star-joined

Chizuru had never been the best writer, and her stats on the site where she posted her light novel showed this: barely breaking half a thousand views per month. She was posted in a popular genre, hitting all the right plot beats, but maybe it was too generic. The genre was, after all, swamped after a certain one had shot to popularity seemingly overnight, and multiple lookalikes had spawned in a day. Chizuru was almost sure the author had botted the views. No way - she’d read it, and it was full of grammar errors.

Sure, hers was also just another shitty villainess isekai story, but Chizuru had poured her heart out on it, damn it. Every other generic villainess story got a manga deal, except hers, seemingly. Chizuru didn’t understand why. Maybe she should go off-genre and veer it into… Food. Softcore porn. Martial arts. Who knew? Readers were fickle, but she needed to pay the bills, and her part-time job at the convenience store wasn’t looking like it’d last.

Chizuru knew, logically, she probably should just abandon the project and try again with another thing, but she had grown fond of her villainess, darling little Elizabeth. Generic name, but hey, the genre itself was prone to being generic.

Sure, she had her little passion project: a fantasy story, set in what would’ve been Edo era Japan, about a witch who solved inter-species crimes. She had concocted it after binging way too many noir detective books and movies, and had disliked everything except the mystery-solving aspect, so she brought it closer to home, until it morphed into something that barely resembled the original. She enjoyed daydreaming about little Ako’s adventures, the mysteries she could solve.

Of course, none of this meant it’d ever see the light of day: Chizuru loved her little witch mystery, but she’d rather die than let people comment on every flaw they could find. Chizuru knew people did that: she did it to other books, so why would it not be done to her, too?

She enjoyed writing, she really did: it felt nice to be able to weave an entire world from the tips of her fingertips. Chizuru, however, enjoyed reading more, liked diving headfirst in a book and forgetting the world for a while, going somewhere else completely.

Which, hey, was kind of ironic when she died thinking about the next mystery she could put Ako through. She was walking through a red light, Chizuru’s mistake; she wasn’t paying attention. A truck hit her, just like in all those terrible isekais she’d forced herself to read as research for Elizabeth’s story and that she had called unrealistic - no way people simply didn’t pay attention to the light, damn it. She had hated the common, cliche death, and had given Elizabeth a little accident that seemed better.

The universe, it seemed, had a weird sense of humor. The last thing Chizuru saw was bright white light, the feeling of metal wrapping itself around her body foreign.

The second irony was when she woke up as a little girl. A maid cried when she did, which felt rather weird, and a flood of memories came through: she was a six-year-old princess called Himeko, third daughter, sixth child overall, from a tiny island-nation named Niponia. She stared at the ceiling, trying to avoid assimilating the very familiar architecture around her.

She was in the shitty isekai. Great. It wasn’t even a creative one - they just reskinned Japan and called it a day. If she ever met whatever author was the one writing this, she’d have a few stern words with them.

The maid cried, babbling about how she hit her head on a corner and had been asleep for three days, how everyone was so worried. All Chizuru - Himeko? She never understood how the protagonists always accepted the name change so readily; she’d think of herself as Chizuru first and foremost - could think about was curling up with a book for comfort.

As she found out, Himeko was a prodigious child, which was good! She wouldn’t have to explain how she knew how to write and read. The writer, again, hadn’t even made up an alphabet - it was Japanese. Such lazy worldbuilding. She had created better things for her half-assed Elizabeth.

That was okay. At least she had the entire library at her disposal. Or would have, really, if she hadn’t discovered darling Niponia wasn’t prone to writing prose, only long, dreadfully boring poetry, which she hated viscerally. Therefore, it meant that the library only carried poetry anthologies. She had stared at the books for five minutes, dropped them on the ground, and closed her eyes.

Her maid, Nozomi, made a worried noise, some sort of cooing, as if she was a baby. She turned to the maid, and put her hands on her own waist. Fine.

Every isekai protagonist had some sort of divine mission. It seemed she was no exception.

Shit, that was way too pretentious for her, who probably was some NPC background character - please, third genius daughter of a small island nation? No way that she didn’t have a brother who was a love interest, or a protagonist sister. She was just someone. No one special, despite the status.

The setting was getting to her. She shook her head, focused on what she wanted.

“Nozomi.” She called, and the maid made an inquisitorial noise. The weirdest part of this entire universe was that the author had simply given up on honorifics - perhaps to emulate it being western? However, even isekais kept some honorifics. “Can I get pen and paper, please? I want to write.”

“Oh, how exciting, my lady! Are you about to write your first few poems?” The maid asked, and before Chizuru could answer, the maid was already gone. She took a deep breath, sat down, and drummed her fingers on the table. Heavy wood, clearly European in style.

The palace was - weird. It was the familiar Japanese architecture she’d grown it, but in terms of decor, it resembled more closely the European furniture she’d looked up for Elizabeth’s story. Strange, all in all, to open a paper door and be greeted with a room that could’ve belonged in any mid-Europe palace.

The maid came back with paper and an ink pen, an inkpot being taken out of her pocket soon after. Himeko’s muscle memory activated to make it work - Chizuru really did not know how it’d work; it always seemed so arcane when she looked at them, and even Youtube videos failed to make it function in her brain -, and scribbled a familiar title: A study in grey.

Sure, she had ripped off Doyle for that one a little bit, but it worked. The first of Ako’s mysteries, the one that introduced the world she lived in, was about a necromancer who resurrected people, made them do the murder, and then let them die again, making it seems like it was a murder-suicide instead of plain murder. So, yeah, it was a study in grey. Sort of. Flesh was grey when one was dead, after all.

Chizuru had written and rewritten it so many times banging out the first two chapters took almost no time at all; it was just a question of losing herself in Ako’s world for a moment. She found she quite enjoyed writing it by hand; yes, sure, after the three hours were gone, her hands were cramped a bit, but seeing the stack of papers with Ako’s story felt… Good. Nice, even.

She let go of the pen, relaxed against the high-backed velvet chair, and sighed, holding her painful hand. Nozomi, who’d been looking like Chizuru had been possessed, approached quietly.

“My lady?” She asked, inquisitorial, and Chizuru smiled at her, waving at the paper stack. She knew Nozomi could read; Himeko’s memories showed the woman reading her bedtime stories. Himeko had loved Nozomi, and Chizuru felt somewhat bad for the body snatching, so she had vowed to treat Nozomi well. “Would you like something?”

Chizuru found it weird that a princess like Himeko only had Nozomi for company. Maybe there was some sort of reason, and she didn’t question it.

“Some tea, please.” Food was not European, which was good for her - she rather liked the traditional Japanese food she’d grown up with. Again, lack of imagination on the author’s part, but this was going to be the only thing Chizuru would not complain about. “Also! Can you read this and tell me your opinion? And don’t mince your words! I want to know if it’s bad!”

“My lady, whatever you write will end up being a masterpiece, I’m sure.” Nozomi said, bowing - European way, not Japanese -, and leaving again. Chizuru looked at the pen again, and back at the paper.

She knew she couldn’t fuck up her hand - she doubted they’d be able to treat carpal tunnel over here -, so that was the only thing that kept her from picking up the pen again and keep writing. The third chapter was right there on the tip of her fingers, begging to be written, begging to be seen. She had half a mind to ask for it to be published.

But she wouldn’t. The words would breathe air for the first time. She’d write until her hands fell off if she needed.

Maybe she should do some sort of princess duty and try to see if anyone would invent a typewriter. That would help her.

What had made her want to write Ako’s story? Maybe because this wasn’t her universe. Maybe it was the princess position, Himeko infecting her with some sort of pride she lacked before. Maybe it was Chizuru, who wanted books outside the realm of poetry, and if she was going to be the only one writing prose, then so be it. But, sure - let it be seen. Let it be read. Ako had rotted in her head far too long. This was a second chance for both of them.

Nozomi read it as Chizuru sipped on her tea, comforting and familiar. There were some snacks, too, and she picked at them as she drank, filling a belly she hadn’t remembered being hungry. That was the only con of writing, to Chizuru; it wasn’t unusual for her to lose herself in the process and then come out of the other side and realize that it was three in the morning, she had work early, and hadn’t eaten since noon. Maybe having a maid was nice, actually.

“This is pretty good, my lady!” Nozomi said, as soon as she had finished the first chapter. “I quite enjoy the aspect of the little magic user. The term you invented for it is so easy on the tongue, as well!”

So they didn’t have witches in here. At least her story would be original. Nice.

“Do you really like it?”

“I promised I wouldn’t mince my words, my lady.” Nozomi replied and looked at the stack of papers for the second chapter. Chizuru gave her a permissive nod. “How did you come up with this, if I may ask?”

She shrugged. Chizuru did not know how to explain the entire process she’d gone through to get there.

“Just had the idea, that's all.”

The first book of Ako’s story took two months and three weeks to get written, in-between Himeko’s princess education and Chizuru having the stamina of, well, a six-year-old now. But she wrote it, put it all in a neat stack, and looked at it fondly for a moment, before handing it to Nozomi. The maid looked at it, puzzled, for a second, as Chizuru grabbed the pen again, ready to scribble out the title of the second book.

“Are you looking into publication, my lady?” Nozomi asked, and Chizuru frowned.

“If I publish it, people are going to praise it because I’m a princess, not because it’s good.” Chizuru replied. The title of the second book was an Agatha Christie rip off, this time, because she could: Death on the Shokotsu. It wasn’t like Agatha Christie herself was going to appear and sue Himeko for copyright, anyway. “I don’t want that.”

Nozomi paused. Chizuru wrote the first paragraph of the second book in blissful silence.

“What about a fake name, my lady? I could go out in town, see if the publishers would be interested, and perhaps then get it published without it being known as your book.”

Chizuru paused mid-word, made a mental note to reward Nozomi for her cleverness.

“That… Could work.” She started, slowly. The idea slowly formed itself in her mind. “Get some gold, find a good lawyer, and have him read over the contract if one is offered. Don’t let copies stay with the publishers if they reject it, I don’t want to see it circulating without my name attached.”

Nozomi nodded.

“And what name would you like for me to give, my lady?”

A pause. She smiled fondly, looking over the text, dipping the pen in ink again.

“Chizuru is fine.” She relayed the characters of her old name with barely a second thought. She was not Chizuru officially, but she’d get published.

Nozomi took to going to town every week, going from publisher to publisher with the first chapter of A study in grey. Some thought it baffling. Some outright rejected it. Chizuru didn’t think there were so many publishing agencies in the capital.

