NARUTO: Madasaku - Untitled WIP (Secret Royalty AU) [Part Four]

[moor]

 Content Warning: Allusions to A/B/O

Part One - The Senju and the Uchiha

Part Two - The Battle [first battle]

Part Three - The Battle [continued]

 

 

Part Four - The Secret

• Gorgeous fanart by tumblr users sarcastic-mommy and sayurinomoe!

The Secret:

Madara heard Hashirama, as loud and gregarious as ever, make his way down the halls of his castle, greeting each and every servant by name along the way. His heart sinking, Madara inhaled slowly through his nose and rose to greet his best friend as he entered his private sitting room.

“Madara!” cheered Hashirama, lifting an arm as he smiled widely.

“Hashirama,” greeted Madara with a nod.

Hashirama’s hearty slap across Madara’s back was stronger than it used to be; as it had been for months now, since that day, post-battle. Madara knew why. He never complained. He deserved it.

They took their seats beside each other, in plush, leather padded armchairs. Madara sat tall while Hashirama leaned back, relaxing.

“You mentioned you had business?” said Madara.

The King nodded to Misao who closed the door, ensuring the men would have privacy.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that we are expecting many new families and additions to families soon,” said Hashirama, forgoing his usual, casual social warmup and small talk. He shifted, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He was serious, then.

Madara nodded.

“We’ve been training more midwives, but we are still expecting a significant baby boom that will require support, medically. Especially as our top healers left Konoha.”

A cut. Madara ignored it.

“Summon them back,” said Madara, unphased. “Medical support for Konoha rests solely in the Senju clan’s jurisdiction. Why have you come to me?”

“I need you to recall the healers who retired from service to the crown,” said Hashirama, still smiling. “If they can handle the Uchiha soldiers’ families, then we have a hope of meeting the needs of the rest of Konoha.”

“A hope?” questioned Madara, his expression neutral.

“Frankly, Madara, with our top healers missing, we are not as strong as we should be going into a baby boom,” admitted Hashirama. “For regular births we will be fine, but for anyone with a defect or a difficult labour, complications, or who is differently abled, we need not only more hands, we need experienced hands.” Hashirama’s smile faded, and he spoke very seriously. “We’ll also need more support after, to support those families.”

Madara forced his breathing to stabilize, even as the tension in his hands thrummed with protectiveness.

“We have made provisions for the families affected by new blessings,” said Madara evenly. “Medical expenses will be covered by the crown, education and childcare will be provided free of charge. Two of my nephews will be in charge of gathering the names of newborn children for the benefit, to ensure that no one is left burdened beyond their means. We have no census, so they are creating a Birth Registry, to ensure that no child or family is left destitute.” Something pulled at Madara then, something tiny and tenuous, but still present. Hope. “We will provide the list to the Senju, to help gauge numbers of potential clients so you can judge what services will be required, and when.”

“That helps us plan, but only after the births have happened,” said Hashirama. His tone remained jovial, though his face had hardened along his jawline and brows. “We must be looking after these women, our most vulnerable, while they are expecting, too.”

Another cut.

Taking a long, slow breath, Madara.

“You want to focus on prevention, on pre-maternal care, to reduce the number of potential complications,” said Madara in understanding.

“We must,” said Hashirama firmly, all traces of warm familiarity gone. “Madara, we don’t have our top three healers. They won’t return until the spring, at the earliest. Before then, we’re going to lose women and children. The euphoria of a battle won will be crowned by a loss of our most important citizens 10 months later. We need as many hands as we can, as early as we can, to help them now. Losing some… will be inevitable,” admitted Hashirama sadly, and Madara saw the grief in his friend’s eyes. Hashirama had lost children before. It had nearly torn the great Senju apart. “We need to protect them, Madara,” he said, voice soft and hard.

A muscle ticked in Madara’s jaw. 

“Set up stations, clinics, if you can, around Konoha. Have at least one senior healer at each one, and begin offering care in the locations these families and women live,” said Madara. 

“And the healers?” asked Hashirama.

“I will mandate that all able-bodied healers return to duty for five years of service, to retain their pensions… and earn an additional stipend,” said Madara. “I leave it to you to advise me if some of those healers should not be re-employed,” added Madara. 

