FSW Chapter 7

Stepping Stone

"Joy, I think I don't need this wrapped anymore—"

"Absolutely not! What if it scars?"

Nishina looked down at the oppressively swaddled state of her feet and exhaled a long breath. Bandages wound around them like she'd sustained grievous injury. Thanks to an aromatic oil massage from the imperial physician, the muscle soreness had nearly cleared up entirely. The scrapes still stung a little—but that was absolutely no reason for this level of treatment.

After her nanny had left the palace, Joy had stepped in to fill the gap as her personal attendant—but even her nanny hadn't been quite this excessive. Her mother was the same way. The people around her clearly ranked her somewhere alongside the ocean sunfish in terms of hardiness—the creature famously liable to die of fright, of waves, of the sheer inconvenience of existing. Prick a finger and it was straight to critical condition.

That might make sense if she'd been a sickly child. But Nishina's childhood had been entirely healthy, apart from one or two minor illnesses.

Of course, her stamina was a bit—well, quite a lot—lacking! Regardless.

So it was only natural that Joy had been horrified when Nishina arrived home being carried in Lavis Russell's arms.

She'd panicked—gone ash-white, demanded to know what had happened—and in the chaos, Nishina had been unable to even give him a proper thank-you before they were separated.

An imperial physician had been summoned. Extensive treatment had been administered. She hadn't been permitted to set foot on the ground for a full day.

She'd said she was fine dozens of times and not one word of it had been received. This was the result.

"I really am fine! And the shoemaker is coming soon, isn't he?"

"Even so—"

"I'll have to take the bandages off anyway for him to measure my feet."

"Then at least let me put ointment on first."

Joy said it with considerable firmness, ointment already in hand. For the sake of Joy's peace of mind, Nishina nodded. Joy unwound the bandages with hands that clearly wished to leave them on. It had been wound so thoroughly that just the unwinding took a while.

Her feet didn't have noses—but she had the distinct sensation of breathing in fresh air. She moved her newly liberated feet with satisfaction. A little irritating still, but at this level she could go straight back to training without any trouble.

She held her feet out to Joy as demonstrative evidence—Joy dutifully applied ointment to the faint scrapes, then went out to fetch a fresh set of bandages for later.

Alone in the room, Nishina set her feet on the floor for the first time today. She padded across the room on bare feet and carefully opened the door.

She'd been planning to slip out to the training ground just like this—

She came face-to-face with Sir Hilton, standing solidly in the doorway. The moment he spotted her, his gaze dropped immediately to her feet.

'Ah. There was one more excessive person.'

His brow drew together as he examined her feet. Before he could scoop her up again, Nishina quickly made her case for being perfectly fine.

"Sir Hilton! I really do look fine now, don't I? I could go straight to training—"

"I'm afraid not, Your Highness."

"Sir Russell will be waiting!"

"I've already sent word that training will be suspended for the time being, so please don't worry."

"That was such an unnecessary—"

Her inner voice had escaped. Sir Hilton's eyes drooped—she pretended not to notice.

'He wouldn't have been asked to keep watch over me to prevent me from going out, would he?'

Joy was entirely capable of that. Which was a problem. Nishina stared anxiously at the corridor beyond the door. Even if training was impossible, she needed to see Lavis Russell today.

She'd delivered the cookie, but her impression in his eyes had surely hit rock bottom. She needed to begin recovering her image as quickly as possible. And she still owed him a proper thank-you besides.

"How long is 'the time being'?" she asked, urgent.

"Until Your Highness's feet have healed completely."

"They really are fine right now! Look!"

She stamped her feet against the floor—tap tap—and Sir Hilton went pale as a sheet and scooped her up by the armpits.

"…What are you doing."

"What if the wound worsens—that would be terrible!"

"It won't worsen. Please put me down. And let me go."

"I cannot."

He set her carefully back on the floor and shook his head. That last request—refused. Nishina stared up at him stubbornly, but Sir Hilton was uncharacteristically unmoveable.

Had everyone had an extra serving of resolve today? Why was everyone being so impossibly decisive. At Nishina's sulky face, Sir Hilton finally relented with a sigh, and said in a coaxing tone:

"Then—once you have proper shoes fitted, I'll let you go."

'And what exactly is this sleight of hand supposed to be.'

