fic: New World
Title: New World
AU: Beauty and the Beast
Wordcount: 18K
A/N: I realized I don't have this here and I need this here. It's for drive_a years ago. I just need to make sure I don't lose this.
Part I
After checking his room many times to make sure he hadn’t left anything, Kunimitsu made his way down the marble staircase and out of the Grand Foyer. His mother, Ayana Tezuka, Dowager Countess of Kestral, met him at the doorway and took his arm as they set out to the courtyard where two closed coaches, each pulled by a pair of horses, waited. “All set?” the Countess asked.
Kunimitsu nodded, his eyes fixed on a footman who had just lifted a box neatly labeled “History” off the ground. After a few steps, the footman stumbled on a stray pebble, and, if anyone were looking, one would have seen Kunimitsu’s eyes widen. Thankfully, another footman aided the first, saving the box from a surely disastrous fall, and the two loaded the box into the second carriage.
“What a tragedy if Kunimitsu lost his history books,” Hana, Kunimitsu’s eldest sister said dramatically as she stood abreast Reika, the younger one of her two sisters. The sisters exchanged mischievous glances, but eventually attempted at straight faces when their mother arched her brows at them.
Kunimitsu and the Countess stopped right next to the first coach, and the Countess, pushed by that motherly impulse, couldn’t help but make sure that her youngest child and only son looked nothing short of perfect. She fixed the lace of his shirt and the collar of his coat, and she brushed off lint that only she could see. “You look dashing, Kunimitsu,” Countess Ayana observed. “Certainly you’ll catch the eyes of the ladies in the University.” She beamed, her eyes glinting teasingly at her son.
“But Mama, he is going to Alcian University. Only men go there,” Hana reminded.
“Their sisters and cousins also come to visit,” Ayana replied happily.
Reika chortled, causing the Countess to smile widely but sharply at her. She coughed and said, “Well, Kunimitsu would sooner marry his books than any lady he meets. I wouldn’t be surprised if he scares or bores another lady off.”
Ayana turned inquiringly to Reika and asked, “What do you mean another lady?”
“Ah, Mama,” Hana said, “You remember Lady Yuki from the Mayday ball? She obviously fancied Kunimitsu.” She pressed her lips and shook her head disappointedly. “She realized that she couldn’t wait for him to take action so she approached him and tried to engage him into a conversation. Unfortunately, they were inside a library then so, well…” she heaved a sigh to show her dismay.
Amused, the Countess eyed her son curiously. Kunimitsu merely said, “I’ve heard of her. She doesn’t know how to count to a hundred.”
“Kunimitsu,” Hana started, “If you want to marry a woman who meets your expectations, you might as well wait till the King allows you to marry one of your books.”
“It is not my fault that women in this kingdom do not have any ambition other than marrying the most eligible bachelor in town,” Kunimitsu replied in a quiet voice.
Hana rolled her eyes. “Reika and I are not without ambition. We just don’t see why we should be stuck reading old, molding books when we could be building a fine family instead.”
Smiling at her children, Ayana said briefly, “Now, now.” As her daughters approached to embrace their brother, she craned her head to the sky and saw the dark clouds above. Lines of worry crossed her face. “It looks like rain, Kunimitsu,” she said as the sisters released Kunimitsu from what looked like an uncomfortable hug. “Are you sure you want to leave now?”
Kunimitsu likewise checked the sky and pursed his lips. “I can’t stay or I’ll miss the Welcome Assembly tomorrow.”
“Besides, Mama,” Reika piped, “you shouldn’t delay your son’s journey to great knowledge.” Her lips formed a half-joking, half-serious grin.
“Very well,” the Countess said. “Write me if there’s anything you need.” She tiptoed to give her son a kiss, which made him feel a bit disgruntled but not quite displeased. “I already wrote Mr. Shinwa to reserve a room for you tonight.”
Giving a last nod to his mother, Kunimitsu climbed into the coach and made himself comfortable on the cushioned seat. As the coach trotted off, from some distance, he heard one of his sisters yell, “Don’t study too much!” He smiled faintly at this, not quite taking the advice to heart. He then opened the box beside him (it was labeled “Novels”), and took a book from the top layer. He opened the book and spent the rest of the afternoon poring over it.
The anticipated rain started from mid-afternoon and the cloud continued to look more ominous as the day progressed. Even as they reached the Oleander Inn at dusk, Kunimitsu could hear the rain pitter-pattering angrily. Thus, cold and bedraggled, Kunimitsu couldn’t help feeling grateful that the coaches were finally being pulled to a stop inside inn’s stables.
