Blood on the Chrysanthemum
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 12: Cracks In the Ice
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 12: Cracks In the Ice - A fictional tale of the legendary female samurai Tomoe Gosen A tale of brutal revenge, forbidden love, and the true meaning of bushido. Three women will claim their freedom with sword, gold, and courage.
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Romantic Polygamy/Polyamory Oriental Female First Oral Sex Petting Revenge Violence
Two Weeks Later
Kiku had fallen into a routine at the palace.
She rose at dawn, dressed in the simple but quality clothes Hatsu had provided, and made herself presentable. By the hour of the rabbit, she was at Hatsu’s chambers, ready to attend the princess through her day.
Some days were tedious—sitting through formal functions where Hatsu had to smile and nod while various nobles discussed politics and alliances. Kiku stood behind her, silent and observant, memorizing faces and names.
Other days were almost pleasant. Hatsu would dismiss the other servants and they’d spend hours talking. About books, about poetry, about the world beyond the palace walls that neither of them could freely access anymore.
And slowly, despite every intention to remain cold and detached, Kiku found herself actually enjoying Hatsu’s company.
The princess was sharp. Funny when she let her guard down. Frustrated by the same constraints that had shaped Kiku’s life—being told what to be, what to want, what to become.
“My father wants me to marry Lord Takeda’s son,” Hatsu said one afternoon as they walked through the palace gardens. It was one of the few places they could talk without constant supervision. “He’s fifty-three years old. His first three wives all died in childbirth.”
Kiku felt anger flash through her—quick, hot, unexpected. “And your father thinks this is acceptable?”
“My father thinks it’s politically advantageous. Takeda controls three provinces. An alliance would strengthen the Shogunate’s position.” Hatsu’s voice was flat, emotionless in the way Kiku recognized—the voice of someone who’d learned to feel nothing because feeling anything hurt too much. “What I want doesn’t factor into the equation.”
“You could refuse.”
“And be disowned? Locked away? Forced into a convent?” Hatsu shook her head. “I have no power here, Kumiko. I’m property. Valuable property, certainly, but property nonetheless.”
They walked in silence for a while. Kiku’s mind was racing, thinking about Hatsu married to some old lord, trapped in an even smaller cage, dying in childbirth like the women before her.
Why do you care? the cold voice in her head asked. She’s a tool. Her future doesn’t matter to your revenge.
But she did care. Against all logic, against all her training in emotional control, she cared what happened to this lonely princess.
“What if you ran away?” Kiku asked quietly.
Hatsu laughed, but it was bitter. “Where would I go? I’m the Shogun’s daughter. I’d be recognized immediately. Hunted down. Brought back in disgrace. And then my father would marry me off to someone even worse as punishment.”
“What if you had help? Someone who knew how to disappear. How to travel without being recognized.”
Hatsu stopped walking and looked at her. “Are you offering to help me run away?”
Was she? Kiku hadn’t meant to—the words had just come out. But now that they were spoken...
“I’m saying it’s possible,” Kiku said carefully. “If you truly wanted freedom, there are ways. Difficult ways. Dangerous ways. But ways nonetheless.”
“You sound like you’ve thought about this before.”
“I’ve thought about a lot of things.” Kiku met her gaze. “Freedom. Escape. What it takes to survive when the world wants you to be something you’re not.”
Hatsu studied her face for a long moment. “Who are you really, Kumiko? You’re not just a bereaved daughter seeking employment. There’s something else. Something you’re not telling me.”
Kiku’s heart raced. Had she revealed too much? Was Hatsu suspicious?
“Everyone has secrets,” she said, deflecting. “Even you.”
“That’s true.” Hatsu resumed walking. “I suppose I don’t have the right to demand yours when I keep my own.”
They walked in silence for another few minutes before Hatsu spoke again, her voice quieter now.
“I think about death sometimes. What it would be like to just ... not exist anymore. To escape that way.”
The admission hit Kiku harder than she expected. “Don’t.”
“Why not? What do I have to live for? A marriage to a man three times my age? A life of producing heirs and managing a household? Dying young like his other wives?”
“You have...” Kiku stopped, searching for words that wouldn’t reveal too much. “You have the possibility of something else. Someday. Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but someday things change. People die. Circumstances shift. If you’re dead, you can’t take advantage of those opportunities.”
“That’s very practical of you.”
“I’m a practical person.”
Hatsu looked at her with an expression Kiku couldn’t quite read. “You’re also kind. Kinder than you pretend to be. I see it, even when you try to hide it.”
“I’m not kind. I’m—”
“You are.” Hatsu reached out and took her hand—a bold gesture, inappropriate for a princess and her companion, but the garden was private. “You listen to me complain about my privileged problems without judgment. You make me laugh. You make me feel less alone. That’s kindness, Kumiko. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
Kiku looked down at their joined hands. Hatsu’s were soft, unmarked by training or work. Her own were scarred, callused, the hands of a killer.
And yet Hatsu was holding them like they were precious.
“I should get back to my duties,” Kiku said, gently pulling her hand away. “Your father’s council meeting will end soon. You’re expected at dinner.”
“Will you join me? At dinner?”
“I’m a servant, Hatsu. I eat in the servants’ hall.”
“Not tonight. I want you there. I’ll tell my father you’re helping me practice conversation with educated company. He won’t care as long as I show up and smile appropriately.”
Against her better judgment, Kiku agreed.
Dinner with the Shogun’s family was an exercise in restraint.
Kiku sat at the far end of the table, positioned as a companion rather than family. Close enough to observe everything, far enough to be mostly ignored.
Shogun Minamoto Katsuya sat at the head—a man in his late fifties, powerfully built despite his age, with the bearing of someone who’d never been told “no” in his entire life. His eyes were cold, calculating. Every word he spoke carried the weight of absolute authority.
This was the man whose orders had destroyed her family.
Kiku forced herself to remain calm, to eat mechanically, to show no reaction.
Also present were several advisors—Lord Takeda, whose son Hatsu was being pushed to marry. General Yamada, gruff and military. And—
Sato.
Kiku recognized him instantly from Yoshida Kenji’s description. Late fifties, gray hair, scar on his left hand. He sat to the Shogun’s right, speaking quietly, offering counsel that Minamoto listened to with clear respect.
This was the man who’d arranged everything. Who’d hired Nakamura. Who’d sent the ninjas.
Who’d personally checked afterward to make sure her family was dead.
Kiku’s hand tightened on her chopsticks, imagining them as blades, imagining driving them through Sato’s throat—
“Kumiko?”
Hatsu’s voice pulled her back. “Yes, my lady?”
“I asked if you’d read the poetry collection I lent you.”
Focus. Play the role.
“I did, my lady. The verses on autumn particularly moved me. The way the poet described loss through the metaphor of falling leaves—very evocative.”
It was complete nonsense. Kiku hadn’t read any poetry collection. But it sounded educated and appropriate.
Hatsu smiled, pleased. “I thought you’d appreciate that one.”
Across the table, Sato glanced at her briefly—just a flicker of attention, nothing more. A servant. Beneath notice.
Perfect.
The dinner continued. The men discussed politics, military movements, alliance negotiations. Kiku listened to every word while pretending to focus on her food.
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