The Princess

Chapter Two

The silence after Subaru’s outburst clung to me like smoke. Dust still drifted from the shattered wall, and the storm raged beyond the mansion’s windows, but in the hallway, time had frozen.

I could feel their eyes on me—their hunger, their possessiveness, their silent claims. My pulse raced, my body taut with a tension I couldn’t explain, couldn’t control.

I wanted to speak, to break the spell, to pretend this was just another night in the mansion. But the words lodged in my throat.

Instead, I did the only thing I could.

I ran.

My bare feet carried me down the corridor, my crimson hair streaming behind me. I didn’t look back, though I felt them watching. Felt their gazes burn against my skin like brands. My chamber door slammed shut behind me, and I pressed my back to it, gasping.

Alone, but not at peace.

The storm outside lashed at the windows. Lightning split the sky, and in each flash, I saw their faces—Shu’s lazy but piercing eyes, Reiji’s cold precision, Ayato’s arrogant smirk, Kanato’s manic claim, Laito’s playful cruelty, Subaru’s desperate fire.

My brothers. My family.

And yet… not.

I slid down the door, clutching my knees to my chest. My body still tingled where Ayato’s breath had ghosted over my ear. My skin still burned where Subaru’s fist had shattered the wall beside me. My heart ached, confused, frightened, yearning.

Sleep didn’t come.

---

When morning finally broke, it came gently, a wash of pale gold slipping past my curtains. The storm had passed, leaving the mansion in eerie silence. I rose from bed, though I felt no rest in my bones.

The mirror revealed what I already felt.

My ocean-blue eyes were shadowed, my cheeks flushed as though I’d run for miles, my crimson hair tangled from restless hours. I touched my reflection, staring into eyes that seemed too alive, too unsettled.

“Who am I becoming?” I whispered to the glass.

The house was quiet when I stepped into the halls, the marble floors cold beneath my slippers. Morning light bled through tall windows, dust motes swirling in golden shafts. It should have felt safe. Normal. But the memory of last night clung to me like cobwebs.

The scent of tea drifted from the dining hall. I followed it, my heart heavy.

Inside, Reiji sat at the long table, perfectly dressed as always. His posture was immaculate, his silverware arranged with precise elegance. The moment his crimson eyes lifted to me, I froze.

“You look unwell,” he said, setting his teacup down. “Understandable, considering the… scene last night.”

My lips parted, but no words came.

Reiji sighed softly, adjusting his glasses. “You cannot continue to drift about this house as though you are ignorant of what you stir in others. You are no longer a child, April. And my brothers—foolish though they are—are not blind.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” His tone softened slightly, though his gaze never wavered. “And yet intentions do little to shield you. You must decide whether you wish to remain their innocent sister… or something else.”

Something else.

The words struck me like a blade.

Before I could reply, the doors banged open. Ayato strode in, his green eyes gleaming, his smirk sharp.

“Oi, April! Skipping breakfast without me? That’s cruel, you know.” He slid into the chair beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. The scent of him—wild, sharp, intoxicating—wrapped around me. “You ran from me last night. I don’t like being ignored.”

“I… I was tired,” I whispered.

Ayato chuckled darkly. “Tired, huh? You’ll have to make it up to me.” His eyes lingered on me in a way that made my pulse quicken. “Maybe today. Maybe tonight.”

Reiji’s voice cut through, clipped and stern. “Ayato. Enough.”

But Ayato only smirked wider, clearly enjoying how flustered I had become.

And then—

“April.”

The single word froze me.

Shu stood in the doorway, his golden eyes heavy-lidded but impossibly focused. His voice carried none of Ayato’s arrogance or Reiji’s precision. Yet it pulled me more strongly than either.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said simply.

I swallowed hard, unable to deny it.

His gaze lingered, long enough that the silence became unbearable. Finally, he turned away, his golden hair catching the light as he muttered, “Be careful. You’re more fragile than you realize.”

Fragile.

The word echoed through me as I sat at the table, caught between Reiji’s scrutiny, Ayato’s teasing hunger, and Shu’s quiet warning.

I wanted to believe I was still safe. Still their sister. Still the girl who sang for them, who kept the mansion bright with laughter.

But the storm hadn’t ended. It had only shifted inside me.

And as I met each of their gazes, I knew—

Nothing would ever be the same again.

The morning light should have soothed me.

But even as the sun slipped through the tall windows of the dining hall, golden rays spilling across polished marble and gilded edges, I felt no warmth. Only the heavy aftertaste of last night’s storm still clinging to my skin.

I sat at the long table, my hands folded in my lap, trying to will my pulse into something steady. The table stretched out endlessly, set with fine porcelain, crystal glasses, and silver utensils that gleamed so brightly it almost hurt my eyes. It felt like a stage. And I was the only actress who didn’t know her lines.

Reiji sat across from me, impeccable as always. His black suit was pressed to perfection, every fold sharp, his crimson tie knotted with mathematical precision. His dark hair fell neatly across his forehead, not a strand out of place. Even the way he lifted his teacup was deliberate, calculated, as though the act of drinking tea was a ritual only he had mastered.

His crimson eyes fixed on me over the rim of his glasses. The weight of that gaze made my shoulders tense.

“You did not sleep,” he said finally, his voice smooth but unyielding.

My fingers twisted together in my lap. “I… not much. The storm was loud.”

He set his cup down with a soft clink, the sound sharper than thunder in the silence. “Do not insult me with excuses. We both know your unrest has little to do with rain.”

Heat pricked at my cheeks. “Reiji…”

“Your conduct last night was reckless.” He leaned forward slightly, the glint of his glasses catching the sunlight. “Wandering the corridors in such attire, unescorted, vulnerable. Do you realize how easily you could have been harmed? How tempting you made yourself to men who—” His words broke off, a pause sharp as a blade. “…to men who are not human.”

My breath caught. His words were truth, but spoken with such precision that they sliced deeper than any lie.

“I didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” he snapped. The sound made me flinch. “You did not think. You live in this house, April, but you walk as though you are blind to its dangers. To our dangers.”

My throat tightened. His voice wasn’t cruel—it was worse. It was clinical, detached, as though he were dissecting me, cataloguing each of my faults.

I lowered my gaze, shame burning hot across my face.

For a moment, silence stretched. I could hear only the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, marking each second like judgment.

Then, softer, Reiji spoke again. “You are no longer a child. You must conduct yourself with dignity. You must be aware of the effect you have.” His crimson eyes lingered on me, too sharp, too knowing. “Do you understand?”

My lips trembled. I wanted to say yes. To promise I would be better, that I would heed his warning. But the words tangled in my chest because deep down, I wasn’t sure I could be better. Not when their stares made my heart race. Not when last night’s voices still echoed in my ears—Ayato’s teasing, Kanato’s cries, Subaru’s rage.

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Reiji’s eyes flickered, the faintest crack in his control. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw something human in his expression—concern, perhaps. But it was gone before I could name it.

“Then you must learn,” he said simply, lifting his teacup again. “Quickly.”

The porcelain clinked softly as he sipped, but the silence that followed was deafening.

I stared at the gleaming table, my reflection warped in the polished wood. I had wanted Reiji’s words to steady me, to give me rules, boundaries—something to cling to. Instead, they only left me more adrift, more aware of the truth I had tried to deny.

I wasn’t just April, their sweet, harmless little sister.

Not anymore.