Archive of Our Own

“Son, I need to speak to you.”

Exhaustion lined his features, but duty superseded his desires for rest and your presence when Naobito called upon him to enter his study. From the moment you gave him your blessed kiss a week ago in your chambers to the time he rode into battle, all Naoya could think of was you, but he could not discard his father’s requests to meet despite how much he yearned to be by your side.

The young man could not have braced himself for the foreboding in his father’s tone when he uttered the orders that would devastate him for days on end.

“I want you to divorce that wretched Kamo girl.”

Surely, Naobito must be joking. Naoya kept his neutral gaze clasped on his father’s hardened ones. “Father, wasn’t it you who said that half of my inheritance depends on her?” He had to reason with his father’s greed to ensure that the reality of your separation would not come to fruition. But before Naoya could break through to this sudden bout of madness that Naobito spouted, a knife whistled past his cheek, almost grazing his ear as it sank into the wall behind him.

Naoya dared not breathe.

“That Kamo whore is more trouble than she is worth!” His father raged, “I want her out from under my roof before the month is over. All her family has done is rack up more bills than we can pay off and we’ve lost many good men from this useless alliance with her. I will not tolerate this any longer and I will see to it that if you do not divorce Y/N, she will be dead in her sheets before this day is over.”

The air around him shimmered with the scent of danger and he stiffened in his tracks, not even blinking. Fear shrouded him, but the terror of losing you outweighed the safety of his well-being.

“No.”

That word descended upon his father like a black mist. “What did you say?”

Finding his courage, Naoya straightened, his back taut and sturdy like a pine tree. “I said ‘no’, father.” He scrounged for his remaining bravery, imploring his father to consider this impossible request he would have his son carry out. “I… I love Y/N, father. I love her. I do not care if she cannot bear my children or if she is a Kamo. I care naught for those seeming transgressions. I love her and you cannot change my mind on it.”

He should’ve expected there to be blows. He should’ve expected there to be destructive words hurled into his face. But he did not expect this.

Naobito lunged at his son and landed a swift jab to his face, almost breaking his lower teeth. Thankfully, it was just his lip that was split, but before he could regain his centre, his father gripped his injured arm, slamming him down onto the floor with the weight of his knee on the torn ligament. A piercing scream of pain slipped past his teeth and his mind exploded in white-hot flames, further fuelled by the hands around his neck, cutting off his airflow.

Black spots filled his vision and for one moment, Naoya knew for certain that he would be dead.

But, life was not that merciful to him and his father granted him back the permission to breathe. Both men were gasping and panting hard–one from the air loss and the other from unspeakable rage.

“Do not,” his father spat in his face, “Ever take my words in light-hearted jest, Zen’in Naoya.”

Naobito stood up and regarded his son with a look of pure disgust–one that was no stranger to the young man.

“Divorce her now and marry that cook. As long as you have an heir, that is all that I am content with.”

Whatever Naobito wanted, he would get, and just a few hours later, he was staring down into your grief-stricken expression, wishing the ground would swallow him up and he could repudiate this harsh reality that he was never allowed to be with you. It was without a shadow of doubt one of the worst days of his life and none of it could be soothed even by Ira’s presence.

As if she had an extra sense for his misery, she approached him at the end of the main hallway with a shy smirk.

“Master Naoya, are you well?”

He was not, but why would she care? This scheming wench saw him as nothing but a goal post to cross over in her attempts to rise up the social ladder. Though Naoya knew all these, he was helpless to stop her from grabbing his hands and pressing them to the swell of her belly–her gentle touch soothing and reminding him of another’s hands that he desperately wanted rather than hers.

“The baby just started kicking, Master Naoya,” she said in hushed reverence for this momentous occasion. “And I wanted his father to be the first to feel him.”

His baby . It was the only creature in this loveless household that did not discriminate nor disregard him, and he fought back the tears when he felt a nudge under his palm. Bathed in moonlight, his soul broke as he pictured a different life where Ira’s warm palms were your smooth ones and the baby in her womb belonged to you.

But, he could not be unjust as to spurn the mother of his child. So, Naoya had done what he was taught to do since he was but a little boy–grin and bear it for the sake of his father’s face and the Zen’in’s name.

Naoya had not yet regained his wits about him.