“Thank you,” said Hashirama. “How soon can you send the request?”

“I expect pushback, but will send it out within the next three days. Does that give you enough time to organize community health clinics around Konoha?” asked Madara. “And to recall your best healers?”

The way Hashirama stilled, his tongue at the edge of his lips, had Madara narrowing his eyes with suspicion.

“I can recall them,” said Hashirama slowly. “But it may take some time to locate them. And then more time for them to return. If they obey at all. Tsunade in particular will pursue knowledge with no concept of time, only of returning more skilled, more knowledgeable about medicine. Her travels have often taken her away for months, even years. These excursions have always been to Konoha’s benefit.”

The fingers of Madara’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair, and the pain of it pressing against his palms reminded him to tread carefully.

“Are they citizens of Konoha?” the King asked Hashirama softly.

“You dare ask that, after the battle?” murmured Hashirama dangerously, his nostrils flaring with anger, his voice low and challenging. 

Another cut. 

Madara’s eyes narrowed.

‘After the battle’ had an extended meaning between them. It meant the turning point of the battle, ushered in by the Senju who risked her life to trap the enemy and who fought to her last breath. It meant the trust the Senju put in the Uchiha, the Crown, to protect one of their own while entrusted to their care while at her most vulnerable. It meant the obscene way the Crown had taken advantage of that trust, when she was rendered vulnerable by her own service to the King… in so many ways.

“I expect every citizen who receives aid from Konoha to be a contributing member of its society to the best of their abilities,” said Madara calmly. “And to receive the new maternity and childcare benefits, their name must be on the Registry. I expect the Senju to update that list accordingly and provide those updates to the Crown.”

Directly to Madara’s nephews.

Which meant directly to the King.

The Adam's apple in Hashirama’s throat bobbed as a muscle ticked in his hard jaw.

“Let me know when you hear from them,” said Madara, leaning to the side to rest his elbow on the armrest of his chair. He propped his chin in his palm, adding, too casually, “As soon as possible.”

Then, to make it very clear, he held Hashirama’s cold, hard glare as he continued his order.

“Their wellbeing is of utmost importance.”

He left out who it was important to.

When Izuna saw Hashirama storm from Madara’s private office a few minutes later, after his sparring practice, his inky brows furrowed with suspicion. Still in his practice armour with his helmet under his arm, he waited a moment before he approached the door, curious. Shifting his helmet, Izuna wiped the sweat from his brow before lifting his hand to knock on the doorframe.

His arm froze, however, as he peered around the doorway and saw his older brother slumped over at the window, his hands gripped the stained wood window frame, unmoving. His broad shoulders, the shoulders Izuna remembered admiring for being so strong all their lives, the shoulders that supported their clan and kingdom, were rounded. His normally wild hair lay lax around his frame as his bowed head rested against the glass, his eyes closed and somehow older. For the first time in ages, Madara looked lost.

Closing his lips on the words he’d been about to speak, Izuna’s smile faded, his fingers curling in on themselves as he withdrew, leaving his brother be.

The meeting with Hashirama had split the wound in his brother wider.

So Madara hasn’t confided in Hashirama yet what really happened That Night, thought Izuna sadly as he withdrew to his rooms to bathe and change.

With a low exhale as a servant adjusted his robe, Izuna’s eyes flickered to the side, catching another attendant’s, Nanao’s, gentle, intelligent eyes. When the dressing assistant turned away for a moment, he tucked a paper in Nanao’s hand and sent word to the Underground. It was time to meet.

***

Three seasons after the battle, Madara woke in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat. His long hair was tangled and plastered to his slick skin. His body was racked with pain that overtook him in waves, each one stronger than the last. He’d felt unwell as he turned to bed that night, but the once-mild cramping overwhelmed him now.

Poison? 

Injury?

Stumbling to his feet, he clenched his teeth as he tried to make his way to the door of his room. 

“Call a medic, and my brother,” he ordered, unable to hold himself up without gripping the door.

“What’s wrong with him,” demanded Izuna when he arrived in a loose shirt and pants. 

