“Back off. That’s Miss Shoko’s new bodyguard.”
Fists clenched and ready for a brawl, she was confronted by a white shirt with a metal ladle in his hand. One of the guys who had been standing guard for Naiki in his study the day before.
“Listen up, Yoriko Shindo. You can’t come waltzing in here unannounced. We’ve got a front door for a reason. Use it.”
All the other white shirts turned to the one with the ladle, apparently their leader.
“Try waking up a little earlier. Starting today, you’re bringing Miss Shoko her breakfast. Half past seven. On the dot.”
News to her. She checked the clock on the far wall. It was a little after seven twenty.
“Fine. Can I have something to eat first, though? I’m so hungry I could die.”
“Save it. Here, go bring this to the princess. Now.”
He handed her a silver platter. White teapot, small plate with a single piece of very, very thin toast, a ramekin of jam, a small glass bowl holding three slices of fruit. The sort of things you might feed to a darling canary. Yet in her eyes, sharpened by hunger, it was a feast.
“Once I’m back, I get to eat, too, right?”
“All right, go on, get moving.”
The man with the ladle chased her away. No other choice, she headed back to the main house carrying the silver platter.
The quiet hallway was as eerie as before. Shindo set the platter down in front of Shoko’s room. She strained her ears, but she heard nothing, so she knocked twice on the fusuma.
“Time for breakfast.”
No answer. The smell of toasted white bread filled her nose. She could have packed the whole slice, chewed, behind her molars. Barely a morsel, though at this point, anything would do. She could have sucked it off the platter. Curbing the impulse, she knocked again.
“Breakfast.”
No answer. Must be sleeping. Unsure if this was out of bounds, she slid open the door.
“Oh.”
Shindo was stunned to find Shoko awake and fully dressed, sitting at a table on the floor. Like a mannequin. She wore a blouse and skirt, just like the day before, and her hair was pinned up neatly. Her room was organized yet lacked even the slightest decoration. Not a single photograph, a single flower. The room was somehow even plainer than the storage room where she had slept.
“Three minutes early. Out.”
Shoko dismissed her without so much as a glance.
“Get out.”
Her voice was quiet but unwavering. For a girl her age, she sure was comfortable with giving orders.
Shindo found this more perplexing than anything. Behaving as instructed, she stepped out with the tray and shut the fusuma behind her. Inside her head, she counted out three minutes on the dot, then knocked again and slid open the door.
Shoko was sitting in the same position at the table.
“Breakfast,” Shindo said.
She set the platter on the table. The princess didn’t even look at what was on the tray.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Cool, mind if I eat it, then?”
Shoko opened her eyes wide with shock but regained her composure.
“Go for it.”
It took Shindo less than a minute to devour everything. As she chugged down the hot black tea, Shoko watched her, openly repulsed.
“Your face is a mess . . . it’s disgusting.”
The princess looked askance at Shindo, who was not about to argue with the first part. Her face was a mess indeed. Blood had soaked through the bandages and gauze. What little skin that could be seen was discolored from internal bleeding.
Shoko elaborated.
“Don’t think that I’m the least bit happy you’re the one who’s taking care of me. You make me sick.”
“Look, I’m not here because I want to be, okay? I have no choice.”
The princess raised her impeccably trimmed eyebrows.
“Did no one ever teach you any manners?”
In response to this frank display of disgust, Shindo let out a little burp.
