Kougyoku comes back to her room, empty of everything but the bed, the wardrobe and the seven, heavy, lacquered boxes.

For a moment, she stands in the middle of her room like it's somewhere foreign. Kougyoku forgets that this is where she sleeps, where she has eaten and where she lives. She forgets that this is her space and stands blankly, gracelessly and not at all in a manner that particularly becomes a Princess while she tries to remember the proper etiquette for this, which she hasn't ever been taught. The desire to hide behind Ka Kobun, have him sheild her like he always seems to, from the things she's not ready for, can't handle until she can remember and she can; it's there and she gives in immediately and he doesn't even let go of her hand.

In the middle of the room the Prime Minister looks for her, his eyebrows knitted together when he can spot her cowering away childishly before he scuttles over like he's one of the servants, scooting right past Ka Kobun like he's nothing but a beaded curtain, the bravado and grace from the courts curiously absent and Kougyoku is lead to believe that the Prime Minister of Sindria has put on the best show she's ever seen.

"Someone will come to take you to the caravan outside of the Palace soon, Princess. For now, sit."

"Y-yes, of course." It's probably what she needs, anyways, to be instructed. Kougyoku dithers in the middle of the floor, people rushing about her and there's a sense of irreparable loss etched in her face and seeping through the cracks to make the displacement of it all worse. She can hardly remember where to sit, like an amnesiac in a new place, confused and disoriented and a little lost. Fingers brush the inside of her wrist- oh that's hardly proper at all.

Kougyoku shies away, looking back to the floor instead of somewhere in the air. A touch on her shoulder.

"Princess, if you'll follow?"

Oh.

"Oh."

The Prime Minister's kindly smile is almost like a parent guiding a child and his hand tries for Kougyoku's smaller one, encouraging and cool. She's so busy being glad for the direction that her pride doesn't sting at the patronization and she follows him blindly with Ka Kobun after her, to a small box in the corner that's suitable for suiting them both.

"You may rest there. From then, we may discuss today's events, but for now-"

The Prime Minister looks to Ka Kobun with great gravity and Kougyoku's hand is crushed painfully in his.

"for now, you might want to say your goodbyes."

And if it all comes together now, all the near imperceptible differences in the day, it's too late. The apologies in the morning, the looks, the hugs; all of it wrenches at Kougyoku's heart like great beasts are ripping it out of her chest and in pieces in front of everyone and will not even leave the remains so that she could maybe have a chance of fixing the damage.

"I will leave you two alone, for the time. I will come when the caravan is ready."

Kougyoku does not pay the Prime Minister any attention as he rounds up his soldiers, his men and ushers them all out the room like a clucking mother hen.

To say the least, it is a tearful goodbye.

To say the most, it destroys her on levels none will ever brush to take this extension of her soul, tangible and so loved for standing beside her in her isolation and sorrow, her weakest and strongest. The grief is strong enough to bow her back and the press of it drives her to put her face in his golden robes and this is like the loss of a limb; shock that stops her from so much as breathing, almost.

"I will not leave you, Kobun, they will have to pry you from my arms, so help-"

And then Kougyoku stops. She could say that she will not leave him, she could tell him that they may separate their dead bodies, but not before, but she does not have the force behind her words to make them credible. It's an impossibility for her to defy Kouen's steel, bright ringing commands. She has flown continents at his beck and call and murdered and pillaged for him, but cannot speak up against him if it saves her what is most precious.

"Princess."

Ka Kobun tugs away and her thoughts spiral from grieving circles to furious indignation, and Kougyoku scrambles to keep his hands exactly where they are, spoiled on his presence and unable to let go until he forces them away because it is enough that she will lose him at all and she, at least, should have as much time as there is left.

"Kougyoku!"

His thundering voice echoes in the emptiness of Kougyoku's bedroom and his nails dig painfully into her wrists from where he's grabbed them and she curls around the emptiness inside her, in towards him and he lets her hole up and hide against him, but Ka Kobun does not let her see him cry, holds faster to her when she tries to move to be able to. It doesn't matter, though, because it's hard not to feel the shaky breathing on the top of her head or the wet spots in her hair.

