Blanket Disclaimer: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic and all other related source materials are the sole artistic and intellectual property of Shinobu Ohtaka, Weekly Shōnen Sunday, and their assorted media affiliates.

The Cuckoo

Chapter 1: The Lost Princess

"Everything's a story — You are a story — I am a story."

―Frances Hodgson Burnett, A Little Princess

The First Imperial Prince of Kou stared out at one of the palace's private gardens, his eyebrows slowly creeping up his forehead.

There was a little girl striding purposefully across the carefully manicured walkway, thoughtfully skirting his favorite rock garden. He followed her brazen journey with his eyes, and then his head when she was more than halfway across the lawn. He felt rather than heard his bodyguards stir from their unseen positions, intent on putting a halt to her trespassing, and raised a hand in a clear signal to stand down. He set his calligraphy tools to the side and pushed himself to his feet, stretching once before dropping his arms and hopping down from the veranda, strolling over to cut her off at the red bridge arching over his koi pond.

His legs, much longer than hers, ate up the distance quickly and served as an excellent roadblock. He slouched lazily against one thick red post as with his feet propped up against the matching post on the opposite side, openly peering down at her as she slowly drew to a stop.

She was a tiny thing, practically drowning in the dark purple robes swathed over her, with her pale blonde hair gathered into two fat buns at the lower base of her head. He knew who she was, obviously, but it was his first time seeing her in the flesh since her arrival. He was intrigued, all the more so by the way her face was pursed in a distant, thoughtful expression as she studied him right back. He grappled furiously with the urge to grin. She was adorable.

"Can I help you?" He asked instead, keeping his tone and expression controlled.

"I'm on a quest," she informed him gravely, the last word slurring into the faintest of lisps. It was the trademark of a tongue that was still learning how to wrap around words, just like in his baby brother's case.

Hakuyuu wanted to coo. Precious. He remained strong, however; it wouldn't do to have the future Emperor of Kou displaying his one weakness so openly. "A quest?" He stroked his chin, leaning in. "Interesting. What are you going to do on this quest of yours, I wonder?"

"I'm going to find Princess Kougyoku," declared Princess Kougyoku, her pink eyes dead serious.

Hakuyuu blinked.

"You're going to...?" He trailed off, uncertain as to whether he had heard her right.

"Find Princess Kougyoku," she said again, voice surprisingly firm.

"Ah." He pushed off from the post, smiling at her as he straightened to his full height. "Well, I think I can help with that. Come here." He knelt down and waved her over. She padded over obligingly, allowing him to shuffle her in front of him. He pointed down at the pond's surface. "See her?"

"That," said Kougyoku slowly. "Is a very big fish. Not a princess."

"What? Oh." He laughed and peered down. "No, you're right, that's Old Buta." Technically the monstrous, nearly four foot black and gold koi was named Butaku, a 'soldier of the river', but after being spoiled for decades he was more suited to being a pig, rather than a warrior. "I meant the little girl looking up at us in the water."

"No, that's me," she explained patiently. "We're looking for Princess Kougyoku."

"Exactly," he agreed, relaxing his self-control just a little bit and squeezing her tiny shoulders.

"But I'm not Princess Kougyoku." She finally seemed to be getting frustrated, puffing her cheeks out in a laborious sigh.

Hakuyuu wanted to scoop her up and maybe never put her down ever again. En wouldn't mind, surely? He had a surplus of sisters, he wouldn't mind if Hakuyuu stole just one.

No.

No, bad prince, he scolded himself sternly. "Who are you then?" He needed a distraction.

"My mama named me Chrysanthi," she told him. It came out like an accusation, and Hakuyuu had to hold back a wince.

His uncle was many things; a brutal strategist, an admirable warrior, a mountain of a man, and, as evident by Hakuyuu's brood of cousins, a consummate womanizer. He had one official wife, four concubines from the Court and, most recently, he had brought in his current favorite, Domitia. A slave from Reim, traded young and trained well, she was an undeniably exotic, breathtakingly beautiful woman.

The courtesan was sweet as honey, Hakuyuu could freely admit, but twice as thick. She was such a natural airhead that the thought of telling Uncle Koutoku he had fathered a little girl off of her had never even crossed her mind. According to her warped rationale, Uncle Koutoku's children had red hair to mark them as his, so Kougyoku's golden locks meant that she was Domitia's child. She had named the girl after her late best friend, a young Artemyran girl who had died from illness not long before Domitia had been sold off to her brothel.

Given the little girl's coloring—blonde with pink eyes—it was, perhaps, an astoundingly apt use of logic from her.

