At a Loss

Lady Murasaki gave Suzune a long, deep look, a gaze that seemed to weigh her soul, then waved a dismissive, elegant hand. “All of you may leave.”

“Yes, my Lady,” the maids said in perfect, hushed unison, including Suzune. They slowly, silently, backed out of the room like retreating ghosts. Momozawa Ai gently closed the paper screen door, the sound a mere whisper, before returning to her place in Lady Murasaki’s shadow.

The air in the room shifted, growing denser, more intimate. Lady Murasaki leaned in close to Haruka, her whisper a silken caress against his ear. “Haruka, you truly are Mother’s good boy. That is exactly how one should tame a servant.”

Haruka was startled, realizing instantly that she saw his actions not as kindness, but as a calculated, strategic move to win loyalty. While that cold, political thought had briefly crossed his mind, his primary motivation had been a simple, genuine desire not to see someone get hurt because of him. The word “tame” made him deeply uncomfortable, as if she were talking about breaking an animal. He forced a tight, polite smile and said nothing.

“However,” she continued, her tone shifting, a playful, dangerous undercurrent surfacing, “I did not like the way you spoke to Mother just now. And you admitted yourself that you lied. For that, you must be given a small punishment.”

“What is the punishment?” Haruka asked calmly. He had already prepared himself, believing he could accept whatever came his way with composure.

Lady Murasaki’s smile was intoxicating, the kind of devastatingly beautiful expression that could make a man drown willingly in it. “Haruka, I want you to be a little spoiled for Mama.”

Haruka froze, the word ricocheting in his mind. “What?”

“Be a little spoiled for me, Haruka.”

“S-spoiled…” An incredibly strange, almost pained expression crossed his face.

Kiyohime, who had been simmering in sullen silence for a long time, perked up at the word. “Yes, be spoiled for your older sister, too!” she chimed in, curling her bare toes against the tatami and flashing a cruel, eager smile.

Lady Murasaki’s smile vanished as if it had never been. She shot a look as cold as glacial ice at Kiyohime. “Kiyohime, why are you still here?”

“Huh?” Kiyohime blinked, the sudden shift in temperature catching her off guard. “Mama, I’ve been here the whole time. You said you had something to tell me.”

“I have nothing more to say. You may leave now.”

“But Mama, I’ve been waiting all morning…” Kiyohime whined, her voice trailing off into a petulant mumble.

“If you wish,” Lady Murasaki said, her voice dropping to a dangerously low temperature that seemed to chill the very air in the room, “I can have you wait all afternoon as well.”

Kiyohime snapped her mouth shut. It was obvious Lady Murasaki did not want to share this strange, private moment of amusement. “Leave,” she commanded, the single word an unassailable wall.

Kiyohime slumped in her seat, half-risen, her face a mask of sullen, childish resentment.

“Do I need to call Sakuya in as well?” Lady Murasaki asked coldly.

That was enough to make Kiyohime scramble to her feet. She sulked toward the door, her small, bare feet, rosy from the morning chill, seeming to stumble as if walking on invisible nails. As she exited, she made sure to slide the paper door shut with an unnecessarily loud, defiant bang.

Lady Murasaki’s cold expression softened into a neutral calm. “Momozawa,” she said, “you should go and keep her company.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Momozawa Ai bowed and exited, the sound of the door closing behind her as soft and unnoticeable as her own breathing.

The room was silent again, the air charged. Lady Murasaki turned back to Haruka, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Now, show me.”

Haruka should have been on his guard, but her radiant, disarming smile stripped him of all his defenses, leaving him feeling young and hopelessly outmatched.

“I don’t know how,” he said, turning his head away, his cheek feeling warm.

“How can a child not know how to act spoiled?” Her voice was a gentle, teasing murmur.

“I… I really have never done it.” Since he could remember, Haruka had never once acted childishly with Yukishiro Tomoe. He had always been a sensible, mature one.

He saw a look of genuine pity flicker in Lady Murasaki’s eyes, her beautiful face suffused with a gentle, maternal glow that was utterly at odds with the dangerous, calculating, yet gorgeous woman he knew her to be.

