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sabraeal · 15 days

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fruit of the bitter tree, Chapter 1 [King's Beast | Ou no Kemono, Taihaku/Rangtsu]

[Read on AO3]

Written for @obiyuki-beebs, who has been a long time sufferer of this B-ship with me. One of the newer OnK chapters came out right before I asked for her birthday request, while we were both still wallowing in the DREAD GRIP of this pairing, and I was all too happy to be the first person to write fic for these idiots.

The decision to take on a new aide is one Tenyou-sama does not make lightly. The pavilion of the fourth prince has always been leanly staffed— at least according to Taihaku, who grumbles each time he tallies up the two ajin guards and one civil servant that populate the sprawling palace— but with the increased responsibility of becoming third prince—

“You can’t possibly expect me to take this on alone,” Taihaku tells him, belatedly— if reverently— tacking on, “Your Highness.”

Rangetsu does not naturally speak out both sides of her mouth, not the way the other courtiers do— the way Taihaku can, his words still light despite the weight of the double meaning they carry. But she has learned to listen for them, for the lacuna between breaths, for the way eyes often shoulder the burden that voices cannot. And Taihaku’s is all too plain.

A prince might suffer so few servants, the twitch in his cheeks mutters as the vein in his temple shouts, but an emperor cannot.

Tenyou-sama receives both rebukes with the same abashed bemusement as he takes most of Taihaku’s scoldings, head just barely bowed and smile strained at the corners.

“Of course.” One hand curling open, his magnanimity as reflexive as his kindness. “You are right, as always.”

Caught halfway through forming his next argument, chest puffed large as a bellows, Taihaku practically deflates, hollowed out beneath the tense line of his shoulders. “Oh. Ah. Are you really—?” His teeth snap around the rest of the question, dispelling it with a clearing of his throat. “I mean, thank you, master. Your wisdom is unimpeachable.”

One side of Tenyou-sama’s mouth twitches, stretching toward a smirk. “In this matter, at least. I have full trust that you will pick out someone suitable.”

“Me?” Taihaku’s jaw falls slack, one hand raised to sweep back the fall of his fringe before he remembers himself. “You mean—? Wouldn’t you rather select…?”

This time Tenyou-sama allows himself the smirk, one elegant brow sweeping up the smooth expanse of his forehead. Rangetsu’s fingers itch to trace its path. “You’re not the only one with more work, you know.”

“Ah…” Confusion converts to consternation, a bright flush creeping up from the collar of Taihaku’s robe, painting up the tense column of his neck. “Right. Of course.”

Tenyou-sama may be beautiful in that way that blossoms flutter on the breeze, or snow gathers on stone, but it’s Taihaku the palace maids giggle over. There’s something pleasant about his mouth, she’d heard one say, after he asked her to change out the arrangements in the fourth prince’s pavilion. I like watching him speak.

Rangestu had tried to see it— she’d had plenty of opportunity when he’d found her next, since he’d launched right into an impassioned lecture on the number of feet the fourth prince’s guards should keep on the ground when at court. Through all the sneering and snorting and snide remarks, she hadn’t found much of it pleasant to say the least.

But there is something about the way his jaw works that attracts her attention now; the jump of the tendon, perhaps, as it sets, or how delicately his throat bobs when it swallows. Or perhaps it is merely the grit of his teeth, the smile that is more nerves than nicety as he says, “I won’t let you down.”

Like an ajin’s, she realizes. That’s what his smile is like. And when she angles her own up to him, chasing his heels as he stomps out the door, he scowls back.

“Don’t,” he warns, darkly, “even think about making more work for me.”

“I was just wondering,” she says, trotting past his shoulders. “If my brother still has that liquor the Kougai-sama gave him.”

“This is just like him!” Beside her and Sogetsu, it is easy to forget that Taihaku’s official title was guard rather than aide for the first stumbling years of her tenure. But there is strength in the arm that he drops, leaving the table trembling beneath its weight. “I tell him there’s a problem, and then he— he goes off and gives me the power to fix it! Because gods forbid he actually…”

His voice drops to a mumble, muffled by the hand he curls over his mouth. Even with her ajin ears, Rangetsu can’t make out more than one word in five. Not that she needs to— when he gets like this, Taihaku cares more about airing his complaints than having them heard— but she still leans in, close enough one of her splayed knees brushes against his, and asks, “You don’t want to pick out the new servant?”

“What?” His hand lifts, burying itself in his hair rather than corners of his jaw. It’s not often she sees his eyes like this— unobstructed, no spray of fringe to hide the impatience in them. Or, sometimes, something she’s almost sure is fondness. “Of course I do. If I left it to Tenyou-sama, he’d pick someone like you.”

She blinks, filling his cup when he holds it out. “Ajin?”