It took three months for someone to request the second chapter: the owner of a small shop who printed books, too, known for small collections of poems and who was always looking to expand his printing portfolio. Chizuru, shamefully, hadn’t thought mass printers existed, but as Nozomi excitedly relayed, he was the first one to import the technology from his homeland, distant Deustchia. She had to check a map for that one, and had to suppress a guffaw when the map was just the normal world she’d come from, except Africa was upside down. Terribly lazy. Even she had picked up a pen to draw Elizabeth’s world.

Deustchia, by what she could remember of a normal map, was the equivalent of Germany - and if her research still helped her, also the home of printing in Europe. Great, at least her author did their research, even if they were bad about worldbuilding.

So, sure. She sent the first book to the printers, and expected nothing except the occasional royalty payment once every six months or so, when someone bought her book.

Chizuru did not expect the book to be a success, seemingly overnight, just like the author of the isekai she, herself, had thought so badly about once. Even the palace maids had been reading it, chit-chatting about the book in Chizuru’s earshot, wondering about the mystery author. Chizuru made a note to ask Nozomi to watch out for people passing as her, and decided to just keep writing her books.

Truth be told, she hadn’t expected people to like it - Ako and her mysteries had lived in her head so long that the idea of people enjoying it seemed weird at best -, but, still. Recognition felt nice. She had wanted that for Elizabeth, once, but… Oh, well. Better enjoy what she had.

Fanmail started pouring almost immediately. Nozomi would go once a week to the publisher to grab it, and Chizuru would spend the weekend answering them. It was calming. Soothing, almost.

At age nine, her first international fanmail came from Deustchia itself, after her publisher got a deal with his brother-in-law and got it translated into what was essentially German shortly after A study in grey proved itself a success.

She had stared at the language for a long time, when she first got the copy of it, a gift for her hard work. The author hadn’t even bothered to look into conlang for the other countries of his world. Chizuru hoped this wasn’t getting published, that it would rot forever into someone’s hard drive.

It was a simple letter, written in shaky Japanese, as if the author had worked hard to get every stroke right, but sincere. Short, but sweet: a boy named Elias, who had found a copy of the first one after it got published, and then had learned the original language so he could speedrun reading the rest - although he still hadn’t managed to get his hands on An elven curse, the sixth book. Not said with those words, of course, but that was the sentiment.

Chizuru found it nice that someone cared about her series so much to the point of learning an entire new language to read them. There were also a few nice questions about it, and Chizuru could see, in the way the strokes on the kanjis got a bit sloppier, that the author was thinking as fast as his pen.

She wrote back first thing, thanked him for his commitment, answered every comment and question he’d made, and was surprised at herself for writing three pages front and back to Elias. She handed it to Nozomi, and asked for her to pack as well a copy of An elven curse nicely.

Chizuru did not expect an answer from Elias. She got one anyway, about four pages. She wrote back - and before she realized, Chizuru had a penpal.

It felt good to make a friend. She led a rather isolated life; she only really talked to Nozomi, her tutors, and that was it. Not even her siblings interacted much with her - after all, why care for a younger sister?

Chizuru knew of Himeko’s siblings: Haruyoshi, the crown prince with big ambitions regarding Niponia’s future; Atsuko, her beautiful older sister who charmed anyone with a pulse; Kimiko, who knew more about war and strategies than a seasoned general; Hideyoshi, who could get secrets out of a rock, if he wished to do so; and Chikayoshi, an artist that could make even the toughest man cry.

What was Himeko, who did nothing but linger in the shadows, to them? Nothing.

That was fine. Chizuru preferred it that way. Let it be her, Nozomi, her tutors - and Elias, now, if he’d stay.

She had to reveal herself as the author of the book series - now twelve books long, published in twenty different countries, with three spin offs because a side character had gotten popular unexpectedly - when she was fourteen. The typewriter she got at age ten really had helped her speed up the writing process.

Her father had decided to grant an award for promoting Niponian literature internationally to the author of the series, and then he’d gone off after the publisher, who directed him to Nozomi. Obviously, he recognized the maid of one of his daughters, since she was always a step behind her. Chizuru didn’t want to think about why he was paying attention to maids.

That had been a fun discussion to have, Chizuru looking at him on his throne.

“Why did you not publish as you? The royal publishing house…” His words trailed off, eyes wandering to Nozomi, who was behind Chizuru, staring at the ground. Chizuru sat straighter.

“Rejected me outright.” Chizuru replied, sitting prim and proper in her seat. Her father’s throne was gold, encrusted with jewels, and looked uncomfortable. “I knew that, if I published it as Himeko, anyone would praise it to high heaven. I wanted to know the public’s genuine reaction to it, so I invented Chizuru.”

Himeko’s father stared at her. They didn’t look too alike; Himeko looked more like her mother, with slightly wavy hair and a high nose that reminded her of the emperors of Rome. Other than that, she looked basically Japanese: black hair, black eyes, pale skin. Boring. Even she had been creative enough to give Elizabeth blonde hair and blue eyes. But hey, she wasn’t the writer of this story.

“So it was an… Experiment?”

“Of sorts.” Chizuru shrugged again, unladylike. She didn’t care. “I assume I’ll have to reveal myself as the author?”

“I’m glad you can see the obvious, Himeko.” He sighed. Himeko’s mother put a hand on his shoulder. “Fine. Keep writing your books. But they go through the royal publishing house now.”

Ah, so he wanted a profit margin for the sales. Chizuru rested against her chair, hands in her lap.

“Buy out the original publishing company, keep them employed, keep the prices the same. Only then I’ll publish through the royal publishing house.” Himeko’s father curled his lip, displeased at being ordered around by a fourteen-year-old. She was just a sixth child, forgotten in corners; she wasn’t meant to achieve anything except, maybe, a good marriage - and even then, she had other two sisters who would probably achieve much better marriages than hers. “Otherwise, I stop writing, and you don’t get any cut of, well, anything.”

A pause. Long enough to make whispers swirl in her head, thoughts of everything he could do to her, all the event flags that could determine the route she was going to be set upon. Murder was so easy. Exile, even better.

“I’ll accept it.” He said, sighing loudly. “You’re dismissed.”

Chizuru rose, bowed, and left with Nozomi on her trail. She only allowed herself to crumble when she reached the safety of her bedroom, crying big tears and sobbing.

Nozomi sat down in bed with her and patted her back, trembling as well.

The years crawled to pass by. Chizuru grew, solitary in court: it wasn’t hard to not notice that, after making demands out of Himeko’s father, that she stopped being a daughter and became… Well, just someone who had a title.

Elias kept writing to her, his letters constant like clockwork, always arriving on the first new moon of the month. He never mentioned the name change in the books, and Chizuru never commented on it either. Everyone knew princess Himeko of Niponia had written them, anyway, but to be treated as Chizuru felt nice.

When she was eighteen, the king of Deustchia came for a visit. Himeko, who had never been heavily involved in politics unless she had to attend state dinners Irarely, almost never), cared little for that information. Just another dreadfully boring time where she’d sit far away from whoever was the guest, eat her food, and then go back to writing.

She didn’t even take part in the royal welcome to the visitors, instead electing to watch it from her window, eating sweets. Not that anyone would have cared; Himeko had been “sick” and “frail” from childhood, which Chizuru guessed were codewords to avoid making her be seen in public since she was such a failure in their eyes - or had been, anyway, until her little farce was discovered, but by then it was too late to change it. That was fine with her; it was more writing time.

They all looked like blobs of color from a distance. She put another sweet to her mouth.

Beyond the walls that opened for the Deustchians, the capital she’d never set foot in. The carriages of the royal princesses were always closed, with one tiny window not for sightseeing, but for ventilation, so all she knew were vague sounds that seemed muffled. She had no interest in it, either; what good was the outside world? She…

Fine. Chizuru had become a shut-in in this life, something only the fact she’d need to pay her own rent had made her avoid becoming. The life outside palace walls seemed scary, sunlight an enemy instead of a welcome friend, her death looming over her head, replaying every time she left the palace. Chizuru didn’t want to go out, but she enjoyed watching through a window, like a bird in a cage. She was one, anyway.

When she was sure the welcome was over, Chizuru wandered off to her favorite little writing spot: the library. She had started there, between books, so writing there felt nice and right. Sure, she’d managed to get a typewriter, but writing by hand still felt good, sometimes. Besides, the typewriter was too bulky to be carried everywhere.

Nozomi trailed behind her; the two chatted happily about details of the plot of her next book, Dryad’s Trick, from the spin off focusing on one of Ako’s associates, and as such, distracted as she was, Chizuru barely realized when she hit someone.

She reeled back a step, gathering her kimono, and looked up: blonde man in a low ponytail, blue eyes, clearly foreigner, dressed in a military uniform, one that her brain immediately classified as vaguely French, blue and gold. Pretty, in the way any youth was.

A man from Deustchia, surely. Not many blue eyed, blonde haired men in Alternate Universe Japan.

“I am sorry.” Chizuru murmured, bowing. Himeko wasn’t in graces good enough to be caught being arrogant, so sniveling and cowering was the way to go. “Have I hurt your grace?”

The man paused. Shit, maybe he didn’t speak Japanese. She tried to recall what little Elias had passed her, but pronunciation was always hard, especially when she didn’t have a tutor. She’d tried to find one, but again, the lack of a good standing made no one show up.

“No, I am the one who’s sorry.” He said, almost flawless Japanese rolling off his tongue. It took all of Chizuru’s will to not let surprise show in her face; he had just a little bit of an accent to his words. “I’m lost, I’m afraid. May I trouble you to lead me to the library, lady…?”

It was Chizuru’s turn to pause. She doubted that he cared about Himeko - he probably would escape as soon as possible if he thought this was a royal ambush, and Chizuru… Shit, she longed for conversation. Damn it.

“Oh! Pardon my rudeness.” Another bow, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I am lady Maki. May I have the pleasure of receiving your name?”

The man nodded slowly.

“I am king Jakob of Deustchia. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, lady Maki. Please, lead the way.”

Chizuru felt cold sweat drip down her back. She kept the smile tightly glued to her face. Alright, so she was deluding a king. What did she know about Deustchia? She was aware of its new king: the man in front of her, a young man that Chizuru knew was of marriageable age and so intelligent. Not much more was known to her, hermit that she was.

Still - maybe it was just a diplomat having a jest with her, expecting her to be doe eyed and giggly because a king was in front of her, but Chizuru would not give him such satisfaction.

The two did not speak; Chizuru simply led him through the maze of hallways, allowing him time to stop in front of the paintings and arrangements that decorated the palace, as if he’d never seen it. He probably hadn’t.

She did not make him walk faster, nor slower, keeping an even pace through. It was his time to lose.

Chizuru opened the doors to the library, and stepped aside so the king would see it. He seemed amazed, and honestly, Chizuru, too, had been in awe - shelves that seemed to reach the skies, paper-covered windows to not damage the books, a plush carpet that seemed to absorb the sounds of the entire outside world. It was her favorite place for a reason.

