Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Don’t move if you value your life.”

Victor swore he’d blinked but once after the first gunshot rang out, and then he found himself held fast with a long rapier drawn across him, its blade now hovering but a breath away from his skin.

“What is the meaning of this?!” the king demanded, rising from his seat at the edge of the scaffolding.

“Ah ah,” the man holding the younger prince warned. “All in due time, your majesty. I’d hate for you to rush things and cause my or my friend’s hands to slip. Princes make awfully bad pincushions after all.”

Victor tensed at that, the blade seemingly closer than before, its cold metal pricking at his throat.

It seemed unlikely that the man who held him tight, his sleeves of deep red silk and what felt like velvet pressed against Victor’s back, was a baker like the prisoners who were set to be hung, for such a profession would not afford such luxury; but the idea that an aristocrat would be so moved by the plight of a few breadmakers seemed just as strange.

The king merely scoffed, turning his glower now on the captain of the royal guard. “Do something!” he snarled.

The captain shifted, ever so slightly, and another gunshot rang out; this one aimed just so that a chunk of the captain’s hair dropped to the ground.

“Move and it’s you and the princes who’ll pay,” the gunman shot back.

The captain held his hands up. “You heard them, your majesty. I cannot act without endangering the lives of your sons.”

Victor could see his father shifting his eyes about, and for one terrible moment he feared his father would gamble their lives simply so he could win this standoff.  

Thankfully, it was at that very moment that the men acted; swiftly and fluidly, each of them moving with such grace and precision that it almost appeared they were dancing.

A crossbowman on horseback fired three shots in quick succession, each one breaking free the nooses around the prisoner’s necks. The gunman rushed up at that, cut free their bound hands and ushered the three captives off the scaffolding and onto horses that now parted the crowd. A blur of green and gold rushed past and Victor turned to see his brother being let go as his captor ran from the scaffolding and jumped onto a horse already turning to ride away.

But the man who held Victor hadn’t left yet, despite what appeared to be the only free horse following the others from the scene.

“I’m sorry,” a quiet voice, almost so soft-spoken and kind that the ruckus of the horses and the yelling of the king at the guard drowned it out.

Victor realized with a start that it was the man who held him, no- had held him, for now he’d been freed. He turned to find a roll of parchment pressed into his hands.

“Please stay safe, your highness.”

Perhaps it seemed contradictory, especially given that he’d only just removed a blade from Victor’s throat; but there was something warm and rich in those brown eyes rimmed by a red silk mask that made Victor believe the man meant every word.

And without a word more, he disappeared into the crowd only to alight a moment later on the last horse before it vanished out the castle gates.

Victor’s fingertips moved to rest over the wax seal of the letter he’d been given.

A simple design perhaps, but something about it seemed to burn into his heart.

A single vermillion rose.

The walls of Sigrosk were far behind them now, so far that no matter how she strained to see even a hint of the capitol’s tall towers on the south gate, they too were like a memory long passed; the unfamiliar countryside slowly giving way to olive trees and winding roads that she knew would lead her back home. After what had seemed like hours, but by the sun above them could only be but half an hour or so, Sara Crispino let herself breathe a long sigh of relief.

“We’re almost there, Miss.”

It was the shorter of the two men that spoke, bringing his horse down to a trot alongside the one she rode on; she pulled on the reins and brought her horse even with his, a feat made much easier by the breeches and simple men’s clothing they’d disguised her in.

“And you trust this person? Implicitly?” she queried, for the whole morning might be a blur but she had enough of her wits about her to know that many people would turn her over to the guards for a handful of coins.

“We do,” the second of the men spoke up from where he brought up his horse in the rear. “She’s a family friend of our leader.”

Sara raised an eyebrow at that, for although she greatly appreciated the kindness of these four men, they were still strangers to her; masked quite literally so she had no way to determine their identities. One of them, the one that seemed to be their leader, had offered to have her taken across the channel to the country of Yamato; something she’d laughed at and then politely declined.

It perhaps said something for the man that he only smiled and said he expected that she’d protest the idea. In fact, it seemed he’d been prepared for that inevitability all along, given the arrangements he’d made. He’d given her a letter with a red seal, an ornate rose in the design, and told her that it must go to the woman she was to stay with. “For your revolution, Miss Crispino,” he’d said with a smile, as if he knew already that the moment she was free that fiery fight had roared back to life in her bones.

He would take her brother and friend in his boat and they’d smuggle them back in via a southern seaport that had no gates or guards to worry about; but in the meantime, she was to have his two best shots riding at her side until she was safely to the location they’d planned.

“And if our word is not enough,” the first man spoke once more, “then I expect the name of Babicheva should speak for itself.”

Sara almost lost her pace at that, the horse sensing her loose hold on the reins and ambling a bit off the road before she managed to regain control. But honestly, had they only told her that upfront!

