Chapter Text
Scaramouche loved mirrors.
He had always been very aware of his looks. The pristine white of his skin that flowed smoothly like calm water and the delicate features of his face were made to put people at ease, yet his purple hair and eyes that flashed like lightning looked too much like his mother, causing people to still turn away their heads in fright. At least, that was how it used to be.
He was barely a baby when the whole country had kneeled before him. He could barely walk and the people were talking about how one day he would lead armies. He had only uttered his first word, and the neighbouring countries were led to believe he could recite Heike Monogatari flawlessly. He was the center of the world - no, the whole universe. His servants would often tell him that the world was a blank canvas, waiting for him to grab his paintbrush and colour it with streaks of fortune, safety, and glory. They said that his mother had painted the whole canvas not with paint, but with blood, so he could do the opposite and lead a peaceful reign.
But now he was twenty-three, and he hated the mirror before him.
The servants that once praised him, stood behind him in silence as if they were preparing him for his own funeral. Jade combs raked through his dark, purple hair that fell like a waterfall over his bare shoulders. His skin was shining thanks to the bath from earlier, and smelled of perfume. They had placed a small piece of cloth across his crotch area to at least provide him with the minimal amount of privacy, though he felt as if that small piece of fabric was even more humiliating than if he had just been sitting there naked.
Slender fingers pushed his chin upwards a little before the servants started putting his hair up. As golden hairpins as sharp as daggers scraped along his scalp, he was forced to look into the mirror once again. There was one thing people often misunderstood: they thought Scaramouche loved his body as much as his face. He didn't. He hated the slight swell of his chest, one that would only grow if he ever mated. The knowledge of what existed between his legs, a wretched traitor that he wanted to stitch up, rip out, whatever he had to do to get rid of the proof of who he was.
What he was.
He sighed, and clenched his fists in his lap. At least they weren't cutting his hair. Apparently, it was a tradition in Clan Kaedehara for newlyweds to cut their hair short. Knowing that her son would rather cut off his fingers than his hair, Raiden Ei went to haggle with the head of the clan. And who could deny the request of the Shogun? Thus, they allowed Scaramouche to keep the length of his hair. The longest locks reached just above his waist. The shortest framed his face, curled around his cheeks and covered his forehead. Little babyhairs sprung up from his scalp and stood upright, the servants frowning in frustration as they tried - and failed - to put each hair in its place.
Well, at least one part of me will still live like it wants to... Scaramouche thought to himself.
His eyes searched the mirror for a pair that looked like his own, but his mother had long disappeared. He felt his chest tighten, but didn't dare to think too much about what her departure could mean. The servants gently ushered him to stand up, and they dressed him in what they told him was a shiromuku. A white gown that hung from his shoulders, hiding away most of his body beneath the thick fabric. Scaramouche didn't know what to think of it. For years and years, his mother fed him the promise that she would never allow her son to be dressed in wedding attire, just like she had made that exact promise to herself.
Why didn't she fulfill it?
Why did she succeed to protect herself but fail to do the same for him?
He clenched his fists, wishing to feel the sting of his nails digging into his skin to prove to himself he was still there, but the servants were quicker. They unfolded his hands carefully, the older ones reprimanding him about how he shouldn't "act so carelessly". As if his mother wasn't a whole damn tyrant that had the Emperor shivering in his fancy robes. Hmpf. He was meant to be careless! He had always been careless, and now it suddenly mattered?
Once the shiromuku was on, a servant hesitantly came forward with a veil. Scaramouche bristled, and his eyes shot towards her like those of a predator. He was aware that he was a mere mouse to many, but he still had teeth.
"Don't," he hissed. He had given up on trying to fight the marriage itself, but he wouldn't allow them to cover his face like he was a fragile, porcelain vase that needed to be handled with utmost care.
"But, My Lord-" another one tried to speak up.
"I said don't!" he yelled furiously, knocking over a vial of oil. The flowery smell spread through the chamber, and Scaramouche felt like puking. "One step closer and I'll have your feet cut off!"
The young servant that was holding the veil quickly cowered, and hid the piece of fabric away. Only then was Scaramouche able to calm down. His legs felt weak, trembling faintly, and suddenly he was grateful for the long robes covering his body. He sighed and sat back down. "Leave."
