4/1/20: new story developments below.

18

Lovers

Kouen came to her in the middle of her meal, so when the doors to their chambers slid open, she didn't even stop as she fed herself another piece of her braised fish. She'd just returned from a trip to the bathhouse, her skin still glowing peachy-pink. She'd pinned her hair back with the silver hairpin he'd given her; it left a damp trickle running down the back of her neck and disappearing into turquoise sleeping robes.

Their chambers. Neither of them had bothered to mention (or in fact, remember) during their agreement of their move to the Bamboo Palace that there was only one set of chambers large enough to suitably serve as the bedchambers of a member of the royal family. He had disappeared before they could discuss the unusual arrangement living together in the new wing presented, so she had taken it upon herself (like a good wife, she wryly thought) to settle all the details herself.

As it was, their new chambers was a good reflection of their union. Kouen had little furniture to begin with, so she had had no qualms with filling the room with her own things; the other half to their chambers, however, she reserved for his study, and kept everything as she thought he would like. The master bedroom had grown since she'd last resided, nearly excessive with the amount of space, so there was still plenty of room for them to go about their business comfortably.

And so she sat, eating. If he had any complaints, he'd simply have to take them up with her. When he sat down before her in their shared table—she had enough food for two, and had set the table with a place for him just in case—she moved to pour him a cup of tea.

It was a very domestic scene. The wife lying in wait for her husband, the food still steaming with warmth. Perhaps next time she'd even do him the courtesy of starting their meals together, but she knew he kept irregular nights, and she had grown hungry after a long day of playing interior designer for their new living quarters.

How quaint, Sayuri mused.

"Your bed would fit nowhere else," She began. "I left it here."

Kouen nodded, sipping his tea. Sayu continued, "And I left all of the things in your precious study in here."

Another nod.

When she said nothing more, he raised a brow at her. "Is there anything else?"

"None," She replied cheekily. She smiled and went back to eating—if he wanted to talk more, he would have said something anyway. The mere fact of the matter was she couldn't let him hog the best chambers in their wing of the palace. Of course, that morning, his servants had brought all of his things to this exact chamber—and her servants had done the same, so the compromise was they'd simply had to live together from then on.

Not exactly the situation she had been anticipating, in retrospect, but Sayuri made no complaint. It would be interesting if nothing else. And besides—she set her chopsticks down and began a walk to the far end of their chambers, the very back of the Bamboo Palace itself—she could not give up a view like this.

She had left the sliding doors open. Gleaming moonlight fell into their rooms, just a few steps away from the brilliant orange light of their lamps. Their verandah—distinguished from the fine woven mats of their chamber's floor—was built of polished dark wood. The railings were purposely built low, and below were the still waters of a pond filled with goldfish and lotus blossoms. To the middle was a bridge, arching over the landscape, which led into a gently lit pavilion. She had placed Kouen's go table there, the memory of their few games lingering in the back of her mind as she had watched the servants struggle to carry the large round table over the narrow bridge.

Tall shoots of bamboo still enclosed the scene, but still it was a beautiful, peaceful place that made the most out of the limited space. It was quiet, the only sounds being the distant singing of nightingales.

She couldn't kick Kouen out of the chambers. It was fitting, she supposed, for a couple to live together like this. Sayuri had taken the entire day to grow accustomed to the idea. She thought Kouen was a light presence, anyway; he would be absent from their chambers most of the time, and they would only meet at night and a few hours in the morning.

Sayuri looked back at her husband, finding him gazing at her drawers—or rather, what was on the drawers. It was the sword he'd given her for her twenty-fourth birthday, unsheathed and proudly displaying its intricate lions and metalwork while sitting on the rack.

Was that displeasure on his face? He was then standing, walking, taking the weapon in his hand, and testing the grip and weight. She crept up to him, but was still careful to maintain her distance, knowing he had a real sword in hand.

"Why is this here?" He was looking at her with those awful crimson eyes, and she tilted her head at him, a challenge already rising in her throat.

"Is there a better place for it?" Still smiling, she crossed her arms. It was a habit she reserved only for when she was not wearing her formal robes; otherwise she could've clasped her hands, hidden in her voluminous sleeves. "I'm sure you prefer this to it lying in the bottom of my trunk, forgotten."

