FSW Chapter 2

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Nishina stood before her mirror and slowly looked herself over.

Hair black as ebony. Eyes a deep, dark blue. Red lips. White skin. These were the features of the imperial bloodline—the Emperor had them, the prince had them, and she had them too. She'd seen them every day of her life, and yet looking at them now felt strange.

Her gaze stopped on the pale, fine skin. She reached out carefully and touched her own cheek. Skin translucent as white snow—but she was not the white snow. The moment that fact settled, her hand fell, without strength, to her side. What pulled it down was not disappointment. Something more like the blankness of standing at the foot of an enormous problem.

She had set herself goals readily enough—but she had stayed up the whole night thinking, and she had not found one concrete method for any of them. It felt like climbing an enormous wall with her bare hands. A wall covered entirely with thorns. In short, there was no answer.

First: the task of persuading the Emperor.

As a father, he was gentle. But Dargan Royce Arthur of White Snow—the Emperor of the Snow Empire—was something else. As a sovereign, he was as resolute and cold as the previous Emperor, who had ruled by fear and made a name for it. The question of succession was not a father's choice but an Emperor's choice. Even the most earnest petition from a subject's position would be easily dismissed.

Which meant she needed someone on her side. In other words, she would first need to persuade her mother and the retainers who supported her—before anything else could move.

And second: the task of not being hated by her brother.

This one—when she thought of the rage she had met that day, it extinguished even the courage to try.

Was it already too late? She made herself push the wretched possibility aside.

Only the third goal remained, and it was no easier.

Earning sympathy from the person who would one day become her brother's knight—that was not a simple thing either. In the book, he had been written as though he felt nothing at all. Even if she were to build a friendship with him, the moment his lord gave the order, he would raise his sword without hesitation. Of that she was certain.

The sigh she'd been holding escaped anyway, in the end. Nishina buried her face in her hands. Everything was dark before her. Her memories had returned—and yet she was only fourteen years old.

Old enough that throwing a fit would be embarrassing. Young enough that she shouldn't have to be worrying about the future.

But what choice did she have?

The weight pressing on her shoulders was crushing, but she couldn't afford to sit here and rot.

Nishina straightened her back. She couldn't guarantee the outcome—but she had to begin.

Most mornings she had fruit and bread brought to her by her handmaids, but once a week she took a proper meal with the Emperor and the Imperial Consort—something close to a banquet in its own right. He clearly wanted to share meals more often than that, but the Emperor of an empire was far too busy to match schedules every day.

Even so, this was already his second appearance this week, and Nishina clicked her tongue silently. The aide beside the head steward was visibly frantic. He had set aside work to be here.

"Father. I understand there are urgent matters of state today—"

"Nothing urgent."

The aide's eyes filled with wounded indignation at the Emperor's crisp reply. Whatever it was, it was clearly urgent enough to leave no time for a leisurely meal. Nishina sent the thoroughly ignored aide a look of helpless sympathy, before the Imperial Consort beside her began fussing with anxious attention, urging her to eat.

"Shina, this chicken was simmered with medicinal herbs—won't you have just a little more? Hmm?"

She watched her mother busily push dish after dish in front of her and picked up her spoon again. She was already full—but looking at those two pairs of worried eyes, she could not bring herself to refuse.

The overfull morning meal concluded at last when she had pushed herself past the point of comfort. The Emperor hadn't touched his tea at all; he had spent the entire meal watching Nishina with that careful gaze. Now he asked, with concern:

"The physician told me there was nothing to worry about, but—how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. I think I had just been reading too late and not sleeping enough."

Accumulated fatigue. The diagnosis the imperial physician had given for Nishina's collapse was that unimpressive. She had been asleep for far too long for a simple lack of sleep to explain it—but she could hardly confess that she'd spent that time recovering a lifetime of memories.

"I suppose I should have built up some stamina beforehand."

She kept her voice light, and the Emperor nodded in agreement.

"The physician did say that building up physical strength would be good for your health."

"Which brings me to something—I'd like to try learning swordsmanship."

"Swordsmanship?"

He repeated it with an uncertain look.

And fair enough. Unlike Aiden, who had started sword training long ago, Nishina had consistently refused—no talent, she had said, and no interest.

Both still true, technically. But this was an important first step. Nishina's eyes went bright, and she leaned forward, putting her case to him with conviction.

"Yes! I won't become anything like a skilled swordswoman, but wouldn't it still help with building strength?"

"That's true enough, but—"

A strong body and sufficient martial ability to defend oneself were among the virtues expected of a successor. Of course, within a few years she would learn spirit techniques regardless—but still.

Whatever his thoughts, the sudden proposal had caught the Emperor off guard. He considered it, then gave a small nod. It wasn't as if she were asking for anything improper, and if it was for her health, there was no reason to refuse.

"Then Sir Hilton—"

"No!"

The involuntary volume surprised even the Emperor, and Sir Hilton himself—standing quietly at the back of the room, fulfilling his duty—blinked wide with startlement.

