“STOP!”

So close that the breeze from the sword’s descent struck Kuro’s bared neck, the Shogun stopped his blade.

Ren burst through the humans, elbowing them when they refused to give him due deference. “Stop,” he ordered again.

Ren — Ren — Ren.

Ren stood before him, but even with that visual evidence, Kuro couldn’t actually process in his head that Ren had appeared to save him.

Ren stopped three paces in front of the mat, his head held high. He would have looked more regal if he wasn’t dressed like a houseboy that had rolled around in night soil. Just what had Ren been doing?

“You can’t execute him for murdering me,” he announced. “I’m not dead.”

Idiot. Ren glanced at the crowd around him, as if confused about why they didn’t immediately sink to their knees. No one had ever glimpsed him. No one could confirm, yes, he’s the prince. Not if the Shogun decided it was best to pretend otherwise. Not if the Shogun decided that his best move was to claim Ren was Kuro’s accomplice.

“Oh,” the Shogun said. “You’re safe.”

What was with that reaction? Kuro struggled against the hand gripping his hair to see the Shogun. To find out what game the Shogun would play. What move. In that phrase, he’d admitted Ren was who he said he was. Kuro knew it. Apparently the humans were more dense. They still didn’t bow.

Ren balked, his lips parting in surprise at the Shogun’s lacklustre statement. Ren had obviously expected the Shogun to throw himself from the mat onto him, embracing him like the grieving grandfather.

“But this really isn’t a good time.” The Shogun turned back to Kuro.

“Don’t do it,” Ren said. “I need him.”

“Ren, I know you’re young, and you’re easily swamped by infatuation, so step back.”

Ren blushed.

Kuro’s jaw dropped. Ren blushed. He didn’t outright refute it. Ren had come to rescue him. Ren really did care for him.

Ren insisted, “We need him. He knows where the Night Parade is. Give me Kuro and enough men and I’ll destroy them.”

Kuro closed his mouth. Oh.

“No,” the Shogun said. An outright dismissal.

“Uncle Gorou.” Ren emphasised the Shogun’s given name, as if it meant something.

“This creature brought the Night Parade upon your family. He brought death and suffering and catastrophe to the empire.” Just for being so selfish as not to die.

“Which is why we need to end the Night Parade—”

“A fit ruler,” he interrupted, “wouldn’t dare allow him to live.”

Ren couldn’t be so blind. He had to see that the Shogun wouldn’t budge, even if he didn’t recognise the trap around him. The only thing to Ren’s benefit was the Shogun couldn’t kill him outright, not after acknowledging the prince. They might be too slow to realise that now, but it would come and then the Shogun would be in trouble. Unrest rippling the waters of his precious tranquillity.

Ren stepped forward, one hand on the Imperial Sword in his sash. “As Sun Prince and the next emperor of Oyashima, I order you to let Kuro go.”

Gasps deafened him as heads jerked back, like a ripple through the pond. “Can it be?” they whispered. “His Imperial Highness is alive?”

Kuro wanted to yell at them, to scream. Yes, Ren was the Sun Prince, and they must protect him from the Shogun’s ploys.

But in a split second, the whispers turned, “It can’t be. Everyone knows commoners can’t look upon the Sun Prince… Liar… Impostor… Pretender.”

Pretender.

The Shogun chuckled. “If you’re really capable of giving me orders, then you should at least be able to defeat me in a duel.”

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The Shogun had planned this. He wanted an official reason to kill Ren in front of the onlookers. If Ren accepted the challenge, it was Ren’s own fault — and Kuro’s. Kuro’s involvement would apparently keep the Sun Goddess from smiting the Shogun for killing her descendant.

But why this? Ren had proved himself the Shogun’s equal with the sword. Kuro had watched them duel. Ren could win as easily as the Shogun. Why would the Shogun chance this public defeat?

“Don’t be an idiot,” Kuro told Ren. “Don’t even think about it.”

The Shogun must have some trick to tip the scales.

Ren ignored him. He nodded once. “If I win, you let Kuro go.”

“Of course.”

“Then I accept,” Ren said.

Kuro stared at the crowd. Had the Shogun arranged for a distraction? But the crowd helped Ren as much as the Shogun. If the Shogun pulled a dirty trick, everyone would see. These weren’t samurai loyal only to the Shogun, willing to blunt their eyes. They wouldn’t put themselves in danger to protect Ren, even if they did believe him the Sun Prince, but they’d whisper the Shogun broke his honour.

Ren backed up a few paces as the Shogun stepped off the mat. They faced each other.

He tried to squash the hope down, but it kept spiralling upwards, like dust motes in a sunbeam. Ren could win. He could save Kuro’s life.

