While Beauty Sleeps (Once Upon a Harem Book 7) Read online

  Fuyumi lifted her eyebrow before trailing her gaze around the room, taking in my friends’ similar postures. “I feel good about this.” She leaned over and slapped my back, surprising me with her strength. “For the first time, I’ve got some hope.”

  My gaze drifted over my friends, not missing the way Goro’s face paled or Reiji swallowed thickly. The knot in my stomach grew. We’d undertaken an enormous challenge, and none of us were sure if we were ready to live with the consequences.

  If we weren’t ready to fall in love, we were doomed to fail. We had to be committed or else we wouldn’t be the only ones who were hurt.

  But I was getting ahead of myself. “I’d like to meet Kumiko. Do you think it’s too late?” I glanced at my watch.

  “I’ll ask her,” Miori said and left.

  Fuyumi and Aoi led us from the dining room into the same room we’d piled into earlier. The lights from the city illuminated the sky, turning it a deep purple. White lights were strung around the cherry trees. I stared at the scene, but didn’t really take it all in. I thought about the girl upstairs, and feared that the words I struggled to find would abandon me altogether when I met her.

  “Dai?” Miori had crept silently into the room. “Follow me.”

  Nerves strung tight, I ignored the gazes I felt on me and followed Miori upstairs. She went up two flights of stairs, past the level where my friends and I were staying to the third floor. Given how low the ceilings were in my room, I was surprised by the spaciousness of this level.

  Miori brought me into a study. “Wait here,” she said. She gave me a quick smile and left.

  Turning slowly, I examined my surroundings. Bookshelves stuffed full of hardbacks lined one wall, while a massive, garish, gilded mirror took up the other. There was a couch in the center of the room, and off to the side, an upright piano.

  Making my way to the piano, I pushed aside the bench with my foot to stand in front of it. I pressed the keys lightly so the hammers would barely thump the strings. Fingers spread, I struck a chord before adding my left hand.

  “Do you play?”

  I whirled around at the sound of the voice, expecting to see someone behind me, but the room was empty.

  Right.

  “No,” I answered. “Yes. Sort of.”

  A giggle erupted from the intercom. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I play,” I explained, walking to the mirror around which Kumiko’s voice seemed to emanate. “Not well. I taught myself.”

  “I taught myself, too,” she said. “My name is Kumiko. It’s nice to meet you.”

  I bowed. “Dai,” I said. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

  “Thank you for visiting,” she said and then was silent. This had been my fear—extended silences.

  “This is always the worst part,” Kumiko said quietly. Her voice was soft. “I never know what to say.”

  I smiled at her, voicing my same fear. “Neither do I, I’m afraid.”

  She was silent and I began to wonder if she was still on the other side of the mirror. I crept closer. Two sconces threw shadows on either side of the mirror. Even when I got my face close, I couldn’t see anything on the other side.

  When she didn’t say anything else, I turned to leave, but her voice called out, “Wait!” And then she began to play. It was a simple piano piece. The one everyone learned to play whether they took lessons or not. It required two people.

  I had played it with my friends sitting by my side, one of us playing the higher set of keys, and the other the lower.

  The part she played was on the lower set of keys. She went through it once, and when she started again, I realized she was waiting for me to join in.

  Hurrying to the piano, I listened for a moment to determine in which key she played and then I began. We went through the whole song once, and then she began to add flourishes and embellishments. Laughing, I added my own, trying to keep up with her. When she hit the wrong note, she stopped and I pulled my hands onto my lap, waiting for her to continue.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I have no one to play with.”

  She meant music, but the image that appeared in my mind wasn’t of the piano, but of a little girl, left alone in her room to entertain herself.

  “I don’t either,” I admitted. “And my piano is out of tune. This one isn’t.” I winced. My words ran through my head again; I sounded stupid.

  “I could teach you how to tune it yourself,” Kumiko offered. “That one is tuned by professionals, but I tune my own. I could get another set of tools.”

  I found myself nodding. “Okay.”

  “Good.” Kumiko sighed. “You’re staying here, right?”

  “Yes. Downstairs.” My mind went blank again. “Your house is big.” Your house is big?

  “You should go outside tomorrow.” Kumiko didn’t remark on my stupidity. “The grounds are pretty big, too. The room where you waited today only shows half the park. It’s private and there’s another, larger orchard once you pass the evergreens. Do you like the outside?” she asked, and then groaned. “I mean…what sorts of things…” She trailed off.

  “I like fishing and hiking,” I said, stepping into the void her silence left. “I like photography.”

  “Did you bring your camera?” she asked, and I shook my head. There wouldn’t be time to take pictures when I was supposed to be courting her. Or whatever it was I was supposed to do.

  “The bookshelf behind you,” she said and I turned, walking over the shelves I’d seen as soon as I came in. “Top left hand corner. There’s a small, paperback book there. It’s pink.”

  It stood out from the rest of the hardcovers and I pulled it out. The cover was pink because a photograph of cherry trees wrapped around it. I fanned it open, glancing at the pictures inside before turning it over again. “I don’t recognize this photographer’s name.”

