Untitled by @akai-vampire
Prison Break by @claudeng80
The Fire May Save You (My Friend?) by @infinitelystrangemachinex
Obiyuki Trope Battle #Team Compromised by @krispy-kream
That Would Be Enough by LittleAverill
Attraction, Part 1 by @rebeccaravenroth
Love, Attachment, and Lust by @ruleofexception
7 Minutes by @ruleofexception NSFW
Sensitive Negotiations: Part 1 by @sabraeal
Team Shift
Friends to Lovers...On Camera by @akai-vampire
Curse by @claudeng80
At Your Service by @infinitelystrangemachinex
There Are Worse Things I Could Do by @infinitelystrangemachinex
An Athelete, A Basket Case, A Princess, A Criminal by @infinitelystrangemachinex
A Good Knight by @onoheiwa
Unwilling by @ruleofexception
Voices by @ruleofexception
It looks like TEAM COMPROMISED is winning this round, but we will be collecting fills until the end of Fite Nite, so Team Shift can still fight back!
Please let us know if we’ve missed your fic! Tumblr’s tagging system is useful but not always 100%.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CHOSEN TROPE: UNPLANNED PREGNANCY!
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 赤髪の白雪姫 | Akagami no Shirayukihime
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Obi/Shirayuki (Akagami no Shirayukihime)
Characters: Obi (Akagami no Shirayukihime), Zen Wistalia, Shirayuki (Akagami no Shirayukihime)
Additional Tags: #TeamCompromised, #obiyukiFiteNite, Alternate Universe - War
Summary:
"Obi."
Mitsuhide and Kiki retreat from the tent.
My sister’s fic. We have been collectively slaving over this thing for 24 hours read it it’s semi-decent. Posting for her because she is technologically impaired.
It only took a day for Shirayuki to realize how completely screwed she was after her revelation.
The day started normally enough. Shirayuki went to the pharmacy to go through the usual routine of reviewing the stock room, filling medicinal order backlogs, and checking the status of her current projects. She was busying herself with processing some echinacea root and leaf matter when she noticed Ryuu contemplating. Obi had fallen asleep leaning against one of the table legs next to Ryuu’s perch, his head near Ryuu’s knees. It was common for Obi to pass out near them while they worked, especially whenever Obi returned from the previous night’s watch.
But today Shirayuki caught Ryuu silently observing the sleeping Obi at his feet. Without a word Ryuu reached down patted Obi’s head, earning a contented chirp from Obi, and promptly returned back to his work. Shirayuki managed to restrain herself from making any noise that would notify them of the audience. However, the delicate dried leaves in her hand had been momentarily forgotten, and were currently crumpled on her workbench.
Shirayuki took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, trying to distract her mind by quickly reviewing the status on her current project and considering her next steps. She thought it would be best to harvest some of the milk thistle so that she could get the seeds laying out to dry for grinding the next day. It’d also be good to stretch her legs… maybe get some fresh air, and get herself away from the currently very distracting presence that was sleeping Obi.
She looked over to Ryuu and tried to keep her voice down as she called out to him, “Ryuu, I’m going over to the greenhouses, I think the milk thistle will be ready for harvest today.”
Ryuu barely looked up from his work but he nodded in response. Shirayuki went about collecting some small sturdy baskets, a small clipper and the thick gloves she would need to safely work with the prickly leaves of the milk thistle. By the time she had pulled together what she needed and was heading for the door Obi seemed to have woken up and was there waiting for her.
“Oh! Obi, are you going out to the greenhouses?” Shirayuki inquired, hoping it wouldn’t be the case.
“Why of course miss, it’s my job.” Obi responded, all hints of drowsiness dissipated.
It wasn’t really his job, at least not anymore. But she knew better than to try to have that argument with him again; it just made him more stubborn. She tried a different tactic instead, “But your nap… are you sure you got enough sleep Obi?” she motioned, trying to see if the temptation of sleep could convince him to stay behind.
“I’m perfectly fine miss, it’s no bother.”
Oh but it is a bother she couldn’t help thinking. Nevertheless, she lead the way out of the pharmacy with Obi following behind her. She tried convincing herself that this was fine and she could handle it, even if it seemed she wasn’t having much luck.
Once at the greenhouses Shirayuki got to work hoping to lose herself in the task at hand. She walked over to the milk thistle, evaluating the flowers to find their most recently developed seed heads. Setting down her baskets and clippers she put on her heavy gloves and started plucking through the milk thistle to move their leaves out of the way. Once a space had been made she removed her gloves and grabbed the clippers to gently snip a seed head off of the flower without jostling it too much. She then took her acquired seed head and placed it within a small bag and put it in the basket. After going through a few rounds of clipping, Obi sat down next to her and started plucking through the milk thistle for his own harvest. She watched his work from the corner of her eye, but his movements were too aggressive and was damaging the seed heads.
“You might need to take off your gloves if you are going to continue doing that”
Obi stilled his movements next to her and looked toward her with a questioning look.
