Old Blood

Chancellor Ashiwara considered himself a kind man. A decent man. A man of principal and character. And while he fully applauded Akira-sama for his attention to his civic duty, the fact remained that an urchin boy was no fit companion for a prince.



Akira-sama was looking regal, as usual, his black hair neat and straight, falling to just below his chin. His yukata was raw black silk, patterned with brocade tigers whose eyes were the exact same turquoise as the Prince’s own. He was every inch his father’s son, and even at such a tender age one could see the nobility of his heritage and the strength of his intelligence.



His...associate, however, wore a misshaped t-shirt three sizes too big for him, a pair of white shorts that, frankly, had seen better days, and blue ninja footwear that did nothing for his posture. His hair was also black, but compared to Akira-sama’s neat and orderly coif, this child had a spiky, tousled hair, much of which stood straight up, of a matte black that absorbed the light.



He looked serious and cold, utterly unappreciative of the singular honor that was being bestowed upon his patently unworthy head. Well, if he believed he was going to take advantage of Akira-sama’s royal graciousness for long, he would simply have to reconsider.



“Akira-sama,”Ashiwara said, moving forward at a brisk pace. The prince stopped talking animatedly to the boy next to him and whirled around.



“Chancellor!” He exclaimed, grasping the unkempt boy’s hand and dragging him toward the Chancellor. “Come and meet Sasuke-kun!” His tiny face was alight with happiness and Ashiwara felt a quiver of doubt at being the one to take that look away. But it was ultimately for the Prince’s own good, so he hardened his heart and continued.



“Akira-sama, come away from here at once.” The chancellor ignored the object of his objection and reached out to grasp the young boy’s arm to guide him gently but firmly away. “It is not right that you keep company with a commoner, especially...”



Especially one with eyes like night falling and speed like winter wind; the Chancellor didn’t even see him move. Especially one with the tensile strength of spring steel in the small, deceptively delicate fingers that wrapped around the Chancellor’s wrist.



The boy looked up at him, bruised-black eyes unblinking. When he spoke, his voice sounded like rusted iron.



“Don’t touch Akira-sama.”



Ashiwara sucked in a breath he hoped sounded less terrified than it was. “Akira-sama! Go, quickly! Run! The boy’s mad! Akira-sama!”



But Akira-sama’s smile never wavered. If anything, it became wider. “It’s all right, Sasuke-kun. The Chancellor won’t hurt me.”



The madman grunted in a sort of mad way and pivoted on his heel, drawing a kunai from...somewhere, and opening his stance so that he was now between Akira-sama and both branches of the hallway. His eyes flickered to the right and the Chancellor risked a look over.



The Mejin was standing there, tall and even more regal than his son.



Thank the gods. Salvation.



“Touya-sama, quickly! The boy’s run mad.”



The prince touched Sasuke lightly on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Sasuke-kun.” He said again, brightly. “It’s my Papa. My Papa’s here.”