Roken sent out the letter as soon as he could. Kyoumi didn’t know exactly what to expect, but she hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. They could only spare two months to wait; that allotted time was almost passed, to no shortage of murmured hopes from Roken so his children could be spared the thought of losing more of their family.


    She knew Rei kept an eye on Taiyo, but she couldn’t help giving them her own worried stares. She watched them from the edge of camp as they searched the ground for any forgotten trinkets they could send back to friends at home.


    “They won’t vanish if you blink, love.”


    She startled, even if she recognized Sorai’s voice from the first word. He sat down next to her, trying to smile.


    “I know,” she admitted. She sighed and leaned into him. “I’m just…concerned. I keep getting a sense of dread.”


    “The boys have more protection now than they ever did in the palace,” Sorai assured her. “They’ll be fine.”


    “We can’t guarantee that. Rei will want to be with us and Taiyo shouldn’t be away from him; they have to come to Kuro’s castle. We don’t know how far the king is willing to go to win a petty war he started.”


    Sorai patted her shoulder. Kyoumi continued in a murmur before he could try to convince her of the boys’ safety.


    “...I don’t think I’ve been this anxious since the days leading up to Father and Mother’s deaths. I was so scared—I was practically told to be, in my mind—but they were convinced the war was over. I’m afraid that will happen to the boys.”


    Sorai shifted his position a bit to offer a light kiss and a hug.


    “I won’t let it, I swear. Does that help at all?”


    “A little.”


    She couldn’t personally protect them—nor could she even trust them to protect themselves. But she worried that Rei wouldn’t tell her if he truly struggled due to the large amounts of strangers, and she noticed that Taiyo feigned cheerfulness more than he genuinely expressed it. She didn’t want to lose them to anything.


    Kyoumi stayed in that position, Sorai half-resisting letting her move, until two soldiers approached from the entrance of camp. She sat up and brushed her hair aside as they came closer.


    “Is there something to report?” she asked once they came close enough to bow.


    “A small family arrived,” one reported. “They’ve asked to see Sir Roken.”


    “Are they armed?”


    “The father has a hunting knife. His wife and son have nothing on them.”


    “Very well. Please let Sir Roken know; I’ll speak with them in the meantime.”


    One soldier left, while the other walked with her and Sorai as they went to greet the family. She glanced at Rei and Taiyo on their way past—not paying attention, for the moment—and tried to shift a majority of her attention to the strangers.


    The family obediently stood outside the camp’s boundaries, carrying almost nothing with them. The father responded first, offering a bow that his wife and teenaged son mimicked.


    “I didn’t expect to be greeted by the queen herself,” the man admitted, “Although it will save time. It may mean nothing from me, but I was disgusted when I heard Gin’s second prince was found in Yuneda’s fort. She always believed that the ends justifies the means, no matter who gets hurt in the process. I sincerely hope he’s all right.”This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    “He’s getting better, yes. But may I ask who offers these words?”


    “Masaaki Toru and his family,” the man replied. He readjusted his position, standing a little straighter and firm. “If you and Roken agree to it, I would like to help you. I’m afraid Shunji will destroy us at this rate.”


    — —


    “Shunji. There are nearly two months’ worth of reports you haven’t read yet.”


    The king didn’t move from his position on the throne, uninterested in anything that wasn’t the portrait of Lady Yuneda right next to him.


    “Read them yourself, kitsune. You’re the advisor, after all.”


    Sukaru’s ear twitched and her tail stayed low, sweeping back and forth against the floor.


    “I’m a battle advisor,” she argued. She stepped forward and placed the papers on the arm of the throne.


    Shunji gave them one glance and swiped them onto the floor.


    “Give me a summary?”


    “Will you actually listen? I can’t solve everything.”


    He let out a humorless chuckle. “And who’s fault is that, hm?”


    “Yours, for taking away a good portion of my authority.”


    “You should have thought about that before you let Aeko die. Now give me a summary of the reports or you’ll be executed tomorrow morning for treason.”


    Sukaru sighed, reclaiming the papers and retreating a fair bit away again. She didn’t want to be anywhere within reach when he heard the news.


    He watched her with a tired gaze as she shifted through the papers again.


    “We have word that Gin and the north are moving again.”


    “What else?”


    “Masaaki Toru has defected.”


    “Damn him. Next?”


    Sukaru gave him an unamused look. She couldn’t tell if he was drinking or if his density was natural. She played along; in the most casual voice she could make, she gave the final major news.


    “Half of Kuro’s northern and eastern nobles have vowed to do the same under Masaaki’s influence. They’re picking sides.”


    Shunji initially waved it off, then paused. His eyes narrowed and he stood up with enough force to make the portrait of Lady Yuneda fall; he didn’t bend to pick it up.


    “What?”


    Sukaru offered the paper that detailed it, and he came forward to snatch it away. She stepped back more.


    He scanned the paper, his scowl turning into a hiss. He ripped the paper in half when he finished reading, letting out a curse.


    “We’re not damn Gin,” Shunji growled. “We’re stronger than that. Why the hell do they care about Masaaki?”


    “He didn’t lower the age of army acceptance from twenty to eighteen.”


    “It’s two years! Those boys and girls were happy to be here.”


    “Parents don’t care about that. Most rely on said children to maintain their homes, their fields, their livestock. We have no allies to give us supplies—once our rations are out, that’s it. The smaller villages are running out of food.”


    He swiped at her, but she dodged and her tail flicked.


    “Why didn’t you tell me?”


    “I did,” Sukaru argued. She tried not to show her teeth by instinct. “You ignored me—and the dozen other people in the castle that have heard by now.”


    “Damn it.” He flung the half-papers on either side of the room and turned back towards the throne. “I take it that all resistors are already in Gin’s ranks?”


    “Yes.” She shook off the threat but prepared herself for the possibility. “Families disappear from their homes and reappear at the captured Yuneda fort. They feigned loyalty until they were safe.”


    “Get soldiers to keep any more from defecting. We can’t put up a fight if we have a skeleton army.”


    “I will.”


    Shunji nodded and went back to the throne, slowly regaining his composure the farther he got from Sukaru. He bent down to place Lady Yuneda’s portrait back in its place.


    Sukaru shifted to leave, stopped by Shunji’s murmur.


    “...I refuse to let Aeko’s death be in vain.”


    “Don’t worry,” Sukaru replied, briefly glancing at him. “I won’t let Kuro fall.”


    The castle could burn and the adults could die for all she cared. She just knew that she couldn’t live with herself if she let the children suffer because of it. They’ve already lost Shunji’s eldest to a battle, and Ryobe died from an infected wound.


    If she learned anything, it was that they deserved better. Why did they force every generation to deal with petty wars that meant nothing? No one should have to die for something so useless.