The Art of War

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: The Art of War
Chapter One: Assassination
Fandom: Ikemen: Sengoku
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: mature. this one will likely have blood and violence, as well as explicit sexual situation and anything else i can think of
Disclaimer: so... the characters within are from a game. but they're also based on real historical people. so... yeah. take that as you will. i don't own them. although... hello, nurse! i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar. Neko belongs to Cat. Ruri belongs to Nan. the other one is all my doing.

Author's Notes: i have no business being here. none at all. and yet... ugh. hopefully i don't fuck up too bad.

"Don't look," his mother said, just as the screaming started. Just as he turned his head and stared out through the trees at the smoke rising from the burning village. At the bodies scattered over once green land that had been ripped up by so many hooves. That squelched wetly every time a hoof or foot came down. That was a bog of blood and death. Anger stirred in his breast even as tears of frustrated impotence stung his eyes. His village. His home. Gone under the trampling hooves of battling armies. "Kei--"

He couldn't remember a time when the land hadn't been touched by the greedy hands of War and War's constant companion, Death. Where ever War went, Death followed. And Death was hungry, always yearned for some poor soul to fill His belly. Once, he'd been able to pretend War would never ravage his home. But that had been before his world had turned upside down. That was before War had found his father. And Death had been too hungry to let his father go.

Losing his father had been a harsh blow to his family. His mother had done her best to maintain a stoic, brave face, but he'd heard her crying late at night, when he and his siblings were meant to be sleeping. The day his father's body had been brought home, his older brother, the oldest of his siblings, had gone off to seek vengeance. His brother had never returned. That was the day he'd become the family's guardian. Their sole provider. He'd taken any job that would see food on the table for his mother and his younger sisters. He'd slaved in the fields. He'd broken his back in the quarry. He'd done anything. He'd worked himself until he was nearly skin and bones. But it was a hardship he'd willingly borne because he loved his mother. He loved his younger sisters.

Now, everything he'd worked for was being razed to the ground by arrogant soldiers who wanted for nothing. Who cared for nothing. For no one.

"Kei," his mother said again, her voice a soft plea against the screams of the fallen and dying. He ignored the plea and put to memory every horrible act he saw. He committed to memory the sounds of steel clashing, of men groaning and begging, of horses whinnying and screaming. He let the colors of the battle soak into his mind, a vivid painting of death as a reminder of the evil men were capable of.

Mostly, he memorized the colors of the banners being flown. One side carried banners of maroon, the image of a tiger on them in white and gold and black. Shingen Takeda. The Tiger of Kai. The other side flew banners of black, each one emblazoned with an eagle done in accents of gold and red. Nobunaga Oda. The Devil King of the Sixth Heaven.

"Kei, please. We need to flee. Your sisters need food and shelter." There was pain in his mother's voice this time. And sadness. He sighed and turned from the battle, every last detail etched into the deepest recesses of his brain.

"Where will we go, mama?" Akiko asked, her childish voice trembling with fear.

"We will seek shelter from Lord Hamamoto," his mother said gently, one weathered hand reaching up to smooth the messy strands of Akiko's hair back from her face.

"Mother," Kei began, but she held up that same hand and leveled a stony look his way.

"We have no where else to go, Kei. It must be Lord Hamamoto." The finality in her voice made his heart twinge with pain. And anger. And hatred. Because he knew what would become of his mother if they sheltered with Lord Hamamoto. Kei was no simple child. He'd seen lust in Jiro Hamamoto's eyes every time his gaze had landed on Kei's mother. How could he call himself the man of the family if he allowed his mother to become some base lordling's whore?

"You know what price he'll demand of you for providing shelter," Kei replied, letting his anger seep into his voice.

"And you know we have no other choice. And you also know that I am still your mother. You will do as I say," she said, voice stern and stony. She would hear no arguments from him.

Kei stared at her, stared into the depths of her golden brown eyes, and sighed heavily. He gave a curt nod of his head. He would do as she wished. But when the time came and Hamamoto hurt her, Kei would kill him.

~*~*~*~*~

"Mother? Father? You wanted to see me?" Ruri asked, staring warily at her parents as she joined them in the common area of their home.

"Sit, Ruri," her father said, one hand motioning to a cushion on the floor. "We have something we need to discuss with you."

She did as she was bade, settling down onto the cushion without complaint. On the outside, she appeared serene and calm. Inside, however, she was anxious and afraid. His tone was polite but serious, letting her know that whatever topic he wanted to discuss was important. She felt certain she knew just what it was he wanted to discuss, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach with the very idea.

Her father took his preferred cushion, her mother settling gracefully on the cushion next to him. Her mother presented a peaceful exterior, but Ruri knew her well enough to know she was hiding something. A faint sense of dread began to gnaw at her belly, ridding her of the butterflies so that she had to force herself to remain seated. Because she knew she would not like what he had to say and she wanted to run away before he spoke.

"You have grown into a fine, beautiful young woman, Ruri." There was love in her father's voice, allowing her to take the compliment to heart. "Your mother and I are proud of you. We love you. We want only the best for you."

"Of course, Papa," she responded softly. She knew she would not like where this conversation went. She wanted to clench her hands in fists. It would be a telling sign, though, so she simply left them resting loosely in her lap.

"Your mother and I believe it is time for you to wed and become a wife," he said, not even bothering to ease her into the idea. Ruri's heart stuttered for a moment in her chest before it started pounding painfully against her rib cage. She once again fought against the urge to curl her hands into fists, fought to keep the placid expression on her face.

"Am I an unsatisfactory daughter?" she asked, making sure that it came out as a mere question and not an accusation.

"Of course not, Ruri. You are everything I ever hoped for in a daughter," her father responded, his tone letting her know he meant it. There had never been sons for her parents. It was something that her father had never once held against her mother. And it was never something that he'd held against his only child. "You are beautiful and intelligent and talented."

Ruri bowed her head to him in response to his words. She didn't trust herself to give voice to her thanks. There was a tightness in her throat and her eyes burned.

"We have arranged a marriage for you, daughter. A good marriage," her father informed her. Ruri had known those words were coming. And yet, she still felt shock and surprise ripple through her. "We believe this marriage will be to your advantage."

"Thank you, father," she said, once again bowing to him. When she straightened, she could see that there was more. It was in the way her mother didn't quite meet her eyes. The tightness at the corners of her mother's lips. The way her fingers curled tightly into the folds of her grass green kimono. "Who am I to marry? And when?"

