you are a princess, draped in silk so fine it shimmers under the lantern light. outside, the moon hangs low over the palace, casting silver over the wooden corridors. the world beyond these walls is not yours to know β you belong to the court, to duty, to expectations carved in stone.
riki is your shadow, always a step behind, always watching. his uniform is plain, but his presence is anything but. he moves with quiet grace, hands steady as he pours your tea, adjusts your kimono, kneels at your side. he is your servant, nothing more. and yet, when your eyes meet, time slows.
tonight, you sit by the open shoji doors, gazing at the gardens. the wisteria sways, fragrant and heavy with bloom. riki kneels beside you, closer than he should. "princess," he murmurs, voice low, "why do you look so sad?"
you turn to him. his eyes β deep, knowing β make your heart ache. "i wish," you whisper, "i were not born a princess."
his fingers twitch against the tatami, longing to touch you. but he does not. he cannot. "if you were not a princess," he says, "then who would i devote my life to?"
your breath catches. outside, the night wind hums through the trees, a quiet witness to secrets unspoken.
"if i were not a princess," you say, barely above a breath, "would you still stay by my side?"
riki's lips curl into the smallest, saddest smile. "even if the whole world forbade it," he answers.
your hand inches toward his, and for just a moment β one stolen, fleeting moment β your fingers brush. the night swallows the rest.