An incredulous laugh spilled forth from her lips. “Why had you not told me that already? I would have been easily appeased at that name alone and trusted at once that there I would find safety.”

“Perhaps, but you see we also need to know if we can trust you, Miss,” he continued. “And had you had any qualms about our assistance, we were certain you would have found a way to part company before now. Now, it seems, we both can come to trust one another more.”

It was true, for the idea had crossed her mind once she knew they were safely out of the city walls, but she had weighed what she knew of the four men and decided that anyone so brazen to do all they had were surely worthy of her trust.

“Well then, if we are to be in each other’s trust, shall I make a suggestion before we ride into town and draw everyone’s attention?”

The men exchanged a look and a hint of a smile.

“As you wish, Miss.”

“Let one of us take to walking the horses in, the other two can approach the house through the woods from behind. This way no questions about strange riders entering the village become a problem for any of us.”

The men chuckled, bringing their horses to a halt and beginning to dismount before they spoke once more.

“He told us you’d be leading us before the day was through.”

“And it seems he was most certainly correct about that.”

Sara blinked, the words coming back to her once more, now with an added emphasis of belief; no mocking or condescension meant, just full and true belief.

For your revolution, Miss Crispino.

Her fiery resolve burned stronger as if stoked alive by the faith of one in her aims; no longer was this just her fight, her ideals, but now it was supported by these strangers who had risked life and limb to bring her home.

This was no longer the farfetched dream of a baker.

This was the spark that would begin the revolution.

Now one not so familiar with Larussian history might be in wonder as to how events had lead to that morning’s altercation; but even Victor, who knew so much of his country and his family’s heritage, still found himself lacking all the answers as to what had happened mere hours before.

Surprisingly, in his twenty and seven years of life, such an occurrence was actually a first; a matter made all the more surprising by the fact that this was by no means the first time his father, the king, had made such a scene. There had been countless peasant lives dashed out by his father’s schemes before, but perhaps calling those actions a war or conquest made them more excusable in the eyes of some.

King Demyan had made a career out of putting people in what he deigned was their place, having worked his way up from the commander of the country’s army to its ruling monarch; a path that he had no problem littering with the bodies of those who didn’t step aside as he proceeded to conquer every country on the continent of Eastern Amorica. First it had been the neighboring country of Silesia, then Moravia with its grand castles and ports to the southeast, and the glory that came with that success granted him the hand of the princess of Larussia in marriage; but proud and kind Zhenya reigned like her father had before her, with kindness not force. Even in the short ten years of life Victor had with his mother, he could never understand how such a gentle woman ended up married to such a ruthless man. It was perhaps not a complete surprise that the moment she died, after years of unsuccessful attempts at a second child, King Demyan was quick to return to the ways he so desired.  

A political marriage to the princess of Rodiania in order to join the two countries was perhaps the kindest of his methods; a kindness that only lasted until young Yuri was but five and his mother died of an illness unable to be named, for she was barely cold in the ground by the time he’d invaded Boschekul.

But a boy himself, Victor watched as his father conquered - for invaded implied he was in the wrong - one country after the next; taking the best of each one and claiming it for the crown. The elegant castle and harbor of Sigrosk, once Moravia’s jewel, was plucked and taken by Demyan for his own; each resource or import that once came from another land was now his to export at twice the price. Proud Apulia to the south was the last to fall, the brave peoples of the land holding him at bay three years before, depleted of resources and ignored by Yamato across the waters to the east, they too became part of the illustrious Larussian Empire.

And that matter, perhaps, held part of the answers Victor sought.

The bakers revolt, he felt, was only escalated so rapidly in part of a two-fold connection to that very event of seven years past. The Apulian bakers were the first to stand proud against the tax collectors, the head of their guild quick to rally their brethren against the king’s men; and where the brave and beloved Crispino family stood, many people were glad to follow, for it had been their family’s patriarch that had lead the Apulian civilian militia to hold the invading forces out for a solid three year span. He had died bravely for the people of Apulia, and Apulia would now gladly do the same for his children.  So what had begun as a simple skirmish between tax collector and baker had quickly become a battle of army against the common people; a matter that infuriated King Demyan so, perhaps because he so despised the Crispino name, that he ordered the twins hung with their friend and cohort in hopes to settle the matter for good.

But there then came the question of who the four men were who came to their aid?

He’d dared not open the letter from the man who’d held him captive, afraid that doing so would only anger his father more so than he surely was already; yet the king had been so busy yelling at guards and consulting with advisors that it was not until now that he had summoned his two sons to him that Victor had the chance to discuss the matter.

“Why did you not bring this to me immediately?” he roared, his booming voice filling the throne room as it often did.

“I requested audience with you and were told you were busy,” Victor replied matter-of-factly.

“Your guards kept accusing us of spying when we even walked by the doors. Like hell we were getting in here,” his brother, Yuri, interjected.