Spending the day redesigning their new living quarters had forced her to reassess her opinion of her husband. And the truth was, when she got down to it, that Sayuri liked Kouen. It was hard not to, she realized; that tall man and his broad shoulders; his fiery red hair and goatee. His regal bearing, his bluntness. He went straight to the point, and spared nothing on meaningless niceties. He was a scholar who understood the virtues of reading and knowledge. People called him dangerous, but she found that he simply followed his own logic; as she got to know him more, she realized he was not unpleasant.

Was she fortunate that this was the man she had married? Perhaps so—it made living with him easier, knowing he was the person she had to suffer.

She liked the face he made when she needled him, especially. That narrowing of his eyes, the contempt drawing his mouth apart to utter a taunt or an insult. And it was so easy to needle him.

He had grabbed the scabbard and sheathed the sword. He stepped closer to her, hands lifting to slide the sword beneath the thin silk tie that held her sleeping robe shut. The cross-guard stopped it from sliding down any further, and her thigh rested uneasily against the length of the sword.

When he finished, he held her just above her hips, luxurious silk gathering between his fingers. His words were almost harsh: "A sword is meant to be always by your side. It's no good if you can't reach for it."

"Sword lessons already," Sayuri bore the brunt of his crimson gaze. She had never asked for a sword. Never even thought she would have to lift it against someone, someday. The memories of the Caeran civil war were just as unforgiving as Alexander with a sword in his hand. The reason why she had committed herself to rebuilding Caera and marrying into the Kou Empire reared itself—the reason why she had agreed to going to Qileng. She was a peacemaker, deep in her heart, and she had no stomach for war.

He will not make a war princess out of me, she had once thought. And here she was, letting him slip a sword by her side, taking lessons to learn how to properly wield it tomorrow; she had willingly married him, the one they called a warmonger, a prince whose empire had raised itself on enough blood to fill an ocean.

His grip was gentle on her sides, his touch almost burning through the thin fabric of her sleeping robe. His eyes were scanning hers, and she nodded an acceptance of his lesson.

Kouen still seemed unsatisfied. "Your heart is still soft, Sayuri," He said, pulling away. "Your time in Caera has not changed you."

She stilled. She looked at him, the urge to dismiss him out of turn almost uncontrollable. You know nothing about what happened in Caera, she wanted to say. But she kept her cool. Kouen knew how to taunt; she was fairly sure this was not one of those instances. "What makes you say that?"

"People die." The words were blunt. "You need to be able to kill sometimes, for the greater good. Compromises. Casualties. They all need to be taken in stride. Why don't you wield a sword? Because you can't think of an instance where people would want to kill you, or where you would want to kill them. It's foolish."

"Foolish?" She repeated, the sword tapping uneasily against her knee as she drew closer to him. "What part of wanting to exhaust all of our options before resorting to bloodshed is foolish? And so what if I don't want to hurt another person! If I don't want to cut someone down? Can you honestly begrudge me wanting so spare someone of that pain?"

He looked down on her. "If you won't, someone else will. Davvid. Koumei. Hakuei. Even Kougyoku. Someone else will, at the end of the day. Your insistence on not being able to protect yourself is nothing but naive and egotistical. Would you pass on that responsibility to someone else? Make Kougyoku kill for you, since you refuse to?"

Using Kougyoku against her felt underhanded. A deliberate incitement. "I already agreed to the lessons!" Sayuri shook her head. "What more could you ask of me? What is this about? I already agreed to go to Qileng!"

Kouen closed that last space between them by holding her by her shoulders. "Promise me, then, that you will do everything it takes to make sure you come out of the North alive. That if you fail and are drawn into a fight, you will fight back. Promise me."

She nearly scoffed in his face. "You told me you trusted me," She spat, "yet here you are, with your promises and provocations. What kind of trust is that?"

"Of course I trust you," He hissed. It did not go unnoticed by her—this was the first time she'd ever seen him speak so forcefully. "I know you will try your best. I myself could not have tasked anyone better for this. I know you will seek the best solution. But the possibility—I need to know that you won't let yourself die."

