The Kingmaker

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 Lion's slumber deep

Truth whispers in bone's embrace

Dreams weave silent truth  

Midorima's wife-to-be wears green velvet with gold-dyed sleeves. Her dress is long and has a flowing skirt that glides to the floor like a river of stars. Her hair is studded with fine pieces of jewellery that shimmer under the low-hanging red sun. A small silver hawk hangs around her neck. If anything, Seijuro will wager that she has chosen them methodically to divert anyone's attention from her plain appearance. She is neither hideous nor gorgeous; she is just a woman with a clean face.

At the tender age of eighteen, she is already so well-mannered that she doesn't even speak unless she is told to by her husband-to-be. When Midorima's mother asks her how many children she could give to their only son, she gives a sweet smile and says as many as the Midorima clan sees fit.

Seijuro clamps his knee under the table. In this moment, he glimpses his fate: bound by duty to a stranger, their lives intertwined by decree rather than desire. They say love can be learnt, so he needn't worry. That is a lie. He has seen the truth behind the facade of arranged unions: the fortunate few who find happiness amidst duty and the many who sink in sorrow. Some lords let their wives take another lover to satisfy them. It is a rare case, however, as the men in their kingdom are possessive. They may have many wives, but they will never allow their women to look for other men to warm their beds.

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The ceremony ended before he knew it. Now, the girl is a woman. The woman is a wife. Soon, she will be a mother. Midorima's face is still passive, not letting anyone read what is on his mind. But Seijuro knows his friend well. This wedding means nothing. It's another duty for him.

He should have been an Akashi, Seijuro thinks, as he watches them bow at him and his father. Or perhaps, it is his youth that is giving him naive hope that he can do something to change some of the customs. He might never find out, but he ought to try. He owes it to Tetsuya.

"That went well," Harasawa says with a gentle smile. His current mask is a far cry from the man who had pledged allegiance to him, regardless of which Seijuro sits on the throne.

To this day, Seijuro does not understand what the whisperer meant by that. He is only one person. There is no other Akashi Seijuro, is there? If he had indeed confessed a sin, it had nothing to do with Ichiro's death. Internally, he shakes it all off. Harasawa was simply tricking him, that is all.

Murasakibara had asked him what Harasawa was crying about. He smiled at the Highguard and told him not to be fooled by the whisperer. Murasakibara gave him a sidelong glance and then remained silent.

Every few seconds, the behemoth casts a quick look at Harasawa, as if expecting him to attack the Crown Prince.

"Now she will be alone with their children," his king father says, and then sips rice wine. The three of them are seated quite far from the rest, observing the feast in the great hall. "I should not be thankful that I was not born a woman, but this kingdom makes me proud of having cojones and a dick."

If this was the first time Seijuro had heard his father say such vulgar words, he might have spat his drink. With him and the whisperer, though, the king does not hold his tongue. Is this his way of showing he trusts his son? Or is the king unconcerned because he is his son?

"And you are a king, Your Majesty. You may wed whoever your heart desires," the whisperer says. His curls are getting longer these days, almost covering half of his face. It even reaches the sigil of his house, which is strapped to his shoulder: an owl with a mouse in its beak.