8

The Blooming Dawn

By most accounts, Mameha Jie was a beautiful girl. This was what her attendants, her friends, her chaperone had always told her; pale skin, lustrous silver hair and green eyes so deep it would have been enough to win anyone over.

"Such beautiful hair," her chaperone said smilingly, her red-gold reflection looking at her through the shining copper mirror. "It is a relief to know you take care of it so much, Princess."

Mameha said nothing, twitching a small grin for the older woman but otherwise lowering her eyes.

The truth was she felt ill about that morning, even if her hair looked as beautiful as usual—so ill she'd woken up just as the dawn cracked. She'd gone for a walk about the woods with no one but her guards; she hadn't felt like waking any of her retinue to accompany her, but of course there had been one other person awake that morning, already peaceably sipping tea at the gardens.

"You're unusually quiet this morning, Mameha," Kuja had remarked when she stopped by to observe him sitting under a willow tree. "Does it have to do with later's announcements?"

Her stomach had given a small flip at that. "Just feeling a little under the weather, is all."

"Come sit, I'll tell you a story."

She had forgotten what it was like to sit with him and listen and have a small talk—and it was evident that even Kuja himself had forgotten the feeling, when he admitted that he'd been spending most of his time with Sayuri, so much so that he hadn't had the chance to chat with her.

"I don't mind." She'd said. "I know you and Sayu haven't seen each other in a while."

Her mind had been otherwise occupied with something else—someone else—in the course of their sojourn to Tohouku, anyway.

He tapped her nose at that. "Still," he said, "I'll see about inviting you to Ariavat, when I return there."

She'd scrunched her face at his finger, but then laughed and excused herself.

"And now we wait." Her chaperone brought her out of her musings. Mameha glanced upwards, observing the older woman's excited face. "Any minute now, and we'll be getting the news."

True to her word, another person entered her rooms to bring the news. But it wasn't the Queen, like tradition dictated, like she'd expected; it was Nobuyuki.

Her older brother came in with his brows furrowed and fists shaking. He was talking to himself, and the sight of his disheveled hair and face pale with anger made her chaperone put the brush down on the vanity quietly.

Mameha felt her mouth go dry. "Yuki." She greeted.

The look in her brother's eyes was heart-wrenching—the excruciating sadness and frustration mixed in one caused the hair on her arm to rise.

He finally spoke: "Mameha."

Yuki said it with so much defeat he sounded like a man brought to his knees. She stood, approached him with her breath in her throat.

"What is it," She whispered.

Please, she silently prayed, please don't let it be what I think it is.

He took her by the arm and sat her down on her bed. "It's the Kou delegation. They—they—Kouen—"

The name of the Crown Prince of Kou on her brother's lips made her eyes go wide.

"—he wants to marry Sayu. Not—not you and Koumei—but Sayu and Kouen. It isn't at all what we planned."

She'd thought the negotiations had unexpectedly fallen through, and surely the situation wasn't as grave or as devastating as Yuki was acting like it was—yet all the same her heart was thundering, and her face burned with something she just wouldn't call as shame when she heard Koumei hadn't proposed to her, like she thought he would.

Like everybody had promised—like everybody had prepared her for.

There was a shriek in the room; distantly, Mameha could recognize it as her chaperone's furiousness echoing in the morning.

"This is an outrage!" The older woman breathed. She got down in front of Mameha, clutching her robes at her knees; she pushed back her silver hair with a loving hand and murmured, "This is that woman's doing—she has been meeting alone with Prince Koumei this summer, she wants it all to herself, but you must let her know she cannot take this away from you too—"

Mameha reeled back and looked at her with shock, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. "That woman is my sister," she cried with a hollow sort of horror.

"And look at what she has done to you." The older woman's eyes saw through her. Mameha's heart jumped into her throat, unable to reply to the unthinkable.

"Enough!" Yuki stood, jaw clenched. He seethed, "Leave us. If I beheaded you for slandering my sister's good name in front of Mameha, she would be devastated. Be grateful that Sayuri knows kindness more than you do."