The anger died in her throat. She couldn't believe it. Was this what the argument was about? She laughed. "You must think I'm so feeble. To not value my own life like that."

"No," Kouen sighed. "But if you thought that it was for the best, if it was for the greater good. If you could save more lives."

Her breath hitched. Then she narrowed her eyes—no, she had not thought of that. But that was a distant possibility, wasn't it? And—and it was not as if—it was not as if she wasn't expendable, compared to the ambitions of the Empire, and when Kouen could simply remarry—

A pawn. A gambit. That's what the value of the life of a princess was; she had been given over to Caera, first, then to Kou. Her life bore the fingerprints of something always greater than her—the peace of Caera, the peace of the Triangle—and she had always known it.

But Kouen was lifting a hand to her chin, thumb and forefinger turning her head to him, his lips just hovering over hers. He forced her to look him in the eye, all her thoughts melting away at the somberness in his crimson pools.

"No matter what happens," he uttered, "you need to return to me. There is no compromise worth your life, Sayuri."

"As if my life matters so much to you," She said, quietly, but not looking away. It had been the same words she'd thought yesterday, when he'd stormed into her old rooms through the rains and had tracked mud all over her carpets. He'd been soaking wet and she'd told him her life's story.

Had it really only been yesterday?

Kouen only chuckled, the small breaths puffing over her skin. She closed her eyes at the sudden warmth, wondering what was so funny.

Then he pressed his lips against hers.

One small kiss, yet the feeling of him lingered. Like he had transferred his heat to her.

As soon as it began, it ended; he was pulling away, Sayuri staring at him, her eyes wide. She blinked, feeling her senses return to her, and air suddenly filled her lungs.

"Why?"

Why did you kiss me. Why do you care so much. Why this argument to begin with; why any of this. Why, why, why.

His fingers were tracing her jaw. For the first time, she watched his forehead wrinkle, but his mouth was pulled into the ghost of a smile. "Because you are my wife," He said so simply, as if it answered all of her questions.

It was not the first time she'd heard him say that. Dimly, the memory of a conversation in the imperial archives, by the candlelight and with thunder rolling in the background, echoed in her mind. He had said the same thing too. Now, however, there was only silence.

She had always found something odd about those words.

Sayu pursed her lips in momentary indecision.

Then she stretched her spine and got on the balls of her feet, reaching for him, her tall husband—one hand snaking to rest where his neck and his shoulder joined, one hand resting on the back of his head, her thumb reaching to stroke his cheek. His red hair was soft under her fingertips, and this time, she found him leaning into her touch.

Ask, he'd told her yesterday. "You could remarry." She could not help the curiosity in her tone as she said this. It was true; he could. Many other princesses would want to. His eyes were still tracking hers, even as she scanned his face for any break in emotion, any indication he was trying to fool her. There was none; of course there was none. There was only his face, calm, but still honest. "You could choose someone else. It would be a simple thing, to replace me."

His smile stretched wider. Turned into a smirk. His crimson eyes glinted with that haughtiness of his. As she said; it was so easy to needle him. A taunt: "Yes, if you wanted it."

Now he was teasing her. She laughed, and put her hands down. No; that wasn't what she wanted at all. The thought of him being attached to someone else made her twitchy—possessive, even. His broad shoulders and his tall figure. His scholarliness. His serious eyes, his fondness for capes. No. She liked Kouen. He was hers, just like she was his. Besides: if any woman found out how ill-tempered and brusque Kouen actually was, his marriage prospects would dwindle considerably.

She turned away from him, pulling the sword from her waist, still in its sheath. She held it in her hands as she moved towards her nightstand where a panel of mirrors also rested. When she saw Fuu at the doorway, she waved; some attendants came into clear their dinner, before Fuu brought a fresh pot of tea. She always took a cup of tea before sleep; she also happened to take one as soon as she woke, during every meal, and whenever she felt like it throughout the day. Perhaps Kouen would pick up the habit as well: she saw him through the reflection of her mirror. He was sitting down at his—their—bed, untying his cape and unbuckling his belt.

