A true friend is one who

overlooks your failures and

tolerates your success!

Doug Larson

Chapter 2: Fit For a King

"Hiei?"

No response, not that I truly expected one. Crushing silence stretched from unfeeling stone, walls normally able to house five men walking abreast of one another now too narrow to hold a single boy. Hiei's dinner tray sat cooling at my feet – a gift from a less-than-eager maidservant – my sole defense against the invisible enemy.

I licked my lips, willing myself to try again. Two days had come and gone since the library incident and in that time, I'd not seen my newfound friend once. The morning following the storm, father's advisers held court in the Great Hall; even Suzaku appeared, face tight as the bandages adorning his right hand. I asked the bruised elves but they refused to offer any information about my friend – most even refused to meet my gaze. I scoured the castle: various corridors, the library, kitchens and servant's quarters; I searched the gardens, orchards, and hunting grounds, yet Hiei was nowhere to be found.

Finally, I tried his door, though it remained closed to me.

The imposing wood stretched high overhead, intricate carvings telling of Gandara's war with the dragons. To my boyish mind, the might of the giant lizards appeared greater than the elves' and I could not help but wonder how we expelled them from our land so long ago. No records showed what happened to the dragons after their exodus north, a fact which always tugged the reigns of my curiosity.

Gathering what remained of my courage, I raised an orange-clad arm and knocked again. The dull pounding seemed to echo in the empty corridor, accompanied by the crackling of a nearby torch. "Hiei, please." I pleaded, well aware of the improbability of my reedy voice conquering the silence. "You haven't eaten anything since–" The Diviega's name stilled my tongue, forcing my eyes shut. Again, I relived his resistance in the orchard, the hesitation I was too foolish to comprehend. Again, his fear gnawed at my throat, begging for help I could not give. Then, the fangs and claws; the reptilian glint in those wild, wide eyes. A tiny hand reaching for me; Suzaku and Hiei's blood mixing with the Diviega's juices on the floor; countless screams swallowed by thunder and a blistering heat–

Tears stung my cheeks as I continued to knock, hoping against hope for an answer. I needed no one to tell me what transpired was my fault – my heart attested to the fact readily. If not for my folly – my arrogance – this never would have happened: Suzaku would still have full use of his hand and Hiei would not have been beaten like a common whelp. The hatred burning in the knight's eyes, his sick pleasure in laying hands on my friend . . . It was all my fault.

My hand began to bruise and shadows waxed long in the corridor, yet still he did not answer. Finally, when I could stand it no longer, I took up Hiei's tray and tried the door myself.

The wood gave way easily enough, swinging inward on hidden hinges. Darkness gripped with greedy fingers as the door slowly closed, drawing me further into the stone grotto. No windows adorned the walls, no candles or well-meaning torches were present to offer their cheery glow. I was no stranger to the dark, nor had I ever been foolish enough to fear it, yet the blatant animosity infecting the room, the malice churning the air itself–

Every instinct beckoned me to run.

Heart pounding in my ears, I took first one step, then another, all the while pleading for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they failed to comply, I balanced the tray in one hand and used the other to comb through my hair, searching for a specific seed. When my fingers closed around an oblong kernel I paused, willing my breaths to slow and energy to flow into the precious vessel. At last, exposing the seed to the darkness, I concentrated on father's teaching and whispered. "Growan."

At that word, the kernel shifted in my hand, rough exterior rippling rapidly until finally the shell split. Relief pulled at my shoulders as the tender shoot burst forth, roots weaving through my fingers as it continued to grow. I rewarded the sapling's caresses with a warm hum, allowing the shoot to stretch a moment longer before uttering "Lēoht."

Instantly, the plant's thin arms began to glow, pushing the shadows back a few inches. From the shelter of light I made out the edges of a swirling carpet, the outline of a low couch, ashen branches in the shallow fireplace. Other than these articles, the sitting room remained sparsely furnished – neither tapestry nor painting covered the naked walls.

Swallowing hard, I forced my feet towards the hall connecting the chambers, ignoring the trembling overtaking both hands. "Hiei?"

No response. The bare walls and floor unnerved me far more than the darkness because both acquiesced an absence of personality, as if the occupant possessed no mind or will of his own. Surely, embellishments were allowed in Hiei's private quarters – the one space he could completely claim as his own. The rough surface bruised my slippered feet, pulled at the silk of my robes, mocked every scrap of finery making up my world.