Her chaperone shied away from them both, the dangerous expression of a wounded predator shadowing her face. "You should know, Prince Nobuyuki, that what I do I only do for Princess Mameha—"

"Get out!" He thundered.

The woman shut up, but not without sending a look at her that Mameha couldn't understand.

Yuki called one of his attendants after her leave, saying, "Follow her. Send someone discreet to find out her activities in the summer palace."

Then: silence.

Mameha looked at her hands, after all the commotion had gone and it was just the two of them in her room.

"That was the first time she's ever said anything like that to me."

Above her, Yuki sighed. He sat down on her bed again, and when he next spoke he sounded tired, as if all the anger he'd felt rushed out of him and left only exhaustion: "I…"

She smiled at him a little sadly. "It's alright." The princess licked her lips and breathed deeply, not relishing the words she had to say next.

"What did father say?"

Mameha glanced at him. Her brother seemed to be battling with yet another onslaught of emotion at the mention of their father. He knit his brows, curling his lip as he disparaged: "You know what? You can ask father yourself. He promised you this."

On their way, they passed by Sayu's rooms. The doors to her rooms were open; inside, she could see the minute changes in her sister's face as Shiro sat down. When she and Yuki paused at the doorway, she found Kuja's eyes flitting toward her with surprise.

Nobushiro whispered something in Sayuri's ear.

She could see the exact way the blood drained from the First Princess of Jishou's face.

"I—no, you're joking."

There was laughter. An uncomfortable laugh had tumbled out of Sayuri's lips, as she pushed Shiro's hand away from her and shook her head. "That's impossible. The negotiations—the dowry—"

Shiro looked at her sister intently. Haltingly, he bit out, "I understand that Kou knows this is an impossible request to ask of Jishou. They made it clear this morning. One of their amendments to the marriage contract is their generous refusal to accept Mameha's dowry in exchange for your hand."

The younger princess felt her chest seize at the declaration—what do they mean—

Another sickening, hysterical laugh forced itself out of Sayu. "As if—" and here her usually pleasant voice cracked, the pitch of it near-disappearing into her nervousness, leaving only a breathless whisper, "as if Mameha is worth anything less—as if they're willing to let father give her away, but not me—"

At that moment, her older sister looked to the open doors of her room. She stood. "Mameha—!"

Mameha couldn't make herself return her sister's gaze, now that Sayu's ever-pale green eyes tried desperately to meet her own. She looked away. "S-Sayu..."

She fumbled with her words, focusing on a spot on the straw mats, avoiding all eye contact with anything remotely living. "W-We…we should speak to father about this."

Another voice answered her.

"We should," Shiro interjected, voice level and firm. "Come with us, Kuja."

They all got on their knees and bowed before the King, hands in front of them and their silver hair spilled all over the straw floor.

"Rise, all of you," The King said, and even in her state Mameha could recognize her father's voice as being uncharacteristically distracted.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sayu rise—elegantly, lithely, and her face looking as if she'd smoothed out all the emotion before meeting with their father; Mameha thought it so striking but fitting, for something Sayu had to do. She unhesitatingly addressed the King: "Father, I would like to know if you've already accepted Kou's proposal."

Mameha rose as well, sitting back on her haunches and trying to keep her hands from trembling.

How can she be so calm at a time like this, her mind half-whispered and half-marveled to her. There was something she did not understand going on, she just knew it; yet still she did her best to look even just half as assured as Sayuri was, silently steeling her burning face over the thundering of her heart.

She watched her father glance to her left with a raised brow, where Shiro sat. Mameha didn't see her brother's expression, but wordlessly and quickly enough Mameyoshi's gaze returned to Sayu. He sounded measured this time, like he usually was, and some small part of Mameha took comfort in his confidence. "I haven't. Such a considerable change in the marriage contract requires proper examination."

