Chapter Text
🪷
Taki lands soundlessly on all fours, one with night in the shrouded shadows of the alleyway. The gravel barely shifts under his weight, a feat of silence and agility that masks the jackrabbiting heartbeat through his veins.
A furtive glance around the stillness of his periphery is enough to refocus on the only object in motion – the masked figure sprinting along the tiled rooftops a few shopfronts away. The palace gong in the distance signals two in the morning, and at this hour, the city belongs to only to its ghosts and the audacious few still revelling the night away in The Magnolia. These conceited noblemen, assuming themselves above the law, continue to patronize the city’s finest entertainment house and indulge without care, despite the simmering danger hanging over the city like a spirit. It’s been a few days since the Crown Prince had mandated a midnight curfew in the inner city, under the guise of protecting capital residents from increased rowdiness by a couple of bandit flare ups. Only a few know the truth - one far more sinister and thus imperative to keep close to the chest.
There’s no time to linger on that thought though, Taki’s not one of the imperial guard’s most nimble for nothing, and he’d like to keep that reputation thank you very much, especially after his slight mishap just earlier. Calves coiled like a spring, he pushes off the ground and sprints in pursuit after the black-cloaked man, twenty paces and one story ahead.
As he narrows the distance, Taki’s eyes strain to get a closer glimpse of the man’s body and limbs. From afar, he wears standard vigilante garb, a dark robe, full face mask, and pants and sleeves bound tight, typically to conceal any identifying marks or scars. But a lucky streak of moonlight pierces through the cloudy sky and yes – there it is – Taki catches his second glimpse tonight of the inky floral pattern etched on bare skin. This is no ordinary thief, and Taki can certainly not let him go.
🪷
Indeed, he had begun his night with plans of an ordinary patrol, responding to one of the many reports of ruckus and petty thievery associated with higher bandit activity. Taki had been on his last pass of the main shopping thoroughfare when his right ear had twitched in response to rustles of activity behind a shuttered apothecary. He'd rolled his eyes at whichever dimwit decided it would be a great idea to loot such a conspicuous storefront and, with a healthy huff of exasperation, snuck through the already ajar door into the fray.
As the two scuffled amidst the cramped rows of towering shelves, filled to the brim with herbs and medicinal salves, Taki had gotten a lucky grip on one of his opponents fingers, strong enough to tug his black leather glove off but not sufficient to yank the man’s body with it. Both men had fallen backwards, repelled like opposing magnets from the force of separation, and in the aftermath, Taki’s gaze had caught on the man’s newly exposed skin.
What he saw sent his heart into his throat. Intricate vines and petals inked on the bandit’s hand wound their way up the man’s wrist into the shadows of his sleeve – though he couldn’t quite make out the full form, Taki had known immediately that this was a design unique from other tattoos found in the capital. He had only seen such delicate linework once before – and it was something he would never forget.
The bandit, upon registering Taki’s intense gaze boring a hole into his hand, had made for a swift retreat from his pursuer, still knocked deep into the aisle. Taki had needed a second to scramble back on two feet and could only watch the back of the man’s black robes as he fled, canvas-bound sachet gripped in his un-gloved hand.
🪷
Now locked onto his target once more, it’s light work for Taki to quicken his pace, and soon, he finds himself ducking low, razor-sharp steel slicing just inches from his neck. His opponent seems to have realized his likelihood of escape sans confrontation is unlikely, shifting tactics on a dime to engage the imperial guard on his tail after all.
Perfect. Close combat is ideal for Taki to kill two birds with one well timed blade. He's on a mission to not only retrieve the stolen loot but also get a crystal clear look at the bandit’s tattoo.
Between sharp clang of metal on metal and the rustling of black linen against steel-plated leather, Taki gauges the skill of his opponent. It’s a near even match – and isn’t that all the more worrisome, considering few in the capital city can match Taki on a good day. This fight? It’s going to demand his full focus.
With a well timed glance near the hilt, Taki knocks the other man’s sword out of his hand, and it clatters loudly into an empty vegetable stand, knocking the wooden structure to the ground. Taki swears – he’ll need to swing by tomorrow and help the elderly owner of the stall rebuild it.
No time to think on that now though - his opponent has just managed to wrest Taki’s weapon to the side.
Well… he’s always been good at hand-to-hand as well, Taki supposes, as they switch to messy, grappling fists.
Aided by close proximity Taki’s hypersensitive nose kicks into overdrive, rooting out a muffled scent even through movement and layers of fabric – a rare, dried nightshade blend hides beneath the fighter’s robes near his chest – it's going to be a bit difficult to seize back.