"I think I see what the problem is here," he began, after a short pause.

"No!" Kougyoku stomped one tiny slipper-clad foot against the lacquered wood. Hakuyuu's hand twitched faintly, but he managed to keep hold of his fast-fraying composure. "I-I'm not confused," she insisted. "I'm not. I know they mean me when they say that. But it's not me. That's somebody else."

"You are definitely Prince Koutoku's child," he assured her. "Our magicians made sure of it. And that means... well, it means that you're a princess and that you need a name with 'Kou' at the front of it. So now you have two names."

His uncle had obviously put next to no effort into coming up with that name, he thought a bit uncharitably. He could have at least gone for Koukiku, to minimize any confusion. Granted, given just how many children he had, and the way their names could jumble together if one wasn't concentrating on keeping them straight, perhaps the man had just wanted a name that popped out easily.

Given that she was the only blonde in the royal family, that was barely worth calling an excuse.

"...oh." She blinked, shoulders going slack with palpable astonishment, and he realized then that his baby cousin had truly, honestly thought that she was in the palace under false pretenses.

"Mhm," he agreed, nodding. "Some nobles," he shared in a conspirator's whisper, "have two names too. One of them is personal, just for friends and family, and one of them is official, once they're all grown up." He finally, finally gave in, placing his hand on top of her head and rubbing it gently. "Your mama still calls you Chrysanthi, right? So, just think of 'Kougyoku' as another part of 'Princess'; it's just a title, because people need to show respect to a lady such as yourself." Perhaps that last bit had been a bit flowery for a four-year-old, he conceded with an internal grimace.

She seemed to be absorbing it just fine, though, and was nodding slowly. "Do you have a persh-sonal name?" She stumbled slightly, her lisp briefly worsening as she fought back a yawn. It was likely time for her to have a nap he noted and then fought back the urge to laugh triumphantly as he finally found a decent reason to scoop her up and stand in one smooth motion.

"Just 'Yuu', instead of Hakuyuu," he told her, cradling her against his chest carefully. "Tell you what; you can call me that if you let me take you back to your attendants; they're probably tearing your wing apart looking for you."

"M'kay." Her tiny fingers curled into the richly embroidered silk of his robes. Her eyes seemed to be drooping, now that she wasn't being spurred on by righteous indignation at her 'mistaken' identity. "You can..." She lost the battle and let out a soft yawn, hiding it behind one long purple sleeve. Hakuyuu had the sudden, intense urge to crush her against his chest in the tightest hug possible, but luckily the moment passed as swiftly as it came. "You can call me Anthy, then, Yuu-shama."

"Yuu-niisama," he corrected her as he started to stride back to the veranda. He had no idea which part of the palace had been refurbished as her personal quarters, but his guards doubtlessly knew.

"Yuu-niishama," she mumbled back obediently, nestling against his neck.

She was asleep by the time he reluctantly handed her off to the maid who served as her primary caretaker. The woman was nearly in tears and shaking like a leaf as he bid her a genial farewell and turned on his heel. As well she should; being so negligent as to lose track of a young princess, even a half-foreign lowborn princess, was inexcusable. She would be dismissed immediately.

Hakuyuu couldn't stand incompetent people, especially when they managed to endanger children.

All in all, Anthy was entirely justified in not understanding her circumstances until they were all but waved in her face. She had no recollection of dying, so being reborn in and of itself was an occurrence that left her reeling during her infancy. She had understood early on that she lived in a place called the Kou Empire, but given that she had a broad range of anime series under her belt, she had simply written it off as the China-equivalent in whatever strange, anachronistic world was to be her new home. She even knew that her mother was a prostitute; it was impossible not to, when they lived in a brothel.

Being dragged into the Imperial Court and renamed 'Kougyoku', being told she now had ten half-siblings, being inspected by actual magicians, no part of the last year and a half of her second life was anything close to something she could have possibly prepared herself for.

A faint aftertaste of horror lingered in her mouth every time she said that name, so she seldom did. It was stolen goods, in her guilt-laden opinion. This life, this name, it was never meant for her. It should be a different girl in her shoes: a lonely little redhead. If there was any justice in this farce of a world, Anthy would still be a redhead, too, but no; no, the universe, or the Rukh, or Solomon, or whoever was to blame for her current situation had decided to make it just that much more obvious that Anthy didn't belong here, gifting her with one glaring trait certain to make her stick out from the rest of her 'family'. From the rest of the court entirely, even. It sometimes seemed as though every color of the rainbow was covered by the various servants, guards, generals, and courtiers milling around the palace except for yellow.