It was as if his ears were clogged with wool, and he could not make out the barrage of insults coming from his father’s mouth, or your empty chambers that were swept clean of your presence. Like smoke on the water, you had disappeared and all he was left with was the rising panic as he numbly ordered the Hei samurais to scour every inch of the estate to bring you back to him.

He would get on his knees and apologize; he would show you how truly repentant he was and throw aside his duty to divorce you. Naoya was done listening to the grim orders of his father and all he wanted was his family back by his side. His heart squeezed once more at the reminder–you, pregnant and expecting two babies–two! For the longest time since he had been alive, Naoya had never experienced such potent disbelief and happiness at the prospect of being a father not just to any babies–but to your babies.

He had searched high and low for you, disregarding the rest of the envoys and the celebrations to return back to your arms and explain everything from that wretched day.

However, it seemed you had eluded him.

“We have not caught sight of Lady Zen’in in any part of the estate, Young Master,” the Hei samurai informed, and if the man was fatigued from the hours of unending search, he did not portray it to his liege.

Naoya waved him off and once the door to his quarters closed, he tipped his head forward into his palms, fighting off a wave of exhaustion. It was nearing the early morning and there was still no sign of you. He had searched every inch of the relevant estate land from your chambers to the maid's rooms and even some of the guest rooms–

He jolted at the thought. There were two rooms he had yet to check and his heart sank to his stomach at the bloodcurdling thought. Wasting no time, he rushed towards Toji Zen’in’s room, banging on the door and nearly taking it off the hinge if it wasn’t for his cousin’s swift answer. It seemed as if Toji was anticipating him from the rigid set of his broad shoulders and the cold glint in his oceanic eyes.

“My wife,” Naoya said with no preamble. “She was here, was she not?”

“She was,” Toji admitted, the dark circles under his eyes accentuated from the light of the moon. A glimmer of green gossamer on Toji’s bed stole his attention and ice shot through his veins, his breaths coming out in short pants.

“T-that is my wife’s kimono.”

Toji came to the realization the same time Naoya did, and barely had time to evade the plunge of his knife, the strikes of a heartbroken husband raining down on this assumed adulterer with no respite or mercy.

Naoya was inconsolable, slashing at his cousin, trying to find purchase on the flesh of this traitorous wife stealer. “You bastard!” he snarled, the glint of the knife’s tip seeking blind purchase in the body of his adversary. “Where is she?!”

“Naoya, listen,” Toji pleaded, evading his strikes in one swift move and gripping his armed wrist firmly, squeezing his pulse to weaken his hold on the weapon. It worked and the knife clattered to the ground, echoing loudly along with the whistling of his cousin’s rattled breaths. As if all the fight had seeped out of him, Naoya tore his hand away from Toji’s lax grip and staggered towards the bed, picking the kimono up with shaky hands to bring it to his chest.

“Where did she go?” There was no mistaking the quiet horror in his tone. “Did you–“ He swallowed down the agony that arose with his next question. “–Did you bed her, cousin?”

“Of course not,” Toji said, a film of exhaustion in his tone. “I would not do that to you.”

Like a lost little boy, he buried his face in the last memento he had from you, uncaring that his cousin was here to witness his lapse of stoicism. The scent of roses tickled his senses and though your body heat had long evaporated from the silky material, he swore he could still feel it between his fingers.

“Cousin–“

“I was forced to divorce her,” he intoned, unable to look at Toji. “I was told that she would be killed if I did not relinquish this marriage.”

Stony silence fell around the two men. For Toji, he realized a second too late that of course this was not his cousin’s doing. He had known Naoya for half of his life–this was not the antics of a man who freely consented to a divorce. Naoya was nothing more than a pawn in Naobito’s games and unfortunately, his happiness was not a priority for the older man when he had ordered for this separation from you. Potent disgust for his uncle filled Toji’s chest.

Fighting back a wave of exhaustion, Naoya plucked his knife from the ground and bundled the kimono under his good arm where just a few days ago, that same arm held you by his side. Back then, he had the privilege to be blessed with the possibility of your love but now… now, he was a forlorn man missing the woman he was too late in safeguarding. The pain crushed the utterances of explanation from his tongue, forcing him out of Toji’s chambers and to ignore the pitying stare his cousin gave him, staggering to his own room in a fugue.

Like a mourning widower, he spread your kimono on your favorite side of the mattress, curling up around it and trying his hardest to pretend that the next time he opened his eyes, rather than swathes of silk, he would be blessed to find you next to him once more.

