Klaus sat alone in a sea of gold, staring across at the beige rim of distant mountains. He wondered how far away they were. How long it would take to reach them if he just got up and started walking right then and there.

Strange thoughts like that had been occurring to him of late, and he couldn't quite figure out why or what they meant. Or where they were leading. But he found himself envying birds and butterflies and even the leaves that tumbled about in the breeze.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts about the mountains, imagining how they would look passing far beneath him, that he didn't hear the approach of soft footfalls.

'There you are.'

Beatrice sat beside her youngest son and brushed her hair back with a deft, almost impatient movement of her hand that Klaus knew well.

'I could hardly see you in the stalks,' she said blithely. 'Your hair's the same colour as the wheat!'

Klaus grinned.

'So's your hair,' he pointed out.

'True. I gave you my hair and eyes,' she said, repeating the little mantra that Klaus had heard time and again. She held his chin and gritted her teeth affectionately. 'But you have your Papa's strong jaw.'

Smiling and blushing slightly, Klaus pulled away. At ten years old, he knew he was getting too old to be coddled by his mother despite the guilty comfort he drew from it.

'Uncle Hartmann said you were watching the planes the whole time today,' she said, stretching her legs out before her and crossing them.

'I was,' Klaus said eagerly, thinking back to the air show. 'You were really good!'

She beamed at him. Her shoulder-length hair flew back in the breeze, fluttering alongside the short red scarf around her neck. She wore her trousers with the masculine cut; a pair that had always aggrieved Claudia, who, at fifteen, considered herself at the forefront of women's fashion.

Your mother's really something, isn't she? Too dazzling for those of us left behind on the ground.

'We talked about you a lot, me and your uncle,' Beatrice said with a playful lilt. 'He said you're getting really tall for your age. At this rate, you might end up taller than your father.'

A flare of happiness at the thought.

'Really?'

In Klaus' mind, his silent, gentle father always seemed to be a kind of giant.

Beatrice smiled.

'Uncle Hartmann also said you were aiming for the sky,' she said, trying to keep her voice buoyant.

'Yep!' Klaus said at once. 'I'm going to fly in the next war, like you did. And I'll help win the war for our country. And they'll give me a medal. And afterwards I'll fly all around the world and explore the whole thing.'

'Is that right?'

Klaus leaned back on his hands and stared up at the soft scudding clouds. Beatrice watched him closely and felt a tug of sorrow along with pride. She tried to picture him as an adult. The image would always come through rather hazy.

'And what'll you do after that?'

'After what?'

'After you're done flying.'

Klaus tilted his head back to Earth and looked at his mother in confusion.

'I'll never want to stop flying.'

The sorrow came to Beatrice in a stronger wave. For a few moments, she wondered if she ought to say anything more.

'You might one day,' she said, emotion edging into her voice just slightly. 'I did. In fact, there was once a time I thought I'd never fly again.'

Sitting up straighter, Klaus' heart beat a little louder seeing her expression. It was like he had turned the corner and seen a side to his carefree, daredevil mother that he had never seen before. He had been on the brink of asking why but the look on her face made him lose his nerve.

Instead he observed, 'But you're flying now.'

'I sure am.'

'So why'd you change your mind?'

He was relieved to see her smile.

'I met your father.' She looked up at the sky as though their story was etched there. 'Somehow, when I was lost, he found me. And he brought me back home. And then I wasn't afraid to fly anymore.'

And when I did take off again, it wasn't because I was trying to find something.

She then heard herself and glanced down at her son, who had absorbed each word with wide, intent eyes.

'Did any of that make sense?'

'I think so.'

He turned to stare through the wheat stalks before him, his gaze vaguely preoccupied.

Beatrice began to regret where she had taken the conversation; one that had begun so light-heartedly. Wanting to shield her son from what had happened to her was instinctive, but perhaps she was being overly cynical. There was every chance, after all, that the next generation wouldn't make the the same mistakes.

And either way, she hoped she would be around long enough to protect her child from whatever lay ahead of him.

But before she could conceive of a way to lighten the mood, Klaus spoke up in a sprightly, determined tone.

'Okay, then. After I'm done flying, I'll find someone, like you found Papa, who'll bring me home.'

He paused, feeling as though something was still missing.

'But we'll keep a plane in the backyard so we can go anywhere in the world whenever we feel like it.'

Beatrice laughed.

'That,' she said, 'sounds like a wonderful plan.'