"The marriage will take place two weeks hence," her father said, answering her second question first. Which told her she would not like the answer to the first question. "The wedding will take place at his home. At Azuchi Castle."

"Azuchi... " Her words trailed off as the enormity of what her father was telling her fell down around her shoulders like a weighted cape. The realization of what he was saying threatened to drag her down. Ruri cleared her throat, hoping she'd misheard him. "Azuchi Castle?"

"Yes, Ruri," her father nodded. She flicked her gaze to where her mother sat and noted that her mother's gaze had slid away from her. She returned her attention to her father.

"And who am I to marry when I reach Azuchi Castle?" she questioned, proud of how strong and steady her voice was as she asked her question.

"Lord Nobunaga Oda," her father replied, a smile blossoming on his face. He was proud of the match he'd made for his daughter and it was obvious he felt she should feel the same way. "I know this is sudden, but its a good match. Lord Nobunaga saw you when he and his men came through a few months ago. He commented that you would be the perfect wife. I have spent the past two months corresponding with him in order to arrange this marriage. We didn't want to tell you until we were certain the marriage would happen."

Ruri was silent for a few moments, considering what to say. How to say it. She could tell by the look in her mother's eyes that her mother knew what Ruri was really thinking. What she wanted to say. And she was tempted. So tempted. She wanted to tell her father that she wouldn't marry a man like Nobunaga Oda, who lived for war. Wanted to tell him she'd rather spend the rest of her life secluded in a temple than be forced to marry Lord Nobunaga.

But she didn't.

Instead, she bowed her head and made sure to speak with her face to the floor so her father couldn't see the sorrow in her eyes. The disappointment. "Thank you, father. It is a great gift you've given me. If you have nothing further, I will return to my room and begin preparing for the journey."

"Of course, Ruri. I knew you would be happy with the choice I made for you," her father replied.

She rose carefully, kept a carefully blank and respectful look on her face as she lifted her head. She spared a look for her mother, who once again would not look at her, then turned and slowly made her way out of the common room. She maintained her composure and serenity as she traveled the length of the corridor to her personal room.

It wasn't until she was inside, the door slid closed behind her, that she allowed her composure to crumble. Ruri sank down onto her futon and let silent tears trickle down her cheeks.

Nobunaga Oda was the last man she wanted to marry. He was a warlord, and all he did was fight. Ruri wanted someone who loved his wife more than he loved war. She wanted a man who was more interested in books than swords. She wanted a gentle soul, not a hardened soldier.

She wanted love.

~*~*~*~*~

His mother was sobbing softly, her face turned into her pillow to stifle the sound. He heard her anyway. He'd heard her every time she'd cried herself to sleep. It was always after she'd come back from Hamamoto's home. He knew she didn't think he saw the bruises the bastard left behind. He knew she didn't think he saw the way her spirit sagged a little more every time she was called to his home. He saw it all. He catalogued it all. He sat in silence and let her suffer the man's vile attention.

No more. He'd had enough. Hamamoto had to die.

Kei went to the kitchen and made tea. He took solace in the ritual of boiling the water, of steeping the leaves until the tea was the perfect color. And then he took a moment to add a little something extra to the tea. He refused to let himself feel guilty about it. It was for the best.

When the tea was ready, Kei carried it into his mother's room, making sure to make enough noise before sliding the door open so that she could compose herself. He gave her a soft look and took the tea to her, noting the faint hint of bruising on her cheek. It took everything he had in him to keep the rage from his face. "Kei," his mother began, as if she knew that his anger burned and raged beneath his skin. As if she knew the words that wanted to fall from his tongue. As if she knew there was murder in his heart. But whatever she wanted to say trailed off into silence as he gently pressed the cup into her hand.

"Drink, mother. It'll make you feel better," he told her, his words a promise.

She eyed him skeptically, but she lifted the cup and sipped the hot brew. Kei said nothing, simply watched as she worked her way through the tea without complaint. Even before she reached the bottom of the cup, he could see her eyelids droop with sleep. He reached out and plucked the cup from her hold, then eased her down to the futon and pulled the covers up over her. He took a moment to stare at her face, to see past the exhaustion and worry to the beauty that remained hidden behind everything else.

He memorized that beauty.

When he had every last line of her face committed to memory, Kei left her room. He returned the tea cup to the kitchen, making sure he washed it and set it out to dry. Then he went to his own room, dug into the small chest that held his meager belongings and retrieved the dagger that had once belonged to his father. It was all he had by which to remember his sire. And it was the blade he was going to use to cut Hamamoto's heart from his chest.

Kei slipped easily from the small home his family lived in. It was dark, the darkest part of the night, and there were few people still wandering the streets. That made it easy for him to slip into the deep shadows and make his way toward Jiro Hamamoto's grand home up on the hill. Mellow gold glowed from behind some of the windows, letting him know that it was highly likely Hamamoto was still awake. Good, Because he wanted the miserable bastard to see his face when he plunged his dagger into the man's blackened heart.

It was far too easy to find an unsecured entry point and slip into the house. Even better, it was in an area where there was no candle light to give his position away. Kei crept silently along the halls, ears straining to catch the sound of someone who might be heading his way. The Fates were on his side, because he encountered no one on his slow trek to Hamamoto's personal chambers.

He found Hamamoto in his bathing chamber, a young girl nervously sponging water over the man's skin. This while a second girl rested on her knees between the man's open thighs. Kei had to bite back the bile that rose. Jiro Hamamoto disgusted him. Killing him would be a kindness for the women in the village.

He eased into the room, dagger grasped loosely in his hand and kept hidden behind his back. "Is that Suki with the sake?" Hamamoto asked, touches of pleasure curling through his voice. The girl sponging him turned to look just as Kei leapt forward, bringing the dagger up before him.

The girl with the sponge shrieked and threw herself back from Hamamoto. The girl on her knees was thrown back as Hamamoto surged to his feet. Kei's bellow of rage was followed by his target's soft grunt as the blade in his hand found its mark in Hamamoto's chest. A fist flew up and caught him along the jaw, sent him to the floor in a limp sprawl as pain blossomed in his face. As it crawled through his head and up and down his spine. Before he could even think to move, Hamamoto had him by the throat and he found his feet dangling in the air.