You were sure you were dreaming.

There was no doubt about it; the reason was simply that your father was standing in the kitchen, the absolute picture of health. Noriyoshi Kamo had his head close to your mother’s as if they were two friends conspiring. Their voices floated towards you and you were once more a girl of five, eavesdropping on their clandestine conversations

“–Takara and Naobito’s son?”

Your father snorted. “You would wish our precious daughter to be betrothed to him?”

Fumiko sighed, knowing the ire her husband harbored towards the Zen’ins. “I’ve known Takara since we were both ladies-in-waiting for the shogun’s wife. She has managed to subdue Naobito’s rage for the better half of her life. I am positive that their little boy would be a good match for Y/N.”

Noriyoshi exhaled deeply. “I know Naobito as an uncompromising man. Who knows if his son would inherit his rage.”

“Even if he did, it would be tempered by his mother’s gentleness,” your mother started scolding him, “Come now, husband. Do you not believe in someone’s comportment between nature and nurture? Sure, he may inherit Naobito’s nature, but with the right nurturing…”

“I understand,” your father amended gruffly, knowing he was outweighed by her sound argument. “In any case, Noritoshi would protect his sister–he has to if she were to be part of the Zen’ins.”

Your mother soothed his worry with a gentle smile. “Of course he would. I have no doubt about it.”

The lurching of the cart woke you up from your fitful sleep and you met the wide eyes of your ladies. None of you could speak, terrified as to why the journey was suddenly impeded. In a flash, the tarp cover was removed and blinding light cascaded down upon you, temporary setting stars in your eyes. Your ladies exclaimed in fear, but they had nothing to worry about. Kamo Eso grinned down at the party of terrified women and gestured to somewhere in front of him.

“We are in the Kamo fiefs.”

You gingerly straightened and peeked past the cart’s side, exhaling in sheer relief when you saw the lining of the stonewall far behind which signaled the border between the Zen’in lands and yours.

You were home.

From here, your ladies and you could inhale the fresh air, the scent of dung no longer stinging your nose. In a few more miles, the silhouette of your childhood home appeared and you disembarked while the cart was still moving, uncaring for your ladies’ cries for you to slow your pace as you tore down the low hill, right towards the gates of your salvation.

The guards recognized you and cried out, a ruckus created from your presence. Not even a second later, the gates slid open, admitting you and you slowed down, catching your breath and palming your belly. It was reckless for you to be running like this when you were pregnant, but you could not contain your excitement at meeting your family once more.

The lined expression of your mother as she raced past the entrance was the first thing you saw and you launched yourself towards her with a cry spilling from your lips. She caught you with a strangled sob, the both of you sinking to the ground as she cradled you close to her chest.

Despite the endeavors you have been through as a woman of a great house, the wife to a daimyo-to-be and now a mother, you still clung to your own mother like a lost little girl.

“Mama,” you blubbered and she shushed you, running your hands through your hair. “S-so m-much has happened, mama.”

“I know, I know,” your mother soothed, holding you to her bosom and rocking you gently. “But, you’re safe now, Y/N.” She peeled you back from her embrace and gently touched your cheek with her palm. You had never noticed how much older your mother had grown; it felt like decades ago when she had bid you farewell before a carriage brought you to the other end of the fief, away from home and into the hearth of a once-enemy.

She helped you up from the ground and brought you back into the cool walls of the Kamo estate. Your mother took over from your ladies and ushered you into your chambers, calling for the maids to prepare a bath to wash off the stench of manure and travel from you. In your complacency at being in a space where you were finally secure and safe, you had let her help you disrobe. Her reaction was instantaneous when she noticed your belly, a soft gasp flying past her parted lips.

“Oh, Y/N…”

You froze, momentarily forgetting that your mother had been a midwife too before her marriage to your father; she was the one who had personally delivered the shogun’s firstborn son, a decree of high honor for any woman. If anyone were to know more about pregnancies than Misa, it would be your very own mother.

Palming your stomach, you started trembling; the anger, hurt and injustice coalesced as waves of tears streaming down your face.

“He told me he wanted a divorce,” you explained as quietly as you could through the cresting despondency, hands glued to your abdomen. “I… I broke the news that I was pregnant before we escaped the Zen’in estate.”

Fumiko did not judge you nor chastise you as any mother of a failure would. All she did was inhale deeply and asked, “Did you love him?”

