At noon the next day, a guard called Yuffie away from her meal and back to the conference room, which had been built on the wing of small offices. She hated this room—in the years closely following the Wutai-Shinra War, it had been remodeled in the Eastern style. Straight-backed chairs flanked a glossy table. Only hints of Wutai remained—the mats with the embroidery of cranes which spanned the length of the table; a vase of delicate white flowers. The mixture made her uneasy, at a disadvantage in her home.

Tseng awaited her arrival in the conference room. He stood behind his chair, and she gave him permission to sit with a wave of her hand. "Let's discuss terms," he said.

Yuffie's fingers clenched her ceremonial kimono. After only two days of wearing the formal garments, her nerves were chafed. She hoped eventually she would be able to discard the formal attire as she shook up tradition—if red tape and general resistance didn't stand in her way. Wutai could be a country full of mules, so stubborn that it had been shackled in its ways since the Shinra War.

Discussing terms meant a possible yes. "Go for it." She tried to sound confident, tried to sound Yuffie-in-control. She didn't like that she was unsure if she succeeded. Something about him—the combination of grace and indifference, perhaps—put her off-kilter.

"I will have privacy."

"You will have your own office, but for the sake of appearances, you have to share the master bedroom with me."

He paused, considering, then nodded. A strand of inky hair fell over his shoulder, blending to invisibility against the fabric there. "I will be given freedom."

"Define 'freedom.'" Yuffie's stomach would not settle down. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to a point behind him, and she knew she was not hiding her nerves well.

"Free time to pursue my own interests."

"Like… hobbies?" She tried to imagine Tseng knitting, and the only picture she got involved a red silk robe, a cravat, and a pipe. Give or take a white fluffy cat.

He nodded, absolutely serious, unaware of her inappropriate thoughts. She congratulated herself on her control. Three months ago, she would have laughed. Now her lips didn't even twitch.

Yuffie didn't know if she liked the change.

"Granted. Within reason."

"Define 'reason,'" he fired back.

"I'll be blunt." As if she were ever anything else. "Wutai's in bad shape, and we need to make some major changes around here. That means lots of legal stuff—stuff I need you cooperating and present for."

Tseng nodded. She wished she could read him better. Over the years, she had even accustomed herself to the nuances of Vincent's closed face, but Tseng was like a book rubber-cemented shut with all the words scribbled out.

"I must be allowed to continue communication with the Turks." She noted he didn't attempt to hide that the organization was still operational.

"You can't run missions," she said, flat. "I know it's your thing and you got a sweet gig with the WRO, but you have to stay in the country. Your work has to appear to be about Wutai."

She had no doubt he'd picked up the "appear" in that sentence. His face seemed even blanker somehow. She noticed, as he nodded, that he had beautiful hair—almost blue it was so black. Idly, Yuffie wished they could trade. A picture of Tseng with her boy-cut bob drifted over her mind's eye. Not okay.

"You wish that I do not contact them?"

"No, I know that's not good for you. You can still communicate with them, but you can't be with them physically."

He nodded. "That will be satisfactory."

"Oh, and just so we get this straight in advance, this is going to be a chaste marriage. People want me to have lots of little black-haired babies for the good of the kingdom, but no way is that happening. You got me?" She hid her embarrassment under her bluster.

Tseng's upper lip curled, and she wanted to sink into the floor. Or strangle him. "I am sure, your highness, in this case, you will encounter no resistance from me."

She almost swallowed her own tongue trying to hide her anger. "We won't be married for long. I hope a year at most. Enough for me to change the laws about female heirs, then kick your ass to the curb with a sizable portion of what's left of our treasury."

"So I will be compensated."

"Of course," Yuffie said with no small amount of forced cheer. "I can't leave the co-savior of my failing country starving in the streets for all his trouble, now can I?"

"Is there anything else?"

This was it. She hoped he wouldn't decline at hearing the final stipulation. "Here's the thing. I'm not just buying out your services," she said, approaching with caution, "I'm buying out your loyalty as well. While we're married, you report to me. When this marriage terminates and you're free to go, you may work for whomever you please. But you will never reveal any information you gathered about Wutai during the time of your service."