“I hope you manage to find something enjoyable, your highness.” Chizuru said, bowing. The king looked at her, and there was still that fascinated glint in his eyes. “I’ll be reading, so if you wish for anything, please let me know.”

“Oh, thank you, lady Maki.” A pause, and Chizuru stood in place, waiting for the question that was written in his face. “This will sound stupid.”

The fact she could barely detect an accent was delectable. What had made him learn Japanese so well? No way it was to prepare for the trip.

“Does the library have…” A pause, chewing his bottom lip. How adorable. “Ako’s Mysteries? By Chizuru, or her highness, princess Himeko? It’s a long shot, but since they’re quite popular...”

Chizuru’s smile did not falter as his words trailed off. Why the fuck was he looking for her books?

“I think they’re on the shelf with the red strip, three shelves down the left, from the middle. Let me show you.” Chizuru, the author of the books he sought, replied, walking inside the library, the king trailing after her like a puppy. She turned her head to face him and glimpsed Nozomi in panic behind him. “Are you looking for a specific volume?”

His eyes shone, excitedly. Oh, boy.

“Yes, I’ve heard that volume twenty-three, The dog of the Dellavilles, has been published, and I’m afraid my travels started quite a bit earlier than the first volumes would arrive in Deustchia.” There was a smile on his face. Chizuru was so, so fucked. Shit. Why she had to be the one to cross paths with him? Damn it. “So well, since I’m here, why not enjoy a bit of reading? I’m so interested in the author’s hints that Ako would face off some sort of incredible beast.”

The author made a noise. She wasn’t able to describe it, except perhaps for panic. Thankfully, the shelf was not very far; she stood firmly and pointed inside.

“It must be somewhere in here.” She said, trying - and hopefully it was working! - to keep her voice stable. “I hope you enjoy it, your highness. The ending is delectable.”

“So you are a fan!” He seemed excited, the smile in his mouth so large Chizuru would’ve found it cute in any other situation. She had a very excitable fan in her hands, and she’d never been so glad to have lied about her name.

“Of sorts, yes. I shall be going, but again, I’m going to be just around the corner.” Chizuru replied, and the king nodded enthusiastically, going after his prized book.

Chizuru booked it to the farthest end of the library as soon as his back was turned, Nozomi right behind her, still holding her papers to write. Shit. Shit. Shit!

She hid on a table in a corner, behind a few shelves, and put her head in her hands, hair between her fingers.

“Forgive my language, Nozomi.” She started, and Nozomi, behind her, was also leaning heavily into the chair. “But I’ve made it into a mess, yeah? Like, I’m fucked.”

“My lady, yes, you are.” Nozomi groaned, taking a deep breath, ever the problem solver. “Very well. Obviously, his and her royal highness will wish to show off your highness your sisters for marriage, so I think I can safely say you are busy and cannot attend the state dinners in king Jakob’s honor.”

Bless however had said she was sickly. She was going to kiss them.

“Great! I’ll just hole myself up in my room.” She looked at Nozomi, highly hopeful. “And not come out ever again until they all leave.”

It would be great for writing, too! She’d miss her library, but it would be better this way. She just didn’t want to deal with… Whatever fallout this could have.

“However, since you have not attended the royal welcome, you are to attend the farewell banquet.” Nozomi added, and Chizuru groaned. “Yes, my lady, I am sorry. Alas.”

“Alas.” Chizuru rested her head against the table, cool and refreshing. She closed her eyes, trying to machinate some way of getting out of the farewell banquet, and only opened them again when she heard the soft thud of a pile of books - her books. Damn it - being put on the table. She rose her head, put on her best smile. “Oh! King Jakob. What do I owe the honor?”

He smiled, picking up A study in grey from the top of the pile.

“I figured some company for reading would be nice, although I don’t see you with a book.”

“Sudden migraine. It happens.” She fingered the spine of the book, nail getting caught on the raised kanjis. “I thought you were going to read volume twenty-three?”

“I was.” He smiled fondly at the book, as if they were longtime friends. “Then I saw they had the first one, and, well, it’s my favorite. I’d read my own copy, but it’s so battered I’m afraid it’ll disintegrate. The books shaped my view of the world, if I’m honest. It might be foolish of me, but I do owe a lot to Ako and… Well, the author, too.”

Oh, she was so going to preen. She already could sense Nozomi’s stare on the back of her head, but hey - how rare was her actually getting one-on-one time with a fan? And one of such high standing, as well!

“Do tell more, I’m afraid I haven’t quite read the full series.” She put her hands on her chin, elbows on the table. The sleeves of her kimono fell slightly, and the king trailed his eyes on it. Chizuru ignored it.

“I like her outlook on life. Even when dealing with murder cases, Ako keeps a positive view. Her backstory, too, is a bit…” A pause, and the king’s eyes looked away from her wrist after a mere glance, focusing on her eyes again. Prude. “Well, I’m sure you know. But Ako was a great source of comfort.”

She did not know what to make out of it. Geopolitics was not her best subject. She barely had made it through tutoring sessions, having graduated at age sixteen and since then only focusing on writing, isolated from the world. So, yeah. No way she knew the backstory of king Jakob of Deustchia. If she could read the author’s narration of her own story, she’d know it. However, Chizuru was busy living it.

Still, Chizuru couldn’t let that be known. She simply smiled.

“I see. I’m glad she has brought you some happiness. Perhaps I should read it again as well.” The king got visibly giddy, eyes shining like the sky, closing the book. “Don’t stop reading the first one on account of me, your highness. Please. My migraine wouldn’t let me, anyway. Allow me to be your company, if for a while.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.” The king, then, opened the book. Chizuru gestured for the writing implements from Nozomi, who gave her a side glance and a sigh.

She didn’t know how to draw; that was her brother. However, Chizuru could write, and the king reading so avidly made her want to write a new short story. A little novella, maybe, about a kid who delved into books to escape his life.

The sun was setting when Chizuru rose, stretched, feeling bones crack in her body. The king rose his eyes at the sound, looking at her.

“It’s late, your highness.” She said, picking her papers - five and a half pages! A good session -, and the king looked up from his book. He’d made it almost one third of the way through. “I shall be retiring.”

“Very well.” He closed the book, put it atop the pile, hands lingering on it. “Will I see you at dinner?”

An excitable note in his voice. Chizuru smiled.

“I’m afraid I’m not in a rank high enough to join a royal dinner, your highness.” Lie. A very bold-faced lie. “But if you wish to meet me again, I’ll be here tomorrow. Same time.”

Wow! She was really fucking stupid, just speaking words like he cared about it. The king, however, smiled.

“It’ll be a pleasure to have your company again, lady Maki.” He replied, and gave her a bow. Chizuru bowed back and left.

Nozomi had the decency of waiting until Chizuru was in her room, thrown in bed, to speak up.

“If he catches wind you are the author, my lady…” She started, and Chizuru looked at her maid.

“Do you think father could pinpoint me out of a sea of noble ladies?” She waved Nozomi’s concerns away. She turned in bed, facing the ceiling, hands in her belly. “It’s fine, really. I just have to keep a low profile until the farewell banquet, then pretend I don’t know him.”

“Life isn’t a novel, my lady.” Chizuru rolled her eyes at this. Uh, yeah, it sure fucking was, and the author sucked.

As promised, Chizuru went to the library at the same time as before, and found the king already waiting and reading, engrossed in his book. Chizuru smiled sweetly, sliding on the seat in front of him.

“You’re early.” Chizuru commented, grabbing her little story from yesterday from Nozomi. The king startled and looked at her for a second, before easing into a smile. “Is it that good?”

“Quite, but I’m afraid my opinion doesn’t count much, since I’m a fan.” He replied, and Chizuru nodded, dipping her pen into ink. “What are you writing?”

“Diary entries.” Lie. She hoped he wasn’t able to read kanji when they were upside down. Maybe she should dig out some sort of code.

“So long?” He pointed out, and Chizuru huffed.

“I have a rich inner life, your highness.” She smiled at him, went back to writing, the words flowing out of her pen with ease. She enjoyed writing, nowadays, more than she enjoyed reading. Perhaps because, when she wrote, she was back at her dingy little apartment, bathed by the cool blue light of her computer, alone.

Chizuru did not miss Japan, but she missed the conveniences of technology. The typewriter was nice, yes, but she hated having to rewrite entire pages just to catch one little typo.

The king offered no answers, and Chizuru, thus, offered no replies: between the two was just the scratch of pen against paper and the sound of pages being turned. It felt nice to have company for writing other than Nozomi, even if he was quiet. That didn’t matter. If she wanted, she could stop, stare at his face - he had the most wonderful reactions for a book he’d read so much he destroyed it -, and then go back to writing.

Did she notice the way he looked at how she dipped her pen in ink? How she put a stray strand of hair behind her ear? Of course Chizuru did. But if he would not speak up, then neither would she.

For two weeks, Chizuru sat down in the afternoons with the king as he read and she wrote. She finished the short story and locked it, deciding to publish it after the king was away, and started a new one, about a mundane life back in her own time. That one would never see the light of day. The king liked chatting, she found after the third day: more often than not, he’d spend more time chatting with her than actually doing any reading.

He liked talking about books, all those he’d read, and all those she had not. Chizuru, though, also enjoyed talking about books, those she’d read and those he hadn’t. Sometimes, she’d slip in and accidentally speak of a novel from her own world. He didn’t seem to notice, fascinated by the idea of the world she let go in tidbits and pieces. The king didn’t find it realistic, and Chizuru - who knew the reality - argued back, citing that it didn’t need to be realistic to be good, and he’d sit, pensive, for a moment. Chizuru hoped she would not influence him.

He liked gossip as much as he liked books, a grandma in a young boy’s body, and Chizuru - sheltered Chizuru - drank the tidbits he told about life in the court of Deustchia. She enjoyed gossiping back, offering her own theories on things, and sometimes, he even talked politics with her. Chizuru knew little about politics, even the ones in this country she was living in, but hearing people speak so seriously about the problems of their country (and sometimes even come up with a decent answer that would make the king smile a bit) felt good. Perhaps Himeko’s father shouldn’t have excluded her from politics.

He had; this was not up for debate. She couldn’t deny this, considering her own debut had been a somber affair, and unlike her siblings, they had never invited her to take part in courtly meetings. She supposed he was still mad about the royal printing house debacle. So, yes - powerless little Himeko, whose only power was producing novels, and had no political sway. That was… Something. Chizuru couldn’t name it.

Every sunset, they’d part. He took to kissing her knuckles. Chizuru found it charming, really. Maybe even a bit interesting - she…

Fuck. She didn’t have exactly much skin-to-skin contact with members of the opposite sex in neither this nor her past life. She’d been a shy nerd more focused on writing, solitary and in her own little fantasy world, to care about things her fifteen-year-old self had deemed foolish daydreams of a fleeting age. Then she was eighteen, nineteen, twenty, and her shitty job had taken more of her than she’d like to admit, and romance became a lovely dream. She’d had her fair share of boyfriends, sure, but nothing worthy of a novel, more like two or three dates that fizzled into nothing.

Then she died and became a child, which was not good for her romantic life. She’d done her entire life again the exact same: solitary nerd more focused in her own little fantasy world than romantic matters, except this time she… Well, not actively yearned for it because what good was that for her, but the wish was there, passively waiting until something came and activated; in her case, a man’s mouth on her skin, timid, as if she were a shy creature that would flee upon the barest form of contact.

Well, she was, really, but there was something endearing in being treated as if she was precious.

It felt nice to be wanted. If he wanted her, and not simply a mere toy to have whilst in Niponia. But if there was one thing Chizuru was good with, it was pretending.

“Your outfit…” The king started, one day, and Chizuru rose her eyes from her writing, blinking quickly to get rid of the ghosts it left in her vision, spectres of kanji.

“This old thing?” She picked at the thread: it was still in her size, yes, but a good year out of fashion. The joys, she supposed, of rejection.

“The pattern is different from what I’ve seen so far.” Yeah, Chizuru thought it would be. Like the old days, Niponia had strict views on what should be used when, even for colors and art on the fabric. Alas, she had little choice. Moths had eaten her kimonos for this month, so she was waiting on new ones to arrive, whenever they did. “They all seem so… Different. Maybe it’s because in Deustchia, all dresses seem the same to me.”

Yeah, they were different. She was wearing light blue and a scene of carps in a river, whilst everyone else wore bold, summer-worthy colors and patterns. She stood out - negatively. Blessed be the fact she didn’t have to go out.

“Yes, it’s a pattern belonging to the previous month. Carps, flowers, wisterias. All those auspicious things for the summer that’ll come.” She abandoned her pen, put a fist to her cheek, elbow on the table. “I’ll admit that, whilst I have not seen court dresses from Deustchia, I’m sure they all must look different, and your highness simply doesn’t see it because he’s used to them.”

“No, they aren’t. Everyone seems like they’ve got hips the size of doors.” He leaned in, eyes shining. Chizuru giggled softly. She didn’t think it could be interesting. “Is there a difference between months?”

“Several! Nozomi, could you please pick up the book on etiquette? The newest edition, I’m sure there must be one...” Her words trailed off as she heard Nozomi move. She looked at the king. “The size of doors?”

“The size of doors. I don’t know how they move on those things. Here, let me… Can I use one of your papers?” Chizuru did not answer, giving him a blank piece and the pen, watching as he hastily drew what looked, to her mind that still vaguely remember all the research she’d done, like an exaggeratedly large crinoline from the mid-1800s. Chizuru could, however, say he had a bit of talent for drawing. A bit. It was barely recognizable, if Chizuru hadn’t been slightly familiar with it. “See? Large.”

“No way. This seems like such a waste of fabric!” She laughed, and he tapped the pen on the paper, creating a dot.

“My slight research tells me it’s some sort of structure.” Chizuru smirked at him, maliciously so, and he blushed prettily. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking!”

“I am thinking nothing that is not appropriate, your highness.” She hummed, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “So, how did you determine it’s some sort of structure?”

A pause. Chizuru waited.

“Promise me you won’t laugh.” Oh, this was going to be so good. Chizuru nodded, and he opened his eyes gingerly. “I watch as they move. It’s clearly very manageable, so it can’t be fabric. So much of it would render the dress immobile, so it’s clearly something else.”

Chizuru nodded. He was right, but she would not be the one to tell him that. Let him find out through a wife or something.

“A fair judgement.” Nozomi arrived with the book soon after, and Chizuru thanked her, before opening it on the colorfully drawn out page with the patterns for each month, tapping the one with the current month’s pattern. “See? Here’s what is currently being worn in court. Color suggestions, too, and even fabrics you should use. I’m not doing any of these.”

He cocked his head, touched the page as well, looked at Chizuru up and down.

“By choice?”

No.

“Yes.”

Another lie. The king didn’t need to know how many she had said already.

Nozomi went out to pick up her letters. Chizuru stayed in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then rising. Nozomi always took the time to dress her up before leaving, which meant all she had to do was stroll out of her rooms, carrying her writing materials, humming contently. She paused at a window, looking outside: a beautiful day, sky blue and windows fluffy. She could see people moving around the gardens in groups, and smiled at the sight. There were people patrolling the walls, small little soldiers that were, to her, as big as toys.

“Good morning, my lady.” Hummed the king, and Chizuru turned, cocking her head, watching as the king dismissed the entourage he was with. They all gave her a side glance. She could figure why quite easily; her kimono and simple hairstyle did not point to her as being a princess: it said that she was barely more than a glorified maid. The luxuries, she supposed, were all to her pretty sisters. Chizuru, though, quite preferred it that way: easier to move undetected through the palace. “I do not see your maid today.”

He was paying attention to Nozomi? Fascinating. Chizuru bowed. The king bowed back.

“Good morning, your highness.” Chizuru replied, looking at him, hands holding her material against her chest. “If it’s Nozomi you’re looking for, I’m afraid it’s her day off and you’re stuck with me.”

He paused, regarded her for a long moment. Chizuru blinked lazily, waiting. What words, she wondered, would come out of his mouth?

“Don’t all ladies have a secondary maid?”

“Not in this court, no.” She was sure her sisters had several, but again, princess Himeko was not liked, so no extra maids for her. “Besides, who doesn’t enjoy a moment of freedom or two sometimes, your highness?”

“A fair enough point. Would you, then, my lady, enjoy a day in the city? I’ve never been there, unless passing through it to reach the castle, and it looked particularly interesting.” Chizuru looked at him, sheepish, fiddling with her papers. Shit. Shit. There was a panic attack brewing in her heart. “I won’t even invite you for dinner, if you accept.”

“My king, I’m not good company. I’ve never been to town. I’d bore you, surely.” The king stared at her, and, seemingly unaware of her panic, smiled, reaching for her hands. Chizuru gave him one to hold, and hoped the trembling she felt in her bones was not something he’d pick up on.

“Lady Maki, with you by my side, how can things be boring? Please.” A pause, where silence stretched into infinity. “Of course, if you don’t want to, I will not force you.”

Chizuru gritted her teeth. A day outside couldn’t be that bad, surely. It was just a town, and she’d lived in towns before. She walked busy streets. Chizuru knew how to live. Right? Right.

“Very well, then I’ll go with you. Aren’t you a puppy, your highness?” If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. She laughed, and pulled her hand, still in his. “Shall we go, then?”

He nodded, and started walking from the direction he’d gone to.

They went into a carriage - the man keeping them didn’t blink at her, and why would he? After all, everyone knew princess Himeko did not go outside -, and Chizuru watched the town through the window, seeing the world change in front of her eyes as it passed through the castle entrance. The world morphed into more gardens, ones the stone walls blocked her views of. She guessed that its purpose was not decorative, but practical: to allow housing glued to the palace walls would be a liability to the security of the rulers.

It took a good ten minutes for the gardens to stop and houses to begin, all looking like - well. Like a little Edo era village, as if she was watching a historical movie: houses with tilted roofs and wooden doors, colorful banners announcing the shops they were, people in the road passing by the carriage, trying to get a glimpse of its contents. Chizuru retreated to the safety of the carriage when she accidentally made eye contact with someone, closing the window, its shade cooling her, and she looked at the king, who blushed at being caught looking at her.

“Was the view not enjoyable enough, your highness?” Chizuru asked, and the king gave her a wry little smile.

“Oh, I was enjoying plenty.” He replied. The carriage stopped in front of a small tea shop, and the sudden movement sent Chizuru flying. She braced for hitting the carriage seating opposite to her, but all she felt were arms around her waist. Chizuru looked up, and saw the king’s reddened face too close to hers. “I’m sorry.”

He did not move. Neither did she, feeling his arms against her, the way she found herself pressed against him.

They stood there for a long moment, until the driver knocked, and they separated in a haughty, frayed moment. She cleared her throat, smiled like nothing happened, and the two left the carriage with the heat of one another seared in their memories.

They walked around, rather aimlessly, between the crowd. It was maddening, but soon the king pulled her into a shop that was empty and cool, the shade refreshing. Her skin felt warm, still, from the king’s touch. Chizuru said nothing, losing herself in front of a low shelf full of shiny trinkets, observing them, running her fingers over their smooth surfaces. A little silver goldfish in a pendant, a rabbit sniffing at the ground, maple leaves, rings with colorful glass for jewels. All cheap. All pretty. She grabbed one quietly, analyzed it.

In her past life, would she even give something like this the time of the day? Her room had no decor, empty walls, and bedsheets in monochrome. The piles of books she had barely counted as decoration: they were clutter, hastily organized, any minor earthquake making them fall in piles she never reorganized.

Her room in the palace was much the same: paintings decorated the walls, and Chizuru had never bothered with looking at them, and books piled themselves up around in piles Nozomi struggled to keep neat. Her futons, she supposed, were colorful, but they added nothing to her. She didn’t even decorate herself: no jewelry, hair with none of the bands she saw people using to keep it out of the way, long and flowing freely. She half-wanted to braid it, or maybe put it in a ponytail, but maybe that’d be too avant-garde.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Chizuru jumped, barely holding onto the trinket she held. Looking up, the king looked back at her.

“Hi. Sorry, did I startle you?” He asked as Chizuru rose, dusting her kimono.

“No, not at all. Is there something wrong?” He was holding something behind his back. A trinket, surely. Probably for someone else.

“No. Do you want some tea? The store owner told me of a lovely little shop down the road.” He said, and Chizuru grinned.

“Tea sounds lovely.”

They had tea in a private room, quiet and where the only thing she could see were trees, some sort of small, internal garden where the walls blocked the sounds of the world outside. There were a few colorful birds sitting in the branches, singing pleasantly.

Chizuru poured his tea, after having prepared it carefully. She’d learned etiquette and knew what to do, gentle and soft.

“I didn’t think you’d like tea, your highness.” Chizuru asked, a murmur barely louder than the pour itself. He was picking at the sweets, looking at them as if afraid they’d disappear if he looked away. They were cute: little bunny-shaped white things, leaves in green mochi batter, and even a tiny apple in red.

“I’ve never had it this way. Is it okay to eat these?” He asked, still staring, and Chizuru smiled.

“Yes, it’s suggested you eat them before the tea.” To make a point, she reached over the plate, grabbed the bunny one, and popped it whole in her mouth. It was small enough she could get away with it, biting it in half and feeling the sweet filling fill her mouth before swallowing. The king looked at her, then gingerly grabbed the leaf-shaped one, eating it in two bites.

Surprise showed in his face, and Chizuru watched him eat. When he finished the sweets, she gestured at the tea, and the two drank together, watching the birds that still sung.

“Isn’t this lovely?” Chizuru sighed, and he gave a nod to her. “What do the people of Deustchia do to relax, your highness?”

“It usually involves a higher alcohol content, my lady.” A wry smile, and whilst Chizuru, day to day, barely remembered the terrible beers she’d drink after a long summer day, she suddenly found herself craving one. “Your sake is not like beer, I’m afraid.”

Shit, yeah, they had beer. Chizuru doubted they’d come cool in a nice can, though. Probably barrels and warmth. Terrible.

“I’ve never had one, your highness, so I cannot comment on it.” Chizuru took another sip of her tea, and looked at him as he looked, dreamily, outside.

He was handsome, in the same way those anime characters meant to represent Europeans were: a stereotype. How did anyone take him seriously, when he looked like he’d come out of the pages of a manga, instead of a bedroom, every morning? Maybe she needed to stop judging appearances; he was compassionate, kind, and cared about someone like her, who was a princess but so far low in the political ring she barely existed.

He’d make a wonderful husband to one of her sisters, surely.

The thought made her see red for no discernible reason, Chizuru furrowing her brows. Was she in love with some guy from her terrible novella world after a mere two weeks? Some guy who probably would see a heroine (because there was always one, a girl who was nice and kind, a girl with actual social abilities and power) and leave her for whoever in a second. She didn’t need a broken heart.

Chizuru washed these feelings with the tea.

They left the teahouse after an hour and a secondary round of tea and sweets, and he offered her an arm to hold as they walked through cramped streets, people passing by her so close she could feel the fabric of their clothes on her skin. Chizuru could feel cold sweat pooling in her temples, stomach knotting into itself, the world in muted color.

There were too many people. When they were blobs of color from her window, fine - but when she was a blob herself? No. Not fine. Her breathing was shallow, and the smile on her lips, thin and terse.

All it took was someone hitting her with enough strength before Chizuru had to step back to make her stop, closing her eyes. The king said something, but his voice sounded garbled, as if she was underwater, and Chizuru opened her eyes.

“I think I’ve seen a friend, your highness. Please, excuse me.” She didn’t give him time to reply, turning and fleeing amongst the crowd, trying to find somewhere empty of people, taking little paths until she somehow landed herself in a tiny alley, more a space between two houses that had never been marked down than a corner properly. Chizuru rested her head against the wall, eyes closed, sliding down until the hair Nozomi had brushed was a tangled mess. Shit. Shit. She’d never had a panic attack in either life, even though she knew the symptoms; her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her ribcage. Fuck.

If the king didn’t think of her as a weirdo before, surely he did now. And - why the hell she cared for his opinion of her, anyway? Chizuru was a weirdo, a shut-in who only wrote books. To be panicking in a crowd was expected behavior of her.

She opened her eyes, stared at the sliver of grey skies, and frowned at it. Grey? It had been blue earlier. So much time couldn’t have passed, right?

A gentle yelp from the streets as rain fell, hitting her face. Chizuru scrambled to her feet, pressing herself against the wall, seeing the drops hit the ground, and cursed. She shouldn’t have left the palace. She shouldn’t have left her house, in the first place: if she’d just become a shut-in, then…

The rain kept falling. Chizuru kept her eyes glued to the ground, unmoving, thoughts swirling in her head. She needed to get out, find king Jakob, and then go back to the safety of the palace walls. Chizuru couldn’t stay there, statue-like. She needed home, and home needed her. As soon as she could move. As soon as she could...

“Lady Maki!” Called a familiar voice, and her head snapped in the sound's direction. There was king Jakob, dripping wet, a look of a lost dog in his blue eyes. “There you are, I was searching for you.”

“Sorry.” She said, still unmoving, and he approached her as one would a skittish cat: carefully. “It seems I’m not an appropriate company for outside, your highness.”

He stood by her side, a few centimeters away, but not enough for her to not feel the fact he was cold. She blinked, looked at him.

“You’re soaking wet!” She threw her hands at him, reaching for his cheeks, ignoring propriety; he was freezing.

“Am I?” A frown, and he looked down. Surprise sketched itself on his face. “Oh. It seems I am. Sorry.”

Chizuru put a hand to his shoulder, one hand still on his cheek. Maybe he’d warm up, if she did this.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be sorry, your highness.”

“Jakob.”

Chizuru blinked. She stared at him, and he seemed to blush. Was he already feverish? Was she going to cause an international incident?

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t think it’s fair that I get to call you by your name and you have to call me your highness.” He said, and Chizuru wondered if all foreigners were like this. “So, you can call me Jakob.”

He was insane.

“I’ll ask the palace doctor to check up on your first thing, your highness.” He pouted. Chizuru rolled her eyes, taking her hands off him. “Jakob. Fine. We should go back. I’m sure the Deustchian commission must be worried.”

“In the pouring rain, lady Maki?” He grinned, and grabbed Chizuru’s hand, wet and clammy. Chizuru turned her nose at it. “Come. The rain won’t kill us.”

She intertwined her fingers with his.

“If I am responsible for an incident, Jakob, I demand extradition to Deustchia.” She huffed as he pulled her along, the two walking towards the point where they'd begun their day.

The rain felt cool against her skin, but Jakob’s hand on hers felt so warm she could almost ignore it.

Nozomi looked at Chizuru, who sneezed pitifully, warm in a pair of pajamas after she’d peeled off her kimono on her own, hidden in a nest of blankets. The rain still poured outside, and she and Jakob had arrived both a mess. The man responsible for the stables had looked at them twice, and Chizuru could already hear the palace gossip.

“My lady.” She started, and Chizuru sneezed again. “What did you do?”

“I’m still pure, Nozomi, don’t worry. Where’s my letters?” She reached a hand out like a kid begging for sweets, and Nozomi sighed, sitting down, grabbing the thick stack of letters from her bag. Chizuru thumbed through them until she found Elias’ letter, snatching it from the middle and cracking the wax seal. The letter was a long one, as always was with Elias’, the boy telling her about his opinion on books. They were a lot like Jakob’s, so Chizuru made notes to tell him about her new friend - friend. Please. She did love to delude herself.

At the end of the letter, a sad little post-script written hurriedly:

p.s. I’m truly sorry, but I’m needed at home. I won’t be able to receive letters for a while, but I promise you I’ll write as soon as I’m back. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t like this.

Chizuru held the letter so tightly her knuckles turned white, tears threatening to spill out. No. Not Elias, the only contact with the outside world she had. After today? After...

She split it in half, causing Nozomi to startle, and Chizuru immediately regretted it, grabbing the pages tenderly, pressing them close against her chest. Nozomi approached her, forgetting propriety, and touched Chizuru’s hand gently.

“My lady?” Nozomi asked, so softly it was almost a hug.

“He can’t write anymore. Not regularly. I shouldn’t be upset. It’s just a penpal. Right?” She felt pitiful, like a child who’d lost a toy, and Nozomi, more of a mother to her than Himeko’s or even Chizuru’s own mother, hugged her.

Chizuru let the tears she didn’t understand fall, and Nozomi just stood there.

Her eyes were red, and there were no eyedrops in this world. Chizuru considered not going out to meet Jakob, knowing he’d worry, but maybe a sleepless night would be an answer. Right?

So off to the library she went, only to find the king in there, looking dazed. Chizuru slid in the seat opposite to him, staring at his face, cheeks red, eyes distant, mouth ajar.

“You’re with a fever, aren’t you?” Chizuru rose from her seat, put the back of her hand against his forehead, and hissed; he was burning up. “Who let you out of bed?”

“Me.” He mumbled, slurred, and Chizuru made her way around the table, forcing him to stand, holding him up. “I didn’t want to leave you alone and wondering where I was.”

She rolled her eyes, and made him walk, Nozomi quickly coming to her rescue and propping the king’s other side.

“If that’s your intelligence, Jakob, I fear for the state of Deustchia.” She huffed. “Nozomi, where’s the state guest rooms?”

“This way, my lady.” Nozomi replied, setting off their march. It surprised her a king did not have a guard; did they trust Niponia that much? That was stupid, but then, again, the entire setting Chizuru had been put in was incredibly stupid. She still wasn’t over the laziness that was the worldbuilding.

That wasn’t the matter, though; Jakob was sick, and if Chizuru could at least guide him to his rooms, where there’d certainly be a guard at his door, and she’d be able to put him to rest there and wash her hands off.

The walk was slow. No one bothered her; the maids simply looked at her, and then looked away. Please, Chizuru doubted they even knew she was princess Himeko. That was fine. They didn’t need to know.

They arrived at the king’s rooms after ten minutes, and there was a guard posted at the door: a Deustchian soldier in his shining armor. He barked something at her in the language. She elbowed Jakob, who muttered something that made the guard widen his eyes and open the door, picking the king up and letting Nozomi and Chizuru free. He put Jakob in bed, and he closed his eyes, lips once more half open, face red, like a cherub of sin from some old painting.

Focus, Chizuru, she thought, shaking her head, adopting Himeko’s royal capabilities. She was Himeko and Himeko was her, so Chizuru probably had some talent for the thing. Right?

“Nozomi, call the palace doctor and ask him why wasn’t king Jakob checked up yesterday.” She said, and Nozomi, with a sharp nod, left the room. The guard looked at Chizuru, frowned, and she waved him away, pulling at the sleeves of her kimono, and opened his shirt.

The guard muttered something that sounded rude. Chizuru didn’t care for him and his sensibilities. At the mumbling, Jakob opened his eyes, sitting up.

“You’re not taking off my shirt, lady Maki.” He muttered, undoing the buttons himself in a clumsy manner, letting her see tantalizing bits of skin. “There’s a few in the third drawer.”

She rose from the bed, going to the third drawer, opening it to find neatly folded piles of shirts. She picked one at random.

“You should have a page. Or a guard that follows you, you know.” She replied, and he chuckled.

“I rather enjoy my privacy.”

“Oh, please. You need someone to keep you in bed, Jakob. What if you had passed out on the way to the library?”

“You’d have found me. I trust in you.” He said, and Chizuru rolled her eyes. “Just throw the shirt, please, I don’t wish to hurt your sensibilities.”

Chizuru thought, longingly, on the definitely not safe for work manga she’d read in her past lifetime. She threw the shirt, waited until she heard him flop back in bed, and looked at him. His hair looked like a halo around his head, his eyes closed, and Chizuru…

Oh. Shit, no, she wasn’t going to just kiss him. Fuck no. No romance.

She approached the bed, sat down, and his fingers found her hand almost automatically. Chizuru looked in shock, for a moment, at it, but when she looked at him, he was already snoring softly.

Okay. Okay, fine. She waited there until the doctor came, Nozomi in tow, and she smiled at the doctor who, of course, recognized her. Why wouldn’t he? She, as part of the royal family, had health check-ups every three months, so someone knew what she looked like, and could see that she was not pleased about this. He was a tiny little old man, dressed simply, stethoscope on his neck. She had to admit using western medicine practices in a Japanese setting was actually consistent with the worldbuilding so far, so it was whatever. She had more important matters at hand.

“Doctor Murakami, old friend!” She greeted with a smile, and the doctor paused. “So, care to tell me why the king of Deustchia is sick?”

“Your highness, I checked on his highness yesterday and he was fine, your highness, but if it’s your wish, I shall check him up again.” He waited for her to move, and Chizuru did not, raising the hand that Jakob still had clamped up on. The doctor sighed, moved to the other side of the bed, and set to work. Chizuru watched with her best snotty-nosed look. Maybe being a princess was some fun, and only she hadn’t realized yet.

Then, again, it wasn’t like Chizuru tried. She’d just thrown herself into writing.

The doctor finished his examinations, murmured some medicines for Nozomi to pick up, and Chizuru kept looking, watching as Jakob breathed. He then looked at her.

“I am sure you know my father can’t be aware of this, doctor Murakami.” Chizuru cooed, and the doctor nodded. “Good! Then you are dismissed. Please, do come to tend to him later.”

He eyed their held hands, made his lips into a thin line, and gave her a sharp nod. Of course he didn’t enjoy being ordered around by a powerless princess, but then, again, it wasn’t just her: Chizuru was, currently, the mouthpiece of a king. Power felt good.

Jakob’s hand on hers, though, felt better.

She woke up with a start, looking out the window: darkness had fallen. Chizuru revisited her memories - she’d stood by the bed, helped Nozomi give him medicine, helped him eat, and then she’d slipped to the floor, yawning a little. He’d not let go of her hand yet, and a quick check told her that yes, their hands were still glued together.

Chizuru looked at him, and Jakob, smiling like a cat that had eaten the canary, looked at her.

“I could commit regicide right now.” She drawled, and his smile only grew.

“You won’t.”

“You weren’t even awake to hear which medicines the doctor gave. I could’ve asked him to prescribe me a poison.” Chizuru said, and he cocked his head, sweat-stricken hair plastered to his temples.

Pretty. He’d make such a good husband to anyone else but her. There’d be a heroine for him, one day, and it wasn’t her.

“And let your guard down by sleeping? I don’t think so, lady Maki.” He brought her hand closer, kissed it. “I have something for you.”

She cocked her head, and he reached for something in his nightstand, finding a little wooden box. He handed it to her, and Chizuru opened the little box, revealing a metallic feather, the grooves tinted in red. It had a small chain and a hook, with a little silver piece on the hook. An earring; she touched her ear instinctively. Did she even have the holes for it? She guessed not.

“It’s pretty.” She told him, rather truthfully, and he seemed delighted. “Is this from that little shop?”

“Yes. I saw it on the front and I thought it’d suit you.” He reached for her face, cradling it as if she was made of porcelain instead of metal. He then gave a glance to her ears, brushing delicately her hair out of place. “Oh! You don’t have…”

Chizuru smiled at him, gave him the earring, and cocked her head. He stared at Chizuru for a long second, until she spoke again.

“Okay, put it in.” He looked horrified, and Chizuru put her arms in bed, resting her head in them. “Come on, it’s just an ear.”

“That’s obscene!”

“You gave me a gift, Jakob. Be a darling, will you? There’s a candle, if you want to clean it.” He hesitated for a second, but gave her a nod, reaching for the candle and letting the hook heat up after he removed the stopper piece. When it was orange, he took it off the flame. Jakob touched her earlobe for a moment, trying to guess where it went, before he decided on a point and oh so gently stabbed her.

Searing pain, for a moment; she bit her own arm to not cry out. It lasted a moment, only, though, before he put the stopper in place and Chizuru could raise her head, feeling her ear throb.

The tip of the feather rested against her shoulder. It felt heavy, but he looked at her like she was the prettiest woman on Earth.

“You look…” He started, reaching for her face.She needed to cut that out.

“I should go, while the servants still sleep.” His fingers didn’t let go of her, though. “Jakob.”

“Sorry. You look like you could be a warrior queen.” Chizuru gave him a bitter smile.

“So romantic, your highness.” She rose from her spot on the floor, his fingers trailing her face before dropping in bed, looking around. Nozomi laid on a spot near the door, sleeping, and she smiled at her maid. “Nozomi, wake up.”

She did with a quick blink, rising to her feet like a robot, and she bowed to the king.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, your highness.” Chizuru smiled, and as she turned back, she pretended to not see him look at his hand.

A knock on her door as Nozomi put on the last knot of her obi: they looked at each other through the mirror, and Chizuru gestured she go and get it, whilst she finished the look. It wasn’t much - again, it wasn’t like she had much -, but it looked nice.

A guard in finery stood at the door. Chizuru looked at him through her mirror, analyzing the man: well dressed, old, an array of honors pinned to his armor. One of the king’s own guards.

“The king commands his daughter, princess Himeko, to go see him as soon as she can.” He said, and Chizuru gave him a sharp nod as Nozomi bowed, thanking him.

She smiled at the guard. Did she even remember how to smile politely? All of hers had been so genuine, lately.

“Then I won’t keep him waiting. Please, sir, lead the way.” Chizuru replied. The guard said nothing else, and marched out. Chizuru, feeling like she was in a funeral march, followed a moment after she took out the earring, leaving it delicately on her desk.

Doctor Murakami stood at the foot of her father’s throne, but Chizuru’s smile did not falter as she bowed.

Why would he have listened to a powerless princess, after all?

“Father, what makes you remember I exist?” She asked, and he looked at her as if she was a worm beneath his shoe. Chizuru supposed she was.

“Doctor Murakami tells me you spent the night caring for king Jakob.” A pause, and Chizuru kept smiling. “What have you done, girl?”

“My duty as a host, of course. Am I to leave a sick man in bed, alone?” She tutted, and her father said nothing. “Nothing happened between me and king Jakob.”

“You were seen riding into the city with him.” She should’ve figured out someone spoke. Perhaps people knew what she looked like, or perhaps she did, in fact, have a guard. “This is not acceptable behavior for a princess. We shall send you to our castle on the other side of the country for the foreseeable future.”

Nice, exile event. It made no sense, but she supposed it was her time to bow out of the story and become a tragic figure. Chizuru clasped her trembling hands together, took a deep breath.

“He’ll wonder what happened, you know.” She was banking on the fact that they didn’t know Chizuru was lying to him. He wouldn’t wonder about a court lady being sent away. “And it’s not like you can send a princess away without the proper send off. People will wonder what is happening. And our guests! Have you thought about what Deustchia will think? It’ll look live you’re telling everyone the problems on the royal family!”

A pause. A long one. Chizuru kept her hands clasped until he spoke again.

“Then you are, until the Deustchian delegation goes away, to stay in your rooms. After that, we will send you off.”

“Give me today with him, at least.” Her voice sounded like she was begging, and Chizuru was. “Let me drive him away and into Kimiko’s and Atsuko’s arms.”

He gave her a nod, quick, and Chizuru’s legs almost gave out. One more day. One day. A few measly, scant hours, with the king. Not Jakob, no. Never Jakob anymore.

Himeko’s father dismissed her, but she barely heard it, her mind already in the library.

The same conversation about dinner they had every day, except the king smiled at her. He was already better: nothing bedrest and medicine didn’t solve.

“Then perhaps dinner in my quarters?”

Both ignored Nozomi, choking behind Chizuru. Chizuru barely blinked at his proposal.

“Of course.” Chizuru bit back a smile. What were Himeko’s sisters doing that they couldn’t keep this man entertained? He had gone out with a complete nobody, power-wise, instead of, who knew, wooing her sisters!

“Please, lady Maki, I - “ Chizuru couldn’t bite back this smile, genuine surprise in her face, flushing her cheeks in pink as he paused, surprised. “You said yes.”

“That I did.” He raised his hand, hesitated, and let it drop again. The earring felt heavy in her ear. She stared at it for a beat, and then went back to his eyes. “You want my boring company for dinner, then well, let me make you regret it.”

Touch starved, thy name is Chizuru. As if she hadn’t held his hand for hours a few days ago.

“Then I’ll let you talk about books.”

She offered him a guffaw.

“You’re insane. Books? We could do that in the library! Shouldn’t you be talking about, I don’t know, trade routes?”

“Those are dreadfully boring. We eat in the library, if you’d like to keep talking about books. Is there anything else you’d like to say? Because so far, I’m unable to regret my offer.” Chizuru felt herself blushing, mouth agape. “Good! Shall we go? I asked the chef for something that I thought you’d enjoy.”

She gave him a playful push, and he smiled. She could sense the sermon Nozomi would give her for this one, but - damn it, she was eighteen and free. Didn’t she have the right to act like a normal girl would, when in proximity to a pretty boy? Just because she was a princess… Wait, no, that was why she shouldn’t. Diplomatic incidents and all that.

She’d miss this desperately.

“You had it planned, you rascal!” She laughed, and he took it with a laugh of his own. “So sneaky! Were you going to drag me down, were I to deny you?”

She hoped the answer was yes. He gave her the look of a cat that had eaten the canary, and Chizuru let out a sound of protest.

“I had half a mind to find your rooms and have dinner there, so I’ll give you a maybe.” Chizuru laughed again. “I’m honest, at least.”

“Well, you complimented me, so I’m now forced to attend a dinner with you. What a tragedy! What a crime!” Chizuru laughed again. She quite enjoyed the king’s company, truth be told.

Fuck. She hated being a princess in such a setting.

“Keep complimenting me, my lady, I love hearing nice words.” The king hummed, and Chizuru felt like the grin plastered on her face would never fade.

Dinner was lovely, a candlelit affair, straight out of a food porn manga. Not Japanese food, of course, but since the ingredients were from Niponia, it tasted almost familiar. Almost. Fascinating, really, but she wasn’t a cook to be able to decipher its processes - never had been, her meals consisting of convenience store leftovers and way too much ramen to be healthy.

It was good, really, even with her father’s words hanging over her head. She enjoyed talking between bites to the king about everything and nothing at all, and he seemed to like her speaking. It was weird. It was…

No. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. She had to make it nothing.

When she was about to leave, she bowed. He paused for a moment, picked her hand, kissed her knuckles again, kneeling on the ground like a king from a fairytale.

“May I ask for your company again?” He asked, against her skin, looking at her between so very blonde lashes, and Chizuru smiled. How charming. “Perhaps breakfast?”

Too late, though.

“Perhaps, but are you really about to give up on a few diplomatic opportunities for someone such as me?” Her tone was gentle, almost chiding, and she took her hand from his grasp, put it on his face - warm, so warm, and he looked at her in what seemed like shock. Nozomi would faint for this one. She didn’t care. “Don’t give up the main path for a side one, your highness. It’s not worth it.”

He had to, and Chizuru had to remind herself that she was not on the main path. He rose his head, eyes wide, as soon as she called him by title, instead of name. Chizuru looked away, feeling him burn holes into her skin.

“And what if the sights are better?” Chizuru shook her head, stepped back, her hand leaving his skin. “Maki.”

There was a carefulness in his tone, as if he was going to break. Chizuru gave him another step back, even as he tried to reach for her.

“I must go. Thank you for dinner, your highness. I don’t think we will see each other again. I’m sorry.” She bowed and left without waiting for his answer, fleeing. Her heart beat wildly in her ribcage, for no reason she could discern - no, better: for a reason Chizuru refused to discern. She knew it, in fact, but…

But a king was not for some rejected third daughter.

She holed up in her room, typing until her wrists threatened to jump out of her skin. Nozomi tried to stop her, but she’d waved her off. At night, Nozomi would put hot compresses in her wrists, chide her, but by sunrise, Chizuru would write again, possessed.

She didn’t sleep: she instead stared at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise so she could write again, holding the earring tightly between her hands. She barely ate, too: Nozomi, after the second meal that got sent back barely touched, started bringing her soups, which she ate because it was a two for one deal of hydration and meal.

The words she produced were not a very good book. It was Elizabeth’s story, her shitty heroine, except there was no happy ending. This was all so cliche - a writer with a broken heart writing a sad story, how pathetic -, but she needed to do something. So, she wrote: Elizabeth, a little noble of Saxonia, this world’s equivalent of England, a girl born into powerful powerlessness, rising into the stars at her boarding school and falling in reciprocated love with Samuel, a crown prince of another nation - she picked, quite at random, the kingdom of Catalunia (which she guessed was Spain and Portugal merged into one) for him -, and then slowly, but surely, dismantled the two until they were nothing but star-crossed lovers: her Elizabeth back at the place she begun, with no choices she made her own, and the prince away from her, married to someone he did not love.

That was a bit assuming, of course, but Chizuru saw them not as two, but one: they were her. She finished the manuscript, stacked the pages together, and handed them to Nozomi, who looked, confused, at it.

“You can do whatever you want with it. Read it, publish it, burn it, I don’t care.” She rose from her seat, feeling every joint in her body crack. “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s noon, my lady.” Was it? In the book, the last scene had been at midnight, with Elizabeth reading over and over the last letter of the prince. She looked out, and the sun burned her eyes, making Chizuru hiss. Nozomi held the papers tight to her chest. “I’m worried.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be alright after I sleep.” A lie, bold-faced, but true enough. Chizuru crawled into bed, put the covers around herself like a caterpillar in its cocoon, and dreamed of a familiar screen’s blue glow.

“I’ve sent it to be published.” Nozomi said, when Chizuru woke up a few days later after she’d finished writing it. Morning, though, was a subjective concept: the sun was already in the middle of the sky. Chizuru looked blearily at her.

“A week’s worth of writing, read in…?”

“Two days.”

“Two days! Say, Nozomi, with the mysteries you’d spend at least four.” She threw aside the covers, stretched. “Alright, so it’s sent to be published. What now?”

“I’ve asked for some urgency, since king Jakob enjoys your novels, and I do think he’d love to have a novel be released while he is still in the country.” Nozomi paused, but Chizuru kept moving, going to her beloved typewriter. “Say you’re going to write another novel in a week and I’ll chuck the damn thing out.”

“I’m not going to.” She touched the keys very quietly, just resting her fingers there. “I’m all out of ideas right now. It’s just a comfort thing. I hope he enjoys the book.”

“And I hope he realizes the lady Maki he’s been talking to all along is you, your highness.” Chizuru made a retching noise. “Oh, please. I had to correct it, you know? You sometimes put your old pen name instead of Elizabeth’s, and sometimes Samuel was named Jakob.”

Chizuru let her head fall into the keys. The earring stared back at her.

She did little. Chizuru read the books she had in her room, sometimes typed something out - promptly discarded -, and slept. Nozomi brought her meals, and she lived lavishly out of her bed. Nozomi also brought her news from outside, about her rushed book which Nozomi had titled Star-crossed because Chizuru, herself, hadn’t even thought of one. It was well-loved, apparently, and she wondered aloud, once, if it’d be as loved as she was, if she wasn’t a princess.

Nozomi shot her an ugly look.

“My lady, you are a good writer. Even your brother, Chikayoshi, has his critics. Have faith in yourself as we, your readers, have in you.”

“But surely it cannot be loved. It’s a tragedy! Elizabeth ends up in a cage and Samuel, in a loveless marriage! What is there to like?”

Nozomi patted her head, as if she was still a child, and the act brought her some measure of comfort.

“Not only happiness makes life, my lady. Besides, it’s a good hook for a second book. Love conquers everything, all that.” Chizuru laughed a bit. “So, let’s get you cleaned up, okay? It’s the day of the farewell banquet, my lady, and you’re already late.”

Chizuru threw herself back in bed with a groan. Nozomi gently pulled her up again.

“No complaints. You have to. I even gave you time to eat.”

“The banquet is after the sun goes down, and it’s barely noon!”

“And your sisters have been at it for hours, at least, with an army of maids, while you only have me. I have gotten a beautiful outfit made for you, so I’m sure you’ll shine brighter than anyone else there. Now come on, sleep is for later.”

Chizuru groaned again, but rose from bed.

Instead of a kimono, the junihitoe: twelve delicate layers that Nozomi and a maid she lured in put in her, gently, until she could only feel its weight. For makeup, a pale face and red lips, red eyeshadow gently around her eyes. The girl in the mirror had her hair brushed and loose, flowing behind her.

The earring rested on her shoulder. She guessed herself lucky it hadn't been infected. Novels really did not have disease until it was plot convenient, huh? She touched it carefully as Nozomi stepped back, a proud look in her eyes.

“You look beautiful, my lady.” Did she? All Chizuru saw was Himeko. Chizuru rarely used makeup, if ever, always bare-faced. It helped her blend in a bit. Now, however, she didn’t recognize herself.

They entered the banquet room in order of royalty. The king of Deustchia and Himeko’s father entered side by side, equals as rulers, and her siblings trailed after their mother.

She saw down in her assigned place at the dais, as far away from Jakob as they could make her be. Atsuko was the one by his side, the prettiest of them, grinning like he’d told her a hilarious joke. It wasn’t her problem anymore. She sat down, head up, and pretended to not see the way he looked at her: like she wasn’t even there.

Chizuru looked away, and missed the way his eyes widened at the feather on her ear. She ate quietly, not taking part in conversation - and it wasn’t like anyone asked her anything, anyway. Who wanted to hear from bookish princess Himeko?

Jakob. Jakob wanted. Somewhere during dessert, he smiled at her, and Chizuru did not return it.

“Princess Himeko, tell me something.” Tension was born in the air, so thick she could cut it with a knife. Chizuru kept her face very, very careful. “You’ve released a book recently, yes? Star-crossed, if I recall the title correctly.”

Of course he’d read it. She wanted to glare at Nozomi for making sure they published it so fast, but she settled for glaring at him instead.

“I have, your highness. If you have questions about it, please, ask them.” She reached for a piece of the dessert, and Jakob kept looking at her - or, more specifically, the earring on her shoulder. She touched it. “If you like this, your highness, I can give it to you, or to whoever you’re thinking about.”

Silence, blissful and peaceful. Chizuru ate a piece of dessert, then another. Himeko’s father seemed like he was going to explode or faint, whichever happened first. Chizuru didn’t care.

“I was merely wondering about your inspiration, your highness.” He replied, ignoring her question. “Such a fascinating tragedy. Two people from different countries, destined to never meet again.”

“Pessimist, aren’t we? Perhaps I am working on a second volume. Perhaps I am not.” A pause from her, this time. She ate another piece. “But, answering your original question, I’m just someone who spends a lot of time holed up in the library. It came to me naturally.”

“Do you? I haven’t seen you there.” She guffawed.

“Perhaps your highness should get his eyes checked, then.” Chikayoshi, by her side, elbowed her. Chizuru finished her dessert, rose from the table. “I’m afraid my illness is acting up. May I be excused?”

Her father simply gave her a wave of his hand. Chizuru bowed and left with Nozomi on her trail, ignoring the eyes of Jakob on the back of her head.

“That was risky, my lady.” Nozomi chided gently, as Chizuru washed her face, the layers of the junihitoe discarded. She was slowly seeing Chizuru back in the mirror, stroke by stroke. “If he talks to your father…”

“What will father even do? Send me away? He already is.” Chizuru pointed, and Nozomi sighed. “If he didn’t figure out I was princess Himeko from the get-go, that’s on him.”

“No offense, my lady, but you do not look like a princess.” Chizuru rolled her eyes, touching the earring. Nozomi saw that; she was going to say something when a knock sounded on the door. Both of them looked at it. Chizuru went back to cleaning her face, and Nozomi went to attend to it as she watched through the mirror.

Nozomi opened the door to the Deustchian guard from a while ago, holding, in his hands, a letter. Nozomi picked it up, read the scribbled writing in it, and Chizuru kept cleaning her face.

“It’s from king Jakob of Deustchia, my lady. What shall we do?” A very careful neutrality masked the nervousness of her voice.

“Read it, obviously.” Nozomi nodded, and thanked the guard in a very broken German. Huh. When did she learn that? No problem; the guard replied something and turned his back to them after a bow, Nozomi closing the door with a swift motion before bringing the letter.

Red wax greeted her. She cracked the seal, a familiar motion from all of Elias’ letters, and a familiar Japanese script greeted her. Frowning at the sight, Chizuru rising from her spot without even reading the letter, going to the chest where Elias’ letters were kept and picking the most recent one, comparing them. She looked over the kanjis without truly reading it.

It was the same scrawl, the same typos she never bothered with correcting Elias on, the same curve on kanjis. No wonder he spoke Japanese so well - the bastard had been learning it since he was a kid!

She looked at Nozomi, who looked at Chizuru as if she was possessed. Chizuru finally read the letter from Jakob - Elias? Maybe she should have read up on Deustchia, actually -, staring at its content.