As always, the bluntness of his brother seemed to fare better than Victor’s diplomacy.

“Well, in the future all matters of letters brought to either of you is to be presented to me immediately, is that understood?” His piercing blue eyes studied them with a scowl.

“Yes, father,” they echoed as always.

“Hmph.”

He quickly snatched the parchment from Victor’s hands and ripped the seal open, his eyes skimming the contents with a growing glower, before bringing his attention back to Victor.

“And that man gave no name or indication as to who the hell he was?”

Victor shook his head. “No more than the insignia on the seal. But the wax was in vermilion, and only someone with access to such a pigment…”

Demyan looked at the seal then, his eyes sharp and shrewd. “A vermilion rose, eh?”

“He was clad in red,” Victor added. “Silk and velvet at that. Certainly no simple baker.”

“No. He’s no baker,” Demyan growled out, his hand beginning to crumple the paper in his rage. His voice became bitter as he recited the letter aloud.

“Yamato shall no longer remain deaf to the cries for help that come from your shores.

As a common rose has its thorns, so too shall we defend the beauty of the common people.

Consider this your last warning. ”

Demyan threw it forward onto the ground and crushed it underfoot, swearing under his breath as he did so.

“If it’s a declaration of war Yamato wants, then I’ll show them.”

But Victor had heard something else in those words, hidden perhaps amidst the ones written, there was a sentiment his father could not read. The people of Yamato felt at fault for their government not aiding Apulia seven years ago, that much was known. But that government had fallen three years prior to those very merchants and workers who had cried out for Apulia’s sake. Clearly, it was one of those people who had now come into wealth, someone who knew the life of a commoner but now had the life of an aristocrat, who had taken this apology to heart.

This was no declaration of war from Yamato- their emperor was but a boy!- this was a man of beauty out to set matters of justice and honor right!

“This...Vermillion Rose,” Victor began, knowing not what else to call him, “and his comrades are not acting on any government’s command. It seems they are acting on behalf of the people.”

His father narrowed his eyes at that, as if trying to decide if Victor had any idea what he was saying.

“What sort of madman would do such a thing?”

Yuri scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Did you see those outfits, Father? That wasn’t military or militia, those were men of wealth.”

This seemed to only perplex the king further; for the idea that a man had a noble enough heart to fight for the sake of some stranger and not for personal conquest was far beyond his comprehension. But he didn’t need to understand an enemy to develop a strategy against it, and he knew where he lacked in kindness, his wives and subsequently his children fared much better than he did.

“Then we shall not expect our military to rise to their interference as they surely have better matters to attend to,” he began his eyes gleaming now as a plan truly developed in his mind. “I think such troublesome men can easily be dealt with by one of you two boys, now that you’re both of age.”

Victor blinked in shock, for never had his father expected anything more than fencing lessons from them both. But Yuri, ever asking for his father’s permission to be a part of things, was clearly ready to throw himself headlong into whatever was asked of them.

“Whomever brings me this man and his cohorts, this Vermilion Rose, as we say, shall be rewarded the same I was rewarded when I first brought glory to this country- with the crown. Consider this your service to the country in order to prove your devotion to the values with which I rule. Bring me this man and his men and you shall be the next king of Larussia. I swear to it on my honor as a soldier and king.”

Yuri bowed immediately, his eyes glittering with that competitive spark Victor knew could consume him as if it were wildfire. “Father, I will be the one to bring you these four men and take for myself the crown you so graciously offer. You need not worry anymore about them.”

The king smirked, clearly won over by the display, but Victor knew he could not bring himself to rival it; for childish games against his brother were one thing, but this surely would lead to the death of four men who had risked everything for the right cause.

“Victor,” the king turned to him now, his eyes as piercing as ice. “What do you have to say to that?”

Victor bowed quickly, hoping it might hide the growing unease that he was certain must have begun to surface on his face; but if there was one thing he could do well, it was charm, and charm he must to leave without facing his father’s wrath.

“I say, as current crown prince of Larussia, I will bring justice to our country by any means,” he began, his voice growing firmer and harsher as he knew it must. “I shall remind Yamato and any other country that Larussia does not need their interference and that any such meddlers shall be swiftly deal with and snuffed out.”

He could see the pleased curl of his father’s lip as he peered up through his bangs and steeled himself to mask his emotions as he looked up at his father.

“Good,” the man growled out. “I shall expect to hear back from both of you soon on your mission. In the meantime, we must prepare for the formality that is associated with your positions.”

He motioned to the guard at the door and he nodded, stepping out into the foyer post haste.

“The emperor of Yamato is having a gathering that you two are expected to attend. As you may know, the boy they call emperor over in that backwards country has recently become quite the news due to his elaborate attire; something that I knew I must find a way to rival, no matter the cost. As such, I’ve hired the tailors who work for the emperor to now ensure the Larussian royal family puts their strange Adelasian attire to shame. I expect both of you to work to better your appearance in public from here on out so that the child from Yamato isn’t the one being talked about.”

