Chapter Text
Everybody says autumn is a beautiful turn of the year. They say that the wind is still a pleasant welcome sometimes from summer, that when rain comes it’s usually a quiet drizzle where even children can play in.
But the most cited reason is that leaves of warm colors fall around them like a hug from nature. They coat the kingdom’s pavements and roofs in sunsets that crunch underfoot. At dawn, the first inches of light filter through these fabled leaves and make them glow. At dusk, they’ll be taken on a ride by the timely breeze, floating delicately until they touch the ground.
Yin believed it all until she asked Hei, “Is autumn as lovely as everyone says?”
There’s a pause before he answers—oh, Yin must’ve taken his focus from a book again. She needs to practice learning what another is doing first—“I suppose. But every season is lovely, really.”
They’re at a table in the royal library. He’s thirteen with all the odds, except the king’s and queen’s trust, stacked against him. She’s ten, thinking having a knight isn’t so bad when she can pester him with these kinds of questions even while he’s studying. Hei isn’t the type to tell her off for it. She’s not even sure if he can say “shut up” to anyone in more than an uncertain whisper.
“Every season?” Praise for every season at once isn’t something Yin has heard from anyone yet. “Why?”
“Each of them are lovely in their own ways.”
“Even winter?”
“Especially winter.”
“Why would anyone like winter?” She scrunches her nose at the thought. “It’s cold, rainy, only sometimes snowy. No one likes that.”
Hei looks up at her. “Don’t you like it?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not no one. You’re our princess.”
Her argument loses her because he’s right. She is certainly not “no one.” The kingdom respects her greatly despite the shortcomings she’s been stuck with for life. Hundreds of people, whether she knew them or not, cared for her wellbeing and safety. Sometimes, she wonders if it’s because she’s the only heir to the throne, that if there were someone else in line they’d precede her if they were better than her, better in ways she doesn’t want to think about. But Mother promises she’ll always love her for who she is, Father promises she’ll always be the brilliant leader the kingdom deserves.
Anyhow, perhaps the occasional someone enjoys winter and that someone is Yin. “Which one do you enjoy then?” She asks Hei.
“Didn’t I just tell you?”
Is the answer really winter? It can’t be. She grumbles. It’s always a puzzle when it comes to this boy. Maybe he doesn’t want to make his opinions known to anyone in this castle. He’s been smart about playing it safe, but Yin thinks he could do with a little self expression, at least when it’s just the two of them. She can’t be the only one vocalizing opinionated nonsense when adults aren’t around.
So she asks, “What about spring?”
“I don’t like spring.” She hears him huff. It sounds a bit like the wind periodically whipping the trees that line the library’s windows.
“But your birthday comes during spring.”
“Which means I’m sneezing all day.”
“Ask for potions to ward it off!” Yin swings her legs from where she’s sat in a chair. Her feet can’t touch the floor yet, but Hei’s do. “Isn’t November learning how to make potions for illnesses and allergies?”
“If he doesn’t make them taste any better, I doubt I’ll ever ask for product from him over the head mage. And the head mage gets busy towards spring.”
“Fine. But that doesn’t change the fact that I like spring. I get to pick the prettiest flowers for your birthday.”
She hears him fail to flip a page. “With all due respect, Your Highness, this is a distracting conversation.”
“It is what you’re employed to do.”
“I’m employed to protect you.”
“You’re employed to talk to me. Mother said you’d make a great friend.”
It’s half a lie. She knows, Hei knows. A better form to put it would be that he’s employed to be with her. She remembers when she wanted nothing to do with that, but things have changed. “Nothing” has changed. She wants maybe a thing or two now.
She’s come to enjoy being there for his practices, for one. Today, following a light lunch, he’s sparring with her mother’s knight, Misaki, and Yin knows they’re in for some long yet thrilling matches. It’s breezy enough for Hei to be wearing a light cloak over his armor. When the wind picks up, she can almost see the fabric waltz in time with each sharp strike of steel on steel. Tipped boots shuffle over fallen leaves, making them crunch under each step taken to dance around their arena.
The princess is certain that autumn would look as beautiful as everyone says if her vision could better follow her knight while he spars. But she reminds herself that this doesn’t have to be a frustration, not when his speed in battle is an indicator of skill.
Skill, she thinks, a promise she’s blessed to have remaining by her side even after all the discontent she used to voice at the idea of a bodyguard.
Yin always thought she enjoyed winter.
When stepping out of her chambers, she can hide herself away in her thick fur-lined cloak without having to be seen in the royal attire she’s otherwise expected to wear. Were it any other season, Mother would surely be the first to say something about what she “must” clothe herself in.
She likes the chill. Anything she touches reminds her it’s there, she’s there. Mornings turn slow, quiet and grey, in exchange for evenings arriving quicker. If the sun reaches her windows, it's conquered still by the paleness of fog that lifts only late afternoon. Hei is always up before her, sometimes losing himself in its soft light before he begins his day.
If it becomes too frigid for her, she’s privileged enough to be able to turn to warmth. Her sheets never fail to make her comfortable in bed. The hearth in her chambers, logs piled up ready to be lit at any time, is somewhere she can comfortably sit in front of with a few cushions under. Her knight, though he would deny this claim, gives the coziest hugs she can get if she pleads for them but only on occasion.
Winter also seems to be the time where everyone feels the need for end-of-the-year celebrations to compensate for the dreary sluggishness they earn from the season. This requires Yin to take on a more public presence, at least until the end of her birthday.
Seasonal illness happens to offer small blessings at times. If she is sick, under no obligation is she to make an appearance. The price is a fair bit of discomfort, but nothing she can’t bear at twelve years old.
Hei, fifteen, seems to believe otherwise. “Do you need more water, Your Highness?” He says while going to the door to request another jug of water from two guards who are posted outside. “I can run a bath if you’d like, Your Highness,” suggesting this after he’s a few steps into the bathroom anyways. “You need to eat something, Your Highness,” asserting that as if he isn’t already delivering spoonfuls of soup to her mouth.
It would get on her nerves until the moon is high in the sky and she still can’t stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. Each night, her eyes open to a darkness that somehow makes her head pound still. She shifts onto her other side but breathing feels no better. Deep coughs pour out of her from the movement. Acutely, she had heard Hei sit upright from his mattress the moment her blankets rustled.
She doesn’t remember these momentary wakings, but he never fails to attend to them. She won’t remember what he does until the fourth night.
“Yin?”
The princess startles, thanks to how close his voice is. “Hei?” She rasps. Reaching a hand out to where she thinks he is, it seems her guess is confirmed because she feels his hand gently wrap around hers. He’s sitting on the floor by her bed.
“You can hear me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Only after a heavy sigh does she get an answer. “You didn’t respond the past few nights. Then, you slept almost the entirety of yesterday.”
“Oh. Sorry.” A few coughs pass, then a useless clear of her throat. The headache coaxes her eyes to close again.
She feels the bed shift a little when his head comes down to rest on it. With him, he lets her hand fall too. His hair brushes her fingers where they sit on the sheets. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t be.”