g. suguru | dynasty
angst, royal au, suguru being sneaky, deception
wc: 5.2k
Looking back on it, their meeting should have been a sign. A warning that nothing good was to come of this. It was all too coincidental. Too convenient.
But the princess’s heart was too kind.
The night had been ravenous with thunder and lightening. The storm echoed through the kingdom with an unseeable anger and sorrow.
Perhaps Mother Nature was showcasing her growing displeasure for the ongoing war. The crown princess had been sitting in her small alcove, knees tucked up against her chest, blanket draped over her lap, as she stared out the tinted glass window. Two hours had passed and she had yet to move. Her father’s words - the king’s words - echoed violently in her mind.
You shall pick up a sword.
It wasn’t a suggestion nor request. No, it was a command. From king to heir. Not from father to daughter. She was to uphold her duties as heir to throne and she was to do so without complaint.
The only living child of the king. His heir. Not his daughter. His heir. From the moment she took her first breath, her life no longer belonged to her. No, it was the crown’s. To the people’s. It belonged to everyone, but the girl who was living it.
Even as a child, she did not understand her father’s way of showing love. Some days she felt like nothing more than an object to him. Like a soldier that he could shape into a perfect soldier.
Do not be mistaken, her father was an angry man. He had never once raised his hand against her. No, his cruelty was far worse. His actions were always carefully measured. The sharp looks, the tick of his jaw. The princess knew when the king was disappointed in her.
And somehow that was worse than if he had struck her.
But then there was his praise. Small and barely noticeable, yet she chased after it like a feral animal.
The slight tilt of the chin when she managed to sit through hours of diplomatic council without a single complaint. The brief glance of acknowledgement when she maintained composure while men thrice her age attempted to negate her contributions. The faint click of his tongue when she spent days enduring training - bruised and battered.
You shall pick up a sword.
Her fist curled tightly around the blanket, practically strangling it. Anger boiled over in her chest.
Gods, she hadn’t picked up a sword in years and once upon a time, a sword had been her best companion.
Not because she loved the violence or the death that followed.
Because it was the only acceptable form to demonstrate her anger.
Her position as crown princess demanded that she remain prim and proper. That her words were to be carefully calculated and diplomatic. There was no room for her anger and frustration. Those emotions were beneath her while she was confined to the palace walls.
The training grounds were different.
They fed off of any negative emotion. They were channeled into something beautiful - strength. Every frustration, every act of humiliation, and every tear morphed her in a deadly weapon. Every strike and every opponent she took down felt like someone had handed her a bar of gold. It was rewarding. She did this on her own without the any of the expectations thrown at her.
It was proof that she could be something other than the crown princess.
The sword answered to her and her alone.
She remembered how relieved she had felt when that joy embedded itself in her veins. How thrilled she had become when she realized she finally had something that wasn’t tainted by the crown’s influence.
That relief was short lived. During one of her training sessions, the girl had caught the King observing her. His eyes were narrowed, scanning her form and strikes. Her instructor’s eyes had widened as he switched his form from offensive to defensive, trying to fend her off.
The king stood there, observing. And as if the gods’ had been punishing her, a devious smile graced the King’s lips. A simple action so disarming that her instructor managed to swipe her legs out from underneath her.
The crown princess never touched a sword again.
Snapping back to reality, the princess shook her head rapidly, trying to rid herself of that miserable memory.
Gods, her father certainly knew how to utterly demolish her mood.
She let out a heavy sigh before resting her head against the stone wall, eyes once again peering through the tinted glass. Still the storm was raging on. Lightening illuminated the sky, making everything visible for just a fraction of a second.
But that fraction of a second was all the princess needed to see him.
The rain was difficult for her to make out any distinctive features beyond the sheer size of the person, but based on the way he was stumbling and staggering, he had to be injured. The guards atop the wall began shouting at him, readying their weapons.
“State your business!” One of them barked out.
There was no reaction from the stranger. He continued forward, ignoring the increasing threat.
