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5
Apocryphal
Kouen might've understood what it was Koumei felt about this country: standing in the overwhelming silence of the pine trees, underneath a tall wooden gate painted carmine red, a sense of quiet crept up to him.
It was tranquil—in a way. One easily lost their sense of time and space, walking the winding paths of Jishou's summer palace. A thick hedge of evergreens followed everywhere one went, and he'd already passed through countless gates and wells in his (rather aimless) walk.
Even his astute mind couldn't place it; he'd been automatically drawn to Jishou's labyrinthine forest gardens the moment he'd gazed at it, and standing in it now, he'd taken just a moment to properly understand what was happening to him.
A bird warbled in the distance. In the stillness it felt almost as if the flow of time in the mountain had been tampered with; one could walk in circles, thinking they'd been there for minutes, and when they looked up the sun had already fallen and it was dusk—as Koumei told him he'd done many a time.
It was both a strange and fascinating musing, if it were only true. With the power granted by djinns and magi, he wouldn't be surprised. And the Triangle was a mysterious land—perhaps he'd look into it.
Regardless, he privately wondered how many souls had wandered the same mountain, searching for the right path, only to find every twist and bend in the maze they'd taken had led them nowhere. It was a rather good defensive capability of the summer palace, admittedly.
He walked on a little more.
Timelessness, his mind supplied, while he'd been gazing into a pond full of carp swirling in endless figure eights. That was what Jishou had: from the old mountain palace to the street markets he'd glimpsed in Tohouku, Jishou had managed to stay somehow timeless, living in a bubble detached and floating above the fray of the Kou Empire and Parthevia and Reim and the Seven Seas Alliance. No sense of urgency permeated the lives of the people here, going about their daily lives as if wars weren't being fought, dungeons weren't being raised, and king candidates weren't being chosen—and it was no small wonder Koumei had grown attached to this country, when it was practically living in a world of its own, far apart from the worries and troubles that plagued their homeland.
He'd gone in search for shade when the rain started, and his cloak was already damp by the time he'd spotted the wide pavilion; even as he neared it, he saw the orange light and the shadows produced by the burning lamp the First Princess kept beside her as she read her scroll.
He'd breezed by her sputtering attendant, coming to stand at the mouth of the pavilion.
Sayuri Jie was lounging on a finely woven carpet, one hand propping her chin as her eyes eagerly followed the lines of her texts. She'd evidently changed out of the robes she'd worn to greet him that morning; instead she wore an informal pair of pants, and a thin shirt that exposed her arms. As she eventually came to realize he'd been standing there for some while, Kouen's red eyes caught the glint of something metal clasped on one of her arms.
She sat up quickly and pulled on a silk coat, but not before he noted the thick cord of gold she wore on her right upper arm, shaped in the likeness of a snake biting its tail, with two rubies for eyes. She pushed her arm through her wide coat sleeve, and the metal ornament was hidden.
"I was seeking some shade," He said, automatically, "please, don't get up."
And he'd tacked on her official title as an afterthought. Would-be-queen would have been more appropriate, or so he'd been told, because she'd married one of the Triangle's crown princes when she was younger.
Another curious thing about Jishou; but Kouen digressed. He knew Sayuri Jie would have the information he sought, for whatever curious reason he wasn't that interested in.
"Have a seat then, Prince Kouen," She replied, with one hand extended at the pile of overstuffed pillows across her. His guards moved, and soon her retinue was serving them tea, to warm them from the rain.
So he sat. Her face was illuminated by the dim orange lamplight—in the gentle light she appeared to him with half her face in shadow, and her green eyes were sparkling with some kind of interest. The same eyes watched amusedly as he moved her cushions out of the way, because he preferred to sit bare on the carpet.
Sayuri was no giggling princess on the cusp of womanhood—no blushing maiden as she gazed upon a prince from a foreign land. He'd met her sister, earlier, when the King had introduced him to the rest of his family—the Queen had bid him hello with a benign smile, but the Second Princess had been so flustered to meet him, her ears had turned red. Her younger sisters had done considerably better, but the gulf separating the First Princess from the Second had instantly been made clear to him then.
A third prince, Koumei had said about her.
Sayuri said nothing as she poured both of them cups of tea without prompting.
She hid the lower half of her face as she lifted her teacup—it was almost coy, but her eyes were too observant for Kouen to consider her to be such a thing. "It's Ariavatan, made with tea, milk, and spices. I hope you don't mind, Prince Kouen."