His mouth curls around the cup’s edge. “Hopeless.”

Ichii joins them when the sakura first begins to bloom.

There’s petals tumbling in the air when Taihaku kneels at the bottom of the pavilion steps, leaning forward to lay prostrate at Tenyou-sama’s feet. They catch in his hair, dainty pink dotting inky black, like still water at twilight.

Standing at his shoulder, Rangetsu is glad for her mask— she cannot be sure what the third prince’s chief aide might do if he saw her smile, but it would almost certainly involve copying the worst poetry in the palace’s collection until her strokes were as fine as his. Or at least, until he got sick of disappointment.

His kowtow is serviceable, its execution technically perfect if lacking in abject devotion; the ideal model for the boy beside him, who hurries to make a more meaningful one.

Seated at the top of the steps, robed in pristine white and flanked by two ajin guards, Tenyou-sama is ethereal, more spirit than man and every inch an imperial prince. “This is the one you picked?”

“It is, Tenyou-sama.” Taihaku sits back on his heels, the veil of his fringe settling over his serious eyes. “Ichii recently passed the civil servant exam at its highest levels. Even amongst this year’s impressive showing of applications, he stood out in both the written and physical portions of the exam.”

Across Tenyou-sama’s elegant shoulders, Sogetsu meets her eyes, and even masked as he is, his amusement is plain. As is Tenyou-sama’s, his mouth unable to resist a wry tilt as he hums, “Did he?”

Taihaku’s brow furrows, frowning at their amusement. “Yes, Your Highness. I hope he meets your expectations.”

“If he was chosen by you, then I have every confidence he will.” He shifts, one hand curling under his chin as he adds, “It’s only….”

“Yes?” Taihaku prompts, impatience scraping the reverence off the edge of his voice.

“Well…” Tenyou-sama shifts, his own cheeks blooming with a dainty flush. “I would never have expected you to pick an ajin.”

“Don’t get any stupid ideas!” Taihaku glares over the rim of his sake cup, cheeks flushed with more than just alcohol now that both the boy and Tenyou-sama have been put to bed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the two of you.”

Sogetsu’s lounge only makes the arch of his brow all the more insolent. “Is that so? Here I was, half convinced you might like us.”

“I meant what I said.” He glances between the two of them, shoulders hiked right up to his ears. “He’s the best of a bumper crop.”

Impressive, at his age. The boy is young— young enough for one dark ear to droop as she took him to his quarters, so tired he didn’t noticed until she clasped it between her two fingers and rubbed at the muscle beneath. Rangetsu had no memory of how her own ears came to stand so proudly— there was little occasion for tenderness in the crèche— but during her short-lived retirement, she saw one of the old farm wives doing the same to the litter of pups their best bitch had whelped, urging them to standing. It was supposed to be a kindness, but—

But Ichii had smacked her hand away, eyes wide all the way around, and told her, “That won’t be necessary.” His voice had cracked at the end, still high when he tersely bid her goodnight.

“And no one else would have taken him,” Sogetsu adds. It’s not a question.

“No.” Each syllable elbows its way out of his mouth, begrudging. Tenyou-sama may have made it possible for ajin males to serve as more than fodder on the battlefield, but few humans would hire an animal to balance the books. “They wouldn’t have.”

Her brother hums, taking another delicate sip from his own cup. “Their loss.”

“Yeah.” Taihaku shoves a hand through his hair, unveiled eyes meeting hers for a moment before skittering away. “You could say that.”

“Do you like your room?” Rangetsu had been breathless when she’d showed it to Ichii the night before— private quarters, with a washstand filled fresh each morning and night. It’s the sort of luxury children in the crèche would only whisper of behind their hands, the kind they would only see if they were taken as royal guards or managed to make a name for themselves among the other flowers in the red light district. “I could hardly sleep my first night here.”

There are few civil servants who could keep pace with two ajin guards— especially ones as tall as her and her brother— but the boy manages it with only the scantest scarcity of breath, his chin tilted up pridefully between his deadly bookends. “I have no complaints, Rangetsu-dono.”

She stares down at him. Only a single night here and already he sounds like Taihaku. “Really?”

His nose wrinkles above his already rumpled mouth. “Yes.”

“I slept on the floor.” Sogetsu leans down, hanging over the boy’s shoulder with a conspiratorial smirk. “The bed was too soft. Took me nearly a month to sleep there the whole night.”

Ichii’s mouth rounds. “R-really?”

Sogetsu nods, straightening into his usual saunter. “There’s no shame in struggle here— not like there is out there. If you have trouble adjusting, you need only speak up.”

“My room is just down the hall,” Rangetsu blurts out, eager to have Ichii turn to her with the same wide, reverent eyes he gives her brother. “And Sogetsu’s is down in the other direction! Taihaku, too, he’s right next to me, so if—”

“I will make sure not to disturb you.” It’s a solemn promise, one he makes with head bowed and shoulders square— and exactly what she didn’t want.