Mr. Shinwa, the innkeeper, welcomed him with zeal - his mother, after all, was a regular patron because of her monthly travels to visit her family’s farm in the West. He led Kunimitsu to a room at the farthest end of the third floor, which was to Kunimitsu’s liking; here, he would be far from the noise of the other patrons who spent the night dancing and drinking.
The innkeeper inquired after his preferred meal, and promised to send a maid to prepare a warm bath for him. “Is there anything else, my lord?”
“Is there a nearby shop where I can buy ink and paper?” Kunimitsu asked, taking off his clothes and setting it neatly on a hanger.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Shinwa replied informatively. “It’s right across the corner of this street. But you can’t be thinking of going there now, sir? It’s still pouring.”
“I’ll ask for a meal when I return.”
“Very well, my lord.” Mr. Shinwa bowed politely and left the room.
In what felt like seconds later, a maid came knocking on his door and prepared the bath for him. Eager for warmth, Kunimitsu immersed himself in the lukewarm water and cleansed himself as thoroughly as he could. Then he changed into a clean set of shirt and trousers and trudged downstairs. He borrowed an umbrella from Mr. Shinwa and walked to the shop in rain.
The shop, named The Quill according to the piece of wood that hung just above the door, was empty save for the shopkeeper and another customer who was looking at a display of brushes on a glass cabinet. Kunimitsu approached the shopkeeper, asked for a quill and a piece of parchment, and wrote down what he wanted to buy - mostly bottles of ink (red, blue, black, green), eagle-feather quills (50 pieces) and a sheaf of parchment paper (letter size).
“Buying school supplies too?”
Kunimitsu looked up from his order sheet, surprised to see a pleasant face smiling cheerfully at him. The only other customer had approached him very quietly, looked over his shoulder to his list and was now waiting for an answer. He blinked, showing a faint annoyance. He never did like inquisitive strangers. Nonetheless, he nodded.
“You’re starting at Alcian, aren’t you?” the other person inquired, his blue eyes crinkled as he remained smiling.
Kunimitsu handed the list to the shopkeeper, who checked it once and set off to collect the items. Frowning, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry but how do you know?”
The stranger grinned. “It’s the closest University from here. It’s also the best, and you look like you want the best education,” he said matter-of-factly, still smiling as he studied Kunimitsu’s appearance. “And returning students order supplies by mail and usually leave them at the dormitory.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” Kunimitsu remarked dryly, a little miffed that a stranger could read him so accurately.
“I’m a new student myself and my father is a graduate of Alcian,” the stranger said. He held out a hand and said, “Syusuke Fuji, Marquis Alhandri.”
Raising a brow, Kunimitsu gave Syusuke a calculating gaze. As far as Kunimitsu has heard, Marquis Alhandri was a prince to his own right; after all, the title was old, illustrious and affluent (though not without blemish if Kunimitsu were to judge by what he had been hearing about the Duke Alhandri and his problems with his relatives). Indeed, the Marquis’ privileged status in society was evident in the way the he carried himself. There was a confident grace in the way he stood and a careless ease in the way he spoke that reflected the air of a real prince.
After a few seconds of silence, Kunimitsu took the offered hand and shook it briefly.“Kunimitsu Tezuka.”
“The Earl of Kestral,” said the Marquis thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with his fingers. “I’ve heard of you,” he added sedately.
Kunimitsu gazed at Syusuke steadily, waiting for the attack on the Tezuka family, which was now simply a noble name, deprived of the fortune that has long been corrupted by the early members of the family. Or perhaps, the Marquis would give some remark on how his mother, formerly Ayana Kirisaki - without title but definitely not without fortune - brought wealth to the Tezukas and saved them from bankruptcy and shame.
“You’re that Earl who published an essay on the history of education in the Kingdom, aren’t you?” Before Kunimitsu could even get over his shock, the Marquis spoke again, “I haven’t read it, but my sister has, and she says that you write like you’ve had years of university education.”
Not quite knowing how to react to this, Kunimitsu merely nodded and said, “It was for an essay contest.” He averted his attention to the glass case behind the counter and wished the Marquis would stop looking at him and talking to him. He never liked being scrutinized, and there was a constant studying penetration in the Marquis’ smiling gaze. It made him very conscious of himself and very aware of the Marquis. He also hated small talk, which was, in his opinion, a complete waste of time.