“You’re damaging the seed head so that the seeds come undone” she said simply, trying not to let her embarrassment of her rash statement flood her voice. “You’ll need to be more careful.”
“Of course, miss” Obi muttered, removing his hands from his task to undo the ties on his wrists. Time seemed to slow down as he lifted his hand to his mouth, biting down on the tip of his gloved fingers and pulling his hand out of his gloves. Shirayuki swallowed and tried to regulate her breathing as his lifted up his other hand to repeat the motion.
Shirayuki looked away pointedly, attempting to focus back on the milk thistle but couldn’t seem to drown out the thoughts of what would happen if she was the one removing his gloves with her teeth. After damaging a few of the milk thistle flowers herself, she decided that this task wasn’t going to be successful any longer and needed a different task… something that wasn’t as delicate.
“Oh, Obi, I just remembered! I have to check on the tinctures progress today for my research.”
Obi assessed Shirayuki carefully with his steady gaze but didn’t voice any objections as he slowly put back on his gloves. “Very well mistress, I can walk you back to the pharmacy”
Shirayuki didn’t think that was a very good idea herself, but she didn’t know a good way to explain that to him at the moment so she let him walk her back to the pharmacy, wondering whether or not she would be able to regain her composure or if she was doomed to this distraction indefinitely.
---
Shirayuki didn’t get any relief from her distractions at the pharmacy for the majority of the day. It wasn’t until she had cleaned up her workstation and was getting ready to head home that she was granted some reprieve by a guardsmen requesting Obi’s assistance. She was walking along castle grounds, making her way home and trying to make sense of her jumbled thoughts when she found herself no longer alone.
“You look like you’ve been having a rough day”
Shirayuki turned to see Zen walking down the corridor, Mitsuhide and Kiki following behind him. Shirayuki’s shoulders slumped, deciding it would be best to just accept the situation as it was. “You have no idea.” She sighed, wringing her hands in her skirts. “I’ve managed to botch up most everything I’ve touched today. I’ve lacked all focus on any of my projects… this, this just isn’t like me at all.”
“Well then what’s wrong? Is there anything I could do to help?”
Shirayuki looked towards Zen, his concerned expression and eager smile rubbing off on her. He was always so enthusiastic to support her in her goals, she appreciated his friendship even now. “I wonder…” she smiled back at him thoughtfully. “I’m not sure it's something anyone can help me with I’m afraid, just adjusting is all.”
Zen looked disappointed with her response but seemed to have a handle on it. “Well, I’m sure you will figure it out Shirayuki, you always do.”
Shirayuki smiled back at him, and was preparing to take her leave when Zen spoke up again, “Looks like Obi has managed to adjust as well.”
Shirayuki stilled, wary of the context of his statement. But both Kiki and Mitsuhide seemed to be in good spirits, and were looking to the same direction as Zen. Zen locked eyes with her and motioned over the edge of the corridor’s balcony overlooking the courtyard below.
Obi was sparring with a young guardsman, still in training it seemed, and was easily dodging his blows. Her voice left her and she found herself frozen to the spot, she hoped Zen wouldn’t read into it much.
“I’m glad for him, he seems to have found his place in the castle, even without being under my jurisdiction.” Zen continued.
Shirayuki smiled gently, of course he did. He had become one of the most reliable trainers for the castle guard, and his humorous and carefree personality had won the hearts of many in Wistal Castle. He tended to do very well as a castle guardsman, even if he did insist upon watching after her as his previous position had required.
Mitsuhide spoke up first, “He seems to have a real knack for it, working with the recruits. They really like him and they learn well.”
Shirayuki turned towards Mitsuhide, “of course they do, Obi is a very likable person.”
“I suppose his personality does grow on a person after a while.” Kiki remarked, stoic as ever but sporting a small teasing smile in Mitsuhide’s direction.
“You say that as if you didn’t find him funny yourself, Kiki.” Zen remarked.
“Funny, no. Entertaining, I could agree with.”
Both Zen and Shirayuki laughed, Mitsuhide looked pleased. With the lull in conversation Shirayuki looked back to the courtyard where Obi had switched sparring partners and was sparring with someone a little closer to his level. His partner took a swipe at him and he ducked easily, crouching low to the ground. His posture was nimble as usual, but his current position didn’t help with her current situation, and her desire to stare… had his backside always looked so attractive?
Zen was watching too it seemed, since he whistled under his breath. “He really has no idea how tempting he looks when he does that.”
“Oh, I’m sure he knows exactly how tempting he looks when he does that.”
Zen looked up at Shirayuki startled at her statement. Shirayuki was pretty startled at herself, she had not meant to say that out loud. But Zen recovered quickly with a smile that looked far more teasing and troublesome than she thought was a good idea at the moment.
“Oh? Shirayuki, your problems focusing today wouldn’t happen to be related to a certain… attractive person hanging around, would they?” Laughter twinkled in his eyes, he was enjoying this far more than he should. Shirayuki could feel her blush heating up her face.