Tseng deliberated for a moment, but she thought he must have already considered this possibility. She had made it clear this would be a marriage in name only, a business endeavor. He would have thought about this over the previous night. It would be difficult knowing she could not quite trust him, but he was her best choice for freedom and, at the same time, protection.

"You may set the date."

She couldn't believe her ears. "Three days from now. It needs to be immediate."

"I understand."

"I'll arrange for people to help you move your stuff into our rooms and your new office." The words left her tongue with a mechanical ring. She needed to get away. "Is that good?"

"That's fine."

"I'm going to publicly announce our engagement to Wutai tomorrow. It would look good if you had a few nicey-nice things to say to all the itchy people listening. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to rest." She rose, then stopped. "Oh, and one more thing. I'm going to need to triple the security on you when I make the public announcement. People are bound to want you dead."

His mouth twisted in what she thought might be a rare smile. "I'm well used to the imminent threat of death, my lady."

She suddenly couldn't think of a way to end this conversation, so she settled for an inadequate, "All right then."

Tseng handled the conundrum for her. "If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to. As I'm sure you do as well. Good day, my lady."

Yuffie managed to hold herself together until she called Tifa. Her fingers scrabbled on the number pad as she dialed. Air clawed its way in and out of her throat. After three rings, Tifa picked up.

"Tifa?"

"Yuffie, what's wrong?" Tifa could sense it right off.

"He said yes."

"Oh, Yuffie."

"Where are you?"

"The gardens. I can be in your room in five minutes."

"No. I'll be in the Pagoda."

"I'll find you."

Yuffie stripped down and changed into a training outfit—soft loose-fitting pants and a belted shirt. The layers of her kimono decorated the floor. She set off at a light, jaunty pace, trying not to break into a run.

What's his game? What does he want? It can't be the money. Something about him tells me it's not. The intel? Who's he doing this for: Rufus or himself? He must want something.

When she made to descend the front stairs, her guards called after her, but she held her hand up and dismissed them. When she had reached the bottom of the stairs and was sure no one was around to see, she dug in her heels and ran. Some energy roared through her, begging for release.

The voice was familiar: her people's patron god, confused at her distress. Confusion, for Leviathan, translated to anger. And Yuffie's spirit energy surged in response. He was growing stronger, and he responded more readily to her emotions and thoughts. Yuffie subdued her questions and surrendered to the feeling of power now, though.

Shake stood outlined in the doorway to the Pagoda. By the look on his face, she knew he sensed the god using her as a conduit. He seemed an odd mixture of concern and anger. Before she could open her mouth, though, he aimed a hard blow for her abdomen. It connected, and she fell with the wind knocked out of her.

"It didn't hurt that bad. Now get up," he ordered.

With a cry, she lunged and pushed him through the door, into the ground floor which he and Gorki used to teach martial arts to young students, and more recently, the palace guards. Since Godo had fallen to foul play, Yuffie had ordered tighter, better-trained security. It seemed she had interrupted Shake teaching a group of them. They murmured excitedly as Shake dislodged her grip and put some space between himself and her.

Sometimes it's more fun to throw a right hook or a windmill kick than it is to adhere to martial arts teaching, so Yuffie resorted to the barroom brawl moves she'd picked up traveling the world. Being a Princess amongst drunk foreigners inevitably resulted in someone pinching her in inappropriate places. She'd gotten in a lot of fights, needless to say.

When she tried to smash Shake's scowling mouth with a well-aimed fist, he grabbed her wrist. In the miniscule moment before she made her next move, he twisted her arm and threw her to the floor. He kicked her in the side for good measure.

"You're an idiot," he growled.

She hacked, spat onto the mats. "I know, but why do you say so now?"

Dark eyes narrowed, he raised his bare foot above her head and hovered there, ready to crush her. This game of cat and mouse was familiar to her; no matter how angry Shake was, he would never injure her seriously. He trusted her enough to move if the game became too dangerous. Nevertheless, she knew the extent of his hurt feelings by the gesture alone.