"Wretched boy! I knew you had rage in your heart, but I never imagined you would attack me in my own home," Hamamoto rasped, dagger still sticking out of his chest. It made a tempting target, but Kei's hands were curled tightly around Hamamoto's wrists in an effort to keep the man from choking him to death.

Kei kicked his feet, managed a glancing blow off Hamamoto's knee. The man grunted, then Kei found himself airborne. A moment later, he hit the wall and dropped to the floor. None of his muscles would obey his orders to move and he slumped there, watching helplessly as Hamamoto moved closer. "I should kill you here and now, boy. But your death would put some steel in your mother's spine. So now the question is... What do I do with you?"

A moment later, Hamamoto had him by the throat once again. Kei reached blindly, fingers curling around the hilt of the dagger. He put pressure on the blade, drove it deeper into Hamamoto's chest. A fist found his jaw once more, then he hit the floor and pain shot up his arm. 'You're going to regret ever stepping foot in this room, boy. By the time I'm done with you, you're going to regret ever having been born."

~*~

The phantom pain in his wrist is what drew him from his thoughts. He stood in the shadow of a nearby home, hidden from prying eyes by nature of the fact that everyone was too busy fawning over the group of men in the center of the clearing to take notice of him. Kei flexed his fingers, reminded himself that pain was only a memory. Reminded himself that he was here to do a job. Once it was done, his mother would be safe. His sisters would be safe. He knew his life would be forfeit, but at least his family would be safe. That was the only thing he cared about.

A deep voice resonated across the yard and drew his gaze to its owner. His target.The great Nobunaga Oda. Jiro Hamamoto did not like Nobunaga Oda's politics. Did not like that the man meddled in his affairs.Did not like that Nobunaga Oda made him act like a human being.

"Kill the Devil King and your mother is safe. I won't touch her again, so long as you strike down Nobunaga Oda." Hamamoto's words slithered through his brain, left him shivering in reply. Just as he had that night. Because Kei knew. He knew that he would never succeed with his mission. He knew how damned lucky Nobunaga Oda was. The man had survived plenty of assassination attempts. This one would pose him no real threat. And even if Kei did manage to kill the man, his vassals would cut him down before he could escape. He would die, no matter if he fulfilled his mission or not.

He had to try, though. He had to do this or his mother would suffer for his misdeeds.

Nobunaga Oda was preparing to mount his horse. Which meant he would be leaving. Kei didn't know if it was for war or hawking or some other reason entirely. It didn't matter. It was now or never. If he didn't take his chance, and soon, he would likely never get another chance at it. Rumor among the castle staff, which had been so easy to become part of, was that Nobunaga Oda was going to take a bride. If that happened, it would become much more difficult to attack the man.

Kei pushed off of the wall and started making his way toward his target. It was ridiculously easy to weave between the people who had gathered in a crowd among the man and his vassals. Kei's fingers twitched against the dagger hidden in the folds of his kimono. He would have to time this just right...

Almost as if by divine providence, the crowd began to thin out and move away. Lord Nobunaga was left with two of his vassals. Kei slipped the dagger from his kimono as he circled around so that he could come up on his victim's side and still be hidden from the men with him. It wasn't the best plan, and Kei had no hopes of actually killing Nobunaga Oda. But he had to make the attempt. He had to do whatever it took to keep his mother safe.

"Forgive me, Mother," he whispered, releasing his plea to the winds in hopes that they would carry his words to his mother. Then he sped up his pace and raised the dagger to strike.

Nobunaga Oda, lucky bastard that he was, raised his head and looked right at Kei. A moment later, Kei found himself reliving the night of his failed attempt on Hamamoto's life. Nobunaga Oda had him by the throat. He stared at Kei with very little emotion in his eyes. Kei was aware, vaguely, of the dagger being slapped from his hand. Then there was a fist in his face and he found himself on his back on the ground, all the air leaving him in a rush. His gaze was locked with the other man's and he saw his death there in those cold, unforgiving carnelian eyes. Kei simply lay there and waited for the sword to strike, to take his head from his shoulders. Waited for released from the hell that his life had become.

"Take him to the dungeon," Nobunaga ordered, without an ounce of emotion in his voice, and turned away. Kei stared as he was hoisted up between two guards and dragged away. There was nothing in his head, save one solitary thought.

Goodbye, Mother. I'm sorry I failed and I love you.

~*~*~*~*~

"If you run, you know they'll send someone to find you and bring you back," Neko's voice informed her. Ruri sighed and turned her gaze away from the vast expanse of green rolling out toward the horizon. It was just beyond the edge of the village, and it would take no time at all to reach it. But Neko was right. If she fled now, someone would hunt her down and bring her back. After all, she was to be wed soon.

In fact, the man who was going to be her husband would be arriving at any moment. Ruri found it odd that a man who had supposedly seen her and been so struck by her beauty that he'd been willing to wed her without ever having met her would suddenly decide he needed to come meet her. If she was being honest with herself, Nobunaga Oda's impending visit was the reason she was considering taking off across the valley. But she had no where to go. No way to get there. No food or money. All she had to take with her were clothes. They wouldn't get her far.

And there were bandits on the road. Men who would see her and take advantage. In one way or another. If she was lucky, it would simply be by ransoming her back to her father. If she was not so lucky... She shuddered to think what could happen then.

Sighing, Ruri looked at the young woman who had just entered her chamber and gave a faint smile. "Was it so obvious?"

Her maid, and her life long friend, regarded her with jade green eyes that reminded Ruri so much of the animal she'd been named after. Neko lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug that said nothing much at all.

"Perhaps not to anyone else. But I know you best, Ruri. I've known you since we were infants. I know what you're thinking. And I even understand. But you know that trying to run away will not please your parents." Neko moved to stand beside her, her gaze moving to the far distance. "Not that I don't understand the sentiment. Everything is happening so fast. Its only right that you're wary and nervous."

Ruri considered, for a moment, explaining to Neko that it was more than that. That she wasn't prepared to wed someone who saw her only as a political gain. Or a status symbol. Or a pretty toy to hang on his arm. Or whatever it was Nobunaga Oda would get out of a marriage to her. Finally, she shrugged a shoulder and turned away from the window. There was no point in standing there and day dreaming about something that she'd never be brave enough to attempt. Running away was fine and good, but Ruri knew she'd never do it. She didn't want to upset her parents, to hurt them. It wasn't their fault that their ideas about her life didn't line up with her own.