Victor exchanged a hidden look with his brother, both of them clearly not strangers to their father’s egotistical whims; but it was true that the young boy emperor had earned more of the king’s wrath than usual, for no child should be considered a better ruler than himself in Demyan’s mind.

As always, Yuri and Victor were but pawns in his political game.

“Do we at least get to pick the colors?” Yuri finally asked, feeling far more daring than Victor felt at the moment.

The king chuckled at that, and if he didn’t know his father so well, Victor might have found him but an endeared old man who was amused by his son’s question.

“You may make some decisions,” he replied, smile still seeming far kinder than it was, “but as always, the final decision shall be mine.”

This seemed to appease Yuri, but Victor quickly cut in before this charade of a family moment continued.

“Of course, father. As always.”

The king stood at that, the doors to the left being brought open wide as two men with a small cart came into view; but it was not their bundles of rich silks and beautiful velvets that caught Victor’s attention, for his eyes had met with those of one tailor and he’d not yet been able to look away.

Warm brown eyes, almost amplified in their beauty by the glasses perched on his nose, met Victor’s for a moment in shock before darting away, his messy black bangs seeming to shield him from further scrutiny.

“Good afternoon, your highness,” the other tailor said, making a low bow.

Victor’s eyes still remained on the other, who had quietly dropped to a bow himself.

“Hmph. You tell your meddlesome country to keep out of our affairs and perhaps it would be a good day,” the king shot back.

The tailor just gave a light laugh. “Ah yes, I heard about this morning. We had a bit of excitement at the gates thanks to all that.”

The king made his way down the stairs and towards the two, finally coming to a stop and seeming to study them closely. He waved a hand. “You Adelasians all look the same, my men were just doing their jobs.”

“And we would just like to do ours, if you’ll permit your highness. Sadly the clothes do not sew themselves.”

The king walked past as if he didn’t even hear. “I’ll have a charter drawn up so you aren’t delayed in the future, the guards should know that seamstresses are not going to take up arms against our country.”

Apparently, given the way the two tailors flinched but didn’t speak up, Victor could tell his father had already let his biased opinions slip forth around them. Women’s work, he’d called it once. Men were to fight and build and conquer! Even Queen Zhenya couldn’t teach her son embroidery without his father about burning down the castle over it.

Once the door slammed closed behind him, Victor was quick to make amends.

“I’m terribly sorry for my father’s...attitude about your profession,” he managed, “I’m certain you are both extremely skilled and hardworking.”

He extended his hand first to the one who had been talking and he took it with a smile.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, your highness. Phichit Chulanont, tailor apprentice, at your service,” he said with a bow before turning to offer his hand to Yuri. “I’ll be attending to the young prince, at your father’s request.”

Yuri gave the hand a weak shake and Victor could tell he was trying not to roll his eyes.

“And,” a quiet voice cut in, drawing Victor’s eyes immediately to the man it belonged to, “I shall be attending to you, your highness.”

Victor offered a hand with a warm smile. “Just Victor is fine, honestly. Only my father cares about the formality. And you are?”

The man still hadn’t raised his eyes up from the bow. “Yuuri Katsuki, sir.”

He studied him for a moment, trying to shake an odd feeling of familiarity that had crept into his bones as their hands met; for something about the tailor just piqued Victor’s interest immediately and suddenly for reasons he could not altogether understand.

He was clad in a quilted blue silk coat, the less expensive kind Victor had seen his father scoff at before, with a matching waistcoat; as was traditional for Adelasian fashion, the coat had ornate clasps made of cording and a high collar on the waistcoat that only allowed the smallest little puff of white at the front of the neck from a cravat. For pants he had simple black breeches, white stockings and black shoes; by no means was he poorly dressed, but it was moderate compared to what Victor himself wore.

“Yuuri, please, call me Victor.”

At that, those rich brown eyes flickered up to meet his with a look of surprise; but slowly, as the slightest of smiles crept onto his lips, something warm sparked to life in his gaze.

“If you insist, Prince Victor.”

“I insist, Sir Yuuri.”

A jolt of something electric seemed to pass between them at that moment, their hands drifting apart as they both silently laughed at their little joke. It was utterly wonderful, Victor thought, to be interacting with another person just like anyone else.

“Well, Prince Victor,” Yuuri stated with that little curl of his lips that Victor knew he couldn’t be imagining. “I’ve gotten instructions to make you attire that rivals the Emperor’s in one week’s time, which is a bit of tall order, but given the amount of money your father has offered I really could not turn it down. We’ve brought a few examples, but today we’ll be mostly doing basic fittings and deciding on fabrics you’d like.”