As the princess continued watching, a certain uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach. She was unsure of what the guards were going to do. She knew they had been tasked to protect the kingdom from threats, but what would they do with what seemed like an injured individual? Would they kill them on sight? Let them in? The princess shuddered at the thought of murder.
A crack of thunder echoed through the sky just as the stranger looked up.
She sucked in a breath. His eyes seemed to lock onto hers. Impossible, her room was too distant for him to ascertain that she was watching. Right?
The stranger seemed to stare for a few more seconds. And then, they collapsed, face down in the dirt.
Without a second thought, the princess tossed her blanket away. Her feet echoed against the cold stone as she rushed to put on her night coat and slippers. She pushed pasted several servants and guards, leaving him behind as they shouted and ran after her.
Soaked and shivering, the princess made it to the gate just in time to see a guard push the stranger back with the butt-end of his spear. The stranger stumbled backwards, losing their footing as they landed on their backside. A curse slipped past the stranger’s lips as he clutched his side and that’s when the princess took note of the bloodied hand. After a few more moments of observation, the princess could finally determine that the stranger was injured. The dark splotches on his cloak had to of been blood and based on the condition of his mud caked clothing, he had to of been traveling for days, perhaps longer.
Wild scenarios flooded her imagination. Where did he come from? Who was he? Why was he out in this horrendous weather? She had so many questions. Questions that would have to wait once he was healed.
“Open the gates and bring him in.” The princess demanded, glaring at the guard who pushed him.
He froze in shock and turned towards her, “Your Highness, we have strict orde-”
“Are you refusing a direct order?”
“N-no, m’lady, but your fath-”
“Listen here and listen well,” She demanded, taking a step closer, “I am the crown princess. The heir to the throne. This is MY kingdom and you are to listen to me. Do you understand?”
The guard said nothing, but she could tell from his gaze that he was not backing down. Well, neither was she.
“Open. The. Gates.” She seethed, fury boiling beneath her skin at the blatant disrespect and defiance, “Or I swear on my life, you will be removed from your post and dealt with at my discretion.”
The guards immediately scattered as they moved to obey her orders.
The tall, golden gates groaned as the swung open, allowing the princess to slip past them and towards the stranger. She dropped to her knees next to them as she took in his features.
By the Gods, he was beautiful. Not beautiful is a pretty heavenly way, but beautiful in a sort of mysterious and terrifying way. Beautiful in a sort of terrifying, strange way. Dark hair clung to his face. His features were sharp, that she could tell.
Snap out of it she thought, trying to get a grip on herself.
Without realization, she reached out, eager to touch him and as her fingertips grazed his cloak, he head snapped towards her.
Strange…where had she heard about purple eyes?
Before she could think further, the stranger wrapped his fingers around her wrist tightly, bringing her close.
“Where am I?” His voice was low and rough, laced with heavy exhaustion.
“S-Shibuya…” The princess squeaked.
A dark look of recognition flickered in the man’s eyes. A look that was gone as quickly as it came. The princess was about to ask him another question, but before she could, his hand went limp.
And not a second later, thunder echoed through the dark sky as if the gods themselves were acknowledging the intertwining of fates.
The strange man had been taken into the palace infirmary where he would rest for two days without waking. The king had ordered guards to be stationed by his side until he woke and he was permitted no visitors - much to the young princess’s dismay. For two days, she attempted to gain access to the infirmary, but was denied by the king’s guard each time. Each time she was sent away, leaving her to sit in a continuous state of curiosity.
There was no rhyme or reason as to why she wanted to or should visit the stranger. Maybe it was because he was something new. Something that had completely disrupted her daily life. He was something new. Something unfamiliar in a frightening, yet intriguing way. Based on his scraps of clothing and rough, yet sharp features, he hadn’t been tamed by the royal life.
When he finally woke and had been permitted visitors, the crown princess had all but thrown the guards out of her way. They tried to stop her, but alas, what could they do by comply with the king’s daughter’s wishes?
