Chapter 1: Swallowing Sundown

.i.

By the time Hinoka and the remaining flights of tenma warriors had returned from the mountains the daylight was dying. The expanse of Shirasagi was bathed in light as red as blood, as if the sun had slit her throat upon witnessing the Dawn Dragon's holy city so defiled. While black plumes of smoke no longer rose, the scattered pockets of incinerated buildings could be spied even from a distance and were all the more grisly up close. When the wind blew, it carried the stench of death with it.

This is my fault. She was convicted by the thought. As high princess she knew her duty was to the kingdom and its people. Yet when the hordes of invading soldiers had been upon the capital's doorstep, Hinoka had dedicated her forces not to defending the city at large— instead she'd chosen to guard the castle's rear entrance. At the time she'd truly believed Hoshido could survive so long as her older brother lived, yet now it was undeniable that she'd left the common folk undefended.

And even with that strategic sacrifice, Ryouma was dead.

Kamui's messenger, a servant with peach-pink hair, had delivered the news. Ryouma was dead, but so was King Garon, thus the siege had ended. The new commander of Nohr's army wished to parlay peace terms and her sole surviving brother swore that the offer was sincere. Hinoka had never wanted to leave in the first place, so despite Asama's voiced doubts, they'd traveled back with all haste. No matter that it felt all too late.

She'd dismissed the majority of her forces to go throughout the city and aid those in need, so Hinoka arrived at the castle gates with just her retainers, herself, and the messenger. Those guarding the entrance were Nohrian and Hinoka had to strangle the urge through throw them out with her bare hands as they were ushered inside. Walking through the halls, she saw firsthand that her home had been treated with just as much disrespect as her subjects— antique porcelain vases laid shattered, scrolls with brushwork of the masters had been torn from the walls, floormats were upended, lanterns overturned, partitioning screens slashed, centuries-old decorative carvings had been turned into splinters only fit for the fire. Although it was obvious the Nohrian army was currently attempting to clean up, it was still a mess of their own making. To prevent herself from screaming at them Hinoka had to bite down on her lip until she tasted blood.

The damage lessened somewhat as the servant led them to the upper levels, yet when they paused on the level just below the one that contained the throne room— the place where Ryouma would've made his last stand —Hinoka found her feet carrying her up the stairs and away from voiced protests.

She was panting by the time she ran out into the twisting hallways that led to the throne room, and the rancid stench of old viscera hit her square in the face. Offal and bodily fluids hadn't been left to rot but she spied the stains of it almost everywhere. The fighting had to have been fierce, had to have been to the death. Hinoka's eyes stung and her throat felt tight, but she moved further in— until she saw it.

The bare blade of Raijinto lying on the floor, spattered in clotted blood…blood the Dragon in her recognized as her brother's.

Hinoka fell to her knees before it. A sob ripped out of her as the tears spilled down her face. Ryouma's dead and it's my fault! Bitterly, she wept and struggled to stop weeping, because she didn't deserve to shed such selfish tears.

Only the sound of multiple footsteps climbing the stairs enabled her to regain the slightest hold on her fraying self-control. Hinoka breathed in and held it for several heartbeats before exhaling, the technique quieting her crying, did it again and again, until it was little more than hitched breaths. The footsteps pounded through the bloodied hall and quickly encroached upon her position. Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she glanced over her shoulder and found three Nohrian knights with the servant.

At her glance the tallest one, a blond man, made a signal with his hand, the women and other man stayed back while he walked forward.

Hinoka turned and stood at his approach, but even at her full height she had to crane her neck to look the man in the eye. He was huge, nearly two heads taller than herself, and it made her feel the size she lacked. He was covered from neck to toe in metal armor, blackened and pointed like a monster. His face cut from harsh lines and sharp angles, all utterly foreign, even the curve of his dark eyes beneath a furrowed brow.

It took her a moment to recall that she'd seen him before, in Izumo when they'd been ambushed and then forced to sup with the enemy. He'd been there, with the Nohrians who called her brother 'Corrin'. She'd seen him even before that, although the memory was hazy, that blond head of hair and black armor— the same figure had fought Ryouma in the fields where Kamui had betrayed them.

The recognition and sense of danger without a solid identity was twisting Hinoka's guts into knots. So she stirred the embers of anger within her heart for courage and demanded, "Who are you?"

"I am Marx, crown prince of Nohr." he said, voice a deep rumble that went to her bones. She had to suppress a shudder. He came to a stop and loomed over her, every bit as menacing as his title. "You weren't meant to see this room in its current state, please come with me."