A couple more blows exchanged, and Taki pins the bandit's left clavicle against what appears to be a wooden pillar of his favorite noodle soup joint on the main street. With his full body weight leaning into the struggling man, Taki takes the prime opportunity to wrench the man’s gloveless right hand into view. Here’s his second answer tonight — complex, crimson pink shading and sable vines fill in the lush image of a plum blossom branch in full bloom. That is a stunning revelation indeed.
Adrenaline courses through Taki's veins with the discovery, and he goes to bind the still-struggling man’s arms together, to take him in.
Just then, a crunch, perhaps a tooth? And a fine dust sprays from the bandit’s snarling mouth, hitting Taki in the face. His eyes burn like they've been doused in acid, and he staggers back, blinking furiously, overwhelmed by the sensation.
With his captor on the back foot, the bandit rips away from the wood post.
The sharp sting that emerges in short order from his shoulder tells Tak, unfortunately, that the knocked-away sword wasn’t his assailant’s only weapon.
There’s a shout in the distance. Boots scrape against the cobblestones, and Taki, now on the back foot, braces for a second attack that doesn’t come. Through blurry but slowly clearing vision, he makes out the retreating form, darting to join another man cloaked in black. “Figures he wasn’t acting alone,” Taki thinks, grimly.
Armor torn and wound exposed to the brisk night air, Taki resigns himself to the cold hard truth – he’s not going to be able to track both of them down.
Groaning heavily, he lifts his fingers to inspect his shoulder when, seemingly out of thin air, an arrow whistles past his ear. A curse rasps out of him unbidden.
“Fuck. Who’s there?”
In hindsight, an embarrassing question, but Taki’s not in his best state at the moment. His answer arrives soon enough, amber silk flashing by, golden paillettes clinking delicately in the wake of the figure sprinting past.
Taki rubs at his eyes to get the vestiges of pain and haze out. Looking down the stretch of the main street, past the gold-clad archer, he sees the crumpled heap on the ground at the end, fletching still quivering from where it’s lodged itself into the man’s back. The second cloaked figure curses before yanking the arrow out of his compatriot, grabbing the downed man by the waist, and tugging them both into the shadows.
“Hey!” Taki yells, “You shouldn’t chase. They’re trained – elite assassins. It’ll be tough, even with one injured.”
The vision in gold slows a few paces in front of Taki, back still facing him, “Not like you were going to make it even halfway down the street if I hadn’t slowed him.”
“You still didn’t answer my first question - who are you?”
The figure turns slowly, movements fluid as molten lava. Doe-like eyes encircled by a gold gauze veil, emerge from the darkness.
“Technically, you didn’t ask that,” they reply, voice light and amused. “You inquired who was there.”
Any other day Taki would fire back with a snippy retort, but something about this person glues his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He’s just a little transfixed.
Glimmering eyes sweep a cursory glance over Taki’s disheveled form, still sprawled on the cobbled ground. They slip a bejeweled hand into the folds of their fine outer garment and produce a small celadon pot.
Before Taki has half the mind to protest, the pot sails through the air, landing neatly in the crook of his knee.
“What’s this?” he mutters, prying off the lid to reveal an unscented, chestnut-hued salve. The package is not unlike a few first aid implements each imperial guard carries on their person, just for times like these, but this syrupy substance is unfamiliar to Taki.
“You’re two-for-two on vague, useless questions,” the figure replies, tone bordering on exasperation. “The imperial guard selection council must be slacking these days.” They nod towards Taki’s bicep. “Press that into your wound twice daily, for three days. It’ll heal better than any of those mediocre remedies I’m sure you’re carrying.” A pause, and they finish in a cryptic tone, “If you need more… I’m sure you’ll be able to find some.”
Attention redirected, it’s only then that Taki fully registers the throbbing in his shoulder. Oh boy, that’s one of the worst wounds he’s gotten in a long time on duty, and Taki just knows he’s in for it from Fuma, if Yudai doesn’t have his neck first.
Taki’s eyes narrow, “How should I trust that you’re not poisoning me?”
The figure rolls theirs in response, “I don’t need to, you already are. And if I wanted you dead, you’d already be. Believe me if you want, but for the record, I did just try to save your sorry ass.”
Taki glances back at his wound, which has now begun to clot worryingly – even worse, he can see deep violet veins now branching out from the raw opening. “Fuck.”