The infirmary was dimly lit, the only source of light being a small candle. Despite the small flame, there was more enough light for faces to be seen. His face was free of the blood that marred his skin two nights prior. Some of his hair had been tied back into a small bun and he wore a fresh set of clothing - likely from some of the male servants or just random.
Shifting slightly, the princess cleared her throat as a way to announce her presence.
The stranger turned his gaze towards her.
His eyes scanning her fidgeting form, looking her up and down. For a few breaths, neither party spoke. In that silence, the princess - again - became uneasy. It was if all the sudden she should care about her appearance and if her gown was too much or not enough. Was her makeup appropriate? Did she look disheveled from her sudden entrance? Did he think she was pretty?
The stranger cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow, “Are you mute?”
One of the guards narrowed his eyes, “Mind your tongue. You dare speak to the crown prin-”
The princess raised her hand. “It is alright. I do suppose I was staring.”
The stranger smirked as if her rudeness had amused him. He shifted against the pillows, wincing slightly as pain shot through his ribs. His purple eyes glinted with mischief.
He settled back into the pillows, his arm coming to rest against his ribs. “Dangerous.”
The princess settled onto the small wooden stool, her hands coming together in her lap. Her brow arched, “I beg your pardon?”
“Staring. It’s dangerous.”
“Oh?” She frowned slightly. “How so?”
A small smile flickered across his face, “There’s often intent behind it. Good…Bad…Something in between…”
His words struck a nerve, making the guards stand alert. They shuffled closer to the princess, hands resting on the hilt of their swords. The stranger’s gaze flickered towards the guard, but then returned to the princess’s.
Then, slowly, he added, “Though I suppose in your case it is a sign of bad manners…”
The princess blinked. Once. Twice. And then —
Not the fake, polite laughter she used in courts or with her ladies in waiting. Real laughter. One that sliced through the tension like soft butter.
“I suppose you are right,” She wheezed out, “My apologies, sir-” A pause. Sir didn’t seem appropriate. She had seen this man unconscious outside of her castle. He had been vulnerable - not a state of being that any man liked to be in, especially in front of a lady. And yet, she still had not asked his name.
He tilted his head, urging her to continue.
“I do not know you name.”
“You have not asked.” He stated blankly.
“I am a princess. I don’t need to ask. I am usually told.” She lifted her chin, an act that gave off defiance. Though it was really defiance. More like a hidden truth. She was royalty. She was usually informed of titles and names before the party arrived. This had been a sudden intrusion on her usual dealings.
He rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the ceiling
“Are you not capable of acting on your own accord, princess?”
“I am too!” She snapped back.
“Yet you haven’t asked…” He smirked.
“Fine,” She glared, “What is your name?”
A plain name. One that was simple and easy to remember. Though the princess doubted anyone would forget this man, but something about the name didn’t suit him. It was too plain. Too simple. The princess shrugged the thought off, deciding the matter was too trivial.
Over the next few weeks, her suspicion and uneasiness morph into something far more dangerous. Something deeper. Kenji had crept into her daily life, often interrupting her royal duties, much to the king’s dismay. He would eagerly await the princess’s nightly visits to the infirmary while he recovered. Those visits were often filled with sharp tongued remarks and fiery arguments, something unusual for the princess. She was used to carefully crafted words. Words with purpose and ulterior motives. Everyone - with the exception of the king - agreeing wholeheartedly with her words. The guards obeying every command without question. Her father giving her structured commands.
Kenji challenged her. Rolled his eyes when she made an absurd comment. Mocked her when she laughed like a stuck pig.
It was refreshing and the highlight of her day.
The princess was able to be herself. The version of her that enjoyed walks in the garden. The version that didn’t have the weight of an entire kingdom resting upon her frail shoulders. She was able to speak casually and freely without consequence.
She complained about her royal duties. How certain members of her father’s court distrusted him and undermined her. How royal dinners were the bane of her existence. How simple conversations with her father turned into a war strategy meeting.