Fortunately for him, the shopkeeper arrived before the Marquis could decide what to talk about next. “Here are the brushes, paint and the canvas you asked for, my lord,” the shopkeeper said, bowing and giving a huge box to the Marquis, who paid for it. The Marquis then smiled at Kunimitsu, who had, despite himself, turned to the Marquis in wonder.
“I major in Classical Arts,” the Marquis explained, answering Kunimitsu’s unvoiced question. “Well, not yet. Father enlisted me for Economics, but I’m going to switch once I reach Alcian.” He dropped his voice. “Just don’t tell anyone.” He winked at Kunimitsu and nodded convivially. “Well, excuse me. My carriage is waiting. I’ll see you in Alcian, I suppose?”
Still a bit disconcerted by this exchange, Kunimitsu nodded blankly. When the Marquis had gone, Kunimitsu waited impatiently for his supplies, hoping that the thundering rain wouldn’t get worse before he reached the inn. When the shopkeeper emerged from the stockroom, he paid hurriedly for his things and trudged off as quickly as he could. He was at the doorstep of the Quill, silently cursing the strong rain while trying to open the umbrella with one hand and balancing the rest of his new purchases with the other, when a carriage door suddenly swung open in front of him. He looked up and saw the Marquis beaming at him.
“I didn’t see another carriage around so I thought you might have walked,” the Marquis said. He was slouched lazily on the seat as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Come in or your paper will get wet.”
Kunimitsu tried to calculate the smile, and he couldn’t for the life of him see anything hostile in it. Besides, the rain was terrible and he didn’t want his scrolls to get soaked. So he climbed up and murmured his thanks albeit sullenly. He took the seat beside the Marquis just so he could avoid the other’s eyes, but the Marquis kept watching him, an extremely pleased smile plastered on his face.
Kunimitsu shifted on his seat to face the window, but he met the Marquis’ eyes on the reflection.
*-*-*-*
Syusuke couldn’t help but smile to himself when he met the Earl’s eyes. There was something curiously amusing in the Earl’s seeming lack of reaction to Syusuke’s more than blatant observing gazes.
More importantly, though, at the back of his head, Syusuke had already drawn dozens of sketches of the Earl, painted them to perfection, held them on exhibit, auctioned a few and kept the rest (not to mention the best) for himself. Perhaps this was why the Earl drew him in: Syusuke found a perfect subject in the Earl. The Earl’s façade would be a mystery to many. It would be puzzling for people to see many pictures of what seemed like the same thing over and over and over again when he the artist knew the subtle differences in all the artworks, and Syusuke took great pleasure in puzzling everybody.
“You have a nice profile,” Syusuke suddenly said halfway through the rainy trip back to the inn. He saw lines form and disappear from the Earl’s forehead, and he couldn’t help grinning to himself. He leaned sideways toward the Earl and raised his left hand to trace a line from the middle of the Earl’s hairline, down his forehead, his nose and… he stopped when the Earl opened his eyes in alarm. Syusuke dropped his hand and nodded to himself convincingly, “You have a nice profile.”
The Earl furrowed his brows and Syusuke nearly laughed. He had a feeling the Earl thought him insane. Perhaps he was. Just a little, though.
“When an artist says ‘You have a nice profile,’” he started explaining, adapting the tone one of his governesses used whenever they entered a new topic in arithmetic (his worst subject, which was why he simply couldn’t take Economics), “It usually means ‘Will you be my subject?’”
“No.”
“What was that?” Syusuke leaned his head closer to the Earl, as if he hadn’t heard the first time.
“When a person says ‘No,’ he usually means ‘No.”
Syusuke blinked and threw his head back with a small laugh. “Artists don’t understand ‘No.’”
The Earl straightened his back and crossed his arms over his chest. Looking decidedly serious, he said, “The honor of adding a new word to your vocabulary is all mine.”
Syusuke arched a brow, not quite surprised but nonetheless amused by this display of a snappy sense of humor. He wondered though how the Earl could manage to deliver a witty remark without moving a muscle. It must hurt. “I might be hard to teach. I’ve always been told that I am stubborn,” he said contemplatively. When the Earl did not answer, Syusuke crossed his arms and leaned back on his seat. “Are you taking History?”
“No,” the Earl said curtly.
“What then?” Syusuke asked, meaning to entice the Earl into as much conversation as he could just so he could see the vestigial reactions on the Earl’s face.
“Political Science,” was the Earl’s short answer.
