Chapter Text
The staircase leading to the castle’s prison is dark and slippery. She nearly falls once, only to be caught by the guard leading her down.
“Careful, Miss Concubine,” the man guffaws. “We don’t want His Majesty’s woman to break her neck.”
She hates it –the laugh, the look, the touch, the thought behind it all. It is nothing new, people assuming she sleeps with Zen. She knows that this is how she is perceived; this is how it has always been. But this man is a member of the Order which murdered Zen’s mother, and he seems to be enjoying the thought of her being the king’s concubine way too much. His fingers dig into her skin; the perversion in his eyes makes her feel naked and insecure.
She wishes she was more like Kiki, able to handle anything as a weapon.
She takes a deep breath, straightening her back, and continues descending.
“I hope you don’t mind to look at him,” the guard asks, voice suggesting that the person waiting for them down there is filth.
“I am a pharmacist,” she says pointedly, walking ahead of the man to ensure a safe distance between them. “It is my job to look after the sick and injured.”
“If you say so,” the guard shrugs.
He lets her through the gate which leads into the underground prison of the castle. It looks exactly how Shirayuki has imagined – dark, humid, cold. Goosebumps raise on her arms as the guard leads her to the innermost cell.
“Here we go,” the man says gesturing at the small window on the reinforced door.
“Open it,” Shirayuki orders.
“I’m not authorized, Miss Concubine. He shall rot inside until his execution day.”
“How do you expect me to examine the patient if you don’t let me see him? Open it,” she repeats, this time commanding. The tone works, because the man licks his lips, and takes the keys out of his pocket. “Good. Now put those down and leave,” Shirayuki says.
“No can do, Miss Concubine,” says the man, placing her medical kit down beside her. “I’ve gotta stay with you in all…”
“I said go. Wait for me at the front gate.”
“Miss Concubine,” the man is not trying to reason. He simply tries to rile her up. And he succeeds, oh, how vexed Shirayuki feels now.
“You do what I say if you don’t want the king to remove you from the castle,” she says, forcing a cold tone on herself she has heard the ladies of the court speaking before – when they were berating her, when they expressed how scandalized they felt to be in the same room as her – and Shirayuki is pleasantly surprised at how effective it is on the man.
“If you insist, Miss Concubine,” he says, slowly backing away.
Only once he is out of eyesight, she dares to look in the inside of the cell. It’s small, way too small for anyone to spend the rest of their life in. Shirayuki can barely step in with the man inside – she wonders whether there is enough space for him to actually lie down to sleep at night.
Not that day or night would make that much of a difference in here, without a window or light.
She settles the lamp she has carried down on the hook beside the cell to better see.
The man inside shows little resemblance to the man she once knew. His frame looks smaller, somehow, back hunched and legs trotted. He lost his grace and elegance, wearing a plain shirt and pants, both dirtied by mud and blood, just as his hair which lost its shine.
“You look bad, Your Majesty.”
The man looks up, and his dark blue eyes just as clear as she remembers. They may have stripped him from his rank, but he is still very much the ruler she got to know.
“You say so?”
“Let me tend to your wounds.”
“Where is the main court physician?”
“She is not allowed to see you, Your Majesty. Would you let me treat your wounds?”
“They are nothing more than scratches, Shirayuki.”
“But they are not clean,” the girl protests.” And I don’t want you to get sepsis.”
“What a terrible outcome would it be, if the dethroned king died in his cell before his own execution!” Izana humors, his voice is dark just as his expression.
“Zen would not let his brother die,” she argues. Their eyes meet at this, Izana flinching a bit.
“Not that he can free me either,” he replies.
“He can’t,” she agrees. There is an edge to her voice, something telling that catches Izana’s attention. “Now undress, Your Majesty. Let me treat your wounds.”
“You got that wrong,” Izana says as he discards his shirt without further ado. “You should only address King Zen as His Majesty.”
“I wonder what should I call you then?” she asks, settling beside him with a washcloth and a basin of water.
“Whatever you please,” Izana offers and hisses as she rubs the wet cloth through his dirty skin.
“Izana,” she replies, washing off the blood from his shoulder. “I will call you Izana then. Though I might as well call you liar. You said you only had scratches.”
“Oh that one?” he asks, and Shirayuki can see the pain running across his face as she touches the wound on his shoulder.
“This one’s nasty,” she says.
“Those studded gloves of that captain of the Order are no joke.”
“I will apply an ointment on it. Hpefully it takes down the inflammation by tomorrow.”
“Hopefully.”
After washing him clean, Shirayuki tends to his wounds one by one: she puts a salve on the swelling and bruising on his ribs and over the scratches of his arms and hands; and her strongest ointment with antiseptics over his shoulder, where his skin has been crushed so meticulously it’s only a thin veil of lace over his raw flesh. He is full of bruises, his skin is a palette of purple, lilacs, greens and greys in between the hot red of cuts and flesh. Shirayuki tries hard to not imagine how he has been treated while she works.