A new room interrupted the barren hall, a room boasting familiar images. A single wardrobe without doors stretched across one wall, filled to the brim with various silks, velvets, and other fine garments. Opposite the wardrobe rested a tall mirror and dressing table, both cast decidedly in shadow. Stark stone glared up from the floor and remaining walls, threatening to engulf the aged wood and glass.

Against my better judgment, I stepped into the dressing room. The crafted rock threatened to swallow me whole yet I ignored its gaping maw, drawing closer and closer to the table. Sweat dotted my brow, anxiety parching my tongue, gnawing at my belly. I knew my undertaking to be inappropriate: intruding upon one's chambers, especially their dressing room, insinuated a relationship of the most personal nature, one Hiei and I certainly did not possess. Fear of punishment – of Hiei being hurt again – pressed against my chest, pounded my ears like war drums, yet still my feet continued to move. The table stretched before me, a dark wolf with glinting fangs and sharpened claws lounging in this forgotten corner of the castle.

Then, the wood solidified under the plant's light and the table returned – a low vanity with defined grains and worn edges. Three objects rested there, each appearing perfectly content: a wash-basin, which accounted for the perceived mouth; a fine-toothed comb, each segment filed to a sharp point; and a metal circlet. The circlet captured my attention, for nothing else in the room accounted for its presence. Aged iron glared in the flickering glow, a perfect circle save for the broken clasp protruding from one side. Measuring about the size of two man's fists, the ring reminded me of tools used to discipline unruly hounds in father's kennel – collars, Kaito called them – only this one was too big to fit around a dog's neck.

Why would something like this be here?

A muffled sob pierced the darkness, nearly causing me to drop both tray and light. I spun on my heel, staring wide-eyed at the entryway. "Hiei?"

Again, no response, though the ensuing silence was comforting in a way. Only one room remained unexplored, only one place to hide:

I would know that voice anywhere.

Willing composure to overtake me, I stepped back into the hall, following the soft cry with gentle steps. Before I was ready, Hiei's bedchamber embraced me with open arms, striking as the other rooms in its simplicity. Again, unadorned stone glared from each direction, though a small window allowed the chamber to breathe. Shelves lined one wall, skeleton-like in their barrenness save for the bottom-most plank, where a miniature portrait resided. The bed was a simple thing – a thin straw mattress atop a rough-hewn frame – though it did not look to have been used in quite some time; a minuscule rug rested at its feet. Other than those precious items, the room remained bereft of furniture or decoration of any sort, a sharp contrast to the other rooms in father's castle.

There, in a corner of that forgotten room, I found my friend.

Hiei sat with his back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to his tiny chest, face lost within quivering arms. The light betrayed the same clothes from days before adorned his body still, pale material marred by blood and vicious tears. In fact, both sleeves were missing from the silk garment, exposing honeyed skin to the open air.

Shame dusted my cheeks and I glanced down, studying the meager meal in my hands. The rings adorning every other finger, bejeweled fabric clinging to my wrists . . . These did not align with the decrepit state of Hiei's chambers, his state of undress, the dull circlet in the next room–

Such things did not belong in my world.

"Hiei?"

I shrank under the sound of my own voice – a shrill note broken by inexperienced lips. Hiei stiffened, head shrinking further into the cocoon of limbs. His arms remained tense, the motions of misery replaced by a darker emotion I could not quite place. Anxiety ravaged my stomach, squeezed my lungs and throat with bruising intensity; the plant in my palm trembled. "Hiei?"

"Go away."

The muffled hiss arrested my ears, stilled the breath in my lungs. Gone was the downy voice I longed to hear, light as the birth of springtime. Each syllable warbled, bled, as if pierced with the thorns of a thousand roses.

Not a shred of familiarity remained in that voice.

No, Hiei sounded cold; distant–

Angry.

Licking dry lips, I dared another step into the room, brandishing the tray as an offering. "I thought you might be hungry – you haven't come to dinner in two days."

