The scene made it hard to tell what happened. Akemi and Dazuki were in the corner, dead but not stabbed. Yaroko and Seiko were both bloody, the latter more so. Then there was the matter of the other corpse, identified as one of the soldiers, with five knife wounds.

Ozuru could only guess the sequence of events. Seiko was too shaken to have killed Yaroko and the children. Based on what he heard from Kinjo and Masaaki about the rebel’s attack last year, he could believe Seiko acted in self-defense or on some kind of instinct.

Not helping things was that Seiko herself spent the whole day unresponsive—she didn’t let Erumi clean and dress her wounds, and rejected Maenomi when she tried to bring her breakfast. She refused company and comfort, even from Kinjo and Masaaki. Another day passed like that—she left her room to attend the funeral, but kept her distance from everyone else—and then she carried on her morning routine as if nothing happened.

Ozuru didn’t want to ask her at this point in fear of sending her into a spiral. Separating herself from the incident was better than starving herself out of grief or guilt. At least she was alive, even if it was only barely. Mikka wouldn’t forgive him for that.

He couldn’t tell if he worried for her because of how well she got along with Maenomi and Kyuru, or because—somewhere, in the part of his heart he tried to bury to avoid his own actions—he actually thought of Seiko as his daughter. A daughter he didn’t deserve, granted, but all three of them were more than someone like him was worth.

Ozuru sat in his study, doing most of the king’s work while Jukazu leaned on the edge of the desk and complained—about Erumi, Yukira, Seiko, Maenomi, even Yaroko—all while nursing a drink straight from the bottle. Ozuru used it as background noise while he sorted through and answered papers.

“…And gods, Eyako is a pain,” Jukazu muttered. Ozuru knew the alcohol altered his response; he used to defend his fiancee, not criticize her. “She keeps asking about the wedding, then gets mad when I tell her I don’t want one.”

“You’re too young to complain about love,” Ozuru replied wearily.

Jukazu scoffed and took another sip. “Says the man whose wife ran off after Shiharu’s murder and who’s favored woman is dying. You don’t complain enough.”

“Eyako’s worried about you—you’d see it if you ever talked to her sober. You’re lucky.”

“No amount of luck will balance out this damned curse. She shouldn’t waste it on a man who can’t give her anything in return.”

“You can tell her that, if you mean it.”

“Then she’ll get upset. Somehow, that’s worse.”

He tilted his head back, lifted the bottle up, and finished up its contents. He sighed as he put the empty bottle on the desk. He didn’t say anything else; let Ozuru’s shuffling papers fill in the silence.

Jukazu picked up his bottle again and shoved off the desk, but someone knocked on the door before he could continue his ranting.

“You asked to see me, Lord Gin?”

“Yes, Tsujihara. You may enter.”

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Ozuru sat aside his papers for now; Seiko hesitantly opened the door and entered, immediately greeted by Jukazu’s glare. She flinched at it.

He leafed through a few papers and handed them to his nephew.

“Take these and work on responses,” Ozuru said. “Have Erumi help, if you’re too drunk to understand them. I’ll get you when I’m done talking with Tsujihara.”

“I needed another drink anyway,” Jukazu muttered. He gave a half-hearted wave. “Enjoy talking with the bastard; she’s not any better than the rest of us.”

He left, avoiding eye contact with Seiko, and slammed the door behind him. Seiko stayed where she was despite a silent offer to sit in the chair. She leaned against the wall, her shoulders tense, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“…Is this about Miss Shiharu and the children?” she whispered, her tone a mix of sadness and fear. She winced.

“No. For the time being, I’d like to focus on the living.”

Seiko slightly relaxed and her expression shifted back to neutral.

“Do you want me to keep a closer eye on the rest of the children, then?”

Ozuru shook his head. “None of them have any less guards than they did before. You’ll still have free mornings.”

It only seemed to confuse her, so he sighed. He let himself show the concern he hid over the past two days. That surprised her, then she winced again; maybe she had another headache. Looking at her right arm—bandaged from wrist to shoulder to hide all the little cuts she received—gave him both guilt and encouragement to continue.

When he actually tried to search for the words, they failed him. He could just barely hold a meaningful conversation with Maenomi, and he’s watched her grow; now, a nearly twenty year old half-princess stood in front of him and he couldn’t find the right way to say it. He hasn’t been in her life for long enough to tell her he cares and know that she’ll believe it.

He opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out the knife. Seiko flinched back as soon as she saw it, looked down and away from the weapon itself when Ozuru put it on the table.

“Take it,” he said firmly. “That way, you can stab first.”

“I’ve already explained why I can’t accept it,” Seiko murmured. Her hand twitched, then she folded both arms behind her back. “Having it will put me on edge.”

“It’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’ll hurt someone.”

“That’s the point.”

“No, I mean…” She sighed, and for a second her whole body shook like a shiver. She bit the edge of her lip. “I don’t… I don’t want to kill anyone else. There’s blood on my hands, and I have no intention of letting it crawl up my arms until I’m coated in it.”

“Any lives you take will be in self-defense; you won’t be held accountable for them,” Ozuru tried to convince her. “You’ll only use it on people who attack you first.”

Seiko partly turned away, her gaze still on the floor, until she glanced up at him a few seconds later.

“...What if I said I was afraid of death, myself? Would that make it any clearer?”

Her eyes held fear and remorse; he rarely saw that from anyone. But it reminded him of what she’s seen—at least one death personally, maybe five, and only a few days ago lost one of the people she was closest to. Her response made a certain amount of sense that subsequently made Ozuru feel insensitive for having pushed her.

Still, with a quiet voice to clarify, he asked, “You think you’ll use it to end your own life?”

“It’s…a possibility. And one I’d much rather avoid.”

“I understand, then,” he said. He pulled the knife back towards him, and Seiko faced him again. “I appreciate your honesty. Instead of taking the weapon, I’d like to ask you to stay near others—never go out alone, and preferably stay near people you trust. That way—whether you’re threatened by someone else or yourself—someone’s there to protect you.”

Seiko nodded.

“I will,” she promised, her voice slowly returning to her usual tone. “Thank you for understanding. Is that everything?”

“Yes. Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

She murmured some kind of agreement and left. Ozuru leaned back and offered something like a prayer.

He desperately hoped that Seiko would appeal to Lady Aimiki. If none of the rest did, well… Seiko would have to, should the kingdom survive.