There’s no way he’s making it back to the barracks without passing out, or worse, passing away, at this point, so what else is there to do besides digging a blunt thumb into the ceramic pot liberally smearing it where he can reach, wincing with each pass of the fingers. His royal cousin would have some choice words about being too quick to trust, but Taki figures he’d rather have his baby cousin still alive to talk back to him than not.
Once he’s bound the wound with a questionably-sanitary strip torn from the underlayers of his uniform, Taki looks back up to utter thanks to the unexpected guardian angel of his night, but he sees only the empty awning of the noodle shop.
The figure has melted into the darkness, leaving Taki with nothing but the cool celadon jar, a faint trail of auric dust, and the lingering scent of fresh osmanthus flowers.
🪷
The Prince’s quarters are livelier than they usually are at this time of night when Taki limps through the doors. He’d expected as much, the moment the palace sentries along the wall caught sight of him clutching a bloody, poorly-bandaged arm trudging towards the main entrance. Word, as it should, travels fast amongst the royal guard – it’s the reason he’s even come directly here to begin with instead of simply retreating back to the barracks to nurse his wounds.
Muffled voices filter through the screens of the receiving room, growing in volume as Taki nears.
“What was he thinking, taking on that bandit by himself! Let me go. I need to see for myself!” That’s his cousin’s agitated tone.
A gruff reply follows, soothing but firm. “Yudai, he’s fine. The watch has let me know he’s already on his way here. You’ll have your eyes on him any minute now. Look, see –”
Taki steps into the main quarters, and oh - Yudai’s in one of those moods tonight. Warm sconce lighting and the unmistakable aroma of his cousin’s preferred single source bìluóchūn, too strong to normally for this hour, greet him as he walks in. The incense Yudai favors also drifts around in heavier, comforting tendrils but it clearly has failed thus far to settle the nerves of its intended target.
Yudai surges to his feet crossing the room with as few strides as his lankiness will allow. “Taki!” He pinches his little cousin’s every exposed inch with the worry of a mother hen, even getting in a swing at his personal guard who stands to the side – all before Taki can react.
“Fuma! Your intel didn’t tell you he was injured too? Taki, what happened, who did this? Fuma, tell me you already have men tracking them down. I want to personally see them punished.”
Yudai’s wandering fingers get a little too close to his tender flesh, and Taki finally gets a word in, “Onii-chan stop– stop it, I’m perfectly fine. Just a minor scratch. There was just a little poison on the blade it seems, but don’t worry, a stranger gave me this paste and see,” he gestures to the dressing, “– it’s already started to purge. Honestly, whatever’s in this stuff, we have to get the imperial clinic on it. I don’t even know if they have anything as fast-acting.”
Fuma jumps in with his gravelly tone, “Yudai, everything is alright now. Taki’s a fully-fledged, very capable member of the imperial guard – didn’t you have me personally train him to meet both of our standards?” He eyes Taki warningly, “If he were in truly life-threatening danger, he would have informed the guards right at the gates, or even a patrol in the city center, right?”
Taki nods at the older man, former commander of the imperial guard, Taki’s master and replacement of a father-figure, and for the last five years, Yudai’s personal guard. Fuma builds on the balm of his sensible words and cuts off any additional protest from Taki’s cousin with a light placement of his hands on Yudai’s shoulders. He gently removes the Prince’s grip from Taki’s cheeks and guides him to sit back down at his mahogany dining table.
Not for the first time, Taki is thankful for the elder guard’s steady presence, Just smelling his comforting pine cologne as he moves through the room settles Taki’s nerves by a few degrees, and he wonders yet again where he or Yudai would be without Fuma.
Hoping not to rattle his cousin’s nerves any further, Taki settles on the table’s open cushion, and it’s only then that he has a chance to take in his surroundings a little more. Steam rises from the two teacups on opposite sides of the table, the third steeping if Taki were to guess based on the liquid’s jade-pale hue. Taking in more of his surroundings, it looks like Yudai and his head guard are both dressed in only the innermost two layers of their normal robes' six.
Guilt pricks Taki – he’s kept them waiting tonight…. perhaps in more ways than one.
Fuma seems to be on the same train of thought, or maybe he’s just fulfilling his duties as head of the imperial guard, and he turns to Taki. “Do you have any leads? I didn’t see a capture report come in, so I assume he made it out.”
A frustrated snort. “I was on his tail, and then he played dirty. He broke a capsule in his tooth and coughed some type of powder into my eyes – burned like absolute hell. Then he stabbed me with a hidden stiletto and ran like a little rat. He had a friend too – they helped him escape. And...” Taki recounts the rest of the exchange, including the appearance of his unlikely savior. Both Yudai and Fuma narrow their eyes as Taki describes the resplendent third party, but neither seem to have any more familiarity with them than he does.
