Chapter Text
“Your father is a great man Nimura,” his mother said as she brushed a small comb through his raven locks. “A great man, who made a few mistakes. If his enemies know about those mistakes, bad things will happen.” the woman continued as she trailed her skinny fingers through his hair, comb discarded. She sat behind him on a plush cushion as he sat on the floor with his knees tucked to his chest.
“If his enemies know that he has bastards, then bad things will happen, to him and to you,” she muttered, before flattening both her hands on top of his head and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “He’s doing a good thing, by bringing us up in the world despite the dangers. We are humble servants to the King. Nothing more, you understand?” She muttered against the hair on his scalp, breathing in his hair lovingly.
Furuta looked at the ground, the filthy bricks with a few cheap rugs thrown over them. He picked at the scab on his knees as he stared.
“Why can't we live in the palace?” He asked, turned to face his mother as he pulled from her grasp. She sighed, dropping her hands into her lap as she looked at her only son.
“Because my darling, I am not the King's wife-”
“I know you're not.” He cut her off, staring up at her. “Your a whore from a brothel, who fucked the right person and moved from peasantry to servantry.” He continued to stare up at his mother, as she gasped and covered her mouth, tears welled in her eyes.
“Stupid woman. I carry the blood of the king. I should live in the palace.” He claimed as he stood on his feet. His mother stood also, he only came up to her hip since he was still a young boy, barely even ten. Furuta turned away from the women who made him, and marched himself from their small bedroom. He exited into a corridor of servants, all milling about their duties or headed home to sleep. By home he meant what was practically a hole in the wall, identical to the one he walked from.
His mother called out to him through the people as he weaved through their legs, having no plan but to get far away from his whore of a mother. If only she had been a noblewoman, then bastard or not he would be living in luxury. He would be living, not slaving away, scrubbing the bricks people like his father piss on. He should be the one pissing on the wall, and making other people clean it. He lingered in his thoughts as he shuffled around the servant quarters of the kingdom. Just a few flights of stairs beneath the castle entrance. A few steps away from the throne.
He could imagine himself sitting upon it. His black hair is long, it's tied up in a ponytail and on his head lays the crown. He is grown, and he is strong, a warrior, well respected across the kingdoms. His mother is on a spike, for the crime of disgusting the King, his father is on the spike beside her. He took the crown by force and saved the kingdom, the people rejoiced in his name and celebrated him. At night women flock to his quarters, they feed him grapes and wine and clean his cock with their tongues. He never lets them go further than that however, as he could care less about the pathetic women of brothels.
He has a Queen waiting for him.
As he wanders alone with his thoughts, he subconsciously finds himself trekking up a few steps of stairs, to the entrance of the palace. However, when he saw her there he tried to run.
“Furuta?” She called.
He turned himself back around, a few steps away from successfully making it back down the stairs. He locks eyes with her, crimson meeting purple. He was silent in front of her, the girl who stood alone, looking up at the palace the same way that he does.
“You're one of the other… ones. Right?” She asks as she brings an oddly clean hand towards her hair. She tosses the deep purple, flicking her hair off of her shoulder. Furuta watched with rapt attention, the way her hands were soft and gentle, the length of her hair, the subtle beauty of her face. Furuta swallowed.
“If by ‘ones’ you mean bastards? The answer is yes.” He replied, going against what his mother always told him of keeping it secret. The girl smiled, though it didn't quite meet her eyes. It pulled her soft lips taunt and Furuta wanted to do nothing more than smack that smile away from her lips.
“Me too. I guess that makes us half siblings. You know we are the two youngest. I hear one is already a member of the royal guard, and the other has started to bleed.” She responded, her smile dropping from her face as she stared at Furuta with eyes too intelligent for a woman. She stands with her feet together, hands in front of her. Despite her rage she was a polite beauty, so unlike the woman from brothels and cooks in the kitchen.
Then the girl moved, and before he knew it she was walking away. He didn't think so.
He ran up to her and grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him. For a moment, worry flawed across her face and her body tensed.
“What is your name?” He asked her, breathing heavily. “I haven't heard it from anyone yet,” he said, enjoying the way her beating pulse felt under fingertips, her skin was soft and fragile.
“Rize Kamishiro.” And with that the girl pulled away and left, running down the few flights of stairs and back towards the filthy servant quarters.
It was that moment Furuta decided who his Queen would be, the day he killed the King.