17
Things Still Warm
North. To Qileng, to who knew what; to frozen wasteland, to mountaintops and to cutting winds perhaps; to gangs of tribesmen raring to see her head roll from her shoulders, maybe. She was being ordered north, to negotiate on behalf of an empire she was still new to.
I'm sure whichever poor girl they marry to Prince Kouen will be miserable.
Sayuri had said that, once upon a time. Her lips formed a wry smile—well, she wouldn't call herself miserable yet, and in any case, she was not the girl she had thought Kou would find to marry their crown prince.
She was not unwilling; she knew she was a princess, first and foremost. Of Jishou, of Caera, of the Triangle—and of Kou, now. Many people dreamed of running away to live a simpler life, like that of a farmer, or a fishwife, but she had never truly thought she could attain that—over the course of her life the thought had struck her many times, but each time she rejected it, knowing there many things she could not give up.
If she was not who she was, she would never have met her family. Kuja. Fuu. She would never have traveled so much and met so many people, and learned all she learned.
She knew who she was now. She was Ren Kouen's wife, Crown Princess of the Kou Empire, loyal daughter and subject of the Emperor. And she would be heading to Qileng, if the Emperor commanded it; she had no delusions now, after months living here.
And perhaps that was all there was to say about it. A bitter smile formed on her face.
The rain continued. Her boudoir echoed with the thunder. That afternoon would mark the second day of the rainstorm wracking the capital; there would be muddy roads and a temporary increase in grain prices in the city. Tea houses would close, and countless other people just like her would be inside, contemplating the bad weather. A cup of tea lay neglected before her on a small low table, its rim steaming with the smoky scent of her Ariavatan spices.
Earlier, she had dismissed Fuu upon going to meet Hakuei. Davvid, as always, stood just outside her doors, and at least in this one small moment she was alone, though not at peace.
Her mind wouldn't stop. It was trying to reach back into memory again—reach deeply, and her mind wouldn't stop thinking about Alexander. Hanzo Guang had presumed to know about her past, and the Emperor caught wind of it; all of this, done without her knowledge or without her consent, and she wondered what else was happening behind her back.
Ten years ago felt both like an eternity and yesterday. Alexander's face in her mind was ever clear, and yet it appeared only in flashes and visions, disappearing as soon as she blinked.
The situation was all too similar. She wasn't haunted by her decisions, the life she had lived—she refused to regret, to relapse—and yet—
Luckily, her doors opened.
"You can leave today if you want, Davvid. I'll just double the guards, though I'm not really going anywhere. Sleep in my bed if you want, I know you like to nap—"
When she looked back, it was only Kouen that stood across the room. He was dripping wet, too, and without his cloak; there was no sign of emotion on his face, except for one wrinkled brow.
Dimly, she wondered why he was there in her room at all. Surely he would've known about this development; he was his father's prized son, after all.
She got up. "Kouen."
"I—"
He walked forward. It tracked mud onto her splendid Kou rugs, and he stopped upon noticing this. And then he looked to the side—and a sigh came out of his mouth.
Sayuri watched this, perplexed, and also feeling the faintest prickle of fascination. Her husband's eyes were distant as he looked away, and it was the first time she'd ever seen such an expression on him. She stepped away from where she'd been sitting, her eyes tracing the silhouette of Kouen, his wet white robes that were now clinging to his skin, outlining his broad chest and strong shoulders.
She married another warrior. She had always known. Her eyes flickered away from him to gaze at nothing in particular, and she stepped forward—as if to help him with his shoes, to look into his eyes and demand him to tell her what was going on, to slap him for his family's transgressions, she didn't know—and then stopped, caught herself.
She wanted to laugh. What am I doing?
He spoke first. "I know." His voice was deep, quiet. It had the same quality as Koutouku, when he wanted to make such dangerous insinuations as my son didn't tell me he brought home a diplomat. "You've been ordered to the Northern front. It was unveiled in the conference this morning."
It just confirmed her suspicions that the emperor had planned this since the beginning, and their dramatic confrontation in front of Hakuei and the other children had been rehearsed. Had it all been a test? To measure her loyalty? To see if she was merely a murderous snake intent on exploiting Kou for the Triangle's benefit?
Would the trials ever end, she scorned, knowing that she was being sent north as another test of her loyalty. That was what Koutouku chose to say anyway. There were other motives, surely.
"The Emperor hasn't sent word yet of exactly when I will be leaving, but I expect it to be in the next two weeks," She said out loud. She looked at her husband askance, and said wryly, "Perhaps you know when?"