Victor noticed Yuri stride over at that, his eyes focused on the cart full of fabric with them. “If I have to put up with another Yuri in my presence, then I want all my outfit in black.”

“I didn’t know you were in mourning,” Phichit interjected with a smirk. “But may I suggest…”

“Who’s in charge here?” Yuri snapped.

Victor, remembering that Phichit had called himself an apprentice, knew that made Yuuri the master of the craft; a fact he was glad to use against his brother in this situation.

“I believe, the master tailor would be Yuuri, wouldn’t it?”

His brother met his look with a glare. “Call him Sir or whatever so I don’t think you’re talking to me. It’s majorly annoying.”

“All right then,” Victor countered, “I hope that’s agreeable with you, Sir Yuuri?”

Now that the joke had come so far, it seemed for a moment to startle him; a shyness creeping into his features and a blush coming to his cheeks at the title being added to his name.

“I suppose but…” he rubbed the back of his head, clearly trying to gather his wits about him once more. “Only if I may continue to use Prince before both of your names so I don’t feel as if I’m ignoring your royal titles.”

“Fine,” Yuri muttered with a shrug. “Whatever. Let’s just get this crap over with so I can go on with my day.”

“Of course,” Phichit replied, pulling the bolt of black silk free from the cart. “Lucky for you, I have three exciting shades of black here for you to pick from!”

Victor bit back a laugh at that, knowing the last thing he wanted to do was set off his brother’s temper and have him take it out on these tailors; but it was nice to see someone unafraid to poke fun at the young prince.

“Prince Victor?”

Yuuri had returned to his former, quiet voice; that hint of mischief and spark of something Victor couldn’t quite name buried now under the politeness required of a merchant, and oh how Victor yearned to find that spark again! But all that came to mind were the countless lessons on poise and diplomacy and ways to act royal, not human.

Finally, after a moment of surely standing there looking quite idiotic, he managed to find an acceptable reply.

“Please tell me you have something in shades other than black in mind for me. I look dreadfully pale in it.”

Much to his delight, there was that flicker of something indescribable in Yuuri’s rich russet eyes at the statement; a spark that seemed to burst forth and finally reached his lips, curling them up in a shy smile as he fought back a laugh.

“Well, we can’t have you looking like a ghost,” he finally managed, a hint of that laugh still lingering in his tone. “So I suppose we’ll have to use some colors.”

Victor smiled back, warm and bright and for once, not faked for the sake of his image.

“Colors, what a wonderful idea!”

And that laugh finally snuck free of Yuuri’s lips, the sound just as warm and soft as the man who had it.

It was strange to feel as if you knew someone without ever having met them before, for having heard stories and anecdotes made it seem almost as if the person were some mythical being who didn’t really exist in flesh and blood; but sure enough here she was, Mila Babicheva, the daughter of Andris Babicheva, Santino Crispino’s right hand man during the war of seven years past.

Sara had heard so many stories from ‘Baba’ about his daughter he’d sent to Yamato for safety during the war; he’d raised her almost single handedly after the death of his wife and from the way he talked she was the prettiest girl to have ever walked the earth. It was definitely an exaggeration, but upon meeting the crimson haired woman, Sara had to agree that she was definitely worth some exaggeration when it came to describing her beauty.

She was a woman of work, that much was instantly apparent; whether it was in her apron worn with years of use or the toned muscles of her arms, almost fully visible due to how high she’d pushed up her sleeves out of the way, her front laced bodice cut low while the white of her shirt was sticking to her skin with sweat. Sara had heard that after her father’s death she’d taken up the family’s business as a brewer, but she’d clearly put her all into running it without the help of anyone else; for there was a shrewdness in the curl of her lips, her eyes of sapphire blue twinkling with a wiseness that only a seasoned tradeswoman would have.

And whether the mysterious man knew much more than the connection of their fathers, Sara found herself very grateful for him having lead her to someone she saw as an equal almost immediately.

If there were to be daughters of the revolution, there would be no better place to start than with the daughters of Andris and Santino.

“Well, now the boys are off and we can get down to real work,” Mila said sliding down onto the bench next to Sara with a smirk.

“Real work?”

She brandished the letter, still sealed closed with that rose of red.

“I told them if I had any questions I’d send it with the blessing of Santa Cecilia,” she said cryptically.

“And I still have no idea what you mean by that,” Sara noted. “If we are to work together…”

Mila reached out at that, catching the hand Sara had been gesturing with and holding it until Sara brought her eyes up to meet hers.

“All my secrets shall soon be yours as well, I promise,” she said, giving her hand a pat. “I would trust the Crispino family with my father’s trade secrets if they asked.”

“Well I’m not looking into brewing,” Sara shot back.

“No. But taking back Apulia from Demyan will require great trust amongst those who chose to fight. I want to make sure you and I aren’t just trusting one another blindly because our fathers did. We need to be stronger than that if we’re to take up this banner.”