  “He’s not very well known. I found him online. Actually, I follow him online, but he agreed to make a book for me.” She laughed, but it was a little forced. “Benefits of being a princess.”

  “You should use the few advantages you have,” I said and dropped my head. Goro had nothing to worry about. By the time I was finished speaking, Kumiko would never want to talk to me again.

  Instead of directing me to the door, she burst out laughing. This sound was different from her giggle. I imagined she’d be doubled over. Her breath hissed and she wheezed before she began to cough. “I know, right?” I wished I could see what she looked like when she laughed.

  There was a knock on the door and Miori poked her head in. She cocked her head to the side, listening to Kumiko and then giggled. “What’s the joke?”

  No answer came from the other side of the mirror, so I answered for her. “We were just discussing the benefits of being royal.”

  Miori frowned. “That’s funny?”

  “You had to be here,” Kumiko finally answered. “What’s going on, Miori?”

  Her sister came into the room, leaving the door open. “It’s getting late. Aoi and Fuyumi have gone to bed. I wanted to check on you.”

  “I’m so sorry!” Kumiko said and I wondered if she was speaking to her sister or to me. “You traveled all day to get here, Dai. You should go to bed.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked.

  The laugh Kumiko gave was one I decided I didn’t like. There was a tinge of bitterness and mockery to it. “Not yet,” she said. “I’m enjoying your company too much.”

  It took me longer than it should have to make out her meaning. She fully expected I’d be on my way back to Iriogaki as soon as I caught sight of her.

  Ignoring the sentiment behind her statement, I gave a quick bow in the direction of the mirror. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kumiko. You can teach me how to tune a piano.” I held up the book I still held in my hand. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

  “No,” she answered. “You should look at the rest of his work online. I wonder if his style of photography will
appeal to you.”

  From my cursory perusal of the book, it would. When I took photos, it was in between classes or responsibilities. I didn’t have time to set up lighting or pose someone. If something struck me as beautiful, I captured the image, simple as that.

  “Goodnight, Kumiko,” I said as I straightened.

  “Goodnight, Dai,” she answered.

  Miori led me out of the room and closed the door behind me. “Will you stay?” she asked. “You’ll talk to her again tomorrow?”

  “I said I would,” I replied more gruffly than I intended. None of the sisters expected much of us, that was clear. I wondered what the other princes had done, and found myself wishing for a moment alone with them to set them straight. Even if I didn’t fall in love with Kumiko, I wouldn’t race out at the first glimpse of her face. I liked her, and maybe we’d only be friends, but I wouldn’t treat someone the way I thought she may have been treated in the past.

  The nervousness that had disappeared when I spoke to Kumiko returned, but thankfully, Miori didn’t attempt to talk to me. She simply led me to my room and then went on her way.

  As I got ready for bed, showering the sweat and stress off of my body, I thought about Kumiko and I made a promise to myself. No matter what she looked like, I’d treat her with respect and I wouldn’t run away. I wouldn’t.

  9

  Kumiko

  It was a good thing I didn’t have to worry about looking worse for being tired, because I didn’t sleep at all the night the princes arrived. When Dai left, my stomach was a jumbled mess and I was sweating I was so overwhelmed.

  I stripped out of my sweater and dress and jumped into the shower to scrub the stress of the day off of me.

  Tomorrow. In my mind, I jumped up and down in excitement. I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun with people who weren’t my sisters.

  The princes, Dai, Wataru, Goro, and Reiji, were really, really wonderful.

  And genuine.

  I liked how uncomfortable Dai had been; it set me at ease. Each one of them seemed just as nervous and awkward as I felt when I met someone for the first time. With these guys to compare the other princes to, I realized just how full of themselves the others were. The others had a confidence that made me feel less than. I already knew I was less than. I didn’t need reminders about it at every turn.

  I tossed and turned for most of the night, but in those times I did sleep, I had nightmares. Nightmares where I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn’t wake up or open my eyes. When I finally did awaken, I lay panting beneath my sheets.

  The dreams were a harbinger of what was coming if this didn’t work. If I turned twenty-one, the second, only slightly less diabolical, part of my curse snapped into place.

  Holding my hands up to the light, I studied my fingers. What would I prick my finger on that would put me to sleep for the rest of my life?

  My parents wouldn’t tell me, and my sisters were just as silent.

  A combination of inevitability and worry kept them silent. I was going to turn twenty-one and the odds of me finding true love—the odds of anyone finding true love—were pretty bad. So rather than freak me out, and cause me to develop a phobia of all things sharp, they decided to keep me in the dark.

  I had theories about what it would be, but I kept them to myself. They hadn’t confiscated my garden tools, so I was pretty sure my little nippers wouldn’t be what did me in.

  Curling onto my side, I watched my clock tick away the minutes. I didn’t have the benefit of a sunrise to tell me what time it was.

  And suddenly, that bothered me.

  Why shouldn’t I wake up the same way everyone else did?

  A memory prodded the back of my brain, but I ignored it. I had been younger, more careless, and more sensitive about my face back then. If someone saw me on my way to the orchard, then…

  What if they see you? That thought gave me pause. I wasn’t ready for the princes to see me yet.