Still, it had its uses from time to time. The hairstyle her maids insisted on had been what originally sparked the idea for her current moniker, conjuring half-forgotten memories of a different series she had seen in her previous life. 'Anthy' was the name of a false princess, of a girl trapped in a hellish fairytale that threatened to be the death of her. It was a fitting name, without the unpleasant undertone that weighed down 'Kougyoku'.

Naturally, her maids still called her Princess Kougyoku. It would be utterly unseemly to call her by a foreign name, or even worse: an affectionate nickname. And it was entirely out of the question not to mention her station every time they addressed her.

So, with that in mind, the people she could manage to convince felt like monumental victories. Hakuyuu had been the first, and was a surprisingly gentle man when he wasn't busy projecting the image of a stern, collected future Emperor. From what she could gather it seemed that his vice of choice, strangely enough, was anything he deemed 'cute', and especially young children, in the strictly innocent sense. Antsy knew for a fact that he was looking forward to being crowned Emperor almost as much for the obligation to sire an heir as for the power and prestige. Hakuren had obviously been informed privately, because he called her Anthy from the moment they met, his voice amused as he plucked her from the branches of a plum tree she had chosen to nap in. He had insisted on escorting her all the way back to her caretaker at the time, a woman who had snuck off for an assignation with some visiting nobleman's servant.

She had been replaced just as quickly as the woman who had been meant to be watching her the day she met Hakuyuu. They were strict, those princes.

Convincing her mother had been simple, only needing a single correction before she took up use of the shorter name. Her father, however, was the true feather in her cap.

Before Anthy had ever been born to Domitia, two things of particular note had been true: she had worked with children—young children, at that—and she had been a textbook Daddy's Girl.

Ren Koutoku wasn't much like her first father, granted; he was massive, with a cruel mouth and fiery hair, and at first he had been entirely dismissive of her existence. She had vague recollections of a black-bearded man with a wrinkled face, but if her memory wasn't at fault then those were changes that would only be foisted upon him with age.

Perhaps, she reasoned, perhaps it was stress that did it; Koutoku only had the normal amount of lines on his face for a man of his age: crows feet and frown creases. He had long hair and a full beard, but they were every bit as red as the rest of his children's. If the added mess of wrinkles she half-recalled were from stress or some more nefarious reason, then perhaps his hair had begun to go white as well, and it was easier to dye it black than red. Or maybe he had dyed his hair in tribute to his late elder brother.

Whatever the case, it wasn't particularly important at the time. It had just surprised her, when the man himself entered her mother's chambers in the middle of their tea party.

It was a tradition Domitia had started almost as soon as Anthy could sit upright, dressing her up in tiny finery and arranging them around the low table in her quarters at the brothel. In many ways, Domitia was far more innocent and girlish than Anthy could ever hope to be, but she gladly humored her mother all the same.

The quality of their private little parties took a sharp upward turn after they had been welcomed into the palace, and now the tea was served from gilded pots alongside pretty little foreign delicacies. Anthy had been nibbling at a slice of what she was almost certain was Turkish Delight—the maids had called it lokum as they laid it out—when Koutoku swept into the room.

As somebody who worked with children in the past, Anthy knew that there were roughly four types of adults: those who loved children honestly, those who loved the idea of children more than the reality, those who openly disliked children, and those who simply did not interact with children normally, and so regarded them with a certain degree of wary optimism.

The two princes she had met and her mother were the first type. As she locked gazes with her father, she tentatively categorized him as the last type. He was a man more at home in the bedroom or a battlefield than a nursery, she was willing to bet with a bit more certainty, because his bold body language shifted into something stiff and austere as he eyed her right back.

As somebody who worked with children in the past and who had enjoyed a doting, comfortable relationship with both her parents, Anthy also knew exactly what sort of behaviors all adults wanted from children, at their core.

So, finally looking away, she wriggled over silken pillows on her knees until she was adjacent to her mother rather than across the table from her. She looked back up at him expectantly, and some of the formality in his posture had relaxed out of pure befuddlement. Still looking straight at him, Anthy bent over and straightened the plush cushion she had been kneeling on, before straightening again.

Domitia had been delighted and quickly scooped her into her lap.

"My sweet, sweet girl," she crooned, nuzzling against Anthy's temple. "I agree, Papa should definitely join us!"

She had been lucky none of the servants had heard her tag such a banal form of address onto Koutoku, Anthy had thought, even as she reflexively blushed over being showered with affection in front of witnesses. Anthy was probably only meant to call him her 'Honored Father', most likely.