He'd liked it, surprisingly—liked the interesting blend of spices and the way it cut through the milk of the tea—but he'd also taken that deeper, second sip with the understanding that with the tea she'd poured him, the formalities had been dealt with, and he was now free to speak.
Kouen had started innocuously enough by thanking her for helping Koumei. Amid her cautious replies, he asked her a harder question, "Tell me, Princess Sayuri. What do you think of this alliance?"
She quirked a brow at this, but she was altogether unsurprised because she easily answered, "It's a return to our old ties."
She went on to explain; he asked her the question a second time, feeling curious about her true opinion.
Sayuri replied, "It's a good alliance, and I'll be glad to see it happen."
It sounded truthful and simple to his ears, but by the slight wrinkle in her forehead, Kouen could tell she was not untroubled by it. Which reflected well enough on Koumei's assessment of her character, if nothing else—Kou was never generous without reason. Only the truly naïve would believe the opposite.
She surprised him slightly when she asked him his own question: "How is Kou benefitting from this?"
The answer was equally simple.
The Magisterium.
That ancient magical academy—organization?—hidden away in the desert sands of Ariavat, Jishou's closest ally.
He'd read several texts alluding to the lands in the Triangle as well, most of them commenting on the inherent magical quality of territories found there, which in turn produced a greater number of magicians. The more he'd tried to read on the subject, the scanter and all the more incoherent the information about it seemed to appear—it was a trying puzzle when he'd first stumbled upon it, and he'd temporarily put solving the riddle to rest until Koutoku's intentions for Jishou had provided him with the perfect opening to personally unearth more about the Magisterium.
If the Magisterium predated much of everything else in the Triangle, he'd reasoned—perhaps they'd have the kinds of records he'd been searching for his entire adult life. If they truly werescholars and magicians who'd handed their magical traditions for centuries, then surely they had their own accounts of this world's pre-history.
Or so he hoped.
The sly detail of the Magsterium had over time slowly become one of those pieces he needed, if he wanted to solve the riddle of the other world.
The First Princess was quiet for a moment when he'd answered. But soon she said, baffled, "The Magisterium?"
He gazed at her intently. "I've been told you know about it."
"The Magisterium is strictly apolitical, and based in Ariavat,"—he knew that, of course—"what does it have to do with anything?"
And here he felt himself smirk, "Everything."
Her eyes were narrowed at him, but Koumei had said he was her informant. He knew she would share this information, if only for the understanding she kept with his brother. "Would you tell me more about it?"
Sayuri recognized the silent almost-demand in his words. Perhaps he was being crude—but he couldn't afford to care now, not when his answers could well be within sight.
She took a sip of her tea. Then she shrugged.
"Alright," The First Princess began with a flippant, half-resigned, half-amused tone, "What would you like to know?"
Kouen wondered about her reply, and the easiness with which she answered him. But, undeterred, he continued, "Jishou's ties to the Magisterium—what are they? Do the magisters serve any governments?"
Sayuri clasped her hands, hiding them away in her billowing sleeves. She sat back, brows raised at him, as if she was unexpectedly impressed. "My apologies, that's the first time I've been asked that." She looked away from him, obviously pondering her answer. "They are apolitical, you know. Mostly because the magisters only occasionally dispense advice that's…
"…sometimes useful to the Triangle's rulers. If they serve anyone in the Triangle, they serve everyone. It's a fact."
He dwelled on her hesitation. "Sometimes useful?"
Her eyes flickered to him for a moment, before they gazed elsewhere.
She gave a small nod. "In a way. We rarely hear from those at the top of the Magisterium's pyramid, these days. And the advice has almost always turned out to be tangentially useful in the last few decades." Her distant expression twisted with amusement a bit, "Don't misunderstand; everyone always listens to their advice. We haven't been led astray so far."
That…hadn't really been the answer he'd expected.
He'd maybe expected an arrangement similar to Kou's, where their oracle sometimes played key roles to the great success of their expansion. Or an arrangement identical to Reim's, where their magi exclusively served to maintain the empire. The Triangle not only had a sizeable population of magicians, but a magical academy that was a repository for centuries of knowledge—it should have precipitated the rise of many great magicians, being an ancient institution, but if it did, he'd never heard about them.
Which would be unsurprising, really—but still. There was much to uncover, here.
