Utena had spread over the broken glass was gone, as was half of the broken glass. As he watched, one fragment lifted itself up out of the pile and floated upwards, fitting itself neatly into place in the stained glass window above. The castle was repairing itself. As he left, Touga wondered if it was fixing what had been broken, or seeking to undo the change that had been inflicted upon it. That was an unnerving thought; if the castle resisted change, would it try to "fix' him? He pushed the question out of his mind as he closed the mirror door.

Maroon, black, deep purple, leaf green – none of the bedrooms closest to the Master's appealed to him. When he reached the powder-blue couch Utena had tended him on, he paused.

I'm looking for a Prince, not a Playboy pretending to be one.

Even in his memory, the words sliced straight through the considerable protection of a well-trained ego and pierced a heart he'd thought was sterile and hollow. With that one sentence, she'd utterly rejected everything he was and somehow conveyed her complete disdain for it. She'd rejected him, and that was more painful than he would have thought possible.

Absently, his eyes wandered up and over the walls, lighting on a powder-blue door. It opened onto a bedroom decorated in the same gentle color, and Touga knew this was where he would spend the night. The down comforter was much heavier and warmer than the silk sheets he was used to, but it made him feel comfortable. Secure. It felt good after a day of sparring with Utena, especially when his back would not allow him the luxury of a long, hot soak afterwards. He ached all over, and not just from the bruises where Utena had gotten him with a practice sword. His wrist throbbed, but not as much as he thought it would. No, most of the pain was muscles he hadn't challenged in a while.

Touga smiled at the ceiling. She'd enjoyed the sword practice, even when he beat her, and she hadn't gloated when she'd beaten him. What a change from sparring with Saionji! Seeing her smile, flushed and sweaty with errant curls of hair sticking to her cheeks, was worth a little bruising. Having her laugh and joke with him was more precious still. She'd treated him like Touga, not Touga, lord of the castle or Touga, shameless man-slut or even Touga, Student Council President.

If he'd been looking for a sign that he was doing the right thing in attempting to smash the shell of the Playboy, that was it. No power or control over others had ever made him feel as good as her casual camaraderie, and the choice that had seemed so foolhardy yesterday now seemed like he only logical course of action. If he couldn't be her Prince, maybe she would accept him as her friend. Would that be enough? Could he redeem himself that much in her eyes?

He'd have to ask her to spar again tomorrow. He obviously needed the conditioning, and she needed the practice. And maybe…

Aching but swaddled in comfort, Touga fell asleep before he could finish the sentence in his own mind.