Koutoku and Domitia both seemed to conclude that the blush was a matter of her being shy over her invitation. Her mother found it adorable, the sparkling look in her blue eyes making that much abundantly clear, whereas her father seemed to gain some sort of sense of superiority. Doubtless, the attentions of half a dozen women or more over the years had instilled some manner of cocky familiarity with demure 'affection' upon him, and gave him some familiar ground to stand on. She doubted he had ever been invited to take part in a princess's tea party before.

Surprisingly, there really was a first time for everything.

Anthy had, in retrospect, been incredibly crafty. Manipulative, even; after he had sat down at the other end of the table, selecting the strongest, blackest tea they had and skirting the sweets for more savory snacks, she spent the rest of her time keeping quiet and stealing little wide-eyed looks here and there, as though she thought he wasn't looking.

A faint twist tugged at the corner of that cruel mouth a little more each time she did. The interest of a child, she knew, could be incredibly satisfying when one wasn't in the middle of something that required concentration. She had made sure to glance back when it came time for her to go back to her lessons, peeking over her long sleeves as she murmured a formal goodbye—or at least as formal as could be expected from a four-year-old.

She had scurried out after one last glance over her shoulder, and had heard a low bark of laughter as she slid the door closed behind her. It had been an excellent day to lay down the groundwork for future run-ins.

Crossing paths with her father was not a common occurrence, even after that, but every time she wormed her way in just a little bit more through awed little glances and shifting around like she wanted to latch onto his hand or leg, but was holding herself back. It was an arduous process that took the greater part of six months, but it was one she was equal parts sincerely and cynically determined to complete. This was her life, now, and if she couldn't have her original father, then she would damn well at least have one that liked her.

It came to fruition around the time that her two main caretakers finally went the way of their predecessors, sneaking off to watch some spar between her cousins when they thought she was absorbed in practicing her letters on an ornate slab of slate.

She had gathered up a few soft rolls into a needlessly large silk handkerchief, knotting it into a bundle and hoisting it up on a gold-painted rod that one of the maids had accidentally knocked loose from a gauzy curtain that morning.

She set off with what was, she assumed, the most expensive hobo-bindle ever assembled over her shoulder, in hopes of stumbling upon Hakuyuu's garden again. She obviously took a wrong turn somewhere, because when she turned a corner she found herself staring at the familiar robes of her father. When she tilted her head back, his face could have been carved from granite for all the expression it showed.

"Now where," he began, his voice a low and ominous rumble, "do you think you are going?"

She pursed her lips, before shaking her little bindle showily. "I'm going to go feed the Pig-Fish," she told him.

If she had been expecting confusion, she would have been disappointed. "Old Butaku's still alive?" Her father stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Fine."

He reached out with one massive hand, plucking up the rod with surprising gentleness and tucking it under his arm, striding down the corridor she had come from. He stopped halfway down, when he realized she wasn't following.

"Well? Come along, Anthy," he bid her with some impatience, a bit of thunder creeping into his expression. She quickly scurried after him.

It wasn't until they were seated on that red bridge, bathed in the dying light of day that she fully understood why he was being so accommodating. His gait may have been straight as an arrow, but there was no hiding the familiar aroma of booze wafting off of him when she was that close. He had likely called her the first thing that popped into his head: the name her mother doubtlessly used when chattering about her to him.

That was fine. Anthy hadn't looked that particular gift horse in the mouth. Instead, she scooted up to his side as he crumbled a roll apart in one large fist and poured some of the pieces into her cupped palms. Butaku had once again swam up to the bridge as soon as they approached, waiting expectantly.

"Spoiled old carp," Koutoku snorted, scattering a few crumbs that were quickly gobbled up.

Anthy followed suit, jolting back when the fish nearly splashed her to get at the food.

Her father snorted. "Next time, bring grapefruit or oranges, cut into fourths," he advised, tossing the rest of the bread pieces on his hand further away from the bridge and watching the massive koi turn on a dime to go after them. "Those will float." He shifted so that he could eye her without straining his neck. "If you try to feed him by hand, you might lose it."

That was all he really said, then, the both of them lapsing into a lazy silence as they worked their way through the meager supplies she had bought. He was obviously much more sober by the time night had fallen and his attendants found them, smoothly getting to his feet and bidding one of the men to escort her back to her quarters without so much as a goodbye.

Her wayward caretakers, she found the next day, had been executed.

Perhaps that was what led her to her current situation, two days later. She stared blankly up at the young man smiling politely down at her.

"You're a boy," she remarked, eyes narrowing shrewdly.