"Why didn't you come to me, Yuffie?"

She rolled out from under his feet and came to her knees. He tensed in anticipation of her next move, but Yuffie shocked him by prostrating herself before him.

"Shake."

"Get up." His voice strained. "Stop doing that."

She crawled toward his bare feet. "Shake, I'm so sorry."

"Get up." She watched his hands begin to tremble from her crouched position. When the strings of his body seemed about to snap, she rolled to the side, sprang into a standing position, and speared him in the stomach head-first.

They went down in a blur of limbs, and he clawed for her hair. She grabbed his hands and pinned them to the mat. At twenty years old, Shake was a far cry from the scrawny boy she'd grown up with. He had always been faster than her—she suspected he always would be no matter how she tried to best him, but she was the daughter of the Fifth Mighty God, and she surpassed him in cunning.

She straddled his waist. She couldn't escape complications anymore, it seemed. "Now are you gonna fight me right, or are you gonna wait 'till I'm down and smack the shit out of me again?"

"Get off me. I'm going to kick your ass like I used to."

"Shake, you know it wouldn't work anyway. It's against the law."

"I could step down. Someone else would take my place, and I would be the husband you need."

Sensing the conversation going nowhere, she rolled off him, releasing his arms and moving aside quickly. When he was free, he rose and began to circle her. She prowled in the opposite direction, panther-like.

"Wutai needs you where you are. The Five Mighty Gods are all this goddamn country has left."

"You need a husband you can trust, and that's me. You know me. You know everything about me, almost more than anyone else."

"I can't." A hand slashed toward her face, and she caught it, then aimed for his stomach with her free fist. His right arm blocked, and he tried to kick her feet out from under her. He caught both feet aimed for his unguarded middle, so she twisted and planted her hands on the mat. It took a rush of strength, but she tore her legs free of his hands. Her ankles burned where his grip had rubbed off the skin.

She didn't want or know how to explain to him how being Emperor would break him. He had illusions of love, even children, fueling his anger toward her. But the rolls of red tape, the tedium of bureaucracy, and an expectation of feelings where there would be none would douse the light in him. Shake didn't want to understand, so she wouldn't try to explain. For now, they needed a return to their childhood. For now, she would thoroughly whoop his butt and figure out their problems later.

Besides that, Leviathan still raged within her. The primal surge of the god's emotions told her to hit and be hit. She laughed aloud when she realized she sounded like an abuse victim. "Hit me, Shake. Try it."

He tried. He succeeded. Blood spurted from her nose, pattered on the mats around them. Leviathan roared. Hit back, hit back, hit back, every particle of her being sang.

She backflipped, cartwheeled, rolled, jabbed for his knees. He boxed her ears, and she pushed through the burst of color behind her eyes to grab his legs and flip him onto his back. He "oof"ed as the air escaped his lungs, kicking toward her face. She scrambled out of the way, nose still pouring blood, and chopped for his abdomen. But Shake was already gone, which she should have predicted. It was the only way to get a leg up on Shake. His opponent had to be able to predict his move sets and wait for a mistake. He just dodged everything otherwise, too fast to follow.

"Tell me why you can't," he snarled.

"Because, Shake, I just can't."

"I don't understand." His voice cracked. "I can help you. I can help you find them." Them. Whoever had poisoned her father.

"I don't know if I can explain it to you." I don't know if I can ruin your life. Not like Tseng. I don't know him. I know you. I can't do that to you.

He yelled then, pure frustration, and charged her. Before she could process his attack, distracted as she was by his furious scream, he grabbed her by the fabric of her shirt and pulled her flush against his body. Through the blood on her face, he kissed her, his teeth catching and tearing her bottom lip.

She shoved him, then punched his head with the side of her fist. He fell. Yuffie nudged him with one toe, and when he didn't move, she stuck out her tongue. "Still can't beat me, Shake. Loser."

Then a sound rushed in her ears. She thought it might be a river, water closing over her head, and she surrendered to the deep.