“No!” He startles as she slings around him, taking her next stretch of steps backward to make sure their eyes meet as she says, “Please, do! If there is anything, I am happy to help-- no matter how small!”

Ichii’s mouth falls slack around an, “Oh.”

“Don’t look at me,” Sogetsu drawls when the boy casts his curious eyes on him. “I expect you to keep your problems to daylight hours. And amusing, too, if you mean to drag me into them.”

“Taihaku will handle most of your academic education, but Sogetsu and I will be handling your martial training,” she adds, falling back into step beside him. “But if you’re struggling with anything, tell me right away! Taihaku is a great teacher, but if you need him to go slower, I can tell him to—”

Ichii’s mouth pulls thin, a narrow perforation in his unblemished face. “Thanks you, Rangetsu-dono,” he says, not sounding grateful in the least. “But I won’t need any help.”

“Oh my,” Sogetsu snorts, as the boy outpaces them, his small back disappearing around a corner. “For having pretended to be an adolescent boy so long, my dear, you certainly don’t know how to handle them.”

Ichii does, of course, need help. The civil service exam may have prepared him for a life of clerical work in honor of the emperor, but there are different expectations for a prince’s aide. A rounded reading list, for one, with a working grasp of both classic shi and the newer fu poetry— a subject that Taihaku bemoans her progress on even now— as well as exemplary skill in the use of the short sword.

Oddly enough, it’s the last that Ichii struggles with.

“He is physically gifted,” Sogetsu hums, squinting over the training yard. “Even though it’s clear he’s never touched a sword save to pass that exam.”

Tenyou-sama shifts on the bench, one arm lazily folded over the pavilion’s rail, watching Taihaku and Ichii trade blows below. Or rather, they would be, if Taihaku didn’t easily side step each of the boy’s swings, delivering a corrective tap to his side. “As all ajin are. I’m sure with a few more months of training, he’ll outstrip Taihaku with ease.”

“Me too.” Sogetsu tilts his head back, grin sharp as his knives. “Looks like it will be up to my dear sister to make sure our newest addition meets his potential.”

“He’s over-committing.” It’s obvious in the way his shoulder reaches with every swing, in how long it takes him to recover his footing with each dodged blow. “Relying too much on strength when he’s fast too. Much more than Taihaku, if only—”

“My my.” Sogestu arches one of his brows, letting it disappear beneath the pale fall of his hair. “Maybe you should be the one down there.”

It’s not an idle suggestion, not one made from innocence and sincerity— no, as much as Rangetsu may love her brother, as much as she would be willing to lay down her entire life to see him alive and safe, she also has learned: Sogetsu never speaks a single syllable without some scheme behind it.

One which is all too clear when Tenyou-sama turns on his bench, glowing in the heat of the sun, and inquires, so innocent, “Oh, yes! Why aren’t you down there, Rangetsu?”

Sogetsu has earned more than the second of scowl she spares him before she replies, “Taihaku said I’d be in the way.”

“Underfoot,” Sogetsu supplies, so helpful. “I believe that was the word he used, sister dear.”

Rangestu only means to pass by Tenyou-sama’s office. Really, she does— it’s the most direct path between her chambers and the training yard, and after the kerfuffle in the kitchens today, she’s already late to her standing spar with Sogetsu. She doesn’t even pause when she passes the open doors, skirting around the curtains billowing in the first summer winds, until—

Until Tenyou-sama’s soft words drift through them, inquiring, “How is Ichii progressing?”

It’s hardly any of her business— Ichii’s made it quite clear that she last on his list of aides to beg favors from. Sogetsu might tease, might say, you read a room as well as you read any of the classic poets, but even she knows that she can’t elbow her way into his good graces by will alone.

And yet, she presses herself to the wall, ears perked to hear Taihaku’s buoyant, “Very well, Your Highness.”

Rangetsu frowns. He’d never spoken so glowingly of her accomplishments, as if just the thought of them put a skip in his step. As if they were something to be proud of, rather than grudgingly won.

Even Tenyou-sama seems surprised. “I hadn’t thought you would take so well to being an instructor again. Not after…”

Her.

“Ichii takes to everything like a duck to water,” Taihaku boasts, for once eager to praise. “Poetry, economics, imperial history— his calligraphy is already good enough to use in official correspondence.”

Unlike hers, which was hardly fit for the scrap paper she scrawled it on. Tenyou-sama said she had an endearing hand— a compliment she had taken pride in until Taihaku scoffed, that’s the sort of thing parents tell their child.

