2.78: The Sleeping Kingdom

The house lights dimmed.

A hush rolled through the gym like a held breath, conversations collapsing into murmurs until there was near total silence. The curtain loomed in front of us, heavy and impossible to see through.

A microphone crackled.

Megumi stepped out alone, center stage, her silhouette directly under the spotlights. She wore a simple black dress, her hair neatly tied back, her expression bright and composed. When she spoke, her voice carried easily through the space.

“Good evening, everyone,” she said. “Thank you for joining us for Midorigaoka High School’s cultural festival performance this year, presented by Class 2-B, with the assistance of Class 2-A.”

A ripple of applause followed. My fingers clenched at my sides in excitement.

Megumi smiled and waited for the clapping to fade.

“Tonight, we present The Sleeping Kingdom,” she continued, “a story of love, gender bending, yuri, power, loss, and awakening.”

The music swelled behind her, low strings and slow, ceremonial pacing.

A few gasps rose from the audience.

“This story is told in several acts. When the curtain falls, please remain seated while our crew prepares the next scene.”

She bowed low to the audience, clasping the microphone in both hands.

“We hope you enjoy our show.”

She stepped back.

The curtain drew fully closed as applause rose again. Behind it, everything surged into motion.

Crew members, including Aoi rushed past me in silence, her hands already moving. I grinned at her, cheering for her in my heart. She helped drag the throne block into place, cloth unfurling in a hurry, being placed precisely where it should be, lights shifting from cool blue to gold hues. Soft counts were whispered. The sets lightly scraped against the stage as they were set in place. They clinked faintly as they were set.

I stood just offstage, my heart steady but alert.

Good job, Aoi-chan! I grinned proudly at her. As she passed me, I reached out and brushed her shoulder with my fingers.

I can’t wait for her to see me perform as the prince everyone wanted in the second half, but that’ll take a while.

…

…Ahem.

…Just don’t squeal or freeze up on stage when you’re up, Sumire!

I slapped my cheeks lightly and took a few slow breaths.

The music shifted.

…And the curtain rose.

The music faded into a low, ceremonial hum.

The curtain drew back slowly, the fabric whispering against the stage as it parted.

Golden light flooded the stage, warm and almost oppressive, catching on the polished wood and painted cloth. The throne block sat center stage, raised just enough to dominate the space. Two chairs stood side by side, draped in gold fabric that shimmered faintly as the lights settled on two figures.

The King and Queen were already seated.

They didn’t move.

Crowns rested perfectly on their heads. Their backs were straight, their shoulders squared, their hands folded with rehearsed symmetry. From a distance, they looked like two dignified statues carved for the purpose of worship. They were too perfect, too motionless to be alive.

The Court Herald stood to one side, her staff banging against the floor, her chin lifted. She took one measured step forward.

“All rise for Their Majesties.”

The whole court reacted at once.

Robes rustled and shoes scraped softly against the stage. Courtiers rose in smooth, respectful unison, heads bowed just low enough to show obedience without too much humility. The sound of movement on the stage washed through the gym, then settled into a short stretch of silence.

The King and Queen smiled.

Their smiles were flawless.

And yet… somehow felt empty.

The King spoke without turning her head, her lips barely shifting, and yet it carried strongly via a hidden microphone clipped onto her robes.

“We’re smiling again.”

The Queen’s mouth didn’t seem to move when she answered. The same way, the audience heard her whisper clearly.

“We always smile.”

A courtier passed behind them, miming the exchange of scrolls. The King’s fingers tightened once against her armrest.

“We have everything.”

The Queen’s gaze kept forward.

“Everything except for the one thing the kingdom expects us to provide.”

The King’s eyes flicked, just briefly toward the cradle positioned near the edge of the stage, draped in white cloth.

“They bow. They praise. Then they look at the cradle and see nothing.”

The Queen inhaled slowly.

“Like an empty ledger.”

A subtle shift rippled through the audience. I felt it more than I heard it.

The King leaned back a fraction, her chin lifting regally.

“It’s truly a cruel joke. A kingdom that obeys us… but bodies that will not give us what the kingdom requires.”

The Queen’s hand twitched in her lap.

“An heir.”

The word landed heavily on the audience.

The King’s smile sharpened.

“We could command an army to march into the winter in search of a blood mage. Ah, folly!”

A courtier crossed the stage, gesturing animatedly to an invisible envoy, while the Queen spoke beneath the noise.

“For all of our power, we cannot command a child to appear… for we lack a specific magic.”

The Court Herald stepped forward then. She crossed to center stage and dropped to one knee, her staff angled respectfully downward.

