Erize’s words were the only thing she could think of the next morning. Her mother had been smiling so warmly, but in that warmth she dared to make a promise.

“You won’t have to spend so many days alone anymore,” Erize said. “Your father is going to send out another letter to Kuro—if the Kuro soldiers in Gin are under military command, they’ll be asked to retreat. There haven’t been any attacks on the border since then, so with any hope and luck, they’ve given up again.”

While Kyoumi was trying to process it, Erize was only growing happier. “It’s a bit late for a birthday present,” Erize continued, “But tomorrow, we’ll head out to the festival. There’s only going to be good news from now on, I promise. There’s still more, but…I’ll let you rest. Good night, love.”

Was it any wonder, then, that Kyoumi almost feared promises when she woke up the next morning to Takeo’s frown? When she was shown her parents, now that they weren’t breathing?

Due to the nature of Gin’s crown, it was inevitable that each ruler would never see their child with silver hair—thus, it was also inevitable that their heir saw them with their natural hair color, if only after they died. Like many others, the difference between white and brown made Kyoumi question if Utaka was even the same man—Takeo, however, was quick to confirm that both the king and queen were dead.

Considering Kyoumi was just barely sixteen, with no suitable family members to assume the role until she was technically an adult, the only people invited to the coronation was the Fujita and Tsujihara families—another result of Tsujihara Seiko’s time. If the gods deemed her unworthy or too young, they could minimize the public attention it received and let everyone else believe Utaka and Erize were still alive.

She knew from Utaka’s stories that it was a smaller crowd than what accompanied him; still, both families were large, amounted to about three dozen altogether. It was a larger group than she was used to; she had no one to stand next to her, and aside from Takeo and Sorai’s worried glances, little to no reassurance.

It was only two weeks after her parents died; she feared speaking, lest she lose her composure entirely and break down in tears. She wasn’t fond of the pitying looks most of them gave her. She didn’t want them to see her as a child.

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Kyoumi gave no spoken appeal to the gods, merely bowing before them with a prayer in mind. This seemed to be enough—for a second, she felt comforted despite her loss. When she stood, the others bowed in response; her hair was long enough that she was able to move some strands into sight to confirm that the color had changed.

She was now the youngest queen of Gin, it seemed.

Kyoumi dismissed them with a simple gesture, and all of the Tsujihara family left. Takeo took a step forward and tried to give her a reassuring smile.

“I know you haven’t done a whole lot of practice with the ruling aspect of things,” Takeo said. He nodded to his oldest son. “Masaru and I can handle things until you’re ready—even then, I’m not throwing you in there blind. Tezo will be able to help sometimes, too.”

“Thank you,” Kyoumi murmured.

“Just let us know if you need anything,” Takeo offered. “Even if that means running off for a few days, as long as you come back.”

Kyoumi nodded, and all of the family but Sorai left. Her friend stood there with her for a moment before speaking up.

“This is a stupid question,” he said, “But are you all right?”

Her response was a bitter laugh and a failure to keep her tears at bay. “Of course I’m not all right,” she replied. “If I’m being completely honest, I want to trek up the mountain, find a nice ledge, and tumble down just to see where I’ll end up at the bottom.”

Sorai frowned, taking a few steps closer—likely so he could reach out for her if she did run. “You would probably be dead.”

“That’s the point, Sorai.”

He immediately fell silent, and she wasn’t in the mood to assure him she would stay safe—that she wouldn’t die. Maybe it was childish, but…promises suddenly felt like a death sentence. If you make a promise to do better than your father, you try but fail—you promise that things will get better, and now the only thing left is your daughter. Was there any use in making a promise, if it seems that the universe works against you fulfilling it?

Kyoumi was able to manage—albeit barely on some days—through the following weeks. It helped, in some ways, that Sorai relayed some version of their conversation to Takeo, who then exchanged Kyoumi’s personal knife for an extra guard; that, along with Sorai’s watchful eye on her, did save her when things got particularly rough.

Kuro responded to their message about a month later; their queen also died, so their new ruler decided to hold off on fighting. Kyoumi was glad that she didn’t have to worry about a war among everything else, at least for now.

It took a very, very long time for her to recover and adjust—if only because there was so much she had to recover from and adjust to—and her dark thoughts regarding her own life never completely vanished. Still, she managed fairly well thanks to Sorai’s help—and the little additions of her family that came several years later.