The next morning, Anakin prepares to enter the palace. Yisu stands behind him, carefully trimming the ends of his hair with a bit too much concentration, his tongue sticking out slightly as he works.
Yisu purses his lips, annoyed by Anakin's constant fidgeting like it's his first day in the palace. "Your Highness, if you keep fidgeting, I might accidentally give you a mohawk," he says.
"Harming a prince will result in extermination of three generations of your family," Anakin responds nonchalantly.
Yisu chuckles. "You'll be lucky to find one member of my family left alive," he says as he finishes up the trim.
He then moves to stand before Anakin with a shaving blade, lifting his chin with a single finger to shave his mustache.
Anakin's brows knit together at Yisu's slow, exaggerated movements, spotting the familiar glint of mischief on his face.
"What are you doing?" Anakin asks, suspicion already creeping into his voice.