"My lord, the wedding starts within three hours. The road to the shrine will take at least one hour, we need to leave in time in order to-"
"He's aware." Smooth like jade, a blade cut through the room and split it in two: Raiden Ei and Scaramouche on one side, the servants cut off on the other. His mother's cold gaze swept over the young women, and she tilted her head. "I will be the one to escort my son. He is not married yet, and as long as that is the case, his voice in this house will be just as powerful as mine. Understood?"
The servants uttered multiple apologies, and quickly hurried away, feeling like rats after spotting the owner of the cellar they were raiding. Scaramouche swallowed, and quickly straightened his back. His mother huffed.
"Don't be foolish," she said, walking towards him. "There is no theatre you haven't played for me yet, I know the masks you wear."
Scaramouche turned his head away. "I... I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"I dissapointed you," he whispered hoarsely, the fire that burned in his chest a few seconds ago completely snuffed out. "I should've been... I... I wanted to be your soldier, your loyal follower, not some... not a..." His lips formed the first letter. "O". Yet they faltered at the second, and completely lost track of the word at the third letter. He just couldn't say it. Couldn't call himself that after years of denying it, claiming he was an Alpha and nothing less.
"You will still serve me," the Shogun calmly said. "In another way than we wanted, but a way nonetheless."
Scaramouche felt tears well up, but he quickly swallowed them down. The last time he cried was five years ago, when he had slipped during training and hurt his knee. The wound had been huge and blood had been pouring out of it, yet a few silent tears were his only reaction to the pain. He didn't know why he now suddenly felt like crying for days, maybe even years, until new rivers formed beneath him.
He shook his head, and nodded. "Of course, mother."
"Come," Ei said. "Like the girls said, the carriage is waiting. Just like your groom."
---
"You're not wearing your veil."
Scaramouche looked up at his mother, his foot hanging mid air, ready to step into the norimono. Two of the four carryings held open the curtains for him, and waited patiently when he stopped to turn around. "I... No. Do you mind?"
Those last three words were spoken with a hint of his usual arrogance, and Raiden Ei smiled. "No. Not a single bit. Only cowards hide."
Scaramouche nodded, and mounted the norimono. The huge carriages had never been his favorite way of transport, but he had very few options. He had never been able to master horse riding, after all, no matter how many times he had tried. He always managed to make roaring beasts out of the tamest horses, and they all bucked him off three minutes into the lesson or less. And besides horses... yeah, what else other than walking was there?
Thus, he climbed into the coffin-shaped box, the wood shining like black tar in the evening sun. The curtains were closed by the two carriers, and for a few seconds, he could barely see anything. Then, his eyes slowly adapted to the darkness. Nobody else was in the norimono, and he was completely alone for the first time today. No nervous servants, no mother with cold eyes, and most importantly, no husband.
For the coming three hours, at least, he thought bitterly. He clenched his fists, and this time, was able to enjoy the sting of his polished nails blemishing his snow-white skin. It calmed him, the faint pain. It was a reminder that, though he felt more like a ghost, he was still present. He was here, in the mortal world. A presence people couldn't ignore, no matter how much they wanted to.
The norimono was lifted by the carriers, and Scaramouche peeked outside. Rows of guards walked alongside the carriage, their posture straight and hands on their weapons. Scaramouche watched the blades as they caught the oranges and reds of the lowering sun, capturing the beams of light and blinding everyone who dared look their way. He used to be the same, at least, he remembered being the same. But with each step the carriers took, that memory started to fade, replaced by a strange feeling he had yet to get used to: fear.
They walked and walked, through city streets and overgrown forest paths. Past kneeling monks and peasants, past curious little foxes guarding shrines. They sniffled at the boots of the soldiers, looked up at the shadowy figure that was visible through the curtains, wondering who would soon pray to them to be given a good marriage. The guard and carriers trampled weeds and flowers while they marched through the dense forest that led up a mountain.
Scaramouche had never bothered to learn the mountain's name, because he never thought he'd ever need to know it. It was a mountain often used for big ceremonies, like weddings. At the foot of the mountain, monks often trained, but now, the forest was quiet and empty. Eventually, the norimono stopped, and Scaramouche's heart skipped a beat as the curtains were drawn open.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then climbed out of the carriage, head held high. If the guards were at all surprised by his unveiled face, they didn’t show it, and they simply cast their gazes down to avoid looking at him.
Good. At least they still showed some respect. They didn’t kneel like they would’ve done if he weren’t what he was, but that was nothing new. He looked up the mountain path, and saw that there were only a few steps left until they reached the top, where the shrine was built. Trees stood along the path like guards, the thick foliage covering the skies above. Scaramouche had never been one to pray, but in that moment, he really wished he knew how to do it. He felt abandoned, helpless even, knowing that unless some divine being took pity on him, he wouldn’t escape this.
