With only the vague directions her father provided, Sarada ventured into town to find the tailor who would make her gown for the debutante ball. From everything that she had experienced so far, she could only assume the ball was an extravagant affair and she most definitely needed the right dress to fit in.
Ambling down a stretch of cobblestone road, Sarada was struck with the thought that this lively shopping district was something she would have never imagined existed in the underworld just two weeks ago. She laughed to herself remembering how nervous she had been following her father into the darkened forest behind her house and how shocked she had been when he told her where they were going.
The more time she spent with her no-nonsense father in this realm seemed frozen in time, the more she wondered how her parents got together. There was actually a lot Sarada still wished to know, but she wasn't sure how to approach the topic.
She was still adjusting to the social norms of the underworld, which to Sarada felt a little more reserved. Besides that pesky prince, no one even tried to pry about her parents or where she had been while the rest of them grew up together.
Dark eyes wandered through the shop windows as she continued down the street. Crystals and potions, portraits, and custom furniture. Sarada glanced down at the slip of paper that she wrote her father's instructions, making sure she was on the right path.
It was only about another block before she reached her destination. When Sarada entered the store, a cheerful bell chimed, but there didn't seem to be any employees around. She wasn't in any particular rush, so she decided to patiently browse in the meantime.
Hung on the walls were fabrics in a variety of patterns, colors, and trimmings. A few mannequins were dressed in poofy gowns while others wore an elegant ensemble with matching pants, vests, and tailcoats. With awe, Sarada ran her fingers over a stretch of scarlet red fabric, mesmerized by the delicate pattern stitched throughout.
"Good morning," the tailor greeted as she emerged from the back of the shop through a curtain. "What can I help you with today?"
"Hi, my name is Sarada. I believe I have an appointment?"
The tailor's face lit up. "Oh yes, of course! Miss Uchiha, I've been expecting you. Right this way!"
Sarada followed her behind the shop's curtain into the back room. More fabric was stacked high beside an old sewing machine with a few half-dressed mannequins loitering nearby.
The tailor gestured to a tri-fold changing screen, "why don't you go ahead and undress, we'll take some measurements and discuss what style you're looking for today."
Sarada nodded and followed instructions, she kicked off her shoes and removed her dress, laying it out on the ottoman conveniently beside her. When she stepped out from behind the screen in only her undergarments, she didn't feel particularly shy given that her corset and ruffled bloomers were considerably more modest than the underwear she typically wore.
She walked over to where the tailor stood beside a raised platform and a set of mirrors. "Go ahead and step up here."
The tailor pulled the measuring tape from around her neck and got to work finding the circumference of just about every inch of Sarada's body and jotting notes down in between.
"Please do tell Sir Sasuke how much I appreciate his business and the opportunity to create the dress his heir will debut in."
"Oh, of course," she hummed.
"He's one of my most loyal customers, you know? Always knows exactly what he wants, but not much of a conversationalist, though."
Sarada couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped her lips, relieved to hear it wasn't only her who had trouble connecting with him.
"So what were you envisioning for your gown?"
"Um, I'm not really sure yet. But I saw a red fabric that I thought was exceptionally beautiful out front."
"Oh, no no no! That won't do," the tailor said, pausing in her measurements to look up at her. "It's tradition for all the debutants to wear a black gown with long gloves."
"Oh okay, yeah, black is fine," she replied, wishing someone would've mentioned that before. "Then maybe we should go with whichever style you think would be most flattering for my figure?"
"Certainly," the tailor beamed before returning to her measurements.
Sarada's thoughts wandered to what the other debutants would wear. Her father gave her no clues as to what would be appropriate, only saying he wanted her to have a dress she liked. Which was sweet but also totally not helpful.
"That little disappearing act was cute."
Her body stiffened at the sound of that familiar smug voice. Both Sarada and the tailor whipped around to find the prince strolling into the back of the shop like he owned the place.
Her mind blanked at the sight of him, fearing how he planned to retaliate for said disappearing act. But Boruto didn't actually look mad, he seemed rather amused as if his chess opponent made an unexpected move and the game was getting more interesting.
Before Sarada could reply, the rather scandalized tailor cried. "Young Lord! It's not proper for you to be here!"
His amused smirk morphed into a flat line. Blue eyes fixed on the now trembling tailor who sidestepped in front of her in a futile attempt to preserve her modesty. "I apologize, I think I misheard you."
"I-I… would you like something to drink? Tea perhaps?"
Boruto's smile returned with ease. "Oh, no thank you. But I would appreciate a private moment with Miss Uchiha, if you will."
"Of course, Young Lord!"