"I am," he agreed, keeping his voice patently genial, and gesturing to the young women—dark haired, identical twins—behind him. "My name is Ka Koubun, Princess. I will be in charge of your schedule and overseeing your tutors, from now on. En Shinju and En Shinri will be by your side at all times, even when I cannot or should not be with you."

You're not supposed to be here yet, she almost told him, but instead she merely nodded her understanding. It was, more or less, the usual caretaker introduction; she had seen enough of them come and go at this point to know that. Still, this time it seemed that more effort had been put forth to find replacements—the amount that the original Kougyoku had only merited after her father had become Emperor.

She had that thought to chew on, even as she was swept off to learn the history of her homeland and put through her paces in etiquette training. She had obviously given some thought to changing the course of events she nebulously remembered from her past life. Ultimately, she had decided not to; it was a fact that there were innumerable realities branching off from that storyline.

It would be the height of folly to assume that she had magically been reborn into that exact world, or that her birth alone had been an isolated incident without ripple effects. For all she knew, the Ren Gyokuen of this world was entirely herself, and Arba lurked in the heart of some other woman. It seemed unlikely, given that she had seen the members of Al-Thamen milling around the palace, but she had no way to back up any claims she might make and wasn't even remotely willing to run the risk of making that type of enemy.

She didn't even know when, exactly, her uncle and cousins were meant to die; the period of time it had occurred in the original story could have already come and gone. If it didn't happen by the time she was seven, she could probably safely assume that she had no idea what would happen, and could fully embrace her new life.

Still, that was no reason not to cherish her remaining time, with that tentative deadline established.

"May I go play with Yuu-niisama?" She made sure to ask her new minders, once her lessons were done for the day.

Koubun and the sisters seemed astonished that she was being so direct; the twins had watched her like hawks the entire day. Anthy suspected that the legend of her wandering ways had taken on a life of its own, magnified more and more with each turnover. Or perhaps it was the forward manner of familiarity she spoke of him with that was giving him trouble.

"I—" His voice cracked and he hurriedly cleared his throat. "I can make no promises, Princess, but I will send a missive to First Prince Hakuyuu requesting an audience with him for you."

"Thank you," she said again, before going to practice on her slate again. She had been a voracious reader in her previous life, and the sooner she could read more advanced books, the better.

Her servants still seemed a little off-kilter in the aftermath. They had likely imagined some terrible monster of an urchin that would beguile and bamboozle them, leaving them to face the ire of her family. She couldn't blame them, even if she did find it a little insulting. She would have and had asked her minders to go out in the past, if they had been there to ask. As long as they weren't negligent, they would never face the same problem as the unfortunate women that had most recently been terminated from the position.

Hakuyuu was busy, that afternoon, as Koubun had no doubt expected, but was waiting for her the next day after her lessons, which left the teenager understandably thunderstruck.

"I thought His Highness would be busy preparing for the coronation," her attendant managed in a tone that only squeaked a little bit.

"There is not much for me to do that I have not done already," Hakuyuu said in measured, regal tones. They had been ushered into a receiving room with an open view of yet another garden—this one, Anthy thought, featured fruit trees more than anything—and were being served tea.

It felt strange, sitting formally with her servants seated behind her, Hakuyuu and his own men arrayed similarly on the other side of the room. She thought he might prefer it just being the two of them instead, but she supposed images needed to be maintained if the big day was supposedly looming near.

That also moved up her 'deadline', so at least she wouldn't be waiting on tenterhooks for much longer.

"Besides," Hakuyuu said, a touch of humor warming his tone almost imperceptibly, as he shared a glance with her over his cup. "It's bad form to keep a lady like Anthy waiting. Hakuren can handle things for a little while."

"Anthy?" Koubun questioned later, once the little meeting had concluded and they were heading back to her quarters for her mid-afternoon nap. The twins ghosted along in their wake. She still hadn't heard either woman utter a sound.

"Mama named me Chrysanthi," she explained, glancing around; she never came to this part of the palace very often and the decorations were very eye-catching, to say the least. "So 'Anthy' is my personal name, and 'Kougyoku' is my formal name."

"I see," the young man hummed, filing that little tidbit away. She doubted he would ever use it, but she gave him points for asking in the first place.

A week later, Hakuyuu was crowned as the next Emperor of Kou, without even the slightest of hiccups. Something in Anthy relaxed then, as she stood with her mother among the child-strangers and haughty women she was meant to call family. She grinned at her cousin and the elegant lady she assumed was his wife as the procession passed by.

She had absolutely no idea what was in store for her. That ignorance was freeing, for once, instead of daunting.

Next Time: It was the pointed, floppy-brimmed hat that sparked her memory more than anything, though she hadn't remembered the feathers being quite so large.