The shoemaker was coming today, so by the time the shoes were finished, the scrapes would have healed without a trace. But she didn't argue the point, and trudged back into her room. Training without proper shoes would only end in the same disaster.

She couldn't keep punishing her feet, either.

Having at last accepted defeat, Nishina fell face-first onto the bed. For some reason she felt even more tired than yesterday.

Three days into her not-quite-house-arrest—lessons had continued throughout—her first permitted outing was a tea with her mother, Melissa.

Had the tulip garden always been this beautiful? It must be the novelty of going out after so long—everything looked lovely. The wide blue sky! The flowers blooming in a dozen colors! The perfectly ordinary tea! Even the scones she didn't particularly like!

She was munching contentedly on a scone she wouldn't have touched under normal circumstances, and Melissa spoke with a note of pride in her voice.

"I hear you've been visiting the head patissier frequently lately. Word reached me that you'd become absorbed in developing new treats—so I decided to try my hand at it as well. I added Earl Grey to the recipe. How does it taste?"

"Mm. It goes nicely with warm tea."

She hadn't been visiting the patissier out of passion for new treats, as the rumors suggested. Every visit—pressing the head patissier for one thing and another—had been in pursuit of a bribe of sufficient quality to make up for her disastrous impression.

In that sense, this scone wasn't bad. Even accounting for her above-average mood, the lingering fragrance was genuinely good.

Would this be enough to make up for it.

It seemed better than the sweet potato Mont Blanc she'd originally considered.

Melissa, knowing nothing of any of this, smiled radiantly and tilted her teacup. The faint scent of chrysanthemum, the warm spring breeze—there was nothing missing from this tea.

"How is the swordsmanship training going?"

Melissa set down her teacup with elegant care and asked, with concern.

"Well—I haven't properly started yet. I'll know better once I've gone on a bit more, but it's more manageable than I expected."

"I see. Work hard—but always be careful not to hurt yourself."

If she learned that Nishina had already hurt herself and been confined for several days—those lovely amber eyes would fill with tears. She was deeply grateful she'd kept it from her mother. She exhaled silently with relief and gave a vague nod.

For all Melissa's worry over Nishina, her own color wasn't particularly good, either. There had been word that she'd taken on the late Empress's duties on top of her own and had been exhausted lately.

"Are you all right, Mother? I heard you've been quite busy recently…."

"The work is fine—but the preparations for the salon I'm holding haven't come together yet, and that's rather worrying."

Melissa held a salon at her residence two or three times a year without fail. Partly for the social bonds between the ladies—but no small part of it was to consolidate her political position. Nishina set down her empty teacup and regarded Melissa with a careful expression. The leisurely tea with her mother was a pleasure—but it was time to broach the real subject.

"Mother."

"Yes?"

"If you don't mind—I'd like to attend your salon with you."

She hadn't yet debuted in society, not yet being an adult, and had declined all such invitations until now. But it was time to start learning.

Everyone invited to Melissa's salon would be among those who supported her. That meant they were precisely the opposite of those who supported Aiden.

In other words: the people Nishina would eventually need to persuade. And before persuading them, she first needed access to them.

She had no intention of revealing her true purpose the moment she met them. At fourteen, she was neither entirely a child nor quite old enough to be taken seriously. Speaking her mind now would most likely be dismissed as the impulsive sulking of a girl too young to understand. This first meeting was simply for sorting—learning to distinguish the ones she would need to win over from the ones she would need to keep at a distance.

There were families who were loyal to the Emperor and supported his will—but scattered among them were noble factions trying to use a young girl to their advantage. Those she wanted to identify and filter out early. And the households most aggressively hostile toward the Imperial Prince—those she wanted to mark in advance as well. All of which made this a critical first move toward Goal One.

"Truly? Of course you may attend—if you want to!"

Melissa's eyes, which had gone wide with surprise, curved into crescents. She was clearly delighted by Nishina's proposal. Tea with her daughter at the salon—something she had wished for quietly for a long time. Afraid Nishina might take back the offer, she seized Nishina's hand in both of hers and nodded again and again.

At Melissa's obvious, uncomplicated joy, a strange guilt tugged at Nishina. She carefully worked her hand free of Melissa's grip.

Her motives were not entirely pure—and she was sorry for that—but there was nothing else to be done.

Because this was going to be the starting point of the happy ending where both of them survived.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Nishina closed the picture book. She had read to the very last line. Like all fairy tales tended to, this one had ended happily.