"Then may I ask—" Sayuri bowed over her hands again, "—why we haven't insisted on Mameha's betrothal to Ren Koumei?"

This was the first time Mameha had ever heard Sayu speak with such open defiance to their father. Yet sneaking glances at her companions, it bafflingly seemed as if the only one shocked with Sayu's behavior was her, and her brothers (this included Kuja) looked not at all affected by the question.

Shiro was stonefaced, lips set tight against one another in a frown. Yuki looked outright livid with their father. And Kuja…Kuja was unaffectedly gazing at the King, as if he was completely detached from the situation and was only coldly calculating just how the King would react.

Their strange reactions doused her spine with dread, and she too gazed at her father, at once fearful of his reaction. His fist tightened, but he looked away at Sayuri's impertinence—he instead chose to stare outside the window.

But then he sighed, and looked back at them.

All of them.

"There are things that I have contemplated, especially regarding this alliance." The King spoke deliberately, slowing his words as if to make sure they all understood what he was saying, "Things that I would not have dared consider before, were it not for today's developments.

"Jishou also has a duty to keep the sanctity of the peace in the Triangle. For these reasons I lean towards accepting Ren Kouen's unusual proposal, and have not insisted on Mameha's betrothal."

Mameha felt her face burn even hotter. What things were at play, what things were at stake? Why was her father speaking so cryptically?

Why hadn't anyone bothered to educate her of these things her father contemplated, when they were so obviously important to the welfare of Jishou and the Triangle? Was she not a member of the royal family, a princess of Jishou, with her own duties and responsibilities to fulfill?

Why was she not entrusted with all the things her father would rather burden Sayuri with?

"Sayuri," Her father said. "On the virtue that you have already been betrothed to the former Crown Prince of Caera, this decision is ultimately still yours. But I would speak to you, first."

Something wet grazed the hem of her robe's sleeve. She shifted her hands, and when she looked down, redness was gathered at her fingertips, dripping from her chin in two drops.

Belatedly, she realized she'd bit down on and broken the skin of her lip without thinking.

She lifted a hand to discreetly swipe the offending liquids pooling in her face, attending to the burning in her eyes as well.

Blood and tears.

This is not the time to cry, she reminded herself. Not in front of father.

Sayu was still bowed over her hands when she mechanically replied: "Yes, father."

The King gazed out over their faces. But when his eyes stopped at her, she looked at her hands again. Her brothers excused themselves, but they would not leave until she went with them.

Mameha hurriedly splayed her hands in front of her and bowed. "I-I will take my leave as well, father."

When she rose, she pretended not to see the way her father's face twisted in on itself.

"How cruel, to say that in front of Mameha."

King Mameyoshi said nothing. Sayu tilted her head, wondering what he was thinking about.

They stood before the inner gardens built into the center of her father's wing of the summer palace; the servants had pulled all the doors open, and his solarium was rightfully flooded with the light pouring in from outside—Sayuri could spot her mother and her youngest sisters having tea in the garden.

"Mameha knows her duty," Her father said, tone distant. "But you have earned your independence. She is aware of this. Kou is aware of this. Yet I never would have thought them so brash."

She raised a brow at that. "Brash? What do you mean?"

"Ren Kouen. I have the feeling he will not back down from this until you accept." Mameyoshi turned his head to her, a crooked smile alighting on his lips, "He knows you're too principled to shirk your duties."

"It's tasteless," She muttered.

"It's well in character for Kou." He chuckled, darkly. "Still, it works just as well for us. Do you know why I haven't offered your brothers to Kou?"

Sayuri pursed her lips, before answering. It was an easy question, one she had already thought upon countless times while in Tohouku. "You want to keep an eye on the Empire. Having a Kou princess in the Triangle accomplishes nothing for us."

"Right. I expect their princesses to be just as tight-lipped as their brothers, and just as loyal to Kou. We need someone to make sure all terms of the alliance are upheld, as well as a keen eye to keep us in touch with the Empire's activities. I've always worried Mameha would be daunted by the responsibility. It's a great deal to put on her shoulders."

