Chapter 23
Kaneko
The Iris chamber was beautiful, with delicate screens painted with purple flowers.
A low bed draped in crimson silk held court at its center as lanterns cast a warm, golden light, and burning incense filled the space with a floral scent meant to bring peace, but did little to calm my fraying nerves.
Haru lounged on the bed, propped against cushions. Esumi stood to the side, one hand resting on his lover’s shoulder. Neither had fully removed their clothing, though Haru’s kimono now lay open, revealing much of his muscled chest and lean torso.
Neither moved toward me. Neither rose. They simply stared.
I stood just inside the door, frozen.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
My training screamed for me to move, to speak, to begin my performance, but my body refused to obey.
Seconds became minutes.
Still no one spoke.
Esumi’s eyes traveled over me, assessing, the way one might examine a horse at market or a weapon before purchase. His expression revealed nothing—showed neither desire nor disgust—simply cold evaluation.
My skin prickled under his gaze.
Haru remained perfectly still, completely relaxed.
“Come closer,” Haru said finally, lifting one hand to motion me toward them. His voice was neither kind nor cruel. It was simply commanding, the words of a prince.
I forced my legs to move, crossing halfway to the bed and then stopping.
Esumi stepped forward and circled around me. I felt him behind me, sensed his presence at my back. Every instinct screamed to turn, to keep him in sight, but I dared not move.
“Do you know who I am?” Haru asked.
“Yes, my lord. Prince Haru of—”
“No.” He cut me off. “Do you know me? Have we met before?”
My heart stuttered as my head fell.
Did he remember?
Was I supposed to acknowledge our meeting in Tooi?
Or would that make things worse?
“I . . . I am uncertain, my lord.”
“Uncertain?” Haru’s tone was flat. “How . . . diplomatic. I do not recall you parsing words so skillfully when last we spoke.”
Esumi’s hand touched my shoulder. It was only his fingertips, light but unmistakable.
I flinched.
“He is terrified,” Esumi observed, speaking to Haru as if I were not there, as if I could not hear.
A kernel of anger sparked within me.
“Yes,” Haru agreed. “He is poorly trained, then.”
“Perhaps not. He remains new,” Esumi said. “You are his first customer.”
They were talking about me like I was an object, property to be weighed or cataloged or . . . My blood began to boil. Then my training kicked in.
This was going wrong, and I needed to recover, to perform, to become what they wanted.
I forced a smile onto my face, let my shoulders relax, and made my voice softer.
“Forgive me, my lord, my prince. I am . . . I confess I am nervous. Who wouldn’t be with such distinguished guests, especially for this one’s first time?
” I let my eyes fall from Haru’s face to his open kimono.
“Tell me what you desire, my prince. Let me please you.”
The words felt like ash in my mouth, but I had been trained for this, trained to seduce, to invite, to offer myself.
Esumi’s hand withdrew from my shoulder. “That’s better,” he said, but something in his tone was off. “More what I expected.”
“Show us,” Haru said. “What did they teach you?”
I looked up, uncertain.
“Your training,” Haru clarified. “Demonstrate.”
This was a test. They wanted to see if I was worth the twenty ryō they had paid, so I moved toward the bed, stood at its edge, and reached for the collar of my new sailor’s coat. It slid from my shoulders, revealing the sheer silk beneath.
“Is this what pleases you, my prince?” I kept my voice low. Inviting. “Or would you prefer—”
“Stop.” Haru’s voice was sharp.
I froze, the coat pooled around my waist.
“Is this what you do with all your customers?” Esumi asked. His tone held an edge now. “This . . . performance?”
“I—” My voice faltered. “I’m trying to—”
“We can tell,” Haru said. He sounded almost frustrated. “It is transparent, rehearsed. Did no one teach you subtlety?”
Heat flooded my face. Shame mixed with confusion. What did they want? What was I doing wrong?
“My prince, please, I can—I can do better, I just—”
“You’re acting,” Esumi said. “Badly.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” Haru leaned forward. “Everything about you is a performance, from the smile that does not reach your eyes, to the voice that still possesses that trained quality, to your movements that follow a script . . .” He tilted his head.
“Did they really think that would work on anyone with half a brain? I see better trained actors pretending their own importance at court every day of the week.”
Something broke inside me. The mask shattered.
“Then what do you want from me?” The words came out raw. “I don’t—I don’t know what you want. Just tell me and I’ll—”
I stopped, suddenly realizing I was shaking, that tears were threatening at the corners of my eyes. Silence fell again, but different this time.
