Golden leaves fluttered around Ren as he crossed swords with the Shogun. The pond shimmered around his silhouette as that same gentle breeze played with his ponytail.

If Ren had to die, then it should be on so scenic a day as this.

Or so some stupid samurai with more honour than intelligence would claim. Kuro clutched his hands to his collarbones. Anyone with a lick of sense wouldn’t have agreed to this duel.

Ren tensed like a fox hearing a mouse. He struck first, his sword tapping the Shogun’s. Kuro’s jaw fell in exasperation. The Shogun would spear Ren on his sword and drop him to his knees, the wound gurgling as air and blood escaped his lungs — and Ren played around with tapping?

The Shogun’s blade swayed but returned to position, the Shogun as relaxed as if he played cards. Ren knocked his sword harder, but again the Shogun didn’t respond except to return to position.

On the veranda, Kuro clawed at the cloth covering his legs. The Shogun’s laxness seemed to embolden Ren, as he tried several more taps and infinitesimal steps forward. Ren even yipped, or a human equivalent, and Kuro jumped, startled at the brash noise.

Ren didn’t understand the Shogun relaxed like a fox curled up for a pretend nap, one eye on the mouse burrow inches from his muzzle. Ren’s world was books and climbing walls, not fighting. He accepted the Shogun’s bait like it was his own great prowess that gave him the opportunity.

But in a moment… In three, depending on Ren’s patience, the Shogun would strike and Ren’s blood would spray across the pond.

Unless Kuro darted between them. One sword, maybe two. The steel would hurt as much as the onmyouji’s spiritual power crackling over his skin, but he’d survive where Ren would perish. If he could get the timing right…

If Kuro wanted to save the reckless prince. Ren acted stupid and naive, and it would be his own fault if the Shogun killed him. Kuro would win his shrine, and… And Ren would be dead.

Kuro jumped to his feet as Ren knocked the Shogun’s sword hard to the side. He swung the Kusanagi around his shoulder and up, leaving himself exposed.

Moving as fast as a demon, the Shogun raised his own sword and sliced down toward Ren’s belly.

Kuro took a step, but Ren rotated the Kusanagi, blocking the Shogun. Kuro stared as the Shogun took the initiative, and Ren repelled his attack once more. Not just barely, but as if Ren knew what he was doing. As if Ren was on the same level as the Shogun.

Ren had bested the retainers on Market Road, Kuro reminded himself, and this was why. He followed with his eyes as the two thrust, parried, struck and blocked each other, neither getting close enough to even cut each other. They circled, seeking an opening, but both blocked each strike. Ren didn’t need Kuro running in between to get skewered for him. Kuro’s knee buckled, and he slid back down onto the veranda.

The Shogun must have taught Ren, for all the differences in their fighting styles. Ren moved much more than the Shogun, always testing, always thrusting, always up to something. The Shogun, on the other hand, waited patiently for the opportunity to strike, pretending to be slow until he thrust into action. But the way Ren swung his sword and stomped his feet, the way he shifted around and found openings, echoed the Shogun. Kuro had plenty of time to observe them, until Ren and the Shogun, both dripping with sweat, brought their swords together, then sheathed them, retreating with their eyes on each other — at least Ren wasn’t that naive — before bowing again.

“Very good,” the Shogun told Ren as they strolled back to the veranda. “Your blocks are stronger. But your left foot is too shy. Work on that.”

“Yes, sir.” Ren bobbed his head, grinning. “Actually—”

The Shogun stopped before the veranda. “Is there tea?”

“Er, yes, in the banquet hall,” Ren said. “Kuro, would you mind?”

Not really, but Kuro opened his mouth to say he did. The Shogun towered over Kuro with an expression like a particularly arrogant statue. Kuro bowed instead, and shuffled back like Yumi had taught him, springing up to locate the pot of tea and pitcher of water Ren’s sister had dropped off.

He returned to the veranda in time to hear Ren tell the Shogun, “She was a furious blood-thirsty ghost, as beautiful as she was deadly.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Kuro almost dropped the tray. He never should have left.

“And where did you encounter a ghost?” the Shogun asked.

“Er—”

“The Imperial Palace is protected.”

“Well, that’s what I wished to speak with you about,” Ren said.

“Where is that tea?” the Shogun barked.

Kuro bristled. He might be the Shogun, but Ren was the Sun Prince. He wasn’t — oh, the Shogun barked at Kuro. So much for hovering outside of sword’s reach. Kuro hurried forward and set the tray between them, and bowed. Hopefully the Shogun wouldn’t forget Kuro was even there.

Ren poured the Shogun a cup of tea. “I uncovered a demonic plot.”

The Shogun swallowed his cup, and poured one for Ren.

“The people in the Riverbank Settlement aren’t luring in demons,” Ren continued. “It only seems like it because they lack even the most basic protection against demons, and the demons take advantage.”

So the Shogun was Ren’s source.

“Oh? How did you discover this?”