  After dressing in jeans, a warm, knee-length coat that billowed when I twirled (and I twirled) and a hat, I was almost ready. In the dark recesses of my wardrobe was a collection of colorful scarves and I chose one to compliment my outfit, wrapping it around my face until only my eyes were visible.

  I wasn’t sure if my eyes would change, perhaps they’d merge so I was a cyclops, or bulge from my skull. Decision made, I found a pair of oversized sunglasses and shoved them onto my face before examining my reflection.

  No part of my face was visible. Why hadn’t I thought of this earlier?

  In that moment, I realized how shut off and depressed I’d become. I could have been spending years out in the world, but instead I’d chosen to hide away.

  Snorting, I recognized the irony in my mental statement. I was still hiding, but at least I was getting away from my room.

  My stomach roiled as I opened my door and crept through what Fuyumi had designated, “the viewing room,” to head downstairs. I met a servant carrying my breakfast on the stairs and she jumped. “Princess?”

  “Yes,” I said and my voice came out a squeak. “I mean, good morning. I’m going outside.”

  “Princess?” she repeated, face paling and I glanced down at myself. Had covering my face changed the curse? Did I have a tail? Or claws? I held my hands up and peered over my shoulder. I didn’t see anything, but that meant nothing.

  “Do I have hooves?” I asked her, and the pale was replaced with a deep red.

  “No, Your Highness.”

  “No claws? No tails?”

  “No,” she answered again and I clapped my hands in delight. Narrowing her eyes, she watched me closely before asking, “Should I let your sisters and parents know you’re leaving?”

  “I’m going to the orchard,” I said. “Not leaving the grounds.”

  The woman’s shoulders slumped in relief. “All right,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like me to bring you tea outside?”

  That would be lovely. I nodded happily and hurried past her. There were other servants up and busy and I waved at them before skipping into the back yard.

  Outside! I was outside!

  “Kumiko!”

  Mentally, I measured the distance between me and the door. I hadn’t made it very far.

  “Good morning, Mama.” Sighing, I turned to face the woman who had a sixth sense about me and my sisters.

  “What are you doing out here? Get back inside!” She took a step back when she saw how I was dressed, but then started forward again. “Hmm. You look normal.”

  Every muscle in my body twitched, but I forced myself not to roll my eyes. Except—she couldn’t see my eyes, so I gave into the impulse.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” she scolded. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I wanted some fresh air,” I answered. “And I thought I’d try this.” I gestured to my outfit, but the frown on her face only deepened.

  “Do you want someone to see you?” she asked and pointed to the house. “Get inside.”

  “Good morning,” a deep voice called out and we both froze. My mother and I stared at each other before reluctantly turning toward the house to see who was joining us.

  Wataru.

  And Reiji.

  The door opened and out came Goro, followed closely by Dai.

  The four of them stopped when they saw us. Reiji’s face was the easiest to read. His gaze darted between me and my mother, as his eyebrows drew together in confusion. They probably thought I was Fuyumi. Despite having the loudest personality, she was small, shorter than I was.

  “Kumiko?” Wataru asked. I was glad I was watching Reiji’s face, because I would have missed his smile otherwise. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone smile as quickly, and as joyfully, as Reiji.

  Was it for me?

  My hands fluttered awkwardly around my face as I straightened my scarf and made sure my glasses still covered my eyes.

  “Yes,” I answered. “It’s me.”

  Wataru hurried to us. “Y
ou came outside. I thought you didn’t leave your room!”

  “I don’t,” I replied. “Usually. But this morning, I wanted to see the sky.”

  Reiji, Goro, and Dai ambled toward us, taking time like they were approaching a wild animal. Glancing at my mother, her flushed face and narrowed eyes, I understood their trepidation.

  “I’m glad. I didn’t think—” Wataru glanced back at his friends.

  “We thought it would be much longer before we saw you,” Goro called out. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and strode toward us. “Good morning, Kumiko.” His cheeks flushed with a blush and he stared at his shoes after speaking.

  “Good morning, Goro,” I replied. “I’m happy this is working. The servant I met on the stairs assured me I didn’t have hooves, claws, or a tail.”

  “Kumiko!” my mother exclaimed, but my words did what I hoped. Goro laughed out loud.

  “No. You don’t seem to have any added appendages.” Goro chuckled.

  “Your Highness.” Two servants carrying trays laden with cups, pastries and a tea pot set their load down on a wrought-iron table before bowing quickly and leaving us.

  “Have you had breakfast?” I asked. “I was going to have my tea here.”

  The four princes eyed the spread, then each other. One by one, they nodded.

  “Ku-mi-ko.” My mother shouldn’t have been able to hiss the sounds of my name, but somehow, she managed it.

  “Do you want to have breakfast with us?” I asked her, fully expecting her to bow out.

  But she didn’t.

  “Yes,” she said. “I will.” And then under her breath muttered, “You need a chaperone.”

  She moved toward the table, and Dai quickly pulled her chair out for her. The seat was wet with dew, and he swiped at it with the sleeve of his coat.

  “Thank you,” she said as she sat.