At that moment, the carriage was slowing down by the inn’s entrance. Syusuke caught the Earl release a sigh of what definitely sounded like relief, and he bit his lip to fight back a chuckle. The Earl glared at him and he only smiled innocently. When the carriage had come to a full stop and the door had been opened by a footman, the Earl instantly took his box of supplies and stepped out of the carriage. He nodded curtly to Syusuke and walked away.
Syusuke watched the Earl walk into the inn before leaving the carriage himself. He felt as if his smile had become a permanent fixture on his face. Oftentimes, he had to remind himself to smile, nod, smile again - as was proper (or so society dictated). But this time, he was sure he wasn’t forcing the smile.
As he walked into the inn’s small reception area, he met Mr. Shinwa who asked what he would have for supper. He had a sudden spark of a brilliant idea that must have lit his entire face judging by the curious look on the innkeeper’s face. “In what room is the Earl of Kestral staying?” When the innkeeper had given him an answer, he gave his orders to Mr. Shinwa and added, “Bring them all to the Earl’s room. Thank you.”
Leaving the innkeeper very puzzled, Syusuke went to his room for a change of clothes. As he paced the room, pulling up pants, putting on a shirt and tying his shoelaces, he couldn’t help but beam proudly to himself.
As soon as he had checked his reflection on the full-body mirror attached to the wall of his room and concluded that he looked more than presentable, Syusuke began walking to the other end of the hall. The carpeted hallway was getting remarkably quieter and quieter as he walked away from his room. By the time he reached the wooden door that had ‘306’ embossed on a bronze plaque, he could no longer hear the clapping and the yelling and the music from the dining area. Without even knocking, he reached for the brass knob, turned it and pushed the door open.
Right across the room, standing before a small, round dining table, the Earl was telling a maid, “I didn’t ask for all of these.”
“But sir - “
“I asked for them,” Syusuke interrupted helpfully, taking a few steps toward the table. The lines of apprehension disappeared from the maid’s face. “Thank you for bringing them here,” he said, cheerfully addressing the maid. The maid in turn bobbed into a hasty curtsy and left the room with an empty trolley of food.
Looking extremely vexed and annoyed, the Earl scowled at Syusuke and said, “You have your own room.”
“I do,” Syusuke replied, pulling a chair standing before the table and settling comfortably on it. He crossed his legs and looked around him as if every inch of the room - the walls, the cracks, the draperies, the carpet - interested him. “I just thought it might be pretty quiet and lonesome in this room. You can’t possibly enjoy your meal when your room’s like that, can you?”
“Fortunately,” the Earl said gruffly, still standing and fixing Syusuke a steady gaze, “I can.”
Acting as if he hadn’t heard and as if he couldn’t see the Earl glowering at him, Syusuke reached for a red bottle of strawberry wine. “You drink?” he said, pouring a generous volume of the liquor into a crystal goblet. Perhaps the Earl had gotten tired of staring or perhaps he realized that he couldn’t drive Syusuke away by staring so he gave Syusuke a quick nod and took the chair across the table from Syusuke. Pleased with himself, Syusuke poured wine into another goblet and passed it to the Earl who drank the contents in one swig.
A little surprised and somewhat impressed, Syusuke followed the Earl’s lead and drank his wine in one gulp. “Steak?” he asked cheerfully, indicating the generous slabs of grilled steak on a silver platter at the center of the table. Without a word, as if he was already learning that arguing with Syusuke would bring more harm than good, the Earl helped himself to steak and some carrots and corn. Then he started eating.
Syusuke likewise got some steak. But instead of eating, he leaned back and watched the Earl eat. After a couple of minutes, the Earl stopped and frowned, asking, “Did you put anything on my steak?”
Blinking, Syusuke realized he hadn’t touched his food at all and he was biting his lower lip while watching the Earl. He grinned and said, “You look amazing even when you’re eating.”
The Earl pressed his lips perhaps torn between annoyance at Syusuke who just barged into his room and a little wonder at this person who just gave him a compliment. “What does that mean now?” The Earl asked shortly.
Syusuke smiled. “I still want to paint you,” he said frankly. He took his fork and knife and attempted to eat. But after a while of silence save for the sound of clanking metal against metal, he asked, “How many ladies’ hearts have you broken?” When the Earl didn’t answer, Syusuke said, “A lot, I suppose.”
“Don’t you have to leave early tomorrow?” The Earl suddenly asked a little after they had both finished their steaks. He didn’t even bother to make an effort to conceal the fact that he wanted to rid his room of Syusuke.
“Mm?”
The Earl took a sip of water. “You have to change your registration, haven’t you?” he asked, smacking his lips. “You’re supposed to do that before the assembly.”