If possible, he grew even more still; I doubted he dared to breathe. The plant shrank back against my palm as I took yet another step; only three paces separated us now. "Don't worry, no one's cross with you over what–"

I nearly swallowed my tongue as the next step bathed Hiei thoroughly in light. More pale scars stretched slender fingers up his nape, though they are not what stoppered my voice. A hideous mark ensnared his right arm, spiraling from shoulder to bludgeoned knuckles. The ink composing the mark was black, abysmal, and humming with latent power; only the most skilled magicians could craft such a thing. I knew the mark to be fresh because the flesh surrounding it shone pink – an uncanny mixture of light and dark. Finally, my eyes allowed me to see the end of the tattoo, a defined shape on the back of Hiei's hand: the mark narrowed there with surprising precision, forming a serpentine head with savage horns and flowing whiskers; gaping jaws threatening to eat the fingers set before it; twin vermilion slits which saw all, scheming, terrifying–

The dragons from the door flashed before my eyes.

A mirthless chuckle, far too old for his throat. "Happy now, your highness?"

Venom laced each word, ravaged the question I knew he didn't expect me to answer. "Hiei, what happened? Who did this to you?"

Still, he refused to lift his head. Some of the tension fled those small shoulders as he sighed, retreating further inside his cocoon. "Go away."

I could not reconcile the boy before me with the companion I'd come to know over the past week. Perhaps this is what caused my feet to move closer still, my lips to form words of their own accord. "I didn't know – I swear I didn't know." Mere inches separated us now and I bit my lip, willing him to understand. "Hiei, please–"

"I said go away!" He screamed, uncurling and leaping to his feet in one fluid motion. The tray flew from my hand, crashing against the opposite wall with a resounding clatter. Broth and choice morsels rained down on us, clinging to both clothes and hair; multiple dishes shattered on the unfeeling floor. A fierce grimace marred Hiei's face, a worthy companion to the various welts and bruises dwelling there. One eye was swollen shut, both lips were the color of plums ripe for the picking. The white handkerchief retained its post across his forehead, bone-white amidst abundant browns, yellows, purples and reds. Tears carved deep rivulets through the chaos of color, seeping from inflamed lids to drip from his quivering chin.

For a moment, I could not find my voice. Mouth agape, I could only stare at those bruises, eyes wide. When my tongue finally acknowledged the command to speak, what came forth was softer than a whisper. "Hiei–"

"You promised." He retracted the offending arm, hugging it tightly to his chest. All the while, the dragon continued to watch me with those intelligent eyes, pink skin glaring from each dark fold. "You promised . . ."

My throat constricted and suddenly both eyes watered, brimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry." I whispered, forcing myself to memorize his anguish – he deserved that much. "I'm so sorry . . ."

Rather than answer, he reclaimed his former position against the wall, sliding down until he sat amidst the broken dishes and soiled supper. A fresh sob wracked those shoulders and once again he pressed his forehead against his knees, sheltering the dragon with his body.

I spoke his name twice more but he ignored me, lost in his misery. Finally, I forced myself to leave him there, setting the lamp plant down before stumbling back through the darkness.

A dull clang drew me from my reverie. Kuwabara sighed, leaning against a stout peach tree. Hiei maintained his position at the wall partitioning father's garden from the rest of the orchard, dreaded dragon hidden beneath the folds of his dark cloak. He kept his gaze fixed on the castle set atop the nearest hill, on the mighty battlements overlooking the capital below. Though he did not say a word, the tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease; the proximity of his hands to his weapons gave away his anxiety. A flicker of red – one a casual observer would certainly miss – and I understood his sentiments exactly:

It was time for our unwanted guests to leave.

Donning a smile, I turned to face our attendants. "Thank you, gentleman." Nodding to each in turn, fresh orders fell from my tongue like drops of balm, instantly soothing the frowns from their faces. "Would you see to it that our robes for receiving Lord Urameshi are prepared? And you, please make sure my cousin wants for nothing during his stay." The two nodded and I turned to the final servant, the youngest of the three. "Please inform King Yomi that Lord Kuwabara, Hiei and myself have an important matter to attend to and will await him shortly."

Kuwabara perked up at this but remained silent. The elf simply bowed his head, though not quickly enough for me to miss the slight swelling of his chest. With that, the three men strode into the sunshine with purpose, leaving us alone.