"This is going to change everything," Neko said, voice soft. Ruri almost didn't hear her.

She studied the other woman for a time, trying to read in Neko's face whatever it was she was thinking. Unfortunately, Neko had long ago become adept at hiding her true feelings from the world. But Ruri knew something was wrong, saw it in the way Neko held herself. The way she wouldn't meet Ruri's eyes. And finally, after several long minutes of painful silence and Neko avoiding her gaze, she got it.

"You're worried that my coming marriage to Nobunaga Oda will see you left behind," Ruri said gently.

Neko was silent for a moment or two, then gave her attention to Ruri. "No doubt he has many, many servants in his castle. I wouldn't be surprised if he had dozens of ladies' maids just lingering, waiting for a lady to play maid to. What use could he have for yet another?"

"He doesn't," Ruri said. Neko's shoulders slumped just a bit in response. "But I do. He may have a castle teeming with ladies' maids. But you are my ladies' maid. And I will not leave here without you."

"Do you mean it?" Neko asks, voice a whisper that did nothing to hide her burgeoning hope.

"I swear it. I will inform Lord Nobunaga that I will not wed him if you are not allowed to accompany me to Azuchi Castle and continue on as my personal maid."

Neko looked as if she wanted to argue. But a loud noise rose up from outside. Ruri heard the jangle of harnesses and the soft whinny of horses. It sounded as if Lord Nobunaga had arrived. Ruri took a moment to study her appearance in the mirror, then she turned to look at Neko. "It isn't too late for us to run, is it?"

"Much too late," Neko replied. Though she was smiling, there was sympathy in her voice. Neko put a hand on Ruri's arm and pulled her into motion. They moved to the table where her chest of cosmetics, hair brush, and hair pinnings waited. Neko urged Ruri to sit with one hand while reaching for the hair brush with the other. "Come, my lady. Let me prepare you to meet your husband to be."

~*~*~*~*~

"Bring the boy to me."

The announcement saw the entire council chamber, filled with his retainers and vassals, falling into silence. Every eye turned his way. There were looks of astonishment on most faces, though a few of those present were looking at him with intense consideration. No doubt they all believed he had forgotten about the boy. Far from it. His mind had constantly been turning over the puzzle of what to do with his would be assassin.

"Lord Nobunaga?" Hideyoshi, closest to him. questioned.

"Bring the boy to me. It is time for him to meet his Fate," he responded firmly. His tone said he would brook no argument. Hideyoshi saw the steely look in his eyes and bowed in acquiescence before turning to leave the room. Shocked, speculative silence remained to keep them all company. No doubt everyone was wondering what he planned to do about the would-be assassin. No doubt they were surprised that the boy was still alive. To be perfectly honest, he was just as surprised. Any other day and an assassination attempt would have seen him simply dispatching his attacker with deadly force.

He knew there were those out there who wished to see him dead, who felt he was far too ambitious for his own good. Many of them simply did not like the idea of a unified Japan. Such a thing would see them having to answer to someone other than themselves. Would see them lose power they did not wish to give up. Would see them required to behave in a certain way. Treat their subordinates in a certain way. Would force them to bow to him. That was a world they could not stand to see come to pass. Assassination attempts were far from unusual. He put an end to them swiftly, with as much painful and bloody force as possible, in order to deter any more rebellious actions from his detractors.

So his reasons behind letting the boy live were an absolute mystery to him. And everyone else, apparently.

He'd been preparing to leave the castle when the attack had taken place. Standing out on the green lawn surrounding Azuchi Castle, the day had been fine with blue skies and a soft breeze to stir the leaves in the trees. He'd been conversing with Masamune and Ieyasu, going over a few last minute changes to the day's itinerary, when some sixth sense had told him to look up. He couldn't begin to imagine what it was that had caught his attention. One moment, he was deep in conversation with Masamune. The next, he was catching a scrawny boy by the throat, the tip of a wicked dagger only inches from his chest.

It had been Masamune who had knocked the dagger from the boy's grasp. Nobunaga had then knocked the boy to the ground with a well placed fist. The lad had whined out a breath when he'd landed, then had remained on the ground, obviously stunned. Or awaiting the death blow. Nobunaga had stared a moment or two, had seen the dull look on the boy's face, in eyes the colors of the deepest amethysts, and had found himself ordering the boy held in a cell before he'd been aware of what he'd been doing.

That had been a week ago. And he'd spent every day since trying to figure out what had stayed his hand. And what he was to do with a scrawny boy seemingly filled with the need to see him dead.

Candlelight flickered off the walls as the moments stretched and the silence grew painful and thin. Finally, after what felt like an age of silence, Hideyoshi returned, the boy who would be an assassin trailing listlessly after him. It looked as if the boy was dragging his feet in an effort to stave off meeting his Fate. And Hideyoshi looked grim, as if he was finding all kinds of problems with the coming events.

Finally, the two of them came to a stop before Nobunaga. The boy seemed to be wavering on his feet, his gaze cast down toward the floor. He was filthy, as were the clothes he wore. A foul stench wafted off the boy, attesting to a week in confinement without bathing. Hideyoshi stared at Nobunaga, his serious gaze trying to relay a message. Nobunaga ignored the look there and rose to his feet, He stood mere inches taller than the boy, but the boy's posture made it seem as if captor towered over captive.

"Give me your name, boy," he commanded. The boy didn't move. Didn't even seem to acknowledge that Nobunaga had spoken to him. Instead, he wobbled on his feet and continued to stare at the ground. Nobunaga noted that Hideyoshi had yet to let go of the boy's arm. "Your name. Give it to me. And that of the warlord that sent you to kill me so that I may send them word of your failure."

The boy remained stubbornly silent. A glance at Hideyoshi said that the man was still trying to tell him something without speaking out. Turning away from the man's almost imploring glance, he took hold of the boy's chin and lifted his head.

There was no fight in the boy, though his eyes refused to lift from the floor. In fact, it almost felt as if there was no strength in the boy's muscles. "Give me your name, boy, so that I may return your body to your family. So they can mourn you as is proper."

There was the faintest hint of movement from the boy at the mention of his family, but nothing else. Not even a flicker of fear at the idea that he would die here this night. It gave Nobunaga pause. He'd faced many enemies in his long quest to bring the country together. He knew that his forceful nature, that his unwavering belief in his destiny, that the absolute certainty and command in his voice made his enemies quake in fear. He was the Devil King of the Sixth Heaven, a name he'd earned as much for his fearlessness in battle as for the deeds he'd done in the name of his destiny. There were few who were rightfully fearful of him.

