Puits d'Amour

Exhibition

Yamato sat at a low table in a traditional Hakone-style room featuring shoji doors and tatami mat flooring. The square table was old, but so well kept that the wood nearly shone. His father was beside him, and his mother sat opposite him. They all wore blue yukatas bearing the royal crest.

Wearing a uniform to family dinner was ridiculous. What, were they in danger of forgetting who they were? Sadly, Yamato still had reason to be grateful. He had attended several dinners in official palace dining areas in full formal dress, where the tables were like ants in cavernous rooms, where voices and clinking serving ware echoed. But here, if Yamato ignored their clothing, he could almost imagine that they were a typical noble family. He was always wary around his parents, but the pressure to play the perfect prince, to measure every word and expression, was not so strong here.

The private dinner with his parents had arrived at last, after weeks rather than days, as they had originally promised. Yamato wasn't sure if he minded or not. He expected being shelved by his parents to hurt more, but perhaps he was used to it.

Or maybe he understood their situation better these days.

Regardless, Yamato tried to act naturally, to behave as a son rather than a prince... Which he had no idea how to do. His parents discussed recent social and state events, but never politics, he noticed. Yamato responded to questions and made appropriate conversational queries, but contributed little else.

Speaking to strangers was never his strong suit.

When silence fell over the table, Yamato glanced at his mother and father. They were staring at one another, clearly trying to communicate without speaking.

"Yes?" Yamato tried for a polite tone. He truly did. Alas, it didn't sound that way.

Hiroaki snorted, and Yamato was certain he was masking a laugh. Nancy grinned, there and gone. It was one of her keen, swift expressions that Yamato remembered from his childhood- and somehow, still loved. "We have a question for you, but we doubt it's welcome," she explained.

Oh, wonderful. The exquisite meal he was enjoying soured in his mouth. Hoping his tone and expression were under control, Yamato replied, "Only one way to find out."

Hiroaki fidgeted with his chopsticks. As if noticing the tell, he placed them on a stand. "I don't know how to ease into this, so I'll just say it. We received reports that you escorted Takenouchi Sora to a house party."

Anger sizzled over Yamato, thwarting any hope of thinking. He froze, at war with himself. Princes couldn't slam the table, abandon their meal, and pace. They couldn't yell, especially not at the king and queen.

So he waited, hands fisted beneath the table. Seconds ticked by as he struggled, first for control, then to understand this rush of rage. Why, exactly, was he so upset? His parents had always received reports on his life, and likely always would. But this... This felt different.

"I did." He wasn't ashamed, and there was no point lying, regardless. But because he was always Yamato, he added, "Is that why we're finally having dinner together?"

His father cringed, and his mother glanced away. His barb was successfully administered, but it failed to make Yamato feel better. Apparently, he was only worth making time for when he did something his parents perceived as wrong.

Hiroaki heaved a deep sigh, something a king was rarely permitted to do. "I'm sorry. We tried to make time. But you're right- we need to discuss this with you."

"And why is that?" This calm question demanded all of Yamato's discipline. Sense somehow made itself heard over his frustration, reminding him that it was best to gather information before reacting. Some things could not be taken back.

His parents shared another look. Is he joking? they seemed to ask one another. Yamato grit his teeth against the furious words he longed to spout.

Nancy hazarded, "Yamato... We talked about you being of proper age and experience to wed. Takenouchi Sora is also of age, and her mother is gathering eligible suitors for her consideration. Of course people will talk when they see you escorting her alone."

"Alone? We had an entourage of guards." His parents simply stared at him. Guards were like shadows to royalty; one did not consider them company.

Aware that he had gained no ground, Yamato growled, "Am I not allowed friends?" He hoped his hard tone masked his sudden and horrible urge to cry. He had so much, and wanted so little of it. And what he wanted, he was consistently, chronically denied.

"Don't be obtuse." The words were hard, but Nancy's tone was soft, understanding. "Of course we want you to have friends. And if Takenouchi-san is among them, that is welcome. But you know how giving an eligible woman one-on-one attention looks, Yamato. People are talking- especially the parents who have approached our advisers to offer their daughters as a potential match for you. If you intend to court Takenouchi-san, then we need to know, so we can best respond to these families."

"I barely know her!" Yamato regretted his outburst as soon as his brain absorbed it. His parents agreed to wed without even seeing one another in person, signing treaties with vast seas between them.

So when Hiroaki replied, "I understand," Yamato nodded. "But the families offering their daughters, entrusting us with their own, don't know you, either. We need to be reliable in their eyes."