“No!” she started “He’s just… very distracting is all.”
“Distracting?” Zen was actually laughing at her now. “Shirayuki, you wouldn’t happen to be compromised by his presence would you?”
Shirayuki had had quite enough of this, thank-you-very-much and was preparing to stop Zen’s teasing remarks when Kiki’s suddenly spoke up her tone pointed.
“I think she is completely compromised; we should ensure Obi’s removal from his post at once.”
“No! That’s not it at all!” Shirayuki could hardly believe what she was saying. Isn’t this what she wanted the whole day? Just some space away from him so she could think?
Kiki’s eyebrow raised to her in response, “No? Then what seems to be the problem Shirayuki?”
Zen cut in before she could answer though, “Like you could blame her Kiki, he is really attractive. I would be just as distracted if he was hanging around me every day too!”
“Zen!” Mitsuhide said, scandalized. Kiki’s stoic expression was breaking under the pressure of her restrained chuckles.
“What? It’s true!” Zen exclaimed.
“Why Thank you, Master”
Everyone froze, and turned towards the sound of Obi’s voice, where he was perched on the balcony wall observing their conversation looking very amused. “Now, why are my dashing good looks the topic of conversation today?”
Shirayuki was ready to die, any moment now someone was going to tell him and she would be left to address her very compromising feelings towards Obi in front of an audience and it would be completely Zen’s fault. She reminded herself that whatever happens, she was going to make sure she got even at him for this.
“Zen was commenting that your butt looked good while you sparred.” Kiki said, her voice ever so even. Shirayuki could hardly believe what Kiki was saying. “The rest of us were just agreeing with him.”
“Hey, I never agreed to any of that.” Mitsuhide objected. “Wait. Kiki, were you agreeing with him?”
Obi ignored Mitsuhide’s comments completely and looked at the group quizzingly, “Everybody?”
“Everybody” Kiki confirmed, much to Mitsuhide’s personal horror. A small tilt to her mouth gave away her almost smile as she locked eyes on Shirayuki.
Ohhh Kiki was going to pay for this one.
Obi broke out into a grin and looked over to Shirayuki like he was ready to pounce. “Oh miss! You should have told me! I would make sure to give you a chance to observe our training spar sessions more often!”
Shirayuki at least had the grace to look defiant over the situation. “Obi!” That is not the point.
“What about me?” Zen hummed “Am I invited?”
“Oh Master, I would never dream of forgetting about you.” Obi purred, grinning at him like a Cheshire cat. “All you have to do is ask.”
“That is quite enough of that.” Mitsuhide grumbled, silencing them both.
Obi continued grinning and Zen looked a little more disappointed then he should have been. But Mitsuhide was not having any of it. “Zen, I expect such behavior from Obi, but I expect better from you!”
Shirayuki was overwhelmed. While the boys continued their bickering Shirayuki looked for a way to escape this madness without creating a further spectacle of herself. She looked to her side to see Kiki standing next to her watching her with her careful gaze. “You should probably go while they are distracted.”
Shirayuki breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you Kiki.” she whispered as she turned away.
“This isn’t over Shirayuki.” Kiki whispered, a cheerful lilt to her tone, “Not by a long shot.”
Shirayuki did not respond as she turned the corner.
Her eyes flit over to where Obi sits, his wrists bound behind him, matching the tight knots holding her. Her heart gives a heated flip and she yearns to touch him again. His eyes remain shut, head hanging with despair.
Izana’s voice crackles in anger, and she wants to scurry away from the door, “If they are both in there, so help me-”
Garrack interrupts, and she feels a swell of gratitude for her employer, “I told you they were contained, Highness, and I assure you they are. I have followed your every order, however I firmly believe that they are to be treated as patients, not criminals.”
“Lord Brother, I-”
“Zen, this is not the time for your emotions to control you, speak again and you will be asked to leave.” Izana’s voice is cool and menacing, sending a shiver up her spine. “I understand your position as the Chief Court Pharmacist, and agree that they require medical attention. However, they were sent as diplomats on behalf of the Crown. To be found in such a compromising… position, has sullied the reputation of the crown and cannot be overlooked.”
Obi makes a broken, choked sound and his shoulders tense, the muscles in his arms straining against the cords wrapped around his wrists. Adrenaline pumps through her veins, throwing her heart into overdrive.
Izana calmly continues, “I realize that this is a unique situation, as both parties were seemingly unaware of the substance they ingested, however, Shiray-”
“Don’t you dare blame her for th-” Zen starts raising his voice, before his brother effectively silences him.
“May I ask, Brother, if you know why this herb is known for having varying levels of effectiveness on those who come in contact with it?” Silence rings through the air and she clenches her jaw. Obi straightens with surprise, and her cheeks start to burn, as Izana continues, “Hmm, as I thought. I would put this into more delicate terms if I found I cared, but with the damage done to the Crown’s reputation, I do not. In essence, the herb has a direct effect on the intimate intentions of an individual.”