Kouen didn't seem amused. He kept his emotionless façade, though he stepped out of his shoes and made quiet footfalls when he approached her. She didn't back away, merely tipped her head up to gaze at him when he came exceedingly close to where she stood.
He was trying to read her, she guessed. He didn't move an inch as she watched him survey the planes of her face; was she angry? Was she despairing? Was she lost?
Sayuri sighed.
Once, years ago, she had had a very similar conversation, with another man she had called husband, who had asked of her the same thing she was being asked of now—
"I will be leaving for the Western front as well," Kouen's voice spoke, his tone never changing, "and I have control over when you will leave. In two weeks, Sayuri."
It sounded like another order. Like father like son, she supposed, and she immediately stepped away from him, her hands mindlessly reaching for a cabinet where she knew Fuu stored all her extra personal belongings. Brushes, mirrors, scrolls, and talismans there were aplenty but now she reached for another clay cup, to set down on the table for him.
She wondered again why he was here. He did not usually seek her out like this, if he wanted to speak to her. He summoned her to his chambers and met in his study; they did not have quaint conversations in her boudoir, save for that one time he returned her cloak.
And that was it.
What did he believe? Koutoku had insinuated that she would betray Kou because of Hanzo Guang's letter. She insisted her innocence.
It only occurred to her, when she set down the cup for him, that she might ask. To think: that morning she had thought she would spend the rest of her life meeting other ladies like Hakuei, attending banquets, perhaps hosting some when she felt the need. She would occasionally meet the Empress and other advisors; she would manage her husband's household. She had been ready to do that, however reluctantly she would admit it, but that was what she had been thinking.
She gazed at him.
Kouen was still dripping wet. His crimson hair clung to his forehead, but he did not look the slightest bit uncomfortable; he had rushed there, muddying his shoes because of the walk all the way from the west wing.
"You've been in a war before."
There was no variation, no sympathy to his voice; only cold, logical assessment, which she had grown used to. She slowly raised a brow at him.
"Yes, I was. Though not in the way most people think."
"And your husband—"
She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. "You're my husband, Kouen."
He went on unfazed. "You don't speak of him."
She bit her tongue, wanting him to finish, not wanting to stupidly interrupt him a second time.
When it seemed like he would say nothing else, she spoke.
"His name," she uttered, "was Alexander."
Iskander, as Kuja was once fond of complaining. She wished she could be half as circumspect, half as unfeeling as Kouen was. He asked her these questions as if they were of little consequence to him, and perhaps they were, because he didn't know that the answers made up the contents of a good ten years of her life—that the answers would not come painlessly, and freely. Kouen wanted this for a while now, and he had asked her about it a long time ago. On their wedding night, she remembered acutely, and she had refused the idea outright.
It had been a ridiculous thought: why should she give herself up wholly, when she had already given him her hand, her country's ships, and then her body; she had told him the beginning of the tale of her and Alexander, but she should've known that a man like him never wanted things in piecemeal, and only wished to devour things whole.
Like his Empire, like his father; Kou was already swallowing the eastern continent, and why should Kouen be any different?
"Tell me about him."
She tilted her head at Kouen, wondering what it even mattered to him. But with the journey north now confirmed to be in two weeks—and with all that was asked of her, again—she supposed there would be no better time.
Sayuri felt her lips twitch. She consigned herself to this: she needed answers as well, and now was her chance; she readied her tongue, and unwound the ball of memory the last ten years had made. She untangled them and laid them out for her to speak, knowing he would want something comprehensive.
"There was Caera," She began, "and there was a war. There was Alexander, too."
She was barely eighteen, four years into the labor that was being married to the Crown Prince of Caera.
Caera was a federation of city states who all paid tribute to her father-in-law, the king, who ruled from the greatest city state: Ocella, to which all oligarchs, all merchants, all generals, and all the people of Caera swore glory and loyalty to. Such had been the state of Caera for the last three hundred years, and the situation she had married into.
When she first arrived, there was at least the outward appearance of peace and stability; she was shocked when she was eighteen to learn that there was an uprising in Eastern Caera, to which the king dispatched parts of his army. There had been a brewing rebellion, something that was not very different from what Kou now faced in Qileng, except this was no barbarian horde descending upon the Caeran border—this was an armed revolt raised by true citizens of Caera, with organized armies and well-supplied fortresses.
