“Stop.” Haru’s voice was sharp.
I froze, the coat pooled around my waist.
“Is this what you do withallyour 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 Princeapologized? 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 apologyto 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.”