Izana is a good patient. He doesn’t squirm much – only moving when she needs him to. He follows the tiniest of her signs, lifting his arm up to free his sides to her, turning his back to the light when Shirayuki ushers. She can only assume his pain from the smallest flinches in the corner of his lips, the stifled hisses he makes when her fingers touch a sensitive spot.
“Pants,” she says. “Let me see your legs too.”
Izana unbuckles his belt without a complaint, pulling off his trousers in one go, and it’s the moment Shirayuki is confronted with the unexpected sight of a royal behind that she realizes Izana is not wearing any underwear. It’s also the moment she notices the obvious footprint-shaped bruises over his calves. She forces down the blush bubbling up in her, focusing solely on his wounds.
“I’d like to ask you to wash your legs yourself, Izana,” she says. Calling him on his given name eases her mind a bit. “Once you’re clean I’ll apply some salve over some bruises.”
The man nods, taking the cloth from her hands.
“Oh, and one more thing,” she says hurriedly.
“Yes?”
“Were your… family jewels injured?” she asks in a tone that makes Izana turn slightly and raise a brow.
“No,” he says.
“Then please hide them.”
There’s a short chuckle coming from the man. “If you wish.”
Shirayuki nods, and she turns to face the stone wall rather than watching him.
“I’ve brought some fresh clothes with me,” she says. “Though nothing fancy.”
“It’s clean, that’s more than enough,” Izana replies. “I’m pretty sure the next time I see anything fancy, it would be the day of my execution.”
His dark humor – something Shirayuki hasn’t associated with King Izana before –, catches her slightly off guard but it successfully makes the embarrassment she has felt vanish in an instant. Still, she only dares to turn back to him after she has heard the sound of clothes rustling.
“The Order planned to castrate me on top of locking me up in here for the rest of my life,” Izana admits then, dressed in the simple shirt and pair of underpants she has brought him. “But then they opted for beheading. Flashier, I guess?”
Shirayuki allows herself a little smile.
“I hope you didn’t indulge yourself too much in the idea of dying.”
“What other option do I have with a hundred extremists around the castle thirsting for my blood?”
“It’s true that Zen has no means to get you out of here,” she says, and she barely manages to stop before a ‘Your Majesty’ rolls out on her tongue.
“But?” Izana urges. “There must be a ‘but’ somewhere if you start like this.”
“But I can,” she says, inciting a stunned expression from the dethroned king. Looking out for her guard, she continues. “We have people who infiltrated the Order. Based on their information, we may have a way out.”
Izana nods, shock replaced by genuine interest on his face. Shirayuki leans closer, fingers clutching on his shirt.
“The one behind the Order is Touka Bergatt, a northern lord,” she whispers. “He has ordered to kill the queen and her lover and imprison you, Your Majesty, with the plan to make Zen his puppet.”
Izana weights the information for a second, then nods.
“If it’s Touka, it’s possible. I’m pretty sure his father’s death was no accident either…”
“He has his way with poisons they say,” Shirayuki agrees.
“So tell me. Why are you here, Miss Court Pharmacist, instead of being by my brother’s side to save him from any poison?”
“Point taken, Your Ex-Majesty. However,” she continues, and Izana wonders whether it’s only his imagination, or the girl really smirks, “while Zen has built up some resistance against poisons during his childhood, I wonder about your resistance of beheadings?”
*
For now, all you have to do is to take this medicine, the girl explained back in the cell, and now Izana wonders whether it was payback for something, suffering from the worst diarrhea of his life. He may have teased her just a bit too much in the beginning, when he thought she was just a royal gold-digger…
“It’s serious,” the Head Pharmacist announces her verdict, leaving his side. “Guards, help me carry him to the infirmary. If you don’t, there won’t be a man to execute for your crowds,” she adds, matter-of-factly. There might be something in her that makes the guards obey her faster than Shirayuki. Her posture, her voice, her familiarity with giving orders – none of the burly men dares to talk back to Garrack Gazelt.
Izana is only half conscious when they reach above ground, hazily registering the sunshine which seems to burn through his closed lids now. Members of the Order, wearing their trademark gray uniform, drag him through the inner gardens and into the infirmary. As soon as they reach the building, Garrack hushes them away, letting only one to guard him while she examines him.
“Now, Your Majesty, if you would be so kind to take this,” the Head Pharmacist hands him some sour liquid he downs without hesitation. “This is to cancel the effects of the laxatives Shirayuki gave you.”
Izana looks up at her, surprised. It’s not in her nature to be careless of her environment, yet she speaks up openly in front of the guard, as if –
– Izana’s eyes flick to the man, analyzing. He is tall, lean and black haired, sporting the same uniform as every soldier of the Order. His golden eyes glisten as he starts talking.
“Looking at you, Sir, I would never want to anger Miss.”
“You are…” Izana starts, but Garrack interrupts him.
“Obi, bring me those linens. We need to put on a cold compress to take down his fever.”