Of course, this mystery person is not quite the masked antagonist of the evening, so Taki resolves to do a little more digging on that mystery in his own time.
“That’s not the most important part,” Taki finishes. “The man I fought—he had a plum blossom tattoo. It really looked like the piece we found after…” His voice trails off, but the weight of his words settles over the room.
Yudai leans forward, his face pale but intent. “You’re sure?”
🪷
His eldest cousin had been travelling lean, on a low-profile visit to the border for a sensitive peace-keeping discussion. The journey back had been uneventful – until less than a day’s ride from the capital gates.
Shortly after breaking fast, the Emperor’s entourage was ambushed by a band of masked assailants clad in black, leaping from the dense treeline. The attack had been frenzied, distracting, but oddly – bloodless. The attackers, swift in precise in their retreat, had disappeared as suddenly as they had shown up, leaving behind no casualties, just utter disarray amongst the imperial guard, as well as frayed nerves from a couple of the royal advisors travelling with the group.
Taki, assigned to ride to the immediate left of Giri’s carriage, had leapt to protect his cousin immediately upon the onset of chaos, alongside the three guards assigned to each of the other cardinal directions. Fuma had stayed at his post by Yudai’s, remaining in the capital in accordance with standard succession protocol.
Following reassurance from Giri, who appeared unscathed, the party collected its wits and continued on.
But hours later, sun high in the sky, as they traversed hillier terrain, a dull thunk echoed from within the royal carriage. Taki jolted in his saddle, and the Emperor’s coachman had drawn the vehicle to an immediate halt. As the his captain lifted the carriage flap, Taki froze – his cousin was slumped over, still breathing, but passed out at an angle over his cushioned bench. With a quick bark, the captain commanded immediate attention from their travelling imperial physician. When it was clear the Emperor was breathing but unable to be revived to consciousness, Taki’s small four-person unit had deployed urgently to guard a slimmed down retinue, taking the Emperor swiftly back to the capital for more concerted care. They’d run eight of their finest-bred mares to exhaustion, sprinting at twice the speed of the original caravan, and had barely made it past the gates as the last rays of sunlight shrunk past the mountains in the distance.
That had been one month ago.
Taki’s eldest cousin had been in a coma since that fateful day, care entrusted to a handful of the most loyal royal attendants and physicians.
The weight of the Empire, previously shouldered by Giri’s dependable grit, now rested precariously on Yudai’s wary shoulders. Now, Taki had witnessed an unprecedented second of his cousins step up to the heavy burden of the crown, and Yudai, took it upon himself not only to juggle standard court politics and empire administration but also launch a confidential campaign to get to the bottom of the looming threat behind the Emperor’s attack.
🪷
In the present, Yudai repeats his name once more, surfacing Taki from his memories, scent-marked by the smell of the traversed terrain.
The clandestine inner circle Yudai had brought together included Fuma, Taki, and a couple of his nobleman friends, but up until now, they hadn’t been able to make much out of the single clue discovered on that fateful day.
Fuma’s already up on his feet, striding to a cabinet in the Crown Prince’s desk, retrieving said relic.
He returns, placing the small scrap of ripped parchment on the table. Try as they might, they had gotten no leads on who had drawn the floral vines on the paper, how it had found its way under Giri’s sleeve – only discovered as his attendants had changed him for his recovery bed –, or even what the graphic meant.
With the reemergence of a cold lead previously thought extinguished, there’s a renewed rush of energy palpable between the three of them.
Taki nods, small but certain, “yeah, look. He traces the tattoo as clearly as his memory will allow into the ash left behind in Yudai’s incense tray. The result is crude but unmistakable, and the men fall into silence.
Taki breaks their contemplation, sharing what information he can of his opponent tonight, “He stole some rare nightshade. When I got to him in the apothecary, he’d been there for a while. He wasn’t after a prepared medication at all – he knew what he was looking for, and it was this particular dried variety.”
Fuma’s brow furrows. “Nightshade isn’t exactly a common ingredient. That’s another clue in itself.”
Taki hums in agreement, “It’s not one the city usually has on hand either. I only recognized it because of that market Nico-nii dragged me to once.” The last bit of that sentence catches in a yawn, fatigue from the day finally catching up to Taki in physical form. His eyes burn a little, leftover from the assault tonight or purely exhaustion, he’s not sure, and he barely registers when Yudai rises and pulls him into his statuesque embrace.