“I suppose that’s true,” she said softly. “Given the kind of woman you were stuck with, she wouldn’t have responded to it anyway.”

“It’s not that, I just didn’t want to…”

“Mm-hmm,” Lady Murasaki hummed, a faint, dismissive smile on her lips that spoke volumes.

“It’s just being a little spoild…” Haruka muttered, feeling a strange pressure to defend not just himself, but the memory of his mother.

“Don’t force yourself,” Lady Murasaki said with a light, airy laugh, cutting him off. “I’ll let the punishment go.”

The more magnanimous she was, the more Haruka’s discomfort grew into a raw, burning indignation. He felt that both he and his real mother were being subtly, expertly insulted by this counterfeit one. On a wave of pure, childish impulse that shocked even himself, he lunged forward, throwing his arms around Lady Murasaki and burying his face in the soft, fragrant silk of her kimono.

Lady Murasaki gasped, her body going rigid with surprise, unsure for a moment how to react. His embrace was tight, pressing her loose kimono against her skin, making her already slender waist feel even smaller. She could feel his head rubbing against her chest like a small, desperate animal, and a flicker of sharp annoyance sparked within her. He is so disobedient. The plan had been for her to be in control, to treat him like a child, perhaps to offer a brief, calculated hug as a reward. She had never imagined he would dare to initiate it himself.

She was about to push him away, to reassert her dominance, but then Haruka slowly lifted his head. His eyes met hers, and as if possessed by a spirit, his lips formed the word: “Mama…”

Something in Lady Murasaki’s heart clenched, a sharp, unexpected pang that stole her breath. She found her hand moving of its own accord, rising to gently stroke his hair. “I’m here,” she heard herself say, the words a soft, foreign sound in the quiet room.

They stared at each other for two, maybe three, suspended heartbeats, before quickly pulling apart as if burned.

Haruka’s heart was hammering against his ribs. He cursed himself silently. Idiot. How could I call this fake mother ‘Mama’? But he couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of the embrace, the scent of her, the shocking softness, and the shame and guilt only intensified.

Lady Murasaki’s expression was calm, but inside, her mind was racing, trying to dissect the strange, unfamiliar emotion that had just bloomed within her chest.

She straightened her slightly disheveled kimono and resumed her prim, proper posture at the tea table. “Well,” she said, her voice regaining its smooth composure, “I suppose that was a bit like acting spoiled.”

Was that what I was doing? Haruka thought, mortified.

“Stop slouching,” Lady Murasaki commanded. “Sit up straight.”

Her voice held a new, almost motherly strictness. For a moment, Haruka wanted to obey, then he felt he shouldn’t, but the conflict quickly resolved itself. Why should I be so timid? He immediately sat up straight, defiantly crossing his legs.

Lady Murasaki glanced at him from the corner of her eye. That posture is completely unacceptable, she thought. I’ll have Momozawa teach him proper etiquette later. For now, she let it go.

She picked up the tongs again, sterilized a cup in the boiling water, and prepared a fresh cup of tea for Haruka before making one for herself. She blew gently on the steam, took a delicate, perfect sip, and set the cup down with practiced grace. She looked over at Haruka and saw him gulping his tea down as if it were water.

To an outsider, it would have looked fine, but to Lady Murasaki, who had been raised on a strict diet of Fujiwara etiquette, his every movement seemed crude and unrefined. She picked up the tongs and, without thinking, gently tapped the back of his hand with the handle.

Haruka looked at her, confused. “What is it, mother?”

Lady Murasaki herself seemed startled by her own unconscious action. She looked at the tongs in her hand. Yes, what am I doing? It’s not my place to worry this much about him. But then she remembered the way he had called her “Mama,” and her resolve hardened. She took another sip of tea. “In a couple of days, I will have Momozawa teach you proper etiquette.”

She paused, her gaze steady and direct. “And one more thing…”

Lady Murasaki stood up, her black kimono flowing around her like smoke, a picture of simple, quiet, devastating elegance. “I still have one more gift for you.”