He found his brother in bed, still covered in sweat even as attendants patted him dry. Panting with pain, his face as pale as his sheets, Madara grit his teeth through another wave of fierce stretching and tearing ripped through, inside him. At his bedside, several of the castle’s best medics tended his brother as he writhed in pain in his bed.

Beside himself with worry, Izuna could only watch. 

It was insanity.

These last weeks, where once his brother had been conservative and controlled, he had become ever more chaotic. Demanding he saddle his fastest horses to set out, but being unable to indicate where, as he didn’t know. Demanding his rooms be re-arranged, even doing it himself at times, but never finding satisfaction. Demanding fires be built, water be brought, but nothing was warm enough, his thirst was never slaked. Even now, it seemed he’d built himself a nest of cushions, blankets and bedding by the fire, but the doctors insisted he remain on his bed with only his sheets, gripped tightly in his hands.

Izuna’s eyes focused in on his brother, then shot to the mess of blankets by the fire, his eyes widening.

The horses.

The rearranging.

The nest.

The phantom pain.

Madara, thought Izuna with regret and sympathy, as he realized what was happening.

Pushing his way through the doctors, he wrestled to his brother’s side, bringing him up into a seated, half-squatting position. 

Of course the doctors wouldn’t know how to help him. They didn’t know what was wrong.

Because they didn’t know about That Night.

“She’s strong,” Izuna whispered fiercely in Madara’s ears as he leaned in, gripping his brother’s hand tightly. “She is with Tsunade, the greatest healer in the realm.”

“You need to get out of the way,” ordered Karin in exasperation. Her hands were planted on her green-robed hips in indignation, her hair mussed from being pushed aside so often that evening in the King’s struggles. “We need to treat His Majesty!”

“He stays!” roared Madara, leaning his head on Izuna’s shoulder, panting through another wave of pain. “Get out. None of you are helping, get out!”

At Izuna’s urging they moved outside into the hall, closing the door behind them and leaving the brothers alone together.

His jaw tight, Izuna leaned in close to Madara again, gently stroking his hair. He had no experience with this, relying only on what he’d overheard between the women of the castle when they thought he wasn’t listening.

“Should I call for Hashirama?” he asked his big brother. “He knows. He’ll understand.”

“No,” huffed Madara, stiffening as another wave of pain passed through him. They were coming faster and faster now. 

“Brother, please,” begged Izuna, squeezing his brother as he wrapped his arms around him.

“No, he’ll gloat that I’m getting what I deserve,” gasped Madara. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face ashen from the pain. “He’ll take her further away. I’m not letting her go through this alone.”

“She will have pain medication,” said Izuna, frustrated at Madara’s martyrdom.
“Something is wrong,” panted Madara quietly, shaking against Izuna. “I’m taking as much as I can, but she’s still enduring more…”

At that admission, Izuna’s expression went slack.

“You can feel her, hear her?” he asked, refraining from wincing as his brother’s hold on his shoulders dug in deep, bruising him.

Madara nodded against his neck once.

“She’s screaming,” he said in defeat. “She’s screaming, and so far away,and I can’t be there to help her. This is all I can do for her.”

A cold fear settled in Izuna, then. 

“Brother, did you… when you were in rut and she in heat, did you soothe each other, or did you...?”

With trembling hands, Madara pulled his loose, damp shirt away from his throat and looked deeply in his brother’s eyes.

***

It was early winter, but the snow had come far sooner than expected. It had been hours, but finally things had calmed and Tsunade had the chance to sit while Shizune built up the fire once more in the small, forgotten cabin. 

They were all thankful for Sakura’s strength, Shizune’s resourcefulness and Tsunade’s skill, as one thing after another went wrong.

Exhausted and sweaty, Sakura lay back against her rolled up blankets, the closest they had to cushions there in the wilderness. While Tsunade washed her hands in a basin of water by the fire, Shizune returned to Sakura and mopped her brow.

“Feeding well?” the dark-haired medic asked quietly, peeking down.

“He is. He’s a hungry little guy,” said Sakura, her voice rough.

At her breast, a tiny mouth suckled while tiny eyes were closed and tiny fists gripped at her skin.