Their argument stayed in mind as she set the sword down on a nearby dresser and pulled the pin from her hair, the still-damp locks tumbling down her back with a dull slap. She combed her fingers through the strands—they weren't as dry as she liked, but she still had her tea after all, she could wait a while before settling into bed.

It was madness to say her life mattered more than the security of one northern province in Kou. Madness. She could not have promised him. She liked being alive, of course, but there were things that were more important than her. As she tilted her head and gazed at her reflection in the three mirrors—one oval face, green eyes, silver brows, and skin losing the glow the hot water of her bath had given her—she found her eyes always strayed to the sword, resting innocently in the background, just over her shoulder. A weapon too beautiful to just gather dust staying on a rack in her room; an instrument begging to be held, to be caressed, to be used.

She tore her eyes away. Sayuri busied herself by reaching for a comb in one of her drawers. It was made of boxwood; light brown and shaped like a half-moon, she began running its fine teeth through her hair, her strokes long and smooth. Usually, Fuu liked to comb her hair, but she was with Kouen right now—and Fuu knew she liked to be left alone with him after Sayu had noticed he didn't bring any of his attendants around her.

Kouen disappeared into one of the smaller adjoining rooms and came back dressed in his sleeping robe. It was a lengthy task, combing all her hair; she liked to comb it over and over again, and in the morning she would repeat the process.

When all the attendants had gone, she spied him approaching her from behind. With one swift pull, his hair also came free from his royal hair ornaments. He set down his ebony headdress beside her silver hairpin on the nightstand.

"Care to lend a hand?" She looked at him through the mirror, her open palm with the comb laid flat, as if it were beckoning him to pick it up.

To her surprise, he nodded and took the comb. She sat while his strong fingers ran lightly through her hair, the fine teeth of her comb and his steady hand pulling back strands from her face. His touches were teasing, almost. Mere brushes on her scalp, the warmth light and fleeting. Sayuri watched him through the mirror, her lips pulling into a small smile until she sighed and looked away. "Thank you, Kouen."

Return to me, he had said. No matter what happens. A pillar of strength and fortitude, he was; if the world burned or the oceans devoured the land, she imagined him standing atop of it all, alive, indestructible. Who was she in comparison? Just a princess with a lot of friends who wrote to her and asked her for favors. In little less than two weeks' time she would be learning the basics of how to defend herself using a sword—it would be small and almost certainly meaningless, compared to what he knew of swordplay, and when she would be surrounded by dozens of trained guards who were better trained than she was.

And yet he insisted upon it anyway; and yet he told her she must return to him, no matter the outcome. She spared a moment to think if he actually meant that—and cursed herself for the foolish thought; of course he did. If it meant peace for Qileng or her life, she knew she could not make herself choose. And yet he was trying to make herself promise to choose her life—over the lives of thousands of people?

She caught her reflection in the mirror.

Oval face. Two green eyes. Silver brows—this was the face of the woman who had lived through a war, too; who had sacrificed her beloved for peace, who had pleased the magisters with her decisions, who had helped rebuild in the years that had come after. Yes; this was the face of just a princess. Her face.

Her life over thousands. No—that was preposterous.

It would not come to that. She wouldn't let it. This she knew, in the marrow of her bones, as if a truth that had just been hidden inside of her from the very beginning: she would do everything she could to prevent that from happening; distant possibility or near future that it may be, she would not allow it to come to pass. It was what Koutoku would've wanted, she was sure. For everything to end in bloodshed—for her to fail in her mission spectacularly.

And Kouen—he would not let that happen either. Senseless violence and that kind of savagery were not in him; he hadn't inherited his father's absolute ruthlessness and indifference for spilling blood. No. She knew him. She trusted him.

"I promise to return."

She raised her hands to grasp his, pulling the comb from his fingers with ease and setting it down on her nightstand. Sayu turned in her seat, facing him, his hands in hers. "I promise not to die. I will come back with a favorable peace; please give me your trust."

Kouen looked pleased. "You have always had it."