“My lieges, may I speak?”

The King and Queen answered together, perfectly synchronized.

“Speak.”

The Herald lifted her head.

“Ambassadors from the western provinces request an audience.”

The King did not let her smile falter. She raised one hand, her palm held outward, regal and dismissive.

“Granted.”

The court surged into motion.

Two courtiers mimed an argument near the edge of the stage. Another bowed deeply, retreating. A servant crossed with a tray held too high, too stiff. Everyone moved except for the occupants of the thrones.

Beneath the polite chaos, the Queen spoke again, her voice low,

“The council will mention the status of enchanters in our kingdom again today.”

The King’s eyes remained forward.

“Let them.”

“They call it a ‘shortage’ as if we are in a famine.”

The King exhaled through her nose.

“Endowers yet abound at least. If only they were as potent as blood mages.”

The Queen’s shoulders tightened.

“That which supports us crumbles.”

“It is a famine… of power. They say it may mean the death of magic itself, even if mankind fails.”

The Queen’s gaze softened, just barely.

“And that of our kingdom.”

The King turned her head at last, looking at her Queen.

“But we will live for many years to come. Yet there is time.”

The Queen’s smile trembled.

“Oh, woe. I am so tired of hiding my sorrow.”

The King’s voice dropped, losing its edge.

“And I. But we have a duty to our people. We must smile to the bitter end.”

The Queen nodded once.

“Such is our fate.”

The King reached out then, not enough to touch her Queen, just enough to be seen.

“Don’t hide your sorrow from me. I will share it with you.”

Their eyes met.

The court continued around them, hollow as a painted shell.

The lights snapped out and the curtain fell.

The curtain rose again to a softer light.

The stage had changed completely.

Where the throne block had been, there was now only a low bench draped in sheer fabric, translucent enough to catch the light without hiding anything. A shallow bowl of rose petals sat beside it, their color vivid against the pale cloth. The space felt intimate, almost too private for how large the gymnasium was.

The Queen entered alone.

Her crown was gone.

Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, no longer bound into rigid order, and for the first time she looked… human. Her shoulders sagged slightly as she crossed the stage, the weight of the room visibly gone from her posture. When she stopped near the bench, she exhaled deeply, exactly like someone finally letting go after years of restraint would.

“Just for a moment… no crown. No watching eyes.”

She knelt slowly, the movement careful, reverent. Her fingers dipped into the bowl of petals, lifting them and letting them slip through her hands. The petals fluttered back down soundlessly, scattering across the fabric.

The gym was quiet enough that I could hear the faint rustle of costumes backstage.

Igeta-san sure is talented. She plays the part of the Queen perfectly… I hope people don’t mind how I act…

Then a voice cut through the stillness.

“O Queen, be cheerful.”

The Queen stiffened.

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide as she turned slightly, scanning the space.

“Who—? Show yourself.”

From behind the bench, a green shape shifted.

The frog-costumed actor rose into view, her form unmistakable, her large eyes catching the light. Her face was plainly visible, poking out of her baggy costume as she crouched low, just like a frog should. A few people in the audience chuckled softly, then fell quiet again as the tension held.

“Look behind you. Do not be afraid. I come only to bear you good tidings.”

The Queen recoiled instinctively, pulling her hands back from the petals. Her body leaned away before she caught herself, her spine straightening as she forced dignity back into place.

“Master Frog… you have chosen a bold place to speak to a Queen.”

The frog’s head tilted slightly.

“You dismissed your ladies. You wanted honesty. I am honesty.”

The Queen hesitated, then squared her shoulders.

“Then tell me what you came to tell.”

The frog didn’t rush her reply.

“The dearest wish of your heart will soon be granted to you.”

The Queen went completely still.

Not frozen…. Void of emotion. As if the words had hollowed her out.

“Do not toy with me.”

“I have no patience for toys. Your wish is a small child of your own, is it not?”

Her composure cracked.

It wasn’t obvious, it was the way her breath caught, the way her hands trembled before she could still them.

She’s too amazing! I trembled with excitement, my heart racing. I bet Aoi-chan would play that part as well as her if she’d been voted for.

“Say it again.”

“You will have a daughter, as you wish.”

Her hand flew to her mouth.

She tried to keep herself together, but she failed.

The sound she made wasn’t quite a sob. No one moved.

“When?”

The frog’s head turned slightly, indicating something in the painted backdrop.

“Do you see the almond branch by the window?”

“I see it.”

“The leaves will fade. Winter will strip it bare. Then spring will return, pink blossom before green leaf. And when that blossom comes, you will hold your child against your breast.”

