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Hanamiya Makoto threw his fist against the nearest tree trunk, swearing loudly in every language he knew, not caring who heard. A pair of songbirds chirped indignantly at the sudden disturbance, flying to safety before Hanamiya could direct his choice words at them as well.
The source of Hanamiya’s incoherent rage was one Lucky Now, or Lucky for short—the assassin who’d signed his ridiculous name in the letter that Hanamiya now held crumpled in his other fist. Hanamiya had found the letter nailed to the trunk, right above the hollow of the tree where treasure was supposed to be located. His treasure.
The official orders from the king were to assassinate the group of bandits who were making a nuisance along Kirisaki’s borders. The king had not specified anything else, so Hanamiya had taken the liberty of torturing them a little before finishing the job. They’d revealed the hiding place of their stolen treasure, but somehow, yet again, Lucky had gotten there first.
As for why Hanamiya had undertaken this mission himself, the reason was simple. Kirisaki was a powerful kingdom in its own right, but the castle was perpetually understaffed. Even the Crown Prince had to moonlight as an assassin to make ends meet.
This wouldn’t be the first time Hanamiya had technically completed his mission but gotten bamboozled at the last minute. Lucky—or whatever that asshole’s real name was—had a long history of doing exactly what would rankle Hanamiya the most. The two of them had never even met in person, let alone spoken to one another. Their only communication came in the form of Lucky’s cryptic letters. Sometimes they were cheery poems that rhymed, mocking Hanamiya for always being one step behind. Other times they were the ugliest doodles he’d ever laid eyes upon. This time, the letter dared to imply that the Crown Prince should be more honest with himself. Clearly, this was a threat to sully his good name. The Crown Prince didn’t take kindly to the idea of an outsider knowing his true identity and his true nature, not one bit. Hanamiya was so deep in thought as to how he would catch Lucky off guard that he almost missed the last part of the letter.
It was an invitation to dinner.
Hanamiya’s eyes nearly boggled out of his head, and the heat that rose to his cheeks could only be attributed to anger, because any other answer would be unacceptable. The nerve of this guy. For years, they’d abided by the unspoken rule to continue tiptoeing around each other, never crossing the line to a true encounter. And yet, for whatever reason, Lucky was choosing to make his move now? When the Emperor had not shown his face in months, and Hanamiya had a very important task to accomplish before the Seven Kingdoms descended into utter chaos?
Fine. Challenge accepted. He could stand to delay his return to Kirisaki a while longer; he trusted Hara and Seto could handle the logistics themselves. He’d planned to make a stop at the nearest town anyway to check the town center's job board for postings, since someone had made off with his loot. If Lucky assumed that Hanamiya would simply waltz into the designated location without a trick up his sleeve, he had another thing coming.
Hanamiya’s mouth curled in a wicked grin—an expression that the Crown Prince, known for his modesty and kindness to others, could never show the public. It would be the last thing Lucky saw before Hanamiya slowly and carefully exacted the revenge he’d dreamed of for so long. Of that, he was certain.
Lucky never showed up.
Of all the contingency plans Hanamiya had created, for some reason, being stood up had never crossed his mind. It didn’t hit him until much later how absurd this was. Despite being an assassin and a seasoned liar himself, he’d made the assumption that at the very least, Lucky would keep his promise.
As if a part of Hanamiya already trusted him.
These were the thoughts swirling through Hanamiya’s head as he nursed his drink at the bar. The local inn was nothing to write home about, but at least it had cheap alcohol and a warm bed he could rest in before heading back to Kirisaki the next morning. The bandits had been taken care of, but the lack of a sufficient monetary reward or promising job postings in the town center left a sour taste in Hanamiya’s mouth.
It was getting late, and all the other guests had retired to their rooms, save for Hanamiya and one other guest who sat at the opposite end of the bar.
“Rough day?” said the man, nodding toward the near-empty glass that Hanamiya held to his lips.
Hanamiya paused, wiping his lips with the back of his hand to give himself time to formulate a polite and dismissive reply. But then he thought, fuck it. This stranger was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Perhaps Hanamiya would stick something in him, too. A knife, for starters.
Hanamiya turned to the man with a sheepish smile. “Is it that obvious?”
“I apologize if I’m being presumptuous, but seeing as that’s your third glass, I was starting to get worried,” said the man.
“My, my. Does that mean you were watching me the whole time?” Hanamiya leaned toward the man slightly, furrowing his brows in what he hoped was a convincingly flirtatious expression. He didn’t have much practice with these kinds of things, but Seto had insisted before that Hanamiya’s eyebrows were his charm point. Hanamiya would just have to take his word for it. “I hope I’m not being too presumptuous, either.”
The man chuckled and scooted a few seats closer. Hanamiya met him halfway. Easier to stab at this distance. It was certainly not because he found the man strangely alluring.
“If you’re so worried,” Hanamiya continued smoothly, “perhaps you should keep an eye on me.”
The man nodded amicably. “I suppose that means we could share a drink.”
“Your treat.”
“Of course,” said the man. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?”
On a whim, Hanamiya decided to go with the nickname he’d given himself long ago, especially when he went on jobs disguised as a common mage. Was it a little too on the nose if someone ever made the connection to Kirisaki? Perhaps. Was it unwise to use it so often? Undoubtedly. But it was the name Hanamiya kept coming back to, even after all these years. Despite Kirisaki’s myriad of problems, some of which could be sourced back to the Crown Prince himself, it was the place he’d created for himself. It was home.