All while she talked and talked, Suguru listened.
Only asked questions when he deemed necessary. Questions regarding palace routines disguised as curiosity about her routine. Questions about palace safety disguised as concern for her safety. Questions about politics hidden beneath playful remarks about her court duties.
Each question asked, the princess answered without hesitation.
Looking back on it, she wondered if he ever felt guilty for how easily he managed to deceive her. How easily he managed to assimilate into - what one would only consider - his rightful place beside her. He became her comfort and closest confidant.
And yet— the palace still did not trust him.
Suspicion grew. The king wasn’t blind. He saw how the stranger melted into his precious daughter’s routine. Servants began to overlook him and guards became too lax around him. Something that should not be happening around his daughter.
So when his daughter was immersed in her court duties - ones involving the endless border disputes and supply distribution - the king had made a decision.
Kenji Ito was to be summoned to the throne room.
A room that held mountains of secrets and centuries of history. The high ceilings depicted detailed pictures of their kingdom’s history - a history filled with conquests and war. The pictures were not there for a nostalgic comfort, but for a grim reminder of the kingdom’s history and how far they were willing to go to get what they wanted.
With guards standing on either side, Kenji knelt before the throne, keeping his gaze on the cool marble floor. The king demanded to know his story and with an unreal calmness and perfect iteration, Kenji told him his ‘story’.
He was from a nearby village - one that now no longer existed thanks to war. He recalled every detail he could about his escape and how his village had been decimated all because of him.
Heir to the Geto lineage. Executioner. Death in human form. A ghost of a man.
The king’s posture became rigid at the mere mention of his enemy. His general’s reports had mentioned him several times, but no one had ever laid eyes on him. Unlike his name, his presence was ghostly. Nobody ever knew he was there till it was too late. Till all that was left was death and destruction.
As Kenji continued, the king observed him. He took in each word and observed his posture. His story was accurate with the reports he had received and his words showed no hesitation or deceit. It conveyed grief and desperation.
There were no cracks or obvious holes in story. Just the simple retelling of a survivor.
Kenji’s eyes eventually met the kings and it was then that the king became even more unsettled. The king prided himself on being able to decipher people’s intent. It is why he had ruled for this long and evaded any attempts on his life. But in this stranger’s eyes, he found nothing. Not a single shred of deception or a tell-tale of ill will.
As the two men held each other’s gaze, the air in the room shifted.
It curled around the two proud men like a snake coiling around it’s prey. No longer were the king and stranger in the room.
In their place were two warriors - each waiting for the other to strike.
Not until the king simply dismissed him with the slight wave of his hand. The king would allow Kenji to stay. He had no reason to turn the recovering man away, despite his growing uneasiness. Instead, he allowed him to stay in the far west wing of the castle - away from the royal family’s chamber and away from the daily activities of the palace. There were to be two guards stationed outside his door at all times and one must accompany him wherever he went. Servants were instructed to leave things at his door.
There was to be no relationships established with the stranger until the King decided his usefulness.
The crown princess had been among those heard the king’s order. But the king should have known better.
When had the crown princess ever listened to her father?
Days turned into weeks then into months.
The young princess often found herself wandering into the west wing, slipping past the guards and into the safety of Kenji’s room. The pair of them would lay side by side as they recounted their days. More often then not, the young princess would start rambling about the elders in court and how they believed that she should ‘be seen and not heard’. Kenji would chuckle softly at her dramatics, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair between his finger. Sometimes he would tease her and then laugh when the princess launched a pillow at his head.
The ease of which the two got along should have terrified the princess, but something about how he just listened to her appealed to her. He didn’t have any expectations of her. He didn’t force her to be someone else.
To Kenji, the princess wasn’t the princess. She was just herself. She was just a young woman.