Nodding, you refused to meet her gaze, your heart breaking at the wave of pain from that simple prodding. “I did. I thought I did. He had a mistress and he…” you trailed off, fully letting the agony of Naoya’s mistreatment wash over you now that you were safe to waddle through those emotions. The words were gasped out in pure pain as you doubled over, clutching your midsection and sobbing hard. “H-he got her p-p-pregnant as w-well.”

Your mother caught you for the second time, allowing her pregnant and emotionally exhausted daughter to cry into her shoulder. “I loved him, mama,” you whimpered brokenly. “I did and he… he…”

“Ssh,” she murmured, stroking your hair once more. The maids arrived with the pails of hot water, dutifully tipping the heavy receptacles into your wide porcelain tub, ready to tend to you; but your mother waved them away, choosing to step in and take over.

“You must’ve been so heartbroken and terrified, Y/N,” Fumiko said and another barrage of sobs wracking from your body as you could no longer keep yourself composed. Your mother sighed and gently brought you into the tub. For the first time in many, many years, she bathed you with tenderness and care which you were never afforded for a long time.

She washed away your tears and the clumps of dirt in your hair, patting you down and tending to your wet strands, all the while never commenting on the unending tears dripping down your face.

“Mama,” you whispered as she was rubbing scented oil into your hair.

“Yes, Y/N?”

Despondently, you played with your fingers before summoning the courage to meet her gaze through the mirror. “Has papa ever made you this sad?”

To your surprise, your mother nodded, a thin smile stretching across her face. “Once.” She paused and continued with a heavy sigh. “I never told you and Toshi about this, but he got another woman pregnant while he was an envoy to Hokkaido–she was a villager from his nearby campsite.”

You could hardly believe it. Your parents’ marriage was by no means perfect, but you had always assumed that your father was a man who was solely loyal to your mother. Finding out that he had sired a bastard added another layer of strain to your already fragile sentiments and you made a strangled sound at the back of your throat. “W-what happened, mama?”

“She lost the baby,” Fumiko said, all traces of a smile disappearing. “She came by our estate one day, demanding compensation for the ills your father had cursed her with. He gave her thirty thousand yen to cover up for his mistakes.”

Your jaw dropped at the amount and you scrambled to pick it back up. “H-how come you never told me about this?”

Fumiko reached forward and squeezed your shoulders, meeting your watery eyes through the mirror’s reflection. “Because I didn’t want you and Toshi to grow up with the idea that marriage is terrifying.” She inhaled deeply once more. “I wanted the both of you to be as innocent as you could be to the downsides of being in love with someone.”

There was a heavy pause. “Marriage can be a bumpy road, Y/N, but if the hurdles are born with resilience, it can be a truly beautiful experience.”

You shifted your attention back to the swell of your belly. Though you were barely done with your first season, your stomach had the appearance of one who was closer to her second one. It must be because since there were two babies rather than one that your stomach was distending at a faster pace.

“How many weeks are you along?” your mother inquired and you shook your head.

“I have no idea.” You reflected thoughtfully. “I started feeling off during my honeymoon with Naoya and when I came back, Misa discovered that I was already in my early gestation period.”

“Ah. May I?”

You allowed your mother to roam her hands around your bump and noticed the pensive gaze she wore. “Is it twins, Y/N?”

Fighting back a grin, you nodded. “How did you know?”

“You’re bigger than an average woman during a singular gestation,” she informed, and despite the circumstances that had brought you back to your homeland, she could not hide her excitement at being a grandmother. “This is delightful–twins!”

Hiding your exuberance as well, you were momentarily distracted from the pain of recollection, adopting a sardonic disposition. “The Zen’ins continuously mocked that I was infertile,” you divulged with a weary sigh. “And now I am carrying two babies–this is the irony of the highest heavens.”

“Not an irony, Y/N,” your mother said and pinched your cheek with a short burst of laughter at the choice of your words. “A blessing.”

Her words brought you pause and you let it sink into you bit by bit. Blessings. What a way to order around this twist of fate.

Despite the lightness that was born from this moment between you and your mother, you could not help but recollect that if you lived in happier times, your husband would be the one here celebrating with you and not a hundred miles away in a land dissimilar from your own. Even after all the heartbreak he had placed you through, you still yearned for him and it was with that debilitating realization that you started tearing up, all traces of a forced smile gone once your mother’s back was turned.

