Ren didn’t want to sleep next to Kuro.

In the Imperial Palace, Ren had insisted on laying Kuro’s futon next to his, when Kuro would have been happy to crawl into the closet. But Kuro’s futon hadn’t remained Kuro’s for long. In the first hour, Ren’s arm and leg stuck out from under his quilt. In the next, his ankles crossed the edge of Kuro’s futon. By dawn, he’d thrown his legs over Kuro with his head still on his own futon.

So much for the dignity of the Sun Prince, Kuro had chuckled to himself. Ren was more like a squirming fox kit cuddling close to his litter.

Or, he had been.

Kuro slid open the closet. “Is this far enough away?”

The onmyouji hadn’t hinted how early he’d return. He had never seen Ren, but catching a strange human inside Kuro’s cage would have him summoning the samurai.

“Anywhere in the tea house is too close to you.” But Ren stepped into the closet and slid down the wall, as if he meant to pass the night kneeling.

Kuro pulled down the extra blankets from the shelf and arranged them into a warm den around him, kneading them into softness.

Ren glared at Kuro. “I don’t need to sleep.”

“Then don’t. But if anyone comes, you’ll be hidden away.” Kuro squeezed his eyes shut before adding, “And if you’re worried I’ll try to kill you, the sliding door will warn you.”

Ren rested the Kusanagi against his shoulder. If that made Ren more comfortable. Kuro slid the panel shut.

Kuro laid back on the futon and pulled up the blankets. The hot water bottle broiled him, no longer comforting but feeling sickly as sweat dripped off him. He kicked out the bottle and stared at the ofuda-plastered ceiling.

The closet was quiet. Not even a rustle of cloth.

His ruse had bought them time. That was most important. With time, and Kuro’s cunning, he’d save them both.

He dozed off, waking every hour to scratch at the scabs before dozing off again in a whirl of utterly banal dreams of Kuro lounging next to Ren, the sliding doors open to view the garden. Ren hunched over his desk, drawing thick lines of nothing. He stopped. “What do you think?”

“Of what? They’re lines.”

“They’re tombstones,” Ren replied, and suddenly the black tombstones rose up all around Kuro.

He always awoke at that point, but in the early hours of the morning, he woke up to the sound of sobbing. The sound throbbed through the teahouse, as if Kuro was trapped inside the teahouse’s misery. He curled onto his side and stared at the closet door.

Ren must have pressed the blankets to his mouth, for the sobs muffled. They didn’t stop. They tumbled over each other like a waterfall rushing over a cliff, tumbling down and crashing into the river below in an unending cycle of misery.

Kuro pushed himself up to crawl to the closet, but forced himself to lie back down. He pressed his face into his pillow, trying not to hear. Ren didn’t want him to know. He definitely didn’t want Kuro to settle next to him, pressed up against his side, holding his hand and saying everything would be all right.

It had been years since Kuro had last cried. All children cried, boys and girls and fox kits, screaming for attention. For their mother or father to swoop down and pick them up. To tell the world that it wasn’t right; fix it.

He’d cried like that, crying for help, and like Ren cried, in pure deject misery. He hadn’t had time to do anything when his mother had her human servant push his head under the water because she wouldn’t taint herself by touching him. His body had slipped down the river and drifted into a shore several miles away. Just him.

He’d cried for his mother, tiny plaintive cries which he knew even then were stupid. More likely to alert the local demons than to bring his mother running. She’d never run to him. But he kept crying out, calling for his mother.

No one came. No one held him and reassured him. He might have appreciated the lie then. If he were Ren, he wouldn’t smack Kuro away.

Eventually, the sobs tapered off and a body thudded against the closet door as Ren cried himself to sleep. Kuro listened, but Ren didn’t snore. Not asleep, then, but too exhausted to cry. Kuro pillowed his cheek in his hands.

Dawn arrived too soon. The paper screens glowed. Kuro blinked, his eyes refusing to focus. His muscles strained to even prop him up. Another few hours. A day even of sleep. But the onmyouji would arrive soon, and Kuro had to be ready.

Sitting cross-legged on the futon, he carefully unrolled the bandages over his arms. The scabs itched, and he scratched them loose, leaving pink scars in their places. He raised his arm up, staring at two marks on either side. The samurai had hit him with an arrow through his fox leg, all the way through.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Nice,” he murmured to himself. He had healed faster than he had blabbed to the onmyouji. He winced. Had he really answered Yusuke truthfully? He really must have been exhausted. He had to be at the top of his game today. Ren’s life depended on him.

He bandaged his arm. He could at least keep this secret. He shifted, experimenting with turning his torso, and gauging how his wounds pulled. They itched, and one scab broke, dabbing the bandages with red. His torso hadn’t healed as quickly as his arms and legs, but it would work.

He just needed Yusuke to arrive, preferably before Ren bored of the closet. If Yusuke arrived alone, all the better. If he arrived with the maids in tow with his breakfast, he’d ask the onmyouji to dismiss them while they breakfasted alone. His stomach growled, eager for the second possibility. Either way, he needed to get Yusuke alone again. He’d been talkative enough yesterday, when Ren hadn’t been conveniently in earshot. Ren’s survival would go so much easier if he’d just believe his long-time mentor was trying to kill him.

Feet tapped in the entryway. Kuro strained his ears, but the barrier cut off most of the sound. Thanks to the ofuda, he only smelled the fresh scent of a shrine inside the teahouse.

