In fact, I fear I am a jack-of-all-trades.

HQ Fantasy Week Day 1:

Author’s Note: This is actually an alternate version of what ended up on AO3.

Title: Daily Bread

Prompt: Royalty

Pairing: Tsukkiyama

The new apprentice was a hopeless rube and everybody knew it.

“Where’d they even find this kid? Can’t carry a full flour sack, gets blisters just from standing at attention or sweeping the floor. Doesn’t even have a surname.”

Kei didn’t care, as long as it didn’t affect him. Being a baker’s apprentice in the king’s city was an honor he’d had to fight tooth and nail for- nevermind that he hated every minute of it. Flour caked his face, dusted his hair, invaded his lungs with every wheezing breath. It meant extra rations to his family every quarter for giving up their youngest useless son to the city bakeries to prep meals for the troops, sorely needed after Akiteru had gone off to basic training. There was water and fresh food and every Sunday off. Better than most, better than he deserved, probably. So what if Baker Washijo had decided to give one of the coveted positions to someone who was terrible? God, was that kid terrible. His bread turned out half raw or half burned so often that it became the default bread- the worst bread of the day, only fit to feed the apprentices at suppertime. The other apprentice bakers just loved that. Kei put up with it for four days, watching the other idiots wind up the new kid to the breaking point, the loaves getting worse and worse under the pressure. Little things, stealing his shoes, a punch or pinch in the hallway, spitting in his tea. Kei had never seen Washijo beat anyone for their mistakes, but his patience had to be wearing pretty thin.

On the fifth day, Kei chose the oven next to the new kid on purpose. This was usually the spot for whoever came last, a punishment to be associated with this human disaster, but Kei was fed up. “I’m tired of eating your shitty bread,” Kei ground out between his teeth. The new kid faltered, blinking up at him nervously. “So you do exactly what I do.”

The kid did. He copied Kei gesture for gesture, measure for measure. He turned the dough when Kei did, let it rest whenever Kei stepped away. In the end, his rolls were good because Kei’s rolls were good. They ended up eating Ito’s rolls at dinner instead, when he’d mistaken sugar for salt. That was fine for Kei. He’d always preferred sweet things.

No the rolls were fine. And the next day, the sourdough loaves. Then the pumpernickel and then the apple tarts. Before he knew what had happened, the new kid was Tadashi, and Tadashi was attached. It would have been hilarious if it had happened to anybody else, this gangly kid with freckles and puppy dog eyes following Kei from station to station, chattering away. Kei was caught between bemusement that such devotion cost so little and the desire to find the right thing to say to get Tadashi to leave him the hell alone. He tried glaring. He tried ignoring him. He tried being cruel.

“It’s like you’ve never even dressed yourself before. It’s like you’ve never even seen an oven. Did you grow up in a shed? How backwards were you that you can’t do the simplest tasks? Pathetic.” Tadashi just nodded and nodded.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” Tadashi said, smiling up at him. He wasn’t, really. But he did try harder. And one day, when Tsukishima woke up, Tadashi was gone. Just… gone.

“Family business,” Washijo said brusquely when Kei had the chance to ask. “Anyway the king is ill and the troops are being relocated. We need twice as many rations from each bakery, so concentrate on the important things.”

Kei did. And he burned his bread twice that week thinking about freckles. After eight days, Tadashi came back as though he had never left.

“My brother was sick,” he explained over honeycakes, a golden smear against his cheekbone. Kei wanted to lick it off.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kei said politely.

“He was fine.” Tadashi said. “As long as he’s fine, here I’ll be.”

“I hope he stays fine,” Kei said firmly.

And the king got better and the orders slowed down and everything was like it was before except that Kei knew. He knew, but he didn’t say. Then Tadashi woke Kei up in the middle of the night, hand loosely over Kei’s mouth to keep him from calling out and waking the others. The place where Tadashi’s fingers pressed felt warm and shivery. Kei followed Tadashi out to the garden where the herbs for the savory pastries grew. The moon was very bright and everything was silver, green and lovely. Tadashi took his hand, mouth a determined line.