The silence stretched on.

So long that the audience became restless. I understood how they felt.

The Queen’s shoulders shook once, then again, harder. She bowed her head, her breath uneven now.

“We have tried the rites.”

“I know well how you have tried to make magic do as you command.”

“We have bled into the bowls, but we lack magic.”

“I know. Perform the rites again… and be amazed, for magic is with you.”

Her voice dropped, raw and stripped of ceremony.

“I have little hope left. Our kingdom withers.”

“Spring will come again, not by command, but by grace.”

A narrow beam of light shifted, catching the petals on the bench. They glowed softly for a moment.

The frog leapt offstage towards us.

I raised my hand to her.

She grinned and whispered, “Nailed it!”

We slapped our hands and others repeated my gesture with her.

This is what theatre is supposed to be like! We work hard together to make this play as amazing as we can! I’m having so much fun!

The space behind the bench was empty.

The Queen blinked, tears clinging to her lashes as she stared at where the frog had been.

“Don’t… don’t take this fragile hope from me too.”

The lights cut.

The curtain fell.

“She might have managed to outdo me.” Yuna whispered to me, tapping her toe thoughtfully, her arms crossed. “I’ll need to work extra hard to catch up with her.”

I nodded quietly.

The curtain lifted again.

The stage felt different immediately.

The light was brighter now, warmer, almost celebratory. The backstage crew, especially Aoi-chan, had worked hard to set the stage to look exactly as it should in between scenes.

I admire her so much for how hard she works even knowing that she won’t get much recognition for her contribution. Most people only think about performers on stage. It’s thanks to their hard work that we can do our parts. I frowned as they kept working.

Where the bath had been, the court had returned, but it no longer stood rigid and restrained. Courtiers clustered closer together, their bodies angled inward seeming restless.

A nurse entered briskly from stage right, cradling a bundled baby doll against her chest. The infant was wrapped in pale cloth. She was doing an important, but small part, twitching it around subtly, just enough as she walked to suggest that it was alive.

The King followed her, visibly disheveled.

Her crown rested crooked on her head. One sleeve hung loose at the shoulder. Her composure, so carefully maintained before, was gone, replaced by barely contained urgency. She reached forward seemingly without thinking.

“Give her, give her to me. Just, just for one moment.”

The Nurse pivoted smoothly, turning her body away while tightening her hold on the baby.

“Majesty, no. Your hands are too eager. Sit down before you drop your own heir.”

The line landed perfectly.

The court burst into laughter, genuine laughter instead of applause. Someone in the audience snorted. I heard a ripple of relief move through the gym like a collective released breath.

The King froze, then grimaced.

She sat.

The Queen stepped forward, taking the baby with hands that trembled only slightly. Her face was radiant and exhausted, her eyes shining with disbelief as she looked down.

“Look at her. She’s… she’s beautiful.”

The King leaned forward now, careful and reverent.

“She truly is. She looks very much like you.”

The Queen nodded, her smile widening as if the truth of it was still settling.

“She is ours. Our child.”

The King swallowed.

“What shall we call her? I’ve thought of names… grand names, names that sound like trumpets.”

The Queen didn’t even look up.

“No.”

The King blinked.

“No?”

The Queen lifted her gaze then, soft but certain.

“She isn’t a trumpet. She’s light. Then let it be Aurora. She lights our way.”

The baby shifted faintly in her arms.

The King studied the child, her expression changing, quiet and reverent, her emotions passing over her features. Slowly, she nodded.

“Aurora, then.”

The Court Herald stepped forward, her staff raised high.

“Proclaim it!”

She turned to face the audience, her voice ringing out.

“Let all the kingdom hear! The Princess is named Aurora!”

Applause broke out, louder this time. A few people clapped too early, caught up in it.

The light held for a little longer. It was golden.

Then it snapped away, the curtain falling.

Impressive. The King isn’t bad at acting either. This shows her skill. Even though I don’t know her very well, she matches Igeta-san well.

The curtain rose to a wider stage.

A long table stretched across the center, draped in heavy cloth that caught the light in dull gold. Several boxlike caskets, painted to gleam like metal, were arranged neatly along it. The suggestion of abundance was obvious, almost theatrical in its excess.

The King and Queen sat elevated behind the table, their posture restored, the feel of ceremony reclaimed. Below them, the twelve Endowers were seated in two precise rows, their hands folded, their backs straight, their faces composed.

It’s funny that we had to ask Class 2-A for volunteers to play the Endowers and to find someone for the King part too. We didn’t have enough girls to play all the parts. If I was them, I’d have had Aoi play the King or Queen… but oh well…

The King rose, her arms opening wide, her voice bright and well rehearsed.

“Each of you is honored. Each of you is welcome. Each of you has a place at our table.”

The words echoed across the stage and through the speakers.

Then the silence landed.

It wasn’t a scripted silence… and it was very noticeable. One empty place sitting among the gold was stark and hard to miss. The audience caught it almost immediately. I felt the shift ripple outward as people leaned forward.

Yuna stepped up beside me behind the curtain, right on the verge of being seen, and winked at me. She was wearing heavy makeup now and looked every bit the old crone she was playing. They had lengthened her nose with putty and makeup so convincingly that I had to look twice to tell it wasn’t really hers.

“Do your best Yuna-chan!” I clenched a fist, pumping it once and grinned.

She cackled convincingly as she pulled up her hood and put on an expression of contempt and bitterness that made me think that she had something against me for cheering her on.

Wahhh! The look on her face and her wicked laugh made me wish I had salt to purify the stage, not that I was a miko or anything.

Endower #1 leaned toward her neighbor, her voice barely audible.

“Did you count?”

Endower #2 didn’t look away from the table.

“I did.”

Endower #3’s gaze flicked to the empty seat.

“Then we are missing one.”

The Queen’s smile tightened as she leaned slightly toward the King, keeping her face angled toward the audience.

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

The King answered too quickly, her hands clasping together.

“We invited every Endower in the realm.”

The Queen’s eyes slid back to the table.

“Then why is there a missing plate?”

Before the King could respond, the air itself seemed to split as a noise played through the speakers that startled the audience, myself included.

That part always gets me! Yuna-chan’s dramatic entrance! I giggled softly under my breath.

Yuna’s harsh laugh cut across the stage, dry and bitter as she left my side.

How is Yuna this good at playing villains?! I got shivers climbing up and down my spine from her tone.

“Be merry, my lords and ladies. Laugh while you may… but remember that tears may follow laughter.”

The Uninvited Thirteenth entered from the side.

She was bent but not weak, her spine curved with age and fury both. Her eyes burned as she crossed the stage, every step implacable. The lights seemed harsher around her, shadows seemingly clinging to her robes.

“There’s one. There’s two. There’s twelve.”

She turned slowly, counting with an artfully crooked-looking finger.

“Did you not know, O King, that there were thirteen Endowers in your kingdom?”

The King stood abruptly, her chair scraping behind her. Panic flickered beneath regal control.

Well done! I caught myself holding my breath again.

“Forgive me. It was an oversight. A shameful one.”

The Uninvited Thirteenth laughed again, softer this time.

“An oversight, you claim. That is a pretty word for erasure.”

The Queen rose as well, slower, steadier, her voice firm.

“Sit. Eat. Let this day remain clean.”

The Uninvited Thirteenth sneered, her eyes sweeping the table, the crowns, the gold.

“Clean? With your gold and your shining faces?”

She leaned forward slightly.

“You speak of purity while you trade in blood behind closed doors.”

The King’s smile twitched.

The court froze.

No one moved. No one breathed.

“No. I will eat off silver while my sisters eat off gold.”

She lowered herself into the empty seat very slowly.

“And still I will be here. I am always here, whether you speak my name or not.”

The King stepped forward, one hand raised.

“We will provide—”

“Too late.”

The words landed flat and final.

She sat.

The room tried to recover. Someone shifted. A servant lifted a tray and froze halfway through the motion. The Endowers sat straighter, as if bracing.

Endower #3 leaned subtly toward the youngest, her voice barely a breath.

“Go.”

The Youngest Endower hesitated, her fingers tightening in her lap.

“Now?”

“Yes. Hide. If you stay in that chair, you will be forced to spend your gift too early.”

The Youngest slipped from her seat, disappearing behind a hanging cloth at the edge of the stage, her movement swift and quiet.

The Queen lowered her gaze, her voice almost inaudible.

“Please. Not on this day.”

The lights snapped out as the curtain fell.

The applause that followed was uncertain and scattered, as though people weren’t sure yet whether it was safe to applaud yet.

On the other hand, I couldn’t help clapping loudly myself.

I was worried that Igeta-san would upstage her, but I realized that I had nothing to worry about.

I looked for Aoi-chan, smiling. I didn’t see her right away, but she soon brushed past me with the backstage team. She winked at me, giving me an encouraging thumbs up as she ran onstage and helped carefully grab a set and rushed it offstage with a male student from 2-A that she had been paired up with.