A groan filled the air and Kuwabara removed his gauntlets, fanning his face with the pliable leather. "Why is it so hot today?"

Hiei spared him a sideways glance, silver sword hilts gleaming at either elbow. "You are the fool who dressed in full armor for a training session."

"Hey!" The young knight growled, mopping his forehead with the corner of his cloak. "You're the one who told me to come prepared! We're training for the tournament, remember? Besides, this is what's worn during–"

"You would never wear such a thing in a real battle – armor is required in tournaments only because pampered nobles would fall on their swords otherwise." Hiei snorted, sliding both hands into deep trouser pockets. "In a true fight, you must sacrifice protection for mobility – every warrior knows that."

Before the situation could escalate any further, I stepped between the two, offering Kuwabara a reassuring smile. "Hiei is right: you should work to master your chosen weapon rather than relying on external forces for protection, Kuwabara."

Rather than argue, he submitted and continued to fan himself, uncaring of the pumpkin curls falling from their carefully greased prison. "You said we still have something to do before we head back, didn't you, your high–" Jaws snapping shut, Kuwabara caught his mistake just in time.

However, he nearly swallowed his tongue in the process.

Chuckling, I stepped away from the young knight, offering him the illusion of privacy to carry out his coughing fit. A soft snort sounded at my elbow, yet I turned to find Hiei's attention garnered by the forested hills surrounding us, uncaring of Kuwabara's plight.

Fixing my eyes northward, I waited until he regained his breath before answering. "Yes."

Clearing his throat once more, Kuwabara straightened, a motion caught in the corner of my eye. "What is it, if you don't mind me asking?"

A smirk creased my lips as the wind crept into our haven, bringing with it an all-too familiar scent. "We must welcome our guest."

All at once, the daffodils sang a clear, unified note, lifting heavy heads and gaping tongues skyward. Whatever Kuwabara thought to say fled as he watched the swaying stalks, marveled at the petals fluttering like so many ribbons in a dancer's hands. The flowers twirled faster still, kissing one another with tender pecks, leaves trapping Hiei's ankles in a warm embrace.

I could not help but smile at their happiness – nothing transpired in Gandara without their knowing.

"He's coming."

The statement rolled off of Hiei's tongue easily, matter-of-fact and devoid of emotion, yet it sent the daffodils into a frenzy. Their song rose to painful pitches as their grip on him tightened, curling in on themselves and attempting to leap from their earthen beds. They knew leaving the dirt would mean their lives but they did not care – so great was their joy.

Kuwabara blinked, gaze roaming from the yellow dancers to the shorter man. "Who?"

Hiei sneered, hands emerging from his pockets only to rest on either sword hilt. "Open your ears." Jaw set, his eyes remained set on one slope in particular, cool crimson devouring every sign of life. He never once looked at Kuwabara.

"Hey–!"

I lifted a hand, demanding quiet as I surveyed the hill as well. The hand ran through the hair at my temple without my consent, fingertips brushing a painfully round ear. Though father contested I was his rightful son and heir, my appearance had long been a subject of court gossip. Frankly, I did not look like the other royals of Gandara: my eyes and hair were not dark, nor were my ears elongated, a trait which distinguished my kind from all other races. Also my hearing, though better than a human's, fell short of even the most inept of elves, a fact which caused me no small amount of grief. Hiei's ears were rounded as well, though he suffered no lack of hearing for it – he was not a natural Gandaran, after all.

If not for his red eyes and my scarlet hair, anyone would have mistaken us for humans.

The drums reached my ears first, beaten by strong, steady hands – an instrument of war transformed into one of pleasure. Each stroke seeped into the ground as so much liquid, watering every thirsty root. The grass and flowers accepted the gift readily; still clinging to Hiei's ankles like an adamant lover, they adjusted their movements to the foreign beat, losing themselves once again to song.

Next came the pipes: hundreds of reedy voices rained over the horizon, the type which gained their gusto from the skins of sheep or goats. Where air failed one set, three more rose to take its place, lifting anthems only the players could truly understand. Single wooden flutes proceeded next, followed by the trumpets, golden notes voicing heaven's approval of what was to come. Finally, countless measured steps emerged only to blend seamlessly with the drumbeats, along with the prattle of beasts.