Her fingers scratch nervously at the rope binding her and she focuses her gaze on a tile to her left – a small crack had sprouted and was beginning to fan out across the delicate pale surface. She can feel Obi’s eyes burning into her, searching for an answer.
When the silence gets to be too much, she hears Izana sigh, “I see further explanation is required…”
Her insides roil with heat as Garrack’s voice floats through the door, “Imagine, if you will, the brain working in three parts: love, attachment and lust. Now if someone in love were to ingest this, they would become overwhelmed with the feeling. They may describe their heart as no longer being their own and they would do everything in their power to prove this, to the one they love. Ingesting while having feelings of attachment would cause someone to crave to be nearer to their person of interest, this may result in prolonged contact or refusal to leave their side. And if someone in lust ingests it, it may cause them to act boldly, perhaps even making a move on their person of interest.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand… Are- are you saying that…” Zen’s voice is hushed, his sentences not fully formed.
Obi whispers to her, trying to pull her attention away from the cracks in the tile. She can’t look at him yet, not when she knows what comes next. Not when her heart flutters nervously in her chest at just the thought of the him. Not when she aches for the comforting press of his hand in hers.
“You see, the herb will react with all three parts – love, attachment and lust. It can react simultaneously as well. It is not uncommon for someone to show signs of love and attachment, for example. Yet, these feelings must already be present in order for the effects to take place. If I were to consume some right now, it is unlikely that anything would happen, as I do not feel that way about either of you. With that being said…” She could tell that Garrack was dreading the reveal too.
Her fingers felt raw from constantly rubbing at the binding rope, and she was sure she had broken at least two of her nails.
“Well… Our best guess, based on what we’ve been told and the – ahem – state, they arrived in… It appears that they were both heavily under the... influence.”
Obi inhales sharply and she finally allows herself to gaze into his warm amber eyes. Heat courses through her, pooling between her legs as her eyes catch sight of the deep purple marks scattering his neck – her marks. The ones she had created, as his hands tangled in her hair and caressed her curves. The ones that caused him to moan her name and shiver beneath her urgent, fevered touch. She knew he had left his marks on her too, though many remained hidden by the hem of her dress. Her heart beats wildly beneath her breast, calling to him.
Garrack hums out the last few lines, a curious tone hedging into her voice, “We believe that the reason the impact was so significant, is because both Shirayuki and Obi were feeling the affects. The way that they were found would suggest that both feel at least two of the three feelings targeted by the herb. They are to be contained and treated as necessary.”
She knew that treatment wasn’t an issue. Garrack knew this too.
They wouldn’t need treatment. Not when the effects of the herb only lasted three days and it had been more than twice that.
Despite the passing of spring, the snow falls heavily when they arrive in Vitsjo. Obi is learning, as little as he likes it, that in the North the seasons are far more fluid, far less inclined to make a distinct four. So close to Sama, anything that is not high summer is liable to include snow. He yearns for a place where at least in spring the snow melts.
Vitsjo’s lord is there to greet them, his sons flanking him to either side, fur cloaks bristling with snow. Hideo’s brow is heavy, his face angular and grim, but as they approach his mouth widens in greeting. His smile transforms his face, highlighting the creases around his mouth and eyes, well-worn from good humor. Obi finds himself liking the man before they are even close enough to speak.
The feeling does not extend to his sons. Their faces are long and petulant, and when they ride close enough to be clearly seen he does not miss the way their gazes slide covetously to the cardinal red peaking out of Miss’s hood.
Hideo throws open his arms, the gesture encompassing all of the stones around him. “Welcome to Vitsjo!”
Miss’s smile is bright and earnest; he’s seen it a thousand times, but his breath catches anyway. There is no getting used to the way he feels about her. “Thank you for having us, Lord Hideo.”
“It is an honor, I assure you, my lady.” He slants his head toward the manor. “Come, come. You are wet and hungry. We may not be as civilized as the capital, but I promise you will be greatly entertained during your stay!”
“Don’t tell your sheep story,” Miss warns him.
She is lovely in her dinner dress, a muted dove gray that makes the porcelain of her skin nearly luminescent in the candlelight. In the south, where seed pearls and delicate beading were in fashion, it would be considered plain, but Obi has always liked its lace trim, its very subtle embroidery. It fits her in a way he can’t explain. Poetry does not come easy to him.
“I don’t have a sheep story,” he protests stubbornly. “And even if I did, by your account these lords would lap it up.”
“You do so.” A blush settles high on her cheeks, pronounced against her pale skin. “You made me listen to all of it when you were deep in your cups at Lord Tadashi’s, and you --”
She purses her lips, the stain on her cheeks creeping down to her neck. “In any case,” she continues, looking anywhere but at him. “You’ll eventually run into a lord who isn’t charmed by the thunder beast. I don’t think Lord Hideo or his sons are the type who find barnyard animals diverting, unless they’re on a platter.”