Those quiet moments eventually bloomed into something far more risky and beautiful. During the day, Kenji would trail after the princess, simply observing her while she went about her normal routine. The servants quickly learned that wherever the princess was that Kenji was not far behind. The princess would eventually learn that as well. Her soft eyes would search for his tall looming figure and would settle once they found him lingering outside the doors. He would give her a small smile before retreating back to only gods knew where.
Gods, the young princess found it embarrassing and yet so intriguing how often she searched for him. Every moment she would hope that the quick glimpse of dark robes was Kenji checking on her. He had become so deeply embedded into her life that it was impossible for her to not expect him to be there.
Her usual walks in the garden? Kenji accompanied her.
Her short walks from court back to the dining hall? Kenji lingered by her side.
The long nights spent drowning in reports and paperwork? Kenji sat nearby.
And a month later, the small gap that separated the two fell away.
The ‘accidental’ touches became more purposeful and frequent. The lingering stares became filled with longing. The thoughtless conversation in the west wing became filled with heat and passion. The princess could not remember when the weird ache in her chest bloomed into something more dangerous and powerful - love.
Everyone could see it, the way that the princess looked at Kenji like he hung the moon himself. And Kenji? He looked at her like she was his everything.
The first night they laid under the covers, innocent and silly conversations long forgotten. His touch had been gentle - almost too gentle - as if she was something so fragile that it would crumble under the slightest touch.
The princess had almost laughed in his face. Was this truly the same man that had purposely tripped her in front of the pond? The same man that mocked her constantly for the outrageous laugh she let loose? Absolutely not.
She traced the sharp curve of his jaw lightly, amused by the uncertainty that flickered within those amethyst eyes.
A soft laugh escaped her lips, “Kenji…you look frightened.” She whispered.
And just for a split second, all playfulness vanished from his eyes. Something darker filled them. Something that subconsciously resulted in Kenji tightened his grip around her waist.
The princess couldn’t see it long enough to decided. Kenji leaned down, his lips brushed against hers as a sad smile danced against them.
“Maybe I am…” He murmured quietly before their bodies became intertwined once more.
After that night, the princess realized she was doomed.
She had fallen completely and hopelessly in love with Kenji Ito.
They spent an exorbitant amount of time together and never strayed from each other’s sides. Instead of lingering outside the dining hall, Kenji now sat directly beside her, their hands intertwined underneath the table. Instead of sitting nearby, Kenji now helped her with the paperwork and reports.
He was no longer a stranger to the palace— no, he was now devout follower of the princess. He had sworn that he would follow and protect her from those who would do her harm, even if it cost him his last breath. Kenji swore that on his life.
So when things started changing, she barely noticed.
The changes weren’t drastic. No, quite minuscule if you thought about it. Barely noticeable.
It first started with his so-called insomnia. Long after the young princess would fall asleep, Kenji would carefully slip out of his room and disappear. To where, the princess did not know. He would return hours later, faint traces of citrus and smoke trailing behind. When she would question his whereabouts, Kenji would just shrug it off and reassure her that it was nothing more than a simple walk around the palace.
Then it was his intense focus on assisting with reports. He had insisted on taking over half of her workload under the pretense that ‘too much stress wasn’t a good look for a pretty princess’. She had scoffed and yanked the report right out of his hand. But from then on, she did allow him to help. He would take on the reports dealing with war as the princess claimed it made her upset. But what she failed to notice was the way his grip tightened on each parchment. The way his eyes glimmered when the Geto family was mentioned.
Whenever he was mentioned.
“You’re staring again.” Kenji whispered one evening, his focus still on the parchment in hand. “Tsk tsk, You and your bad manners, princess.”
Said princess blinked, the realization of her actions hitting her. She set down her book and rubbed at her tiring eyes. Leaning forwards, she rested her head atop her folded arms and peered up at Kenji.
“Can you blame me? I mean look at you, my love.” She teased lightly.
Normally, a scoff would have erupted from the man’s mouth, but instead, silence greeted her.
A moment passed before he set the scroll down and reach for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Forgive me, princess…” He whispered, his voice uncharacteristically low.