"We're not asking if you're looking to wed her, not yet," Nancy continued. "All we need to know at this stage is if you intend to explore your relationship with her in a romantic way. If so, then we must inform these families that you are not available until the two of you have come to an understanding."

Yamato boggled at the king and queen, too overwhelmed to be mad. "How could I know if she's interested in that without asking her?!"

A wry smile crinkled Hiroaki's face as Nancy smothered a laugh. "You do ask her. That's how these negotiations go."

The 'slam the table, ditch dinner, and pace' option that Yamato rejected earlier was growing more appealing by the second. "Negotiations? Am I meant to write a contract with every eligible woman I encounter? We're friends. We're getting to know one another."

There was a soft, cool touch on his hand. Yamato jerked his gaze down and saw Nancy's fingertips brushing him. "I know this isn't ideal or convenient. If you intend to remain friends with her, then we ask that you avoid being alone with her, especially in public settings. If you intend to explore romance, then we have to know as soon as possible. We want you to be happy, believe us. But some of the country's highest profile families are hoping that you will wed their daughters. It's not an easy situation to navigate."

Yamato hoped the breathing exercise Jyou taught him wasn't too conspicuous. The traditional dining room was spacious, but the walls seemed to close in on him. His life wasn't his own. It belonged to the country, to his parents, to noble families who hoped to climb ranks through his most personal, intimate choice: his life partner.

I just wanted a nice evening with a friend. Every time Yamato thought he had accepted the realities of his position, some new pressure smashed into him like a wave, ripped him into the current, and rushed him out to sea.

"Neither is this." Yamato's voice was so cold that it was a wonder it didn't freeze the air.

"We know," Hiroaki sighed. "And it's unlikely to become easier. For example, if you do decide to pursue Takenouchi-san, there will have to be extensive negotiations, since she is her family's only heir."

Yamato blinked, surprised out of his brooding mood. "I see." He hadn't thought of that, since he considered Sora a friend. But if she wed a prince, there would have to be an agreement on how to supply both families with heirs. They would also need to discuss what would be done in the event that Takenouchi Toshiko passed away or stepped down as iemoto before an heir was ready to replace her.

"The success of negotiations would likely hinge on Takenouchi O-Iemoto," Nancy continued. "The Takenouchi family would be the party surrendering their heir."

Yamato nodded, but offered no comment. Perhaps sensing that this was the most they would receive, Hiroaki said, "Well, for now, just avoid being alone with any eligible women, a least in public. Be aware of the signals you're sending."

Yamato agreed, just to end the discussion. On the surface, he likely looked the same as he did before this topic was broached. Perhaps a bit stiffer, his frown more pronounced. Inside, emotions churned, and he tried not to dwell on further proof that he would never be allowed what he wanted- or needed, perhaps. He wondered if his loose plans to cook with Sora counted as public.

Under the crushing pressure of his title, he wondered if he could bring himself to care about that- or about much else.

XXX

By the time dinner ended, Yamato was a frothing mess of emotions. He prowled to his suite, where Roncier met him at the door. Yamato sank to his knees in the entryway and wrapped his arms around his dog. Roncier rested his fuzzy head on Yamato's shoulder, and the tears he had somehow held back leaked free.

When Roncier snorted near his ear, Yamato patted him. "Sorry, old boy," he sighed, easing back. "It has been a day."

Roncier's calm brown eyes seemed to radiate understanding. Yamato stroked his head, fingers sliding through the wirey overcoat to the softer one beneath. He breathed in and out, focusing on the expansion and contraction of his diaphragm.

A pile of reports awaited his attention on his office desk. Based on the many questions he had following the Parliament session he observed earlier today, his time would be best spent with them. But there was no chance of focusing, not with the storm brewing inside him.

Normally, he asked Jyou to make requests of the palace staff, but Yamato didn't want to talk. He gave Roncier one more pat, then sighed, rose, and walked to his office. He sat on his sofa, reached for the phone, and dialed internally for service.

He could wait for servants to arrive and do everything for him, but that was rarely Yamato's preference. After describing what he wanted, he opened the shoji doors to his garden, inviting the early evening air inside. Then he fetched the large blanket from the bedroom closet and hauled it to his favorite spot near the man-made stream that fed a koi pond.