“Well…” Ren glanced back at Kuro. If the Shogun noticed, he didn’t give a sign of it. “I went to the settlement to see for myself. My people are dying—”

“You bring shame upon your family,” the Shogun interrupted.

Ren reddened, but not like he’d blushed in the bath the night before. “I’m trying to—”

“Worse, you shame the sixty-six emperors who came before you. You know you’re not supposed to leave this compound. You are the Sun Prince. You must not walk among the common-folk. We’ve told you this so many times.”

“But it’s my duty—”

“Your duty is to be untouchable,” the Shogun said. “To remain aloof, to live as a moral example to the people. To inspire your people. How will you inspire your people if they see you walking in the dirt like any other man?”

Ren bowed his head, staring at his knees, as he had before he’d stuttered out his attractions. “I have to. Something is killing people in my capital, and I can’t let my people suffer.”

The Shogun huffed, probably laughing at the idea that Undesirables counted as people.

“I need resources,” Ren said. “Give me men and I’ll capture the culprits and secure the city.”

“How will you lead a phalanx when you can’t leave the compound?”

“I…”

“How can you lead samurai when they’re unable to lay eyes on you?”

Only stupid human ritual made that impossible, and the Shogun knew it. Ren knew it.

Ren smacked his hands onto the planks. “I have to do something.”

“You are, by staying here and doing as you’re told.”

“But—”

“Ren,” the Shogun snapped his name. “I’ve been more than indulgent. Need I remind you of your duty?”

Ren sagged. “You do not, Uncle.”

The Shogun did it anyway. “The emperor’s duty is not to run the government or care for the city. That is what you have me for. The emperor upholds the spiritual and moral purity of the empire. You complete the rituals that keep the gods happy and live as a moral example to the people.”

“But I can’t do the rituals until you let me be enthroned!”

“Ren,” the Shogun chided.

Ren looked away, gripping the Kusanagi’s sheath. “When are you going to enthrone me?”

Kuro pressed his forehead to the ground, as if hovering even an inch above the planks would allow the Shogun to spot his proud grin.

“The time is not right.”

“When, Uncle Gorou?”

“We discussed this.”

“I know, but—”

“What has gotten into you?” The Shogun’s voice had softened, as if he actually cared. “I saw your painted screens. Why would you destroy them?”

He meant the screens in his room, covered in scribbles.

“I ran out of paper,” Ren mumbled, but from the Shogun’s harrumph, he believed that about as much as Kuro had.

Neither said anything for a long moment. Kuro peeked up, biting his lip from exclaiming when the Shogun petted Ren.

The Shogun’s sleeve slipped. A black tattoo marred his forearm, as if the Shogun were a branded criminal.

But the tattoo wasn’t the symbol the prison used. It was the tally character Ren had taught him.

Ren leaned into the touch.

“They’re plotting against you,” Ren said. “If I stop the demons, they’ll be forced into silence.”

“Enough,” the Shogun said. “Promise me you won’t leave the compound again.”

Kuro snorted. As if ‘Uncle Gorou’ could wring such a vow out of Ren. Kuro couldn’t get Ren to stay in the compound even if he shoved him into the closet and used a pole to bar the door from sliding open.

The skin around Ren’s lips tightened. He gazed up at the Shogun with a weird, squishy emotion. A familiar emotion, one that Kuro had seen not on Ren, but on himself. In the few days after his fur had turned black, he’d tried to impress his mother by sweeping the thousand of stone steps and tending the shrine’s barriers. But instead of pride that Kuro could conquer those tasks in fox form, she’d had a human servant pick him up by the scruff of his neck and tossed into a storehouse.

Ren nodded. “Yes, Uncle.”

But even before Kuro had learned that no one could ever get past his fur, Kuro had never been as blind as Ren. He’d never been — Kuro’s back tensed. That was it, the perfect description. Ren fawned like a young man besotted by a geisha. The man Ren had fallen for, the man he’d blushed over, the man he had refused to name — was the Shogun.

Ren hadn’t cared about the Undesirables or protecting his people. He only wanted to impress the Shogun, like those lads who got talked into balancing on rooftops or climbing the mountains to pluck a rare flower for the geisha who couldn’t care less. The Shogun who had arranged for his fox assassin to enter Ren’s household, to sleep in the futon next to Ren at night.

Kuro gekkered. He bit his lip to stop himself, but the high-pitched sounds burst through anyway. Why had the Shogun even bothered with Kuro? Ren would get himself killed trying to impress the Shogun, and the Shogun needn’t lift a finger himself. With Ren’s reassurance he had a spirit to protect him, he’d be dead by week’s end.

Which was a good thing, he tried to remind himself. Then Kuro wouldn’t have to kill Ren himself to get his shrine. He didn’t have to betray him. What mattered was the shrine. Humans came and went, and foolish ones like Ren blinked out before most spirits even noticed the change in time.

Yet, no matter how much he reminded himself of this, no matter how many times the Shogun bludgeoned Kuro’s head in punishment, Kuro couldn’t stop gekkering at the Shogun.