The very air vibrated with sound when at last Kuwabara heard the procession, gaze moving from the flaunting flowers to the horizon just as the first figures emerged from the trees. Two men on matching ruddy horses crested the hill, bearing banners coated in yellow and blue on long poles. Simple plate encased the chests of both horse and riders; aside from a thick leather garment which fell to the knee, the men's legs were bare. Bald heads brandished unabashedly in the sun, the two urged their mounts on, raising their burdens for all to see.

Lines of musicians followed in their wake, flowing into the valley in rows no less than ten men wide: Ogres bore drums which could easily house four humans on their shoulders, muscles taut beneath ruby and cerulean skin as they beat the instruments with mighty clubs. Unlike the banner bearers, they wore only well-dressed skins around their waists – their legs, feet and chests were bare. Dark hair fell down their backs in a conundrum of braids both thick and thin; a single horn protruded from their foreheads. Rows of men came next, each wielding the piped instrument unique to Tourin. Various reeds protruded from an inflated bag which hid each player's stomach; faces red with exertion, the bearded musicians continued blowing into the mouthpiece of the curious device, fingers flying to cover and uncover numerous holes. Horns grew from their temples, those of the eldest curling tightly above the shoulder much like a ram's. Each wore the same uniform: tight-fitting white shirts covered by dark blue plaids of fine cotton belted at the waist and trimmed with red fur, most likely that of a deer; pale leggings bled into boots so caked with mud it was impossible to determine their true color. Braids adorned these heads as well, though the style in which they were fashioned varied from row to row. A sword rested securely across each back, sheaths marked by the tell-tale signs of battle.

The trumpeters followed, brass instruments catching each ray of light as they blew a resounding melody. Though they were dressed in the same fashion as their neighbors, each had a bow slung over his shoulder, a quiver of green-fletched arrows at his side. Again, each head was braided after a fashion and a different style ruled each row. Finally came the flutists, wearing dark tunics and white vests. The flutists' shaved heads immediately caught my eye, as did their lack of horns, though the axes strapped to either hip dispelled any question of their ability as warriors.

Then, a curious sight overtook the hill. An iron carriage drawn by four stallions emerged from the forest, each beast large enough to be ridden by the preceding ogres. The carriage bore the emblem of Tourin's royal family on its side and was surrounded by three rows of men, all armed to the teeth. Much like the flutists, their heads were devoid of both hair and horns, yet they carried themselves with an air the musicians lacked; each stared straight ahead, granite eyes focused on the backs of their companions. These men wore dark attire, devoid of ornate patterns or any identifiable features:

They were the prince's guard and felt no need to hide it.

"Nice, huh?"

Rosemary and mint flooded my nose and I smiled in spite of myself. Kuwabara jumped at the voice while Hiei and I took our time turning, knowing full well who we'd find there. Yusuke Urameshi stood at the far end of the garden wall, a cocky grin twisting his lips. An ivy green plaid trimmed in ermine covered his shoulders, stretching easily to meaty calves enshrined in sapphire breeches. Unlike the men below, Yusuke's boots possessed an incredibly thin sole and were cut just above the heel, exposing both ankles to the open air. Dark hair fell to his waist; each section bore a different style and number of braids, as if he'd allowed a child to dress the locks. Thick horns grew from either temple, frozen in their ascent over his ears; both were two finger's width thick, barren of the ribbed crown which normally adorned his head. One hand rested on his hip while the other brandished a studded club as tall as he. As usual, my cousin wore no tunic to speak of.

Amber eyes glinting, Yusuke swung the weapon over one shoulder and strode towards us. "Figured you'd be up here hiding, fox boy. Good thing I–"

"Stay back!" Immediately, Kuwabara's back obscured my vision. Retreating a step, I saw the knight taking a ready stance before Yusuke, practice sword perfectly poised. Though I stood half a head taller than Yusuke, Kuwabara towered over my cousin, who appeared as bewildered as I at the knight's actions.

Kuwabara sank deeper into his stance, knuckles white as they gripped the wooden weapon. "Don't move." He ground out, glaring at his opponent.

Yusuke stopped, uncharacteristically obedient before the anomaly of Kazuma Kuwabara. Brow raised, he glanced from the human to me before finally settling on Hiei. "What's up with this guy?"

