The sun was just beginning to set on the longest day of the year. Peachy orange light filtered through wispy clouds floating above the city nestled in the valley. The warm, humid air was just beginning to cool. It always seemed sweeter, heavier at twilight. As if the air carried the weight of the day with it, and laid it to rest with the sun.

Quiche hated being in the old palace.

The antiquated building sat at the base of the valley where the two walls met. It was built directly across from the waterfall just visible a few kilometers away, so that the entire city could be seen from its massive double doors and domed glass ceiling in its atrium. The palace was one of the oldest buildings in the city – built centuries ago – and arguably one of the grandest. Stone walls, hewn in perfect detail and constructed to withstand even the strongest natural disasters, encompassed the grand building meant to house the royal court.

That was before Deep Blue claimed the palace as his home.

Now, it only reminded Quiche of tense meetings with the spirit of the tyrant he'd hoped would be the savior of his people. Now, the old palace just reminded him of death.

The royal council had abandoned the palace after Deep Blue's demise. It sat mostly unoccupied for two years, acting mostly as a place to keep old artifacts, books and equipment. The old throne room was converted to a library of hard drives for storing research data. The rusty prison below ground was made into a lab for genetic samples used in chimera research. Quiche wondered to himself what Deep Blue would think of his home being converted into a storage container.

He'd prefer to never have to set foot in the old palace again. But Orion had made a strong case to the rest of the royal council that it would be fitting to dust off the old building and its grounds, and host the Solstice Festival on the once-hallowed grounds as a show of "progress." It was hard to argue with, and the Emperor seemed to love the idea, so Quiche went along with it.

He had to admit – the staff hired to clean up the place had done a fantastic job. The gardens around the palace had been restored to their former glory, taming once-overgrown tangles of weather-hardy roses into something resembling the famed gardens often pictured in old archives of what royal life was before the reign of Deep Blue. The interiors were polished and shined until the black marble floors were as reflective as the surface of a lake. And, true to the current style of architecture in the city, blacksmiths and glass artists were brought in to make room in the building's structure for winding greenery to curl in from the outside.

He'd seen Tart in the atrium earlier, barking out orders for some of the other Viatorem with botanical abilities as they lowered a branch of wisteria down one of the walls. Tart, frustrated, ended up winding and curling the branch himself in expert detail, yelling something about "morons with no sense of balance" and "killing the whole damn tree if you can't put it somewhere sunny."

As neurotic as Tart had seemed, Quiche knew it was his own way of letting out stress. After all, all three of them – himself, Pie and Tart – had suffered heavily under the hand of Deep Blue. He knew he wasn't the only one disturbed by the choice of venue. He hoped Tart found some sense of comfort in transforming the palace into something new.

Hopefully, having Pudding at the festival helped Tart relax, too. The thought of seeing Ichigo again was the only thing keeping Quiche from disappearing into his room and avoiding the party altogether.

Ever since yesterday morning, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Not for even a moment.

Quiche felt his old obsessive tendencies digging in their talons into him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw bare, sun-kissed skin, soft lips, and chocolate brown eyes. He felt like he was 15 again, when he would watch her in battle and memorize her every movement, every breath. Catalog every touch, every interaction they had, and file the memory away in his mind to revisit later.

He could feel himself getting lost in her again.

Then again, he wasn't sure he'd ever clawed his way out of being utterly, hopelessly obsessed with Ichigo Momomiya. Maybe he'd just gotten better at compartmentalizing.

Either way, it felt like torture to be away from her a day and a half, when she was quite literally all he could think about. If he had to endure another party full of fake showmanship and mindless drivel, at least she would be by his side.

He wanted to believe it would always be like this. Him and her, together. The small blossom of hope had been unfurling in his chest. He couldn't help but imagine a life with her, a future with her. It wasn't not long ago when he could hardly imagine a future for himself past his youth. But the feeling in his chest held a promise of something beyond an idle life celebrated as some kind of war hero with a title he didn't deserve. The last few days made Quiche feel like he had a purpose, like he had something more to live for. Like there was hope. And this time, he didn't want to crush it.

"Quiche."

A voice behind him snapped Quiche out of his thoughts. He uncrossed and recrossed his arms, then turned to look over his shoulder at Pie, approaching from behind. His brother-in-arms was already dressed in his formalwear for the festival. He wore a traditionally-styled navy blue coat that reached to his knees, embroidered in the cuffs with glinting silver thread that shone in the light, and matching garb in shades of blues and greys. Pie always had an air of intimidation around him, now magnified by his grand appearance.