“How are you feeling?” asked Shizune, studying Sakura.

“Just… tired,” admitted Sakura. “And a little sore.”
Their relieved laughter was light, but it lifted the mood. Even Tsunade snorted from her place by the fire.

There was more, but it went unsaid between the women. Each had their own thoughts, but only Sakura knew the full truth. 

In spite of everything, she longed to share her newborn son with his father. 

To her immense surprise, a thousand miles away, the Guard had fought all night to stay connected to her.

It could have been so much worse. Without her mate to soothe her, her body tried to reject her son as unwanted. But the Guard had been there, connected to her, eventually murmuring to her and taking as much of her pain as he could. Tsunade and Shizune couldn’t hear him, of course, but they noticed the way Sakura had reacted, as if he truly had been there.

Pressing her lips together, Sakura felt heat build at her eyes and run down her cheeks.

Her instincts had torn at her as much as her newborn son had, during the delivery. But the mystery Guard had stayed with her through it all. Every minute. His devotion and love had consumed her fear and turned it into determination.

And now, she had this perfect combination of the two of them nuzzling her breast, in her arms.

His dark hair is so soft, she thought, lonely and desperate for her mate’s touch at that moment.

So why had his father done what he did?
Or…

For the first time, indecision crept through Sakura’s blood.

Had she made a mistake or misunderstood? 

That morning, had he not abandoned her…?

All this time, had she been... wrong?

Keeping her increasingly conflicted thoughts and feelings to herself, Sakura tried to drown them out with the relief that her son was now there alive and well in her arms. 

However, she mentally made a note to speak to Tsunade later. How powerful must that man be, to be able to reach her from so far away? 

How did Izuna control such a strong warrior in his army?

...Who was he?

***

When Madara woke, two days later, his body ached. The light that fell across him from his open windows made his bleary eyes wince as he stretched, pushing himself up in bed.

His bedding and pyjamas had been changed, he noted as he looked down. Everything was fresh, even after his hours-long struggle. The nest by the fire had been removed, which left a lonely pang in his chest. He’d done his best with that nest, even if it was empty. Now it was forgotten, for the person who needed it most had never felt its soft touch.

Stop being maudlin, he told himself, swallowing down the loneliness.

“Hn,” he sighed, pushing his hair from his eyes. 

“You’re awake,” said a low, gravelly voice from his left.

Turning, Madara frowned at the visitor.

“What do you want,” muttered Madara, turning his back on Hashirama. 

Seated on the long sofa across from Madara’s bed, Hashirama’s expression shifted, his brows pulling up and together, his eyes softening even as his lips smiled sadly at him. His hands, normally so quick to gesture, lay limp in his lap. 

Not that Madara saw this, with his back to Hashirama. He forced himself to stand even as his knees shook. Whatever he had done in his bonded struggle, it had wiped him out.

“Why,” asked Hashirama with his tired, strained voice. “Why did you hide it?”

Madara scoffed.

“I hid nothing. Who let you in?” 

So I can fire them, thought Madara darkly. He calculated how far it was to the washroom, and whether he could make it there without suffering the indignity of asking for Hashirama’s help as a human crutch. 

“Sakura,” said Hashirama gently. 

Hn. Hang the consequences—he was going to wash up and having nothing to do with Hashirama’s unfortunate visit.

“She had a son,” said Hashirama, standing. “He is healthy and strong.”

“Hn,” said Madara, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. How was it he felt like he’d been run over by a wagon of war machines?

Unbidden, Hashirama reached his side and slipped an arm around him, bolstering him and immediately taking most of his weight—and helping him to the washroom.

Madara was going to fire everyone involved in this indignity, the moment he got back to work, he decided ungraciously, as he stumbled slowly to the bathtub.

He paused, glaring at Hashirama.

“I’m not leaving you on your own, you’ll drown,” said Hashirama lightly.

“Turn around!” shouted Madara, heat rising up the back of his neck. “Am I to have no privacy at all?”

“I already saw the mark when you were asleep,” countered Hashirama easily, though quietly, lest they be overheard.