Klaus seemed pleased, even though he was aware of how implausible his little addendum sounded.

After a long, comfortable silence, Klaus hesitated.

'Mama,' he said slowly.

'Yes?'

'I think I found my call sign.'

'Really? What is it?'

'I don't want to say,' he said, suddenly and uncharacteristically self-conscious.

It was a sight that warmed Beatrice's heart.

'Tell me,' she insisted gently.

Klaus looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

'Okay.'

He told her in an undertone that she barely heard. Afterwards, there was a small pause.

'I found it in one of Emmerich's books,' he confessed. 'It means Werewolf.'

His mother's face broke into a large smile and she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. Pride and happiness cocooned him for a moment before he drew away.

'Mama!' he protested, his face bright red.

'Suits you perfectly,' she said warmly and ran a hand through his hair. 'My little wolf.'

Lying beneath the wisteria tree, Klaus waited for Taki and thought of his mother.

That day in the wheat fields – the day he had spoken his call sign aloud for the first time – was one of his strongest memories of childhood. He wondered if his entire life could be mapped out in wheat stalks, laburnums and wisteria.

He absently touched his cheek where Beatrice had kissed it and he was almost surprised when his fingertips met the ridge of his cut.

No, he realised. Not his entire life. There was also the drone of airplane propellers. The roar of his bike. The pain of bullets and shrapnel entering his body. The loss of his men. Things that his mother had tried to protect him from. Things he was glad she hadn't been around to see.

He tried to breathe steadily to soothe the burgeoning pain in his chest. He had forgotten his painkillers in his room and couldn't quite bring himself to begin the walk back. So he hoped the pain would somehow magically ebb of its own accord –

'Klaus-chan!'

Two small bodies launched themselves at him from behind the trunk of the tree where they had stealthily crept up on him. One of them landed on his lower abdomen.

Pain exploded in his chest in bright little fireworks. He groaned and curled inwards.

Midori knew immediately that her plan to pleasantly surprise Klaus had backfired. She sprang off him and watched helplessly as he squirmed in the grass before her, making small noises. Standing a little behind her, her older sister Chiyeko also watched wide-eyed.

'Klaus-chan!' Midori said, sounding shocked. 'We're sorry! We forgot you were hurt!'

Klaus tried to say something.

'Klaus-chan?' she tried again nervously, wondering how much trouble she was going to be in for breaking her brother's knight.

'I'm fine,' he said in a strangled voice, blinking through the pain. He glanced up at their terrified faces and almost laughed.

He sat up slowly, trying again to steady his breathing. After gingerly prodding himself, he could tell none of the wounds had opened up again. After a while, he was fit enough to at least pretend that he wasn't in pain.

'Are you okay?' Chiyeko asked.

'Never better,' he puffed. 'But maybe don't tell your brother you did that. He'll send me back to hospital for another week.'

That was all the absolution Midori needed.

'Okay!' she said happily. She sprawled on the grass on her stomach, unmindful of the small stains it would leave on the front of her kimono. 'We won't tell him. We're really good at keeping secrets, you know!'

Chiyeko sat nearby a little more demurely, keeping a close watch on Klaus for signs of weakness.

'Are you?' Klaus said, with a fond smile. He was always struck by how similar Midori's eyes were to Taki's.

'We are!' Midori said. 'We know a secret you don't know!'

'Oh, really?'

'Yeah!'

'If I guess what it is, will you tell me I got it right?'

Midori and Chiyeko consulted one another with a look.

'Okay!' Midori said, despite her sister's obvious discomfort.

'We can't!' Chiyeko said to Midori in a loud whisper. 'We told Onii-chan we wouldn't!'

'But if Klaus-chan guesses, then it's not like we told him!' Midori reasoned impetuously.

Klaus' interest was piqued.

'What did your Onii-chan tell you not to tell me?'

'Uh-uh,' Midori chastised with a smile. 'You have to guess!'

'Right.' Klaus leaned back against the tree, keeping a steady hand on his chest. 'Is it… about your mother's visit? Or Yura's?'

He was looking forward to meeting the two women in Taki's family whom he had so far only heard about, though Ogura hadn't yet enlightened Klaus as to the reason for their visit.

'Nope!' Midori said, already starting to love the game.

'Uh…' Klaus ventured. 'Is it…?'

For the next minute or so, he made terrible guesses that inspired gleeful shakes of the head from his tormenters.