Yet, this boy stood before him, unaffected by his presence even as he refused to look him in the eye.

"I plan to make an example of you, boy. For one and all to learn from. Planting an assassin in my own castle will gain no one my death." Of course, after the attempt, he'd questioned everyone about the boy. No one had been able to supply a name, but they'd all confirmed the boy had seemingly appeared at the castle as if by magic and had simply started working with the staff, as if he'd always been there. It was an odd puzzle, to be sure. One he wanted answers to before he ended the boy's assassination attempts. Permanently. "Everyone here will witness your punishment. And then your death. And then I will be sure the story spreads across the very land until every man, woman, and child in Japan knows it."

There were a few soft gasps from those gathered in his hall. Likely servants. Not one of his vassals or retainers would find his declaration shocking. He ignored it and motioned with one hand. "Tie the boy to the pillar," he instructed Hideyoshi. A glance at the other man showed him that there was a moment's hesitation, as if he planned on arguing the order. Then Hideyoshi nodded his head and dragged the boy toward the pillar Nobunaga had indicated.

The room remained silent as ropes were brought forth and the boy was tied chest first to the post. Masamune approached, a knife in hand, and used the sharp edge to split the collar of the boy's kimono. Then his hands grabbed the two parts and pulled, splitting the garment in two to expose the boy's back. The sound of rending cloth was loud in the oppressive silence of the hall.

It was Mitsuhide who brought him the whip, who placed the length of braided leather in his hand. Nobunaga turned to the boy, arm already stretched back to deliver the first blow, and found himself staring at the outline of the boy's ribs and spine, easy to see under a layer of skin that was stretched tight over his thin frame. As if the boy hadn't eaten in a long time.

That thought came and went as his hand brought the whip forward. The braided tail whistled through the air before slicing across the tender flesh on the boy's back. The boy jerked but made no sound. A red welt appeared immediately where the whip had landed. Nobunaga drew his arm back again, lashed at the boy's back again. And again. And again. Each stroke left a red welt. A thin red line. A run of blood. It continued until the boy sagged against the pillar, then slowly sank to the floor in a limp heap.

"Bring him to his feet," Nobunaga ordered, delivering the bloodied whip into Mitsuhide's care. Masamune and Hideyoshi released the boy's bonds and pulled him to his feet. The boy's head dropped forward against his chest. Strips of dirty cloth fluttered to the ground and came to rest at the boy's feet.

"Are those bandages?" Mitsunari asked. Nobunaga didn't need to look to know that everyone was staring at the pile of rags. "Is the boy already injured?"

Nobunaga strode forward even as Masamune pressed the boy into Hideyoshi's hold so that he could see if the boy had any other injuries.

"I see no blood, my lord," Masamune began, gaze shifting from the bandages to the boy. "Perhaps his ribs are broken?" His hands lifted in order to grasp the tattered remains of the boy's dirty kimono.

Nobunaga doubted it. There had been no bruises on the boy's back. The bandaging had to have been for some other wound. There was a second tearing sound as the dirty cloth was pulled apart. Masamune stared a moment, then glanced at Nobunaga with eyes that held confusion. Nobunaga came to a stop before the boy and stared. He exchanged a glance with Masamune and Hideyoshi before finding the assassin's eyes, very vibrantly purple and filled with delirium, fever, anger, and hatred, staring right at him.

"Bastard." The single word was hissed at him in a pained whisper. Then the would-be assassin passed out and sagged in Hideyoshi's hold.

Nobunaga considered this for a moment, then shifted his attention to Hideyoshi. "Take him to my room. I will be along momentarily. Masamune, fetch the needed medicines to treat the boy from my physician and bring them to me."

The orders were issued smoothly, his tone commanding. Both men inclined their heads. Hideyoshi swung his burden up into his arms. Masamune took a moment to arrange the tattered remains of the boy's garment, put them back into place, then he was gone to do as he'd been bade. Hideyoshi shot Nobunaga a look that demanded an explanation before he, too, turned and carried the unconscious form from the chamber.

When they were gone, Nobunaga faced the remaining vassals and retainers. Their confusion about the last few moments was plain to read on their faces. He wasn't inclined to clear anything up for them. "I believe that signifies the end of the evening. I bid you all a good night's rest."

With those words, he turned and followed after Hideyoshi to deal with their inept assassin.

~*~*~*~*~

"You need to rest, Ruri," Neko said softly as she slipped into her mistress' room. Ruri looked up from the book she held and sighed, then slipped a length of silk ribbon between the pages before closing it and setting it aside. "We leave early in the morning."

"I know."

"I know this marriage isn't something you wanted," Neko said, moving over to settle on the edge of the futon. She raised her hands in order to finger comb Ruri's hair, in disarray from running her hands through it too frequently. "But it is an advantageous alliance. Lord Nobunaga is strong and handsome."

"He is," Ruri replied, her voice heavy with reluctance. Everyone in Japan knew how strong Nobunaga Oda was. His mission to unify the country was truly amazing and it required a strength and ability she knew few men possessed. And she'd seen with her own eyes just how handsome he was. Tall and muscular, with dark hair touched at the ends by grey and eyes of carnelian, he was quite attractive.

He was also rumored to be vicious and cruel. It was said that he would allow nothing to stand in his way. That he slaughtered anyone who opposed him. It was said that his hands were coated with so much blood, he would never be able to wash the stain away.

That was not the kind of man to whom she wanted to be wed. She wanted to marry someone for love and honor. She wanted someone who would make her the center of his universe. She wanted someone she could grow old with, someone she could call her own. Nobunaga Oda would never belong to anyone but himself. He was married to his ambition, loved only battle and strife. That wasn't anything she wanted for her life.

"But?" Neko prodded, working her mistress' hair into a loose plait for sleep. Despite being Ruri's personal attendant, there was a tone in her voice that said she would have her answer.

Ruri bit back her sigh and picked at the hem of her yukata. "It isn't important now, is it?" Ruri asked in return. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to get into. Not with Neko, not with her parents, not with anyone.

"Ruri. You and I have been friends since we were born. You know you cannot hide things from me. I know your every mood and feeling," Neko reminded her. "Tell me why you hesitate with this marriage."