Izana feels an urge to cut in confirming his fine condition only to have strong hands push him back on the bed.
“Your Majesty, please stay put,” he hears Garrack’s voice. “You will need all your power soon.”
“You have to hurt me, Sir,” comes a voice from close, way too close for Izana’s comfort, and as he opens his eyes again, he sees the wicked spark in Obi’s eyes. “You ought to hurt me clever, though,” he continues, and as he speaks Izana hears for the first time the subtle but distinctively raspy consonants of the people from the Southern Isles.
His hazy brain wanders, analyzing. The sound doesn’t match the face; the stray cat Zen picked up from Haruka’s doesn’t look like someone from the Southern Isles – apart from his dark hair and slightly tanned skin, everything in him screams foreign. He looks much more like the mercenary his father, late king Kain hired from a land far away – maybe the bastard of a soldier…
“I ought to be hurt enough, so the bright gentlemen of the Order believe I fainted; yet not hurt too much, as I have my own role to play tomorrow,” Obi carries on, now pulling on vowels like people from the upper court do. That’s when the dethroned king realizes that Obi is showing off. His talent to change his voice, his tone and his accent, all characteristics of his speech is commendable, but –
“What role?” Izana asks.
Obi’s smile widens.
“I have to be a runaway king,” he winks.
*
The medicine Garrack forces in him works, as he feels much better by the time Shirayuki enters from an inner door, carrying a rather big sack. He can’t help but notice how Obi jumps on his feet, face brightening like that of a puppy upon seeing the red haired pharmacist.
His brain works faster now, making observation so much easier. He can see from a glance that Shirayuki was in a hurry, breathing heavy and hair slightly disheveled, cheeks bright in pink. He knows from the look Garrack sends toward her that she is the last one they have been waiting for before letting him on in the details of the plan.
“Shirayuki-kun,” Garrack starts.
As if on cue, the young pharmacist drops her bag off her shoulder.
“Is it safe?” she asks in a hushed tone.
“I’m the only one here,” Obi says. “Shuka guards the door from the outside. No lunatic can hear a word of yours, Miss.”
“Good,” the girl nods, pulling at the strings of the bag, opening it. “We don’t have much time. The first Izana is readied by the Northern Gate.”
Izana feels the urge to inquire on what exactly ‘readied’ means in the girl’s interpretation, but his better sense makes him wait with the questions.
“For now,” Obi takes over, “we want you to knock me out, Sir. Miss will make you disappear, while a fake dethroned king Izana will be found dead by the gates.”
“A soldier from the Order died this morning,” Shirayuki continues, carefully omitting details. “We have dressed him up in same-looking clothes like the ones you got from me before.”
“It is also ensured that his body will be unidentifiable by the time the guards find him,” Garrack says.
“Shuka finds him,” Obi corrects. “After you knock me out, he will break in here and start a searching party. He will make sure to find the body first.”
“So… that’s the plan?” Izana asks. “A body that never leaves the castle?”
“That’s the first step,” Shirayuki says. “And we hope they will buy it.”
“Touka Bergatt wouldn’t be happy with a faceless body,” Izana shakes his head.
“That’s exactly why we have a second Izana,” Shirayuki replies, glancing over at Obi. “Who will appear on horseback in the outskirts of town tomorrow.”
“I plan to make some fireworks for the celebration of your beheading, Sir.”
Izana nods, contemplating his chances.
“So there is a body which will appear by the castle gates today, and a horseman in the city tomorrow. Where will I be in the meantime?”
“In good care,” Shirayuki says, pulling a long, plain looking dress out of the sack.
“Do you want me to…?” Izana asks, afraid of the reply. Obi lets out a snort – something he would probably dare even if he was in front of King Zen, but certainly not something he did in front of Izana back when he was on the throne. A glance is enough to make him stop, his lips pressed together firmly.
“Would you?” Shirayuki asks, unfazed and serious. “It may be naïve, but…”
“This may be my only chance, you say?”
The girl gulps, lifting the dress up again.
“This is the best we could come up in such a short time.”
Izana sends a glance towards Garrack – a glance wasted, as the Head Pharmacist is focusing on something else already, mixing different herbs into a potion on the fire.
For a moment Izana lingers, watching her skillful hands tearing up leaves. Then he casts his eyes to the walls, as if he was able to see through them, to see the blinding sunshine he was sure he would not see again until the day of his execution.
There is no decision to make, he realizes, nothing that he has not already made back in his cell when he drank the poison Shirayuki had brought him.
“So,” Izana starts, a small, heavy sigh stuck in his throat. “My execution would have happened tomorrow.”
Obi’s smile widens revealing a full set of teeth. Shirayuki inhales sharply, the dress shaking in her hand. Garrack looks up, almost lazily. If not for the playful sparkle of her eyes, he could believe the stoic expression she sports.
“You will be dead earlier if you knock this up while punching Obi,” she says, pointing at her cauldron.