A sharp, surprisingly pained cry escaped Kiyohime’s lips. She shoved Haruka, her reaction instantaneous and violent. He was already thin and weak, and sitting on the floor, he had no leverage. He was thrown back onto the tatami mats with a soft, undignified thud.

In the next moment, Kiyohime’s entire weight was on him, pressing him into the floor. He grimaced, a sharp pain radiating from his tailbone, but seeing the way her own beautiful face was contorted, he knew she wasn’t faring much better.

“Are you a dog? Let go of me!” Kiyohime hissed, her voice a furious whisper. She hammered his chest with her small, powdered fists, the blows surprisingly hard.

Haruka’s eyes, dark and unyielding, shot back a clear message: I would rather die than let go.

A strange, manic smile twisted Kiyohime’s lips, her anger curdling into something else. “Your mother was a madwoman,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom, “and she gave birth to a mad son.”

The fury in Haruka’s eyes intensified, a cold, burning flame.

Kiyohime’s face twitched with pain. She forced herself to lean close to his ear, her breath hot and fragrant against his skin. “That’s fine by me,” she whispered, “because I’m a madwoman, too.” She opened her mouth and bit down on the shell of his ear.

A jolt, like a raw electric shock, shot through Haruka’s body. A surge of strength born from pure, unadulterated pain flooded him, and with a sudden, desperate heave, he rolled her over, reversing their positions in a tangle of limbs and fine silk. They tumbled across the mats, a chaotic, intimate struggle, neither willing to release their bite.

Kiyohime’s long, dark hair fell across Haruka’s face and neck, a fragrant, suffocating curtain that smelled of expensive shampoo and her own unique, intoxicating scent. In the struggle, their bodies pressed together. He looked into her wine-red eyes and saw something startling: the hard, cruel edges were melting, the icy surface cracking to reveal something molten and vulnerable beneath. The sight sent a strange, sharp pang through his chest, a feeling he couldn’t name.

Unwittingly, in their strange, violent dance, they had become far too close.

His throat felt dry. The feeling was too strange, too foreign, a confusing mix of pain, anger, and something else he refused to acknowledge. The strength in his jaw lessened, his bite turning into something more like a gentle, exploratory nibble on her soft finger.

Kiyohime’s reaction was startling. A tremor ran through her body, and a small, soft, breathy sound escaped her lips. She seemed mortified by it and, in retaliation, bit down on his ear again, harder this time, her teeth sharp.

This was real. A piercing pain lanced through him, clearing his head with its brutal clarity. He immediately released her finger.

After a few ragged, shallow breaths, Haruka managed to say, “Fine. You can have the ear.”

Strangely, Kiyohime slowly, reluctantly, released her own bite. But before Haruka could speak, he felt a warm, wet sensation on his earlobe as she licked the wound, a shocking, intimate gesture that sent another jolt through him. Then, just as quickly, the cool rush of air as she pulled away.

She seemed to have been drained of all her energy, slumping back onto the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. One of her geta had been kicked far across the room; the other hung precariously from her toes, revealing the delicate arch of her foot, flushed pink from their struggle.

Haruka felt a wave of heat rise within him, a warmth that had nothing to do with anger. In their scuffle, Kiyohime’s kimono had slipped from her shoulder, revealing the smooth, pale, perfect skin beneath. The half-hidden, half-revealed sight was more intoxicating than any deliberate display of beauty.

But his reason, for now, was stronger than his desire. He quickly pulled away, turning his back to her and sitting up straight, trying to will his body and his racing heart into composure.

A few seconds later, he felt her arms wrap around his neck from behind, two slender, lotus-root limbs resting in front of him, caging him in her embrace. She held up her index finger for him to see—the one he had bitten. A faint, shallow ring of his teeth marks was visible on the skin, a pale rose against the white.

Haruka braced himself for more accusations, for another attack. He was completely unprepared for the sound of her voice, now as soft and warm as a rippling hot spring. “Will you bite me again?”

Haruka was so shocked he thought he must have misheard, that the pain had made him hallucinate. He turned to look at her face. The arrogant, untouchable princess was gone. In her place was a girl with a pleading, almost submissive expression, her red eyes wide and vulnerable.

“…What did you just say?”

“I said, will you bite me again?” she repeated, her voice a soft murmur. “My finger is fine… or my arm, if you like.” She seemed to consider this, then added, as if sharing a delicious secret, “Or maybe… my neck? I’m very ticklish there.”

The way Haruka looked at her changed completely. He couldn’t understand what game she was playing now. One moment they were fighting like animals, the next she was as soft and yielding as water. He was completely at a loss, adrift in the turbulent sea of her personality.

Kiyohime thought he was still sulking. “Oh, don’t be like that. Is your pride really so fragile? I only said a few things about your mother… Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I was wrong,” she conceded, the words sounding foreign and clumsy on her lips. She seemed to melt against him like a warm piece of candy, her body clinging to his back. “Don’t be angry anymore, okay? Please? Play with me.”

“Play what?” Haruka was utterly baffled. The contrast was staggering. Her face was now alight with an eager, almost joyful expression that was deeply unsettling.

“You could bite me… no, that’s not interesting enough…” Kiyohime’s eyes lit up with a feverish, unnerving excitement, her face flushed. “I know! You could throw the hot tea on me. Not my face, of course,” she added quickly. “Somewhere hidden. Where no one else will see.”

It was only then that Haruka truly, finally, understood. It wasn’t a game. She had some kind of strange, twisted proclivity, a desire for pain that was inextricably linked with pleasure.

Before the excited Kiyohime could decide on her preferred method of torment, a sharp knock came at the door. “Second Young Mistress, the Old Mistress is summoning you.”

Kiyohime’s smile vanished. Her entire expression shuttered, the warmth and excitement draining away in an instant, replaced once more by the cruel, cold mask of the untouchable princess. The transformation was so swift, so complete, it was terrifying.

Without a word, she straightened her kimono, slipped her feet back into her geta, and became a different person.

Her face now a mask of pure fury at the interruption, she threw the paper-screen door open with such force that all the maids waiting outside jumped in fright.

“Who just spoke?” she demanded, her voice dripping with ice.

“I-it was me…” a young maid stammered, trembling.

Kiyohime slapped the girl across the face. The sound was sharp and clear, a brutal crack that echoed in the silent hallway.

She didn’t give the fallen maid a second glance. She simply walked away, the sharp clicks of her geta on the wooden floor a menacing, receding rhythm. Even Momozawa Sakuya, who had grown up with her, looked shocked, unable to comprehend the source of her mistress’s sudden, violent rage.

Suddenly, Kiyohime stopped. She remembered something. She turned her head and looked back at Haruka, who was still sitting in the room, a silent witness.

She opened her mouth, but said nothing. Her expression, however, was perfectly, terrifyingly clear.

If you dare to breathe a single word of this, you’re dead.