“Please,” he murmured under his breath, inaudible to the people surrounding him. “Please, strike whoever is waiting for me down with lightning.”
As if to mock him, the few patches of red sunlight that managed to reach the dark soil only shone brighter. The sky above was silent, and no thunder or rain could be heard. Well, there was still hope.
“Please,” he tried again. “Let there be an assassin instead of a groom.”
The guards must be thinking he had gone mad, seeing him move his lips almost soundlessly, but he didn’t care. He was going to be mad, soon. He didn’t know the man he was supposed to marry, but he knew his past.
He knew he was a well-known, well-respected young man born of the Kaedehara Clan, a clan that had ruled for generations. Their territory was as widespread as the maple tree forest that coated the entire west coast of Inazuma, and their main estate was built on an island not far from the shore. It was said that their blades carried the same colour as the maple leaves that fell when they were born.
Maybe he could convince that young heir to murder him.
But that was a foolish idea. Thanks to his mother’s status, only suicidal maniacs would dare lay a hand on him. And he was sure that a Kaedehara wasn’t like that.
They climbed the mountain, his robes dragging along the earth. Soon, the shrine appeared at the horizon. Surrounded by maple trees, and built out of dark wood, it stood like a king at the top of the mountain. Birds sat perched on the roof, and the soft chiming of charms and lanterns that danced in the breeze could be heard.
Along the path, lanterns were placed. The flames danced wildly and joyfully, spreading a warm glow in the dark of the evening, and on the outside of the lanterns, protective charms were plastered.
Once they reached the altar, fewer trees surrounded them, and behind the shrine, the sun dipped behind the peaks of mountains in the distance. Scaramouche felt his stomach twist in knots. The scent of incense was driving him insane, and he used all of his willpower to prevent himself from scrunching up his nose.
The guards took their new places, and surrounded the small area. A few priests sat near the shrine, along with his mother, a few generals and advisors he recognized, and a strange woman. That woman, he knew very well: Yae Miko.
The Raiden Shogun had never married, and Scaramouche was made out of clay and earth - even though people like to say she birthed him. But Yae Miko wore the title of “High Lady”. No one but Scaramouche knew what she actually did. To say it bluntly, Yae Miko was Raiden Ei’s mistress. Somebody she often… fooled around with, hidden away in their own little world. Scaramouche didn’t dislike Yae Miko, but never quite trusted her the way his mother did. She always acted so strange towards him. Now too, she eyed him with a peculiar look in her eyes, a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
He met her gaze, and she smiled. He stiffly nodded his head and then looked forward, refusing to look at anybody else. His mother wouldn’t appreciate him searching for support from her, and nobody else here was worthy enough of his attention.
Especially not the people of the Kaedehara clan. They were only a handful, two generals and some old man Scaramouche assumed was the eldest of the family. Then there were two women. One wore beautiful, white and golden robes. She was strikingly beautiful, and her posture and poise were remarkable. Next to her stood a woman dressed in a deep, dark red. She had sly, fox-like eyes that made her look like she was up to no good. The generals and the old man frowned slightly as he walked between them towards the shrine, eyeing his uncovered face. The two women simply gave each other a look.
Scaramouche smiled to himself, and simply looked forward as he approached the shrine. His smile quickly faded, though. He could see the back of the groom, dressed in black, luxurious fabric. His hair was neatly tied up, and a red streak could be found buried between thick, blonde locks.
Huh.
Strange.
Scaramouche had never seen a blonde person before. Or… had he? A strange feeling settled in his heart. Yes, he had seen a blonde person before. But… that couldn’t possibly be…
He swallowed thickly, and finally, came to a stop next to the man. He knew his mother had warned him to not make too much eye contact, and if he did, it should be fleeting and almost unnoticeable.
But the idea of standing there, docile and sweet like an Omega was expected to be, blushy and shy at the mere sight of his husband… No. No, he refused to be put in that box. He turned his head towards the man.
“What’s your name?”
It had been silent before, but now, it felt ten times as oppressive. Scaramouche pretended not to notice, and kept staring at the man next to him, almost angrily. His face was defined, with beautiful eyes, yet there was a coldness in them that made Scaramouche want to run for his life.
Finally, finally, the man looked at him. “Kaedehara Kazuha.”
Scaramouche's heart dropped, and his eyes went wide.
I know you.