“You’ve had a long day – we’re not going to be productive with any more detective work this late. Go to the infirmary right now to have them check you out, and you better believe I’ll be visiting you bright and early tomorrow to make sure you’re as on the road to recovery as you’re claiming to be.”
Not in the mood to talk back, Taki acquiesces with another muffled yawn, wobbling a little as he leaves Yudai’s arms. Fuma rolls his shoulders and palms the side of his neck, cracking the vertebrae audibly before standing up. He makes to accompany Taki but gets waved off.
“Stay Fuma-kun, Onii-chan looks like he’s about to keel over.” After a pause, Taki tacks on, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. It seems that I interrupted your restful evening.”
It does take his most potent puppy-eyes and a firm hand on each door to ensure Fuma doesn’t follow him, but Taki will take his small victory.
🪷
Now back into the crisp night, Taki strides absently in the general direction of the infirmary. He’s just left the perimeter of the Crown Prince’s residences when he changes his mind and takes a ninety-degree turn instead towards the barracks. His arm looks like it’ll recover just fine, if that mysterious salve continues to work as well as it has been for the past short hour.
And he’d rather not have the physicians fussing over him – Taki swears they’re almost as bad as Yudai and Fuma, and he knows it’s because he’s the baby that everyone in the palace has watched grow up – they’ve seen him fall out of trees, scrape knees tripping over the stones in the palace garden, and bleed his way through the rigorous training of the imperial guard – and, Taki grimaces, they’ve all developed a somewhat pavlovian response to coddle and preserve Taki’s wellbeing.
Taki continues to make his way through the grounds, nodding at the sentries he sees along the way. Hindsight is not Taki’s forte, but this evening, he’s unable to stop replaying his earlier scuffles. “I’m such an idiot, I can’t believe he cornered me into a dead end in that damn shop.” If only he’d reacted faster, or agreed to a partner patrol, maybe they’d have nabbed the marauder.
It’s a testament to how lost in thought he is that he doesn’t even register the sound of leaves crunching in crescendo under a second pair of footsteps – by the time the scent of jasmine buds and smoky firewood hit his nostrils, Nicholas has already slapped a sturdy palm squarely into the small of Taki’s back.
“Well, well, which naughty, baby prince do we have here?”
“Fuck off Nico,” Taki retorts without turning. “I’m not even in the line of succession and you know it.”
“Doesn’t matter. Your grandfather was Emperor and your mother was the Princess Royal. That makes you my favorite princeling.”
“I’m only your favorite baby prince because you know if Yudai heard you call him that, he’d give The Magnolia permission for a permanent restraining order against you.”
Nicholas chooses to ignore that jab, humming noncommittally.
“So, where’s Jojo? Didn’t you drag his poor introverted soul out because I refused to switch my shift and you were so desperate for companionship?”
Nicholas laughs, “I dropped him back home. I’m sure he’s asleep in bed like the good boy he is. I just wanted to swing by and check on my favorite baby imperial guard because I heard from The Magnolia’s manager that someone was causing a bit of commotion. Looks like I was right to, based on your sorry state.” One second he’s twirling a finely-wrought brush between his fingers, and the next he’s tucked it back into his belt, gripping Taki’s bandaged arm, bringing it close to his face for a rather serious assessment.
People have gotten too used to manhandling him today, thinks Taki, resignedly, ... what’s one more overprotective fool.
“Speaking of trouble, let me see this.” Before Taki can protest, Nicholas unwraps the edge of Taki’s shoddily-wrapped bicep and gives the wound a good gander. He purses his lips and then re-ties the dressing with practiced precision, securing the knot with new, neat bunny-ears.
“What, you’re not going to scold me too?” Taki asks, half-expecting another lecture.
“Nah,” Nicholas grins with a few too many teeth showing for comfort. “I’d give you something better than any of the ointments you guards have, but it looks like someone already beat me to it.”
“Wha– wait,” Taki’s eyes narrow. “Nico, do you know the person who gave me this salve?”
The only response Taki gets is Nico’s lip corner curling into a smirk, smug and all-knowing.
Taki presses, “Come on, Nico. What’s in this stuff anyways? How do you know it’s safe or effective? At least say something useful?”
