Accepting A Foreign Home

Haruka forced a smile, though it felt brittle on his lips, a thin veneer of calm ready to shatter. “You must be joking with me.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Lady Murasaki’s narrow, almond eyes stared at him, and Haruka felt that familiar, terrifying sensation of his heart being squeezed in an invisible fist. “I truly, deeply, despised your mother.”

Haruka’s smile slowly vanished, melting away under the heat of her gaze.

A profound, suffocating silence fell over the hall. No one dared to make a sound, not even the rustle of silk. In the Fujiwara household, it seemed that even light and sound bent to Lady Murasaki’s will. She wasn’t lying. Her beautiful eyes were filled with a naked, undisguised loathing for Yukishiro Tomoe, an ancient hatred that was chillingly alive.

Haruka straightened his back, pulling away from the soft velvet of the chair. He reached up and gently, deliberately, took hold of the wrist of the hand that was dabbing sweat from his face. It was a small, quiet act of rebellion, but in the charged silence, it felt as loud as a scream. “May I have the handkerchief? I can wipe it myself.”

The move was completely unexpected. Lady Murasaki had never imagined he would be so bold. She met his clear, black-and-white eyes—eyes that held no fear, only a quiet defiance—and a thrill of competition, of a primal desire to conquer, sparked within her. Momozawa was right, she thought, a flicker of amusement touching her lips. You are not an obedient child.

She smiled. “Of course.” She handed him the handkerchief, a square of fine silk embroidered with a single, vivid violet. It carried her rich, intoxicating fragrance, a scent of night-blooming flowers and something else, something uniquely hers.

Haruka took it, his fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before he brought the silk to his own face.

Lady Murasaki’s smile deepened. He’s still just a boy. That small, almost imperceptible hesitation revealed the roiling turmoil beneath his calm exterior.

Fortunately for him, she thought, I don’t dislike him. She could see he had a unique, fascinating quality. Sometimes, all it took was a little push to send a spinning top into a completely unexpected, beautiful trajectory. She decided to push him now, to send the entire situation spinning wildly out of control.

Lady Murasaki turned, her long, flowing purple kimono swaying around her like a teru teru bōzu doll hanging by a window, caught in a soft, rainy breeze. All eyes, every single gaze in the room, were drawn to her, held captive.

“This is my son,” Lady Murasaki announced, her voice ringing through the silent hall as she pointed a slender, jade-like finger at Haruka. “He is my own flesh and blood. Due to an unfortunate accident, he was lost to me for many years. But now, he has returned.”

A look of profound, unadulterated shock crossed Haruka’s face.

What is Mama saying? Kiyohime thought, her mind reeling with bewilderment. How did he suddenly become my biological brother?

The other guests exchanged quick, subtle glances. Most of them had anticipated something like this. It was a lie so blatant it was almost transparent, but it was a necessary fiction, a way to give Haruka a legitimate, unassailable identity. They were all in high positions; an adopted “illegitimate son” halfway through his childhood was no threat to their own foundations. No one was foolish enough to challenge her over it.

After a beat of pregnant silence, a chorus of voices rose, smooth and practiced. “Congratulations, Lady Murasaki.”

She nodded, satisfied. She turned back, her gaze traveling from Haruka’s handsome, refined face down to his pale, strong neck, to the firm, prominent line of his Adam’s apple. For some reason she couldn’t articulate, she found this part of him particularly appealing.

She exhaled a warm, moist breath, her fingertip tracing the line of his throat, a touch that was both feather-light and searingly hot. “Call me ‘Mother’.”

A tingling, numbing sensation spread from that single point of contact throughout Haruka’s entire body. Lady Murasaki’s intoxicating eyes were impossible to resist, her voice a heavenly, hypnotic sound whispering directly into his soul: Obey me.

No man could have resisted such a temptation. No woman could have withstood her authority.

Except for one.

“He has only one mother,” a clear, cold voice cut through the silence like a shard of glass. “And that foolish woman’s name is Yukishiro Tomoe.”

Everyone gasped, a collective intake of breath that was shockingly loud in the quiet room. Who would dare to challenge Lady Murasaki at a moment like this, at the peak of her triumph?

Even Lady Murasaki was drawn by the interruption, her attention—and her hand—moving away from Haruka.

Haruka seized the opportunity, pulling his head back, his own back now damp with a cold sweat. Lady Murasaki’s beauty was like a magic spell, a potent enchantment that left him completely defenseless. If they had been alone, if she had pressed her body against his and whispered a few more words in his ear, he knew, with a sickening certainty, that he would have abandoned all reason and obeyed her every command. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic mixture of fear and self-loathing. He couldn’t understand how he, who had resisted so fiercely just moments before, could have crumbled so easily.