They took three steps toward each other, meeting at sword’s distance, and bowed, like they’d done in the garden. Kuro could at least take heart that Ren kept his eyes up and pinned on the Shogun, even as he folded at the waist.

They straightened and drew their swords. Ren had the Imperial Sword, but even from the distance and in the darkness, Kuro saw the Shogun’s sword was only a little less impressive. The sword was old. Ensouled. Not as old or precious or powerful as Kusanagi, but no cheap trinket either.

“Kusanagi!” Kuro yelled at the sword. “You have to win.” For Ren’s sake.

They crossed their swords. Ren struck first. He moved as fast as he had against the samurai on Merchant Road, but the Shogun moved just as quickly, blocking in time. Ren struck again and again, moving into the Shogun’s space. Forcing the Shogun backward. The edges of Ren’s lips tipped upward. Pride.

But Ren had to notice the Shogun retreated too easily. Even Kuro, who knew nothing about swords besides to avoid them, noticed the difference between this and the earlier battle. Even from behind, the Shogun held the posture of a confident man, not one that was suddenly overwhelmed. Ren forced him back, but the Shogun allowed him to. He toyed with Ren.

The Shogun’s back heel stepped next to the mat. Another step, and the Shogun could slip. Ren could take advantage. Kuro could see the plan gleaming in Ren’s eyes. But that depended on the Shogun actually being pressed. Ren pounded his forward foot, striking at the same time, but far from pressing him into the mat, the Shogun easily swept Ren’s sword aside without moving.

In a blink too fast for anyone but a trained swordsman to understand, they reversed themselves. The Shogun pressed Ren with far more ease than Ren had done to him.

Kuro had to get free. There wasn’t much Kuro could do with the ofuda binding his wrists and ankles. He tried to reach for the fox part of him. The real him. But his true form evaded him as steel clashed against steel. The ofuda kept him more than just his human self bound, but his gifts bound as well.

He couldn’t transform to any other form without a leaf anyway. Foxfire abandoned him in even the best circumstances. He gritted his teeth. He was powerless.

The samurai holding his head paid more attention to the duel than to him. He swivelled his head, the fingers lax enough to give him enough room to bite the samurai’s wrist. The samurai gasped. The other yanked him by the shoulders up. He refused to tame himself. He snapped his jaws at the samurai, hoping to startle them away.

“Should have put it in a muzzle,” the first samurai muttered.

Then a sandal slammed into his lower back. Kuro couldn’t let himself fall. He had to get free to stop the duel. But he had no choice in the matter. The sandal shoved him down, the entire weight of the samurai plus his armour too much from him.

With Kuro laid out on the ground, the samurai wasted no time. If it had been Daidoji holding him, he would have been free. Snapping his fangs at the boy would have startled him away. But the Shogun had ordered his experienced samurai to hold him down, and that’s what they did. They trapped him underneath, hands holding down his shoulders and feet pinning down his limbs.

Kuro strained against them, but they rode him easily. They’d killed many fox before. They weren’t afraid of him.

On the ground in front of him, Ren panted as he struggled to match the Shogun’s speed. But the swords kept clashing faster and faster. There was nothing Kuro could do.

If Kuro died, Ren would have nothing to fight for. If Kuro forced the samurai to kill him before the Shogun could land the death blow… “Stupid idea,” he told himself. Ren wouldn’t back down from the fight. He still probably thought the Shogun loved him. That the Shogun would withhold the final blow.

Then a singular sound rang through the silence. Not the sound of clashing swords, or even the sound of flesh ripping.

Kuro tried to wrench his head up to see what had happened. Why he didn’t hear anything else. The first samurai let go of Kuro’s shoulder to crush his face into the mat, but the other halted him. “Let the fox see.” He sounded too amused.

Kuro wriggled his head up. The sound had been the Shogun forcing the sword from Ren’s grip. The Kusanagi clattered a few feet from the Shogun.

Stupid, useless sword. Ren faced the Shogun, completely defenceless. He wasn’t even wearing armour. Ren stared down at his empty hands, completely gobsmacked. Don’t look away!

The sheath evaporated from Ren’s sash and lacquered wood wrapped the blade up like a housewife wrapping up a package. At least the Shogun couldn’t use the Kusanagi. The Kusanagi would never allow it.

Ren could have leapt to retrieve his sword. But that would have exposed his back to the Shogun. Not that it mattered. The Shogun had followed his swing through, pausing at the end to show everyone his perfect form. Why rush when his prey was defenceless?

The Shogun shifted into another attack stance, his sword aimed at Ren’s unprotected throat.

Ren furrowed his brow, his feet firmly planted in the dirt.

“Ren, you idiot,” Kuro yelled. “Run!”