Glimpsing his puzzlement out of the corner of her eye, her expression turned wry. Her voice was solemn, almost, when she spoke again. "The Triangle hasn't warred with each other—much less anyone outside the alliance—in centuries, so I imagine it's not half as exciting as it sounds."
Mind still whirring on this problem, he shot back, "Give me an example of how useful their advice has been."
The First Princess bit her lip, as if she was withholding a long sigh.
She gave in eventually: "It was the magisters that suggested we form the Triangle. That was half a millennia ago, and by then they'd long separated themselves from any form of politics."
And here the Triangle is, he understood implicitly in her words, 500 years later.
Reading the understanding on his face, a corner of her lips quirked in a small smile. "Useful, yes?"
"I see."
He took the time to ponder her statement, but in that same time she downed the rest of her teacup. When she set her cup down, she commented, "This is rudimentary, as information from the Magisterium goes. It's old history—almost apocryphal in some circles—but those with the right ties know the same tales. Most of Jishou's citizens know some form of it, but the entire story is known only to few, because the Magisterium accepts only the best."
The First Princess looked at him. "And now you know some of this story as well. As far as your first question goes—our best magicians have always been our ties, but father personally handles all the official correspondence."
He took a moment before asking his next question.
"You speak with confidence on this subject," Kouen hedged, knowing there was more to it, "are there—"
"—Other channels of information?" She finished for him.
Her green eyes suddenly seemed exceedingly sharp in the lamplight.
It was a telling reaction. He'd immediately sensed the tenseness in her statement, and the sudden change in the mood of the conversation—
—So, cautiously, he conceded to her statement with a silent nod. A few beats of silence followed, then she turned to look outside the pavilion—the shifting from orange to grey light framed her face differently, and in the dull glow of the afternoon skies, her eyes glinted with something akin to weariness with the question he'd posed her.
"Yes, but you underestimate the magisters if you think they would trust someone so easily. I only tell you this, Prince Kouen, because you ask, and because I have permission to speak of some things—but certainly not all."
Kouen paused.
"I meant no offense."
She turned to him again, and the light from the lamp flickered briefly. When it recovered, he found her lips, half-bathed in shadow and half-gilded in orange, pursed in a thin line.
And then she sighed, quietly.
"None taken. Forgive me, I didn't mean to sound so affronted."
He said nothing. They both knew he'd purposely tried to pry, but the First Princess seemed content to bury the subject and the indiscretion on his part—apologizing seemed fruitless, when she looked happy enough to not speak of the matter anymore.
She looked at him briefly, before reaching for her teacup.
Kouen hadn't truly meant any offense, yet still she knew well enough that he had tried to pry into the Triangle's secrets, which she claimed to have no right to speak about. Now here they remained in the oppressive silence.
Around them, the rain continued. But Sayuri just poured herself another cup of her tea, waving a hand for her attendants when she emptied her pot.
They remained quiet for the rest of the hour, listening to nothing but the sounds of the rain slipping against the roof tiles of the pavilion, and the wildlife responding to the downpour. She'd earlier asked him if she could return to her reading, to which he'd responded with a mechanical obliging of if you please, Princess.
She didn't lounge this time, but she read with the same amount of fixation. Another pair of attendants had brought her a low table for convenience, and she continued her reading by the lamplight, like they'd never had their conversation.
Momentarily, Kouen had idly wondered what a woman like her—an obviously well-educated princess younger than him by just a year, already married for some time and widowed for even longer—would read.
But soon he turned away to observe the falling summer rain, thinking absently about magisters, things to accomplish, and other peculiar princesses he'd met in his lifetime.
If there was anything to be grateful for in the months her father and mother ordered their family's sojourn to Tohouku, it was that she got to see her siblings more often. Business often kept her, Shiro and Yuki away from each other; she was constantly shuttling around the Triangle, getting off and on boats, and even a few magic carpet rides—Shiro traveled between Jishouan provinces, speaking to local lords on their father's behalf, familiarizing himself with the lands and the people he would one day rule over. Yuki was always gone for extended periods of time, away from the country, studying in the Magisterium and sometimes acting as the Jishouan ambassador to Ariavat.
She saw her parents, Mameha and her younger sisters often when she returned to the capitol after her ventures and before her next task—but this was truly the first time in a long while when their entire family lived in the same place for more than a week or two.
Sayu conceded that while she was twitchy and itching to return to the matters that awaited her in Caera, and even though she still spent a large part of her days doing whatever work she could manage to get done—like Shiro and Yuki did—it was still nice to see her family together.