'Is it about me?' he finally said, in kindly exasperation.

They glanced at one another.

'Sort of!' Midori acceded.

Klaus wasn't sure why his pulse quickened. He blinked and struggled to come up with a follow-up question. Midori's patience was starting to give way.

'Can we give him a clue?' she asked Chiyeko. 'He's really bad at this.'

'Maybe one,' Chiyeko said doubtfully.

'Klaus-chan,' said Midori without skipping a beat. 'Remember how Onii-chan went to the west last week?'

'Yes.'

Klaus didn't exactly have to rack his brain to recall it. It was Taki's return from the west that had brought him so close to the Roskilde disaster.

Midori leaned in conspiratorially.

'Well –'

'Imouto-chan?'

Taki's voice made all three turn at once.

The girls were almost as happy as Klaus was to see him; his presence at home had been as scarce as his visits to the Royal Hospital.

Though suspicious about the fragments of conversation he had heard while he approached, Taki decided to let it slide. Seeing Klaus had sent a wave of nervous energy through him and he couldn't focus enough to reprimand his sisters.

'Can you give us a minute?' he asked them softly.

Klaus wondered if he was imagining the faint flush in Taki's cheeks.

Taki's head was still thrumming over his long, surreal conversation with the emperor. The words were so loud and distinct in his mind that he felt as though they were somehow transmitting to others.

Now, finally, having surmounted every other obstacle he could think of, there was only person he had left to speak to.

After the girls left, Klaus began to lift himself from the base of the tree.

'No, stay there,' Taki said, seeing the hand Klaus had lifted bracingly to his chest. He went to Klaus and knelt beside him, searching his face.

'How are you feeling?'

'Like I haven't seen you in years,' said Klaus, hoping the smile would counterbalance the hyperbole. It had only been a little over two days, after all, since Taki had visited him in hospital, vacant and distracted though he had been.

'I'm sorry.'

Klaus took his face in his hand, and took a moment to remember the spellbinding pull of his dark eyes as he had seen them for the first time beneath that same tree. Eyes that made him feel small. He pulled Taki closer and kissed his lips.

Taki leaned into the kiss with a small sigh. Klaus' tongue was warm. His broad lips were familiar, as was the way they moved and pressed with gentle pressure against Taki's. Familiarity that was new. Each time, the very fact that Klaus' touch and taste was familiar would briefly leave Taki winded. It was a paradox, he realised, that would recur for the rest of his life.

Afterwards, he tried to break away from Klaus' simmering golden gaze to cast a quick glance over his body. Klaus' shirt was open at the top few buttons so Taki glimpsed some of the gauze bandages on his chest.

'The doctor said you needed bedrest,' Taki tried, already knowing his words were futile.

A wide, tired smile.

'This counts, right? I've barely moved from here for hours.'

And then your sisters dive-bombed me.

He saw the way Taki's eyes lingered on his left cheek.

'How's it looking?' he asked.

Taki softly brushed his thumb along the bottom of the cut where it began, an inch away from the corner of Klaus' mouth, all the way up to his temple.

'It's starting to scar over.'

Only a faint breeze whispered between the trees. Summer had shed its oppressive skin for a day and sunlight fell in dappled patches through the canopy, glistening on the ground like gold coins. Taki's hair lifted and fell only in small gusts.

Klaus was surprised and happy to note that Taki seemed present for the first time in a week, as though he had finally stepped through the cloud that had shrouded him. Wherever he had been for the past week – the past few months, really – he was back.

Well overdue for his dose of painkillers, Klaus felt the pain beginning to grow in gradually stronger waves. The shrapnel wound beneath his collarbone was especially vindictive. But he would withstand it and more if it meant he was able to enjoy that moment for longer.

'I'm sorry for not being able to see you that often while you were recovering,' Taki said slowly. He tried to feel his way into the conversation he had been gearing up for. 'I just didn't have the time. But now –'

The fact that Taki was there and apologising to him again made Klaus want to reassure him.

'It's alright.'

He touched Taki's jaw again and brushed his fingers through his silky, heavy hair. He thought of how close he had been to losing him. If the train had been any closer...

He had known, in his bones, that the explosion had killed Taki. To that day, he fought to understand why that certainty had consumed him for those few harrowing minutes in a Eurotean hospital.