“My prince, forgive me.” I dropped to my knees and pressed my forehead to the floor. “Forgive this one—”
Then Esumi laughed.
It was soft at first. Then louder. Genuine amusement coloring his voice.
“Gods,” he said, looking at Haru. “The poor boy. Look at his face.”
My head rose, confusion replacing every other emotion.
“I see it,” Haru said—and he was smiling now, too—not harshly, but with something akin to gentle humor. “Kaneko, breathe. You are not in trouble.”
I raised from my prostration and stared at them, completely lost.
“Stand up, for the gods’ sake,” Esumi said, hooking a hand in my arm and hauling me up like I weighed less than the sheer fabric I wore.
“We apologize,” Haru said. “We were . . . having a bit of fun at your expense.”
I nearly toppled again. The Prince apologized? No one of the royal blood ever uttered such words—or even thought them. They were divine. They were above such, yet he offered his apology to me.
“That was unkind of us,” Haru went on, ignoring my utter bafflement. “But we needed to see past the performance, to the real you underneath. We needed to be sure you were still in there.”
“I . . . I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“Your training,” Esumi explained, moving back around to where I could see him. “It’s . . . obvious. Watching you try to seduce us was like watching a bad theater production, all surface with very little authenticity.” He softened. “We needed you to stop performing, to just be yourself.”
“Why?” I asked.
“To see if the boy we met in Tooi still lived,” Esumi answered without thought.
Haru’s eyes softened.
“Because,” he said gently, “you belong to Yoshi, and no other. I could not watch you given to another man when I know where your heart truly lies.”
The words made no sense. I stood there trying to process them, trying to understand.
You belong to Yoshi.
My knees gave out completely, and I collapsed forward, catching myself on my hands—on the Prince’s bed. Esumi moved, impossibly fast. He was beside me in an instant, powerful hands catching me, lifting me. “Easy. Just breathe. We have you now. You’re safe.”
Safe? When had I last heard that word? When had I last felt its embrace?
I gasped. Choked. Couldn’t draw air.
“Slowly,” Esumi said, all traces of his unsettling evaluation gone. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it. Again.”
He guided me to sit on the edge of the bed, supporting my weight as my legs refused to function. Haru shifted to make room, concern now clear on his face—real concern, not a performance.
“I am truly sorry, Kaneko,” Haru said. “I should have spoken sooner, should have realized—” He stopped. “You thought you would have to . . . and we let you stand there, let you try to seduce us like some trained pet. Please forgive me . . . forgive us.”
I finally managed to breathe. To think. To understand.
They were not going to use me. They had bought me—paid twenty ryō—not to claim me, but to protect me.
“Your acting though.” Esumi chuckled, a teasing warmth blooming in his voice. “It’s truly terrible. ‘Tell me what you desire’?” He mimicked my voice with exaggerated breathiness. “Did they actually teach you to say that?”
Despite everything, a strangled laugh escaped me. It might’ve been choked and broken, but it was real. And gods, it felt good.
“See?” Haru smiled. “There. That is the real Kaneko, the one I remember. He is so much better than the man who stood before us.”
“I still don’t understand,” I whispered.
“I know.” Haru leaned forward, cupping my cheek. “But you are safe. I swear it. For tonight, and for as many nights as I can purchase. No one will touch you. No one will hurt you. If they try, an army of Imperial Samurai will tear this place apart, one plank at a time.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. I blinked them back furiously.
“Why?” I managed.
“Because I remember two boys in Tooi,” Haru said, and his teasing tone had vanished, replaced by genuine emotion.
“Two boys I grew to like very much. One who blushed when I spoke of love, who looked at the other with devotion so pure it made my own heart ache.” His expression grew sad.
“And I could not bear to see what that boy had become, what had been done to him—what was about to become of his beautiful soul.”
Tears fell then. I could not stop them.
Esumi handed me a cloth, and I pressed it to my face, my shoulders shaking, trying to regain some semblance of control. Haru—son of the Divine Emperor and Prince of the Empire—leaned forward and pulled me toward him, held me tight against his chest until my sobbing ceased.
“Tell me what happened,” he said gently, his hand rubbing the back of my head as any mother might soothe a troubled child. “How did you end up here?”
Reluctantly, I pulled back and looked at him, at this prince who had already shown me more kindness in a few moments than anyone had in a year, the prince who had paid a fortune just to keep me safe.