Chapter 66: Harsh Words and Honeyed Apologies
The morning after the ball dawned crisp and clear, the sunlight cutting sharp angles across the gravel of the training courtyard. Anne stood at the edge of the practice grounds, her usual trendy off-shoulder sweater and knee-high socks feeling like armor after the constricting sapphire silk. She’d scrubbed her lips raw last night, but the phantom pressure of that unwanted kiss still lingered, a greasy stain on her memory.
She took a deep breath, pulling the familiar, playful mask over her face. It felt thinner than usual.
Sanemi was by the water well, dousing his head under the pump. He moved with the jerky, pained motions of a man fighting a significant hangover. His haori was discarded on the ground, his kimono hanging open to reveal the map of scars across his chest and torso. Water dripped from his white hair onto the stones.
“Rough night?” Anne asked, her voice carefully light as she approached. She leaned against the well’s stone rim, offering a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So, tell me. How did you enjoy the royal spectacle? See anything interesting?”
Sanemi straightened up, water streaming down his face. He glared at her, his violet eyes bloodshot. The thudding in his skull was a brutal counter-rhythm to her cheerful tone. “Like hell I’d enjoy being paraded like some noble’s lapdog,” he snarled, the words ripped from a raw throat. “All that bowing and scraping. It’s a fucking joke. And you,” he gestured vaguely at her, “prancing around in that diamond necklace, playing princess.”
The words landed like physical blows. The carefully constructed mask shattered. Anne’s grin vanished. Her breath hitched, a small, wounded sound. She had wanted a distraction, a return to their normal, teasing banter. Instead, his words felt like a confirmation of every foul thing she’d felt last night—that she was just a title, a ornament, a thing to be claimed.
She blinked rapidly, turning her head away, but not before a single, traitorous tear escaped. It traced a clean path down her tan cheek before she could swipe it away.
The sight of it hit Sanemi with the force of a physical blow. His scowl faltered, crumbling into something raw and panicked. The hangover, the frustration, it all evaporated in the face of that single, shining tear. He’d seen her face down demons without flinching. He’d seen her disarm his own rage with a well-timed joke. He had never, ever seen her cry.
“Anne, I—” he started, his voice rough, but the words died in his throat. What could he say?
“It’s fine,” she murmured, her voice thick. She wouldn’t look at him. “Just… need some sweets. Lots of them. To fix this awful mood.”
She turned and walked away, her steps quicker than usual, her shoulders held too stiffly.
Sanemi stood frozen by the well, the water cooling on his skin. He watched her go, the image of that tear seared into his mind. He felt like the worst kind of bastard. His fingers, still wet, curled into fists at his sides. He had aimed his anger at the wrong target, and he’d hit something far more fragile than he ever intended.
From across the courtyard, Giyu observed the entire exchange from the shade of the ancient tree. He had been checking the edge of his blade, the morning calm a balm after the chaos of the ball. He saw Anne’s approach, the false cheer in her posture. He saw Sanemi’s explosive reaction. And he saw the moment she broke.
He watched her flee, and then his cool, blue eyes shifted to Sanemi, who remained rooted by the well, a statue of self-loathing. Giyu said nothing. He simply sheathed his sword, the soft click of the guard a punctuation in the quiet morning. The thread of tension between the three of them, which had been pulled taut at the ball, had just been yanked hard enough to fray.
Anne didn’t head for the kitchens or the sweets she’d mentioned. Her feet carried her on a different path, away from Sanemi’s stunned silence and the open courtyard. The gravel crunched a sharp, rhythmic counterpoint to the shaky rhythm of her breathing. She just needed to not be seen.
She turned a corner near the equipment shed and almost collided with a solid, silent form.
Giyu stood there, having moved from the tree’s shadow to intercept her path. He didn’t speak. His blue eyes, usually so distant, were focused intently on her face, taking in the damp trail on her cheek, the way she bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
The simple, quiet presence of him was the final straw. The composure she’d fought so hard to maintain shattered completely. “He didn’t mean it,” she whispered, the words thick with unshed tears. “I know he didn’t. It just… it hurt.”
A sob escaped, then another. She brought her hands up to cover her face, her shoulders shaking. The memory of the lord’s grabbing hands and Sanemi’s cutting words twisted together into a single, sharp pain.
Giyu’s arms went around her. He pulled her against the familiar, mismatched fabric of his haori. His hold was firm, secure, a shelter from the storm of her own emotions. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or tell her it was okay.
He just held her.
Anne buried her face in his chest, her fists clenching in the fabric of his clothes. She cried for the violation in the alcove, for the loneliness of her title, and for the sting of a friend’s careless words. She cried until the storm within her began to subside, leaving behind a hollow, weary ache.
When her breathing finally evened out into ragged hiccups, she didn’t pull away. She leaned into him, her forehead resting against his collarbone. His hand came up, his fingers gently threading through the loose hairs at the nape of her neck. It was an anchor.