How dare this man, this invader, tell Hinoka where she could go within her own home. The place he continued to violate with his unwelcome presence. The kindled anger in her heart grew hot, her hands clenching into fists.

"Why was my brother's sacred katana left here like a piece of rubbish!?" Hinoka yelled with all the force she could muster.

Her peripheral vision caught the other Nohrians wincing, but the man before her didn't so much as flinch. His expression was like stone and the tone of his voice was the same rumble as before. "Our apologies, High Princess. While we were able to move King Ryouma's body, the sword shocked anyone who tried to touch it. We were forced to leave it where it fell."

As it should reject filthy Nohrians. She almost smiled at the vindictive thought. Yet the feeling dimmed when Hinoka glanced behind her to where Raijinto laid, its blade still bright despite the blood crusted upon it. If she hadn't run Ryouma's blood might never have spilled, never would've sullied the blade that'd chosen him as its wielder. Maybe if she'd died instead, he would've survived. No matter how angry Prince Marx made her, it was a wane thing compared to the weight of her own guilt.

Hinoka was unable to look away from the evidence of her failure. It's my fault he's gone. She had to clean the blood off.

Turning, she said, "I'll handle this problem."

"Wait-"

The moment his command was uttered she reached down and grabbed the katana's hilt. It didn't feel the same as a naginata, but her fingers curled around the grip and she was able to lift it. Yet this was a weapon of the gods, Hinoka sensed its divine power humming through the contact of her hands and down her arm to the rest of her body. It spidered along her nerves and spine, as though curious, raising every hair on the back of her neck. Abruptly a small spark of electricity ran from the tip of the blade down, and Hinoka felt it dance harmlessly across her palms. It'd caused the flecks of dried blood to crumble like dust and she reverently brushed it from the blade with her gloved fingertips.

With the katana finally restored to its proper glory, she glanced about for its sheath— but went tense when a cold metal touched her shoulder. Shrugging it off her, Hinoka whirled around and found Prince Marx watching her. There was more interest shining in his dark eyes than had been present during the rest of this encounter. Although it unsettled her, she held her ground rather than stepping back.

"Hoshido's other Holy Weapon will need to be collected from its resting site at the Wall of Susanoo." Hinoka tensed further at the reminder of where Takumi fell in battle, but the Nohrian proceeded heedlessly on. "However, the priority is formally ending this war with a peace treaty. Princess Hinoka, I'll escort you to where the others are waiting."

He held out his gauntleted hand, the same one he'd touched her with earlier, and she had to keep from staring at the clawed fingertips like a scorpion ready to sting. Prince Marx only told Hinoka facts: the war was over; Hoshido was at Nohr's mercy; her brothers were dead. Kamui's own messenger had told her the same and she'd returned to Shirasagi knowing, yet coming from this man it felt like insults. Her anger blazed, pounded in her veins like the beat of a temple drum.

"Lead the way," she said through gritted teeth but managed not to hiss.

Prince Marx looked at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, then dropped his hand and turned to face the other Nohrians still lingering in the hall. Although he was encased in armor he'd left himself vulnerable by showing his back, so confident in his power. Different attacks where she could take advantage flitted through Hinoka's mind—

cut him down

—yes, that was what she should do. Avenge her family, the suffering of her kingdom. She'd failed to act before, it was only right to strike now.

Hinoka shifted onto the balls of her feet and tightened her grip on the hilt. Her legs bunched in preparation to jump, so she could reach his neck when her arms swung out. The hum of the katana's power suddenly sparked again, but this time Hinoka felt the pain of it fully.

.ii.

"Big S-Sister, you're a-awake!"

Hinoka was lying down, a cushion pillowing her head. Each intake of breath brought the bitter smell of medicinal herbs with it. She blinked, half-open eyes focusing on the roof of Shirasagi castle's clinic.

She tried to turn her head towards the voice, but instantly regretted it and instead stayed still. "…Sakura, what?"

"P-prince Marx c-carried you to m-me. He s-said you grabbed R-Raijinto and refused to l-let go of it." Sakura stutter was very pronounced, it only got that way when she was feeling frantic. "The k-katana shocked strongly e-enough to make you f-faint!"

Now that her sister mentioned it, Hinoka couldn't recall how she'd gotten here. Her memories shortly after picking up the katana were hazy. Electrocution might explain her full-body ache. Glancing from the corner of her eye, she asked, "…you were able to hold it?"

