If foxes could die from heart attacks, Kuro would have died right then. His heart still tried, pounding hard enough to bruise his ribs.

“I came to see how you were enjoying your little friend,” the Shogun said, smiling kindly down at Ren.

Little friend? The phrase was innocuous enough, but when the Shogun shifted his eyes to Kuro, they stared through him, like he didn’t even exist. The way Ren should have looked at Kuro.

But then he should be kissing the feet of fate that the Shogun chose to overlook Kuro biting the Sun Prince’s neck. As if Ren were another kit. A submissive kit. He should be praying that very moment that the Shogun understood as little about foxes as every other human.

“Sorry!” Ren shoved Kuro off him and tripped over the hem of his robe as he scrambled to his feet.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” The Shogun flicked his eyes away from Kuro. He had the distinct feeling that the Shogun wouldn’t bother to look in his direction again.

Kuro sat up. The Shogun whacked him square in the head with his fan without taking his eyes off of Ren. He glanced up to find the Shogun glaring at him. Kuro’s heart thumped in his chest. Yumi’s eyes were mere kindling to the look in the Shogun’s eyes.

He dropped his forehead to the mat, fingers meeting for the bow Yumi had taught him. The weight of the Shogun’s glare lifted. The whack had been nothing more than a trifling punishment for failing to show due deference. Ren treated Kuro like an equal, but the Shogun held no such delusions.

But Kuro wasn’t a mere servant. He was the Shogun’s assassin.

“I was just teaching him how to read.” Ren laughed nervously.

“By tackling him?”

“He’s an unruly student.”

Kuro gritted his teeth. Ren had to shut up before the Shogun decided Kuro was too pathetic to live.

“I brought this for you.” The Shogun handed Ren a package.

Ren unwrapped the cloth and gasped.

“Mochi with red bean paste,” the Shogun confirmed.

“Thank you.” Boards creaked as Ren shifted his weight, followed by the whisper of silk against wood. Bowing. Ren bowed to the Shogun. The hair on the back of Kuro’s neck bristled. Though Ren was only the sun prince, not yet emperor, he was still the Shogun’s superior.

The veranda creaked as the Shogun moved. “Come, sit.” He patted the spot next to him. Just like Ren had done for Kuro.

Ren scampered to join him like an eager puppy. Kuro could have kissed the Shogun for forcing him to bow. Anything to not see how Ren looked up at the Shogun, eyes matching the eagerness in his voice.

“Kuro,” Ren called to him softly. “Come join us.”

The Shogun grunted, but didn’t retract the invitation. Damn him.

Carefully keeping his head bowed, Kuro shifted out to the veranda. Every movement brought the full weight of the Shogun’s disapproval crashing down upon him. It was almost worst than meeting Ren’s mother. Almost.

Ren gestured for Kuro to sit next to him. Both Ren and the Shogun let their legs fall over the edge. But Kuro knelt behind Ren’s right shoulder, on the opposite side from the Shogun, and one pace back.

The Shogun removed his attention. Kuro must have made the right decision.

Ren frowned, but didn’t insist Kuro join them. He held a mochi cake out to Kuro.

Kuro lifted a hand to take it, then hesitated. When Kuro had offered mochi to Ren, Ren had eaten it from his hand. Did they expect the same? Did the Shogun expect Kuro to act like an animal Ren had pacified?

Ren shifted his hand so he gripped the mochi from the top. His arm extended further, almost to Kuro’s lap. Ren’s fingers made it impossible to bite the mochi, unless he wanted a mouthful of Ren as well. The Shogun wouldn’t take that well.

Kuro accepted the mochi cake and rested it in his lap, head still bowed. Ren could offer one to him, but he doubted the Shogun would let him eat it in his superiors’ presence.

Ren nibbled his mochi, pausing every bite to close his eyes with an air of joy. A shiver ran up Kuro’s back, remembering how Ren had nibbled the mochi Kuro had offered until his lips had brushed Kuro’s fingers. His face warmed again. He had only known Ren as a strange, gullible human then, and hadn’t questioned twice why he hadn’t just taken the mochi. But nibbling food from a stray fox’s hand was far below the dignity of a prince. So why—

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The Shogun interrupted his thoughts by reaching up to pat Ren on the head, like a kind merchant’s wife patted the head of an especially friendly stray. Kuro bit his lip and forced his hands to stay in his lap, rather than slap the Shogun’s hand away. How dare the Shogun treat Ren like his pet.

“The view is still bleak,” the Shogun said. If he noticed Kuro’s ire — if he noticed Kuro at all — he gave no sign of it, intent on Ren’s garden. “You’ve let the garden go too far.”

“I’m sorry,” Ren said.

What was Ren sorry about? The garden looked fine to Kuro. Sure, many of the trees were bare of leaves, and the moss had browned. But it was autumn.

“The pond is murky,” the Shogun said.

“The pump broke this summer,” Ren said. “I tried to fix it.”

The Shogun grunted, as if affronted that Ren had dared to do something so menial.

Kuro huffed, pulling at the sticky skin of the mochi. If the Shogun wanted the pump fixed, he should give Ren the money. But then Ren would spend it on something frivolous, like food.

“It’s dark and cloudy. It’ll take many months to clear it. And those weeds are taller than a pony.”

Kuro blinked at the stand of browned stalks. Those weren’t supposed to be there?

“I—” Ren started.

“The cedars are dying.” The Shogun sighed.