Madara froze, and for the first time in a very long time, the icy touch of fear clutched at his heart and squeezed.

“Izuna has been hiding it for you,” assured Hashirama, grabbing Madara’s shoulders when he swayed on his feet.

“Tell no one,” hissed Madara as his fingers suddenly seized Hashirama’s robes with terrifying strength and threw him against the wall, pinning him. A dark, dangerous look entered his forbidding eyes. “Or your life, and the life of every member of your Clan, is forfeit.”

“I know,” said Hashirama simply. 

Madara blinked.

It took a moment to sink in before he realized how true his statement already was.

If anyone found out the King’s mate was a member of the Senju, and not heavily guarded at the castle, every potential Senju Clan member risked being hunted down and killed by the enemy they knew still lurked in Konoha.

His son, his heir, was far from the safety of the castle. Far from the safety of either of their clans.

Gently, Hashirama’s hands reached up to clasp Madara’s, squeezing them.

“You got very lucky, choosing the strongest woman of my Clan, to be your mate,” admitted Hashirama. His expression turned warm and fond, if a bit teasing of his oldest friend. “If Sakura can turn the tide of war, imagine what she could do for the kingdom?”

Madara’s strength leaked from him slowly and he lowered his hands from Hashirama, turning back to the already steaming bathtub. He shook his head, tossing his sleeping robe aside and ignoring his friend’s presence as he slipped under the water. When he resurfaced, his slicked back hair clearly revealed the mark his mate had left across his shoulder.

“If she’ll have me,” he eventually, softly replied after the silence stretched between them. 

Really, it was a wonder that Hashirama could keep his mouth shut for so long.

Then Madara sniffed.

“Did you put maternity herbs in my bathwater?”

“They’ll relax your muscles,” informed Hashirama, pulling up a stool to chat with Madara during his soak.

“Relax my… I wasn’t the one in labour!”

“No, but your body thinks it was, since you weren’t present at your mate’s delivery,” explained Hashirama. “It’s fascinating, I’ve never heard of a bond as strong as yours before.”

“You’re ridiculous,” growled Madara. “And why are you still here? I’m having a bath. You’re being indecent.”

“You say that as if I wasn’t the one who had to explain what a rut was to you,” quipped Hashirama. 

“Enough! Out!”

Hashirama just laughed.

Their arguing continued until Madara did physically throw Hashirama out of the bathroom in order to get some peace, nearly an hour later (when the water had cooled).

Alone as he dressed himself after that, as he did before he became King, Madara considered the current state of his personal affairs. Hashirama had given him much to think upon, and Madara finally felt somewhat better about the state of their friendship… and his future prospects with her.

Sakura.

His hands paused as he tied his inner robe closed, his eyes unfocusing.

So her name was Sakura.

“Hn,” he murmured to himself. His heart skipped joyfully for the briefest moment, like a valuable clue falling into place. Hope.

It was enough.

The tension around Madara’s dark eyes softened.

It suits her.

***

Sakura stared at Tsunade as they sat at a worn table inside an old, traditional style inn outside the borders of Konoha. The rooms were small and clean, and the food was warm and tasty in their stomachs. Upstairs, Shizune napped while Tsunade and Sakura ate lunch.

They were still a week away from the north gates if the weather held, but Tsunade had informed them they needed to begin moving again after she received a series of letters by carrier pigeon. Tsunade had burned them all before Sakura could read them, keeping mum about the contents.

In a sling across Sakura’s still swollen chest, Yu peeked up at her and smiled. Sakura couldn’t help smiling back at his shining midnight eyes. His head was wrapped snuggly against the cold, and he was tucked inside her jacket, part of her body heat.

“He was a member of the Royal Guard,” insisted Sakura, looking back at Tsunade.

But for the first time about this subject matter, Tsunade pushed her for more details. Sakura’s insides twisted uncomfortably, her stomach turning to water as Tsunade narrowed her amber eyes at her. There was something different about her since the latest message that morning. She had insisted they stop at the inn to rest for the day and night, and then sent Shizune away. Sakura had been happy at first, to have her mentor all to herself for a bit, but now she understood that Tsunade was hiding something from her. 

Information.