"Pie," Quiche answered in turn. His eyes flicked down to his coat. "Interesting choice of color. Looking to cause a stir?"

Pie remained expressionless, stopping at Quiche's side to stare out the same floor-to-ceiling window he'd just been idly looking through. "A color is a color," Pie said simply. "I like blue."

Blue. What an odd thing for Pie to say. Weren't Lettuce's eyes blue? Like the sea, Quiche recalled. Appropriate for the one with the maritime genetics.

Quiche smirked. "True, it's just a color," he replied. "Exceptional for staring into all day, hm? How was your date the other night?"

He watched Pie stiffen slightly. After years of being friends, he could read even the most subtle of Pie's movements. Pissing him off was one of Quiche's favorite sources of entertainment. And Pie had practically just handed him ammo.

"How did you know about that?" Pie muttered accusingly.

Quiche shrugged. "I have my sources," he replied. "You didn't answer my question."

The corners of Pie's mouth turned down slightly. "It was fine," he said flatly. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stay out of my personal matters."

"C'mon, Pie, lighten up," Quiche prodded. "After all, it's one of the most exciting nights of the year."

Pie remained quiet for a half-minute, staring wordlessly out into the underbelly of the city. Quiche's eyes fell off of his friend and followed his stare as they sat in a quiet, heavy silence. The clattering of dishes and chatter echoed through the halls around them.

"It disturbs me to be back in the palace," Pie said finally. "I would have preferred a different choice of venue."

"Agreed," Quiche said, dropping the teasing tone from his voice. "I was thinking the same thing. Though, the grounds look better than they ever have. The staff have done a wonderful job."

Pie let silence creep in again. Quiche glanced up at him, and found his face solemn, still.

"Something is amiss," Pie said finally. He looked down at Quiche, his brow furrowed. "I have felt it since we arrived. Being forced back into the palace all but confirms it."

Quiche narrowed his eyes. Pie was right, of course. Something had felt distinctly off since they'd first arrived home — like the calm before the storm — but he could put his finger on what it was. He'd dismissed his uneasiness as something stemming from unpleasant reminders of the past, but Pie sensed it too.

"Keep your wits about you," Pie murmured. "The walls are listening."

It was an odd, cryptic thing for him to say, but Quiche knew that Pie was rarely wrong — about anything. The implication was clear. Not everyone welcomed their return.

Quiche nodded, meeting Pie's solemn grey eyes. "Understood," he replied. He held Pie's stare for a moment more before breaking away to gaze out at the bustle outside.

The light was growing dim, the warm shadows stretching and darkening to rich violets and dark, inky blues. Little lights began to go on around the grounds as the staff prepared the gardens for the guests. There were already some clusters of people assembling near the walls of the palace gardens, peering in at the preparations.

"How many people do you think will be here?" Quiche asked, breaking the silence.

"Many," Pie replied simply. "After all, the festivities are open freely to the public, and we are hosting guests from Earth. I have no doubt the mews will be the center of attention."

Watchful eyes. The center of attention.

Pie's meaning was clear. He wanted Quiche to watch himself around Ichigo.

Quiche frowned. "If you mean to say that I should avoid unwanted attention," he said, "you should know I've already received the same warning from Ichigo."

"Good," Pie said. "At least one of you has half a brain to know what's best for you both."

Condescending asshole. Quiche knew it was good advice, but that didn't make the truth any easier to swallow. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He let out a long breath.

"Don't you have something you should be doing? Besides telling other people what to do?" Quiche muttered finally.

Pie looked down at him with a raised brow. "Not particularly," he replied. "You and Tart should prepare for this evening. Have you seen him lately?"

"He was in the atrium earlier," Quiche replied. He stepped away from the window and uncrossed his arms. "He didn't seem in the mood to be nagged about his social life, either."

"I'm only looking out for what's best for you."

Pie's expression was stony, as it always was. But Quiche knew he was being sincere. He folded his hands behind his back and breezed past Pie with a quiet calm.

"I know," Quiche said coolly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be preparing myself for a night of pretending I want nothing to do with my date."

"Quiche, you know that's not…"

Pie's voice trailed off as Quiche continued down the hall towards the rooms where the attendants had placed their belongings for the evening. He only felt a little bad for getting under Pie's skin. After all, he'd have plenty of opportunity to reconcile with him later that night. Or — to continue teasing him, with Lettuce on his arm.