"He was dropped on his head as an infant." Hiei's gaze shifted from our guest to Kuwabara, sliding his hands back into his pockets. "Repeatedly."

Kuwabara further tightened his grip on the sham sword; he never once took his eyes off of Yusuke. "Hiei, what are you doing? Get the prince out of here!"

Hiei snorted, mouth fixed in an unrelenting sneer. "If you think he's an enemy, then you really are an idiot."

Finally, Kuwabara glanced at Hiei, a sharp look filled with determination and a trace of fear. "What are you talking about? Can't you sense it?! He's–"

"It's all right." My voice caused him to falter further and I smiled, stepping into his line of sight. "I am honored by what you are trying to do but it is entirely unnecessary." Before he could speak, I gently forced his weapon down, motioning with my free hand. "Yusuke, this is Kazuma Kuwabara, grandson of Modig Kuwabara." Both dark brows rose at this, though he did not interrupt me. I extended my hand towards our guest, glancing back at my friend as I did so. "Kuwabara, I would like to introduce you to my cousin: this is Prince Yusuke of the Urameshi clan, son of Raizen and heir to the kingdom of Tourin."

Kuwabara's eyes widened, realization painting both irises milky gray as he gazed mutely between the two of us. Precious seconds passed, during which his skin underwent a radical transformation, shifting from warm copper to sickly green before finally settling on dismal ash. Both hands trembled, a sensation which soon overtook his entire body; fresh perspiration dotted his brow even as goose flesh crept up his neck. Baseless syllables rose in his throat once, twice, yet never made their way past his lips.

Yusuke shifted his weight even as my nose wrinkled at Kuwabara's fear, an acrid stench for which words could do no justice. Sidling closer to me, Yusuke cupped a hand over his mouth, though the heightened pitch of his voice destroyed all illusions of privacy. "I think you broke him."

Suddenly, Kuwabara threw the practice sword away and fell on his face, a clumsy series of motions only humans could manage. The air sang with the clanging of armor as he prostrated himself before Yusuke, chin dragging the ground with each word he spoke. "I-I'm so sorry, your Highness! I didn't . . . If I knew who you were, I never would have–" He swallowed audibly, thickly, clenching tufts of grass in shaking fists. "Please forgive me!"

My cousin listened to Kuwabara's pleas with something akin to confusion, blinking every so often. For his part, Hiei's smirk fell as he watched the display, though he made no move to help the knight.

All mirth drained away as the gravity of the situation set in. The law in both Tourin and Gandara were clear on threats to a noble's life: if one were caught in such an act, the sentence was death. Kuwabara's threat, while committed in ignorance, remained a capital crime in both of our lands. Hiei and I had both witnessed it, and that was all the evidence Yusuke would need if he wanted Kuwabara's life in recompense.

No one, not even my father, could offer protection from a noble collecting his blood price.

Yusuke's eyes softened to aged honey and he stepped closer to the human, extending a bare arm. "It's cool, man."

Kuwabara raised his head faster than I thought possible, face shifting from resigned terror to disbelief as he stared at that arm. "Y . . . your majesty?"

"I said don't worry about it, all right? Accidents happen – just don't do it again." Yusuke offered him a genuine smile, fingers outstretched. "C'mon, get up."

After a moment's hesitation, the knight accepted his offer, hand settling awkwardly in Yusuke's smaller appendage as he helped him to his feet. Though Kuwabara stood a full head taller than he, my cousin met his gaze with no conscience of height, more than could be said for a number of nobles I knew. "And by the way," He continued, tucking a particularly rebellious braid behind one ear. "Whatever Kurama said about calling him 'your highness' and all that crap goes double for me." Yusuke shrugged at Kuwabara's open stare, brushing imaginary dirt off of his plaid. "I get enough of that from Hokushin – I don't need to hear it from you."

Kuwabara nodded mutely and I stepped forward, garnering Yusuke's attention. "Where is Hokushin?"

My cousin's lips split in a sly smirk and he took a step towards the tree line, motioning to the procession below. "Down there, making sure 'Lord Yusuke' doesn't do anything stupid."

A bark of laughter from Hiei and I sighed, noting the various beasts bearing material goods into the capital. "You're going to make him lose what little hair he has left."