The King said all this as if he'd explained this to someone before, like it was a lesson he'd already given. Sayu simply nodded her head, digesting his words.

"As for Kouen's motives," And here his voice turned light, and he placed an arm around her shoulder. "I only have baseless speculation. It's something we can talk about later. For now, take all the time you need to think."

Pale skin, lustrous silver hair and green eyes so deep, but these were not things to win Kou princes over—beauty was only skin deep.

But something about Sayuri had always gone farther than that; people had always liked to talk about how beautiful Mameha was, but Sayuri never stayed long enough in court to hear the praises they sang for her.

Her older sister was a princess that didn't come in the traditional mold Jishou dictated—she was unwed, she was outspoken and flouted tradition by freely associating with whomever courtier she pleased, entangling herself in and accomplishing work intended only for wizened old men and their sons. She was an outsider yet an insider at the same time, integral to and adored by the court she served.

Maybe she should've been jealous. It was what the gossiping court women expected her to be, when she practically walked in her sister's tremendous shadow; now that Sayuri had unexpectedly attracted the Crown Prince of Kou's attention—those kinds of whispers would only grow louder in the coming period.

She was not jealous.

Instead, she was silent.

She would not be marrying—she would be expected to carry on as she'd done before their sojourn to the summer palace…and what did that entail?

The life of a princess, Mameha quietly looked at her hands, has never sounded so straightforward.

Yuki had visited her in the afternoon, with Shiro and Kuja in tow. She'd been surprised by the last two's appearance—she'd thought they would be with her older sister. But they came to visit, after she'd spent the entire mid-day in her rooms.

It was nice, if a little quiet. Sayu's absence was noticeable by the way Shiro would inexplicably quiet himself, or by the remoteness of Kuja's expressions. They could all keep a comfortable conversation between them, yet it was never more apparent that they all had something else on their minds.

She cannot take this away from you too, her former chaperone had said this morning, and it was such a strange and vicious thing to say, when Mameha thought about everything that had been taken away from Sayuri—and everything that she had regained in subsequent years.

If there was anyone more deserving of everything that had been allowed to them, it would be her sister.

Mameha wondered if Sayuri would accept Kouen's proposal.

It seemed like something she would and wouldn't do. In a moment of short-lived brevity—Mameha remembered Sayu had never really been very fond of the Crown Prince of Kou's company.

"It's almost sundown," Shiro commented absently, putting down his teacup and gazing outside her window.

It was true; the day was already painted a burnt orange and the clouds hung low. The last few days had been especially pleasant, and her servants had told her the temperatures weren't so sweltering down at the coast that it would be enjoyable to visit the beach.

Perhaps it would be something she would do before business here would be over.

Yuki returned from outside, carrying a fresh tray of food from the kitchens. Shiro looked at him, then extended Yuki's cup of tea to him.

"Nobody's seen Sayu all afternoon," Yuki said. And there it was again: the flashes of worry her brothers would express, whenever they remotely drifted into a conversation with her older sister in it. It was as if there was some silent, unanimous decision to not speak about Sayuri that afternoon; she knew that it would be out of respect of course, especially with the proposal she had to think about.

At least now they would openly speak about it. Mameha accepted the treats Yuki had gotten for her and proceeded to slowly eat them one by one.

Shiro had also stopped at Yuki's words. Her eldest brother wordlessly gazed at Kuja, who'd looked up at Yuki's remark.

"Kuja," Shiro knit his brows. "Dinner is in a while. Knowing Sayu, she probably hasn't had anything to eat since morning."

Yuki sat by her, sighing. "No one's seen her in the castle. Fuu said she might be in the gardens."

At this, Kuja nodded. He stood up, dusting himself off; then he reached in his robe, and pulled out a thin piece of fabric that had been folded and tucked away—Mameha recognized it instantly.