How wonderful it would be if this world were a fairy tale. A world where no one suffered, no one struggled—where everyone was simply happy. Too ideal to even imagine. She knew a world like that couldn't exist. Because when someone became happy, someone else became sad.

It was like the shadow that necessarily formed when the sun rose. An obvious cause and effect. Light exists, and darkness follows—that was simply the natural outcome.

Perhaps Aiden and herself were the same way. For every measure of happiness she gained, Aiden became that much more unhappy. It was an absurd leap of logic—but if that were their fate, what would she do?

If her misery could truly make him happy, she was prepared to be unhappy for his sake without hesitation.

But separate from any unhappiness of her own—Aiden would become still more wretched than he was now. So wretched he would eventually burn himself up in his own rage.

To live a life of becoming tattered and wound-covered, and only then being saved by another person—she wanted to prevent that. The reason she clung so hard to the plan was this, among other things.

Today she had laid the groundwork for persuading the Emperor. She had made a point of contact with the hunter. But Aiden—he…

She thought back to the contempt in his eyes the last time they had met. He had never particularly liked her—but he had never shown it so nakedly before. Now the hatred had dripped openly from his eyes. In all her life, she had never been so thoroughly despised. She didn't know how to stop being despised. Everyone around her had always loved her for simply existing.

And that was precisely what Aiden would hate about her.

Nishina curled herself into a ball on the sofa. Then she called out, weakly, to Joy—busy preparing the bed—and Sir Hilton—standing solidly at the door.

"Joy. Sir Hilton."

"Yes?"

"You called, Your Highness?"

They both turned at the same moment. Eyes full of warmth.

Joy could be strict about anything related to her health—but let Nishina look even slightly downcast and she would, however reluctantly, grant what was asked. Sir Hilton was the same. Hold his hem and wish for something with enough sincerity and he was the kind of person who would pluck stars from the sky. Wrapped in this much cushioned affection, Nishina felt a little more sad. She had been happy to be loved this much—and she wanted to love him just as much in return.

But he would refuse it entirely. Not because the feeling itself was unwelcome—but because the person offering it was.

"If you wanted to become friends with someone who dislikes you—what would you do?"

"Is there anyone in the world who dislikes Your Highness?"

Sir Hilton's eyes went wide and he replied with complete sincerity. The earnestness of his face was such that it left her momentarily speechless. But what she needed to know right now wasn't the thickness of Sir Hilton's rose-colored lens—it was how not to be disliked.

"I'm serious!"

"Well—if someone truly dislikes you, what they'd most prefer is for you to simply get out of their… to disappear from their sight, wouldn't it?"

After some thought, Sir Hilton arrived at the honest answer. That's probably right. Nishina's expression fell. Joy, noticing the shift, quickly elbowed Sir Hilton in the side.

"Ugh."

Barely suppressing the pain, Sir Hilton hastily revised:

"Ahem! It depends on the reason for the dislike, of course—but what about showing the person your good qualities? Unexpectedly, they might come to see you differently."

"What are my good qualities?"

"Why, they're—"

Blue eyes blinked at him, bright and questioning. Sir Hilton examined her with a faint sense of pressure.

The peach of both cheeks, the bright shine of those eyes—all of it, entirely dear.

"Your existence itself?"

Sir Hilton answered with an entirely serious face, and Nishina's expression curdled. She left the useless, besotted man where he stood and turned the full force of her gaze on Joy instead.

Joy had been consulted in the past about the strained relationship with a particular brother—so she seemed to understand who was meant. Thinking with a distinctly more serious expression, Joy answered with composure.

"The way you hurt more for other people's pain than your own. I don't think it's always a good thing personally—but for someone who can't show when they're in pain… wouldn't it help?"

"Would that make the person hurt less?"

"No. Hurting on their behalf doesn't mean they stop hurting."

"Then…"

"But it means they'd be less alone in it."

She thought of the original novel's description. He had been like a child abandoned in the middle of a desert with no end in sight, it had said. That the loneliness of walking alone—shivering in the cold, stung by the sun—had been the worst pain.

If she could walk beside him on that barefoot path through the sand. If she could be even a small patch of shade for him.

An Aiden who was in pain but not alone. Not entirely what she would have hoped—but that was reason enough to bear being wounded in his place.

Nishina renewed her resolution to endure it with him, and quietly accepted this.