Yamato fanned the royal blue blanket onto the plush grass, then plopped unceremoniously upon it, gazing at the sky. Roncier stretched out on his back by his side, and Yamato rubbed his belly. Yamato's private garden was surrounded by shoji doors, walls, and new glass windows, installed at his request. It was square, encased by the walls of his suite and Jyou's. Unlike the grounds at the Côtes-d'Armor residence, there was no floral garden. It was green and highly curated, with shaped bushes, sculptures made of artfully stacked stone, and a verdant lawn. All he saw from the ground looking up was sky and corners of roof around the edges of the garden. The apex of the heavens was still blue, rapidly shifting to orange. Cicadas droned in the rapidly cooling evening. The sound of running stream water soothed him, along with the clink of a bamboo fountain and the half-hearted clink of furin wind chimes in still air. The world smelled earthy and virile.

Yamato grimaced when servants politely clamored near his veranda, alerting him of their presence. Hauling himself into a sitting position was odious, but he managed. He didn't bother trying to smile; no use terrifying the poor people.

Women in the grayish-blue yukatas of palace servants placed lanterns by the open shoji doors to his study. After all, the days were shortening, much to Yamato's displeasure. When they noticed his gaze, they bowed, and Yamato inclined his head in turn. Another woman approached from the study, bearing a tea tray. She bowed deeply at the edge of his blanket, and, at his nod, approached and placed the tray near him.

"Thank you. That will be all." If he didn't dismiss the servant, she would ask if he wanted his tea prepared, which he very much did not. His mood must have been obvious, because the servant practically quoted texts on the protocol of interacting with royalty before retreating, taking care not to offend. When the last patter of slippered feet faded, Yamato exhaled and reached for the tray.

It was his favorite brew, a blend from Autun that he imported in bulk on the same ship that carried him here. Yamato prepared a cup the way he liked it- Jyou, bless him, had thought to ask the servants back in the Côtes-d'Armor estate for detailed instructions, so he could replicate it here. Hell, Jyou even brought teacups and saucers with them.

Yamato gazed upon the curated garden and sipped tea that tasted like home. And in his heart, he dreamed of the wild places of the Côtes-d'Armor.

He longed to walk, to prowl for hours along the coastal countryside, with the scent of the sea in his nose and her song in his ears. The best he could do was circle- or square, more accurately- the perimeter of the garden. He glowered over the edge of his teacup. He felt as if he were stored in a box in a box in another box that was locked in a closet. Describing the feeling as stifling failed to account for its hysterical quality, the desperation.

He had heard of poor souls suffering mental maladies, thrown into barred rooms in out-of-the-way places, allegedly for their safety. It wasn't fair to compare his situation to theirs. Still, he had some idea of how it might feel to watch a heavy door snap shut as the band of light from outside flickered to abrupt darkness.

"Old boy," Yamato murmured, and Roncier's ears pricked. "What am I to do?" The dog tilted his head, but offered no wisdom.

As the evening fell and the lanterns by the study door appeared to brighten, Yamato finally allowed himself to address the vital questions he was pushing aside.

What did he want from his relationship with Sora? Without hesitation, he knew that he wanted it to continue, and to grow. If romance developed between them… Heat rushed to Yamato's face, embarrassingly obvious against the cool evening air. He couldn't define the exact nature of his feelings, and he hazarded no thoughts about Sora's. But if their relationship evolved in that way, he wanted a natural progression. Not this… public spectacle. Not several families hanging their hopes on his choice, and demanding that he make it faster, with formal notice at each step. How the hell was he supposed to figure out what he wanted while performing for their pleasure and judgment?

Yamato's head was cushioned by his crossed arms as he watched stars blink awake. "I am allowed to date, you know," he informed Roncier. The dog snuffled his hair. "But is that what I want? What Sora wants?"

No response was forthcoming. Usually, this was one of Roncier's greatest strengths, but today... Today, he wanted guidance, but only from someone who couldn't breathe a word of this elsewhere, someone whose answer would be uncolored by social expectations. Going to Jyou with this seemed inadvisable, given the friction that resulted when Yamato tried to broach the topic of his romantic past.

Yamato closed his eyes and cursed. "I don't know a goddamned thing." Which wasn't entirely true. He knew that Sora was warm, kind, dedicated, hard working, and beautiful, and was aware that these were ideal traits for a life partner. More pressingly, he was cognizant that he approached Sora more like family every time he saw her. Whatever was growing between them had to be protected, nourished, and encouraged, so long as this was agreeable to her. He couldn't afford to lose this new and fragile bond, given how small his trusted circle was.

