cruel, random act of fate, but something well within our bounds to control, and I was so angry I thought of striking him.
It would have been as ineffectual as a small bird trying to take its frustrations out on the tree that sheltered it.
“We must do this, Kouje,” I said quietly, hand still twisting in the fabric of his shirt, more anxious then than angry. “Do you not see?”
“You do not understand what you ask me to do,” Kouje answered, and I could hear the reluctance in his voice at having to deny me. He had always spoiled me, had always sought to give me what I desired, even when those desires had been headstrong and foolish.
Even when they’d been impossible.
If he’d been able to do it once, he should have been able to do it again. I pushed at that weakness, hating that I had to do it and hating the situation that made it necessary.
“Do this,” I commanded, crushing all soft hints of begging from my voice. I raised my head to look at him, not as a friend, but as his lord. “It is not a request.”
There had been a time once when I had wanted nothing more than to learn how to look at Kouje as a friend and not his lord. But it seemed I had to forget that once again in order to get us past this next border crossing.
“Do this for me,” I added, trying to impress on him how important this was. “If you truly want my safety, then you will overcome that which holds you back and will remember your duty to me.”
Kouje held still so long that I thought my words had woven some kind of forest magic and turned him to a statue. Then he lifted his hand, and put it over mine against his chest.
I felt a flutter of hope and tried not to let it show on my face.
“Will you?” I asked.
“I will do whatever you ask of me, my lord,” he said finally, in a granite voice that was much like a statue’s.
“It is for the best,” I told him, and went to fetch our packs from the horse.
Kouje was silent all the while as I tied my sash around his waist, adjusting his shirt and pulling at the fall of his jacket to make it drape properly. There was nothing to be done about the shoes, of course, but country lords rarely saw fit to buy expensive shoes when they were just going to be mucking them up in the fields.
I stepped back to admire my handiwork, biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from asking if he’d ever forgive me.
“That looks right,” I said, faltering at the last. “You look very handsome! Just let me cover my hair, and… Well, it’ll be a moment.”
I turned away to fix my own clothing. We’d borrowed things from Aiko, leggings that might fit me, and which would prove less cumbersome than the robes I’d donned as Kouje’s wife. In some ways I was still wearing women’s clothing, but it could be made to look like a servant’s with a few tugs here and a few adjustments there.
I was nearly done, and struggling with the wrap for my hair, when I felt Kouje’s hand on my shoulder.
“Let me,” he said, and I let go immediately, allowing his capable hands in place of my own.
I remembered how we had stood in the same positions once, though reversed. I had been the one to adjust Kouje’s hair, all his fine braids gone as if they’d never been there to begin with.
Did the accomplishments mean anything, if what one had to show for them was gone? Was I still a prince if I lived in the forest with no one to see me but the birds?
“There,” said Kouje, stepping away once he’d finished.
“Thank you,” I murmured, not daring enough to raise my eyes. I couldn’t bear it if Kouje were to decide that I’d done something unforgivable. Not after everything else.
“You look… very strange,” he said at last. Something in his voice gave me the courage I’d been needing to look up.
There. It was very small, and rather forced, but Kouje was smiling.
I felt so relieved all at once that I couldn’t help smiling back at him.
“You can pretend it’s a play,” I told him. “Such small things do not anger the gods. Plays only anger the mortal men who watch them.”