But Taki was here now. And whether or not Klaus would ever have all of him, he was determined to cherish whatever Taki could give him. It was a decision - a compromise - he had made months ago the west and huh seemed all the more urgent now. He suddenly needed Taki to know it, even if it came out sounding strange and over-earnest.

Maybe what you have is real happiness and you're just not seeing it.

'It's alright, really,' he repeated when it looked like Taki was about to say something else. He held Taki's face more firmly in his hand.

'Klaus –'

'No, wait. I'm sorry if I made you feel guilty in the hospital. I know things will always come up that are more important than me. I know that I'll never –'

I'll never get as close to you as Hans did. I'll never be patient enough. Observant enough. Good enough. Not enough for you to say those words and mean them.

'I know I'll never be... be enough. But –' and he gave a self-deprecating smile, one that folded his scar into a small lightning strike near his eye. 'But as long as I can call you Master, and have you like this, I'll be happy. So don't worry about me so much, okay? I'll –'

But he stopped because the look on Taki's face was one of surprise. Almost dismay.

'Taki?'

I know I'll never be enough.

The words had been uttered so carelessly that Taki could easily have missed them.

'Of course you're enough,' Taki said, his voice strained. 'You – you're everything.'

Klaus' heart stopped.

'Klaus, you...' Taki stammered, his cheeks steadily turning red again.

Though he knew his distance and his distractions had always been visible to Klaus, no less so since they returned from their time in the west, he had no idea that Klaus would have ever doubled back on himself and taken the blame for it.

'You're the reason – you're the only...'

Taki's feelings tumbled over themselves. After almost two years, he couldn't possibly coin everything together for Klaus in a way that did justice to how he felt. Or the fact that thoughts of Klaus had fuelled every one of his actions over the past week.

On top of that he saw that, for whatever reason, his inane stuttering had caused Klaus to blush in his turn.

Klaus felt his diaphragm grazing somewhat painfully against the insipid flecks of wounds on his chest. Those few words, so sudden and unexpected, had floored him and left both his lungs and heartbeat in a worse state.

And he had, of all things, blushed. He could feel it and he knew Taki could see it. He berated himself furiously.

That's how you react? After waiting for so long to hear him say something like that –

And suddenly Taki had turned away and gotten to his feet. He took a few steps towards the wisteria.

Klaus barely had time to regret his silence – for failing to seize the moment and pull Taki close – before Taki began speaking again.

'I –' Taki said, his ears still red. 'There's something I need to tell – to ask you.'

We know a secret you don't know!

Klaus held his breath.

Taki stared for a moment at the violet arms of flowers moving lazily in the breeze, as though they were idle fingers feeling out a beat or melody that no one could hear.

He turned to face Klaus, relieved that he was standing and Klaus was sitting, and relieved that there was some distance between them. Perhaps, gods willing, it would help him get through it.

'Before Roskilde,' he began uncertainly. 'When I was in the west. I… I stopped by the cottage.'

Klaus blinked and stared for several seconds.

'Why?'

And why didn't you tell me?

'I just – I wanted to see it,' Taki replied, his voice again sounding laboured. 'I was really… quite upset when you told me they sold it. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just wanted to see it again.'

Klaus couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. And seeing; the light dusting of red on Taki's cheeks had deepened and his eyebrows were drawn; as though each of his words was being wrenched out. He didn't once meet Klaus' eye.

'I was there, and then…'

Taki stood at the edge of the field, staring at the short wooden gate and the shingles that Klaus himself had replaced months earlier. Klaus' singing voice came to him, strong and clear, between the dings of his hammer.

'Taki-sama,' Hasebe had said uncomfortably, waiting by the car. 'We have to go. The train leaves soon.'

Taki had torn himself away, again feeling like a child.

Right before he got into the car, he suddenly stopped. Behind him, Hasebe faltered.

And then Taki turned back.

'Taki-sama?'

Before he knew it, he was striding down the winding dirt road between the tall stalks of wheat. He swung the short wooden gate open and rapped on the door, his heart in his mouth.

It was opened by a tall stranger with dark hair brushed grey at the temples. Someone who didn't at all expect to see a foreigner standing on his porch wearing a long jade military coat.

'Yes?' he said.

Hasebe waited tensely by the car for almost twenty minutes. Any longer and they would almost certainly miss their train.

Rikard Svendt and his wife Elise didn't know what to make of it at first. They sat across the kitchen table from the young foreigner who spoke their language so fluently and whose eyes were startlingly intense. They had grown quite fond of the land in the few weeks they had lived on it.

