"Takehiko-onii-sama..." Haruka said.
Not loudly. Barely above a breath. But the word carried the weight of everything it meant—every political fear, every sleepless night, every calculation about timing and ceremony and the fragile window of legitimacy she was standing in the exact center of.
Her banished half-brother had returned to the capital.
He had come in armor, with samurai at his back, on the day of his nephew's heir designation ceremony.
And the expression on his face as his fiery orange eyes swept across the dais—taking in Haruka, taking in Ryuuji, taking in the assembled priests and the ceremonial throne and Kaguya standing with the proclamation scroll still unread—was not rage or desperation.
Kaguya's white eyes settled on him with an expression that revealed nothing and contained everything.