"N-not for l-long, I m-mean… He p-pried your f-fingers open, while I-I… I've not h-held a s-sword before, Ican'tbeRaijinto'swielder!" Sakura finished in a rush.

It was true, Hinoka had only ever seen Sakura training with festals or spell tags or a bow and arrow. Just like how she'd concentrated on the weapons standard for warriors with flying mounts. Neither of them had learned how to use a katana, as princesses neither of them had been expected to use one. Raijinto had chosen Ryouma. It had just rejected Hinoka.

Her gaze fell then, from her little sister's face down to the hand she was holding. Her own gloveless hand, palm and fingers wrapped so thickly with bandages she almost didn't recognize it. Part of Hinoka was disturbed by the fact she hadn't noticed before, nearly refused to register the fact that she didn't feel the bandages that she so clearly saw.

"I-I was so w-worried that you had d-d-d-" Sakura's voice hitched, then she hid her face in her hands as her words broke into sobs. "Please d-don't leave me a-alone, Big Sister!"

Sakura began to cry in earnest, shoulders shaking with the intensity of it. Hinoka tried to squeeze her hand, thought there was movement even if her sense of touch was numb, but it did little to console her sister. Her throat felt tight again, but she struggled to untie her tongue and say something worthwhile.

Hinoka almost confessed that this was her fault. Almost confessed that she'd let the hope of seeing Sakura again override her training as a warrior. Almost confessed that she'd assumed Sakura had fallen against that initial wave and had so easily believed her gentle little sister had died first and farthest from home. Almost confessed that she hadn't made herself sick with worry over Sakura or Takumi until they'd both been purposefully put in harm's way. Almost confessed that at the start of the invasion she'd argued with Yukimura to let her be the first line of defense but had relented when Ryouma had asked her to stay close. Almost confessed that she regretted ever trusting Kamui to keep Ryouma safe, regretted that he'd ever come home when it'd led to this.

Don't make this all about you. Don't be selfish. Closing her eyes, Hinoka swallowed it all down and swore not to let Sakura's fears come to pass.

.iii.

Hinoka looked to the sunset skies above and found the expanse of it a gloomy dusk smothered by overcast weather. Cloud cover prevented her from seeing any hints of the moon, stars, or unfamiliar constellations that must've hung over this western kingdom. Still as she took a deep breath, she found the air so much clearer than the muggy, perfumed stuffiness that had been inside Krackenburg castle's stone walls. The open courtyard was also mostly empty, thus quiet, which seemed to be helping Sakura's nerves.

Glancing over, Hinoka spied her sister's head tilted towards the earth under their shoes. Her fingers fretted restlessly with the edge of her sleeves, something Sakura had been doing since they'd arrived at the city of Windmire. Nervous, perhaps because of how deep they were in enemy territory with only four other Hoshidans besides themselves— even easier targets than their father had been in Cheve with an entire entourage.

They'd had to travel light though. Proper servants and guardsmen required lodgings to rest, thus bigger groups almost always multiple travel time. Yukimura had refused any itinerary that had them remaining in Nohr a moment longer than was strictly necessary. The tactician likely would've avoided sending the surviving princesses altogether, if it hadn't been too much of an insult to decline attending after being issued an invitation by the then Crown Prince himself. Hoshido was in a perilous position as it was, so Hinoka refused to let anyone's pride damn them further.

Despite Hinoka's choice and resolve, it'd been a battle of its own, keeping up a smiling façade for any and every Nohrian who'd looked their way. Yet it was unavoidable, they were what remained of the Byakuya bloodline thus had to act as their kingdom's representatives. Throughout the coronation for the new king of Nohr, she had spoken honestly yet behaved beyond reproach. All because she had to be strong. Sakura needed her, even if Kamui didn't. And there was no one else left to lead Hoshido. Hinoka would keep the smile on her face even if it killed her.

"High Princess Hinoka, Princess Sakura." That deep voice was unmistakable.

Rather than grimacing, Hinoka curved her lips into a smile as she turned towards the tall, blond man in Nohr's royal regalia of purple and gold. Tone carefully light, she called back, "King Marx, I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

At the sight of him, Sakura flinched. After murmuring an excuse her younger sister fairly fled to the other side of the courtyard where their retainers were awaiting their mounts. Hinoka didn't blame her, recently Sakura's sleep was troubled by nightmares of being captured at Fort Jinya and the merciless execution of her soldiers. The man approaching them had commanded those forces and given his word to spare the lives of the surrendered, but it had proved false.