He seemed not at all worried about Sayu's state. Instead, he looked thoughtful as he carefully unfolded the fabric with his long, ringed fingers. His voice, deep and in its forever placid tone, spoke: "Not to worry. I know where she'll be."

Shiro's eyes returned to his tea without missing a beat. "Thank you."

Yuki was silent at this exchange, but he nodded gratefully at Kuja.

Mameha didn't really understand—but she knew her siblings trusted Kuja fully. She knew Kuja was a magister, and was Sayu's truest friend. But still the way Shiro could so easily leave this task off to Kuja surprised her, especially when he'd acted so concerned the entire afternoon.

Just another thing I'm apart from, a little voice in the back of her head echoed. She'd been told many stories about her older siblings and Kuja's friendship; even as a child spending her summers in Tohouku, she'd always envied how the four of them went off into the woods together but she would be made to stay in the palace with her parents and little sisters.

Mameha had since made headway by creating her own bond with Yuki. Yet Nobushiro and Sayuri had always been thick as thieves, and Mameha knew Shiro didn't treat her the way he treated Sayu—always with laughter, with mock, with affection, with high regard, and with utter confidence.

And that was nothing to speak of how deep the connection was between Sayuri and Kuja. Although Kuja was fond of her, it was nothing in comparison to how close he was to her sister. As children, it was always Sayu and Kuja, Kuja and Sayu—never one without the other, and Mameha had secretly wished for a best friend like the one her older sister had.

Even as everyone grew old and their lives unfolded, somehow the two of them managed to make it look like nothing at all had changed, and sometimes it was a comforting thing to listen to the both of them talk to each other, as if they were still kids.

She watched Kuja unfurl the cloth with a flick of his wrist, before letting go. The cloth rose in the air, laying itself flat, like it was waiting for someone to ride it.

Then he nodded at her brothers, but left her with a tranquil smile. "I'll be off, then."

For all her supposed expertise in diplomacy, Sayuri had never truly expected the Kou delegation to conclude their alliance negotiation with a marriage proposal—not to Mameha, like they'd all been led to believe—but to her.

A laugh rattled out of her chest, broken and familiar. She'd genuinely thought it a joke, at first; such a thing to come at such a time, it required the proper preparation, as propriety called for. Sayu hadn't been there during the announcement of the proposal, but she imagined Shiro had been shocked beyond words—speechless with fury—and her father had calmly regarded the Kou delegation with a new kind of reckoning.

Only Ren Kouen would be so bold, she thought sardonically.

And that was the truth of it: of all the men, of all the propositions, she knew deep in her heart that this was one thing—one person—she could not refuse.

But her father had been relieved, as he'd practically told her that afternoon. To leave the safety of their newborn alliance to Mameha's hands, it had secretly disturbed her father; yet now with Kouen's proposal, they could leave the job to someone more capable.

Or so her father seemed to think.

Sayuri had thought Mameha able enough to grow into such a role. She would doubt, she would worry, but she would always come back to the fact that her sister was just as willing as anyone else in their family to faithfully carry out their duty: Sayu always knew she could do it, and her role as older sister would then be to guide and help Mameha on her way to being a princess of Kou.

And perhaps Mameha had prepared herself for this version of the future, too.

The crestfallen look on her sister's face, the nervous way in which she seemed to crumple in on herself when they all went to speak to their father—and to have to acknowledge the fact that Ren Kouen and Ren Koumei had passed her over for Sayuri, the childless widow already well-past marriageable age?

She must think she lacks in something.

But the truth was she didn't. The only thing conceivable from the way events had turned out was:

Kouen was more arrogant than she'd originally thought.

Just as I was beginning to think he was tolerable, she added, he defies all expectation.

Sayuri sighed, closing her eyes, listening to the sound of the beach's cascading waves, the whispering coastal wind.

Her father's wing of the summer palace was at the very back of the main keep; it was more private and heavily guarded, with walls closing off the rest of the forest from the palace's grounds. She'd come to her father's wing by herself that afternoon; when she left it, she'd been by herself as well.

It had been a simple walk, from the south of the keep to the very edge of the palace's grounds, where the forest of evergreens gave way to rocky cliffs, standing tall above the waves crashing against it and the white sand pooled at its bottom. A path had already been cleared, with wooden railings and carmine red gateways built, and steps paved along the way.

No one had followed her. But someone would come along eventually, in search of her.

She'd already made up her mind—there was simply no choice between her freedom and her responsibilities to the Triangle, and to Jishou. Being born her father's daughter had always meant one thing: all freedom and pleasure and luxury were small against the backdrop of duty. There was duty...and there was all else, like shadows under the sun.

Sayuri had actually tricked herself into thinking she could do whatever she wanted, so long as it served Jishou and the Triangle. She'd been free to do a lot of things, these past few years, and she'd thought her life would continue that way.

It was a foolish sentiment, in retrospect.

One brief image flashed through her mind: Caera's sprawling vineyards, their low, airy villas; the olives soaked in vinegar, the sweet vermillion wine, suddenly the smell of fresh bread.

A single man—no, a boy really, she recalled with slight fondness—with his licks of brown hair gilded in the warm orange-gold Caeran sun, his similarly chestnut eyes smiling at her with the promise of mischief.

Sayu blinked, and the image was gone.

She let out a breath, feeling her chest unknot itself for the first time since that morning. Her heart still felt heavy with some unknowable thing—she refused to acknowledge it as dread.

It was something else, something more familiar but had stayed remote in recent times.

Sadness.

"You've been gone too long."

She looked back with a smile, pulling some of her hair behind her ear with a hand. It was Kuja, of course; Shiro knew her very well. Already she could feel her throat come loose with an answer: "There is a lot to consider."

There wasn't, not really, but she needed an excuse to hide herself away from the world.

Kuja was sitting on top of his magic carpet—she recognized the thing from her childhood, and oh did she remember how envious she used to be of it—but soon he stepped off, light and graceful like he always was, and with some smooth gesture of his arm the carpet folded itself and he tucked it in his robe.

She was kneeling on top of a large, smooth rock that sat on the cliff's highest point. She moved to the side a bit, to make room for Kuja. He gladly sat beside her.

His expression was easy but contemplative. Sayuri wondered what he thought of the situation.

An idea popped into her head.

"O wise magister," She uttered, "please tell what advice you have for me, what the rukh has in store for me."

Sayu meant every word of what she'd said—Kuja was a magister. A very young one, but he was easily one of the wisest people she knew; even Shiro asked for his advice.

By virtue of being a magister alone, he held the ears of all the most powerful people in the Triangle. Studying in the Magisterium was more than just a magical pilgrimage—it was an experience one would treasure for their lives. She herself had never been there, but she knew it was filled with millennia old accounts and tomes collected from all over the world; spending years of your life in isolation at Ariavat's deserts with nothing but such a great library was bound to affect a magician.

All magisters were knowledgeable of and in flow with the rukh; it was what made their magic so beautiful and instinctive, and made them trusted advisors in each of the countries in the Triangle. They were the persons most familiar with life and the way life manifested itself.

Kuja laughed. "What is there to say? To face the tides of fate the rukh has given you?"

"A second marriage, as if the first had gone so well," Sayuri said with breathless disbelief and resignation, gazing into the setting sun and the sky bleeding a brilliant red. "What a tide to follow."

"I said nothing of following the tide," Her companion spoke up.

True enough, she supposed. She could not help but think of all she would be leaving—she would be giving up a lot of things, to come west and marry Kouen.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Kuja said:

"There is a saying—"

She turned to him. He was smiling to himself, as if he'd remembered something amusing. "—in Jishou that the Magisterium espouses. It's a very old saying apparently, one of the best you've taught me, you know."

His amber eyes were already staring back at her, and in the light of the sunset they looked like burning, molten gold. Sayu furrowed her brow, trying to remember when she'd said such a thing to him, but failing.