“Miss.” He presses a hand to his heart, shocked. “You never said I told you all of the story.”
She stiffens guiltily, her fingers trembling on the wool of his formal coat. “Oh, I didn’t? I could have sworn --”
“You’ll have to tell it to me,” he insists, grinning as her flush deepens. “Then I’ll finally know about this supposed lord of thunder.”
“No!” The word bursts out of her, surprising them both. “I mean, it was just…very confusing. And I was…distracted…”
“Distracted?” His brow furrows. “By what?”
“You were just…” She still won’t look at him. “Oddly emphatic about certain parts.” She rubs her free hand over her thigh. “Very emphatic.”
There’s something odd about how she says that, enough that he wants to press.
“Sir Obi,” Lord Hideo calls out as he approaches. “We thought you would never make it to dinner.”
Miss takes the opportunity to flit away from his side, greeting Lord Hideo with a wide smile. Obi frowns. She has another thing coming, if she thinks it’s that easy to give him the slip.
Hideo does not disappoint. There are over twenty guests at dinner, nearly five full courses, and the dishes are so savory that not even the palpable hostility between his sons can sour the meal. Seated between the two of them, Miss does not seem to share his opinion.
Obi, for his part, can’t complain about his place. Though he had hoped to be closer to his miss, the young woman he escorting into dining room -- Mika, she says he should call her -- is pleasant company, if a little dull.
“His lordship’s sons are quite brotherly,” he remarks during a lull in conversation. “I’ve never had one myself, but I assume the intense rivalry is expected.”
“Oh.” She is a pretty thing, wide blue eyes and hair the color of summer wheat. It’s no surprise Hideo has seated her at the other end of the table to display her to her best effect. He wonders which son she is meant for. “No, they quite hate each other.”
He blinks, surprised at her honesty. “There’s a story behind that, I’d bet.”
“Not as much as you’d think,” she replies, eyelashes fluttering demurely. “Daisuke is his first wife’s son, and Tarou the second’s. They never got on well, and Tarou has always been a little too ambitious for his own good.”
He smirks around the rim of his wine glass. “Eager to be an only child?”
“Exactly.” Obi clamps his lips down from spitting out his drink. She only smiles wistfully, tracing the rim of her glass. “The only thing they hate more than each other is Hideo’s third wife.”
That intrigues him; he hasn’t seen a woman to put the title to the whole evening, and he’s about to ask just where the Countess Vitsjo can be found when Hideo stands.
“If the ladies could follow my wife out,” he says with a pleasant smile, “I believe it is time for port.”
Mika stands, smoothing her skirt. “If you would follow me, ladies.”
“The third marriage is best,” Hideo confides in him, two glasses deep. “That’s when you marry for love.”
Obi finds that highly unlikely.
It is just as Lata warned them: in the North the word of a man is twice that of a woman’s.
Hideo is at least amused by Miss’s arguments for the olin maris over dinner, wearing the same expression an indulgent father would. His sons are far worse; whichever one champions her cause, the other must shred to pieces, and their bickering is as ubiquitous as the clattering of sliver against porcelain.
No matter how much headway Miss tries to make during dinner, it is always undone by dessert, and it is left to Obi to impress the seriousness of their request over port.
That is, until tonight.
He is about to broach the topic – his lordship and his sons are drunk enough to be swayed, but not so much that they won’t remember their promises in the morning – when the study’s door bursts open.
His miss is flushed, though he can’t quite tell if it is with anger or drink, and she strides up to the table, throwing herself down at one end.
“Pour me a glass,” she demands, and then, mind having caught up with er mouth, adds, “If you would, please.”
Obi has traveled all over creation, but he’s never seen cows like Vitsjo’s, all shaggy coats and curling horns. They look more fit for battle than milking. Tarou is insistent that they can be tipped, if only you know the trick. Obi thinks its more likely for Vitsjo’s walls to fall.
“But will it hurt them?” Miss asks, face screwed up with concern, running a hand through one’s damp fur.
They’d only had two or three more glasses of port – enough to make him a little unsteady on his legs for a moment, and more than enough to make the lords stumbling drunk, excited to go out and chase sheep and wreak havoc. Miss, already bold with drink, had seized the opportunity.
She’s a city-girl, not used to the games bored country children invent to pass time, and he only remembers when she shies at the edge of the field, admitting she’s not sure what tipping cows involves.
Daisuke’s mouth cants in a mean-spirited grin. “Oh yes. Makes their stomachs burst when they land.” When she squeaks, alarmed, he creeps in closer. “Not to worry, lady. What’s on our land is our property.”
Obi doesn’t realize he’s clenching his fists until his blunt nails big into his palms. It’d be stupid to strike a lord’s son, not if he wants Hideo to agree to Miss’s proposal.
It doesn’t mean it isn’t tempting.
“Don’t listen to him,” Tarou spits, glaring at his brother. “It doesn’t hurt them in the slightest. They just get back up. And then you run.”