"You know why, Neko. We've discussed it many, many times over the course of the years," Ruri said softly. Her gaze remained locked on her hands, Neko's hands working with slow grace to wend her hair into a plait.

"You want to marry for love," Neko responded. Ruri nodded, though she had no need to do so. As she'd said, they'd talked about it many times. Neko sighed, her hands working a ribbon into the end of Ruri's plait. "And you know, possibly even better than I, that marrying for love is a luxury that very few people can afford. Especially someone of your status. Your marriage, whether it be to Nobunaga Oda or some other daimyo, is purely for political advantage. Your parents' marriage was the same."

"That doesn't make me want it any less," Ruri replied. "In fact, it makes me want a marriage based on love even more."

"Ruri, not even my parents married for love. They married for advantage," Neko reminded her.

"And you would be content with a marriage based on nothing more than advantage?" Ruri asked, anger rising to color her words. She turned to look at Neko, eyes probing and intense. "You would be willing to accept a man who may only care about the children he can get on you? You would be willing to spend the rest of your life with someone who may never regard you as anything more than property?"

Neko's expression closed off, her face paling faintly while her eyes darkened with sadness and other emotions. Ruri instantly felt contrite for her inconsiderate words. It was well known that Neko's prospects had always been small. The fact was no fault of her own. But people were suspicious of her family, of her parents. There had always been whispers about how odd the Fukomoto clan was. What parents named their child after a house pet? Neko had almost always been shunned by the townspeople. If not for the fact that her parents served Ruri's family, Neko likely would never have been made Ruri's maid. The position offered her more than Ruri's friendship. It offered her protection she might not have had otherwise.

Neko seemed content with her lot in life, but Ruri knew she wanted more. There'd been a boy once, some time ago, who had seemed to be interested in Neko. Ruri had thought that they might one day become something deeper than friends. But he'd gone off to war with the other boys a few years ago. War was an ever present facet of their lives, so everyone had known just what that might mean. That meant it was no surprise when several of the village boys had returned with his body so that his family might mourn him properly.

None of the other men in their town had bothered to look past the oddity of her family to see that Neko was a warm and loving individual. Ruri counted herself lucky to have such a steadfast, wonderful friend. There were so few of those to be had. "I'm sorry, Neko. I didn't mean to hurt you," Ruri apologized, her words simple and steady.

Neko stared at her a moment, then gave a faint smile. "I know," she assured the other woman. "Its okay."

It wasn't okay. Ruri could see that it wasn't okay, but she didn't bother saying any more. It would be pointless, because she knew Neko wouldn't want to talk of it any further. And she knew, however sincere and heartfelt her apology, words would not take away the pain she'd caused.

"Besides, none of that matters. Your new life begins tomorrow and you must rest. We are meant to leave early in the morning because the journey to Azuchi castle will be long and tiring. Try to put your fears aside and sleep."

Neko was right. She knew it. Sighing, she reached out and laid her hand on Neko's. "You should do the same, my friend. Your new life begins tomorrow, too. Something tells me we're both going to need our strength and our wits about us."

Neko nodded and rose from her place on the futon. She made for the door on silent feet, stopping only when she reached the closed panel. Her hand on the edge of the frame, she paused a moment before turning and giving Ruri a mischievous stare. "What kind of lover do you suppose Lord Nobunaga is? Do you think his sword is long and mighty? I have heard that he is as fierce and commanding in matters of carnal pleasure as he is in matters of battle."

Then she was gone and Ruri was left with very vivid, very lusty images in her head. Color and heat stained her cheeks as she put out the lantern and slid beneath the covers. She was going to have very interesting dreams because of her maid's wicked tongue. Interesting dreams, indeed

~*~*~*~*~

The mattress beneath her was soft and cushioned, as were the pillows beneath her head. Both felt like the finest of silks, a cool sensation against skin used to rougher materials. Sleep clung to her brain, making it fuzzy and thick. In fact, sleep clung to all of her, making her eyelids heavy. Making her limbs heavy. Making her thoughts hard to grasp. Not that she believed her thoughts to be important, despite the way something tickled at her brain incessantly.

All she wanted to do was sink deep into the abyss of sleep once again. It felt as if it had been so very long since she'd been able to simply sleep. Why she felt that way, she couldn't say. But she felt it all the way to her bones. And the pleasant weight of the blankets covering her legs were urging her to return to the depths of slumber. She was so tired.

She tried shifting, tried rolling off of her stomach to her back. But heat flared up and down the length of her spine, bringing sweat beading up on her forehead and a soft cry to her lips. A moment later, a weight settled on the bed beside her, a large hand coming to rest on her forehead. "Her fever's spiked. Go to the kitchens and fetch more broth and tea. And tell him that she's awake." The voice belonged to a man. It was fairly deep and right above her.

"Very good, my lord." The second voice was higher and softer, obviously belonging to a woman. She heard the quiet sigh of the door as it opened and closed, then the room fell into oppressive silence. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed and stayed very still, whoever was sitting over her would leave her alone. Maybe he'd think she'd fallen back to sleep and whatever was going on would just... not happen.

It wasn't to be. "I know you're awake, lass. Its best if you face what's coming head on," the voice warned her. Though the tone was gentle, the words were still laced with steel. "Besides, you need to take some tea and broth before you go back to sleep. You need energy to fight the fever."

Now that he mentioned it, her face did feel warm next to the cool press of silk against her cheek. Her entire body felt warm against the cool press of silk. Her brain sputtered around that observation for a moment, finally informing her that she was lying in bed naked. And her back was exposed to the cool air. The weight of the blanket stopped just above her behind. Why was that?

A hand brushed her hair from her face, giving her the opportunity to look up and take note of the face that belonged to the weight on the bed next to her. She found herself staring at a man with one blue eye, the other hidden behind an eye patch. He was watching her with concern, a faint frown marring his features. She didn't understand the look, didn't understand where the pain still racing up and down her spine came from. All she wanted to do was sleep, escape the agony that clawed at her back and her brain. Her eyelids felt like heavy weights as they slid closed again. "None of that. I told you. You must take some tea and broth. And you must face the storm head on."

