Yeijiro awoke confused, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed. His thoughts slowly worked their way into focus until he sat up with a jolt of panic. The attack. The Emperor!

Tōru's room—Tōru's bed. That was where he was. Alone, for…how long? A quick look around and he spotted the clock on the wall. Assuming it was set to local time, rather than Imperial, it was the middle of the afternoon and Yeijiro had slept a good twenty hours straight. He felt like that might be true. There was a certain lethargy that came of too much sleep after too little, and he was starving like he hadn’t eaten in days.

His clothes had been cleaned and mended, left folded on a chair near the bed. Yeijiro scooped them all up and retreated to the connected bathroom to make himself presentable.

As presentable as he could. For three weeks, he’d been away from court, following leads, gathering information, and trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. That had meant simple, plain clothes. Nothing appropriate to court, and particularly inappropriate for an audience with the Emperor.

Last night—it all felt so unreal. If Yeijiro hadn’t had the evidence of being in Tōru's rooms, in a place he so obviously couldn’t have been otherwise, he might have thought last night had been an exhaustion-driven dream.

But here he was, no question. Staring at himself in Tōru's mirror. Creeping softly back into Tōru's bedroom.

Tōru had brought him here after they’d left the Emperor. Had given Yeijiro the welcome opportunity to bathe, and then, when Yeijiro had asked where he could be out of Tōru's way, Tōru had sent Yeijiro to his bedroom. When Yeijiro had tried to object, Tōru had responded with, “Do you believe, after this mess you’ve brought us, that I’ll have any chance to sleep tonight?”

So Yeijiro had slept, and now he had awoken, and he had no idea what to do with himself.

He desperately wanted to know what was happening outside. Had the attack happened? Had it been subverted? Had Yeijiro delivered his report in time? But there were no wall-screens, no devices in view that Yeijiro could use to connect with anything outside this room.

He’d been told to wait. He had to assume that edict was still in effect, that he hadn’t simply been forgotten.

Alone in Tōru's bedroom. This was no place Yeijiro would ever have expected to be. While he knew it would be wrong—and dangerous—to pry into Tōru's private space, that didn’t stop him from studying everything he could see, committing every detail to memory.

These rooms were only a temporary home, but Tōru had made them his own. After three months on Pax, Yeijiro knew the native aesthetic well enough to recognize that no Dragon had decorated this space. The lush, woven hangings on the wall; the rugs, delightfully soft beneath Yeijiro’s bare feet; the fresh flowers scattered in vases to create a delicate and perfectly blended fragrance through the room—these were a Serpent’s luxuries, the sensual touches that every other clan labeled decadence.

Yeijiro couldn’t help imagining that he was here for a different reason—invited, rather than simply hidden away. A welcome guest, or, perhaps, even more.

So easy to envision lying on that bed, with Tōru staring down at him, intense and intent. Demanding that Yeijiro…

This was too dangerous a course to let his mind wander down. Plus, it was nothing new. No different than the fantasies Yeijiro had entertained all through Shadow Court. Even as he’d worked hard to avoid Tōru, he had dreamed of ways to catch his lord’s eye, of clever things he might say or do, some gesture or deed that would earn Tōru's notice. That would impress him enough to pull him aside, to…

It was never going to happen, the rational side of Yeijiro’s mind was quick to remind him. Better not to even think it. Yeijiro had made his choice, one that had guaranteed he would never be loved by his own clan. But that path had put him in place to uncover a plot against the Emperor. That was more than worth any enmity he’d earned from his own people.

The bedroom door slid open. Tōru had returned. Reflexively, Yeijiro dropped to his knees, bowing low.

Yeijiro had been on his knees before plenty of people. He was a Serpent; he spent half his life on his knees. But that simple act of obedience had never felt so charged. Tōru, in the force of his authority, in the power of his silence, woke a desperation in Yeijiro, a need he couldn’t yet define.

Tōru stopped just in front of Yeijiro. With his head down, all Yeijiro could see was the polished black leather of Tōru's boots. But he felt Tōru's attention, like heat spreading down from his bowed head. “You’ll be pleased to know the Emperor is safe. The attack has been repelled and the traitors detained.

“All thanks to you,” Tōru finished in a contemplative tone. “Look at me, Yeijiro.”

Yeijiro lifted his head.

The Lord of the Serpent wasn’t a tall man. Standing, Yeijiro would only have to tilt his chin just slightly up to be eye-to-eye with Tōru. What Tōru had was a solidity Yeijiro lacked, an imposing physical presence that filled out his perfectly tailored black suit.

On the left side of his collar, he wore the Miyōshi crest, same as Yeijiro. The twining black snake, near invisible on its black background. On the right, where Yeijiro wore the crest of the Imperial Marshals, Tōru bore a Serpent crest unique to him. The three snakes—black, red, and gold, twisted together, representing the three families on the Serpent—on their usual field of black, but Tōru's crest alone was gilded at the edges and dusted with more glittering gold.

Today, Tōru's mask was an unadorned surface of polished black onyx. It covered his entire face, forehead to chin. A sinister, serious look. Tōru never wore the same mask twice. How many people had lost years of their lives trying to decipher the meaning behind the Lord of the Serpent’s ever-changing masks?

All Yeijiro could see of Tōru's face was his eyes. Deep brown—so dark they were almost black. Intense eyes, studying Yeijiro’s face. Eyes that saw everything. Eyes from which you couldn’t hide.

The full weight of Tōru's attention, of his scrutiny, it sent a shiver through Yeijiro he couldn’t suppress. Did Tōru have this effect on everyone?

Tōru's attention seemed to settle on Yeijiro’s face. “You reject your heritage.”

What was there to say? To agree would be further insult. To disagree would be a lie. So Yeijiro said nothing, fighting to keep his gaze steady, to keep his every thought from showing on a face that had never felt so naked.

Tōru didn’t push, instead changing the subject. “This conspiracy. This conspiracy that you alone discovered. I would like to know how.”

This ground was every bit as dangerous. “Forgive me, Lord Miyōshi, but I haven’t yet made my report to the Lord Marshal. I cannot presume I’m free to discuss anything.”

“Roderich keeps no secrets from the Emperor, and the Emperor keeps no secrets from me.”

Again, Yeijiro couldn’t think of any response that wouldn’t be impertinent. Wit might win points in the games of the court, but Yeijiro was fairly certain it would get him nowhere with Tōru. Silence and patience, on the other hand, were ever useful tools.

Perhaps they won him a victory now. Tōru turned away, giving a twitch of his hand indicating Yeijiro was to stand. “Gather your things,” he said. “Shō will escort you back to your room under cover of the nima. No one will know you were here.”

Yeijiro bowed his head. It was a dismissal; Tōru had no more time for Yeijiro. But impatience was better than the scorn Yeijiro had feared. “My thanks. I won’t trouble Lord Miyōshi any further.”

Yeijiro only barely caught Tōru's soft words as he walked away. “That remains to be seen.”