Taste

Laying Claim

Mitsuhide did not question orders from his lord with any regularity, and this was not among those to question. Privately, he was delighted. It was not everyday that he had an opportunity to see the God of War flustered. What better way to do that than to bring a woman to the negotiating table?

Not that she was up for negotiation. Oh, no. Nobunaga would rather sever any possibility of a truce than give up the woman. She was, after all, their dear chatelaine, their princess and lucky charm. Even if the titles were largely honorary, the idea stuck nonetheless. Everyone in Azuchi was disgustingly charmed by her. He refused to admit out loud that he was among them. Only Masamune had tried to strike that conversation, and it ended as swiftly as it began: with sake. Bless that man's inability to handle his drink.

No, their dearest princess was coming with him to negotiate with Kenshin, the God of War himself, as a part of his retinue and a sign of Nobunaga's interest in their truce. Kenyo was their target now, after all, and while Nobunaga was caught up with other matters at home, it was only fair to include her as an extension of himself.

They rode together to the assigned meeting place in Kyoto, taking only a few stops to rest. She was quiet and careful on the way there, decked out as any true princess would be, and that made her riding the more difficult. He didn't envy her; it was almost hilarious, watching her stubbornly manage her stiff robes with such a sour frown.

"If you keep frowning like that," he announced cooly, "Ieyasu will need to take lessons from you."

That got her to smile. His stupid heart surged with pride.

They arrived at the inn on the arranged day just before Kenshin's entourage. The Princess washed and remade herself, though she left her hair loose around her shoulders. Mitsuhide didn't say a word. He loved her hair. No doubt the maids at Azuchi would have a fit if they saw it, but no one was to be there save himself, her, Kenshin's ninja, and the God of War himself.

The screen slid open, and in he strode, glacial and impenetrable, his stone-faced ninja behind him. Mitsuhide knew that second man–he'd seen him around Azuchi–but he tucked the knowledge away carefully, leaving it there to interrogate prisoners about later. They bowed to one another, and then Kenshin's eyes fell upon the Princess.

"Oh." And he smiled. The God of War actually smiled. Mitsuhide felt the surprise on his lips for a fractional moment before he composed himself. "And you, too. You never told me that you were Nobunaga's princess."

"You know each other?" Mitsuhide tried to ignore the rush of blood in his ears. The princess was blushing, and Kenshin was smiling at her, and it made him want to throw the table, sweep her away, and make her–

No. That was not a thought he was allowed to have.

"I introduced them while my lord was in disguise," the ninja spoke. "They know each other very briefly. She did not meet him as my lord."

Very well, then. She'd escaped at least some of his questions. Mitsuhide sat by the table and scooted fractionally closer to the chatelain, but no. It seemed Kenshin had other ideas. The man came entirely around the table himself, settling by her and paying no mind to him.

"You should have told me you were Nobunaga's."

"I'm not!" She turned crimson from head to toe, indignant. "I'm definitely not! I'm just a good luck charm."

"And a princess." If he were angry, Kenshin seemed calm and impenetrable.

"Come now." Mitsuhide caught the chatelain's hand in his, drawing her back towards him. In his mind, he desperately stamped on the urge to challenge Kenshin to a duel. "We have a truce to discuss, do we not? Buddha knows our dear waif here need not be more flustered by attention."

Kenshin frowned, but adjusted himself nonetheless, placing himself ever closer to the chatelain. Clearly he did not mean to budge. Mitsuhide fantasized about picking her up and leaving, carrying her to the hot springs and stripping off every layer of kimono until she lay bare beneath him, laying claim at last–

He cleared his throat and started proceedings instead.