He steadied his breathing and looked toward the speaker. If it hadn’t been for her, he didn’t know what might have happened.

The speaker was a young woman of about twenty, incredibly beautiful, dressed in a simple, pale blue kimono that seemed to absorb the light around her. Her unadorned face radiated a chilling, untouchable aura.

Haruka recognized her. It was Fujiwara Yukina.

No wonder people said the Old Mistress favored her eldest daughter. Though they shared the same mother, Yukina’s beauty was slightly overshadowed by Lady Murasaki’s—perhaps only because Yukina had not yet fully blossomed into her power. But strangely, none of the guests seemed to show Yukina much respect. Even Kiyohime’s eyes held a clear, undisguised dislike for her. The emotions were fleeting, but Haruka, ever watchful, caught them all.

Lady Murasaki’s expression did not change. “Yukina,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk. “I thought I asked you to entertain the guests at the second table. Why have you come here?”

“I remembered I had something to do,” Yukina said, her voice low and firm, refusing to be intimidated.

“Oh~?” Lady Murasaki’s voice was a long, drawn-out note of feigned curiosity. “And what might that be?” Her expression was unreadable, but Haruka could see a flicker of something—unease?—in her eyes. She was remembering that Yukina had been alone with the Old Mistress just before this. Did Mother tell her something? Murasaki wondered. Is she going to make a scene? If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have worried. Any smart person would know not to get involved in such a messy, complicated situation. But Yukina had the same stubborn, unyielding streak as Yukishiro Tomoe. She was afraid her sister might, in a fit of righteous, misplaced indignation, reveal secrets that were meant to stay buried forever. For the first time that evening, Lady Murasaki felt a flicker of genuine anxiety.

“I made a promise to a dying mother,” Yukina said, her voice resonating with conviction, “that I would see to it her child could live a normal life.”

“I see,” Lady Murasaki said, a wave of relief washing over her. “And what do you propose to do?”

“After the demon has been exorcised from the Old Mistress, I will take him away from the Fujiwara household,” Yukina said, her gaze meeting Haruka’s, a silent promise in her eyes.

“Leave the good life of the Fujiwara family to go and live as a commoner?” Lady Murasaki laughed, her good humor completely restored. “Yukina, dear sister, have you lost your mind?” Her tone was light, teasing, as if she were joking with a beloved, foolish sibling.

The guests smirked, their eyes full of open ridicule for Yukina. She had seen such looks her entire life. Her awkward, uncompromising nature was often labeled as “inflexible” or “bizarre.” After bringing Haruka to the Fujiwara house, she should have washed her hands of him. But she kept tossing and turning at night, thinking of the Old Mistress’s words. The Fujiwara family was a murky, stagnant pond. To leave him here was to harm him. It would be better to send him away, to at least give him a chance at a life free of care, a life of his own choosing.

“Why don’t we let him choose for himself?” Yukina suggested, her voice calm.

“Fine,” Lady Murasaki said casually, waving a dismissive hand. “Well? Do you want to stay here, or leave the Fujiwara family?”

Everyone thought the choice was obvious. If they were Haruka, they would choose to stay without a second thought. To be able to live in the Fujiwara household, to have that name, was a blessing of several lifetimes.

Haruka didn’t dare to look at Lady Murasaki’s eyes. He lowered his head, thinking. He was not a person who craved wealth and luxury. And he had thought he would hate Lady Murasaki, but in truth, he didn’t feel much hatred at all, only a terrifying, magnetic pull. To stay here would mean endless trouble, endless games. There was no point. More importantly, his mother’s dying wish was for him to be a normal person, to live a strong, ordinary life.

Haruka lifted his head, his voice soft but clear, cutting through the silence. “Let me leave the Fujiwara house.”

A wave of shock rippled through the guests. They thought he must have taken leave of his senses. Did he know what he was giving up?

Kiyohime shot to her feet, her face flushed with anger. “What did you say to him!” she demanded of Yukina, her voice sharp with accusation.

“I didn’t say anything to him,” Yukina replied coldly. “This was his own choice.”

“Yukina, Yukina, you are still so naive,” Lady Murasaki said with a look of weary, maternal disappointment. She turned to Haruka. “And what if I don’t let you leave?”

Haruka thought for a moment. “Then let me follow my mother.”

Lady Murasaki clapped her hands and laughed, a sound of breathtaking, heartbreaking beauty. “I will not grant you that wish either,” she said. She leaned close to him again, her lips brushing his ear, and with just a few whispered words, made him change his mind completely.