She was barely able to stifle the groan that came when his hands took hold of her arms and, so terribly gently, eased her up into a sitting position. Somehow, he managed not only to turn her while raising her up, but he managed to bring the blankets with so that she was offered a modicum of modesty. Even though he'd made sure to take care in sitting her upright, her body was on fire and it was all she could do to hold on to the tears that sprang to her eyes. Her vision swam as the pain roared up her spine and ate her brain. She must have swayed in place, because the man who had helped her sit had an arm around her shoulders to keep her sitting. The other hand made sure the blankets stayed in place so that she remained covered.

As if she had any modesty left in her bones.

She reached for words to speak. Or strength to move. Or hope that her life wasn't over the moment the door slid open. But she found nothing. All she could do was clutch weakly at the arm that had the blanket pinned to her chest and fight the urge to pass out again. Shivers raced up and down her spine, though she wasn't sure if it was weakness or fever or something else entirely.

And then it didn't matter because the door was sliding open and the storm her companion, though she was sure he was as much guard as anything, had mentioned came into the room and everything she could have thought or felt was shoved violently behind a thick wall because it was the only way she'd get through the next few minutes.

~*~*~*~*~

His would be assassin was awake and sitting up when he entered his room in the tenshu. Masamune had his arms around the boy in order to help him remain in a sitting position. Or, should he say, Masamune had his arms around the girl, to keep her upright and to keep her dignity in tact. Now that the dirt had been washed away, the girl looked thin. Her skin was pale, despite the twin spots of color staining her cheeks. Sweat beaded her forehead, made the dark length of hair cling to her flesh. And her eyes, such an intriguing shade of purple, flashed with pain. "Are you ready to answer my questions, girl?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

The girl's gaze flicked to his face and he saw the same burning hatred in them that he'd seen twice before. Her lips pressed tight into a thin, flat line, and her jaw set. It was her way of telling him without words that she wasn't going to give him the pleasure of answering his questions.

"Who sent you to Azuchi to kill me?" he asked, ignoring her show of spine. He made a show of crossing his arms over his chest in order to look more intimidating. Her eyes shifted briefly, as if following the route his arms had taken, then they returned to his face and burned with stubbornness.

"Tell me your name," he instructed. "Boy." He put emphasis on the last word so that the girl knew that he was well aware of her deception. She only glared. He flicked his gaze to Masamune. The man was staring at him, expression carefully blank. Which meant he had opinions that he would share. And would not be welcomed. He gave his attention back to the girl. There were definitely more droplets of sweat on her brow than when he'd entered the room. And it looked as if she was shaking in Masamune's hold.

"Who wants me dead so desperately they were willing to send a scrawny girl masquerading as a boy to do the job? Tell me and your punishment will be lenient."

"You need to answer him, lass. You don't want to rile his anger," Masamune said softly. His words of warning saw the girl's jaw firming up in resolve. If she clenched it any tighter, she was going to break it.

"Go to hell," she managed to get out, though it sounded like it took effort. It looked like everything the girl did took more effort than she had to give. Nobunaga knew sickness when he saw it. The high color in her pale cheeks and the sweat on her brow spoke to fever. And he knew she had to be in pain. But stubbornness saw her pushing past common sense in order to show him she wasn't one to be frightened. Or some idiotic notion. He didn't claim to know the inner most workings of a woman's mind.

"Answer my questions and I will leave you to rest, girl," he vowed.

She stared at him with eyes that were flat and hard, obviously giving him her answer silently.

Irritation gnawed at him. He took several steps toward the girl. And she shrank back from him, despite the fact that there was nowhere she could go. She was caged within Masamune's arms, too weak to even sit up on her own. But she shrank back. Made herself smaller. As if she was trying to keep him from seeing her. Or striking her. His gaze shifted to Masamune again. The other man was staring at him resolutely, his hold on the girl almost protective.

The situation might have escalated had there not been a soft rap at the door. Then it slid open and one of the servants entered with a tray in hand. He could see tea and broth settled upon its surface, and the woman holding it looked worried. The woman cast her gaze his way before averting it quickly, then shifted her focus to the girl. "Tch. You're skin and bones, child. Did no one feed you? Not to worry. I'll have you right as rain in no time."

The woman's gaze moved to Masamune and stayed there a moment. Then she shifted her attention to him and frowned. "Away with you two. Can't you see the girl is frightened out of her mind? She needs the tender touch of a woman. Go. Go now and let me take care of the poor dear."

Nobunaga watched the serving woman settle the tray on the futon near the girl, then she took a seat next to her charge and gently pushed Masamune's arms away. The other man rose to his feet and moved to stand beside him. "Come, my lord. Let's let the women be."

It crossed Nobunaga's mind to argue, but one look at Masamune's face kept his words behind his teeth for the moment. He gave a nod of his head and fixed his stare on the girl's bent head. There was no way for her to know that he stared at her, but she tensed as if she knew he was. "This isn't over, girl. When you've rested and you're health has improved, I will ask my questions again. And I will not rest until I get my answers."

He strode from the room, Masamune following at his heels, without looking at the girl again. The serving woman was whispering to the girl softly, one hand holding her in an upright position while the other stroked her hair gently. It was an odd way to treat someone who had tried to kill him.

The two of them left the tenshu and made their way down the hall until they were a good distance from the door. Masamune stopped and leaned up against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Nobunaga a dark look. "Someone's abused that girl," he said darkly.

"So it would seem. That does not excuse her actions. She tied to kill me, after all," Nobunaga reminded him. "Don't let a pretty face blind you to the danger beneath the surface."

Masamune flashed him a look of annoyance. "You, of all people, should know that I am well aware of the events that have brought us to this moment in time. That doesn't change the fact that I don't think the girl wanted to kill you. Her reaction to your advance. Her lack of concern when you brought out the whip. I think someone abused her and, when her attempt failed, I think she welcomed death because it would set her free."

"Conjecture. We know nothing of the girl. Not even a name," Nobunaga replied steadily.

"We know she worked in the kitchens," Masamune told him. "One of the women who brought broth and tea said something about one of the boys from the kitchen having gone missing a week ago. Just about the time she made the attempt on your life."

Nobunaga considered that a moment. It was possible. It was also possible it meant nothing at all. "It could be nothing more than coincidence."

"It could be. But it could be a place to start. If we can unravel the mystery of this girl, perhaps we can unravel the mystery of her failed assassination attempt," Masamune said. "At the very least, we should have someone see if they can't discover any information that will help us sort things out."

