Ficly

Guilty

Shugo’s laugh echoed across the garden, and I sat brazenly on his chest, my robes rucked up to my knees. I was still waving my prize triumphantly as several torches flickered to life nearby, brightly illuminating our horseplay.

And no fewer than four guards were watching us, expressions varying from shock to amusement. I stood, hastily clearing my throat, and fussed with straightening my robes. My hair was a lost cause. Shugo was still chuckling as he sat up, his carefully styled topknot tangled with bits of leaves and twigs. He glanced to the guards, waving them off, and they edged back slowly, still staring.

“I cannot believe you got me into this,” I muttered, keeping my face down – it wasn’t proper for a woman to look a man in the eye; between Shugo busy shaking his robes free of gravel and the four guards staring from the raised walkways nearby, I had nowhere to look but straight down at my feet.

“Go patrol the front gate,” Shugo called casually to the guards. “I doubt these flowers are dangerous.”

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