But Taki had offered them almost three times what the property was worth. And they knew they would be fools to reject an offer like that.

When Taki finally returned and climbed into the car, he didn't offer a single word of explanation and Hasebe didn't ask.

Klaus stared.

'You bought it?'

'Yes,' said Taki nervously. 'As of last week it's under my name. But I want you to – it's yours. If you want it.'

There was silence as Klaus tried to process.

'You bought my cottage back for me?'

'Yes.'

Klaus was speechless. He was on the point of thanking him but he was held back by the glaring problem of not being able to do much about his cottage and farm when he was thousands of miles away.

Taki's gaze was on the grass before his feet. His hands had subconsciously curled in on themselves again. Klaus sensed he was getting closer to the reason behind everything.

The wound beneath his collarbone sent a spiteful flare of pain through his body. He ignored it.

'And if... if it's something you want too,' Taki said, so quietly that Klaus could only just hear him over the breeze. 'I was hoping – wondering – whether you wanted to go there. To live.'

There was a small pause. Taki's face was flushed and pained.

'With me.'

Silence fell.

Klaus stared again, still not comprehending. The wisteria rustled patiently.

Only the dead see the end of war.

They ended one after it started. They were trying, now, to stop one before it started. But in some way, if they stayed there and adhered to duty, they would always be fighting.

Taki had always accepted it as his fate. One that he didn't have a hand in writing. But now...

'I don't –' Klaus stammered, trying to gather his thoughts. 'For – for how long?'

Taki finally looked at him. And the answer was there in his eyes.

For good.

Six months ago, in a large walk-in storage room that had been turned into a private holding cell, Taki Reizen was the first to discover Lieutenant General Hans Regenwalde's gift.

And Hans had seen Taki's secret wish, nebulous and unformed though it was, even before Taki had seen the golden fields with his own eyes.

They spoke of a great many things that night. And in the end, Hans had carefully phrased one thing that he suspected would come back to Taki in a crucial moment of his life.

Only you can resolve it, Taki-sama. You're in a truly unique position. In history. In politics. Even in your family. Whether in your role as commander or political leader, whether in this past war or the next, whatever course of action you take will be the first of its kind.

Those words came back to Taki when he gave up the Imperial Throne for Klaus.

And they came to him again when he gave up everything else.

Meiji had been unable to stop smiling at the complex blend of emotions on the young prince's face.

'I know it's not the right time to leave everything behind,' Taki said falteringly.

'There will never be a right time, Taki. Not for something like this.'

They had moved from the Throne Room to Meiji's private quarters again and Meiji had asked his attendants and guards alike to leave them in peace.

'And in fact, as far as timing goes, you've done quite well. While Roskilde is still fresh in our minds, the arms race will be stalled for a good long while. Plus, at home, the shoguns no longer have a great deal of responsibility.'

'I've asked Ayabe if one of his nephews would be willing to shoulder some of my duties until Your Majesty elects a new shogun.'

'Ayabe is a little distrustful of his luck,' Meiji commented. 'For his family to be able to claim any rights to your historic province is quite something.'

Taki wasn't overly surprised that Ayabe had come to the emperor with the news.

'What about your family?' Meiji inquired.

'I've left almost all of my inheritance to my sisters and Sumi, their birth mother.'

'And they all know of your intentions?'

'Yes.'

'It appears you've thought it all out carefully. Not that I would have expected anything less from you.'

'Thank you, Your Majesty,' Taki said, though something in the emperor's tone made him nervous.

'So,' Meiji said, his eyes never leaving Taki's face. 'You've come to ask permission to cast aside the duty that the gods have bestowed upon you since time immemorial.'

Taki lowered his gaze to the floor. He had tried, over the past week, to avoid thinking in such terms as much as he could. But hearing them so bluntly, from the emperor no less, made it impossible for him to avoid it any longer.

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

In the long, painful silence that followed, Taki strained his ears for a noise of some kind. An unhappy sigh or an unkind tone that would deftly put an end to everything.

'It sounds,' Meiji said at length, 'like a question between you and the gods.'

'My sister, Yura, has been a priestess for over a year. I've asked her to consult the gods on my behalf.'

'And the results, I imagine, came back in your favour?'

Taki wondered if Meiji sounded, almost, amused.

'She – she assures me that the decision rests with me. And with you, as the Son of Heaven.'