“And his martial skills,” Tenyou-sama presses, strangely unsure. “I suppose it might be time to let Rangetsu teach him the better points of—”

“No need, Your Highness.” Taihaku— Taihaku— laughs, deep in his throat, like a pleased parent fondly chiding their favorite child. “I’m happy to handle his training too.”

“Really?” At least Tenyou-sama seems as left-footed as she does. “I would have thought you would be eager to get back to your regular work.”

“And give up my best student?” He snorts. “Not likely.”

There’s something wrong with her, she thinks.

She makes it to her spar with Sogetsu, but her hands shake when she picks up a spear, her rolling stomach making the ground beneath her pitch and yaw like a ship’s deck. It fades as she advances toward her brother, chasing his his tail around the yard as if they were children still— he never did quite learn to fight the way he should, more fox than wolf even with a weapon in hand— but a simple kick from him sends her skittering across the clay, painting a bright red streak down the back of her uniform.

Sogestu, for his part, only watches her get to her feet, but his eyes narrow when she puts her back to him, pleading fatigue.

They narrow even further at dinner— taken together, at his insistence— when she only picks at her plate, unable to summon up her usual enthusiasm for the whole grilled fish placed in front of her. By the time Tenyou-sama dismisses them that night, it’s a wonder she can see anything more than a sliver of silver-blue, lingering on her as she stays behind, a soft hand already reaching for hers.

But there is no relief to be found in Tenyou-sama’s touch. No, when he strokes a hand down the bared skin of her arm, the tension beneath it snaps instead of sparks. She’s used to a pleasant hum that follows in the wake of his hands, like the air before a lightning strike, but instead she feels like an erhu strung too tight, the only music he can draw from her sharp and discordant.

He’s disappointed when she begs off his attentions, but spares her a welcome smile when she slips from his arms— and a less helpful kiss, leaving her nerves jangling as she slinks off to her rooms, strangely dissatisfied.

There’s nothing that eases it; not the briskness of the air nor her steps-- not even the palms she rubs down her arms, trying to urge her skin smooth. Something in her is laying at odd angles, and no matter how she sways and jumps, it won’t lay flat, won’t let her go back to the easy routine she’s settled into.

At least it doesn’t until she catches the spill of golden light from beneath Taihaku’s door. He’s up, still, probably poring over reports Tenyou-sama has long set aside. That’s the thing about the fourth prince’s foremost aide: he’s never once learned how to relax—

“Hah!”

Rangetsu jumps, skirting around his door like a skittish cat at a puddle. That had sounded like— like Taihaku. But it’s impossible; he doesn’t laugh at anything save her. And it’s not like that, all bright and bubbly, amused rather than tired—

“Is that your argument?” His tongue keeps tripping, his normally perfect syllables crowded by the laugh he’s barely holding at bay, and it’s strange how her heart pounds with each skipped consonant or strangled vowel. It’s Taihaku, it is, but unfamiliar, and though she knows she must go, she cannot make herself do anything but lean against the wall, drinking it in.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he insists, more evenly now. “Unless you want to get laughed out of the room before you can make your case.”

Her blood runs cold at the soft voice that squeaks out, “Of course, shifu…”

It's just...odd, that's all. Taihaku had always chased her out of his quarters after hours, telling her that he wasn’t her teacher again until morning. Later, she'd learned she could simple bring a bottle and her problems to his door, or sometimes simply sweep in, trapping him in questions before he could think to turn her out, but still--

It’s been hours, and they’re still in there, laughing over— over things. Poetry, probably. Literature, even. All the things Rangetsu could never get the hang of, but Ichii takes to as easy as breathing.

Ichii. Just thinking the name sets a spike through her breast. My best student.

Rangetsu lowers her chin, letting it dig into the flesh of her arm. It's silly, worrying about this. It's been ages since Taihaku called himself her tutor-- I've washed my hands of you, he tells her each time she shows him her attempts at calligraphy, stick to waving around that pole of yours-- no longer just his student, but friends as well. Just because Ichii is good at...at everything doesn't mean he doesn't like her too. It's just--

Well, only one of them is in his room right now, aren't they?

“Oh, my my my.” Sogetsu slips onto the railing next to her, eyebrows already lost behind the sweep of his hair. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

She frowns. “What is?”

“Why…” His teeth flash in the moonlight. “Not being the favorite anymore.”

#ou no kemono #the king's beast #taihaku/rangetsu #taigetsu #my fic #onk #future fic #slow burn #and of course what debut of mine would be complete without a completely load bearing oc #but it had to be done. only two fics on AO3 and they're both for the main ship #when the b-ship is so good! hopefully this time the mangaka doesn't make them siblings #they are different species!!! but i have a feeling this woman could find a way #in any case please enjoy rangetsu experiencing jealousy over taihaku's attention #and wanting to hurl herself into the nearest physical conflict in order to not have to process those emotions 🤣

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