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Kwan remembered it clearly. The morning Syaoran ran up to him, behaving not as himself, and demanded a private conversation. His mind had gone blank of everything else in hearing the most important part of the exchange: she hadn’t given away her heart. Not yet. It’d been a rouse against Juro’s continued advance.
It required all his will to not rush out to find her. No... That was too forward. A thundering tiger would only scare a magpie into flight. It was different with her. While a lady of court would be dazzled by a dramatic declaration, he couldn’t expect her to accept the gesture simply because it came from himself and not Juro.
There was also to consider how she described the sort of man she would never give her heart to, and if she categorized him that way. He’d need more subtlety to see where her affection for him ended, and if it was only a fondness.
The wisteria tree made for an excellent excuse. He’d compared her to it before, and perhaps the memory would help him to make her understand his feelings. She liked the idea of it, or the imagery, at least. Though, there seemed a sadness and a sort of rejection when he asked her opinion. Any lady would have guessed he referred to herself with those sorts of questions and become giddy. Hisa dismissed it, placing the standing inquiry to a third party, or otherwise not counting herself as a possibility.
In an effort to repair any awkward feeling, he brought her to the flame behind the falls. The tension eased, distracting from previous conversation. Too much so. He’d been caught off guard by a more personal question. While he knew she meant it innocently, his instinct was to hold suspicion and cut off all inquiry.
But she was Hisa. Not Gumiho. Not a greedy woman sifting out what aesthetic would best compliment her or that she could use to her full advantage. Hisa satisfied herself with a vague description, asking nothing particular after; he’d slipped too much in his tongue.
Nor was she empty headed, understanding, to an extent, his meaning for delighting her in an impromptu excursion.
He comprehended better that she felt a friendship only with him. Or, so he thought.
“Kiss me?”
He stared, desperately wanting to understand. It didn’t matter how she’d dressed or styled her hair, or whether she hid behind a cosmetic. Her dark-brown eyes, lined with thick lashes were always Hisa. He wanted to pull her in with animalistic fervor, to let the action be his expression.
No.
He would only frighten her as Juro had. Above all else, he didn’t want to be the source of her fears, still hating himself for the night she bolted away. Were a thousand arrows pointed at her, he’d take them all. Even if she didn’t love him in return.
Outside the cavern, he was reminded why he felt so strongly for her. Her tenderness towards the things that could never repay her. Unrivaled in genuine forgiveness and understanding—not in complex social orders, but at the core of things. A giver. Wholehearted and sincere.
He wanted to say it then and there, that he loved her, that it was her he wanted to take vows with beneath the old wisteria tree. But there was too much in the way. Not least of all that she saw herself as a servant first.
“A real kiss.”
Despite his joke, his heart picked up.
She began to fumble, and he feared she would reconsider. Soft, warm, and perfectly imperfect Hisa. She reciprocated his gesture, emboldening him to mischief.
“Are you going to ask for another kiss?”
Her face twisted to surprised offense. But something about the stark expression endeared him. “Lord Kwan!”
“Lady Hisa.” He tried the title onto her, wanting to know if she discerned his meaning.
The entirety of her changed as a result. “Don’t call me that...”
A needle of guild pricked inside his chest. Desperate, he persisted. She chastised herself in response, and he was no better off in knowing her feelings.
Fondness. That’s all it was.
****
In the second night of Mokryon, he’d decided on consoling himself with a dance. It wasn’t so unusual for a master to take his favorite servant, or for friends to engage each other.
“Wouldn’t you rather be dancing with the girl you’re in love with?”
Again, he found himself surprised by her assumptions.
“You were gone last night. And under the wisteria, I thought... Aren’t you in love with one of the ladies here?”
That was it. A distancing based on a misunderstanding. He felt a relief in knowing she didn’t jealously hold on to her thoughts, and new hope swelled that he might be able to properly learn of her feelings.
In their escape from the crowds, and the following conversation, he tested.
“You should know by now that I prefer your company. And I wanted to make sure you indulged in some fun, considering the rough start.”
For a while, she gave no response. Had he pressed too far? Made her uncomfortable? It was all the more difficult, given their stations to one another, but had he made it impossible?
“Thank you,” said Hisa in a sweet tone, quiet as it was.
And Kwan didn’t know his answer.
Nor would he in the days following. How much he wanted to indulge her with anything she admired, refraining for her own sake. He didn’t want her to feel indebted to him. When entertainers took up a square and dazzled the masses, he couldn’t look away from her. Her smile, her laugh, he wanted to do something to make her direct those at him. He wanted to take her hand, to pull her into his embrace, and not care who saw or what they said. But not at the cost of her good opinion of him.