"Oh, it's all gone now; but that's the old man's fault, not mine." Suddenly the light fell from his eyes and he frowned, lips pressed into a tight line.

The flowers halted their dance, suddenly stricken, even with the music playing below. Unease wrapped thorned vines around my stomach as I watched Yusuke, brows furrowing at his unnatural shift in emotion.

Before I could form a response, however, he waved a sun-kissed hand, shouldering his club once more. "Anyway, it shouldn't be long now." A fresh grin split those cheeks, giving him the appearance of a cat rewarded with cream. "Wonder what he'll threaten to do this time?"

"Yusuke, you really shouldn't torture him so." Another sigh escaped my lips even as he strode towards the end of my domain, knowing I fought for a lost cause. "Hokushin has served your family faithfully for many years–"

"Hey, I keep him on his toes – he should be thanking me!"

Hiei snorted, carefully disentangling his feet from the daffodils before falling into step alongside him. "Where did you leave him this time?"

Yusuke tipped his head back for a second, seemingly lost in thought. "Some hicktown about fifty miles north of here. Snuck out when we stopped to feed the horses, watched them march off and everything." The smirk made a triumphant return as he glanced down at Hiei, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Last I saw, Hokushin was going over proper court etiquette with a scarecrow in the royal carriage."

Another impolite sound bubbled from Hiei's throat and I shook my head, moving to follow the two. Just as the last of the pack animals entered the capital below, a throaty bellow reached my ears, carried by a breath of wind. "LORD YUSUKE!"

The lord in question froze before releasing a low groan, raking thick fingers through the conundrum on his head. "Well, that didn't last long."

Hiei snorted as they began their trek anew, careful to step a pace or so behind Yusuke.

Just before leaving the sanctuary, a slender blade of grass tapped my ankle, beckoning me to turn back. Kuwabara still stood where Yusuke had left him, staring after the prince with an inscrutable expression. "Kuwabara?"

He visibly started, bending to retrieve his fallen weapon before meeting my gaze. He'd regained much of his former complexion, though hints of moss and ash lingered here and there. "Has . . . he always been like that?"

"Yusuke?" I smiled at his curt nod, watching my cousin grin at Hiei over his shoulder while reenacting his grand escape. "Yes, for as long as I can remember."

After a moment's consideration, he nodded once again, sallow cheeks warming as we stepped into the sunlight. "He'll make a good king."

A soft hum and we descended the hill, a lazy pace timed by distant drumbeats and Yusuke's laughter. "Yes, I believe that as well."

A/N: I'm alive! Sorry for the delay in this update! Halfway through this chapter, my computer came under attack and was out of commission for nearly a month. Thankfully, everything is mostly back to normal now.

Big shout-out to my beta-readers Candid Ishida and Kuramasgirl19769! Thank you guys so much!

A couple of cultural notes: even though this is an AU, the story takes place roughly in the 1300-1400s. That being said, there are no references to kilts being seen in Scotland until the 1500s; however, plaids are mentioned multiple times as being worn by both Scottish men and women. A plaid is essentially a long cloak worn over the shoulders which may or may not be belted at the waist. Normally, a tunic and breeches were worn under a plaid but honestly, I can't see Yusuke completely conforming to the dress code of any age, so that's that.

Also, during this time period the Scots wore their hair long and hair was typically decorated in an assortment of braids. This applies to both men and women, and thus why Yusuke arrives with a glorious mane done in braids. The reason behind the variety of braids in his hair will be explained.

Finally, the "blood price" Kurama mentions is more commonly known as weregild. Weregild is an Anglo-Saxon custom which places monetary value on people. Under the weregild system, if one were to kill another, the killer had the option to pay the family what the man/woman was deemed to be worth. If the killer did not pay, the family could enact their right of weregild and kill him/her. The idea I tried to portray is that by pointing a weapon at Yusuke, Kuwabara threatened a prince's life, which is a big no-no in just about any culture. In this AU, weregild can be exacted from threats to a noble's life as well as actually killing the noble himself.

So, a new prince has arrived on the scene! What will happen in Gandara during Yusuke's visit? Can Kuwabara win honor for his family during the festivities? And why is the crown prince of Tourin visiting, anyway? Find out next time! Please let me know your thoughts/opinions through a review or PM!