"Yuffie, I really wish you would wake up."

"Tifa? Oh, uck, I need some water."

A glass bumped against her knuckles, and she opened her eyes and her hand, grateful. Her friend's worried face hovered over her, and she sat up and gulped the water down in about five seconds. Tifa stared, eyes wide.

Yuffie shrugged. "I guess I just got a little worked up."

"What happened back there anyway? That was Shake? The guards told me you and him were going at it pretty good."

Even confronted by her best friend, Yuffie just could not feel secure in revealing ancient, closely-guarded Wuteng secrets. She felt years of being training kick in. Keep our secrets, Yuffie, as your father before you, and his father before him. Keep our secrets for Wutai.

Yuffie scratched her head and leaned back into the pile of pillows. She was in her bedroom, and two guards stood posted at her door. They looked as though they weren't listening, but she knew better. Word got around fast in the palace for a reason. "I think... I need to talk to my dad."

"Do you think that will help?" Tifa was obviously baffled, unable to follow the trail of Yuffie's thoughts throughout their conversation.

"I'll have to see if I can catch Dad aware enough to cough some advice up." She paled. "That's funny. Cough up."

"Yuffie," Tifa sighed. "You don't have to joke about everything, you know. Some things can be serious."

"It's the only way I don't explode," she admitted, letting her eyes slip closed.

"What does exploding Yuffie do?"

"Gets all over the walls."

"Sounds like the usual," Tifa said with a conspiratorial wink.

Despite how shit everything was, Yuffie laughed.

"I've been sort of afraid to ask," Tifa said in a more serious tone. "How is your dad doing?"

Yuffie's eyes flitted to the far wall, where an old professional photograph displayed her father, her mother, and a chubby, toddler version of herself standing perfectly posed. They didn't look happy—formal family portraits, no matter the socioeconomic standing, meant everyone dressed in their best-pressed antique robes and tried to get the perfect air of power, grace. By the time the right shot had been captured, people were often cranky and tired.

The giveaway with this picture was Godo's hand resting on the small of Lady Kisaragi's back and the way her face angled toward Yuffie's even as her eyes focused on the camera. Taken a couple years before Lady Kisaragi's death, these details spoke of a closeness that Yuffie and her father had attempted and often failed to achieve.

She swallowed. "Not well."

"So have they figured out…?"

Tell her. Now is as good a time as any, the little voice in the back of her mind cajoled. "Tifa," she whispered, "my dad… he's not just sick. Someone poisoned him."

Shock, then anger slid over Tifa's face. "Who? Who did this?"

She looked at her hands, where she twisted the green sheet between each fist. "I don't know. Whoever it was, they hid their tracks well. Trust me, we've tried finding them."

"And there's no way to help your father?" Tifa's voice shook with a dangerous fury Yuffie had only heard a handful of times. Mother-figure with saint-like patience she may be, but Tifa was legendary for a reason. She, like each member of AVALANCHE, had some jagged edges.

"If there was a way to help my dad, we would've done it by now." Yuffie, for the moment, could summon no anger. A bone-deep exhaustion eclipsed any emotion she might have felt.

"Anything I can do to help you, tell me." Her hands shook, curled into tight fists in her lap, pseudo demure.

"Trust me, after today… you'd be the first person I'd go to."

"I gather Shake didn't take the news well," she said, sensing Yuffie's shift in thought.

Yuffie shook her head. Her eyes felt muzzy. When she reached up to scratch her face, dried blood flaked off on her fingertips. "No. Shake's always had a thing for me. I don't know why. He doesn't really know me anymore. I haven't been around enough."

Tifa's eyes lowered. "That's sad."

"I feel for him, but… Teef, I can't ruin his life like this."

"But you can ruin Tseng's?"

With a groan, Yuffie flopped over in her bed. At least now she didn't have to look into Tifa's big beautiful eyes and feel like a terrible person. "Shake's not cut out for the job of being my husband."

"You don't think he can handle you?"