Ren hung his head.

“It’s autumn,” Kuro interrupted.

The Shogun sniffed, but didn’t look back.

“I like the view.” Kuro didn’t care. The Shogun could beat him black and blue if he liked. “It represents… uh, impertinence.”

Ren coughed, then hid his mouth behind a fist. “Do you mean, impermanence?”

“That’s what I said.” Kuro dropped his eyes, though, keenly aware he’d messed up the word. He couldn’t even defend Ren with words.

“This represents a graveyard,” the Shogun snapped back. “It represents chaos—”

“How about a duel?” Ren interrupted. “I’ve been working hard at the katas you taught me.”

“Very well.” The Shogun had managed to sound happy at the prospect.

Ren rose. “I’ll fetch my sword.”

His sword? As in the Imperial sword? The Shogun slipped his feet into sandals and crossed halfway to the pond, one hand on the hilt of his sword. His very, very sharp sword.

“Do you need me to fetch the wood practice swords?” Kuro jumped to his feet. “I’ll only be a moment.”

“No, that’s all right.” Ren smiled back to him as he strode down the veranda.

“Ren.” The single word from the Shogun rang like a temple bell.

Ren. His given name. Not Imperial Highness, or a dozen other addresses, but Ren, as if they were equals. Kuro shook his head. But that was stupid. Kuro called him Ren, and Ren insisted on it.

The Shogun arched a brow at Ren. “Are you not forgetting something?”

Ren tilted his head.

“Your attire?”

Ren stared down his length. Instead of the courtly attire he’d worn while meeting with the onmyouji, he’d chosen the same kind of kimono as Kuro, albeit worth more than the Eastern Shrine. But it was still more courtly than the Shogun’s own. The Shogun had dressed in a simple surcoat and hakama, like a samurai. “I’ll change, as well.”

As Ren turned, the Shogun coughed in his hand.

“Yes, Uncle?”

“Your friend is here to serve you,” the Shogun said. “Does that not also include dressing you?”

Ren reddened, his eyes flicking between Kuro and the Shogun. “Er—”

“Yes, of course, your Imperial Highness.” Kuro jumped up and ushered Ren down the veranda to his bed chamber. He even remembered to kneel and open and close the screen door for Ren.

Ren crossed to the antechamber where he stored his robes. The Imperial kimono he’d worn to meet with the onmyouji hung on a stand on the opposite wall.

“You can’t do this,” Kuro told him.

“Dress myself?” Ren slid open the drawers for the chest of drawers. “I have for a long time. I don’t expect you to dress me, Kuro. I mean,” he spared Kuro a scanning glance, “you have enough trouble with your own robes.”

Kuro straightened. After watching Kuro get strangled by the overrobe for twenty minutes that morning, Ren had made him stand still as Ren arranged his kimono around him. “Not the kimono. You can’t duel the Shogun.”

Ren stripped off his kimono, holding the silk out as if to drop them on the floor. Then he froze and met Kuro’s eyes.

Good, so he finally understood.

He snatched the kimono to his chest and then knelt to carefully fold each piece and wrap it in paper to replace in the drawers. “I’ve waited three weeks for the chance.”

“But — but—” Kuro clenched his hands.

Ren removed his linen underrobe, revealing expanses of delicate skin that would far too easily split under a blade.

“He’ll kill you,” Kuro whispered. His voice came out too hoarse for more.

But that was the point, wasn’t it? Ren would die, and Kuro wouldn’t have to do anything but kneel to the side.

Ren appeared in front of him, dressed in the same samurai style as the Shogun. The Shogun must have planned this duel. He knew Ren would ask, and so came properly dressed to kill the Sun Prince. “He won’t even land a point against me.”

The Shogun had already won.

“Armour!” Kuro exclaimed. “Where’s your armour?”

Ren dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and took the Kusanagi from the alcove. He slid the sheath through his sash. “Duelling without armour is good for me, Uncle Gorou says. I’m not likely to be attacked when I’m ready for it.”

He left, not even pausing to allow Kuro to open it for him. Likely he knew that Kuro wouldn’t. Kuro jumped up and followed him. Ren smiled at the Shogun as if the Shogun had handed him a platter of mochi.

“Don’t!” Kuro jumped between him and the Shogun. “Today’s an inauspicious day for duels.”

A very weak excuse at that.

“It’s only practice.” Ren frowned.

“Practice duels are doubly bad.” If he was in for a grain of rice, he might as well be in for a pound. “The shadows hanging over the palace demand blood, and will shift blades into unwary places.”

“Oh?” The Shogun asked, his voice as deep as a mountain’s. “Which shadows are these?”

“The ones that hang around this complex,” he said. “They cry out for the blood of the man who defeated their lineage.”

“Kuro, really,” Ren said. “I only get to practice when Uncle Gorou visits.”

“But—”

Ren hopped off the veranda and joined the Shogun by a stone lantern, standing five paces away. Kuro’s protests died in his throat, kicking and croaking like a swallowed frog. Neither human had eyes for him, their attention firmly on the other.

Kuro clenched his hands on his knees, willing himself to remain seated.

Ren and the Shogun bowed to each other. Hands on their hilts, they approached each other. They drew their swords, blades meeting in the centre.

Kuro whimpered. Useless, stupid fox. Unable to kill the Sun Prince. Unable to save him. He could only watch Ren die, but he’d probably mess that up too.