Nico, the infuriating pest he is, just flicks Taki’s ears and caps off his end of the exchange with a cheeky wink and a singsong-y “ Wouldn’t you like to know~”
Before Taki can grab Nico’s robes and give him a good shake for answers, the cool monsoon winds pick up, whistling an eerie tune down the long walkway of the palace. They catch onto just the slightest note of osmanthus coming from the nobleman’s right hip and carry the hint of fragrance up towards Taki’s sensitive nose.
“Where’d you get that from?” Taki points to the item conspicuously tucked into Nicholas’s belt.
“This?” Nicholas pats his waistband. “It’s a lo--ong story. You know how Yudai worked with the court to reinstate the Imperial Academy’s general entrance exam a couple of weeks ago? Guess who I ran into at The Magnolia tonight?”
Taki groans but doesn’t interrupt. He knows that faraway look in Nico’s eyes – he’s in for a heaping boatload of gossip with that innocent query.
“The new students of course! They were all out to take the edge off before their first round of exams. Did you know that the first-place examinee this year is from out of town? He’s from the southern province, and if I’m honest, he looks a little like an overripe tangerine.”
Any other day, Taki would have more patience for Nicholas’s tales of terrorizing innocent scholars, but he does have a pressing question as well as sleep to get to, so he prods Nicholas along and nods towards his belt, “Okay… but what does this citrus-shaped scholar have to do with that ?”
Nicholas looks absolutely filled with glee that Taki's given him this opening. “His robes were so horrendous I almost puked – and that definitely was not from the rice wine we had with dinner – don’t let Jo tell you otherwise.” Nico tsks dramatically. “Of course I had to intervene – that’s our most promising academic in years, and he was dressed in a sack! All I’m saying is that he could really clean up well with a proper waist sash and some olive-green silk. So many men just don’t know their proportions or undertones, I swear, it’s a crime against the empire…,” he trails off.
“Anyways, I simply asked for his name and residence so I could send over a new set of robes, but Jojo thinks I overwhelmed him because he threw his brush at me like an evasive maneuver. But look, Jo was wrong! – the man was just giving me his answer.” Nicholas draws the calligraphy brush from his belt loop and wiggles it’s engraved handle in front of Taki’s face. “See? Byun. Eui. joo. Imperial Academy Residence.”
Taki growls frustratedly, and shoves Nico’s hand away from his nearly crossed eyes. “I wasn’t talking about Byun Euijoo’s damn brush. I was talking about that embroidered handkerchief you’ve got there.”
“Oh this ” His companion shrugs casually, plucking the fabric from his belt and grinning at Taki. “Won it just now at The Magnolia. Don’t you wish you had joined me and Jo when we tried to get you to come tonight?” Taki flips Nicholas the mental bird as he brings out his patented eyebrow waggle.
Shifting to a slightly more sober tone, Nicholas explains, “They were hosting a pitch-pot competition, and some of those losers are equally as good-for-nothing as Yudai says their fathers are in court. They challenged Jojo and of course you know I had to defend his honor. Just because his father is one of the only advisors Yudai trusts right now doesn’t mean they can gang up on him. Not when I’m there, that’s for certain.”
“The prizes were all handkerchiefs from The Magnolia’s top courtesans.” Nicholas gives Taki a curious look and tosses it towards him, “Do you want it?”
Taki grabs the handkerchief mid-air, bringing it to his nose and inhaling. It’s not the main fragrance, but the faint osmanthus scent hidden behind the stronger chrysanthemum oil is unmistakable. “This… it carries a hint of the scent that the mystery fighter was wearing. The one who gave me the salve you refuse to elaborate on.” Taki raises his brow at Nicholas, who to his credit is looking like a guiltier cat with each subsequent word.
Taki’s pleased enough with the meaningful silence he gets from Nicholas and is content to let his companion brew in discomfort for a while longer, but moments later, the palace gong rings again, far closer this time, and signals the third hour of the morning.
Fuma appears suddenly, from a side entryway, his imposing figure cutting through their vision like a spectre. “That’s enough for tonight Nico – let Taki go rest up. Bring Jo with you to the Fragrant Pavilion tomorrow at noon, and we’ll debrief with Yudai then.”
Nicholas flashes a sly grin but obeys, stepping back with a wink. “You heard dad, Taki. Better rest up and not get into any more trouble – and call me if you need backup in the future damn it. Especially if I’m just a couple of back streets away.”
With said loving threat, the party disperses, leaving Taki just a short walk from his barracks.
He rolls his eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps Nico had been herding him to his bed after all. He washes up quickly and collapses into his welcoming sheets. As sleep takes his lucidity away, his subconscious drifts to the smell of osmanthus petals and thoughts of the figure kissed by the sun.
🪷