Sara nodded. It was true, she’d definitely put more trust in Mila than she had the four men at first simply because of their fathers; but if they were going to do this, if they had a chance of taking back what was theirs from the king, they would need a trust forged in fire.

“You’re right,” she said quietly, her hand clenching Mila’s slightly and feeling the calluses of hers mingling with her own. “If I’m going to continue this fight, I will need people I can trust most of all. So…”

She paused, raising her eyes to meet Mila’s and holding her gaze as she felt that fire once more raging to life inside her.

“Let’s work together, like our fathers before us, and we’ll forge a trust like theirs that cannot be broken.”

Mila smiled at that. “I’ll drink to that, my lady.”

It occurred to Sara suddenly that they were still hand in hand, a fact that made her feel suddenly just as warm as if she had drank a pint of ale; and so with a nervous little laugh, she darted her eyes to it and Mila let out a little ‘oh’ as she quickly released her hand. For a moment, there was fire in the air, that crackle of something magic that Sara always felt when her bread came out of the oven just right.

She did her best to shake it from her mind.

“So, this letter?”

“Oh, right!” Mila said, quickly breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment. Her eyes skimmed down it, and slowly that little curl crept its way back onto her pale pink lips.

“It seems the leader of that little band has quite the faith in you, Miss Crispino,” she stated after a moment, holding the letter out to her. “Here, he said it was for you to read as well.”

Sara took it from her and quickly set to pouring over its contents.

M -

 

If you are reading this, then all has gone to plan and the three are safely in our care. It also means that, much like I suspected and mentioned to you previously, that both of the twins have insisted on staying in the country and have refused my offer to relocate them to safety. Let it be known then, that we will be needing your assistance going forward, for if they are to succeed then we must be there to aid them. You know my feelings about the matter seven years ago and this is the least I can do to try and make amends. If at any time you or those that have come to reside with you decide that safety is priority, let me know and we shall bring you to Yamato without delay.

 

But for now, we shall place our faith in the fiery resolve of the daughter to once more rally the people for a cause. This shall not be an easy matter for any of us and I entrust that between you and her you’ll find a way to spread your message far and wide. As for the two men involved, I shall be sending you further instructions as to where to best use their talents. Only as one can we fight against the king of Larussia, so we must trust one another in everything and betray none to those we cannot trust.

 

That being said, right now we three are bound by the history of our families and our trust in one another is not resolute. We cannot rush into battle no matter how our blood may call for action. Start small, make waves. I suspect if you make a big enough wave, the king will act; and if so, then we shall act once more as thieves of his prey. I will do my best to hear all that I can, but if you have urgent need of me, pray to the saints and they shall answer.

 

Remember, no letter without my seal is to be considered by my hand.

 

Share this now with your new companion. Read it and understand it, but then feed it to the fire lest it fall into the wrong hands.

 

May the gods of fortune watch over us all.

There was no signature, just a small drawing of a rose in red ink.

Sara could feel her heart racing, as if a drumbeat summoning one to battle had begun and it was only matching beat; all the doubts that had plagued her, haunted her, from the moment she’d been arrested, were no longer loud enough to be heard over the call. She would finish the fight her father had died for, she would find a way to take back Apulia for the people who called it home, and she’d risk anything she had to to make that dream a reality.

“Well, I’m not usually the type to follow orders from a man, but I suppose there’s always an exception,” Mila spoke up, taking the letter back from Sara and walking towards the fireplace.

“I think, if there’s anyone we could trust right now, it would surely be the one who orchestrated this whole thing so meticulously so far,” Sara noted with a smile. His faith in her, this man who’d never met her before today, was like wind in her sails.

They stood in silence, watching as the fire ate away at the parchment and curled it and devoured it piece by piece, the crackle of the flame for a moment the only sound save their hearts.

“He’ll protest it, but I do think calling him Eros is a fitting choice,” Mila murmured quietly, the simmering fire reflected in her eyes. “It was his love and faith that brought us all together.”

“At the beginning there was only Chaos, Night, Darkness, and the Abyss,” Sara recited the ancient myth, for it was something every Apulian child learned when ever they asked about the ruins scattered throughout their lands. “Earth, the Air and Heaven had no existence. Firstly, blackwinged Night laid a germless egg in the bosom of the infinite deeps of Darkness, and from this, after the revolution of long ages, sprang the graceful Eros with his glittering golden wings, swift as the whirlwinds of the tempest.“

“And we are the offspring of Eros. We have wings and we lend assistance to lovers,” Mila finished.

“We have wings,” Sara echoed, feeling as if the dying fire had been lit anew in her veins. “And now they will see how we fly.”

After endless roads and towns full of people, the sounds of the forest were a welcome reprieve; for although the calls of wolves and owls might make some wary, it only made Leo think of his home, oceans away, and the strange course of events that had led him to this beautiful Apulian forest.

