Chapter 8
Kaneko
Hana led me to a room I had not visited before.
Steam rose from a large wooden tub set into the floor, and the air was thick with the scent of jasmine and something citrus.
Towels and soaps were arranged on a low table nearby.
The tinkling of a chime dangling in an opening in the far wall gave the space a lyrical, peaceful quality.
“The water is ready,” Hana said as she moved toward the tub with purpose.
I stared. “I can bathe myself.”
A tiny laugh fluttered from her lips. She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly.
“I am sure you can.” Her tone was patient, like speaking to a stubborn child.
“But you are no longer a fisherman’s son doing whatever you please.
You are property of the House of Petals.
Everything must be done correctly, including this.
” She gestured to the tub. “Please, Kaneko-san. Do not make this difficult.”
Without warning, she slipped free of her kimono and stood before me bare as a babe.
I blushed and looked away. I wanted to refuse, wanted to demand she leave, but I remembered Momoko’s words: “The question is whether you will do it well enough to thrive, or poorly enough to suffer.”
My hands shook as I reached up to remove my kimono.
Hana’s slender fingers moved my own aside. As deftly as any artisan, she slid inside the silk, teasing my skin, and slipped the fabric free. It fell even more easily than hers had a moment earlier.
I stood there naked, exposed, every instinct screaming to cover myself, but there was nowhere to hide, and Hana was already guiding me toward the tub, her hand gripping mine with gentle certainty.
“Perhaps I should just—” I started.
“Into the water, silly boy,” she said firmly, a hint of humor teasing her lips.
Surrendering, I stepped in. The water was hot—almost too hot—but I sank in gratefully, letting it cover me to my chest. Heat seeped into my muscles, easing aches I had not realized I carried.
For the first time since the attack on Tooi, pain, exhaustion, and fatigue—both of mind and body—all of it fled.
I squeezed my eyes closed and let the warmth renew what was left of my spirit.
“Now, allow me—”
“I can wash myself,” I said quickly, reaching for the soap.
What followed was a disaster.
I grabbed the soap with too much force and it shot from my hand like a fish, arcing through the air before landing with a splash that sent water cascading over the sides of the tub. I lunged for it, creating more splashes, and managed to get soap in my eyes in the process.
“Gods!” I sputtered, pawing at my face.
“Kaneko-san—”
I tried to stand, slipped on the slick bottom of the tub, and went under completely, coming up coughing, water streaming down my face, soap burning my eyes.
Hana’s laughter cut through my flailing. “Kaneko-san, you bathe like you are fighting the water, not cleansing yourself.”
I wiped my eyes and found her kneeling beside the tub, one eyebrow raised, a hand covering her mouth.
“I was just—”
“For the gods’ sake, sit and be still.” She retrieved the soap with practiced ease and began washing my shoulders. “You men, everything must be a battle.”
Despite my embarrassment, something in her tone made my lips quirk. It wasn’t quite a smile, but close.
She spread soap, then strong fingers dug into knotted muscles. I groaned at pain trailed by pleasure, the release of tension and months of fear. Her hands were a magic no monk or priest could ever know.
She was a goddess.
The whole thing should have been uncomfortable, humiliating even, but as sensual and caring as her touch felt, there was something almost clinical about it, too, as though she performed a task that required care but no particular emotion.
She worked her way down my arms and across my chest. I lay back against the metal basin, and her fingers traced the muscles there—lean and corded from years of hauling nets and working boats, my body hard in ways hers was soft.
Then her hand slipped beneath the water.
I froze. My eyes popped wide.
Still, I couldn’t move, could barely breathe.
Her fingers wrapped around my manhood, and for a moment, there was only shocked silence. Then her eyes widened, and she looked up at me, genuine surprise on her painted face.
“Are you not pleased with me?” Her head bowed.
I fumbled for words, my face burning. “I—that is—you—Hana—”
Understanding dawned in her eyes, and slowly, carefully, she withdrew her hand. She said nothing, did not explain or apologize or acknowledge what had just happened, simply continued the bath, washing my legs and feet, her expression professionally neutral once more.
But something had shifted. Some assessments had been made.
When she finished, she helped me from the tub and dried me with soft towels that smelled of lavender, then led me back to my chamber, where new clothes waited. Unlike the sheer silk from the night before, these were slightly less revealing—though not by much.
The outfit was a kimono of sorts, but cut in a way I had never seen.
Deep blue silk hung open in the front, refusing to close properly no matter how I adjusted it.
It left half my chest exposed, the fabric barely covering my shoulders before draping loosely down my sides.
The pants were fitted, clinging to my legs and hindquarters in ways that felt almost obscene.
I tried to pull the front closed. It wouldn’t stay. I tried again, holding it with one hand while I adjusted the other side. The moment I released it to tie something, it fell open again.
“Perhaps if I just . . .” I grabbed a towel and attempted to use it as a makeshift belt.
“Kaneko-san,” Hana said, her voice carefully controlled. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to make this close!” I pressed one arm against my chest, attempting to walk while holding the fabric in place. I must have looked like I was trying to hold my insides in after a particularly nasty flick of a Samurai’s katana.
Hana’s careful composure cracked, and a laugh escaped—bright and genuine—before she caught herself.
“It is meant to be worn that way. To show off your . . . assets.”
“This is . . . I can’t—”
“You can,” she said, still smiling. “And you will. Kaneko-san, you are not unpleasant to look at, and our customers enjoy looking. Now come. We have much to cover today.”
She paused, her eyes still dancing. “And please stop trying to strangle yourself with your own clothing.”