These were pleasant thoughts to have, especially after her (almost disastrous) unintended tea party with the Crown Prince of Kou.
She entered the royal apartments. All of her siblings were already gathered there, with Yuki demonstrating some of his magical skills to her younger sisters, and Mameha and Shiro talking about something over cups of tea.
Some of her siblings looked up at her entrance, and she smiled as she greeted them. She gave quick kisses to her kid sisters, commenting on how much they'd grown, talking to them a bit before eventually coming to sit by Mameha and Shiro's table.
Her brother smiled, raising a single, devious brow. "Late, I see. Was there anything that kept you?"
Sayu fought to keep the grimace off her face, remembering the conversation she'd had with Ren Kouen not three hours earlier. She'd awkwardly excused herself from his silent company when a messenger with an umbrella arrived at the pavilion to tell her she'd been summoned by her parents—she'd then hurried to her room to change into something suitable, before coming here.
She was determined not to speak of such matters, not when her sisters could overhear. So she just furrowed her brow as she poured herself another cup of tea, commenting, "I had to change. I was reading in the gardens today, and you wouldn't believe who wandered into the same garden."
She knew Mameha would be interested if she spun the meeting she'd had this way, however. And she could talk to Shiro about her strange conversation later—for now she would only tell this part of the story, for Mameha's benefit. Sayu watched as Shiro smirked with knowing. Mameha saw his reaction, but still remained oblivious, and thus eagerly asked, "Who?"
"Why, Prince Kouen, of course," Shiro replied. Her older brother waved a lofty hand, "Who else could it be? You know how divinely twisted fate can be."
At his name, Mameha colored a brilliant, tomato red. Sayu chuckled at this. "I think you have something to say about Prince Kouen."
"Or something to think about—" Shiro happily chimed, "—especially when it comes to dear Koumei's older brother."
They were both surprised when Mameha turned away from their remarks, shame-faced. "It's—it's improper, I know."
She and Shiro looked at each other, brows raised. They turned to their younger sister, concern evident in their brows. Sayu gently said, "We didn't mean it that way, Mameha. I'm surprised you'd say that."
"The noblewomen talk a lot," Shiro continued, "we were just teasing."
The eighteen year old was playing with her thumbs. She haltingly bit out, "I know. But I'm supposed to marry Prince Koumei, aren't I? It would be improper to think of his own brother in such a way."
Nobushiro pulled the girl in his arms. He chuckled, patting her head. "Perhaps it is, but a little fun every once in a while is to be expected. It's what makes us human." He looked at Sayu. She smiled, waving for him to continue.
"Everyone in this family knows that you take your duties very seriously—" Mameha looked up at her older brother when he said that, and Shiro just patted her shoulder with a smile. "—mother and father are very proud. So are Sayu and I. And you know Yuki has always been proudest of how far you've come."
"I'm rather sure," Sayu added with a grin, "that Koumei is warming up to you. Don't think I haven't noticed how you two speak to each other more."
Mameha got out of her brother's hug. She was still a little red, as she laughed sheepishly. "We only talk sometimes, really. I think he likes spending time with you more than me and my chaperone. It's not much of a romance."
Again, Sayu and Shiro looked at each other at that. That Mameha and Koumei were getting to be friends was what Sayu had alluded to. Not romance—
Shiro soothed their sister's concerns with a few more quips, all the while expertly slipping the topic of their arranged marriage and romance out of Mameha's grasp.
Soon their parents arrived, and without further ado they made the procession down from the royal apartments and into the banquet hall. Along the way, she and Shiro stayed at the back of the pack, talking quietly.
Her brother looked pained. "Did you think we were too harsh, not even allowing her to think that she and Koumei might…"
Love each other?
The words didn't need to be said. Sayu felt an unexpected twinge of sadness at her brother's question—once, when she'd been much younger than Mameha and headed into her own arranged marriage, she'd thought the same thing. Her betrothal had come as a shock to her, but she'd accepted it eventually. She'd even dreamt about perhaps being happy in her marriage, like her mother and father were. That she would love her prince—and her prince would love her.
It didn't go quite as planned. Sayuri felt a sigh slip out of her lips. Shiro had never been married—indeed, his prospects were still being considered, but it would be a while yet since their parents would seriously start looking for a bride for him. But he knew the way of things, being as old and experienced as he was.