Sighing, Yamato freed a hand and rubbed Roncier's belly. "We both need to wed," he murmured. "But the match would be difficult for the Takenouchis, as they only have one heir. And to offer her a marriage of convenience…"

Koushiro mentioned that he had considered platonically asking for Eimi's hand, due to mutual need and benefit, and that this shamed him in retrospect. Yamato replied that such arrangements were the norm in their sphere, but now… Well, he understood what Koushiro meant. Sora deserved a partner who adored her, who added ease and comfort to her life, not complication. What if he did somehow marry her? She already struggled to balance her iemoto training, her café, and a personal life. Becoming a princess, and eventually a queen… How much worse would that be?

Yamato ignored the heat prickling his eyes, and the way they blurred. "Can, can you believe there are women who want to be queen? Families who want to shove their daughters into that pit of vipers? And for what? Prestige? Power?"

This time, when Roncier remained silent, Yamato hauled himself to a sitting position. His tea was lukewarm, but he downed another cup, staring moodily into the inky garden. "Old boy," he groaned. "I won't get anywhere drinking cold tea in the dark."

Perhaps noticing his body language, Roncier stood. With royal pressures weighing on him, Yamato opted to embrace the perks of his position. He abandoned everything where it was. Servants would tidy and bring fresh tea.

Yamato and Roncier returned to the study, where he called the staff. Then, phone still in hand, he plopped onto the sofa. As always, when his heart was heavy, he wanted to talk to Takeru.

I'd never hear the end of it if I told him about Sora. Yamato's grimace slowly softened. There was no need to mention her, or anything about marriage arrangements and expectations. Just hearing his brother's voice was sure to help.

With that decided, Yamato relayed his wish to a staff member, who would deal with the intricacies of international phone connections. The tea arrived while he waited, and he fixed a cup as servants fetched the items he left in the garden. He was delicately sipping the steaming liquid when a voice sounded through the receiver.

"Your Highness?"

The speaker's obvious nerves didn't register as a warning, as many people were reluctant to address a prince. Yamato tried to sound friendly, likely with little success. "Speaking."

"Ah..." The man cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I must inform you that His Highness is not available for your call."

Yamato checked the time again. "Ah. It's early for him. Is he asleep?"

He had no explanation for the man's hesitation. "Well… He's not… Available."

Hoping his disappointment wasn't obvious, Yamato replied, "Very well. Please have him call me back at his convenience."

This pause went on even longer than the last. "Hello?" Alas, that familiar bite returned to Yamato's tone.

"Um... I'm afraid... Ah..."

Understanding visited, and brought a friend: an intense headache. Yamato cradled his forehead and shut his eyes tight. "Is he on a damned boat here?"

"Apologies, Your Highness. Your brother, begging your pardon, has placed me in a somewhat difficult position-"

How could disbelief and resignation strike simultaneously? In a dull, overwhelmed monotone, Yamato droned, "He's on the damned boat."

In any other situation, Yamato would have pitied the poor man taking this call. "Ah- Um, the younger prince specified that he is unavailable-"

For fuck's sake! "For about two weeks?" Frankly, Yamato was in no mood to be helpful, but he needed an answer. Or as much of one as he could pry from a servant forbidden to divulge information.

The man's relief was nearly palpable, even over the phone. "Precisely."

Unbelievable. The incredible stiffness of Yamato's jaw made speaking difficult. "I see. In that case, I doubt that leaving a message would be of much help."

"I'm inclined to agree, Your Highness."

Yamato ended the conversation as quickly as he could, then slammed the receiver on the cradle. "Damn him!"

Roncier tipped his head, his gaze focused. "Takeru's on a damned ship here," he snapped, before recalling that this was nonsense to a dog.

Frazzled, infuriated, Yamato launched to his feet and paced. When he passed his desk, he grabbed the latest letter from Takeru and checked the post date. It was recent, but that didn't mean much. He could easily have written ahead and instructed staff to mail envelopes at certain intervals.

"What about school?" Yamato demanded of no one. "Did he talk to our aunt? Our parents? Is anyone expecting him?!" He tossed the letter onto the sofa and stomped off to find Jyou.

Thus, in a way, Takeru helped after all. Yamato didn't have a brain cell to spare on romantic entanglements with his brother causing mayhem.

Author's Note: Hm, Yams... I bet your tune will change when you clap eyeballs on Takeru, lmao!

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! I'm continuing my very longstanding tradition of updating on my birthday, to give something to all of you. Thank you so much for sharing this fandom with me and enjoying my fics. Love you 3