“I need to ask you something important.”

Kei swallowed hard, nodding.

“What do you want, Tsukki? More than anything else in the world.”

Kei couldn’t think. His mouth and his hand were hot, sensitive.

“You need glasses, I know that. But big things. Money? Power? A title? Land?” Tadashi listed these things like they were types of bread, easy and familiar. “A place in the Royal Library. University. Anything.”

“Who are you?” Kei asked.

“Just a second son, like you.” Tadashi said, fingers still warm between his.

Second sons have limitations. No place. No education. They cannot inherit. Hold titles. Marry.

“I hate that,” Kei said, “being a second son.”

“That’s what you want to change?” Tadashi asked, raising one eyebrow. “The whole structure of the world?”

“Big things,” Kei agreed.

Then shouts rang across the yard and the gates burst open and the city guard took Tadashi away.

The next morning, the mourning bells tolled in the city. The king was dead. The troops were dispatched. Bread on top of bread, utilitarian, travel portions. Civil unrest, fighting in the streets. What did they expect? The king had killed his whole family off when he was only sixteen, had taken the throne from his parents and his six siblings in a blood soaked nightmare. He had been a second son.

Washijo called Kei to the side, took him up to the study.

“Always knew you were the smartest,” he said, eyeing Kei closely. “Damn shame that you’re a second son.”

“Was there something I could do for you?” Kei tried in his politest tone. It still wasn’t very polite. Washijo’s frown deepened.

“I have no sons, second or first. You are young and smart and I am old and tired. Stay here and finish your apprenticeship, work the shop, and I will leave it to you when I die. Bread is safe and stable. People always need bread. Or.” His eyes cut across to the window. A coach stood there, waiting. “If you get in that coach, it will take you away from this life into something different. Is it better or worse? I have an idea, but I won’t say.”

“I’ll go.” Kei decided. He knew without saying that Tadashi wasn’t coming back this time. No one came back when the guards took them away.

There was a letter in the coach from his brother. Akiteru, in recognition of a great service to the regeant, had been knighted. As such the entire Tsukishima household was entitled to certain amenities. Food. Housing. Steady income. Higher education, even for a second son. Beside the letter was a small wooden box that held a pair of wire framed glasses- expensively enchanted to match the weakness in each eye. The world slammed into focus and Kei thought he would never tire of the crisp lines of the world, of the detail neatly edged in a way he was used to seeing only smudges. At the University, the coursework was balanced but challenging. Kei finished the entire semester in a matter of weeks.

“More,” he demanded. “I’m here for a reason, aren’t I?” His instructors shared a look and picked up the pace. It took two years of study until they were satisfied.

“Amazing,” he’d overheard them saying. “No wonder he was chosen.”

“What a pity he’s a second son,” said another. Kei bristled as he climbed into the carriage sent to take him away. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when it passed the road leading to his home village, or to the road in the town where the bakery sat. The carriage did not draw to a stop until it crossed into the castle proper. And in a room filled with light, a dog at his feet, stood Tadashi, straight and tall, shoulders out, smile bright.

“Your Highness,” Kei said, but made no move to bow.

“Not to you,” Tadashi said, holding out his hands. “You’re early, Tsukki.”

“Am I?” Kei held Tadashi’s hand too gently, fingers curled around his pulse.

“It usually takes four years, you know. Sometimes six.” Tadashi’s fingers squeezed back.

“What are you doing?” Kei asked. “What am I doing here?”

“I need an adviser. I was in hiding the last few years. I’m the last surviving Prince, after my brother died.” Tadashi’s hands wouldn’t still; they moved lightly in his, like cupping fireflies.

“The King is dead. Long live the King,” Kei said softly. “I don’t care about a revolution. I just want to be by you.”

“That’s a shame.” Tadashi slid his hands up along Kei’s arms, along shoulder and neck, pulling him down into a kiss. “I want both.”

In fact, I fear I am a jack-of-all-trades.

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

HQ Fantasy Week Day 1: