Chapter Text
Music is nothing to Prince Ritsuka.
Never did he feel like those sounds reverberating through instruments and bouncing off walls have any meaning. At times music feels no different from senseless babbling of a particularly loud person, no different from the barely perceivable sounds of the night.
People do find passion in music; as much he knows. He sees them clapping and dancing at royal balls, begging for the music to continue into the night. For his own part, he slowly slips away, letting himself be in a place where he does not have to take in those hollow noises—he has come to grow fond of the silence.
So to him, music is nothing. Nothing but mere noise, nothing but meaningless racket—nothing but a horrible pain stabbing at his lower back and left shoulder.
“My ears do become dangerously close to bleeding, hearing you play.”
A sharp, unpleasant scratching is heard when Ritsuka roughly slides the bow away from the violin, jabbing it at the person across him the same way one would point a sword at their sworn enemy.
“Someday, you are going to overstep your boundaries as a tutor,” Prince Ritsuka seethes, “and I look forward to seeing you off to your well-deserved punishment.”
“How thoughtful of you, Your Highness, but the fact that you look forward to it makes it very clear that said day is not today, so I shall revel in my liberty a little longer,” Ugetsu says as he steps closer to Ritsuka, using the tip of his own bow to push Ritsuka's jaw a little to the left on the chin rest, poke the spot on Ritsuka's lower back that instantly makes him straighten like a pillar.
Ritsuka sharply inhales, his senses in a moment of disarray from the quick posture change. He hadn't realised he's been leaning forward to begin with, which is probably why his bowing was deviating left and right, tainting the music he played. Still, Ritsuka renders Ugetsu’s accusation as blatant exaggeration—the violin is an atrocious instrument, and no sane person would expect that a musician can equally split their attention between the bow and the neck.
For perhaps the millionth time since the prince started being nurtured in music, Ritsuka slides his gaze to the far wall, more specifically to the large piano placed at it. He stares at the gleaming, stark black of the piano, at the keys, the notes of music that can be played with the mere press of his fingers. And again, for the millionth time, he feels the seething at the back of his mind:
I should have gone for the piano.
Ugetsu follows Ritsuka's gaze and gives him a sorry smile. “I regret saying this as much as you regret hearing it, but it is too late to change your musical path now, Your Highness.” He interrupts Ritsuka's groan with a clap and, “Now play from the first verse.”
“The first verse?” Ritsuka cries. He gives in to the pain in his shoulder and lowers his violin. “Not a chance in this lifetime.”
Ugetsu does not oppose, regarding Ritsuka with a keen gaze. “Well, if you cannot tolerate more of the violin,” he starts aloud, pacing around, “we may spend the rest of your class deciding on a singer for the orche—”
Ritsuka immediately puts the violin back on his neck and adjusts his fingers on the bow. “The first verse, was it?” He starts playing, but only two notes of music resonate before the bow is taken from him.
Ugetsu stands in front of Ritsuka again, holding his bow and Ritsuka's. “Prince Ritsuka. How much longer do you plan on ignoring the matter?”
“For as long as I am able to,” Ritsuka lowers his violin from his neck, clutching it with both hands, “then a little more if I want to.”
Softly sighing, Ugetsu puts the bows away in favour of a thick stack of papers at his desk. “Then I regret to enlighten you that this liberty will very soon come to an end.”
“Very soon?” Ritsuka scoffs, doubting for a moment or two that Ugetsu is being truthful. “My birthday is six months away!”
“Your birthday is in six months. Planning an orchestra happens to take around six months. How lovely a coincidence that is, Your Highness.”
Ritsuka groans, dragging a hand down his face, and the movement makes his shoulder ache even more. It does not help his case.
Ugetsu steps closer, examining the papers. “Let me ask you, Your Highness,” he flips through them, “why is a mere choice taking a toll on you as such?”
The deep breath Ritsuka takes is almost useless. It is not new for Ugetsu to rehash this topic with him, nor is it new that Ritsuka has no answer.
Well, to be fair, Ritsuka does have an answer; he does not know how to explain it.
And how could he explain, to Ugetsu Murata or any other person? How could anyone understand how the prince feels, when no one suffers half the ordeals he does? A raging sea might be visible from land, but only those fighting the waves may understand how it feels.
“Perhaps I…” Ritsuka starts, noticing how the silence is stretching. “I need a bit more time.”
“‘A bit more time’ is what you have been saying for more than a bit of time, Prince Ritsuka,” says Ugetsu. He tips the stack of papers towards Ritsuka, and Ritsuka takes a long moment to accept them, doing so with a sigh. “We have selected only the best singers for the birthday ball. Rest assured, each and every one of them can give you the most marvellous performance. This should make it an easy choice for you, is that not the case?”
A very subtle flex moves Ritsuka’s jaw. Ugetsu is right; Ritsuka needn’t worry about the quality of the singers, for they are all equally brilliant. But what Ugetsu is very far from grasping is that Ritsuka’s problem is not with the singers themselves.
He knows almost every singer on that list, anyway. He’s seen them in other balls and parties, been witness to their incredible talent. Nevertheless, it is only the skills that reach him; the music, on the other hand, could never get through the barrier between Ritsuka and the world.
This is the only chance, so Ritsuka tells himself, to pave the path for music that is truly meant for him, to find a singer whose voice reaches more than his ears. After all, this is indeed the first—and perhaps the last—chance offered to him to choose a singer for a ball. Every other party is someone else’s choice to make, and Ritsuka wants to give his own choice as much time as he can. For if he misses this chance, he may have to wait for his 30th birthday to be given the liberty of choosing a singer once more.
“Very well,” Ritsuka says as his thoughts calm and reality weaves its way back into his mind. “I do mean it this time. I am close to making a choice. If you could just give me…” Ritsuka scrutinises the first page, the first of the singers: a young man with brown hair just below his ears. He barely remembers him from a recent party. “A week?”
Ugetsu’s reply is immediate: “Three days.”
“Three days?” Ritsuka straightens. “Ugetsu, that is not nearly enough time for me to think this through!”
“And neither is six months, for me to plan an orchestra,” Ugetsu says, shrugging off his dark blazer and neatly placing it on the back of his chair. “Need I remind you, Your Highness, that the longer you take to make your choice, the less time you are giving me to bring the orchestra to life.”
Ugetsu makes his way to the far window. On the windowsill is a small pot of dark blue lilies. Ugetsu takes the long petals between his fingers as he continues talking. “The singer is the core of the music. Everything we do will depend on their song and performance, including the violin duet I am to be part of. There is very little we can do when the very root of the score is undecided on.”
Ritsuka’s knuckles whiten around the papers. This is one argument he has nothing against. “I understand. I will give you my choice as soon as I can. But I still fear that three days is not enough time for me to think it through.”
Ugetsu lightly smiles, staring at the blue lilies with a distant gaze. “Then, best hope that one of these days shows you a miracle.”
No sooner does another voice fill the air, preceded by the door of the music room swinging open.
“How was your music lesson, Princeling?”
Ritsuka does not need to look, for he can always recognise Haruki Nakayama’s enthusiastic tone, bright as his smile and the golden hair that cascades to his shoulder. Ritsuka looks up in greeting, watching as Haruki and Akihiko Kaji, his second royal guard, step into the room.
“What’s with the face, Princeling? Is your shoulder in great pain from the violin?” Haruki continues though he does not give Ritsuka a chance to answer before he turns to the man near the window. “Ugetsu, how are you doing?”
Ugetsu runs his fingers over the lilies one last time before stepping away from the window with a smile. “I am well, Haruki.”
The two might have exchanged more words, but Ritsuka has no attention to spare when Akihiko steps next to him and leans to look at the papers in his hands. “Why, this again. Every time I see you abandon this list, it shows up in your hands once more.” His tone might not be as energetic as Haruki’s, but Akihiko definitely has a way with words.
Ritsuka groans, bringing the damned list of singers up to hide his face behind. He feels a pat of pity on his shoulder.
Haruki laughs. “Well, Ugetsu, thank you for taking care of our princeling. We will take him now.”
Ritsuka stiffly gets up. This is far from the first time for him to be thankful that his music lesson is over. He gently places his violin on the wall, followed by his bow where it had been left on the desk. For a moment, he considers leaving the list of singers as well, but he fears any further resistance would not be in his favour. The prince and his guards make their way to the door, but a moment later they pause at a call.
“Akihiko?”
Akihiko keeps staring ahead for a long moment, eyes wide with much more surprise than the call of one’s name warrants. But Ritsuka can easily guess that it is the matter of who has called Akihiko’s name.
Tension is almost immediate to settle in the room. The sharp breath Akihiko takes is rather audible before he turns to Ugetsu. “Yes?” His voice is gentle still, but definitely sounds different.
Ritsuka cannot help but glance back at Ugetsu who, from the surprise on his own face, is taken aback by Akihiko’s abrupt change in demeanour. Ritsuka continues his way to the door, and next to him is a very steady Haruki. The two seem to agree on one unspoken thought: leaving the room as fast as possible.
Putting the pieces together is not something Ritsuka is keen on doing, but he could have sworn that Akihiko and Ugetsu had a much more amicable friendship in the past. Something happened, and though Ritsuka hasn’t the slightest clue what it is, he knows it has broken that friendship. Perhaps beyond repair.
“So, the time you wasted has finally caught up to you, hasn’t it, Princeling?” Haruki asks afresh, pointedly glancing at the list of singers.
Ritsuka groans. He knows his guards are indeed closest to him, but he is slightly irritated at the growing number of people who are aware of his predicament with choosing a singer for the orchestra.
“Am I not allowed to take my time choosing the singer I want for my birthday ball?”
Haruki chuckles. “No one has said that. We are only concerned that you are running out of time.”
“Maybe if I had peace of mind I would make the choice,” Ritsuka says as he flips through the profiles of the singers with much more force than needed.
“Maybe if you made the choice, you would have peace of mind.” They turn around to see Akihiko, who has caught up to them.
Haruki starts, glancing back at the now-closed door of the music room. “That was rather quick.”
Akihiko waves a dismissive hand. “It was nothing. So, Princeling, do you plan on making your choice before you turn 20 or after?”
“Marvellous. You ought to try to be the court jester,” Ritsuka says in the driest tone he can muster.
“Trying to deviate from the topic?” Akihiko raises an eyebrow and a corner of his lip.
Ritsuka groans again—his throat is definitely becoming sore from this day alone. Was his attempt that obvious?
“Let’s not tease Princeling, Akihiko,” Haruki says gently. “I am sure he is very close to making up his mind.”
“I am close to doing so,” Ritsuka says before the idea can be opposed. “Maybe if I have some time and space to think alone, my indecisiveness can come to an end.”
Despite his words, footsteps continue sounding behind Ritsuka. He whirls, turning to his guards with an unintentionally fierce look, if the flinches are any indication. “Alone, I said.”
Akihiko and Haruki exchange a glance.
“Well, Princeling…” Haruki scratches the back of his head. “We cannot exactly leave you alone.”
“More like, it is our actual job to ensure you are not alone.”
Ritsuka drags a hand down his face. How could he forget about that rule? There is practically not a moment in the day where the guards leave Ritsuka’s side unless he is in another’s company. Even when the prince sleeps they are right by his door.
“We know it can be unpleasant, but we truly cannot help it,” Haruki shrugs, offering a small smile.
Ritsuka’s lips press into a thin line. He hadn’t meant to make his guards feel bad about doing their job. He turns around and continues walking, going through the list again. “If I cannot be alone, then so be it. Nevertheless, one thing that can be offered is absolute silence, and I very much would like that right now.”
“You talk more than Haruki and myself combined,” Akihiko says.
“Absolute silence!”
Ritsuka still hears Akihiko snicker.
~
To no one’s surprise, Ritsuka has no appetite for dinner that day. He practices more staring than eating as he sits at the long table, for once thankful for the odd rule of minimising talking while eating. Yet dread coils his stomach tighter by the minute, annihilating his attraction to a most delectable meal.
He knew it was coming, still the perceptible clatter of the King’s silverware on the table makes Ritsuka draw a sharp breath. He lets go of his own fork, hoping and praying with all his might that the King has something to say to any other of his many children.
“Ritsuka.”
The beckon makes Ritsuka freeze, though he’s been still almost the entire duration of the meal. He takes a moment to brace himself before meeting the King’s gaze. “Yes, father?”
The King’s eyes are kind, for all the agitation they cause Ritsuka. It is hard to interchange the unwavering eyes of a ruler with those of a gentle father, but Ritsuka does his utmost.
“You do not bear the joy of someone with a merry occasion at their doorstep,” the King speaks.
Ritsuka understands all too quickly, though he was not aware his dismay is that evident on his face. He slightly straightens, unable to hold the King’s gaze, for he’s been dreading this very topic. He still manages to reply, “Well, I…My birthday still seems far away…” It is far away, he wants to say, but it seems like he is the only one aware of the months between today and the day he turns twenty.
The King chuckles. “If only time passed as slow, boy. Soon you will think to yourself the decades passed all too quickly.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for the words to sink into Ritsuka. “But preparations for the birthday ball are well underway, you are aware?”
Ritsuka’s neck feels like stone when he nods. “Yes, father. I am aware.”
“Then you could tell me what you know of the orchestra?”
A glance at his father is all Ritsuka can manage. He finds himself doing it again, scrutinising his father’s face to find any, just any bit of semblance between them. It is a familiar search that gives a familiar answer: Ritsuka looks nothing like the King, his hair stark black and the lines of his face sharp, where the King bears brown hair and a soft face.
The silence at the table is unbearable now. Undoubtedly, not even family members are keen on joining a conversation with the King unaddressed, but Ritsuka hates how all his family listens and waits for him to respond. He swallows against his dry throat and does not quite manage to keep holding the King’s gaze.
“The orchestra is being prepared as well,” Ritsuka says. “Ugetsu Murata does his work keenly.”
“As one would expect from the man,” the King smiles. He has loads of gratitude when it comes to Ugetsu.
Ritsuka nods agreement, wishing the conversation would end then and there. But there is no use in beating around the bush, so he decides to be out with the truth. “The only hold up for the orchestra is that the singer is yet to be decided upon.”
Surprise washes over the King’s face, and Ritsuka tries not to register anyone else’s shock, not even the soft sound he hears right next to him.
“Why, Ritsuka, you were long ago told to choose a singer.”
Ritsuka squeezes his hands into fists under the table. “Yes, father.”
“And is such a choice difficult to make? Need you spend so much time considering it?”
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath is all Ritsuka can do to keep himself from faltering. He has no words to say to the King, and is willing to let the silence win this time when he feels a light touch on his arm.
Ritsuka does not need to look, for no matter how the seating arrangement switches up, there is only one person that sits right next to him. And this is the same person that always saves his conversations with the King—Princess Yayoi.
“Actually, father, Ritsuka is acutely considering his options. He wishes to give his choice as much thought as possible,” Yayoi says in a matter-of-fact tone. Ritsuka cuts his head to his sister, eyes and mouth wide open. Unlike the King, she looks a replica of Ritsuka: onyx locks that are way longer, but the same chilly blue eyes.
Yayoi smiles before she continues, “Is that not what you always tell us, father? That it is better for one to consider all options before making haste and immediately going for what appeals most?”
The words have a considerable effort on the King, for he immediately regards the two with a kind smile. Ritsuka and Yayoi are the closest to the King’s side, and only sit next to each other when the family gathers. Ritsuka hates how noticeable the segregation is, him and Yayoi from the rest of the royals, but he is always grateful for Yayoi being right next to him.
“I do say this, always,” the King says gently.
“Well, I believe there is a fine line between making haste and the ability to make decisions efficiently,” another voice speaks.
And it takes all Ritsuka’s power to keep himself composed.
It is always a challenge to do so when the Queen speaks.
Next to him, Yayoi seems to back away from further talk. Even the King seems rather hesitant when he turns to his wife. “What do you mean to say, my queen?”
The Queen regards Ritsuka with narrowed eyes, and though she doesn’t shake her head, the brunette curls framing her face seem to sway in contempt. “I mean to say that Ritsuka is taking far too long to make such a meagre choice. Any other person would have been able to choose a singer the moment the order was given.”
Yayoi’s hand finds Ritsuka’s arm again, squeezing with a message Ritsuka understands: Stay calm.
Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. Ritsuka repeats the words to himself.
The King’s eyebrows lift to his crown. “Surely, Ritsuka needs to explore his options before he settles on a singer.”
The Queen does not look convinced. “Then you are just as in need of being enlightened as Ritsuka is, that this ball cannot be brought to perfection overnight. There is too much that needs to be done, and it seems to me that Ritsuka is putting it all at stake.”
“Now, there is no need to throw false accusations,” the King’s tone grows firmer. “I am sure the matter of the singer will not hold back anything but the orchestra, and only to some extent.”
That is enough for the Queen to turn her eyes away. She stares down at the shimmering bowl of fruits in front of her. “Say what you will, darling, but I am still very sure that giving Ritsuka such a responsibility was a mistake.”
And that is all Ritsuka needs to snap.
He pushes Yayoi’s hand away before she can gesture him into silence. He leans closer and fixes flaming eyes on the Queen. “What did you just say?” His tone alone makes every head at the table turn to him, but he cannot care less, not when the Queen is demeaning the sole area of choice he has over his birthday ball.
Both the King and Yayoi look ready to interrupt, but the Queen speaks before anyone else. “It is very clear: the choice of the orchestra singer should have been given to someone other than yourself. I knew it from the very beginning, but you seem to prove me correct with every passing day of indecisiveness.”
“I know what I am doing,” Ritsuka says through gritted teeth, “and the amount of time I am taking should not be a concern.”
“And yet it is the biggest one we face. You may be close to two decades of age, Ritsuka, but it seems you are not yet well-acquainted with the ways of adults.”
Ritsuka squeezes the fabric of his trousers to keep his hands from shaking. “I already said, I am close to making a choice. And nothing of the time I have spent considering my options will be going to waste.”
The Queen gives a long sigh, running the tips of her fingers over her face. “You need to understand. We only want this day to be perfect, Ritsuka.”
“And why are you that concerned if that day is perfect?” Ritsuka seethes. “You only care as the Queen—not as my mother!”
The words leave his mouth before he can think of them. Gasps sound down the table. Yayoi sharply hisses his name. And pure silence follows.
Then it sinks in, the truth of what Ritsuka actually said. He turns to Yayoi, who looks back at him with a mix of surprise and horror, for he’s slipped too close to the words no one dares to utter.
How he and Yayoi only sit next to each other. How they look so much like each other, yet nothing like the rest of their siblings. How the Queen is not, in fact, their mother.
Ritsuka glances at the King next. The King did not gasp, did not call Ritsuka’s name, did not give the slightest chastise. And yet, his silent shock is louder than any words. And a single look is all it takes for Ritsuka to push himself away from the table.
Yayoi tries to reach for him, but he pushes her hand away. He is barely keeping himself from stomping as he makes his way to the door.
The guards silently push the doors open, and Ritsuka silently walks out. He continues down the hall until he reaches the room where the guards dine. At his mere presence of a command, the door is swung open.
The laughter and conversation in the room die out in an instant. Haruki and Akihiko immediately get to their feet, the latter after pushing one last piece of food into his mouth. Again, with no talk whatsoever from Ritsuka, they are walking the prince to his chambers within moments.
Ritsuka does not know, at that time or otherwise, what kind of expression he had on his face. Whether it showed his burning rage, at the world, at the Queen, at himself. Whether it was absolutely nothing. Whatever it was, it was enough to keep Haruki and Akihiko silent until Ritsuka reached his bed.
~
No matter how many times he does it, Ritsuka will always be surprised at how easy it is to trick his guards. He doesn’t have to put actual effort or thought when he wants to run away; all he has to do is set the scene, then watch Haruki and Akihiko react like the gullible audience they are.
The only part of the plan that needs actual work is staying quiet and still in the closet. Ritsuka purposely moved his clothes to one side so he can somewhat comfortably sit on the other. There were a couple of times where his guards would sift through his closet, but they never found anything strange with the vacant space Ritsuka uses to wait to watch the scene come to life.
Ritsuka’s annoyance with the tight space and stale air of the closet seem to abate when he starts hearing the voices. He squares himself, and prepares to be utterly still.
The curtains have risen.
The beginning is the sound of his bedroom door opening, then a disembodied voice: “We have to check on him.” The voice continues, louder, “Princeling? Princeling, is everything alright?”
The careful breaths come to Ritsuka easily, thanks to his frequent practice. He is able to fill his lungs without making a noticeable sound.
“Princeling?” The voice is closer now, way inside his room. The softness of Haruki’s voice cannot be mistaken and, through the tiny crack in the closet door, Ritsuka can make out the golden hair as its owner strides to the bed.
And this is the rising action.
Ritsuka loves seeing the play awaken.
Haruki’s stumbles and gasps easily reach Ritsuka in the closet. Following are hectic footsteps all around the room, presumably Haruki searching for him. Ritsuka can’t help but be satisfied, after he’d spent a careful while crumpling his sheets and haphazardly throwing his clothes around the room.
“Princeling? Princeling!” Haruki continues to shout, and Ritsuka hears a sound he distinctly recognises as the washroom door being aggressively opened. “No, no, no, this is not happening! This is—he did not—AKIHIKO!”
Moments later more footsteps sound, then another familiar voice: “Is he harmed?”
“Worse—he’s not here!”
Ritsuka can almost imagine Akihiko’s deadpan expression. “I am fairly certain his absence is better than his being harmed.”
“It is equally horrible!” Haruki paces back and forth in front of Ritsuka’s bed. “How? How does he do it? I can swear, Akihiko, we did not take our eyes off his door!”
Only for the sake of his cover does Ritsuka find the power to hold back his sigh.
This is too easy.
Akihiko is silent for a long moment. “Figures.”
Haruki is standing directly in front of the crack in the closet, giving Ritsuka full view of his sheer shock. “Figures?! That’s all you have to say about our prince running away—again?”
“Oh, come on, Haruki,” Akihiko says in exasperation. “Of course he ran away. Princeling’s been having a very lousy day today. Should I be surprised that he wants a damn break?”
That part of the show is unexpected. Ritsuka straightens as much as he dares to move, replaying the words in his head. He’s never expected anyone to understand his incentives for running away, but Akihiko seems to perfectly grasp that.
“I understand that he needs a break,” Haruki’s voice is lower now, “but not at the expense of putting himself in danger. Why does Princeling crave a getaway? Doesn’t he know we can offer him solitude while still keeping watch over him? I was even planning for all of us to have dinner together here after giving him some time alone.”
The words make Ritsuka’s chest sink.
“Well, that dinner bit is the true misfortune of tonight,” Akihiko says as he comes into view—throwing himself on Ritsuka’s bed. “I did not have the liberty of finishing my meal.”
“Oh no, no, no, don’t you do that now.” Haruki makes his way to the bed and aggressively pulls Akihiko off. “We have to search for him.”
Akihiko stares at the far wall. “Do we?”
“The fact that you have to ask alone—” Haruki takes a moment to calm himself, running a hand through his long locks. “We are going to find him. We are. We have to.” He sounds like he is speaking to himself more than Akihiko. Then he cuts a glare to his companion. “You are going to help.”
After giving a very long groan, Akihiko stretches and makes his way to the door, mumbling a fine. Haruki shortly follows him.
Ritsuka carefully listens to the footsteps as they fade away. He has a rule of staying an additional while in the closet, just to be safe. When he is sure the coast would be clear for a sizeable distance, he kicks the closet open with a sigh.
He softly groans as he stretches his sore limbs, inhales much clearer air. It makes sense that the guards won’t be near the private chambers for a while, but Ritsuka does not waste any time to leave. He blindly searches in his closet for any shawl to counter the cool of the night, and ends up with a plain black one that covers him to his knees. The dark colour can also prevent him from standing out, he supposes.
Ritsuka is almost out of his room when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. With his princely suit and cape traded for night clothes and his neatly-brushed hair for messy tangles, he looks almost nothing like Prince Ritsuka—he looks like just Ritsuka.
And it is the first comfort he’s felt all day. For tonight, he wants to be just Ritsuka.
With his shawl tightly wrapped around him and his steps careful, Ritsuka exits his chambers.
The palace always seems different when Ritsuka is alone, when he is not watching others and being watched over. Somehow, the air turns serene when Ritsuka is inhaling it by himself. The fact that he doesn’t have to worry about how he looks, walks, or talks, makes it easy for Ritsuka to just…be.
So he lets himself soak it all in as he roams the palace alone, occasionally stopping when he hears a guard approach. He’s memorised their walking patterns and learned how to listen attentively for footsteps, thanks to multiple times of fleeing from his own guards. He knows just when to slip into empty halls, which doors do not make a sound when opened, and how long to hide behind curtains should there be a close call.
He tries to let the comfort of solitude reach his very depths, but there is a nag he cannot for the life of him dispose of. This day alone presented him with a range of reasons to be irritated, so Ritsuka tries to ignore it all. One thing he cannot turn a blind eye to, though, are Haruki’s words from earlier:
Why does Princeling crave a getaway?
Ritsuka ponders as he slips behind the door of an unlit sitting room, waiting for two guards to pass by. Why does he long for solitude? Haruki explained it: he can have all the comfort he asks for without having to distance himself from everyone. He is a prince—his words are commands.
But neither Haruki nor anyone else would understand that Ritsuka is trying to get away from being a prince, with all the luxuries the title cultivates. Why does it matter that anyone in the palace would heed Ritsuka’s every command, when Ritsuka himself has nothing he truly longs for?
Though he always keeps silent when he is on the run, Ritsuka softly sighs as he leaves the sitting room, making sure there are no guards in his range. He continues walking and stops thinking.
There was no true aim in his walk from the very beginning, but Ritsuka pays less and less heed to where he is stepping the longer he keeps going. Only when the walls around him grow familiar does Ritsuka look up from the carpeted floor, only to be greeted by the giant doors to the last room he wants to encounter in the whole palace.
The music room.
Ritsuka can almost laugh at how absurd it is that he subconsciously made his way here.
The doors of the music room are slightly open, which is weird since the room is hardly used past noon. Ritsuka does not want to ponder, not when anything related to this place teeters closely to the list of singers tucked somewhere in his room and not when he is doing his best to ignore that very matter. He shakes his head at his own never-ending misfortune, reaching for the golden knobs of the door to shut it.
And that is when he hears the singing.
He hears the voice, the rising and lowering and expanding in the most beautiful way possible. No, he does not simply hear the voice—he feels it. He feels the voice go past his ears and to his mind, wrap around his neck and chest until breathing proves impossible.
Could it be that this is music? The very thing he has thought to be nothing his whole life?
But it can’t be nothing, not when it makes Ritsuka feel everything.
The voice carries it all—happiness and heartbreak; brimming with and derived of all hope. Ritsuka is giddy a moment and broken the next, up in the sky and at the bottom of the ocean. The sensations swirl until his whole body is numb.
He can barely register the shivers down his back and arms, and only later does he realise his shawl has fallen to the floor. He doesn’t remember letting go, doesn’t remember anything before that voice reached his ears. Now, in this world, it is only him and this voice; it’s like he’s never existed until he heard this singing.
Then the voice fades away, and Ritsuka can breathe again.
His body trembles all over, like he’s been physically pulled out of reality and slammed back into it. As soon he has control over himself again, Ritsuka grabs the knobs and throws the doors open.
“WHO IS HERE?” he shouts before the door has even opened halfway. The music room is dark and, at first sight, empty.
But Ritsuka is sure as he ever was in his life, that the singer is right here.
The lanterns have burned, and the only source of light in the whole room is the single window through which moonlight seeps. It only lights roughly half of the room, but Ritsuka does not render it a problem—he will leave no dark corner of this room unexplored.
“Don’t you dare hide from me.” Ritsuka shouts once more, his words as shaky as his heartbeat. “Show yourself this instant!”
Silence.
Ritsuka carefully steps inside the room, staying as close to the door as possible; he is not giving the singer a chance to escape. There is only one way in and out of the room, and if the singer were inclined to leave, then walking right to the door is the only choice.
“So you believe you can hide?” Ritsuka asks aloud, hearing his voice echo back to him. “There is no use in trying.” He steps further in, scanning the full room, searching between the instruments for plausible hiding spots.
The grand piano catches his attention first; it seems like the perfect place for one to hide, especially since it is farthest from the door and completely concealed in the dark, nowhere near the patch of moonlight on the floor. Ritsuka cannot make out any figure near the piano in the dark without stepping closer. He gives the rest of the instruments a once-over then makes his way to the piano.
“I know where you are hiding, so you better show yourself before—”
Suddenly a crash sounds near the drums. Ritsuka whirls towards the sound, only to see cymbals scattered on the floor. He dashes to the group of instruments, crouching between them. But when he makes his way around the giant drums, he sees that there is no person hiding among them. Between the drums and scattered little instruments is a violin bow.
And before Ritsuka can make sense of it and look up again, he hears the footsteps rushing out of the room, followed by the door shutting—it was a distraction.
“NO!”
Ritsuka curses and runs to the door, grabbing the knobs and heaving the door open with all his might. “COME BACK!” Again, the words are out of his mouth before the door is even open.
But when the hall comes into view, it is empty. Even his shawl is no longer on the floor.
Ritsuka stands, breathless, as he scans the hall. There is no way the singer has made it far enough, but even if Ritsuka does not have chances in a pursuit, there is something else at his power.
If not pursuit, then a proclamation.
“I WILL FIND YOU!” he shouts instead, knowing full well the singer can hear him.
And when the silence continues, so does he:
“I SWEAR IT, I WILL FIND YOU NO MATTER WHAT IT TAKES!”