She blinks, turns to look up at him. “Run?”
Later, he’ll point out just how wrong she was about the barnyard animal thing. Right now, it’s hard enough just keeping her alive.
“You could ride with me, lady,” Tarou offers, holding his hand down, “I’ll see you safely back.”
“No, come with me.” Daisuke elbows his brother out of the way. “He’ll only try to lead you astray.”
“Me?” Hideo’s second son looks ready to demand satisfaction.
His miss sways awkwardly, hunching her shoulders, as if by making herself small she could make them overlook her entirely.
“Apologies, my lords,” he says with a grin, “but my mistress rides with me.”
They grumble a bit at that, but both are too canny to argue with such a convenient compromise. After all, what threat does a knight pose for an heir and an ambitious second son?
He waves them on, only goading them to action when he mentions how their father might soon awaken from his stupor and find them missing: sons, entourages, and diplomatic envoy all. They make noises about duty, saving face in front of their hangers-on, but he knows they are driven more by their father’s displeasure than any great desire to serve him.
Which leaves him with the problem of getting his mistress up on his horse.
“I know how to ride now, Obi,” she tells him, words hardly slurred. He knows better.
“As I said, Miss, it’s my job as your knight to have you ride with me.” Not to mention he’d hardly trust her to ride a cart right now, never mind try to direct a horse.
He’d hoped that the fresh air would sober her, but instead it’s made her in turns giddy and belligerent. She had insisted on checking each massive cow for signs of pregnancy before tipping them, only to remember that she had no experience with livestock and settle for cautiously prodding their bellies.
It had been a long night. And it was promising to be longer if she couldn’t keep a seat.
Her sudden...handsiness isn’t helping either. His miss has always been tactile, ready with a comforting touch or reaching for a steadying hand, but tonight it is more, her palms somehow constantly seeking out the planes of his body. He tries to boost her up onto his mount, only for her to get distracted by the line of his shoulders, or the bristle of his hair. It’s not exactly unwelcome -- as if any attention from her could be -- but it’s certainly not convenient.
He finally arranges her so that she is steady enough to wait for him. He swings himself up, careful not to touch her in the slightest – he had the first time, and she had slid right off – and settles in front of her.
Her arms clench around his abdomen like a vise, and he feels the whole of her pressed up against his back. A low steady heat begins to build in his groin, as it always does when she’s so close. He’s too tipsy to ignore it entirely, but the feel of it is less distracting and more – pleasant. He loves her, he wants her, but he doesn’t need to do anything about it.
Her hands press flat against his stomach, her touch muted by his layers of clothes. “I wish you weren’t wearing your coat,” she sighs, head heavy on his back.
“Oh?” he laughs. His miss doesn’t get drunk often, but when she does it is an experience. “Are you cold? Do you want to be wearing it?”
“No.” Her fingers idly drag over the fur, tracing whirling patterns up his chest and across his stomach. “It makes it harder to feel you.”
“Erk?” he asks eloquently.
“You’ve got so many muscles,” she tells him wistfully. “I like the way they feel when they move.”
“O-oh?” He knows its not her intention, but she has him tense, aroused. Her words have him wound too tight . “Too bad they’re not much to look at with all the scars --”
“No, I like those.” His heart thuds loudly in his ears. He should not be hearing this, not when her hands drift further south. “I mean -- I don’t like that you were hurt, but -- I like how you look like you’ve lived. There’s…texture to you.”
His ribs are a size to small to contain the wholeness of his heart. “Miss,” he manages. No one has ever --
“I wonder what it would feel like under my mou --”
“Miss!” He clasps a hand over her wrists to keep them from moving. His grin is painful, laugh entirely forced. “You shouldn’t joke about such things. You could give a man ideas.”
“About what?” she asks, confused. Her hands still under his. He lets out a sigh of relief; of course his miss didn’t mean anything like that. She tugs her arms, testing to see if she can free them. “Obi, you’re awful strong.”
“Don’t forget it, Miss.” He lets go of her wrists, meaning to tease her about ideas, when they drop down to his thighs and knead.
“I bet you could hold me down with just these, couldn’t you?” Her tone isn’t seductive but rather conversational. “I think about that a lot when I ride with you.”
“Y-yes.” His thighs clench, and he hears her hum against his back. “I could. But we really shouldn’t – that’s not really something I think Master would like you talking about. With me.”
“Do you think you could hold Zen down too?” He groans. This is…not the sort of picture he needs right now. “Or Kiki?”
This has got to stop.
“Miss, if you can’t behave back there, you’ll have to go in front,” he threatens, but he’s not sure how much better that would be, having her all pressed against his front, her curves so close to -- things.
She rears back. “But I am --”
Gravity and inebriation finally take their toll, and she nearly tips right off the horse. He catches her at the last minute, practically manhandling her to slot her in front of him. She’s breathing hard; he can feel her heart beating against his chest.
“Behave, Miss,” he pleads. He can’t take much more of this.