She smirked at his self-satisfied expression, her fingers running light, slow circles in his rough palms. She spoke the next words slowly, wanting him to listen and listen carefully: "Then allow me to repay it in kind. I trust you, Kouen, to not let it come to bloodshed. I know—I know that it may be inevitable, but still. Do everything in your power to not let it come to that, just as I will. Promise me."

He raised a brow in challenge, but the smile did not leave his face; if anything, it only broadened.

He bent down, hand releasing from hers to cup her face again. She reveled in his touch, even as he leant his cheek on hers, and his beard tickled against her skin. His voice was low in her ear, the challenge spilling from his lips without any hesitation: "Done."

She retired to the verandah after that. She took with her a single lantern and the tray of her nightly tea that Fuu had brought in. Kouen had turned away to work on the other side of their chambers, in the study she had set up for him. It was with surprise when she found him joining her on the verandah just an hour later; he sat just a step away, the tea tray and lantern separating them. The bright orange light danced upon the pond. The goldfish darted through the waters, leaving nothing behind but ripples in their wake. How long until summer, she wondered. The rainy season had already begun with the storm from two days before.

She poured him a cup of tea. That was Fuu for you—she always remembered to bring two, when she was with Kouen; so far he had not declined any cup Sayuri had offered him. He accepted the drink with a wordless nod this time, and she went back to contemplating the pond.

There were rocks, too, covered in moss; there were old lion statues carved out of stone rising from the waters. Plum trees huddled near the pavilion, still green and sporting unripe fruit. Nearby were birds singing; nearer still were crickets chirping.

"You have something on your mind."

Sayuri gazed at her husband beside her. He was looking at the garden as well. She turned away. "Many things. Mostly who I'll bring with me, north. I'm thinking of downsizing my household."

"That would be wise."

"I'm leaving Fuu behind, too. No sense in bringing another defenseless woman to the north."

She paused. Then continued, knowing there would be no harm in sharing what she knew with Kouen—"Korechika will be returning to Jishou soon. His replacement is already on the way here."

"Why are they recalling him?"

"They aren't. He's recalling himself; he's head of his clan. He has neglected a lot of things to come west of Jishou. Not a lot of his clansmen are happy with him."

"You are, though."

A puff of laughter. She set her cup down, leaning forward a bit to look at him again. "Perhaps; his presence helped me when I first came here. Would you like to know something?"

"Continue."

"I have a feeling my father wanted me to replace him. We all knew his post was temporary; a clan without its head would be lost. He should not have stayed here as long he did, too."

"He cares for you. It comes as no surprise that he stayed as long as he has."

"He does," Sayuri acknowledged. "I care for him, too. I'm indebted to him for his kindness."

"Tell me. Why did you not accept his proposal?"

His tone was calm. Leisurely. Like they were chatting about the weather. The incongruity made her chuckle. "Which one? The first one or the second one?"

"Both."

"Kyouya's father was vile. I was a child; he had just come of age when the suggestion was made. The idea repulsed my father. The second time—"

She took a moment to gather her words. There had been an impassioned plea, nothing at all like the proposals relayed by fusty old men. She had felt trapped by the strength of Kyouya's sudden emotion.

Sayuri flushed at her memories, and she was grateful for the cover of darkness night brought. Neither she nor Kyouya liked to recall that time in their lives, and though they did not speak of it, they had both moved on. Or at least that was what she thought about it. "I was still in mourning. I did not think it was very proper. In any case, I had grown tired of men at that point."

Kouen was looking at her. She teased, "You, of course, are the exception. How very flattering, isn't it?"

And Kyouya remained unmarried. She suspected part of the reason why he was returning to Jishou was because the Korechika elder council had been bombarding him with bridal candidates. Not that she blamed them—he was turning thirty soon; a clan needed the stability an heir provided.

Playing coy had never really worked well with Kouen. He didn't even bat an eye. There were better ways to get a reaction out of him, if she wanted to. "And what about you? Have you ever had to decline the marriage proposal of an overreaching noble?"

"None."

"None?"

He looked back at her, a questioning expression on his face. As if to say, what was she overreacting for? "I have been on the field even before I came of age. There has never been any time to contemplate such matters."

"Would you tell me," She mused out loud, "about your childhood?"