"The walls are listening."

As dark began to fall on the palace, Quiche wondered to himself if the night intended to carry something sinister with it.

Ichigo twirled in front of the massive mirror in the walk-in closet, and thought about incorporating more black into her wardrobe.

Though she was surprised by the color at first, it was a night festival, after all. Ira had just finished helping her button the dozens of tiny buttons that closed the dress in the back. It was a near-perfect fit, layers of silky satin overlaid with gauzy, sheer fabric that made it look like she was dressed in smoke. The bodice criss-crossed in wrapped layers up to a halter, where a cape-like, gauzy train fell from the back of her neck down Ichigo's back like a river. Small touches of gold embroidery ran along the hem of the dress, which Ira was currently matching to some kind of gold, shimmery makeup she'd pulled from a case off to one side of the vanity.

"Do you like it?" Ira asked. She pulled out a tiny brush from a set in the case of makeup and examined it. Ichigo turned and nodded.

"It's … really beautiful," she said softly. "It's not really my style, but … I like it."

Ira motioned for Ichigo to sit on the stool of the vanity. Ichigo lifted her skirts, turned and carefully sat down. "If there's a time to wear something dramatic," Ira said, dabbing the brush in shimmery gold powder, "it's the Solstice Festival. After all, you three girls are the dates of three of the princes. I'm sure you'll be the center of attention regardless, so you might as well look the part."

Ira set down the gold shimmer. "Okay, look up," she instructed. Ichigo did what she was told, looking up to the ceiling of the walk-in closet while Ira applied some kind of liner to the corners of her eyes.

The two girls sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. The sound of pop music filtered through the door from the main space of the mews' shared room. Pudding and Lettuce were having a conversation about something that made Pudding laugh.

The center of attention.

Ichigo let out a long sigh.

"Ira, can I ask you something?" she said finally.

Ira pulled the liner away from Ichigo's face. She tilted her head to one side. "Ask away," she replied cheerily. She busied herself with cleaning the brush she'd just been using.

"Yesterday, when I was, um, out with Quiche…" Ichigo started hesitantly. Ira looked up from cleaning the brush, pausing and waiting for Ichigo to continue. "Did … did you tell anyone?"

Ira held Ichigo's gaze for a moment.

"No," she said finally, setting down the brush. "Not a word. I've tried to keep things under wraps with you three for your own safety. Despite you sneaking out every chance you get."

Ira smirked and picked up the liner again. "Look up," she instructed. Ichigo obeyed, letting out a short sigh.

"I'm sorry," Ichigo said finally. "I didn't mean to make your job harder."

"I know," Ira replied. She finished the eye makeup and began to rifle through the makeup case again. Ichigo blinked the itch out of her eyes. "Though, I'd strongly suggest you don't wander around alone again, Ichigo."

"I won't," Ichigo promised. "Quiche talked to me about that, too."

Ira nodded thoughtfully. She picked up and examined another tray of shimmery powder, tilting it in the light. Ichigo could sense that she was biting back words, avoiding eye contact with Ichigo in a way that made her distinctly uncomfortable.

Before she could think to break the silence, Ira suddenly set down the palette and reached into another bag off to the side of the case. She pulled out a tiny vial of some kind of clear liquid, and handed it to Ichigo. Ichigo frowned and turned it over in her hand. "What is this?"

"For you," Ira said. She busied herself with sorting her brushes again. "I'd hate to assume things, but … I procured this for you after you returned yesterday. You'll want to take it now if you … if you want to avoid a pregnancy."

Ichigo's face instantly felt hot. The back of her neck burned as she stared intently down at the little vial. Was it that obvious what had happened? Or did Ira just have remarkably good intuition? How did Ira know that she even needed to take something like this?

"I—um—" Ichigo stammered, struggling to collect her thoughts, "are — is that even possible? With, you know, us being different ... and…"

Her voice trailed off as she fought panic bubbling at the back of her throat. After all, she had just practically admitted fault. Ira's lips tightened into a thin line as she finally looked over at Ichigo.

"To be honest, no one can say for sure," she said. "But … we're the same species, you and I. We're just different types of human. The Viatorem are also children of the Earth. It could be … it could be possible."

Ichigo let out a long breath through her nose and wondered to herself how she could be so stupid. What Ira was saying made sense — they weren't as genetically different as Ichigo sometimes imagined they were. And Ichigo certainly didn't want to deal with the possibility of a pregnancy. She'd been so caught up in her emotions she hadn't even thought about the physical consequences of what she'd just done. But, she was glad she had the opportunity to make it right.

