Honestly, Jukazu always scared Teiki. It just wasn’t in an actually threatening way—it was fun to conspire with him, and he always knew if he would be affected. Jukazu was intimidating, sure, but harmless; Teiki figured he would mellow out by the time he became king, like Father wanted.

He knew Jukazu was going to kill Father; they planned it all together. But it didn’t happen like it was supposed to—Jukazu and Father were supposed to go ahead, then come back with Father dead and say they stabbed him without realizing who he was. Instead, Jukazu decided to kill all the guards and stab Father while Teiki watched.

Teiki didn’t know how and why Jukazu kept him alive. Whenever his right shoulder hurt—almost sewn to stay in the right place, then bandaged to hide the crude stitching and slung across his body to minimize the stress on it—he remembered that night. It might be useless once it healed, but at least he could hide it.

Mother was too busy working with Ozuru and Jukazu, so Teiki gravitated towards Shiharu. She wasn’t even quite old enough to be his mother, but she felt more like it. Maybe she just reminded him of Mother before he grew up—she was gentle even to Tsujihara of all people.

Teiki sat on the floor of Dazuki’s room. He tapped on the infant’s musical toy, prompting Dazuki to slap it. Teiki smiled every time Dazuki laughed. Shiharu stayed on the other side of the room, encouraging Akemi to play with a few plush toys.

At some point Dazuki paused, blinked, then made grabby hands at Teiki. He didn’t cry much anymore, just motioned. Teiki gently pushed him closer to his lap, and that seemed to satisfy the kid; he closed his eyes and settled in to sleep.

Shiharu looked up from playing with Akemi once she realized the music stopped.

“You know, he warmed up to you really quickly,” Shiharu noted with a fond look. Akemi didn’t notice; she just kept talking to herself about whatever story she concocted about the plush toys.

“He can’t tell me apart from anyone else.”

“He can. He won’t reach for Jukazu.”

“That’s because Jukazu is…Jukazu. I don’t even know how he managed to find a girl who cooperates with him.”

“Tsunkei was the same when he was younger.”

Teiki let out a hollow chuckle. “For starters, you didn’t know him then.” He lightly let his left arm drape over the sleeping Dazuki. “And at least Father shaped up before he was king. Besides, I thought Ozuru was the deviant.”

“Yukira just spreads that around as gossip. She likes the idea of having ‘tamed a beast.’”

“If she thinks he actually loves her, she’s delusional. They don’t even share a room most nights.”

Shiharu sighed and shook her head.

“You’re too young to be able to pick apart relationships,” she murmured. “And so is Maenomi, for that matter—it’s no wonder she spent so much time with that girl. They were so normal, compared to the rest of us.”

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“You just told me not to listen to what Yukira says.”

“Yukira painted it like a scandal, wanted Maenomi to be ashamed. She was just jealous that her daughter actually loved someone who genuinely cared about her.”

The door opened without warning, keeping Teiki from responding. He tensed before the interrupter even spoke.

“Teiki.”

He avoided looking at Jukazu.

“What?” He wanted to spit it out like Jukazu did to him, but it came out like a mumble. Shiharu pulled Akemi a little closer to herself.

“I need you at the courtyard.”

“It’s almost dinner—can it wait?”

Jukazu took a dangerous step closer, waking up Dazuki and making Teiki flinch. He tried to shield his little half-brother, just in case.

His brother regained himself, stood a little straighter, then stepped back again.

“No,” he said firmly. “You’ll still eat, just not with the rest of us.”

The night of Father’s murder flashed through Teiki’s mind, and as much as he wanted to run he knew it was better to agree. At this point, Teiki was as good as useless—but he didn’t want Jukazu to lash out at Dazuki, or even Shiharu or Akemi. If his role was to be the punching bag, he would take it; it kept others from suffering, maybe even atone for the little things he did for Jukazu in the past.

Teiki gently pushed Dazuki off him, then rose. The infant watched him go; he wondered if Dazuki knew he didn’t want to. Shiharu definitely could, at least, but she wouldn’t say anything—not if she wanted to stay with her children.

Jukazu’s expression softened for a second, then returned to neutrally scowling. Teiki stood up and followed him out without any more protests.

They didn’t pass by anyone out of the ordinary; Tsujihara was probably wrangling the younger ones for dinner, while the soldiers and guards moved accordingly. Anyone they did pass was new enough that they didn’t bat an eye towards the brothers.

Jukazu took him all the way to the gate; there weren’t any guards, just a dozen soldiers. He turned back towards Teiki, straight to the point.

“There’s a band of rebels in the north,” Jukazu said. He barely glanced at the soldiers—all similarly confused. “You’re leading these soldiers to kill the rebels.”

“I wasn’t aware there were ‘rebels’ now,” Teiki replied, only half-lying.

Jukazu leaned forward just a little, and Teiki flinched back. Satisfied, Jukazu continued.

“All you have to do is lead these soldiers and avoid fighting. You’re dead weight with your good arm half-attached.”

“Why can’t you go?”

“Ozuru needs me here. The acting king shouldn’t run off to battle halfway across the nation.”

“Can I hear the same from Ozuru himself?”

Jukazu’s eyes narrowed, then he spat out a lie. “Ozuru’s busy. He let me give the order.”

Teiki bit his tongue to keep himself from responding. The actual reason, then, was that Ozuru doesn’t know.

Maybe Jukazu wanted to kill Teiki off, too—he was the only one that knew Father was murdered by his son, after all. The fact that this seemed like a secret credited to that; Jukazu could claim that Teiki left to avenge Father. If Teiki came back, he could be praised for his choice—if he died, then Jukazu could make a show of how he ‘tried to talk Teiki out of it.’

No one in the family would believe him, of course. But he could have the illusion of control.

“I assume Ozuru has our supplies ready?” He might as well play along with it. The soldiers were already nervous, needing to take commands from a seventeen year old with one arm.

“Yes; they’re just outside town. Don’t waste time sending letters about your progress—it won’t take long.”

Teiki tried to stand up a little straighter, match his brother’s authority—then he remembered how Jukazu used said authority, and almost shrunk back again.

“We’ll head out now.”

“Good.” Jukazu turned away, took a few steps, then glanced back with the most genuine look Teiki’s ever seen from him. “Don’t do anything stupid. Your death would be hard on the others.”

“Understood.”

Maybe Jukazu didn’t completely want Teiki dead after all. He could at least hope that some fragment of the cool, unfazed older brother he admired somehow survived past fifteen.