She realized she had raised her voice too sharply. A small clearing of the throat, and she added quickly:

"Sir Hilton is your knight, Father. I wouldn't feel right taking up someone whose ability is so far beyond mine—I'd never be able to keep up."

Sir Hilton had served as Nishina's escort knight, but he had been assigned to her seven years ago on the Emperor's orders. By origin, he was the Emperor's own direct knight. That alone guaranteed extraordinary skill—but as the Emperor's personal knight specifically, his ability was something else entirely. One of the foremost swordsmen in the empire.

"Even so—should one not have the finest teacher in one's chosen field—"

"The height difference for sparring would be completely off."

She cut across him, and added her reasoning.

"…You're planning to spar as well?"

"If it's possible, yes."

The Imperial Consort asked in alarm, but Nishina responded as though it were perfectly natural. They hadn't expected her to commit so fully to it; the Emperor fell briefly silent.

But where was the person who studied swordsmanship and never once sparred? She wouldn't manage many exchanges yet—but this was the dream of every beginner. Non-negotiable.

"Of course I'd have to get to a certain level before any sparring."

"Then, a different knight—"

"The other knights are already busy protecting the empire and the imperial house. I'd feel terrible taking their time for personal reasons of mine. That's why I was thinking—someone who isn't yet a formal knight. An apprentice knight."

She eased toward the actual point, slipping it in between reasons.

Right. All of this had been for exactly that: to create a point of connection with that person—the future hunter.

In the book, the hunter was granted his formal knighthood at seventeen. An unprecedented achievement—full knight status within two years of entering the palace—which meant that right now, he had to be an apprentice.

"An apprentice knight of the imperial order would have more than enough ability to teach me. The height difference for sparring would be about right. And Father, you've always said you'd like me to make a friend—so if we became close, wouldn't that be two birds with one stone?"

The apprentice knights attached to the imperial order were young nobles who had trained from childhood toward knighthood. There was nothing objectionable about one of them serving as Nishina's friend and teacher in terms of either rank or ability.

A boy of her own age, however.

The Emperor's brow creased almost involuntarily. He had agreed with the Imperial Consort that it would be good for Nishina to have friends—and he had said as much—but he had most certainly not meant a boy.

A firm refusal was forming on his lips.

Nishina looked up at him, eyes wide, with quiet earnestness.

"Please."

The Emperor could not refuse his daughter when she looked at him like that. Eventually, a breath of resignation slipped between his lips.

"I'll permit it—but only for one month. If it proves unhelpful afterward, you'll accept Sir Hilton's instruction without complaint. Understood?"

"Yes! Thank you, Father!"

Watching that bright, uncomplicated smile, even the faint lingering reluctance dissolved. The Emperor smiled back with satisfaction and finally picked up his teacup.

With the exception of one particular escort knight—who had just been turned down—it was quite a peaceful morning.

"Do I really have to?"

"Yes."

Joy was relentless. She pushed the medicine bowl closer with the air of someone who would not be moved. The liquid inside was a color that defied description, and the smell was worse. If fruit juice had been left in a jar for a thousand years, perhaps it would look something like this.

It wasn't as if she were ill—and yet she had to drink medicine. Nishina found the injustice of it genuinely distressing, but Joy appeared absolutely resolved not to grant permission for going out until this bowl was empty.

She pinched her nose and swallowed the medicine in convulsive gulps. The bitter taste screwed her face up before she could stop it, and Joy—who had clearly been waiting for exactly this—popped a piece of unwrapped candy into her mouth. Nishina rolled it around her tongue a few times, and the taste of the medicine finally faded.

"May I go now?"

"Of course."

Once you're dressed, Joy added, with the corners of her mouth lifting in a way that was distinctly ominous.

Nishina wasn't in her nightclothes—she had already been presentable enough for breakfast. She looked down at herself, puzzled, but before she could say anything, Joy gave a signal and the handmaids filed in with a procession of dresses and accessories.

The room filled up quickly. Nishina closed her eyes.

There was no chance she would survive trying them all on. She would be back in bed before the day was out.

Mercifully, Joy turned out to be a woman of judgment—she examined the options with careful eyes and made her selection without subjecting Nishina to any of them.

On the grounds of her recent illness, a comfortable chemise dress was chosen. The white dress had a blue ribbon at the waist as an accent. Her hair was combed through with fragrant oil and braided neatly to one side. And since several days without sunlight had made her already pale skin look a shade paler than usual, her cheeks and lips were given a light brush of color before Joy stepped back, satisfied.

"Perfect!"

Joy nodded with complete contentment. Nishina was not particularly attuned to clothing and accessories and couldn't say much had changed—but Ellis, who had arranged her hair, was also smiling with the same warmth, so it was probably not an exaggeration.

Nishina turned away from the mirror, slightly self-conscious, and got up quickly. She had permission now. She intended to go see him at once.

"I'll be off, then!"

Seeing her off with their good wishes, Nishina took the basket she had prepared in advance and walked out the door.