The princess raised her head, scooting slightly closer to her lover. A strange wave of paranoia settled over her heart. Forgive him? For what? She did take note of the dark under his eyes or the way his jaw was holding so much tension it was a miracle his teeth didn’t shatter under the sheer pressure.
Her brows pushed together, “Forgive you? For what?”
Kenji shook his head, pulling his hand back to run it down his face. “It’s nothing. I think the reports are getting to me…”
She pushed some stray hairs out of his eyes and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his temple, “You have been taking on far too much of my work…”
A soft smile graced his lips, “And you work too hard for a princess.”
“Then let us rest,” The princess stood, taking Kenji’s hand with her.
A genuine smile graced his lips, “If the princess wishes.”
The couple settled into bed, embracing each other. Long after the princess had fallen asleep, Kenji laid there wide awake, his fingers entangled in her hair as he whispered soft apologies. Every so often, the princess would shift under his touch, inching closer and Kenji would still.
He hadn’t meant for it to become like this. He was supposed to be here a single month and then disappear. Learn the secrets and inner-workings of the enemy palace and then leave without a single regret.
But now, he felt like he had made the biggest mistake. One that wouldn’t be so easily forgiven.
He swallowed hard, regret settling in the back of his throat. He had to leave. Right now or else, he wouldn’t ever go. Kenji took one last look at the princess’s sleeping form, committing every single feature to memory. The small dimple that he always poked. The tiny cluster of freckles that peppered her nose. The way her brows pushed together when she was dreaming.
“Fuck, princess…” He whispered, tightening his grip.
“I hope that you can forgive me,” Gently, he kissed the top of her head before sliding out from beside her. “I hope that you will understand, though that may be foolish of me.”
His words floated aimlessly in the air. Words that she would not hear. A broken apology she wouldn’t receive.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he turned away from her and moving towards the desk. The desk where he had strategically moved all the important documents - maps, military reports, political arrangements - had been left. The ones she had trusted him with. He quickly shoved them into a stray sack, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty.
After the final document had been carefully packed, Kenji found himself standing next to the bed again, taking one final look at the woman who had become the love of his life.
“I love you princess…I’m sorry….”
Just as quickly as the words spilled out, Kenji turned his back and walked away. As he hurried through the empty corridors, he could not help but feel like he just left a part of himself in that bedroom.
And in a way, he did. Because it was not Kenji Ito that was leaving the palace he had called home for months, no….It was Suguru Geto. The ghost of the Geto clan. A man that struck fear in people in name alone. A man that was known for his cold attitude and ruthless demeanor. A man that had fallen in love with the kind, soft-hearted princess.
Suguru almost laughed at the notion.
He swore that he would not become one of those love sick fools. He despised them, believing that they made the most irrational decisions based on nothing but emotions. Emotions were unstable. They were the reason emperors and kings fell. It was only now that Suguru understood why. He was leaving behind the one thing he would have stopped this war for. The one person who made him feel like more than just a pawn of the empire. One who almost saw right through his rough exterior and lies.
Suguru quickened his pace as he approached the southern wall of the palace, shoving the memories of the past several months further down. Their first kiss. The nights they spent together. Their pointless conversations that filled the empty void.
Minutes later, Suguru reached the southern wall, ready to climb over. But as he reached for the stone wall, his hand froze, hovering over the previous placed rope. His gaze sought out the palace and that single, dimly lit window.
Whether it was an apology for his betrayal, for making her fall in love, or the pending war, he did not know.
Finally, he climbed the wall, disappearing into the dark forest.
Maybe they would meet again.
Whether it be as lovers or enemies, only time would tell.
Only the gods above knew their fate and he prayed that whenever their paths crossed again, she would still look at him with kindness…
a/n i'm SO SORRY that this took so long. I kept rewriting it, but i wasn't satified with it and honestly i'm still not entirely sure i like it, but based on previous drafts.... this was the best. i hope you all enjoy! i might write another part to this one so let me know if that is something you all would like.
~
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