We sat in awkward silence, staring and trying not to stare. I couldn’t bring myself to ask what had just happened or how holding this man had made my heart race. My mind refused to question what that moment had meant or if I’d simply imagined the whole world stopping for what felt like an eternity.
When I couldn’t stand the tension anymore, I pushed myself to my feet.
Esumi watched me take a few tentative steps toward the door before rising.
When I started to stumble, Esumi was there in a flash. “I’ve got you. Just focus on breathing and not spewing all over me, all right?”
“Thanks,” I said, glancing at Esumi’s hand now wrapped around my torso. The moment he followed my gaze, my eyes dropped to my boots. “How about we find somewhere with tea or water, maybe something solid to eat? I need to clear my stomach . . . and my head.”
“Most everything will be closed for another few hours, but I know ahonjinthat welcomes Samurai at all hours. They’ll probably make an exception for one of Heaven’s sons.” Esumi smirked when I winced. “It’s a few blocks away. Think you can make it that far?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Lead on.”
Chapter 2
Haru
Present Day
“You’re doing that thing with your shoulder again,” Esumi called out, not even looking up from where he sat polishing hiskatanain the morning sun.
I lowered mybokkenand glared at him across the training grounds. “I haven’t even started my forms yet.”
“You were thinking about starting them. I could tell.” He finally looked up, that insufferable smirk playing at his lips. “Your shoulder tenses when you’re about to do something stupid.”
“Falling foryouwas pretty stupid,” I shot back, beginning the first form with exaggerated precision. “My shoulder must have been practically screaming the night we met.”
“Oh, it was. I just thought you had a permanent injury.”
Two of the younger students passing by tried to stifle their laughter. Even after only a month at Temple Suwa, they’d grown used to what Master Chen called our “disgraceful public displays of affection disguised as sword training.”
I completed the first form in the sequence, mybokkencutting through air with practiced ease. These morning sessions had quickly become my favorite part of each day—not because I particularly enjoyed practicing the forms, but because Esumi always watched with that focused intensity that made me feel like I was the only person in the world.
“Better,” he admitted, setting hiskatanaaside and rising in one fluid motion. “But your hip rotation still needs work.”
“My hips are perfect,” I protested. “You said so last night.”
“That was a different context entirely.”
“Same principle.” I cocked a brow in challenge.
Esumi crossed the training ground and stepped behind me, his hands settling on my waist. “Here,” he said, his breath warm against my ear. “When you pivot, think of it as one complete motion, not segments.”
As he guided me through the movement, I may have leaned back against him more than was technically necessary.
“Your Highness is being deliberately obtuse,” he murmured.
“Your Highness is enjoying the firmness of your . . . instruction.”
“My instruction would be more effective if you paid more attention to your movement than my . . . sword.”
“But your sword—”
Master Chen’s voice boomed across the courtyard: “Prince Haru, if you’re quite finished using Esumi-sanas a training post, perhaps you would honor us with a little practice?”
The monks of Suwa had never shied from treating me like every other would-be Samuraitraining at their feet, despite my royal lineage. Father would have bristled, and Mother would have rained hellfire. To me, it was a blessed reprieve from the endless groveling that came with the title “prince.”
I stepped away from Esumi, offering Master Chen an unrepentant bow. “Of course, Master. I was merely receiving correction on my form.”