The first two months of war had not been kind, and the army was riddled with deserters; most soldiers defected to their home city-state's banner, and some even fought against the king and Ocella's army—it was time, the rebels said, for the monarchy to be abolished, and for true democracy to reign. They would stand no more of the tyranny of the royalty when the average Caeran starved, and the great cities were forced to pay tribute to Ocella, funding the luxuries and debauches of its elitist citizens.
Before everything, Alexander had asked her to stay by his side. He asked her to treaty with the oligarchs who headed the city-states and convince them to flock to the king's banner; to their banner, he reminded her, because she was part of the Caeran royalty too, and if they did not win the war, then she would surely perish with them.
Four months in, the king died in battle. Her mother-in-law then ruled as the sole Queen of Caera from Ocella. Alexander went east to command what remained of the monarchy's army, and Sayuri called a conference with the oligarchs, as had been asked of her.
At that point, the war had ravaged everyone. Both sides suffered losses; the king had died in one massive pyrrhic victory, but it had granted the remainder of the royal army one last upper hand. With a vengeful Alexander now at the head, he would stop at nothing to raze the last of the eastern city-states and kill every single man that had rebelled against him and his father.
He was poised to win, and to slaughter everyone in his path.
And then?
And then, with the consent of the Queen, and the agreement of all the remaining heads of state, they dissolved the Kingdom of Caera. It was now the Caeran Republic, and its first decree was to arrest the illegal standing army headed by Alexander.
Of the twelve great cities of Caera, four had originally banded together to rebel; two more flocked to their banner, which made an initially staunch eastern band of rebel cities, and the remaining six either fought for the king or stayed neutral, or betrayed one side for the other. Of the cities at the conference she called, all twelve were also present. There were secret envoys from all over Caera, and secret diplomatic parties from even the failing rebel city states; Ocella herself was represented by the Queen.
Upon dissolution of the kingdom, they raised a new army. The army of the new republic, it was called, and it was dispatched to deal with Alexander's army. There were calls for her husband's surrender, but he stubbornly refused; a battle was fought, and they destroyed him.
And Sayuri was left without her title, and reverted to being a princess of Jishou. There had been offers made for her to be a senator of Ocella in the new Caeran senate, but she demurred. She had sailed first to Ariavat, and then to Jishou, but over the years she had returned to Caera, over and over, trying to help rebuild.
The last time she had seen Alexander was before he'd left for the east. Convince your father to send us some of his ships and we'll starve out the east, he'd told her with a smile and a kiss, and she had only bowed her head in response.
Technically, the rebels had won that war. They got what they wanted; Caera was a republic now, and a countless number of people died in their revolution, including the former king and his only son. The former queen retired into obscurity; Sayuri only wished she could say the same.
"And this is from where Hanzo Guang stems his claim that I may help him," She scoffed, turning to gaze outside the window. "He says I have brokered a peace before, and now I may perhaps do the same for him."
"And haven't you?"
"Peace," Sayuri turned to look her husband in the eye, "is never the work of one person. I expect you've treated with many losing armies and commanders. For true compromise, there must be true sacrifice."
She felt it was a word that was overused. Peace. What did that even mean to an Empire like Kou? When it wielded so much power that it felt like it could just impose its will on the eastern continent, and declare itself as the destined ally of Jishou?
"I certainly don't deserve any credit," she muttered. "The magisters were also present at the peace talks. More than anything else, it was them and the corpses strewn along the borders of the cities that drove a congregation into Ocella to talk about 'peace.'"
Kouen raised a brow. Were she in a different mood, she would've laughed; he was still soaked to the bone, and it made her roll her eyes and shrug off the outer robe she'd been wearing as a jacket. She held it out for him. "Take it, you're still wet."
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he did take it with a nod, and as he was drying himself off, she poured him a cup of tea. How was that for being an attentive wife?
"You deny your own part."
"I played no outsized role."
"And were all the men at those talks not your friends?"
"I should have known—" She gazed at him again. He was suitably drier now, and his hair had been brushed off to the side. He sipped at his tea without a qualm, and she held back her sharp reply. Instead she said, "Nobushiro once told me he suspected Koumei was going to ask him about what happened in Caera eventually. Perhaps he did and my brother obliged him; perhaps that's why you know. Why ask me if you already knew?"
A foolish question. She knew the answer as soon as he said it: "I wished to hear your side."
"Was it worth months of waiting, I wonder."
"It was," Kouen said simply. "And you still carry your guilt, despite it happening years ago."
