“You have no idea,” I said into the bedding. “I think I made good decisions. Or maybe all the wrong ones. Possibly both simultaneously. Is that possible? Can you be right and wrong at the same time?”
“In my experience? Almost always.”
I rolled onto my back to glare at him, but he had already started undressing, his back to me as he removed his outer robe. There was something methodical about the way he moved, so different from Moko’s graceful efficiency. Esumi made every motion deliberate, unhurried.
“You know what the worst part is?” I asked the ceiling. “Everyone keeps looking at me like I have answers, like I know what I am doing. A month ago, I was a stupid, drunk prince they couldn’t wait to send far from the capital, and now they think I have some sort of divine wisdom.”
“You are the Divine—”
“Ryujin’s hairy balls, stop that.” I huffed a humorless laugh. “Do you know how many war councils Father let me attend? Dozens. Maybe a hundred. And you know what I learned from them?”
“How to look wise while having no idea what anyone is talking about?”
“Actually, yes!” I let out another surprised laugh. “That isexactlywhat I learned. Father would sit there like a mountain, all silent and thoughtful, and I thought—I thought he was such a great man weighing every word, considering every angle, twelve moves ahead of everyone else. But what if he was just . . . sitting there? What if he had no idea either and was just really good at looking like he did?”
“Your father,” Esumi said, draping his robe over a stand, “was many things, but he always knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Great. So I am even worse at this than I thought.”
The bed dipped as Esumi sank onto the edge to remove his sandals. “You made decisions today. Good and honorable ones, from what I heard.”
“Or catastrophically bad ones that will lead to the fall of the Empire and historians writing about Emperor Haru the Incompetent Who Reigned For Three Weeks Before Everything Collapsed.” I threw an arm over my eyes. “That will be a very long entry in the Imperial records.”
“I think they would shorten it to ‘Haru the Brief.’”
“You aren’t helping.”
“I wasn’t trying to help. I was trying to make you laugh.” The mattress shifted as Esumi stood again. “Did it work?”
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
And I was.
I had let out something between a snort and a laugh despite myself, but the brief moment of levity had faded quickly, crushed beneath the weight of everything that had happened that day, everything that was still happening. Despite winter’s approach, Eiko’s forces were still advancing toward our northern garrisons, who were isolated and running low on supplies, tens of thousands of refugees were fleeing Yubi, and Daiki’s salty head was on its way to taunt me.
I could practically hear Eiko laughing her fat ass off somewhere in the east.
“I keep seeing Daiki’s face,” I said quietly. “He used to bring me candied ginger when he visited court. He said it was good for digestion, but I think he just knew I liked sweets and Mother would never let me have them during state functions.” I swallowed hard. “Eiko murdered him. She executed him for trying to do an honorable thing.”
I gulped back bile that threatened to surface. “And I sat there on Father’s throne today and gave orders like I knew what I was doing, like I had any idea how to fight someone like that.”
The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric. I lowered my arm to find Esumi now completely bare, folding his final garment and setting it aside. The sight of his taut, muscular body usually soothed whatever might ail me, but in that moment, even the beauty of his bare buttocks failed to easy my heart’s aches.
“You are going to give poor Moko a heart condition,” I muttered. “Slipping in here like this. What if someone sees you leaving in the morning?”
“Then they will see me leaving in the morning.” Esumi padded across the room toward the bed. “You are the Emperor now, Haru. You can have whoever you want in your chambers.”
“That isn’t how it works. There are protocols, expectations, political considerations—”
“All of which can be changed—or at least wait until tomorrow.” The bed dipped as he climbed in behind me. “Right now, you need to stop being Emperor for a few hours.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I admitted. The words came out smaller than I intended. “I mean, I don’t know how tobeEmperor either. It’s just . . . I can’t stop thinking about all of it: the decisions, the consequences, the thousands and thousands of things that could go wrong. What if—”
“Haru.” Esumi’s body pressed against my back, warm and solid, his arm draping over my waist and pulling me into him. “Breathe.”
“Iambreathing.”