“What was his name? Did he tell you he was a guard?” asked Tsunade.

“No, not exactly. It was how he acted, though. Protective, like he had a right to be there, around the Royal Family,” said Sakura, frowning. “He was completely at ease in that area of the castle, even knowing the hidden entrances behind the tapestries and the servants’ stairs.”

As her mentor stared her down over their lunch, Sakura’s insides twisted again. There was something Tsunade was trying to get her to understand, or speak aloud, of her own realization. But Sakura could not grasp the branch that Tsunade extended to her.

“Who else was around?” asked Tsunade, trying a different tack.

“Prince Izuna, that first time,” said Sakura, thinking back. “He was the one who warned me to stay away from the castle while that Guard was in rut.”

“Anyone else?”

“Misao, a castle servant,” said Sakura, thinking back. “And Nanao.”

“How did they address him? What did they call him?” pressed Tsunade.

Sakura pursed her lips, thinking back.

“... they didn’t…” Sakura said, going over the hazy memories as critically as she could. “No one ever referred to him by name…”

The tension in Tsunade’s arms as she reached out to take Sakura’s hands vibrated through to Sakura as she held her gaze meaningfully.

“Why didn’t they refer to him by name?” she asked quietly.

Her mentor squeezed her hand, hopefully, reassuringly, pleadingly, as her sharp amber eyes took in the room around them again.

They ate late, and the other guests of the inn had left the dining room but Tsunade never took chances with information. She hadn’t gained her position by accident. Everything was calculated, down to the last piece of every puzzling interaction Sakura had ever seen her participate in. 

Including this one, right here, right now, in that very old inn, after the lunch rush, where it was just the two of them, outside the Konoha border.

Her guts twisted.

“Why does it matter?” asked Sakura, her voice cracking. 

She snapped her mouth shut. Everything Tsunade said, implied, or refused to say mattered. She was leading Sakura somewhere important with her questioning, telling her something she needed to acknowledge on her own. A faint trembling began in Sakura’s extremities as she considered the ramifications of Tsunade’s words.

Tsunade’s hand tightened around hers, as did her gaze.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Sakura,” said Tsunade evenly. “Why did no one address him by name, not even Prince Izuna?”

“I don’t know,” said Sakura, the weakness spreading through her. Like a greenish, sickly light it spread through the fog she had wrapped her psyche in to protect herself. “Maybe they knew him.”

“Why would everyone know him?”

“I don’t know, maybe he was important. An important Royal Guard,” stumbled Sakura, swallowing. Unconsciously she leaned away from Tsunade and her questions, only to find her wrist gripped tight, locking her in place.

Her expression hardening, Tsunade banged Sakura’s hand on the table. Not hard enough to hurt her, but definitely enough to get her attention.

“You stayed in the rooms beside his at the castle overnight. In the Royal Family’s wing,” said Tsunade. Her fingers had clamped down around Sakura’s wrist, preventing her from running away. “Who lives in the Royal Family’s quarters at the castle?”

Panic flooded Sakura. She shook her head harder.

“How would I know? Prince Izuna?” 

“Prince Izuna and who else?” pressed Tsunade. “Think, Sakura. Stop hiding and say it.”

“The Royal Family?” mumbled Sakura, glancing away as bile rose in her throat.

Don’t make me say it, please don’t make me say it, she mentally begged her mentor.

“Stop being a coward and say it,” demanded Tsunade, unflinching. Her nails dug into Sakura’s wrist; not from holding her tighter, but from Sakura’s efforts to remove herself from the conversation she avoided like lava.

“Neither of us was ourselves that night,” said Sakura, making excuses, shaking her head. 

“But who is he normally?” said Tsunade leadingly. “Sakura. You must say it. You must stop denying it and accept it before we return.”

“No,” said Sakura, jerking back. “I don’t know. Not for sure. Thinking it will only… twist what I think I know.”

“Sakura, you marked him. He marked you,” said Tsunade, unrelenting. “Anyone who puts the signs together—”
“I know,” whispered Sakura harshly. She looked down at Yu’s sweet, sleeping face. 

It was about more than her.

More than Him.

More than them.