Had it really only been a year since he’d made the journey across the seas to Yamato?

Sometimes it seemed only yesterday he had left the United Lands of Arawak to come and learn the trade of silk farming from the masters themselves, and that which was to be only but a year long adventure was now turning out to be something new and exciting that he’d never considered before. Perhaps it was fate that led him here, a simple beekeeper and candle maker, to become the most highly prized source of silk in all of Yamato, carrying on the methods his sensei had taught him after the man’s death and becoming the emperor’s chosen silk farmer in the process.  

And now, as if all that wasn’t already a constant bafflement to him, here he was masked like a bandit and aiding the three he’d come to call friends in an adventure far beyond his wildest dreams.

“Are you daydreaming or have you fallen asleep?” Guang Hong’s soft voice called over to him from where he sat at the base of a neighboring tree.

Leo opened his eyes at that and gave a smile. “Does it count as a daydream if all I’m doing is wondering if I’m dreaming?”

Guang Hong smiled back at that, and as was often the effect of such a sight, Leo felt the fluttering of his heart like a cluster of butterflies had taken up residence there and were sunning their wings. Much like the bees he cared for, Leo found himself far too often straying into Guang Hong’s gardens to look upon the elegant flowers and the man who raised them.

“I like the change,” he finally said firmly. “I’ve always hoped that someday I’d get to do something...exciting.”

“Growing plants and arranging them not exciting enough for you?” Leo teased.

Guang Hong leaned back, his eyes drifting skyward.

“No, I guess not. I don’t know...it’s just…” he brought his focus back to Leo. “It was fun. Racing away from the guards, feeling the rush of the wind as we rode through the countryside, the way my heart beat as if it was going to burst from my chest…”

He dropped his gaze.

“Sorry, I’m probably not making any sense.”

But Leo thought he understood; for as Guang Hong spoke he could feel the excitement coursing through his veins, his heart picking up pace at the mere talk of such adventures that they’d had only hours before. He found himself on his feet and closing the space between them quickly and by the time his mind had caught up with his actions, Leo was kneeling before Guang Hong and reaching out to once more brush his fingertip over the cut on his cheek; the one thing that had made Leo feel as if perhaps this whole ordeal was a bit much despite the thrill it gave him.

Guang Hong’s surprised eyes flickered up to meet him.

“Maybe I’d be a little more inclined to agree if we hadn’t come quite so close to danger.”

Something flashed across Guang Hong’s features at that, his movements lightning quick and his grip firm as he held Leo’s hand where it now hovered beside his face; the two of them sharing something unspoken in the moments that ticked past.

No longer was Leo seeing just another delicate flower before him, something that needed constant protection and care to ensure it grew to be healthy and strong, for there was no vestiges of that boy before him any more. Blossomed in its place was something sharper, a man no longer complacent with living a quiet and reserved life when such wondrous adventures could be had instead. Or perchance this had been hidden before his eyes all along and it had only been his own feelings that had muddled up the image into something it never was, because if you wish to be a protector then you must have want of someone in need of protection.

But Guang Hong wasn’t in need of protection at all.

“Leo.”

He shook the reverie into which he’d diverged from his mind, trying to bring the matter into focus as it truly was as opposed to how he had perceived it. Hearing his name after hours upon hours of avoiding such a risk had shaken him back to himself.

Leo began to withdraw his hand, finding himself surprised once more when Guang Hong snagged it back and brought it to rest against his cheek with a smile.

“You may not believe me, but the danger is why it’s fun.”

“I believe you,” Leo replied quietly, a smile curling at his own lips despite every attempt to hold it back, lest Guang Hong notice the fondness that lingered in it. “But that doesn’t keep me from worrying.”

Guang Hong huffed out a laugh, and maybe he was searching for something that wasn’t there, but Leo thought there might be some fondness in that too.

“Then I shall let you worry if you let me continue to rush headlong right into the dangers that make you worry so.”

And knowing it now to be truer than ever, Leo replied, “As if I could ever stop you.”

How long they idled so close, it was too hard to tell; time always seemed strange in moments like these. But at the sound of approaching horses, they finally parted and quickly got to their feet, poised and ready for attack if one should come.

All the forest stood still and through the trees came a bird’s call echoing like laughter.

Guang Hong and Leo lowered their weapons and turned to one another with growing smiles.

“The signal!”

“It’s them!”

The steady cadence of hoofbeats resounded, drawing ever nearer and nearer until the two riders were in sight; one bedecked in a deep red top with billowing silk sleeves, and a velvet waistcoat and breeches, the vibrant color standing out like a beacon amidst the trees. He was followed close by another, dressed in light greens; his silk waistcoat embroidered with intricate detail and his nacré velvet coat seeming to shimmer with pink as he moved. Much like the ornate outfits Leo and Guang Hong wore- Leo’s a black waistcoat embellished with elaborate gold cording for closure and Guang Hong’s a flowing pink crêpe-de-chine silk shirt with a brocade black waistcoat over it- they were flashy and expensive looking for a reason. What better way to distract from commoners such as the bakers than to dress as if one had just left the Larussian royal court?