“My lady?” Nozomi called, worry in her voice, and Chizuru looked at her, still clenching it between her fists.

“Dress me again, Nozomi. It seems I’m being asked for some questioning.”

The library was eerie, in the middle of the night. Light threatened to come in the horizon, a few scant rays making their way through darkness as Chizuru found Jakob, back turned to her, in front of the section where all her books were. She was glad he had his back turned; it meant he didn’t see the letters just yet.

“So, lady Maki. Maybe I should call you Himeko, or perhaps even Chizuru.” Chizuru took a deep breath, threw the letters on the floor, keeping only the first one in her hand.

He turned at the noise. His eyes were cold, and then, full of surprise.

“Call me whatever you want. Do you want me to call you Jakob, or do you prefer Elias?” She waved the first letter, a smile tight on her face. “I thought you spoke a bit too well for a foreigner.”

He blushed, so pretty, opening and closing his mouth. Chizuru crossed her arms.

“You kept all of those?” He put a hand to his mouth, cringing immediately. “Sorry, that’s - that’s definitely not how I saw this going.”

“Yeah, I bet.” She rolled her shoulders, going to pick up his letters from the ground. She hoped none got damaged. “Of course I kept them. You were my only friend. Are my only friend.”

He joined her on the floor, gingerly grabbing the letters.

“Sorry. I was… A lonely, weird kid. I didn’t think you’d ever, you know, reply. Then you did, so I did, and you kept it going, and…” He shook his head, clearing his thoughts in a physical motion. “Your name.”

“Chizuru or Maki?”

“Maki.” Chizuru paused. “You had no reason to lie. You’re a princess of a proud nation.”

“A powerless one. You remember my conversation about patterns?” A weak nod as answer from him. She avoided his fingers as she piled letters.“It’s not by choice. I’m not given things. I’m the rejected third princess.”

“How do they do this to you? Aren’t you your father’s daughter?”

“I demanded things from him at age fourteen, and he’s been ignoring me ever since. I just wanted the people who published my book to keep their jobs.” She passed a hand through her hair, stopping, and so did he. The two of them stared at one another. “Enough about me. Elias?”

He looked away, picked a letter, looked at it fondly. Chizuru checked the pile she was doing, making sure it was intact.

“I got the book from a merchant. He wanted to see if it was any good, so I read it. Became obsessed. Learned the original so I could read the yet to be translated volumes.” He picked a letter, showed it to Chizuru. “So, when I could read all the originals the merchant had, I wrote you a letter.”

She nodded.

“Elias, though?”

“I… I was the crown prince, already, and I didn’t want the author to be, you know, intimidated. So I used my middle name.” A sheepish smile. He dropped the letter, reached for her face, and she let him. “Seems like both of us played pretend.”

“What now, Jakob?” She asked, in a soft murmur, and he looked behind her for a moment, where surely Nozomi was keeping guard. “Father thinks the worst of me having spent a night in your rooms, wishes to exile me.”

Shock on his face, and Chizuru held his hand against her face.

“We did nothing. You cared for me. In any other country, if this had happened, we’d be fast wed.” He shook his head, trying to clear it of thoughts, and Chizuru kept her eyes on him. “Would you like for me to propose that? Marriage, to you?”

Chizuru’s shock must’ve reflected in her eyes; he grabbed her hands, held them close together, face with only the vestiges of his warmth.

“Are you even listening? What good would this bring?” He pulled her closer, a hand on her waist, their knees touching, dragging letters in her wake. Chizuru hoped the movement would rip none of them.

She would be almost sitting in his lap, if she was brave enough. Chizuru dismissed the idea outright.

“Isn’t your happiness good enough?” He asked and Chizuru looked at him. “Unless, of course, I’ve been wildly misinterpreting this whole situation, in which case I apologize deeply.”

Chizuru took a deep breath, gently took her hands from his, and ignored the saddened look on his face as she put her hands on her lap.

“You are, with no doubts about it, the stupidest, densest king I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I am surprised you’ve read this many mystery books and learned nothing about picking up context clues from within the text.” She said, and Jakob did a double take. She leaned near him. “Unfortunately for you, perhaps, I quite like that.”

She kissed him before he could process the words, one hand in his face, another on his hair. Sure, she’d had her own share of kisses, but none in her past life had the desperation she was putting on this one. His hands grabbed at her waist, trying to bring her close, and only succeeding in making both of them fall in the pile of letters, her hands going for the buttons on his shirt.

Nozomi cleared her throat, and the two separated with a start, looking at the maid.

“My lady.” She offered Chizuru a hand, and she looked at Jakob - breathless, face flushed, leaning into his elbows -, before shaking her head, accepting Nozomi’s offer. “King Jakob, a word of counsel. Just ask her father for her hand, before everyone else has to avert their eyes away from the bride’s belly.”

“Nozomi!” The maid gave her a pointed look, gesturing to the open buttons on Jakob’s shirt. “Alright, alright, I get it. Fine. I’ll pick up the letters and go.”

Nozomi tutted at that.

“No, you’re not. I’ll take you to your bedroom, lock you in to make sure you will not do anything, and then I’ll pick them up. King Jakob, I recommend you do the same.”

Chizuru huffed, and Jakob fell in the letters.

“Sorry, it seems I’ll, ah, need some time. I promise I’ll not be here when you’re back, miss.” Chizuru gave a very pointed look to his pants, and then, face flush, looked away. Nozomi pinched her hand.

She threw herself in bed, and Nozomi cleared her throat.

“Not tonight, Nozomi, I’m going through it.” She moaned, burying her face in her pillow. “How the fuck did this happen?”

“Language, although that's futile with you. What was your plan, weren’t I there?” Chizuru looked at Nozomi, who sighed. “Nevermind.”

“Can’t I be eighteen?” She hadn’t been eighteen in a long time. Minor details; she felt like it, though, young and carefree.

“Not when you’re a princess. Although, perhaps, maybe you’ll be a married one soon.” A sigh, Nozomi pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, I’m going to pick up your letters, don’t open the door to anyone.”

Chizuru rolled in bed, gave Nozomi a pointed look.

“Like Jakob’s gonna come in and, you know…?” She put her thumb and pointer finger together in a circle, and slid her other pointer finger through it. Nozomi stared at her, mouth agape. “You really should start checking the books I read, Nozomi.”

Nozomi shook her head and left. Chizuru tried to not laugh when the door was locked three times.

The farewell was in the early afternoon, and Chizuru bit back a yawn. The makeup felt heavy today, aided by the sun’s rays on her skin. She was behind her sisters, the two beaming and smelling sweetly, dressed in their best outfits. She hoped that she wasn’t able to be seen.

From between the window of her sisters’ shoulders, she could see Jakob and Himeko’s father discussing warmly, with Himeko’s father gifting him boxes upon boxes of goods, in the hopes of, perhaps, gaining an advantage over the Evropean countries in trades. She bit back a yawn.

“By the way, I must admit, one of your daughters caught my eye.” Jakob said with a smile, and she was sure her father had totally forgotten about their earlier debacle. “I’ll admit it’s a bit too late to invite her, but I was wondering if perhaps she wouldn’t like to accompany me back to Deustchia as a wife.”

Yeah, he was going to keel over and make Haruyoshi king early. So were her sisters, really. Chizuru kept looking at him, wondering if she could get away with yawning.

Sure, they’d kissed last night. She still had her doubts about herself being the heroine.

“Of course, I’m sure Atsuko or Kimiko would love to visit Deustchia.” Wow, just ignoring her outright!

Jakob’s face turned to her, smiled, and waved a little.

“It’s neither, though. Himeko?” He called, and her sisters stepped back in surprise, looking at her like they couldn’t believe it. “We just became great friends whilst I visited. I was always a big fan of her books, and I didn’t think she’d be such a good sport to talk to me.”

He kept rambling, ignorant of Himeko’s father paling with every word he spoke. Her sisters grinned. Atsuko leaned in, and Chizuru waited for the worst as her hand gripped her shoulder.

“Good job, little sister.” She whispered, and Kimiko gave her a nod. She sounded… Genuine. Chizuru looked at her, confused.

“You’re not jealous?” Chizuru whispered back, and Kimiko gave her a confused look, a hand on the small of her back.

“You’re our sister, even if you’re a bit distant. We will always be proud of you. Now go, before father has a heart attack.” Kimiko pushed her, and Chizuru stumbled two steps, looking back at her proud sisters, both beaming as if it were their own wedding. Perhaps she should’ve tried to be closer to them.

Alas. She walked to where Jakob, now silent, waited for her, and she joined him with a smile.

“I wouldn’t mind, your highness. My bags are all made. It seems I was going to be sent away, but I didn’t think it would be so far.” Her father said nothing, and Jakob beamed. “Please, why don’t you show me your ship? I’m sure Nozomi can direct the servants to bring my things in.”

She didn’t bother with goodbyes to her father, linking her arms with Jakob. She didn’t need to.

“Of course, your highness. It would be my pleasure.” Jakob replied, and Chizuru nodded. As soon as they were alone, he leaned closer. “If I’m honest, I think I prefer you without makeup. You look beautiful anyway, but...”

“Really? Me too. I can’t wait to not wear this again. I'll keep this one, though. I like it.” Chizuru replied, touching the feather resting on her shoulder, and he gave her a smile as bright as the sun.

“Himeko?” Jakob called, bleary-eyed. The ship swayed gently on the ocean, and Chizuru looked over her shoulder, fingers resting on the keys of her typewriter. Yeah, sure, maybe sleeping together as soon as they had a minute alone hadn’t been the brightest idea, but didn’t Chizuru deserve some happiness? Or, at least, some young man under her? “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She replied, eyes going back to the paper. There were a few scant lines written in there.“I just thought of a good idea for a book, is all.”

Chizuru went back to typing, ignoring the fabric moving in the bed. She did not ignore the arms wrapping around her, the weight of Jakob atop her.

“Come back to bed.”

“In a moment.” She quickly finished typing up, and allowed him to pull her up, yelping and giggling as he picked Chizuru up as if she weighted nothing.

“What are you even writing?” He asked, putting her to bed, covering her up. Moonlight looked so good on him.

Chizuru smiled, reached a hand to him, and their fingers intertwined with barely a thought.

“I just thought that maybe Elizabeth deserves a happy ending, is all.”

Notes:

i based it lightly on edo and heian period aesthetics; the junihitoe is heian, but i preferred to describe edo makeup. i also took out the teeth blackening bc.... gross, actually. for the discussion on patterns i used this guide and this guide, which if you want you can use to try and date the time period this is set in, although it wouldn't quite be the same bc, you know, alternate universe. anyway i hope this was an enjoyable read!

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