"How astute of you," She snapped. "Were it only so easy to wash away all wrongdoing, as you seem to think."
"Would you call it wrong? You saved the lives of many people," He challenged.
"Have I? I have spared nobody. It was never my sword that was raised against the people of Caera. The magisters put an end to everything."
"Then why do you—"
"Stop."
She had closed her eyes and raised an open palm, willing him to shut up. Her other hand was clenched in a fist, though the sleeve of her robe hid its trembling well enough, and she let it lay shaking against her thigh.
When she opened her eyes, she gazed at her husband's look of surprise.
"If you're going to ask me," She said slowly, making sure he was listening, "why I refuse to speak about him, and if this may be the reason why you take my reluctance as guilt, then here is your answer: no one deserves to be betrayed by someone they trusted implicitly. His cause was wrong but he did not deserve that."
She had been told, in the days leading up to the last battle of the civil war, that Alexander had been distraught by the announcement of the dissolution of the monarchy. That he had been enraged, and that—perhaps—it was her betrayal that drove him to refuse their terms of peace, and to refuse surrendering.
The last battle of the civil war had been catastrophic. Early on, Alexander's army had driven back the line of the republicans; he had gone so far as to capture their general, and as soon as Alexander had speared him, he had roped the general to his chariot and dragged his lifeless body across the battlefield.
Such was Alexander's undoing. An archer had caught him as he had been doing his victory lap.
"It makes why Hanzo Guang would be looking for my assistance all the more interesting, does it not? Will I go north to betray my second husband and overthrow his kingdom too, as the Emperor may think, or will I go north to help negotiate a second peace, as the governor thinks?"
She finished her piece. Her fist had stopped trembling, and she released her fingers, stretching them.
"I trust you," Kouen said bluntly. She wheeled her gaze back at him. "I have never doubted you, Sayuri."
Hearing her name on his lips sent shivers up her spine. It was all so simple, to him. Like black and white. Good and evil. Who he could trust, and who he couldn't. Were it only so easy for her, too.
"You have admitted to me your reluctance on this matter," He continued, "and that you still carry your guilt over his death, but clearly know he was wrong; you offer blind loyalty to no one."
"That only means I don't blindly follow Kou."
"Because it should be worthy of your allegiance," Kouen replied. "If the Emperor asked someone else to go to Qileng and order its destruction, but you knew something could be done about it, would you have kept quiet? Or have no doubts about the leadership of Kou?"
She fell silent. No, she wouldn't have. As she knew now; if Hanzo was to be believed, there was still some measure of coaxing, of some persuasion to be done. On both sides. "And would you order its destruction, Kouen? As General Commander of the army?"
"Only if it was necessary," He uttered without pause. "Only if it was good, for the Empire."
That was subjective. And hadn't that always been the excuse, for Alexander? For the unity of the kingdom I must go east to quell the rebellion, he always said, and if we want to win this war, you must ask your father to send his ships.
She had known there was another choice: a ceasefire and perhaps a peace, but done behind his back, with the aid of the magisters, and the oligarchs, and the queen. And hadn't she told herself that—that if he refused to surrender, then his death was needed to herald the start of the new republic?
The last threat to the republic, the magisters had said.
He needed to die.
Kouen was a different man. Already she knew he was a man that would not be rushed into decisions; he was discerning, and frighteningly intelligent. He had the advice of Koumei, of whom she already had a high opinion; as a husband he was gentle, if annoying sometimes.
"You would do well in Qileng." Kouen finished. "Hakuei will be there to help you, and I will be reassigning General Shuu to garrison the north. I had some suspicion as to who the Emperor was selecting for the expedition north, but you are a capable choice."
"Alright, fine, you trust me," She muttered.
How many times now had she been surprised by him? Koutoku was a face of the Empire, but Kouen was yet another; in another world she would have called his remarks optimistic, but optimism was never in Kouen's character—he was deeply practical, and unflinching in his opinions.
She sometimes wondered about him. He carried the weight of Crown Prince so easily, and didn't even seem to be in strain—he went on in his days, paperwork, meetings, and strategizing taken in stride without complaint. He was so busy that there didn't even seem much for her to do as his wife, and he didn't seem to care.
Kouen was so certain. And even if it felt like arrogance, he was always so certain.
Certain almost felt like reliable, when it came to him.
"I just told you," She uttered with a raised brow, "that I was perhaps to blame for my first husband's death. And this doesn't frighten you, being my second husband?"