With nervous, sweaty hands, Ichigo twisted the top off of the vial and downed the liquid in one swallow. It was bitter, and burned as it went down. She made a face as she screwed the lid back on and set the empty vial down on the vanity.

"Thank you," Ichigo murmured. She coughed, then cleared her throat. "That stuff burns."

"It's not the most pleasant," Ira agreed. She popped open another tray of shimmering powder and began to dab a brush into it. "Would you … should I bring more?"

The implication was clear.

Ichigo cringed, biting the inside of her cheek. "Is there, um … an alternative to that stuff?" she asked hesitantly.

Ira shook her head.

Ichigo let out a long sigh. "I don't … I don't know," she said finally. "I don't know if I'll … if I'll need it again."

Ira nodded as she began to sweep some of the powder into the crease of Ichigo's eyelids. "I'll procure a few more doses, just in case," she said. Ichigo closed her eyes to allow Ira to finish applying makeup to her eyelids.

In truth, Ichigo couldn't shake the feeling it wasn't going to be the last time she'd be physical with Quiche in that way. But some part of her subconscious mind held fast to the idea that it would be smarter for her to keep her distance until the end of their trip. After all, Quiche had told her only yesterday that there were people living in the city who hated her for being responsible for the death of Deep Blue. Her self-preservation instinct told her that it would be foolish to stir up even more trouble by cozying up to Quiche, when she would be smarter to keep a low profile.

But it was so hard to balance her rational mind — her knowledge of political intricacies and what she was there to do — and the part of her that ached for him to touch her like he had that day. Something had changed between them after that morning. Everything felt different now.

While she was sitting in the hot bath in his room, Ichigo had wondered to herself what it would be like if they were everything he'd wanted them to be.

What did he want them to be?

Ichigo pulled herself out of her idle thoughts by drawing a deep breath. She quickly buried the emotions tugging at her stomach with a blanket of her own rationale — you're being stupid about this, Ichigo. It's not that deep. It's not like this was his first time, like you — he's probably not even thinking about you, with everything else going on right now.

She lifted her chin and forced a smile up at Ira. "Thanks for not telling anyone," Ichigo said.

Ira smirked. "I know my reputation is … what is the word … complicated? But of course, yes, I'll keep your secrets, Ichigo." She sighed and put away the makeup brushes she'd just been cleaning. "Quiche is trouble. Always has been. I had assumed that he'd be too distracted with you to think about your needs."

Ichigo furrowed her brow. She turned Ira's words over in her mind – Always has been. A small worry nipped at the back of her mind.

"Wait," Ichigo started, "You and Quiche … you weren't…"

Ira paused – confused for a moment – before she broke out in boisterous laughter. She raised her brows in a look of disbelief. "No, no, no! No, he is like a brother to me," Ira said. She suppressed another giggle and brushed her hair behind her ear "Funny you thought that. I don't even like men in that way."

"N-no, I just … you know he has this reputation…" Ichigo started hastily. She was secretly relieved to hear Ira was never with Quiche. Deep down, she never truly suspected they were a couple. She knew she was just being paranoid. But then again, after hearing about Aria, Ichgio was glad to rule out another unpleasant surprise.

"If I may," Ira said, closing her box of makeup, "you speak a lot of reputations. I think you need to stop believing everything you hear about people, Mew Ichigo." She lifted her eyes to Ichigo and smirked. "People may sometimes surprise you, if you'd give them a chance to prove a rumor wrong."

Ichigo opened and closed her mouth. Embarrassed for accusing Ira of sharing her secrets and keeping one from her, Ichigo wasn't sure what to say except — "I'm sorry."

Ira shrugged nonchalantly and perched up against one of the closet's dressers. "No offense taken. It's all part of the political game, no? Judging one's character?"

Ichigo sighed. Ira was right – about her, about Quiche, about not coming to hasty conclusions about the people around her. The quiet around them itched at Ichigo to change the topic and lighten the mood. Her mind quickly settled on what Ira had just told her. "Are you seeing anyone right now?" she asked.

Ira's lips turned up in a smile. "I am, actually," she replied. "She and I have been together for 3 years now. So … a little less than 4 of your years."

A genuine grin of delight spread across Ichigo's face. She always adored talking about her friends' relationships back home. "What is her name?" Ichigo asked, propping her chin up on her hands.