"I think we were a little harsh, to not even allow her some hope." She started, "But it wouldn't even be half as cruel as encouraging her, only for her to find out later that Koumei won't love her that way."
They didn't know that for sure, but the smart thing to do was not risk it. Suppositions and preconceptions of that sort had hurt her deeply, when she was fourteen.
Shiro stared straight ahead of him, gazing at the silver heads of their family, eyes straying once to the tall heads of their parents, engaged in happy conversation with each other. "I don't think she actually like likes him, to be honest."
But still she tried, because she somehow had the strange idea that everyone expected her to have a perfect marriage with Koumei. It was something to work upon—perhaps Sayu and her mother would need a talk with Mameha.
Sayuri tried not to cringe. Marriage was always such painstaking, meticulous talk. It was a topic that she only marginally liked more than war.
As if sensing her tired thoughts, Shiro turned to her with a grin. "But, enough of such things. I'm sure Koumei will treat her just fine—and he already knows that Yuki would magically incinerate him otherwise."
A thought occurred to Sayuri. She remembered their earlier conversation, about Ren Kouen, before they'd ever ventured into the topic of marriage. "Shiro, has father received any letters from the Magisterium lately?"
Her brother stopped to look at her. But then he started walking again, nonchalantly saying, "No. Why?"
Sayu watched his terrible acting with a wary eye. Upon reconsideration, she thought perhaps now wouldn't be the time—not when they were heading to the banquet where merriment was to be expected, and it wouldn't do for the royal family to look troubled beside the serious Kou princes.
"Nothing," She echoed. "Just curious."
She looked away from him, steeling herself for the dinner. She would be sitting feet away from the Crown Prince of Kou, no doubt about it. If fate was an even crueler mistress—she'd be placed right beside him. She hadn't looked at the seating arrangement for tonight's banquet, but she would assuredly leave the table as soon as she was able to.
This time it was Shiro who turned a suspicious eye on her. He remarked, "Sit with us at the table will you, Sayu. Your work can wait a while yet."
The princess shrugged blithely. "For Koumei, maybe I'll stay."
Shiro snorted. "Sometimes I rub off of you too much. Well, suit yourself."
He winked at her mysteriously, "I'm sure you'll regret it."
His remark caught her off guard. She looked at him in shock for a moment, but the sweeping doors to the royal hall were opened, and every one of their courtiers and subjects rose in deference.
The night was loud and spirited, just how Nobushiro Jie liked it.
Sitting at their table, a more vibrant thread of conversation thrived; Koumei had gotten much more comfortable with his family, and managed to speak to them without any difficulty. It was a considerably different picture than Koumei's first day in Jishou.
His eyes wandered over to where Sayuri sat. She'd stayed, of course; not when he'd triggered her suspicion with the conversation they'd had before the banquet.
Under any other circumstances, his sister was a veteran diplomat, able to reach across any kind of wall that separated her from a person—years of work in negotiation tended to do that to a person, and Sayu was a flexible person, capable of plying anyone into a reasonable, amiable mood when she wanted to. But obviously she had no intention of using those same abilities tonight.
Kouen had been seated to his father's right, who sat at the head of the table. His mother had chosen to seat herself with his youngest sisters a little further down the table, entertaining some high ranking members of court with her ladies in waiting.
Which meant Shiro sat directly across Kou's Crown Prince. And he was also able to observe the chill in the foreign prince's area of the table, because Ren Kouen seemed unable to speak to Sayuri, who was seated beside him.
Shiro snickered into his cup of rice wine. Sayuri was as cordial as ever, happily speaking to Koumei—who was seated right beside Shiro, and thus across her—but there was such a trying dimension to her cordialness whenever Kouen had been included in such a conversation.
It was beginning to become apparent to Koumei, too. The younger prince turned to him, hiding their faces with his fan, "Excuse me, Prince Nobushiro, but did my lord brother do anything to offend Princess Sayuri?"
My lord brother annoyed Shiro a bit, because his own siblings didn't call him that. Nobody should—especially not when you were siblings. It was too formal, too stifling, and rife with all sorts of uncomfortable implications about how the imperial court in Rakushou was.
Shiro chose to comment on something else: "I must've told you a million times now—if you let my siblings so graciously call you Koumei, you're more than welcome to call us by our first names."
Koumei said nothing in reply. They were both too interested in watching as Sayu politely offered to pour Kouen a cup of wine.
