Thread: Kaminoyama {Zella and Alan23}

Cavalryman Zumozo's secret was one that sometimes caused him delight, yet this delight was never entirely unalloyed. It was, some may have said, a dangerous secret, one that caused him to be deserving of punishment, perhaps said some fanatics even permanent imprisonment, or even execution, though such would be forced to admit it was not his fault. If anyone might be blamed for it, it was his father... his father and the Empress', for they were one and the same. It was this that was the thing he held close to his chest, so that even many of his comrades knew little of it, Toshiga, and one or two of the very high ranking officers being exceptions. Yet, in secret circles, among court genealogists, those responsible for the security of the Imperial Family and the nation, the military hierarchy and others, it could be no secret. The deceased former emperor had fathered a bastard son, and one furthermore that had shown at least some of the traits that fitted him for leadership. He had bravery, charisma, intelligence. Had he been an in-bred wastrel his lineage might not have mattered. Yet, as he was, simply by existing he was a dangerous man. There were those, among the high-ranking citizens of Kaminoyama who were far from happy at the fact that, after an unbroken series of Emperors as far back as historical memory could state, they were now led by a women. And, to be frank, a young, inexperienced and...well, far from poised and confident woman at that. A mere girl, many said. The empire needed a man of firmness and strength, they whispered at levees, parties and gatherings, in sake houses and java-haunts. A confident, brave man, not some frightened girl who was often observed trembling at official functions, who was at times so shy she seemed even younger than her years, who stammered and averted her eyes whenever faced with a more confident, worldly official. She was, such people said, a mere puppet, pretty but useless, and what use was a society of tigers if they were led by a rabbit? The empire needed, they felt, a man like the old emperor, or his son who, if his career so far were any guide, had inherited the very characteristics needed. That Zumozo did not share this opinion was from a plurality of reasons. To begin with, he was genuinely loyal. As far as he was concerned, the rules for succession were perfectly clear, and Empress Momoko was the undisputed claimant. The fat that he himself was one of the few citizens who might have proved otherwise was immaterial. No matter who it was, they had no claim. But it was not merely selfless devotion that caused this feeling in him. Indeed, the very idea of being emperor filled him with revulsion. To be at everyone's beck and call, ordered about by courtiers, ministers, the priesthood, never having a moment to call his own. How could he do his job as a cavalryman if he had to be forever being given leave to attend this or that official function? How could he stand wearing the restricting, itchy, binding clothing that he would have been forced into as emperor? What would happen to his friends, whom he would no longer be allowed to associate with? No, to him his self interest and his loyalty marched hand in hand and in perfect step. Momoko was the rightful ruler of the empire, and he'd fight to kill if anyone suggested differently. These thoughts, of course, ran through his mind as she pinned on the pointless award, and shyly thanked him for his service. Almost mechanically, and desperately trying not to reveal his contempt for the ceremony he saluted and withdrew. At last the thing was over, and he was free. And as he did so he caught the Empress' eyes. That they were pretty - extraordinarily so - was significant, but not overwhelmingly so. He had seen pretty eyes before. He already knew the empress, his half-sister though she did not know it, and few did was attractive. He knew too she had a slim, lithe figure, plump in all the right places. Yet, as a soldier and a hero he could take his pick of courtesans and others, usually full-fleshed humans though he was not above sampling the gynoids in the cheaper quarters of the city for variety and pretty women did not move him overmuch. No, it was not that she was pretty. Rather that in those eyes was another thing, a thing he saw but rarely. A look of fear. A look that made his protective heart cry out to save her. And his instincts whisper, in response to her thanks It is a pleasure to serve a woman so beautiful, truly a descendant from the gods. If she made no reaction, he felt, at least she could pull the compliment out from her memory and dwell upon it in her loneliness. Or perhaps... But no. She could not react in any more positive way. She would not be allowed to.