She nods, leaning back against his chest. Within moments, the steady movement of the horse and the alcohol take their toll, and she lies limp in his arms.
Never has he been so relieved to not hear her voice.
The chain dragging at Shirayuki’s wrist fell loose as the guard found the cell he was looking for. Keys clanked against bars, the door opened with a grind of rust, and as he forced Shirayuki in she tripped over her gown. The spatters of blood along the hem were newly obscured by unidentifiable sludge.
Chains not her own rattled, and she realized the cell was already occupied. The other inmate was hunched over, hands chained tightly to a ring in the floor. Most of the prisoners roamed freely within their cells - what had this man done?
The guard kicked him to the side, then unlocked his manacles from the floor ring. Shirayuki saw his forearms tense, and stepped back in case he was about to attack. “Stand up,” the guard barked, and the prisoner slowly got to his feet. His air was that of someone waiting for a bus, not a prisoner in a dark, dank hole. Shirayuki admired his composure as she tried to hold herself together.
The guard pulled Shirayuki close with a yank, opening her chains and shoving her into the other prisoner's chest. He stood motionless as the guard dragged her arms around him, interlacing her arms with his so they couldn't easily untangle themselves. She whimpered at the feel of iron encircling her wrist again.
The guard sneered, “Maybe this guy will be more to your taste.” Then he turned and left, a vicious smile playing on his lips.
There was no way to get away from her fellow prisoner. Looking up, she couldn't see much of him in the gloom, just an amber flash of eyes and an impression of height. He smelled like he'd been in the dungeon for a while and had the beard to match. It caught in her hair as he turned to watch the guard go. He was silent but tense, a coiled spring. She wondered just what kind of punishment the jailers expected him to be for her.
At her shiver, he turned to look down and the tension dissipated. “Don't worry, miss, scared women aren't my type.” That was at least a little good sign.
That also put him one step above the First Prince of Tanbarun. “I'm not scared, I'm angry,” she replied. As long as she stayed furious, there was no room for fear. She was mad at the guard for treating her like this. She was mad at herself for not having run as soon as she was summoned. Most of all, she was mad at Prince Raj for putting her in this position.
“You are the one who punched the Prince, then.” He sounded pleased by this fact. “I thought you might be, in that dress.”
“Even in the dungeons?” It couldn't have been more than a couple of hours since the incident, and the news had already made it this far?
“Especially in the dungeons, miss. What do we have better to do? You’re a hero to half the guys in here.”
That was interesting phrasing. “But not you?”
“I’m not from around here. I don’t care much whose prince gets pummeled, unless it means more work for me. Now are you ready to get out of here?”
“Of course,” she breathed. She didn’t want to be there a second longer than necessary. “But how?”
“How are you at setting dislocated joints?” He made it sound like a joke. Surely he couldn't know.
“I'm an herbalist, not a bone doctor, but I know what to do.”
“Good. I always have trouble with it myself." He sounded surprised, but didn't take time to question. There was a pop and a wriggle, and he was unwinding his arms from hers. She missed the warmth against her front, but welcomed the breathing room. He found her hands with his, one thumb grotesquely dislocated and the manacles still hanging from his other wrist. Her chain made it awkward, but she was a professional, resetting the joint neatly. She wished she had the right medicines to give, or at least a bandage.
“You should go easy on that for at least a week,” she started.
He barked a laugh. “I'll get right on that, miss.” Then he walked to the wall where a high window admitted a thread of moonlight and climbed it. She was reminded of the lizards that ran up and down the walls in her grandparents’ innyard. Following him, she ran her hand across the wall and felt only smooth stone. He was gone and she had no way to follow him. Nice that someone had made it out. It would have been nice if he'd helped her too.
“Hsst!” Came a noise from above. He was back, lowering her a belt, of all things. Where had he gotten a belt? She looked down at the short length of chain between her hands, the ruins of her gown. How was she supposed to climb? “Hold on and I'll pull you up.” Oh. She grabbed on to the belt, then the window sill when he'd pulled her high enough.
They perched together on the sill. Now that she could get a better look at him in the moonlight, her hands itched for her medicine bag. Her rescuer had a swollen cut above his left eyebrow, certainly infected. He’d been beaten recently, and she suspected that under the layer of grime she would find older bruises.
He, unconcerned with his injuries, was gauging the next step of their escape. They had a twenty-foot drop to the cobblestones below, at least, then no cover until they crossed the square and could lose themselves in the twisty roads of the old city. Before she could say anything about their destination, he slid off the ledge and dropped soundlessly to the ground.
She couldn't do that. She looked down from the window, and he beckoned her to jump. Her forehead wrinkled and she hesitated. He held his hands out again and hissed up at her, “You can trust me or you can stay.” If he was going to put it that way, it wasn't much of a choice. She let go. A sickening moment of drop, then he caught her. He winced as her manacle hit him in the shoulder and rattled. In the silence it rang like an alarm. The moonlight faded as clouds rolled in, and Shirayuki gave thanks for good timing.
