Fullepub 
Chapter 21
21
Mariko goes off on an etiquette tangent for most of the ride back to the palace. It’s all about how Shirasu failed to execute a full forty-five degree bow when saying goodbye. Her rant is rounding ninety minutes. Must be some sort of record. Truly. We’re on imperial property now, gates shutting firmly behind us. The grounds are elaborate and well kept, gardens manicured with potted bonsai trees, all in keeping with the swept-back-in-time theme of old Kyoto.
“I’m pretty sure he has a bad back,” I say helpfully. Honestly, I’m only half-listening as I text my mom and the AGG. Mom has sent her daily check-in. How are you? I respond with a Great and a scenic picture of the bamboo forest. Noora is on some sort of campaign to normalize men wearing short-shorts. I give her two thumbs-up.
“Even so,” Mariko says, and I can hear the frown in her voice. “Don’t you think he should have—”
I look up and cry out. Cars line the driveway, their trunks propped open. Staff in white gloves unpack monogrammed luggage. There is Yoshi, right in the middle of it all, dashing and resplendent in the sunlight.
“What’s he doing here?” Mariko says bewildered. “He’s not on the schedule.” She’s flipping through documents on her phone. Royal itineraries are shared—meaning, every morning, an email is sent from the Imperial Household Agency detailing every family member’s movements.
I unbuckle my seat belt and scramble from the car. Mr. Fuchigami hisses through his teeth. I throw a sorry over my shoulder as I exit the vehicle. I run to Yoshi and stop short. He grins and opens his arms. I throw myself at him and he catches me in a fierce, smothering hug. “What a very enthusiastic American response,” he says holding me close, then adds warmly, “Public affection isn’t a thing in Japan, though I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your spirit.” He squeezes me before letting go.
I squint up at him. His jacket and matching crossover tie have gold threads and … do I detect glitter in his hair?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, watching Mariko and Mr. Fuchigami climb from the car. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
We’ve texted, of course. I told him all about the PM and the Shining Twins. He commiserated, telling me Noriko peed herself in kindergarten because she was too embarrassed to ask to go to the bathroom and that Akiko wouldn’t stop eating glue. There was a whole meeting about it—chamberlains, teachers, and a variety of behavioral experts were called to weigh in.
“I’ve come to visit, of course. Hardly seems fair you’re having all the fun in the countryside.” His gaze focuses downward. He groans, pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Please tell me you aren’t wearing nude pantyhose. The situation is much more dire than I thought. Seems I’ve arrived just in time.” He smiles at my laugh. Goodness, it’s good to see him.
“Your Highness.” Mr. Fuchigami moseys over to us, buttoning his suit jacket. “We weren’t expecting you.”
Mariko frowns. She heard his comment about the pantyhose, no doubt. Each morning, my lady-in-waiting painstakingly chooses my outfit.
Yoshi winks at the chamberlain. “That’s the fun of it. It’s a surprise. I’m delightful that way.”
“Your chamberlain, Mr. Wakabayashi. Has he accompanied you?” Mr. Fuchigami asks, unflappable.
Yoshi waves a hand. “He’s inside somewhere…” He trails off, eyes cutting down the line of cars. Reina and Akio stand inches from each other, discussing something. “Your bodyguard is standing very close to mine. What do you suppose they’re talking about?”
“They’re probably discussing security.” My smile is so wide it hurts.
“No,” he says, offhandedly. “Reina is probably vision boarding my funeral. She’s angry with me. All because I spoke with her through the door while she was using the toilet. I don’t know why she doesn’t like that. I feel like it makes us closer, you know?”
“No,” I say simply. “I don’t know.” Even though I kind of do. The AGG have no shame when it comes to the bathroom. Some of our best friend moments were born there.
He shrugs it off and his smile broadens, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Let’s do dinner tonight. Somewhere lavish and ridiculously expensive where they’ll throw rose petals at our feet.” He takes his phone out, scrolls through it. “Have you ever dined kaiseki?”
“Don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a must, then. You’ll need something a touch dressier.” He peers at me. “The chef I’m thinking of doesn’t mess around. Takes himself very seriously.”
Mariko chimes in. “Perhaps a silk kimono would do?”
Yoshi turns his attention to her, a devilish look on his face. “A kimono would do nicely. You know, I don’t think we’ve formerly met. Cousin, why have you never introduced me to your lovely lady-in-waiting?” He bows to her.
Mariko actually blushes. It’s so easy to fall under Yoshi’s charms. “I’ll need a good hour to get her ready,” she says in a pleasant tone she’s never used with me.
Yoshi flourishes another bow, looking at her as if she invented cake. “Of course, I’m your servant in all things. You know, if my heart wasn’t otherwise engaged to a certain woman that hides weapons all over her body…”
Oh good God, enough. “Yoshi,” I say, trying to communicate with my eyes.