'Let me be clear,' Meiji continued slowly. 'You are asking to cast off your divinity. Your role as an akitsumikami, That is not something that can be so easily done with a simple nod from me. Your people will always think of you as a deity in human form.'

'I know,' Taki said. 'But maybe, in time, my people will turn to others for guidance in the same way they once looked to me. Maybe others who are… better suited to the role than I have been.'

'What makes you think that you, of all people, have been unworthy?'

Taki tried to ignore the heat that crept up his neck. He wondered how close he might come to a confession without endangering himself.

'There are some things – some vows – I have not entirely –'

At this, Meiji's smile widened.

'Taki, if you think you are the only deviant in this room, you are sorely mistaken.'

Taki's lifted his head in surprise. Meiji's gaze remained impenetrable.

'Despite having that in common, it appears you and I are at opposite crossroads. I shirked my duties and broke my vows for long enough in my youth. It is high time for me to step into the role which, up until now, I have rather masterfully avoided.'

The serene yet deeply humorous tone, even more than the unexpected news, once again left Taki wondering how on Earth to reply.

He tried to wrap his head around the startling fact of, not only Meiji's confession, but the liberal way in which it was delivered. His envy of Meiji appeared again in a different form.

'Your Majesty,' he said before he could stop himself, 'may I ask you a personal question?'

Meiji's eyebrows lifted slightly.

'You may.'

Taki wondered how best to phrase his obscure new thoughts.

'You and I had the same upbringing. We were taught the same things and we bore the same... the same burdens. Your Majesty has been an akitsumikami for longer than I have.' Taki paused as though unsure how much further he could go. 'And yet you… we're so –'

'Different?'

Taki fell silent.

'And you're wondering why that might be?'

A meek nod, eyes averted once more.

Meiji took a moment to consider it.

'I have wondered the same thing in different forms over the years,' he said. 'Why some of us are willingly tied down by fate and circumstance, almost without question, and why some others are so strongly inclined to resist. At first I thought it was a matter of choice. But I suspect it's even simpler than that. I believe there are some things that are so inherent to our natures that it is impossible to change them, no matter what the circumstances.'

If that were really the case Taki wondered what it meant for him, and Klaus. Perhaps this was something that would, in time, prove to be a mistake. Perhaps, no matter what he did, he would always be bound to his duty. Perhaps this was even Meiji's roundabout way of denying him permission to cast everything aside so suddenly and recklessly.

Meiji looked at the expression on Taki's face and realised that, for the first time in the long years he had known him, Taki was showing his age. His vulnerability was endearing.

'Then again,' Meiji said slyly. 'There are some things that I believe are entirely in our power to choose.'

He adjusted his headdress slightly with a long, slender hand while Taki turned his questioning gaze to him.

'As I mentioned earlier, you and I are on opposite crossroads. It's time for me to step into my role. And, if you so choose, it's time for you to step down from yours. A role, I might add, that you have been more than worthy of, and one you have fulfilled beyond the expectations of men and gods alike.'

Something small began welling in the pit of Taki's stomach. For a split second, Meiji's words and the warmth of his tone almost moved him to tears.

'You won a war for your country, Taki. You've risked everything, time and time again. You've done enough.' After a beat, he added, 'You both have.'

A few hours away, in the Reizen residence, Klaus' eyelids twitched and he awoke with a long sigh. Lying still on his back, he breathed in the soft summer air and somehow sensed that Taki wasn't home yet.

'Some of us,' Meiji finished gently, 'deserve to fly away and forget it all.'

It had started as a small surge of emotion but it had grown enough in the space of a few seconds that it now threatened to overwhelm Taki.

He was caught somewhere between propriety and soul-deep gratitude and sensed that his powers of expression were no match for it.

'Your Majesty…'

Meiji saw him struggling and came to his aid.

'If you're worried about how much power you're leaving in my hands, allow me to assure you. I have one Captain Klaus von Wolfstadt's confidence in my leadership, something which played a small part in my having the throne in the first place. That's all the faith I need in my own ability to govern.'

Despite himself, Taki felt a smile cross his face. He was struck by the emperor's careless good humour in person and his tenacity and serenity as a leader. They were both true of Meiji.

It made Taki wonder about himself. Who he was in the east as opposed to who he had been, for two precious months, in the west. They were both who he was.

But only one of them had been truly happy.

'If I need you at any point during my reign, Taki, I'll send for you.'