"He can't handle helping me fix Wutai. This place is screwed if it goes on like this for much longer. The economy's wrecked, cheap tourism is our only form of income, and our exports are way lower than our imports. It's time someone did something about it, and Shake doesn't know how. In fact, Shake might even try to hold me back. He's as stuck in the old ways as any other home-grown Wuteng boy."

"There's no guarantee Tseng's any better for the job than Shake."

Yuffie wanted to scream into her pillows in frustration. I know! But it's not like I have much choice, Tifa. Finally, she settled for shrugging.

Tifa didn't reply right away, and when Yuffie finally looked back, her friend's thoughtful gaze settled on her face. "I need a fresh mind, someone who won't hold me back. I need someone who doesn't feel hostility at all the outside world after the War of Bitterest Defeat."

Tifa leaned back a little, eyebrows high. "That… that's what Wutai calls it?"

Yuffie let out a humorless laugh. "See what I'm dealing with here?"

She felt the shift before Tifa changed the subject. "Have you… have you thought about…"

To Yuffie's horror, a flush crawled up Tifa's neck. Tifa was no squeamish maiden; she'd seen more blood and guts than most women. Yuffie didn't know where this was going, but she already didn't like it.

"About?"

"Consummation."

She looked away, scratched behind her left ear, then looked back. "Uh, yeah. I have. It's kind of a big deal." When Yuffie rose from the bed to head for the connected bathrooms, Tifa followed.

"What do you mean?"

"Traditionally, on the first wedding night, the head maid of the household will retrieve the sheets and check for evidence that the bride and groom sealed the deal."

Her friend made a face. "Uhh... like–"

She splashed water on her face, watching as it ran rusty-red down the drain in the sink. "Like blood, actually. Grossness. I'm supposed to be a clean virgin bride for my husband."

A snort. "Yeah."

Through water dripping in her face, Yuffie squinted. "What are you implying? That I'm not a clean virgin bride for my future husband?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Name one person!"

"Who then?"

She cleared her throat, thought about it, then decided on vagueness. No need to horrify her friend with unnecessary details of her mostly unfortunate sexual escapades. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell, Teef," she said, waggling a finger.

Tifa looked curious, but she must have decided against pursuing it at Yuffie's cheerfully obtuse expression. She changed the subject. "What happens if you don't consummate?"

"Then someone might try to dig up evidence of it and force an annulment, and I'd be back at square one. If I don't marry within a month, the throne goes to the next-closest male relative of the Kisaragi line."

"And who would that be?"

"I'm not sure, we'd have to check the records. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Something murmured inside her. Leviathan, reminding her of his presence. Time to go see Godo, for sure. Yuffie only hoped she could get him lucid long enough to figure out why she had the giant lizard frolicking around her insides.

Yuffie rose, preparing to depart the room, and Tifa stood as well. The way she looked at her younger friend, it seemed she wanted to say something.

"Uh... you okay, Teef?"

"Well," she said, hesitation in her tone, "I called everyone."

Yuffie rubbed her face with both hands, vigorously. "When are they coming?"

"They'll be here tomorrow, most likely. Cid's bringing them on the Shera."

That meant she had twenty-four hours to prepare for well-meaning Hell from AVALANCHE. They were not going to be pleased.

"Well, since I only have a day left to live, I better go visit my pops."

She waved the guards aside and stepped into the sickroom. The smell of urine, cleaning supplies, and sick assaulted her nose. She was so accustomed to it by now, though, that she let it slide over her with no reaction. Today, someone had opened the curtains so that the sun, just beginning its descent toward the horizon, cast its golden rays across his bed. It lent him an illusion of health until she stepped closer and registered the ticking, beeping noises of medical equipment.

For the first two weeks of his illness, Yuffie had to brace herself in the hallway before entering the room. Her father did not get sick often, and she could not remember the last time he had been laid out or injured. Over time, his cough had worsened. At night sometimes, he would hack so hard he would vomit up what he had eaten. His energy petered out until he had almost shut down completely. She knew she didn't have much longer to find a remedy.