Hinoka however, stood her ground as he approached. Her pulse quickened, she had to work at keeping her breathing even and smile in place. While the Nohrian had just given a speech on how they were no longer enemies, her body hadn't forgotten the terror she'd felt waiting to defend Shirasagi castle against an entire army. Yet he'd also bowed his crowned head and apologized for Nohr's crimes, his crimes… such sincerity made it hard to entirely hate him.

King Marx came to a stop before her, looming as hugely as she remembered despite being in formal clothing rather than a set of armor. The jewel of his crown rolled and glittered against his forehead in the scattered torchlight. Distracting as the stone's color was blood red.

He'd caught her inattention, as he cleared his throat to regain it before he said, "I'd hoped to see you off. Although it is a pity you cannot stay for the banquet, High Princess Hinoka."

"It was kind of you to invite us, but Hoshido needs us back quickly as there's much to rebuild," Hinoka replied, making sure that her smile stayed in place. There was little chance she'd be able to stomach sitting amongst her kingdom's conquerors and feasting to her people's defeat. Especially when most of that food had been given over to Nohr as part of the war reparations.

The line of his mouth thinned over her reminder, but otherwise his expression remained the same. With an even tone he said, "Yes… My apologies that your own coronation had to be delayed because of the damage our army caused in Shirasagi. Please let me know if more of my forces are needed to aid in the reconstruction."

Anger flashed through Hinoka, but she ruthlessly tamped it down. Nohrian troops and commanders had remained within Shirasagi, despite the wording of the peace treaty promising Hoshido its sovereignty. Prince Leo had assured her that it was only temporary, a stabilizing force while the ruling structure and military was put back together. Yet Yukimaru had reminded her that a Nohrian's word meant little and had warned that such an unwelcome presence could easily become permanent and her kingdom become yet another of Nohr's tributaries. It was a threat that hung over her neck even as the feudal lords squabbled and scrambled over what they saw as a power vacuum— Hinoka was an unwed woman and there were very few reining queens in their long history.

Mercifully, before the conversation could be drawn out further the Nohrian stablehands finally made their appearance, leading three saddled and hooded Golden Kites into the courtyard. King Marx's brow furrowed further at the sight, then he turned to her with questioning eyes. While Hinoka met his gaze, she kept her silence— if he wanted answers, he'd have to ask.

After a moment of charged quiet, Marx did just that. "Pardon my asking, but where is your tenma?"

"She's dead. Couldn't survive the wounds your sister's wyvern inflicted."

Although trained for war, the temna hadn't stood a chance when the fanged maw and talons of the great black wyvern had caught hold of her soft underbelly. Before the blood had even dried upon the ground, the Nohrian First Princess had put the edge of an axe to Hinoka's throat and then called her obedience beautiful. Hinoka recalled how the double insult of it had made her turn red with rage. Princess Camilla had worn that same mocking smile today, saying Hinoka would make for a beautiful queen— yes, all of Nohr must assume she would make for the most obedient of puppets. I fled and left Ryouma to die. Why would they think otherwise?

"My condole-"

"Don't," Hinoka cut him off without thought, throat shamefully tight at the hint of sympathy. "As a future queen, I must mourn Hoshido's losses rather than my own."

Surprisingly, King Marx didn't appear offended by her discourtesy, instead he nodded and kept his peace. It struck her that he might be the long-suffering sort, accustomed to weathering discomfort rather than immediately setting to rectify it. Part of her couldn't help but hope Yukimura might have advice on how to use that for Hoshido's benefit, she'd keep the advantage in mind for the future.

"The flight will be long, so best we leave now. Thank you for the hospitality, King Marx." She tilted her head enough to be acknowledgement without the depth to be submission. If Hinoka was to rule he had to see her as an equal, so never again could she bow to him.

Kin Marx returned the head tilt, then said, "The offer you gave to Corrin… Please know that Hoshido's royal family is always welcome here at Krackenburg castle."

Once finished speaking, he lifted his arm and extended his hand. Unlike all those weeks ago in Shirasagi castle, Hinoka accepted the offer. Putting her hand in his larger one she concentrated on gripping, feeling only a phantom sensation of the pressure. They shook hands in Nohrian fashion, and King Marx seemed pleased by the gesture— his mouth softening into a small smile that put her facsimile to shame. It was strange to think she'd caused someone any measure of happiness, let alone this intimidating man.