Every second that passes is one that he uses to clutch Kougyoku tighter and tighter against him and she do not know how he has been strong enough to carry this information for any amount of time, but he speaks like a dying man delivering his last will and testament.

"I have never done anything but what is best for you."

His hand rubs up and down her back and she despises the way her body goes lax like she may as well have been poisoned with paralytics.

"The First Prince has a plan."

Of course he does. Brother En always has a plan.
Kougyoku doesn't want to hear any more of Kouen's plans.

Ka Kobun stops speaking. And because she cannot bear to imagine spending any moment that might be to her last arguing with her Ka Kobun, Kougyoku stays silent too.

Ka Kobun is the only person to sit with her in the empty room while Kougyoku becomes even more familiar with the sensation of her world crumbling.

And everything but time stays still for a little while, at least, until it runs out and she must act on the goodbyes they have not really said.

It's unfair, when the Prime Minister politely knocks on the heavy wooden doors of the bedroom that used to be hers, but she's good at dealing with unfair because there never seems to be any other option that ends with her life being spared.

Sindria is beautiful. Sunny, blue skies and bluer water on all sides. Interesting people and kindness aplenty.

Sinbad is beautiful too, more than Kougyoku's ever been. Handsome smile and tawny eyes and chivalry embodied with the strength to carry the world on his shoulders.

But Sindria isn't Kou. It's not Rakushoku. It's not home and there are people, yes, but they're not Judar. They don't call her strong. They're not Kouha or Koumei or Kouen, who are gathered in the courtyard to watch her go. They don't call her family and they do not wipe their eyes discreetly while Kougyoku leave.

She's to be set back to zero, when she goes. All of her hard work, effort and blood and sweat and tears, so many tears that she could have made the seas again and oh- one's fallen on her hand. Kougyoku didn't realize she'd started crying.

Her sinuses promptly clog up, a one way ticket to misery, a destination she's only been at all morning.

The hopelessness weighs in heavy while Kougyoku walks, measured and step by quiet step out of the front courtyard, where people gather to watch her hurried last minutes. The caravans in front are homely, well used and sturdy and from them, the Prime Minister emerges with a polite smile that feels false, detached.

But everything in front of her feels like that, right now.

Ka Kobun pushes Kougyoku forward, his broad hands light on her back. You cannot look back, she tells herself, but she does anyways. Her beautiful Ka Kobun looks to her with his slightly crooked nose and sombre golden eyes and he pushes her forward again, one last time, to two rows of Seven Seas Alliance Representatives, to remind her of where she belongs when she can't remember herself.

She follows his lead and there's no feeling of something keeping her from walking away, like she thought there would be. There's nothing, either way. No draw forward, no yank backward, and Kougyoku will forever swear that it's really not that it's because she's given up, she just- she can't.

Kougyoku doesn't really know, anymore, what's worth fighting for. If Kouen's plans are worth waiting for and if she should trust her own direction quite yet so she doesn't have to wait and the loss of direction from not knowing if she can trust anymore, it makes the pain worse till it overrides the burning pride in her that could have made her angry.

Kougyoku walks forward, just like Ka Kobun taught her, because he is the only thing left.

Chin up, shoulders back. Straight face and lowered eyes.

Measured and prideful, humble and graceful.

The representatives, some of the most influential in the world, one by one, drop to their knees as Kougyoku walks by, genuflecting like she's a Queen already; like she's their Queen already.

Finally, she are steps only from becoming everything she wanted to be, a Princess, a Queen, a wife. It burns like coals thrust into her chest and in her hands and in her mouth and eyes.

There is nothing left to do, really, and she might bow, but she is kneeling in submission and her arms might look like they raise up to hide her face away, but really, she is raising them in surrender.

"Prime Minister, I thank you and your King for your warm welcome. I am eager to serve you well as a benevolent Queen."

With tears on her cheeks and a choked, pained voice, Kougyoku thinks that it must be awful luck to begin with a lie, and she gets in the caravan before she humiliates herself further.