Syusuke narrowed his eyes in calculation. “Well, I do know where I am not wanted,” he said tragically. He caught the Earl roll his eyes, and Syusuke grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. And I’ll just ask a maid to clean this up,” he said, rising from his seat. “Good night.”
Though he had neither the intention to sleep nor to get ready for an early departure from the inn, Syusuke changed into sleeping clothes and lay in bed once he was in his own bedchamber. There he stayed staring at the white canopy of the oval bed, his head racing with thoughts of the Earl, the many portraits he could paint with the Earl as subject. Feeling restless, he rose from bed and from the carpeted floor he picked up his sketch pad and his pencil.
Part II
“Marquis Alhandri has just been made Duke,” Shuichiro said, pointing at the headline of the Gazette. He hastily shoved some of Kunimitsu’s books to one side of the table, causing the Earl to sigh exasperatedly, and he put the broadsheet on top of the table and on top of Kunimitsu’s homework. “It says here ‘Former Marquis Alhandri, Syusuke Fuji has been named Duke Alhandri on the fifth day of November… The event followed the tragic deaths of the Duke, Duchess and their two children Lady Yumiko Fuji and Lord Yuuta Fuji in an accident at the bridge of Lahendra.”
Kunimitsu looked at the Gazette. Didn’t he just see the Duke of Alhandri (then still Marquis Alhandri) a couple of weeks ago? But then again, Syusuke hadn’t been showing up for two weeks now, which Kunimitsu admittedly found odd since Syusuke had been popping out of nowhere nearly every day since they first met in the Oleander Inn. He didn’t exactly miss Syusuke, but he did wonder whether or not Syusuke had finally given up trying to convince him to be a subject in a painting, and whether or not Syusuke had decided to pursue someone else. Since Kunimitsu thought either case was entirely convenient, he had long decided to stop wondering what happened to Syusuke.
“It says here he won’t be coming back to Alcian any time soon,” Shuichiro added, finally folding the Gazette and setting it aside. “He must feel terrible,” he said, looking genuinely worried.
Kunimitsu pulled a book from the pile on the table. “The family died in an accident?” He appeared nonchalant as he asked.
“That’s what the news says,” Shuchiro said. They both went quiet and decided not to say what they thought. The former Duke of Alhandri had long been involved in some form of family quarrel. Some said he oppressed the workers of his business. Some said he extorted his tenants. Of course he had the rich relatives who wanted him killed to get the Dukedom. In other words, a lot of people could have planned his death and made it look like an accident. The police, of course, wouldn’t say anything of the crime especially if other rich people were involved and were being investigated.
Pushing the unpleasant thought off his mind, Kunimitsu opened the book and said, “Get back to work. We need to finish this essay tonight.”
*-*-*-*
His seemingly eternal smile gone, his lips forming a cold line, Syusuke stared blankly at the long report in his hands. His eyes were glassy and emotionless. When he spoke, his voice was controlled. But it was hollow and cool, like he wasn’t feeling anything, like his soul was empty and cold. “Mr. Toyama,” he said, calling the family butler. “From now on, let no one enter the house. Fire the staff. Only you and Mrs. Inoue and your families are allowed to work in the manor. Fire the family accountant. Get a new one every two months. Don’t let anyone stay long enough to betray us. All business transactions will have to be approved by me.”
“But, sir, that’s a lot of work. If we’ll just select the trustworthy staff -“
Syusuke folded his hands together and turned his glazed eyes at the butler. “You, Mrs. Inoue and Eiji are only staying here because you have a bond with my family.” He let his words linger and he smiled poisonously, his eyes emotionless.
The butler’s eyes widened. He was clearly terrified at this sudden change in the young master’s demeanor. He wondered what the report contained that it turned the usually light-hearted Duke into a cold, unfeeling master. All the same, he bowed and left the room to talk to Mrs. Inoue, the head cook.
Inside the parlor, Syusuke got up and strolled toward the fireplace. With his back facing the sheriff, his eyes fixed on the family portrait on the wall above the fireplace, he said, “Keep this quiet. Tell everyone it’s an accident.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” the sheriff said.
“You may leave.”
“Good night, Your Grace,” the sheriff said.
When Syusuke heard the door close, he rang the bell hanging near the fireplace. Nearly at once, Mr. Toyama was beside him. “Your Grace?”
“Take the portrait down. Take everything I painted down. Burn them. Sell them. Throw them away. I don’t want to see them again.”
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