He continued: "I grew a cherry blossom tree in Ariavat one day when I returned there—with the help of the court magicians, of course. You'd just gotten engaged. I was about to be sent to the Magisterium for the first time.

"You'd said, 'we have a saying, in Jishou, one that we remember every spring.'"

Her eyes widened when she realized what he'd been alluding to.

Kuja just grinned. "'When the cherry blossoms scatter…no regrets.' That when life goes well—it is a sudden gift, and we must enjoy it as we can, because the cherry blossoms bloom for only so long."

"You were always fascinated by the cherry trees in the capitol," She mused.

"It's why I have the blossom on my staff. Don't think I haven't noticed you eyeing it yesterday."

Sayuri breathed, her throat clenching and refusing to say the words until she forced them out. "Then I suppose this year will be the last time the blossoms bloom. There is no choice left. I will have to marry him, if only to protect Jishou and thus the Triangle's stake in the alliance."

Kuja put his hand over hers. Tender and soft, his lips formed a small smile: "There is always a choice, and the blossoms will bloom again, next spring."

The words were quiet and reassuring, but ultimately she had nothing to say. She'd once promised herself that she would never yield her freedom the way she did, all those years ago, when she entered her first betrothal—yet today she would be breaking the same promise, after keeping it for so long.

Marriage, once again, and to a country more foreign, a man more alien. In a small way it felt like a betrayal to Caera, and to the memory of its former Crown Prince—after all, she'd vowed to look after Caera however way she could as its new Crown Princess, when she took her first wedding vows.

She'd been such a serious, pensive girl back then.

But times were different, and it seemed like the blossoms were scattering once again.

The announcement came earlier than anyone expected, given that the original agreement had changed so radically—but that was Sayu; quick and efficient, dependable.

There was a minor banquet held inside her father's wing of the keep, but the tone was subdued, and it was a supremely private affair; Sayuri had only attended it for all of five minutes, and she'd spent all of it behind a curtain of state, body entirely obscured as Jishouan betrothal tradition dictated.

Mameha had silently watched as Ren Kouen got down on his knees in front of the silhouette of her sister—he splayed his hands out on the floor and lowered his head to rest on top of his fingers.

It was the first time she'd ever seen him doing such a humble thing.

But Kouen still looked every inch the Imperial Crown Prince he was; he'd worn his billowing black cloak with its metal pauldron, his red and white robes, his sword, his belt with the gold maw—as if to say all these things he greatly valued, he lay them before Sayuri.

And like he would soon be hers, these things would be hers too, when she was his wife.

Mameha could only imagine the stony smooth face of Sayuri looking down on him.

A feast was laid for them, but Mameha wandered into the inner garden, wishing to be alone.

Yet like many things she'd wished for that day—it wasn't to be, and she looked up from her plate of ceremonial confections. The rice cakes prepared for today had originally been colored and shaped like pure white chrysanthemum flowers, her favorite flower, and the bowl of tea served with it would have been full of her favorite blend of black tea.

Of course, to reflect today's changes, Sayuri had had to pick her own motifs for the betrothal feast. The rice cake staring back at her was shaped like a pale-pink, simple, and delicate cherry blossom. The bowl was filled with Ariavatan tea.

When she looked up Koumei was standing at the edge of the very small pavilion in her father's inner gardens. Mameha immediately turned her head away from him. Normally she would be forward in her approach of him, much to her chaperone—former chaperone's chagrin and lecturing—but she saw no use in it now, not when Kouen was officially marrying her sister.

There was a small sigh coming from his direction.

Ha-ha, she thought, I want to sigh too.

Why must some things in life be so difficult?

"I…" The older man started. There was that solicitous, careful tone he always used around her; as the thought about it, he probably had to use it all the time, when she was so brazen in their encounters. She would readily seek out his company, talk to him without prompting, and he'd probably found it unladylike and unappealing.

"You don't have to say anything, if it helps." She said. Was she disappointed? She truthfully didn't know.

"No."