There was frustratingly little else he could think of, even when summoned by his family. His attention only present when she was mentioned bitterly. They spoke as if she were a mange dog in the way of things, rather than a person of interest to their own superiors—willfully denying it through jealousy.
Kwan treaded the conversation, holding back from drawing his sword. Whole, he could best his brothers. In lacking his soul, he was uncertain of the outcome; regardless of it, he wouldn’t dishonor Genji with provoked violence in his home. Nor would he reveal that Genji appointed him as the inheritor, lest it draw up more demands. Better to keep it secret, even from his youngest brother. The humiliation would be returned a hundred times over when the transition took place. Were it tomorrow or a century or more, it didn’t matter.
His stoic reveling ceased with Hisa’s outburst. Kwan had never seen her so furious. For the briefest moment, she was neither a timid hare or an awkward magpie, but a tigress. When his mind caught up, he warned with his tone. She didn’t relent. The foolish girl was about to expose too much of herself, unwittingly about to walk into a position he couldn’t protect her from.
In leaving, taking her with him, he showed disrespect. But better that than to see her suffer the consequence of a world she didn’t understand. His frustration took hold of his tongue.
She didn’t back down. Not right away. And not out of disrespect. He wanted to keep her safe, and to make her comprehend it in an instant. He just didn’t know how. Through it all, her good opinion of him staved off an anger, but cultivated his frustration.
“Tell me why I can’t fight for someone who’s important to me.”
Her words caused him to stumble. There was a lingering fire in her eyes, even as the rest of her began to submit to her emotions.
He’d already decided to endure whatever her punishment onto himself, knowing it would break her, deliberately. And he’d decided not to say a word about it, if only to protect her further. In looking at her now, he wanted to pull her close, to shield her from what she’d done.
But both emotions were still too hot for it to be understood.
“You’re still that girl who ran up the mountain,” said Kwan, admiration in his every word. It’d taken until recently to realize the amount of courage she mustered nearly four years ago. Now, it didn’t seem so much like a pathetic groveling. Rather, an act of love.
He’d wanted nothing to do with her then. Things had changed, and now he wanted only for her to stay, knowing full well her desire to go home.
He would miss her.
Resolving himself in that feeling, he let go. She grabbed hold.
“What is it?”
Everything about her became calm, shy, reverting to the girl from years before. “Kiss me?”
Confused, Kwan watched her. She’d been fierce only minutes before, tempered shortly after, and the flame in her eyes started to dwindle. She was punishing herself, and the need to safeguard her from it took over.
He loved her.
****
As angry as Seong was on Kwan’s return, next in line to become the family patriarch, he hesitated. Kwan declared that he would take the full punishment, and his eldest brother, usually hungry for war, couldn’t bring himself to raise an arm against him. Yuz stoutly refused, defaulting it back to their father.
Not a one of them showed more than the slightest hint of a wince as Kwan endured every swing. Kwang was the one who fidgeted most, restraining himself in watching. One hundred strikes, and bruises in their wake.
It was left to Seong to further discipline his brothers, allowing their father to retire elsewhere. He dismissed Yuz and Beom, leaving them to escort Sara about the grounds. After a long, glowering stare, Seong relented and stepped behind his brother to kneel.
“You shouldn’t have provoked him,” said Seong. “Beom already gets father riled up. More easily now, with mother’s health in decline.”
Kwan said nothing, keeping still despite the agony across every inch of his back. He winced at the touch of his brother, a surge of pain from it.
“Why didn’t you give up the girl? You suffered more because of it.”
“Because it would break her,” said Kwan after a long silence.
Seong sighed. “You spoil that child too much. Like you did with the fox.”
“What use am I if I cannot protect my own household?”
“Take off your shirt,” commanded Seong, softening his tone.
“Because of what grandfather said about the worth of a man?” asked Kwang.
Kwan obeyed, moving carefully to avoid as much pain as possible, needing Seong’s help in the end. “It is not by how one treats their equals, but their inferiors that heaven judges us.”
“Hold still,” said Seong. “My healing isn’t as potent.”
“I have to give Hisa credit,” said Kwang. “Despite being human, and a woman, she keeps putting herself in the fray to defend her master. That level of loyalty is rare to find.”
“Seung was like that,” said Seong. His voice threatened to choke in just speaking their late brother’s name, forcing him to swallow to maintain his conviction. “It led him to an early grave. There’s a line between a loyal act and a reckless one.”