Sarada watched sympathetically as the tailor bowed to him before scurrying out of the room. When her dark gaze returned to Boruto, he was already several steps closer.
"What are you even doing here?" she asked, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. Sarada refused to be intimidated by him, though her current state of undress put her at quite the disadvantage.
Mischievous blue eyes looked up at her, the platform beneath her feet making her roughly a head taller than him. "Isn't it obvious?" he smirked, "I'm here to help you pick a suitable dress."
Her breath hitched as she felt his fingers tickle up the back of her knee, slowly inching upwards. Sarada tried to remain stoic despite the heat rising in her cheeks. "Why would you help me pick out my dress?"
"I thought maybe you'd care for my opinion," Boruto began, his sinister grin growing wider, "seeing as you'll be my date after all."
Sarada schooled her feature into an unamused scowl. "What makes you think I would ever go to the ball with the likes of you?"
"Because I've already talked to your father and he agreed that the best way to introduce the long-lost Uchiha heir would be on my arm." That wiped the sneer off her face real quick. "You wouldn't want to disappoint daddy dearest now, would you?"
He really talked to her father?! That would actually make sense how he knew she'd be here, and yet she didn't want to believe he'd sell her out to the demon prince! Social status was clearly a big deal here in the underworld, would going with Boruto really make her father happy?
Sarada pouted, struggling to sort out her thoughts while acting unaffected by his touch. But when his fingers danced along the lace of her bloomers her knees began to quiver. "Fine, whatever, but I'm here for a dress not to be held captive by you."
She placed her hands on his chest, pushing him away and meeting little resistance. It seemed her agreement to go to the ball with him was enough to satisfy him for now.
Boruto took a few steps back and made himself comfortable in one of the plush armchairs that faced her as if watching her fitting was about to be his own personal show. Sarada exaggeratedly rolled her eyes at him to make sure he knew how vexing she found his presence.
She called for the tailor to return, who happily bustled back in until her eyes landed on the prince. She swallowed nervously.
"Don't mind me," Boruto smiled innocently, leaning back in his chair and crossing an ankle over his opposite knee.
The tailor nodded with only mild certainty before approaching Sarada who remained standing on her raised platform. She held up two black dresses with rather differing details. "I figured we could have you try on both and you let me know which aspects you like and which you don't."
Her voice was quieter than before, her older sensibilities obviously quite perturbed by the prince insisting he remain in the room while a woman he wasn't married to was only wearing her undergarments. Sarada, on the other hand, was more concerned about the chills his heated gaze evoked as if he was undressing her further.
Sarada grabbed one of the offered gowns and stepped behind the changing screen to slip it on. It fit quite nicely, though she needed some help tightening the back. She emerged from behind the screen and retook her place on the platform.
Critical dark eyes inspected the garment's details as she twisted and turned in the mirror. "I like the fit of the bodice and the ruffles on the skirt."
The tailor nodded as she took notes of Sarada's preferences.
"Aren't you going to ask me what I think?"
She shot a glare in his direction. "I thought you were going to sit there and be quiet?"
"I don't think I ever implied that," Boruto laughed.
"Well?" Sarada gestured at the dress.
"I like it, but…" he pursed his lips in mock contemplation. She raised an impatient brow. "I think it would look even better in red."
The tailor seemed to be growing more distressed each time the prince opened his mouth. "But Young Lord, it's tradition for all the debutantes to wear black dresses!"
"I want my date to wear red," he repeated before turning to her. "You like red, don't you, Sarada?"
"I mean, I do, but…" if it was a tradition…
"Great! Red it is."
The tailor nodded. "Yes, my lord."
"You really didn't have to walk me home," Sarada mumbled, her arm still linked with Boruto's as they approached the iron gates of her father's gothic manor.
"Am I not a gentleman?" he grinned.
She snorted an unladylike laugh. After spending the better part of an hour watching her dress, now he was interested in proper manners?!
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you just wanted to see where I live," she countered.
"Your father is a noteworthy man. I've always known where the Uchiha residence was." Her heart skipped nervously when his blue eyes grew mischievous. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I even know that that one is your bedroom balcony."
Dark eyes widened in surprise as a subtle blush colored her cheeks. "Wh-Why do you know that?!"
"I didn't, but you just confirmed it for me," the prince smirked.
Staring up at her balcony, Sarada cursed under her breath, realizing she fell right into his cleverly laid trap. Her gaze refocused on Boruto just as he reached up near her face. When she didn't pull away, he allowed his fingers to gingerly stroke her cheek. The soft touch inspired unexpectedly pleasant tingles on her skin. He inched even closer, his blue eyes gazing into hers.