“Right. Yeah.” He turns to me. “I forgot myself there for a moment. Good thing Reina isn’t the jealous type. Though I wish she was.” He stares at her longingly for a moment, then goes back to his phone. “I’ll make reservations for us.” He glances up, then shouts to a staff member unloading a perforated duffel as he dashes off. “Careful with that, there’s a live animal in there.”
We dine in Gion—the geisha district, Kyoto’s heart and spiritual center. There are rickety teahouses, master sword makers, and women dressed in kimonos. The restaurant is by invitation only and seats seven, but the chef prefers to keep the guest count under five. His name is Komura, and like the bamboo farmer Shirasu and his son, his two daughters assist him. The sisters light candles in bronze holders and place them around the room. The restaurant is a converted home, the walls a deep ebony stained from years of smoke from the open hearth—it’s called kurobikari, black luster. It’s a hidden gem nestled between a pachinko parlor and an antiques shop.
The table we kneel at is made of thick wood, its surface weathered, worn, and polished, honed by years of hands and plates and cups of tea.
Yoshi smiles, a gleam in his eyes. “Tell me everything. Do you love Kyoto? Hate it?” He wears a satin suit and matching tie. His hair is slicked back. Very debonair. All that’s missing is the white ferret around his shoulders. Famous designer Tomo Moriyama will be debuting live animals as part of his Fall Collection during Tokyo Fashion Week, and Yoshi has one of the first “samples.” The chef wouldn’t let him bring it in. Luckily, Yoshi came equipped with some sort of harness leash for the creature. One of the bodyguards is walking it right now.
I take a deep breath. Hard to do since my waist is cinched so tight. Mariko certainly worked her fairy godmother magic. My kimono is teal silk stitched with silver threads to mimic rippling water and embroidered with multi-colored lily pads. Hair pulled back in a low bun with a chrysanthemum pin complements the outfit. “Kyoto is a dream,” I say quietly. While the restaurant’s atmosphere is relaxed—soft lighting, pillows to recline on, low voices, a single silk tapestry on the wall—it is also a cultural minefield, full of places where I might misstep. This whole thing could blow up in my face. I check my posture, the way I hold my ohashi, and remind myself how to bow to thank them at the end of the meal—gochisōsama deshita. My smile is genuine. “Even better now that you’re here,” I say.
Together we sip the aperitif, a sweet wine. Then the sisters bring the second starter—hassun, bite-sized appetizers arranged like tiny jewels on the plate. We cease movement and conversation while the plates are laid down. Once the sisters leave, Yoshi says, “Oishisō.”
“Oishisō,” I repeat. Looks delicious.
Our conversation resumes and Yoshi says, “I’d been meaning to visit. An old schoolmate lives here. His name is Jutaro. He’s a former aristocrat who moonlights as a wild boar dealer.”
Whatever that means. I smile.
Yoshi waits for me to begin. In Japan, the most honored guest eats first. That’s me. “Itadakimasu,” I say, keeping my back straight as I take a bite of prawn. In kaiseki, the focus is on the food’s essence and is reflective of the rhythms of the seasons. The meal is heavily influenced by nature. It’s May, so our menu will be inspired by spring and feature bamboo.
Yoshi observes me warmly as he digs in. “Look at you. You’ve changed.”
I set my ohashi aside. “I haven’t. I’m still a work in progress.”
“Aren’t we all?” Yoshi takes a drink of water, eyeing me above the rim. “You have. I look amazing, but you look even better. Change isn’t the worst thing. Perhaps you could give me some tips. I’d like to improve my media image. You can teach me.”
The sisters clear our plates and bring the second course, bamboo shoots boiled in spring water. I cup the lacquered bowl in my hands. “Media image?” I ask between sips.
My eyes flick to Akio. He stands near the entrance alongside Reina. Discreetly, he pulls his phone from his pocket, checks it, and glowers. Whoa, glad I’m not the messenger. But then, he turns that frown on me. What did I do? I rack my brain. Nothing comes to mind.
Oh, there is one thing. The favor I asked of Mr. Fuchigami. But why would Akio be upset about that?
Yoshi waves a hand and says, “I know you adore me, so this may come as a shock. But I’m a bit of a black sheep.”
I pretend to be surprised. “You don’t say?”
He pats my hand. “Please don’t think poorly of me. It’s the press. I’ve been treated quite unfairly. Youngest children are always so misunderstood. If only people could see inside. I’m very sensitive, you know. It’s just that I don’t like rules. Or being a prince. I want to be free of my gilded cage. Does that make me an awful walking cliché?”
“I’m afraid it does.”
“Right. As for my media image, I’d like to keep the godlike adoration. But I’d like them to also be a little frightened of me, too. Like I’ll unleash a host of plagues if I become displeased.”
“Ah. You want to be viewed as an immature jerk who throws temper tantrums?”
A ghost of a smile appears on Yoshi’s face. “You’re right. That’s not good, either. Thanks for keeping my head on straight. I need to get something named after me. Maybe a hospital or a library. Something that says: ‘a soft, giving heart beats inside this large masculine chest.’”