“Sorry for the wait,” the rider in red said as he brought his horse to a halt and began to dismount, a long silver rapier hanging at his side. “We had a bit of a delay.”

“More like we made a distraction just to be safe,” the second rider added as he stepped down from his mount. “ Someone thought it might be best if those masked riders were seen somewhere far from the place we sent the lady with you.”

Even though they were surely the only ones in the forest for miles, there was still such awareness and caution in regards to their words and it made Leo remember what they’d discussed back at Mila’s before he and Guang Hong left.

“I get what you’re saying, but we need a faster way to say it,” he began, handing over his flask so the two could get a fresh drink from it. “And it just so happens the two we were just with came up with something for us to use. Names that aren’t our own.”

“Good, because as much as we’ve been careful it’s hard not to slip up,” the first rider remarked. “And right now, the palace has only given one of us a name to search out.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Guang Hong asked.

“The Vermillion Rose,” he replied. “The eldest prince was sharp enough to notice the unique pigment we used.”

“Yuuri may have been rather proud of him for that,” the second rider said quietly.

“Phichit hush!”

“Sorry, but I’ve spent all day trying not to tease you about him and it’s finally hit the point if I don’t I’m going to die from holding it all in,” Phichit elaborated.

Leo exchanged a look with Guang Hong, both of them holding back laughter at their leader’s expense. It was no secret amongst the group that Yuuri had a particular interest in the prince; for as the story from his sister went, it was the prince and former queen’s visit to Yamato years before that had inspired Yuuri to take up the family trade of tailoring. He’d always wished he could someday be skilled enough to work for the royal family and now, much to his surprise, that time had come.

As it was, the red of his mask seemed to only amplify the red color seeping into his cheeks.

“It wasn’t my idea! I told you!”

Phichit just grinned, clearly quite content with recounting the details.“Right now they’re already on first-name terms, with the prince referring to him as Sir Yuuri. And he’s insisted that he be called Victor.”

“Not my idea!” Yuuri reiterated. Guang Hong gave a sympathetic pat to his shoulders and he let out a resigned sigh. “Look- we can laugh about it all we want at another time. We shouldn’t even be using these names right now. What was it that she came up with, Leo?”

As the four huddled close, their voices kept low, Leo explained what Mila and Sara had decided on for a way of keeping them all distinct without betraying any of their identities.

“Well, she noted that our mission is one born of love. Love of country, love of others, love of justice. So she said the old stories from ancient Apulia on love should be our guide,” Leo explained. “Each of us takes on a name that represents a kind of love.”

“We’re Agape and Ludus,” Guang Hong continued. “The two ladies are Storge and Pragma. And you two are Philia and Eros.”

Yuuri blinked, looking from one to the next. “Wait, so- Agape?” He pointed to Guang Hong and was answered with a nod. “Ludus?” Then to Leo. “Then the house belongs to Pragma and Storge is staying there?” Leo nodded.

But then Yuuri came to a pause and frowned. “Then if Phichit is Philia... I’m supposed to be Eros?”

“Isn’t Eros like seductive love?” Phichit asked, clearly trying to hold back a snicker.

“It’s a lot of other things,” Leo clarified. “But yeah...that’s the main part.”

“Well I guess no one will ever guess it’s me then,” Yuuri muttered.

“It’s just another mask,” Leo noted. “Nothing more to it than that.”

At that, a flicker of confidence crossed through Yuuri’s eyes, the red silk around them seeming to sharpen his gaze.

“Right. Then let’s go forward with these as our names. As one, we can be the Society of the Vermillion Rose and we can use that as our signature when we leave any messages to others or to each other. Pragma will get instructions on where to send the two men and with Storge taking the lead, it’s only a matter of time before our assistance will be needed again.”

He put his hand in the center of them, the red signet ring with the rose seal engraved in its stone glistened in the dappled forest lighting and stood out starkly against his black leather gloves.

“If you want out, this is your last chance. There’s no turning back after this.”

Phichit, of course, was first to follow after Yuuri.

“No way I’m letting you do this alone, Eros.”

Leo watched as Guang Hong quickly placed his hand atop the two others.

“And I’m not letting you two have all the fun,” he stated with that fiery look in his eyes.

Had you asked Leo previously if he’d ever consider joining up with a band of men brave enough to fight for what’s right, he’d hesitate and wonder if he could ever measure up to such people; but at this moment, with these three friends, he knew there was no other answer but one.

“The Society of the Vermilion Rose shall stand as one!”