“I hate this,” she mumbled into his haori, her voice raspy. “I hate feeling like this.”
Giyu’s hand stilled for a moment. Then it resumed its slow, steady motion. “I know,” he said, the two words a low rumble in his chest. They held more understanding than any lengthy speech ever could.
They held more understanding than any lengthy speech ever could.
The next morning, Sanemi found her near the ancient tree, its gnarled roots a silent witness to countless other apologies. He stood there for a long moment, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the usual aggression drained from his posture. "Hey," he said, the word rough, unused.
Anne looked up from the leaf she was tracing patterns with in the dirt. Her eyes were clear, but a lingering sadness clung to their brown depths. She didn't speak, just waited.
He scuffed his boot against a root, refusing to meet her gaze. "What I said yesterday... it was shit." The admission was gruff, forced out. "I was hungover and pissed off at the whole world, and I took it out on you. That wasn't... you're not that."
Anne watched the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were hunched nearly to his ears. The anger she’d felt had evaporated, leaving only a hollow understanding. "I know," she said softly.
"I'm sorry," he ground out, the words clearly foreign and uncomfortable on his tongue. His violet eyes finally flicked up to hers, full of a panicked, genuine guilt. "I'm a bastard. I didn't mean any of it."
A small, genuine smile touched Anne's lips then, thawing the last of the frost. "I know you didn't." She pushed herself up from the ground and closed the distance between them in two quick steps. Before he could react, she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against the rough fabric of his kimono. "It's okay."
Sanemi froze. Her hug was warm and solid, utterly disarming. The scent of her hair, something clean like sunshine, cut through the morning air. He stood rigid for a second, then his arms came up, slowly, awkwardly patting her back. The gesture was clumsy, but the intent was clear.
She giggled then, the sound light and real, muffled against his chest. "You're terrible at this."
A rough, surprised chuckle escaped him. His embrace tightened, just for a moment, becoming something more sure. "Shut up."
They stood like that for a while, the morning sun warming their backs. Anne finally pulled back, her smile a little wistful. "Sorry I probably made you worry," she said, swiping at her eyes with a laugh. "I didn't mean to cry. It's just... a lot happened."
Looking down at her—at the way her hair fell around her shoulders and the earnest apology in her eyes—Sanemi was struck by a sudden, profound realization. The strength, the warmth, the playful teasing... it all coexisted with this. He remembered, with a jolt, that she was a girl. And she was a princess. The dual truth of it settled in his chest, heavy and awe-inspiring.
He ruffled her hair, a little too hard, making her squawk. "Don't be an idiot," he grumbled, but his voice was softer than she'd ever heard it. "Come on. I'll buy you those sweets you were whining about."
Her resulting grin was brilliant, eclipsing the memory of her tears entirely. "Now that's a proper apology!"
"Now that's a proper apology!" Anne's grin was a sudden, brilliant thing, wiping away the last traces of yesterday's hurt. She bounced on the balls of her feet, the movement purely her. "But you're not getting off that easy. I want the good stuff from that shop in the village. The ones with the red bean paste that's not too sweet."
Sanemi rolled his eyes, but the usual edge was absent. "Fine. Whatever you want." He shifted his weight, the gravel crunching beneath his boot. The awkwardness from their hug still hung in the air between them, a tangible thing. He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. "Look, about before..."
Anne's smile softened. She understood his language of gruffness and abrasive concern. Without a word, she closed the distance between them again. This time, her approach was deliberate. She didn't just wrap her arms around his waist. She stepped into his space, threw her arms around his neck, and pulled him into a proper, full-bodied, bone-creaking bear hug.
It was an impact. Her warmth seeped through the fabric of his kimono, a startling contrast to the morning chill. Sanemi stiffened, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. He could feel the solid strength in her arms, a slayer's strength, yet the gesture was purely one of comfort. Then, with a rough, shuddering exhale, he gave in. His arms wrapped around her, crushing her against the scarred map of his chest. He held on tight, as if she were the only solid thing in a shifting world.
They stood like that for a long moment, under the ancient tree, its branches a silent witness. No more words were needed. The embrace said everything his rough tongue could not—his regret, his loyalty, his fierce, complicated care.
He could feel the vibration of her laugh against his chest before he even heard it. She tilted her head, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, her breath a warm, teasing ghost. “See,” Anne giggled in his ear, “no more awkwardness.”
Then she released him and stepped back, her expression shifting into something more serious. "I mean it. Thank you for the apology." She punched his arm, the impact playful but solid. "Now, about those sweets. I'm starving."
Sanemi stared at her, the spot where her breath had touched his skin feeling strangely alive. He grunted, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "Yeah, whatever. Don't make a big deal out of it." He turned and started walking toward the gate, not waiting to see if she followed. A faint, unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest, stubbornly ignoring his attempts to smother it.