"Maybe I ought to visit you some time while everyone else is asleep..." Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest as her imagination supplied her with images of his hands traversing her body with that same gentle touch. "How would you like that?"
She made the grave mistake of allowing her gaze to fall to his lips. Her breath grew shallow as her mind was suddenly flooded with thoughts of what it might be like to finally kiss him after one too many almosts.
"Why would I possibly like that?" Sarada sassed.
But her retort must not have had the punch she hoped, because the prince exhaled a breathy laugh. His heated eye contact persisted. "I can guarantee whatever it is you're imagining I'm willing to do for you."
Heat consumed her cheeks. He couldn't read her thoughts, she reminded herself, he could only sense her emotions.
"I wasn't even thinking about you."
Boruto leaned forward just enough to brush his nose against hers. "I already told you, you're a bad liar, my little witch."
Just as she was beginning to question her sanity, he backed away and her brain could finally think straight.
"Until then," he nodded.
Whenever Sarada was searching for her father, the first place she looked was his study. The man seemed to forever be working and she never really knew exactly on what. Tentatively, she poked her head into the room, finding him sitting at his desk as expected.
"Are you busy?"
"What do you need?" Sasuke replied.
"I just wanted to talk," she confessed as she stepped deeper into the room. "I've had a few questions I've been meaning to ask."
He pushed aside whatever paper he'd been reading to give Sarada his full attention.
"Well, I've been practicing my magic quite a bit, but I was wondering if it was normal to…" she hesitated, feeling slightly shy. "…to use magic on accident?"
She realized all the weird things happening to her since her birthday was from her magic, but the accidental teleporting was the most major. She needed to know if it was a fluke or triggered by something in particular.
"It's certainly not out of the ordinary for unpracticed witches to inadvertently use magic. The Uchiha brand of magic in particular is strengthened by intense emotions," her father explained. "It's essential that as your ability grows you remain in control of your emotions and build a strong will, otherwise your magic may be the thing that controls you."
Sarada exhaled a harsh breath, that information heavy on her shoulders. For the most part, she was relatively calm and collected. But when provoked, she really could get mad.
Her father seemed nervous, if not a touch guilty for not going over this with her sooner. "Did you… hurt someone?"
The question felt weighted. Like it was asked from personal experience.
She shook her head. "No, I just got embarrassed I guess, and accidentally teleported."
"Oh?" There was a ghost of a laugh under his response that made her cheeks begin to warm.
Sarada didn't want to leave the door open for him to ask what exactly made her so embarrassed or she might risk disappearing again. She jumped to the next question that had been itching at the back of her mind. "Also, out of curiosity, how powerful are demons?"
His expression stiffened. "Why?"
Her breath caught in her throat, the sudden shift in her father's demeanor made her nervously change course. "Well, I… I heard the king of the underworld is a demon."
"Ah, yes," he exhaled with relief. "The king is quite powerful, but I promise he is not someone you have to fear."
Sarada nodded but before she could move on to her questions about the debutante ball, a dark-feathered hawk landed on the ledge of an open window.
"Speak of the devil," Sasuke mumbled under his breath. He stood to retrieve the message attached to the hawk's leg. His eyes scanned over the small scroll before looking back up.
"I'm sorry I'm being summoned. We can continue this conversation later but in the meantime…" He turned to his bookshelf, his fingers sliding over the spines before pulling out a thick book. "This volume chronicles the Fourth Great War. The underworld has always been ruled by a handful of clans, but it was after this most recent war the Uzumaki reclaimed power."
Sarada took a few steps forward to accept the book from his outstretched hand. Her gaze glided over its worn leather cover.
"Thanks," she replied softly, though she was genuinely grateful. Sarada still had so many questions about her magic and her father, but deepening her understanding of the underworld and its history would provide good context.
By the time she looked up, her father was already gone. With a shrug, Sarada stepped out of the study and committed herself to a night of reading. She made herself a hot cup of tea and headed upstairs to her bedroom.
The fireplace roared beside her as Sarada curled up on her plush, velvet chaise and cracked open her book. It was rather easy to get sucked into the tale of Naruto Uzumaki. For a history book, it was quite well-written; the feats of the king it described were fascinating. He was even said to have defeated entire armies by himself.
Her father reassured her she didn't have to fear the king and yet this book painted him in an almost frightening way like he was larger than life. His power nearly incomprehensible.
If she was being escorted by Boruto at the ball, the likelihood that she would be noticed by the king jumped tenfold. She really ought to practice her manners so she didn't embarrass herself or her father.