Nobunaga drew a breath. There was logic in the suggestion. It would be prudent to make some discrete inquiries of the kitchen staff to see if anyone could tell them anything about the boy who had disappeared. He finally gave a nod of his head. "Very well. Select someone to talk to the kitchen staff. See if anyone can tell us anything about the boy. I will continue to seek answers from the girl."

"Ah. About that, my lord," Masamune said, his voice filled with hesitance. Nobunaga stared at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he had to say. "I think it would be wise if you tried to... befriend the girl. Make her see you as less of a threat and more of a safe port in the storm. Take away her reason to fear you and she might more easily open up to you."

He stared at the other man. "Befriend my would be murderer?" he asked.

"She's frightened. Not of you. Not of dying. But of something else entirely. If she wasn't, she would have folded already. If you could convince her that you mean her no harm, that you wish to help her..." Masamune's voice trailed off. He studied Nobunaga for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "She needs someone she can trust. Someone who will protect her."

"Your brain has gone to mush at the sight of a pretty face," Nobunaga said, snorting in derision.

"Perhaps she does have a pretty face. But she's a frightened young woman in a situation over her head. She's obviously been coerced into attempting your murder. She needs a friend more than she needs someone badgering her. She's proven that she isn't going to give you the answers you seek when you demand them from her. Don't forget that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

Nobunaga considered that. It was true that it was easier to achieve a goal with kindness than with force. But he wasn't sure he was the one to offer the girl kindness. He was not a kind man. He was hard and deadly, the Devil King of the Sixth Heaven. He wasn't sure he know how to be kind. "You really think I could win the girl to my side?" he asked.

"I do," Masamune informed him. "She needs tenderness, not terror."

"You do remember to whom it is you speak?" Nobunaga asked with a soft huff of self-deprecating laughter.

"You are capable of great kindness, Nobunaga. I've seen it," Masamune assured him. Nobunaga wasn't sure about that. Not at all.

"If you think she needs a friend so badly, why not do it yourself?" he asked, studying the other man intently. Masamune made no attempt to hide his love of the ladies. Surely the girl would be an easy conquest for him. "Don't tell me you think of her more as a daughter than a lover?"

"I think she's frightened and doesn't know who to turn to. I also think you're the lord of Azuchi Castle and the girl's life is in your hands and your hands alone. If I know this to be true, don't think the girl doesn't know it. If she was part of the kitchen staff for any length of time, she's more than well aware that this is your castle and you its lord. She knows that you can end her life with a word. Or spare it with yet another."

"I could give the girl to you," Nobunaga suggested.

"You could. But she would likely believe it was merely a ploy on your part. That you want me to gather your information for you," Masamune replied steadily. "And the girl is, as far as I can tell, not even the slightest bit interested in me."

There was another meaning layered under his words, one that prompted Nobunaga to lift a brow at him. "And you're saying she's interested in me?"

"I am. She likely doesn't see it that way. But I watched how she looked at you. I'd wager money she finds you attractive. And I'd be surprised if she didn't soften toward you with the right application of pressure."

"Are you suggesting I woo the girl?" he asked, staring in disbelief at Masamune.

"To be perfectly honest. Yes. I am. Use the girl's own natural curiosity to your advantage. Show her you can be kind and I promise you'll get the answers you seek," Masamune assured him.

Nobunaga fell silent, giving consideration to Masamune's words. Was it possible? Could he woo the girl? Could he bring her to his side and pry her secrets from her? Could he do something so unusual as woo a woman in order to win a battle? Because this was a battle. It was unlike any battle he'd ever fought before, but it was still a battle. And a good leader needed a good strategy in order to win the battles. Because winning battles won the war. And he planned on winning this war, just as he planned on winning the war that would put all of Japan into his hands.

He wasn't uneducated in the ways of women. He'd had his fair share over the years. Surely he could woo one single girl. Surely he could woo the answers he sought right out of her head. All it would take was a few soft touches and gentle kisses. Perhaps a few expensive gifts. Women loved expensive gifts.

He was still deep in thought when the door to the tenshu slid open and the serving woman stepped out into the hall. She had the tray in hand and there was a faintly worried look on her face. She came up the hall toward them, stopping before him. "Poor thing is so frightened and alone. Please, my lord," the woman begged. He thought she'd have her hands curled into his kimono if they'd been free. "She's just a poor girl. Please, my lord, be lenient with her."

He might have asked the serving woman if the girl had told him anything, but the woman dissolved into tears and hurried away before he could give voice to his questions. He turned a look on Masamune, who simply stared at him. As if waiting for him to come to the right conclusion. Nobunaga bit off a sigh and started up the hall. He heard Masamune fall into step behind him.

Meddling busybody.

The door slid open easily, allowing him entrance to his room. Masamune followed behind him, making sure to close the door behind him. The girl was once more on her stomach, face turned toward the spot where he stood studying her. She was an attractive girl. Long, glossy hair spilled across the pillow behind her. There were no blemishes to her pale skin save those he'd given her himself. The serving woman had left the girl's back exposed, though the blankets had been pulled up on either side of her to preserve her modesty. Despite that, Nobunaga knew she was nicely formed, with pert breasts that looked like they would fit his hands perfectly.

There were worse things in the world than wooing the girl to his side. Perhaps the reason he'd spared the girl's life was because it had been meant to be.

It had been said that Fate was a cruel mistress. Nobunaga Oda didn't believe in Fate. Not as such. He believed one made their own Fate. And that was what he'd been doing for most of his life. Forging his own Fate, allowing nothing and no one to stand in his way.

He felt that perhaps Fate had put this girl in his castle for a reason, that Fate had brought her to him in order to help him achieve his own Fate. If this was the case, who was he to ignore Fate?

The girl was still awake, studying him with eyes that were filled with fever and sleep. She wouldn't remain awake for much longer. He needed to act fast. "I've have come to a decision about you, girl," he said, looming over her. She stirred a bit, tried to lift her head so she could see him better. Nobunaga offered the girl a smile as he squatted down so that she could see his face. "I will spare your life, girl. More than that, I will make you my concubine. When you recover from your wounds and the fever is gone, we will share a bed."

The girl frowned at him briefly before she lost the fight and slipped back into sleep. When he rose, Masamune was staring at him. "Your concubine, my lord?" he asked, words strained.

"Its as you suggested," Nobunaga replied reasonably.

"Idiot," Masamune said, then turned and left the room.

What? What had he done?