Meiji's mysterious, feline smile was something Taki would always remember.

'But I probably won't.'

After Taki left, the emperor took his time returning to the Throne Room, pausing for a moment on the small arched bridge. Standing out against the red canopy of the maple trees on a nearby shore, he saw a tall white bird ruffle its feathers in the process of grooming.

What I wouldn't give, Meiji thought, to see Klaus' reaction.

Eleven years after they first met under the wisteria tree, on a summer day that was not unlike the first one, Taki and Klaus faced one another once more and the young master awaited his knight's response.

But the silence stretched on for so long that an entirely new sort of anxiety was beginning to bubble up in Taki's chest.

Klaus only stared, with an absent hand on his solar plexus, trying half-heartedly to quell the pain of his wounds.

'It was... it was your idea. Initially,' Taki said, his voice still stiff and his face still deeply flushed. 'In Luckenwalde, when we were under the laburnums.'

Taki. What if you came with me to my country?

'And the two months we spent there were... were wonderful. And so I thought...'

Reeling.

Klaus' mind was reeling.

Flinging from one memory to another, from one sensation to the other, anchored by the ever-growing physical pain that wanted him to lie still and not move for hours and anchored by the sight of Taki standing before the swaying arms of wisteria, giving himself to Klaus in a few simple words.

He still hadn't said a thing.

Taki flailed, feeling more lost by the second. He found himself trying to guess what Klaus was thinking.

'You – you were right about something you said before. If we stay here, there will always be something. But if we leave, if I really leave it all behind, like this, then there's a chance that we'll able to…'

Klaus' silence made Taki crumble. Taki suddenly realised he deserved it for his silences over the past few weeks. And the months and years before that.

Taki had had to make sure first, before he asked Klaus, that such a thing was even possible. He didn't think either of them could bear a letdown of such magnitude. But now, it occurred to him how foolish it was not to have asked Klaus first.

Perhaps he had misjudged and misinterpreted and misfired from the start. Perhaps it wouldn't mean anything to him. Klaus may not see the point of something so drastic and irrevocable. He had been away from home long enough that a gesture like this would be hollow and almost embarrassing. A spoilt prince trying to measure up to something Klaus had done without breaking a sweat almost two years ago.

In just a few minutes, his wasted efforts lay piled at his feet – his useless absences from Klaus' bedside when he needed him most, his long nights lying awake grappling with the weight of love and loyalty and duty, the unanswered questions he sent to gods and ancestors, the nerve-wracking and often surreal conversations he had with Ogura and all his household staff, with Ayabe and each of the shoguns, with Hebe, with Midori and Chiyeko, with Sumi, with Yura, with Douman, with Emperor Meiji.

It had all come apart in the face of Klaus' silence and his steady, stunned gaze.

Taki. What if you came with me to my country?

I'm the second son so I don't own any land, but I have a small house. And a rose garden my sister left behind. The white roses are exquisite in the rainy season.

Come on, it'll work out somehow.

Doing whatever needs to be done, earning your daily bread.

I don't think it's such a bad life.

Taki wanted, suddenly, to be far away. To curl up under his sheets and bury himself in his humiliation like he had done on his first day at Luckenwalde.

'I'm sorry,' he heard himself say. 'I'm sorry. Forget that I –'

And suddenly Klaus had slowly gotten to his feet, his hand still pressing hard in the middle of his chest. Before Taki could stop him, Klaus was kneeling at his feet.

'Klaus, you're not well enough to –'

And the tears poured from Klaus' face onto the hem of Taki's coat which he held in his hand.

Taki inhaled sharply.

'Klaus!'

He realised in that moment of numb shock that he had never seen Klaus cry. A vague memory of tears came to him from a time when he was near unconsciousness and holding onto Klaus atop his bike in No Man's Land. It was faint enough to be a dream.

This was real. This was immediately in front of him, in the form of Klaus' hunched body and the tears that flowed without restraint. Taki's throat closed in sorrow when he heard Klaus' voice emerge in staggered breaths.

He still hadn't said a word.

'I'm sorry,' Taki said again, distraught and confused. 'Klaus, please –'

And then Klaus, tears still coursing, had swept him up off the grass.

Taki's shock and guilt at having made him cry was lost in the kiss and, when he was held aloft in Klaus' arms, in the fact that he was suddenly nine years old again, asking a stranger from the west if he would be his knight.