Godo was a husk of the man he used to be. His eyes had sunk into his head and looked like deep pits. His lips were chapped and flaking. The fine stitching of white flowers in the bedspread set a sharp contrast to his sad, withered hands.

"Dad?"

She hadn't expected him to waken, but then something inside her—that was her, but not—stirred. Something in Godo moved as well, almost as if in response. Godo's gaze slid slowly to her face. In the past few days, the color had begun to fade from his irises, and he could see less and less.

"Yuffie? It's you."

"It's me."

She grabbed one of his cold hands and squeezed. Two weeks ago, seeing him like this had made her cry, but she had moved past that. His skin was papery against hers, and she rubbed at his knuckles in an attempt to warm them.

"Leviathan feels that I am dying," he said.

His calm, blunt delivery shocked her so that she could not initially speak. In the silence, he broke into a fit of coughs. When he was finished, she took a wet rag from a glass on his bedside table and squeezed some water into his mouth.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are becoming…the true ruler of Wutai, chosen by Leviathan," he said with some effort.

Yuffie stomach lurched. Chosen. "What does that mean?"

His head rolled a little, falling into the golden light creeping across his pillow. The shadows between his wrinkles were thin but sharp. "White Rose, Fifth Mighty God, last of the Kisaragis—"

"Dad," she protested, cringing as he rattled off her formal titles.

He ignored her. "You're all of these things. You are the strongest, most important of all of us. I have felt it since I knew you growing in your mother's belly." He cleared his throat, resisting the impulse to cough again. If he started, he might not stop. Yuffie gave him some more water, and he spoke again. "When you bested me, the Pagoda gave you Leviathan's summon, merely a tool to teach you his power, his use. Now you will be the Empress. You will wield that power for yourself."

She had felt the presence of Leviathan since a young age. The first time she had words to question the feeling of another mind, another spirit energy of immense power touching her own, she had asked Staniv. At the time, her father was unapproachable with grief over the death of Yuffie's mother. Though Yuffie's childish attempts to describe the phenomenon were fumbling, Staniv understood almost immediately. She could still remember the look of delight on his face when she told him that sometimes when she spoke to the god, she thought he spoke back.

"You have to teach me," Yuffie said.

"I'm fading," he said, rolling his gaze back toward her. She brushed a tendril of his lengthening hair from his face, let the light play over the silver streaks in it. "Leviathan feels it. He is stronger in you than ever."

"I don't know how any of this works," she said, suddenly at a loss. "How will I when you're gone?"

"Chekhov oversaw my training, and now she will do the same for you. If it weren't for your mother, and then…" He struggled for the words to describe their choppy history, failed to find them. "It should be me teaching you. I've failed you again."

She did not know her father to speak openly about his innermost feelings, but approaching death's door had altered him. Thirteen years ago, this sort of honesty would have helped heal the rift between them—a rift that would ultimately send her on a mission to save her country, then her planet.

"I'll be with your mother soon, Yuffie. You used to look so much like her." He squinted into her face, trying so hard to see. "But lately, you look more like me."

Her eyes stung. Maybe she wasn't so beyond crying. "I love you, Dad. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything ever."

A ball of sadness hardened in her, and Leviathan rumbled. In that moment, the weight of every disrespect she had ever shown her father pressed on her. She thought of every childish betrayal, every falsity and disappointment, and she thought she might drown.

His hand squeezed hers weakly, but the intent was clear.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my daughter."

"I'm not ready."

He laughed low and rasping. "You already saved the world once."

"That doesn't mean I know how to rule a country. All I did then was kick ass."

His eyes slid closed. "You only have to do that now."

For a terrible moment, she thought he might have left her, he was so still. But his heart monitor plodded on, and his breathing deepened. She exhaled in relief.

Yuffie tipped her head back toward the ceiling, the tendons in her neck stretching and protesting. "I'm going to find who did this to you." She kissed his clammy forehead and stepped out.

Three days. She had three days to be Yuffie Kisaragi plus nothing, and then she'd be the Crowned White Rose of Wutai, wife of Tseng and ruler of a failing, stubborn country.