Yu yawned, snuggling against her chest, and the warmth in Sakura’s heart grew tenfold, strengthening her spine.

Straightening her back, she glared at Tsunade with clear green eyes. “I know. That’s why we need to stay apart.” 

Tsunade’s grip loosened. Disappointment flashed across her face and it slapped Sakura like an open palm.

Didn’t Tsunade want them safe?

Didn’t she want them to live a normal life?

“You know what he may do to the kingdom,” said Tsunade, surprising Sakura.

“That’s not my responsibility,” answered Sakura.

Making a dismissive sound in her throat, Tsunade let go of Sakura’s wrist.

Swallowing, Sakura pulled her arm back protectively to wrap around Yu. She knew what Tsunade thought of her in that moment, and she tried to tell herself she could live with the disgust and disappointment of her mentor, but the weakness in her was sour on her tongue and curdled her stomach. 

They were quiet for a long time before Tsunade spoke again.

“There is a Birth Registry, now,” she said, looking out a nearby window at the wintry landscape. “Free healthcare, free childcare, employment assistance, it’s all available to those who are on the Registry. It’s meant to compensate the citizens who were… imposed upon during and immediately after the Battle. It has helped many people and supported the Kingdom’s success. The King has become quite popular for undertaking it.”

Huddled in her seat, Sakura narrowed her eyes at Tsunade.

“What’s the catch?”

Arching a sleek blond brow, Tsunade replied, “The King himself oversees the Registry. Also… there are certain cases where the children were not being properly cared for where the Kingdom stepped in to separate them from their families. My understanding from the rumours is that the children themselves were endangered and the Kingdom wanted to protect the children from harm. The King lowered the taxes on those receiving the benefit, too. There are many advantages to it.”

“Is it a requirement to enroll?” asked Sakura.

“Everyone is strongly encouraged to, yes. But there are ways of employing oneself without relying on the King,” said Tsunade, lifting her wine to her lips. “By the way, you should know that those on the Registry are required to present themselves to the castle healers every season for medical appointments, to ensure that the child receives all the care they require.”

Pressing her lips together, Sakura tried to rein in her anxiety. It was such a wonderful opportunity. But the cost…

Feeling her mentor’s hard gaze upon her once more, Sakura looked up. 

“Ask,” said Tsunade harshly.

“Is it possible for me to work for the Senju, without risking detection by the Royal Family?” asked Sakura. Her arms wrapped protectively around Yu. “If he’s looking for me, will the Senju protect me?”

“Unlikely,” said Tsunade after a meditative exhale. 

At that, Sakura slumped back in defeat.

Across from her, Tsunade’s expression remained hard, though her voice softened. “But you could work for me.”

“But you said the Senju wouldn’t protect me,” said Sakura, confused.

A small, private smile graced Tsunade’s beautiful lips as she leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table to prop up her head.

“My child,” said Tsunade patronizingly, though patiently. “I don’t just represent the Senju.”

Her brows furrowing, Sakura leaned forward.

From inside her ample bosom, Tsunade pulled out a small trinket and set it on the table. 

Careful not to jostle Yu, Sakura leaned down further to get a better look.

Lifting her manicured finger to reveal the coin in full, Tsunade looked at Sakura too casually.

Sakura’s eyes flew open, meeting Tsunade’s amused, sharply intelligent ones. Yet Tsunade’s mien was entirely serious.

“You have a choice,” said Tsunade, hovering her finger over the coin. “Though I admit, none of your options are in your favour. You need to understand that this arrangement will involve its own dangers, but we will limit them... considerably.”

Sakura swallowed, looking between the coin and her mentor. 

A part of her had known, of course, for a long time. But she had never fully accepted her suspicions, never wanted to. She held her breath as it all came together.

Now the evidence literally lay before her.
—The evidence, but also her opportunity for independence, protection and escape.

A chance at a life outside the castle for Yu.

But would Yu want this kind of life?

Choosing her master so it wouldn’t be chosen for her, Sakura reached out and took the coin with the leaf insignia in her fist.

Tsunade smiled at her, her eyes glittering.

“Welcome to the Underground, Sakura.”

***

TBC