It wasn’t a yes, but it was something.
I found Esumi asleep, a priest sitting watch beside him. The old man assured me all was well, then left us alone with a deep bow. I stripped off my ruined clothes and climbed onto the sleeping mat beside my lover, careful not to jostle his injured shoulder. He stirred, his good arm automatically reaching for me.
“How bad?” he mumbled, half asleep.
“Possibly catastrophic. Definitely terrifying.”
“That’s my favorite prince—always looking on the bright side.”
“Esumi?”
“Mm?”
“What if . . .”
He turned his head to look at me, concern creasing his brow.
“What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not enough?”
He blinked a few times, his eyes clearer now, and found mine in the darkness. “Then you’ll fail, and we’ll all die horribly, and the Empire will fall into the sea and never be seen again.”
“Not helpful.”
“I’m not trying to comfort you, idiot. I’m trying to remind you that it doesn’t matter whether you feel ready. It doesn’t matter whether you think you’re enough. You’re all we have, Haru. So you’ll figure it out, because the alternative is unthinkable.”
“You’re even worse at speeches than Kon.”
“I know.” He pulled me closer despite his injuries, his warmth seeping into my cold skin. “But I’m not lying to you, and that’s worth something.”
“It’s worth everything,” I whispered against his chest.
We lay there in the darkness, two men pretending to sleep while the world raged.
Outside, soldiers prepared for war.
In Bara, the throne sat empty.
Somewhere, in the wilderness bordering Asami lands, my brother was missing or dead.
And on the morrow, we would ride toward all of it, ready or not.
“Esumi?”
“Yes?”
“I love you. In case I forget to say it tomorrow.”
“I know. Even if you’re a terrible stitcher and have no sense of self-preservation.”
“Those are contradictory criticisms,” I pointed out.
“I’m a man of many contradictions.”
Despite everything—the fear, the grief, the impossible weight settling onto my shoulders—I smiled into the darkness.
Chapter 15
Haru
