iv.
Breakfast is served in the gardens, on a small glass table situated in shade. The princess—Karin, Toushirou rebukes himself silently—she prefers to be called Karin—sits in stony silence, eating slowly.
He turns his attention to the orchard of magnolia trees, budding flowers soon to blossom. As a child, he'd always been fascinated by their temporariness and the tragic beauty of spring, the hope it promised and ache it brought. He'd carved his name on one of the trees, measured his height on another, and fallen asleep on all of them. Somewhere, a yew tree is sighing, still carrying the secrets he once had whispered as child.
"You should stay here a while." Toushirou says, "at least until you recover."
"And then what?" Her voice is a steel blade, bluntly inflected, like she's unpractised and unused to talking, but still, he's startled by her question. "What happens after?"
"That's up to you. Stay, go, the choice is yours." He answers simply. "You're free now, Karin."
"No, I'm not." She replies, flatly, and draws herself to her height, glowering at him.
Toushirou studies her then. In daylight, she looks much too delicate and slender, slighted pride flushing onto cheeks as a faint pink. She is too pale, too wry, too bony, and it's difficult to find even a trace of the radiant girl he once knew, a memory that fades away as she stands right in front him, starved for the sun's cold kiss. It's unfair, he knows, to hold her to that memory, and yet he wants to see her to be as radiant as she used to be.
"Why did you do it?"
He looks past her, past the sharp collar of her shoulder, past the loose strands of hair, and he is powerless to refuse her. "What else could I do? I couldn't leave you there."
"But you left everyone else."
"I didn't intend to take anyone." There's an edge to his voice, and she stills, jaw tightening. He wouldn't have been there if his uncle hadn't asked him to take the meeting in his stead. He doesn't like markets like those in the first place.
"But you took me." She hisses, spitting his words back with disdain. There's a difference between bought and take, and neither of them make him a better person.
"Because I knew you." Toushirou has never claimed to be selfless, and he doesn't regret his actions. "I had to help you."
Scorn speaks volumes in her silence.
"I couldn't take everyone."
"You only took one." She says detachedly, and she does not look on him. He exists on the periphery, where disappointment resides. "You could have bought more."
"Would it have made a difference? I can't fight the system, the way things are." He frowns at her. Dismissively, he adds. "I'm not that influential, princess."
"You could have freed them. Have them work for you, or—let them go. Anything would have been better than having them stay there." There's a forced civility in her tone, Toushirou has attended enough social balls to recognise it, to hear the anger behind the seemly calm veneer. "You could have helped them. That would have made a difference."
"They're not my problem." Toushirou curtly replies, growing uninterested with the topic. Why should he care for people that he doesn't know?
Her expression hardens, shoulders tensing as she stands stiffly in front of him. There are bruises on her arms, where the flimsy dress betrays her and the slave traders have marked her.
"Then why were you there?" Karin asks finally.
"I had business to discuss with Okikiba. I went in place of my uncle." He admits. He wouldn't have been there otherwise. Continuing this topic of conversation won't win him any points, he knows, so Toushirou decides to ask a different question. "Why didn't you try to run?"
"I did." She replies simply, her hand sliding under the too long sleeves, protectively covering her wrist. "Why do you think I was in chains?"