The stranger dropped to their knees. No other footsteps. One human. He grinned, then wiped it from his face with a hand sliding over his jaw.

The panel slid open.

“Yusuke—” He stopped. “Oh, you.”

Yumi stuck out her tongue at him, releasing her lacquered toiletry case onto the tatami to pull down her eyelid.

“Miss Yumi.” A growl roiled in his throat. Of course. Having the one man who could convince Ren would have been too easy.

Yumi shoved the box inside, and then picked up a tray. She dropped it in front of Kuro. “Eat.”

His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. Without Yusuke looking over her shoulder, she’d probably ladled burnt rice and old tea for him. Again.

“Eat now or you’ll starve.”

“Your brother will bring me platters of delicacies.” He crossed his arms. “I don’t know why I should bother with your slop.”

“My brother’s busy today.” She focused on opening her box and setting out the dreaded comb and tweezers. “Too busy to deal with a wild fox who shreds the panels.”

So she’d noticed Ren’s heartbreak. But if she blamed him, fine. Yusuke was what mattered, and apparently he claimed he was too busy. What else could he be busy with when he had a Dark Kitsune, destroyer of empires, locked in his teahouse? Kuro clasped hands around his knees to keep from tearing his hair out. Although that might be preferable to the tortures Yumi had designed.

“For some reason, His Excellency the Shogun wishes to see you.” She flicked up a disdainful look, her lip curling. “But he doesn’t wish to see a mongrel.”

Kuro wrinkled his nose, baring his teeth. He was a fox, not a dog.

“Those are my words,” she said, and for the first time, she smiled at him. “But I’m sure his sentiments are the same.”

Kuro glanced at the closet door. For anyone more worldly, the fact that the Shogun wished to see the spirit that had presumably destroyed the Imperial family would be enough to cast doubts. The accommodations should have tipped him off. Ren had said himself he thought the Shogun was taking good care of him. But oh no, Ren probably had forgotten those troublesome facts. The spoiled brat.

“Are the courtesans coming again today?” he spoke loudly to make sure Ren heard every word.

Smile gone, Yumi cast him a poisoned glare.

“The puppeteers?”

She swiped her ear and picked up the comb.

Kuro scrambled several feet back, angling to the closet door, as if Ren might defend him. “Don’t ignore me. The questions are simple.”

“The Shogun wishes to meet with you.” She rose gracefully to her feet, the comb held out before her like a dagger. “That’s the only thing you need to know.”

Ren needed to hear much more than that. But Yumi acted so closed-lipped. Not for any attempt at secrecy. She just didn’t want to talk to a spirit unless it was to berate him.

“The Shogun said the Sun Prince died,” he said.

Yumi stepped closer. “First Lord Shogun,” she corrected.

“But that must make you happy.” Bracing against the closet door, he rose to his feet, ready to dodge if she lunged at him.

“Not particularly.”

“But didn’t you say he was in league with demons?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Come on, tell me all the gossip,” Kuro pleaded. He slipped his fingers into the closet handle.

“I have more important matters to take care of.”

“Then you leave me no choice.” He thrust the closet open.

She raised her brow, unimpressed. That would soon change.

Ren wasn’t asleep, thank the gods of fortune. Kuro grabbed Ren around the collar and under his arm and hauled him bodily out of the closet. Ren went tense in his arms, too startled to move. Good.

Yumi, likewise, had frozen, her eyes as big as saucers.

“Handsome, isn’t he?” He slid his hand inside Ren’s kimono, then up until it reached his shoulder. “Oh no.”

He slipped the kimono over Ren’s shoulder. Ren had worn his house boy kimono, and unlike the multi-layered, tied down monstrosity of Imperial kimono, this kimono was more flexible and free. It resisted only a little before sliding down Ren’s arm, revealing half a well-muscled chest.

Kuro slid his hands down. Ren’s abs were as tight as they looked. A shiver went through Kuro. His hand paused, all his plans flapping out of his head from the feel of skin. No, he couldn’t think on how silky Ren felt. He had to focus on Yumi. Yes, gobsmacked Yumi, whose drooling, open mouth satisfied Kuro. That feeling was definitely not from feeling up a human.

Ren would hate him for this. But Ren would hate him anyway for destroying his lies. Fortunately, Ren had dropped his sword in surprise, so Kuro would have a few moments to jump away when Ren regained his senses.

Kuro pressed up against Ren’s back, leaning his chin on Ren’s shoulder. “But Ren here is so hot for the Shogun’s plan. If you explain, who knows how much of his kimono he’ll lose.”

Yumi slapped her hand over her mouth and nose, but her hand wasn’t big enough to hide the bright red blush. Unfortunately, her hand was big enough to stop her from talking.

“He’s prettier than the Sun Prince.” Kuro slipped a hand up to the other kimono sleeve. “And much more drool-worthy, since he’s not in league with the Night Parade.”

Kuro’s ploy worked too well. Or Ren was too handsome. Her eyes started to roll up, probably too busy imagining what else Kuro and Ren might get up to.

But Ren tensed his arms. Shit, he was recovering. Kuro had to make this fast.

“I’ll remove his sash if you’ll tell him about the Shogun’s plan.” He winked, and whispered loudly, “He’s not wearing a loin cloth.”

That did it. Yumi spilled everything.