Kouen was silent for a moment. "Which part?"

"Well…" The princess waved her hand. "Whichever you feel like. I grew up in the Triangle. I could think of no place more tranquil. So I wonder what life was like, for you."

"Chaotic." He supplied easily. "The previous emperor took Koutoku on his campaigns. When I was old enough to properly use a sword, I was taken along as well. Koumei followed soon after."

Perhaps that was the reason why they were how they were. Kouen and Koumei shared this outward coolness that made most people nervous. Perhaps years of war just did that to a person.

"I rode out with the vanguard when I came of age. I've stayed on the battlefield since."

A short speech. But it was no less meaningful for it; she liked that quality about her husband. Sometimes she felt as if she spoke too much. He had always been more succinct. "Is it strange being away from it?"

She meant like right then. Like having to live with a wife, when he could be out with his troops.

"No." And he stood, offering her a hand. "I'm never away from it. Come to bed, Sayuri."

Funny, she thought the same thing as well. The Caeran civil war was never far from her thoughts, and especially now that she was in Kou, she found it more and more on her mind. Yet that had only lasted half a year; Kouen had been battling all his life.

She took his hand, curling her fingers around it and he helped her up from her seat. I'm never away from it. Such calmness, composure. Since the first time she'd met him, he'd always struck her as a different kind of man.

To say that she liked him, upon reflection, was perhaps an understatement—Sayuri admired him. She trusted him, respected him. She was beginning to think that he maybe felt the same way. Or at least—he trusted and respected her.

The memory of his lips on hers made her bow her head. No, he had to like her too. She grinned.

Attendants came in and slid the doors to their verandah shut. Now, the moonlight and cool night air only flooded in from the latticed windows. One by one, she and Kouen put out the lights in their shared chambers together, until all that were left were the lamps by their bed.

She joined him on the new sheets she had found in one of his trunks. They were a deep maroon, cotton-soft and puffy. She could bundle herself in them fine, and Kouen seemed to have no complaints with her choice.

Sayuri fussed with her hair a bit more while sitting. "I'd like to beg to differ, you know. I would not call me soft."

He knew, perhaps more than anyone, that war changed people. He had told her he was never away from it; she was never away from it too. Perhaps the circumstances were different. Perhaps she had experienced less hardships than he had—she had never known the feeling of having to plunge your sword through someone else's gut and watch the life drain from their eyes. But that did not detract from the fact that she had lived through it, and she carried it with her in all the days that had come. Alexander had always been better at bloody outcomes and ultimatums than her. He had tried to change her too, tried to convince her that his war was righteous, tried to make her a warrior the same way he was.

It failed. She knew the steel in her heart was from her time in Caera. The success of the Caeran Republic was just enough proof for her to believe in something else, in peace and compromise, in the million easy and difficult decisions it took to get to that point. The key had always been to never stop believing that something else, something better could be possible. She did not have to be a warrior like Alexander or a great general like Kouen, all she needed was to merely trust in her capabilities and the people around her.

Her hair felt soft in her fingers, no tangles in sight. Her husband had combed it well for her.

She climbed in bed, burrowing herself under the sheets. Kouen was already resting on his side, facing her, chin propped in his palm, a single brow raised. Sayuri smiled at his red eyes looking down on her from his perch, and she reached from beneath the covers to tap at his chin. "Maybe you could call me soft. By your standards, I'm sure. But there's nothing wrong with that. I know who I am."

He couldn't change her. It would be foolish to try. She had agreed to go to Qileng. She had consented to sword lessons. She promised a peace, and that she would return; he promised to do all in his power to help her bloodless vision become real. These were vows that betrayed who she was, at her core.

Kouen looked like he understood. A corner of his lips twitched upwards. "Give me your forgiveness for the insult, then."

She laughed, and blew out the remaining lamp at her bedside. "Of course."

Update, 4/1/20:

The rewrite for this fic is in progress! It'll be posted as a separate story, and with the same name; I'm debating what to do with this story. If any of you readers have any opinions, feel free to write me in a PM or a review! I'm leaning towards just keeping this up as an "older" version of Pale Fire. I'll keep it up on the archive if no one has any objections.