He looked at her. It was perhaps with some exasperation. "No. Do not be obtuse, Sayuri."
"Forgive me." She said innocently. "I only wonder why you chose me. And led my family to believe Koumei would be marrying Mameha."
"I will not repeat myself."
"You said: I offer blind loyalty to no one. You chose me knowing I may betray you. You knew even then, that I betrayed Alexander."
"I chose you because you seemed to know your principles, and because you were a valuable asset to have for Kou."
The latter part she understood. The former was what made her brow climb even higher on her forehead. She asked incredulously, "And you suppose yourself worthy of those principles?"
Kouen said nothing. He remained stoic. But he refused to part his gaze from hers, and raised only his own brow in response, as if asking, what do you think?
What did she think, indeed.
It was something far braver than she could have imagined. Kouen was loyal to Kou with all his heart, and he had explained to her that despite being married into it, it must be worthy of her allegiance first. He risked Kou being hurt by bringing her into the fold, knowing she had dethroned Alexander and helped Caera into a republic, but he went ahead with it anyway.
A funny line of thought.
Her lips formed a smile, despite herself. Perhaps it was just his conceit; perhaps in his eye the character of Kou was impeccable, since he stood at its forefront, and commanded most of it. She would not find a reason to betray Kou, because he would never give her one.
Kouen truly was different. Brave was just another word for bold. Certain another word for arrogant. And she did not think Kouen cared to walk a line separating either; he was just himself.
"I've entrusted to you my story," She uttered with resign, "perhaps you will entrust me yours."
"Ask," He said.
She thought about it for a moment. Here loomed all the answers she wanted, about the former emperor, about Gyokuen, about the entirety of the imperial family, and yet—
Something about it all felt unsatisfying.
"Another day, perhaps."
The words had slipped out of her tongue before she could think of them. Yet it was true, and she had had her measure of him today. It filled her with no curiosity to know he would answer a question so easily, but she knew at least now that this was owed to her.
For now?
For now she felt like she needed to be alone.
"At a time when you would find it most inconvenient, surely," She jested with a smile, "just know that I will not be refused."
Kouen made no argument. He seemed slightly amused by her demand, like she was a child making useless requests and he was merely humoring her. But she knew herself: she would force the matter if she had to, and she tried to convey this in a meaningful stare tossed back at him.
"There will be no refusal for this, either," He said as he got up. He left her cloak folded neatly by the low table. "Since you are now officially part of the military expedition north, I will be requiring you to learn how to defend yourself."
She stood. "That's unnecessary. I've Davvid to keep me safe—"
He looked at her. "And did I not say," He uttered patiently, "that there will be no refusal for this?"
"But it's unreasonable. I will not be left alone, I assure you, and I know what it means to travel with an army."
"I would rather you make it out alive from Qileng, Sayuri. I will not be there to protect you."
As if my life matters so much to you, she would've said, but his eyes were deathly serious.
"Alright. But Davvid will train me."
He nodded. "That is acceptable. I will oversee this, of course."
She held her tongue.
"Fine."
Kouen left with a nod. He had simply relaced his shoes and gone, out into the storming day, and it was Fuu that had ran back inside, a deeply curious Davvid in tow.
As soon as the doors slid closed Sayuri collapsed against a pile of pillows she left in a corner, letting out one large sigh—and then chuckling softly to herself. It was almost laughable the way her cool mask fell so quickly to shambles when Kouen was gone.
"What happened? I heard about your meeting with the Emperor and Empress, Princess, are you quite alright?"
Her fingers grasped her knees. She felt like curling into a ball and letting herself be enveloped by the stuffed pillows surrounding her—she could just sink into the fluff and never be seen again.
But as it was she just tucked her legs underneath her.
Kouen knew. Kouen had known, he had known since near the very beginning, and he had breathed not a word of it; he had let it gone unquestioned, had let her have her mysteries and illusions. Opening herself to him felt like brushing up against death: this was why she had her manners, and her politesses; she could keep people at arm's length if she so wished, but that afternoon she had elected to bare herself to Kouen, and found out she had been exposed the entire time.
And yet what had he done about it?
He decided to marry me.
"Fuu," She said, with the slightest tremble in her voice. She pursed her lips, but her friend knelt by her on the carpets. Sayuri got out of the pillows, to kneel beside her as well. "Fuu?"
The blonde took her hands in hers, grasping them tightly. They smelt of peaches, like she had just been cutting one freshly picked, and the juices had worked themselves in between her lovely fingers. "I'm here, Sayuri."