I laugh. The third and fourth courses are served—sashimi, then pickled clams and roasted Kawachi duck. “Yoshi,” I say, feeling the gentle pace of the evening, how the meal unfurls like a fan slowly opening, each rib revealing a new part of the picture.
“Izumi,” he says.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re my friend. Thank you.”
His eyes are a bit guarded. Maybe the serious stuff doesn’t come easy. Last time we had a heart-to-heart, we were knee-deep in alcohol. But now, it’s just us. Two sober people at a table in a quiet room. But then, he admits quietly, “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
After dinner, we wait outside the restaurant while Yoshi takes a phone call from his friend Jutaro (the former aristocrat who moonlights as a wild boar dealer). I wander, my legs are stiff from sitting seiza. There’s a little fishpond with a tinkling waterfall.
“I received an interesting message while at dinner.”
I startle at Akio’s voice. “Did you?”
He walks slowly toward me. “It seems a royal physician paid a visit to my mother.”
“You don’t say?”
He makes a noise in his throat. “There’s more.”
“I can’t imagine.”
His eyes drop to me, long lashes creating half-moons on his cheeks. It’s really unfair. Mariko has to curl and lather mine in mascara for the same effect. All the best things are always wasted on boys. “Seems she’s to be treated at the imperial hospital from now on.”
“What wonderful news.” I smile at him. Mr. Fuchigami came through.
“I owe you a debt,” he says, voice low and hypnotic.
I play it off, wave a hand. “Pshh. As I’ve stated before, I’m a big fan of mothers.”
“I feel as if you’ve given me so much. I don’t know how to repay you.”
I stare at the sky. I’ve always been uncomfortable with compliments, though I have a pathological need for them. “There are so many stars out tonight.”
“Your Highness,” he says softly.
I look at him. “Yes?”
He steps closer. “I’m in your debt.”
Silence hangs in the air between us. It’s cold but I feel warm, like a rock baking in the sun. The restaurant door opens. Yoshi steps out, his gaze flickering between Akio and me.
Akio steps away. “It’s settled then,” he says, opening the car door. Then, he smiles. It shimmers in the night. Vibrates off him in waves. Ensnares me, forces me to reciprocate.
I try to keep my heart from racing. “Perfect,” I rasp, though I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to. Not sure at all. Doesn’t matter, though. It’s all good. Better than good. Kind of wonderful.
The peaceful mood from dinner continues in the car. The streets of Kyoto are nearly empty, the ride is smooth, and the company is pleasant. Akio drives, and Reina rides shotgun. I’m in back with Yoshi. The ferret is curled in his lap and he strokes it absently, lost in thought.
About a block away from the palace, the car slows to a stop. Akio and Reina’s heads dip toward each other. In low, serious voices, they discuss something.
I perk up, trying to see past them. The street is lit funny, not by the usual yellow street lamps. The glow is softer, more orange and hazy. “What’s happening?”
Akio touches his earpiece. “The road is blocked.” His head moves and I see the disruption. People have gathered in the street. Each of them cradles a paper lantern in their hands. It’s like they’re holding little moons.
“What is it?” I ask. Did we miss a festival?
“They’re here for you, Your Highness,” says Reina. It’s the first time she’s ever spoken directly to me. Her voice is dry, husky. Soothing. “It seems they gathered an hour ago and have been waiting for you since.”
“Why?” I blurt.
Yoshi speaks, his voice is quiet. “Kyoto is welcoming you. The people line the streets to celebrate births, weddings, and newly found daughters of the crown prince.” He winks, nudging me. “It’s tradition. An honor. Go on. Walk among your people.”
I toy with the edge of my kimono. “I don’t know…” I wait for Akio to argue. Insist the security risk is too high.
“It’s okay,” Akio says. “Imperial guards are in the crowd. The palace is only a short distance. If you’d like to walk the rest of the way, it’s fine.”
Well. Not really a choice then. “I guess I’ll walk.”
Akio is first out of the car. My door is opened in no time. A hush falls over the street. I incline my head, fold my hands in front of myself, and shuffle forward. The crowds part until they fall in parallel lines, their lanterns a steady stream of light. Akio, Reina and Yoshi are steps behind.
A couple of imperial guards appear and take the lead, but I’m alone in the middle. I acknowledge people with smiles and small waves. I see Shirasu. He grins at me. I lose my breath, find it again. I don’t want to break this spell. I’m completely besotted. In love with Kyoto, with Japan. We come to the end, to the palace gates as they open.
At the gate, I turn and bow. Thank you.
Mr. Fuchigami is there, enjoying the lanterns with the rest of the staff. “Your Highness, did you enjoy your dinner?” he asks.
I nod. Can he see how happy I am? How my eyes shine with joy?
He steps toward me. “You’ve won the heart of Kyoto.” The lantern bearers surround me and all at once, they let go. Glowing orbs drift to the sky in a perfect circle of light.
It’s beautiful. Truly beautiful. A golden crown.