Hanamiya replied, “You can call me Mist.”
“Mist-kun.” The man spoke his false name as if he could taste the lie on his lips and savored every flavor regardless. When he tilted his head to the side, his glasses reflected the light, concealing part of his expression. Hanamiya felt a shiver down his spine, along with the distinct feeling that he may have chosen the wrong target.
The man said, “My name is Imayoshi.”
Though Hanamiya was loathe to admit it, Imayoshi had experience.
Certainly more than Hanamiya, who had never focused on seduction as his main method of assassination. Hanamiya preferred a quicker, more straightforward method. Get in, catch the target off guard, get out.
Which seemed to be what Imayoshi was trying to do to him at the moment.
It occurred to Hanamiya then that he’d never had to kill anyone his own age before. Imayoshi hadn’t disclosed how old he was and neither had Hanamiya, but Hanamiya assumed he couldn’t be that much older. Maybe one or two years at most. The glasses definitely gave him a more youthful appearance, and he seemed to wear a perpetual smile on his face. It wasn’t until Hanamiya got up close that he realized Imayoshi’s eyes weren’t closed all the time; they were just narrowed in playful crescents.
Hanamiya saw none of that playfulness now, however. Imayoshi’s eyes were serious and almost predatory, as if Hanamiya were the one being hunted instead of the other way around. He tried not to dwell on this, instead focusing on drawing Imayoshi deeper within the spider’s web—first, by deepening the kiss they currently shared.
Imayoshi tasted like whiskey, and since Hanamiya had ordered the exact same drink, he probably tasted the same. The only difference was that Hanamiya had slipped a muscle relaxant and aphrodisiac into Imayoshi’s glass.
So why? Why isn’t it working yet?
Even if Imayoshi had unusually high tolerance, it was only a matter of time. Hanamiya pretended to grow weak in the knees as Imayoshi reciprocated the kiss. Instead of trying to hold him up, Imayoshi sank with him. It was difficult to do otherwise when Hanamiya had both arms wrapped around the other man’s neck, forcibly dragging his head down. He used the moment of their descent to flip their positions as they fell toward the bed—Imayoshi lying down, and Hanamiya hovering over him with his elbows braced on either side of Imayoshi. He leaned forward, as if going in for another kiss. His shadow passed over Imayoshi’s face like an eclipse, obscuring Imayoshi’s expression.
Even if the drug didn’t work, Hanamiya had no right to call himself an assassin if he didn’t have a contingency plan. He’d slipped a poison-tipped knife in the right hidden sleeve of his cloak. There was no need to be flashy about it. One little poke behind Imayoshi’s ear would get the job done. All he had to do was slip the knife out while Imayoshi was distracted, ever so slowly…
“Before you kill me, Mist-kun, might we strike a deal?”
What impressed Hanamiya more than Imayoshi’s perceptiveness was his coherence, in spite of all the things Hanamiya was doing to him with his wicked tongue.
“Certainly,” said Hanamiya. He had the knife out already. Any sudden movement and it would all be over—for Imayoshi, that is. Imayoshi seemed to sense this too, for he made not a single twinge, and even his usual smile was nowhere to be seen. “Right after you tell me why you stood me up, you bastard.”
Imayoshi’s eyes widened ever so slightly at that. “How terrible, Mist-kun! You knew who I was all along, but you still decided to lead me on?”
“Don’t try to turn this on me.” Hanamiya sneered. “I knew who you were even before I set foot in that bar. Why do you think I chose this inn in the first place?” If Imayoshi could anticipate Hanamiya’s movements, why couldn’t the opposite be true? The time they’d spent knowing one another went both ways.
“Very impressive,” Imayoshi said blithely, sounding anything but. “So? What are you going to do now?”
“The band of thieves was threatening Kirisaki’s borders,” Hanamiya said. “It’s got nothing to do with Touou. You shouldn’t even have been privy to that information in the first place. So tell me why the infamous assassin Lucky Now is sniffing around where he doesn’t belong.”
“Lucky-san will suffice,” said Imayoshi. “That’s what all my friends call me.”
“We are not friends!” Hanamiya knew he was getting swept up in the other man’s pace, but he couldn’t help the urge to deny such a ridiculous statement. “Now answer the question.”
“You’re no fun today.” Imayoshi sighed. “I have no business with Kirisaki, Makoto. My business has always been with you.”
Despite his agitation, Hanamiya had been holding the knife perfectly still up until now, thanks to years of training. However, the shock of hearing his first name from Imayoshi’s mouth almost made him stick the knife in Imayoshi’s neck regardless.
So, it was true. All of Lucky’s frivolous letters had implied that he was aware of the Crown Prince’s double life as an assassin. He hadn’t realized the other assassin’s knowledge went this far, however. To know Hanamiya’s true name, the one his own mother had given to him at birth, was far beyond expectations. Just who was this guy? He was far too dangerous. Though he’d been content with getting on Hanamiya’s last nerves, one day he might grow bored and decide to pose a serious threat to Kirisaki. Hanamiya couldn’t let him live.
No one would fault him for toying with him a while longer, though. Just like a spider did to their prey.
“You mentioned a deal,” Hanamiya said.
“Yes,” Imayoshi replied. “How do you feel about regicide?”