The prince uttered a "yes."
That was the full extent of their conversation for the next minute.
Shiro had to smother his chuckles with another swig of wine. "And those two? I'm not entirely sure. Apparently they had a meeting, earlier. I suppose it didn't turn out very well."
That was another thing that was rife with uncomfortable implications, and earlier Sayu herself looked like she'd been about to speak about it, before realizing Mameha would overhear—but if she hadn't told him by now, it was something that could wait.
Just then, the royal hall opened to reveal another small procession. Cheers went up, and as the doors to the hall sealed themselves shut again, Shiro had already put his cup of wine down, a wide grin stretching the expanse of his face.
He stood. His father rose to do the same—but not before bidding the foreign princes to sit. Down the table, he could see his mother smiling at this new procession, hushing his excited kid sisters.
A single shiver of anticipation went up Nobushiro's spine. He glanced at Sayuri, who was staring at him with a quizzical, severely unimpressed brow.
She must've been really unimpressed by Ren Kouen.
Well, she surely wasn't going to be unimpressed by this next spectacle. Shiro had been informally tasked with informing her of the arrival of this delegation—but he'd decided to keep this secret to himself, to savor his sister's unfettered surprise.
The festivities didn't grind to a halt, because the arrival of this latest retinue was treated with great familiarity by the court; the din continued all around them, even as a small party of attendants dressed (far too) warmly stopped before the dais.
This group parted in half, to make way for their single lord: Ariavat's First Prince, fresh from the desert sands that enveloped the Magisterium's lands.
His worn boots clicked as he swept one low and handsome bow, with one hand over his heart. He wore a camel colored long, knee-length coat embroidered with vines and swallows twisting in circles; Shiro had to bite his lip—despite being one of the Magisterium's rising scholars, he could still easily slip on the airs and clothes of a fine prince whenever he wanted to.
"Prince Kouen, Prince Koumei," The King said with a fond smile alighting his face, "This is the Kingdom of Ariavat's First Prince." Tongue in cheek, his father said nothing more.
Shiro stifled another laugh. There was a short chuckle from below them as well, as the newest prince rose from his bow with lithe grace. He said with his hand still over his heart, "My name is Alihaddra Kujahabar Salman," Then he smiled, and it was a benevolent smile—totally free from any kind of malice.
That's the kind of thing only he could pull off, Shiro thought with a deepening smirk, that bastard.
This prince continued, simply with: "Ali, for short."
Alihaddra was the name Shiro's parents used. Prince Ali was the pet name the courtiers had given him. But to the Jie siblings—and most especially Sayuri—he was simply known as Kuja.
"I've come to the court of the King of Jishou—" And here Kuja uttered a sincere blessed may his rule be, "—first as a magister, in service to the Triangle. I repeat the Magisterium's tidings: we bid Kou and Jishou's enterprise well."
Koumei was silent, looking to his brother. He looked a combination of stunned, awed and tense all at the same time. But Kouen stood with the King's assent—and as he spoke, Nobushiro observed the deep interest he regarded Kuja with. It was a formal thank you that he said, cautious and calculated.
His eyes betrayed the intrigue he held for the Magisterium. It was honestly the same with Koumei—but Kouen was of course a more dangerous man, with his multiple metal vessels and how he would one day rule as emperor of Kou.
Kuja humbly bowed his head over Kouen's greeting. But the magister's eyes then flickered to where Shiro stood, with his smirk in place and arms crossed. Kuja's smile then cracked into a grin.
This time he no less respectfully addressed the King, "I've come second as a prince, not only fond of, but greatly missing his friends. I hope that I've arrived in not too bad a time—I didn't intend to interrupt this banquet."
The King chuckled over this flowery introduction. "Welcome, Alihaddra. Come join in the festivities."
And much as Shiro wanted to give Kuja a slap on the back for finally returning to Jishou, he had Koumei to entertain.
Koumei and his questions, his mind amended. Shiro waved a little hand at Kuja, who just waved back with a grin, mouthing talk to you later.
He sat down, turning to Koumei with a smile.
The Second Prince of Kou was—unsurprisingly—watching Kuja mill about the royal banquet table with his fan covering most of his face. His eyes followed the magister dip his head before the Queen, who smiled. Then Kuja talked dotingly to Shiro's three younger sisters.
Koumei considered him. He was not hostile or calculating, but just genuinely curious about the magister, which Shiro took to be a good sign. Shiro spoke after popping a Caeran grape in his mouth, "Kuja's been a good friend of our family's for two decades now, I think."