Mameha turned her head at that. She nearly jumped when she realized how close Koumei had suddenly gotten, standing less than a foot away from her.

He was so close she could see his other eye peeking from behind the curtain of his messy magenta hair, and she could make out the exquisite metal detailing on his earring. His purplish-red eyes looked more intense and more awake than she'd even seen them.

She blushed at his proximity. He looked away for a moment, as if seemingly embarrassed by his actions as well, but he looked at her again, with resolution in his eyes.

"I want to apologize," He said, "because we—I pulled this out on you, knowing that you expected…everyone expected something else, Princess Mameha."

The younger princess was stunned at that.

Koumei didn't stop, however—"So I apologize. Deeply."

Her heart seized. She hadn't been expecting such an apology, and such a heartfelt one at that—yet still it didn't—

Hearing his words made her choke up, and another realization hit her.

Mameha bit her lip. "That doesn't—that doesn't change the fact you went along with all these weeks of—of—!"

She looked away, saying hotly, "—I was led to believe we were getting along well—but you were just stringing me and my brothers along—"

"No! No, no—" Koumei started shaking his head, and Mameha stopped to stare at him. He looked genuinely rueful, and he was staring at the ground, his hand rubbing the back of his head. "—the truth is I didn't know. I—I was just as shocked as you were today."

"You mean to say," Her eyes went wide, uttering, "that your brother has been planning this without your knowledge the entire time?"

He nodded and his words were sheepish, but he at least stared her in the eye when he said: "Not exactly, but…Kouen—Kouen is, well…Kouen."

...

"He sounds," She said with incredulity, "like an asshole."

At the words she'd just spilled, she clapped a hand over her mouth. To her surprise, Koumei just laughed. "He does, when put like that."

Another silence lapsed.

"I—I forgive you." She blurted out.

There were still many things that were left unsaid and unanswered when it came to this surprise proposal, but she was honest with Koumei in this regard—she always had been.

He's faultless in this.

Koumei smiled at her. It was a simple smile, one that made her heart stutter because she knew it was a direct byproduct of her own words, and one that she could see so close.

"Thank you," He bowed, "and to be truthful—I think we do get along, Princess Mameha."

She just nodded at that, ignoring the light flush in her cheeks.

Notes:

Protip: I don't respond to reviews that only say "please update soon," jsyk. So don't leave any more of those. But hey guys! I'll be responding to everyone else that dropped a review last chapter later, but for now have this.

(1) Here's the first glimpse of the dead husband. He won't really be appearing much, since he's, y'know, dead. Can anyone guess which ancient civilization I sort of based Caera off of, using the short images I provided in this chap? It's pretty easy, but points to anyone who does get it lol!

(2) It took a lot of restraint to not write a POV for Kuja - but here's Mameha. Mameha really puts a spin on the situation, being a princess herself but having some similar/different expectations to fulfill, and the high bar Sayuri sets for being a good "princess"/public servant.

(3) Kuja is referencing two things, in his cherry blossom speech: firstly the haiku by the poet Issa; secondly, a memorable line from the movie, Memoirs of a Geisha.

(4) Other cultural stuff: a "curtain of state" is a curtain that obscures, usually, a woman from onlookers; it's referenced a lot in The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu, The Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon, and other Heian-era works. The "inner garden" can be taken as like the Jishouan rendering of the Ancient Roman domus.

(5) I am very very curious as to how you'll react to the miniscule Mameha/Koumei fluff, and how you'll all take it lol. If you're wondering why Koumei might be weird, my justification is he's not his Canon Magi self yet; he's still 4 years getting there, and he's more sheepish and polite, like how he acts around Hakuei, because he regards Sayu and her family very well. He just wants to make a good impression, guise.

Sorry for my really long notes, but anyway; even if I'm not responding tonight, it was super fun to read all your reactions to Kouen's surprise proposal! I'll see you all in the next chapter, where we'll be leaving Jishou - stay tuned my friends, and if you've the time, please tell me how this chapter was. G'night!