"Rina," Ira replied. She shyly averted her twinkling violet eyes to the opposite corner of the closet. "We met when we were both undergoing training to work as cooks at a local pub. She owns her own bar now, on the other side of the city."

Ira sighed wistfully, her smile stretching wider. "She wasn't at that first job long, but of course we stayed in touch. Her dream was to own her own business. She accomplishes everything she sets her mind to."

"Do you get to see her a lot?" Ichigo asked, excited to hear more about Ira's personal life.

Ira nodded. "I have breaks every three days where I go home and stay with Rina for the evening," she said. "We're hoping … we're hoping to live together all the time soon." She sighed. "We're looking into … what do you call it in Japanese? Erm, well, it's a sort of a togetherness of two people who are in love?"

"A wedding?" Ichigo suggested.

Ira's face lit up. "Ah, yes," she exclaimed. "Or, um, marriage? I think that is what you call your couples on Earth. We have something similar to what you call a wedding here – it's very elaborate, several days of parties to celebrate, all of that. Though what you call marriage is called something in our native tongue that's a bit strange to translate."

"What do you call it?" Ichigo pried, hungry for more information.

"Hm, well, in our language, your tradition called marriage is most similar to something called an Inaeturnum," Ira said, pronouncing the foreign word slowly and carefully for Ichigo. "It loosely translates to foreverness in Japanese. It's meant to be the binding of two spirits destined to be together for life." She let out another long, dreamy sigh. "Very romantic, is it not? Rina is the spirit that calls to mine. I am grateful every day that we were brought together."

"You two sound perfect for each other," Ichigo murmured. She smiled and tilted her head to one side. "Is she coming tonight? You two are going to the festival together, right?"

Ira's smile fell slightly. "Well, I am considered to be working tonight assisting you girls," she admitted.

Ichigo frowned. "Wait, no! You have to find time to see her. Invite Rina to come with us! I want to meet her!"

"Hm, alright," Ira agreed with a grin. "Maybe after you three are settled into the party, I can find Rina and introduce you three to her."

Ichigo nodded enthusiastically. "I wouldn't want you to miss out on one of the biggest holidays of the year because of us!" she insisted. "It would be so romantic for you to spend time with her under the stars…" Her voice trailed off as she pictured what Ira's girlfriend could be like. Would she be sweet with a teasing side, like Ira? Or would she be entirely different?

"Anyway," Ira diverted, ducking into her bag of provisions again, "I'm going to make you three late for the start of the festival. There's one last piece to your outfit, and we'll be ready to call for escorts to teleport us down to the old palace."

"Palace?" Ichigo asked curiously. Ira pulled out something flashy from her bag. It looked like a headband. She placed it carefully into the waves of Ichigo's thick, styled hair.

"The old palace at the base of the valley, yes. It was all but abandoned after Deep Blue's death," Ira replied. "It used to be Deep Blue's home. It's an ancient, beautiful building, with an unfortunate past. It's been restored for tonight's festivities. Isn't that a great idea?"

Ira stepped back to admire her work after placing the headband. Ichigo picked up her skirts and turned in her chair towards the vanity mirror.

Her eyes went wide as she saw her reflection. The highlights of her skin reflected a light gold shimmer, and her brown eyes looked richer, darker against the dramatic makeup applied around her eyes. But her breath stopped when she saw what Ira had placed on her head.

It was like a sunburst – the headpiece was made up of small gold rods extending from the crown of her head. It was like something Ichigo had seen in paintings of goddesses in her history books.

It looked like a crown.

Ichigo reached up and touched the tip of one of the tiny gold rods with her finger. "Ira, I can't wear this," she asserted. "This is … too much."

Ira shrugged and began to fluff out Ichigo's hair around the headpiece. "Your choice," she said nonchalantly. "But it really pulls the look together, you know."

Ichigo let out a long sigh and tilted her head in the light. The chandelier in the closet reflected shimmering gold light from the headpiece, and the makeup on her face glowed along with it. The overall effect was positively radiant.

"Are you sure I won't be the only one who looks … who looks like this?" Ichigo asked hesitantly.

Ira shook her head. "No, there will be many elaborate costumes," she asserted. "You will be one of many with a grand appearance."

Ichigo swallowed her worried thoughts and nodded. The little gold rods radiating from her head winked in the light as she moved.

"Okay," Ichigo said finally. "I'll wear it."