As if snapping out of some trance, Koumei turned to him. He was flustered enough to do that characteristic head-rubbing. He tried to return to his food and drink, but Shiro just chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't tell you've been staring. He's been stared at for far longer, I assure you. And he doesn't mind—I'm sure Kuja'd like you, anyhow."
Koumei looked surprised at that. Shiro's eyes followed Kuja as well, though in a more discreet manner.
They both watched as Kuja then made his way over to the other side of the table. Yuki greeted him begrudgingly.
"Prince Nobuyuki—"
"—Yuki." He added without hesitation.
"…Nobuyuki," Koumei compromised, "doesn't seem very pleased."
Shiro chuckled. Progress, he supposed. "That's because Yuki spends most of his time in the Magisterium. I expect they run into each other a lot—he told me Kuja sometimes helps him in his magical studies. He's a good teacher, but my brother has always wanted to best him. So far it hasn't happened."
"I…see."
Shiro could see he really didn't. He went on with a smile, "They're as old as each other, you know. Kuja's already a magister—magicians usually reach middle age before that happens. You can imagine how hard my brother has to work to keep up with him."
Their eyes trailed the Ariavatan Prince's path. Beside Yuki sat Mameha, who smiled brilliantly at Kuja. She laughed as he bowed over her outstretched hand. When he straightened, he fondly patted her slender hand in his own hands, saying something they couldn't hear with a smile.
Shiro closely observed Koumei's reaction. He seemed…curious. The redhead then took a gulp of his already cold tea.
Kuja next took a few steps up the table, nearing where the King sat.
Where Sayu sat.
Shiro looked at her face which sported, quite possibly, the best smile he'd ever seen from her. Briefly her eyes locked with his, and Shiro mouthed, surprise!
She laughed. Not chuckled—laughed, and she stood to greet her friend, meeting him halfway. She extended her hand, her eyes dancing with mirth.
Kuja indulged this gesture. It was very regal, very princely—the tail end of his coat touched the ground when he bowed deeply over Sayu's hand, in Ariavatan custom.
In custom with the years of friendship he shared with Sayu, however, he soon straightened and embraced her tightly. In front of the court. Not that anyone truly noticed—they were all used to it.
Perhaps it was different in Kou, Shiro mused. Koumei looked slightly scandalized.
"No worries, Koumei," He said, putting down a set of flaky, honey-soaked treats from Ariavat in front of the younger prince. "they've always been the closest of friends. Were it not for Ariavat's tradition of wedding all its magicians to other magicians to keep its bloodline strong, Kuja would've married my sister long ago. Before father married her off to Caera, even."
The younger prince looked at him.
"And…now?"
Shiro could tell it was a subtle point of interest for Koumei. They were talking about his sister, now; not that he blamed him for his interest—many people wondered what had went wrong five years ago, to precipitate Sayu's return to Jishou.
From the right person, Sayu would've easily answered the question. It was a tale that needed to be told, every once in a while. It'd carried a lot of meaning.
It still does, he corrected. It probably always will.
But back to actually answering Koumei's question: "Magisters don't marry," was all he decided to say for now. Shiro shrugged, "too much work involved."
When he reached across the table to grab a jug of water, Shiro noted Kouen's crimson eyes following Sayu—she was standing, excusing herself from the table. But soon they returned to his tea.
Nobushiro thought nothing upon the matter. He waved another hand at Kuja, who was stealing Sayu away from the table with a merry grin.
Notes:
Longest chapter to date. I love Kuja, sorry guys you're stuck with him for the rest of this story. Don't worry he's not just there to make it a love triangle.
(1) It really only occurred to me after I finished making his character that Kuja's name is Prince Ali, technically. So I sneaked the reference in there. Does anyone know from where that's familiaaar?
(2) We'll get to the adventure and romance part soon. Sometime. I promise.
(3) Plug: I've written a oneshot about Kouen; if you might be interested, go check it out on my profile. It's what I think he feels, so some sliver of that will end up in this fic somehow. I've also made a blog, due to some demand; it'll contain supplementary material for this fic, because it's so heavily-AU and full of OCs.
Thanks so much folks; the response has always been greatly uplifting. I genuinely appreciate any and all commentary, so if you have the time please write me a review. I'll field any questions, any clarifications, any concerns! See y'all next time. :-)