I wasn’t walking into this alone.
A soft knock interrupted us. “Prince Haru-sama?” Giichi’s voice, gentle but insistent. “The horses are ready.”
Together, we rose and dressed in traveling clothes.
Together, we gathered our possessions.
Together, we walked out into the courtyard where Giichi waited with six Samurai.
Kaneko and Yoshi were already mounted, their faces serious in the morning light.
Several of the masters stood to the side, their usual sternness softened by something that might have been respect. “Prince Haru-sama,”Master Chen said as he bowed. “May the gods guide your path.”
“Thank you, Master.”
He bowed again, deeper than he ever had before. “Your father’s loss is the Empire’s loss.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and mounted the horse they’d brought for me. Esumi swung up beside me, his hand brushing mine before gripping his reins.
“We ride north,” Giichi announced, his voice carrying over the assembled group. “Stay close and alert. The roads are uncertain.”
As we passed through Suwa’s gates, I glanced back only once. The complex spread behind us, peaceful and unchanging, a place where I’d found something akin to peace. I wondered if I’d ever see it again—or again feel that sense of peace in my heart.
“Ready?” Esumi asked quietly.
No. Never. Not for any of this, I thought.
Instead, I nodded and spurred my horse forward. “Let’s go home.”
We rode north, toward duty I didn’t want and a throne that should have stayed my father’s forever.
Behind us, the sun rose on a new age.
I just hoped the Empire—and I—would survive it.
Chapter 12
Haru
The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks spiraling into the darkness above our heads.
Around us, the forest breathed—leaves rustling in the evening breeze, branches creaking.
In the distance, an owl hooted, claiming its territory.
The moon hung full and heavy overhead, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow, bright enough that we could have traveled by its light if we weren’t already exhausted.
I poked at the fire with a stick, watching embers glow and fade, trying to ignore how much my backside hurt from a full day in the saddle. Suwa Temple had kept us fit, but apparently not the right kind of fit for riding. My thighs ached, my lower back complained, and I was fairly certain I’d never sit comfortably again.
The remnants of our evening meal lay scattered around the fire—empty rice ball wrappers, a small pot we’d used to heat water for tea, and the last few strips of dried fish that none of ushad the appetite to finish. It was the kind of food that sustained you without being particularly enjoyable.
“Stop fidgeting,” Esumi said from beside me. “You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m not fidgeting. I’m maintaining the fire.”
“You’ve poked it seventeen times in the last five minutes.”
“You counted?”