Sayuri smiled. She bit her cheek, then laughed weakly. "Are you sure you don't want to return home? You have been in my service too long. Perhaps I—perhaps I can arrange something nice for you, a good noble to marry, or for you to travel the world. Both. Whatever you wish."
"Oh, Sayu," Her friend shook her head. She squeezed her hands tight.
Sayuri did not want to go north. She wanted no part in this. Yet—yet she would, and Kouen would come with her, for at least part of the way. He knew her, inside and out, and the thin veneer of control she had thought she had over her life grew ever so thinner.
And what did she have in return?
His trust apparently, she thought, as Fuu pulled her into her arms and Sayu let herself be hugged.
She was no fool: this was something highly prized and not freely given, but apparently he deemed her worthy of. His little wife, someone he felt he trusted. For one brief moment she wondered if he had lied when he said that, but decided against it—when had he ever lied to her?
Perhaps only by omission, but she knew better now.
Ask, he had said. She certainly would.
The skies cleared the next day.
Kouen watched the small army of servants moving his and Sayuri's belongings from their wing to the very back of the imperial complex, where the Bamboo Palace was—it had been Sayuri's original wing when she had first arrived, but it was doubtless the most secluded of the wings, and was more than enough to host both of them in the days leading up to her northern expedition.
He had summoned her right after he had returned from sword practice and his bath, just an hour after dawn, knowing she would already be awake. There had been a brief conversation about how to prepare her for the task the Emperor had set; they agreed it would be best if she could train with Davvid in peace, where no one would see them. Many people were still wary of the magister, and the seclusion of the Bamboo Palace would be a suitable place that also served the purpose of warding off visitors.
Kouen, too, would be moving his belongings. They would be spending many more hours together, along with Koumei, briefing her on the northern situation. A larger study had been built in the new wing, and Kouen also needed to keep track of her progress.
He stood beside his younger brother. Koumei was also observing the procession of belongings, though his eyes drew to the side when he noticed Sayuri speaking to her blonde attendant, Fuu.
"Why do you think she accepted this mission?" His brother asked.
Kouen glanced at him.
There was a furrow to his brow, as if the question was a puzzle he could not figure.
Kouen's eyes flickered to where Sayuri stood. She was down the hall, dictating something to her attendant. Every now and then a Kou maid would come up to her with some question or other, and she would send them off on another errand with little more than a few words and a nod.
"Because she has a sense of duty," He said, though he felt it should be obvious. "And no one refuses the Emperor."
"I imagine she was unhappy with the decision."
"Perhaps at first."
They both quieted, as it seemed like Sayuri sensed them speaking about her, and she looked their way. She raised a hand in greeting, though she did this with narrowed eyes as she caught him staring at her.
And then she left. Her guards and her attendants trailed behind her like a cloak she had drawn over her shoulders; she walked in the sunlight, talking amiably with someone or other. She left with blue skies above her, and the flutter of her silk robes sweeping underneath.
"And you think she's happy now?" Koumei turned to look at him, in slight disbelief. The reaction prompted him to raise his own brow.
"I never spoke the words."
It looked as if his brother had else to say, but he snapped his mouth shut at the last moment. He bowed his head deeply, looking remorseful for the almost-outburst.
"Forgive me, brother. I…I spoke out of turn."
Kouen made no motion of forgiveness, as it seemed Koumei was thinking something. His eyes were downcast as he drew his fan, and the older Ren just watched him leave, too.
Notes:
Haha...what romance? [ducks beneath a table]
(1) "he hitched his lifeless body to his chariot" is probably still one of my favorite things from the classics world. I hope people understand this reference. It's both sad and brutal. Just think: I'm going to write about Alexander (and Kuja) a little bit more in Night 3 of 1001 Nights.
(2) Yes. CountessCzan put it nicely in a review of last chapter; this is slow-burn. We're getting to the romance, I swear. And actually some of the adventure now, since we have sword training in the next chapter, and we're headed north.
Now allow me to plug this other little fic I'm writing now, about Muu. It's also AU, but it's actually tied to Pale Fire's AU, yup. If you might be interested in that, since it's got lots of worldbuilding about Rome/Reim, just go check it out on my profile! It's a little passion project of mine. Hehe.
Thanks to everyone who's read so far, and also reviewed; I love hearing everyone's thoughts. Especially for last chapter. I'll be responding to them in a couple hours!