He set her down and they flattened themselves against the wall, hoping the darkness and the lip at the window would hide them from lookouts on the roof. Shirayuki barely breathed. The man beside her watched her, a tiny smile on his lips as they heard voices come nearer, then recede again. “Ready to run, miss?” He looked like he was actually enjoying himself.
She held up her manacled hands again. She would fall on her face if she tried to sprint like that. “Right.” Hiding his chained hand in his clothes, he arched the other over her shoulder. Before touching her, he asked, “shall we stroll, then?” His confidence was reassuring. She smiled up at him, he gently tucked her under his arm to hide her chains, and they walked. Every step she expected an arrow, but they took their time. Just two people out for a nighttime walk near the prison. Ten steps from their destination, the clouds cleared. Every detail of the buildings leaped out at her, and she knew her hair blazed in the light. A single shout behind them, then three more, then he was no longer strolling, but pulling her by the arm. She tried to run, stumbling at an angle, and he turned and scooped her over his shoulder.
It irritated her that he could run faster carrying her than she could on her own. He darted from corner to corner, choosing alleys at random, the narrower and darker the better. This wasn’t good, he was going to run them right back into the square at this rate. She tugged at his shirt, trying to get his attention, and he slowed enough to turn her into a more dignified position in his arms. “Take the next right and go straight,” she ordered. They needed to get to her neighborhood, and she could take care of everything. The street was wide and bright, and he stared down it nervously. “You can trust me or we can get caught. I know where we need to go.” He clearly wasn’t happy with the prospect, but he went. Three turns later, no guards sighted, they stood in front of the blacksmith’s house.
Old Hiro would never turn her in. He’d take off her chains and swear he’d never seen her. She was pretty sure he’d do the same for her rescuer too, but he was not so convinced. “We can’t just steal his tools. Even if I knew what to do, which I don’t, and even if you can get my manacles off, I’m not going to be able to get the chains off of you.” She held her slender arms up in front of her to make the point. “And it’s loud. We need help.”
On cue, the door opened. Hiro the blacksmith loomed over Shirayuki, and her partner settled into a fighting stance, light on his feet. “Stop arguing in the street if you don’t want them to catch you, and get in here.” Shirayuki complied, pausing at the step to look back. Please, she thought, holding her breath. She wanted him to get his chains off, to clean away the mess and let her treat his wounds. She wanted to know who he even was. If he turned away now she never would.
He paused a second, almost long enough for her to give up hope, then followed her into the house like a menacing shadow. Hiro wasted no time drawing the curtains and lighting a lamp. He scoffed at their manacles. “A matter of a minute,” he said, and left the room.
In the silence that followed, she didn’t know what to say. Who are you? Why were you in prison? What do we do now? Her attention was caught by a tear in his shirt where her chains had hit him. She reached for the spot to check his skin, and he flinched. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, jerking her hand back. “I just wanted to look at it. I’m an herbalist. I might be able to help. My name is Shirayuki, by the way.”
He fingered the tear himself. It must not be bothering him that much, but given the extent of his other injuries, that didn’t make her feel any better. He didn’t volunteer anything, hearing Hiro’s footsteps approaching.
It took maybe two minutes of work with a punch, a hammer, and a chunk of wood, and Hiro had removed the pins from their shackles with no further injury. He eyed the pins, pocketed them, then beckoned for them to follow as he went to toss the chains into his scrap bin. “There’s a pump in the forge if you want to clean up a bit.”
The stranger beat her to it, and Shirayuki danced from foot to foot waiting for her turn. She couldn’t stop rubbing her wrists. Her arms felt weightless after the heavy chains, and getting clean sounded like the best idea in forever.
He did look a lot more reputable after a wash. The stubble couldn't be helped, unfortunately, and she was right that the dirt had been hiding a constellation of bruises. His hair stood up in wet clumps and he looked more alert, gold eyes sharp. She felt unclean after an hour in that prison. How much worse must it have been for him?
She plunged her hands and face into the water eagerly, scrubbing at her mouth and her eyes, scraping away the cosmetics they’d painted her with and every kiss Raj had attempted. Dirt she could handle. This was going to take longer to clear away.
She paused when the worst of it was gone and dried off. A better wash would have to wait for another time. Her companion was looking at her curiously. “Do you have plans to go from here?” His look turned suspicious, and she tried to explain. “I don't have anywhere to go. I thought, maybe, I could go with you and make sure you take care of that thumb. It needs to be bandaged and immobilized. You're going to damage yourself if you don't take care of things like this. I know you have other injuries too. I can help. I know where to find the right herbs once we're outside the city.” She realized she was babbling, and paused to breathe. He was still watching her. “It's okay, I understand, I'll slow you down.” She'd think of something.
His suspicion had given way to a smirk as she talked, and now the smirk turned into a full smile. “Oh, I think we can have you up to speed in no time, miss. You can call me Obi. But I should warn you. Women who break out of prison with me are exactly my type.”