How different would things be, if Seung hadn’t followed his older brother and chased after Seokga to retrieve their eldest sister? Their mother might not be as bereft, and their father less harsh. Seong might’ve been able to follow a gentler nature, and Beom better tempered. Perhaps the tragedy of Gumiho would never have occurred. If the three eldest had lived, what a different world this might’ve been.
Everything changed after their deaths, with their father prioritizing power and political strategy over all else.
“She should know her place,” said Seong. “A servant does not interfere with the affairs of their master, or his associates.”
Kwan winced, becoming lock jawed at the start of Seong’s spell.
“Is Juro still set on having her?” asked Kwang.
“Do not engage with gossip of that level,” warned Seong. “It’s unbecoming.”
Something in his older brother’s sentiment made Kwan realize. His youngest brother was now without a mentor. Since Borsi, there was a hushed attempt to undo all association and place him into new guidance.
When he was dismissed, Kwan made for the castle to call on Genji. An arrangement was made, one his father couldn’t readily refuse. If, in three years’ time, a better option did not present itself, Kwang would be set here, able to maintain some of his jovial nature. It was Kwan’s duty, after all, to look after those younger than himself. Only, he would do so in his own way.
He had no right to ask it of Genji, pleading his case to his for master’s gentle soul. While reluctant, Genji sympathized with the circumstance, agreeing to take one last apprentice.
“It is unorthodox to take more than one pupil from a family,” said Genji. “I suppose it does suit me to do so.”
“If there is anything to repay this favor,” said Kwan, “ask it of me.”
A set of cups and small vase of jasmine wine were set before them, with the Elk prince gesturing to his servants to not wait on them so closely.
“You asked me why I wanted to name you heir,” said Genji, pouring the wine. “I had always planned, when Isa was alive, that Tetsuden should go not to the most powerful of my pupils, but the kindest.”
Kwan sipped, mulling over the information. “If you find Kwang to be more fitting of that description, I’m inclined to agree. I will not quarrel it.”
Genji’s gentle expression picked up a smile. “Isa supported the decision. A good woman isn’t a perfect woman. It’s her imperfection that can make a man feel powerful, and bring him to his knees at the same time.”
Kwan studied his former mentor, looking for what he implied.
“I was too grieved when she died. If not for this past year to reintroduce me to all my surviving students, I feared I would not have a successor. And that her most treasured places would be ripped out by whomever the Mireu deemed worthy of Tetsuden.”
Kwan allowed the start of a smile, catching Genji’s meaning. “Should there be a lady of this castle, I will temper some decisions.”
Genji nodded. “Your staff are enjoying the grounds?”
“Syaoran is dismayed with the crowds. But hiding away will do him no favors.”
Genji lingered his gaze. “The rest?”
Kwan’s smile inched up, “Hisa likes it. She’s overwhelmed by the society, but I think she’s fond of the flora. The trees in particular.”
Content, Genji asked nothing more, allowing them to sip the wine in a spell of splendid silence.
****
In the final night of dancing, though he still ached, Kwan sought out Hisa, if only to be certain she didn’t hold a disdain for him. They’d parted ways so awkwardly that day. In seeing a welcoming smile on her face, he relaxed himself.
“Dance with me?” asked Hisa.
It surprised him, since she’d never taken the initiative before. She’d grown used to him asking, he supposed, and they’d stayed in each other’s company so long. A lingering pain and stiffness reminded him of his earlier beating. But how could he refuse her? She smiled at him, a light in her eyes.
He offered his hand, ignoring the warning looks of his brothers elsewhere and the curious brows of others. Any move too wide or too sudden caused a hot throb in his muscles, as did any point when the dance required that he lift her; she wasn’t heavy by any means—simply the tension in his shoulders from lifting her caused pain.
“Are you alright?” asked Hisa towards the end of the dance.
“Shouldn’t I be?”
She frowned with a huff. The music reached the end, and polite applause took up the air.
“It felt like you were distracted with something,” said Hisa as they walked back to the sidelines.
“A long day,” said Kwan.
She kept a concerned expression, reaching up for his face, to where she’d seen him struck. Not now, he realized, catching her hand. Not so publicly. He reminded himself then, that she was still his prisoner and servant. To confess his feelings would only pressure her acceptance—seeming to demand it. Until she was free to blatantly refuse him, he needed restraint.
Else, he was no better than Juro in his behavior.
The memory of it reminded him of another reason to prevent a desired touch. They still had to keep the rouse of her intimacy with Syaoran. The thought of it irritated him, soothed only by the knowledge that she didn’t have anyone in her heart yet.
Wait for me, Hisa, he thought. Wait for me.