Like the choppy waters of a sea during a deranged thunderstorm, Naoya’s moods swung from one extreme to the other in the coming days when he was without you.

Everyone made sure to stay away from the temperamental young master, least of all his mistress who stood by the shadows, watching him with anxiety at how her beloved wasn’t even paying her any mind. Ira had tried to take advantage of your sudden disappearance to seal her talons on Naoya, but he appeared to be highly affected by your absence.

It was in the constant downturn of his lips, the dark circles under his eyes and the unending stormy thoughts reflected on his dark countenance. Everyone under the estate roof held whispered suspicions that the young master was suffering from the loss of his presumably abhorred wife, which stunned even the most unaffected servant at the sudden swinging of his mannerisms.

If Naoya heard their whispers, he remained speechless, keeping his emotions under heavy guard around these distrustful walls. He immersed himself in his training, throwing his frustrations onto his subordinates, doing his utter best to avoid his father by taking advantage of Naobito’s influx of meetings, and most of all, staying up till the early morning light to mourn over his wife. The cycle of missing you never seemed to end and where there was once sheer hostility towards the idea of you, he now yearned to see your face again, even if it was from a distance. But he sensed he could not bring you back home.

For Naoya was cognizant that if he were to return you back to the estate, you would meet your demise, pregnant or not. He could not lead you back down the viper’s nest when you had already fled from it.

“…Kamo Choso will be her beloved…”

“Y/N-san… remarried…”

Naoya paused from his descent towards the dining halls, his ears prickling at the mention of your name.

“Remarried?” An aghast gasp. “But she is not yet legally separated from the young master.”

Someone snorted in derision. “Do you think those savage bloodsuckers would care? They would wed her off to the lowest brute in a heartbeat if it meant they could gain more power–"

The conversation between the two chambermaids came to a screeching halt when Naoya barged into the empty guest room. Twin gasps of surprise reached his ears and they both bowed low, flabbergasted at the sight of their liege.

“Young Master–“

“Where did you hear that news from?”

Neither of the women would have anticipated the distressing timber in his voice.

“Please,” Naoya swallowed, unused to begging the dregs for anything worth of value until he was struck by the mention of you. “Tell me that the rumors are wrong.”

The younger maid with freckles and a gap-toothed grimace was the one who answered him. “I heard it from my parents. They live in a village near Kamo prefecture. There are rumors that she is to wed Kamo Choso soon–most likely in tandem with her brother’s wedding.”

For the longest time, the two women thought that their young master had been smitten by muteness. He did not speak, staring at the tatami floors with unblinking eyes. Before they could jolt him out of his reverie, he picked up his stride and sprinted to the stables. Barely ironing out the logistics in his mind, Naoya saddled and strapped his horse for the long ride to the Kamo lands.

Those meddlesome wenches must’ve alerted the house, for a sharp voice stilled his frenzied actions, giving him second thought to the treason he was about to commit.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Turning around to face his father, Naoya had not noticed he had drawn the attention of errant eyes of the estate, one of whom was his cousin who fixed him with an impassive gaze from the veranda. Keeping mum, he rigidly swiveled around, tightening the reins around Kuru’s muzzle.

“Naoya,” his father barked, reaching out to grip his son’s shoulder, and the impenetrable patience he harbored for acts of deceit, violence, and tolerance towards his father’s mistreatment snapped like the thin neck of a bird when he whipped around and landed a strike right in his father’s face.

Naobito staggered back to the gasps of the servants and the rest of the Elites. With a throbbing fist and a mortified heart, Noaya sensed from the murderous intent in his father’s eyes and the baring of his bloodied teeth that this time, twenty lashes would be the lowest modicum of punishment he was to receive.

“Naoya, if you do this, you will no longer bear my name–“

“I have listened to you for far too long,” he spat and embarked upon his stead with shaky disdain for the man before him. “And I will amend the wrongs you forced me to commit towards a woman I love."

Understanding too late at the actions his sole son was about to commit, Naobito’s rage was devoured by the dust of his horse’s shoes, the main gate the target to which he spurred his great warhorse towards. With the clothes on his back, a knife strapped to the inside of his kimono and a spare katana he had managed to snag from the armory, Naoya bounded across the verdant fields, setting his sights towards you.

Men yelled and cursed his name, riders flitting out on Naobito’s orders to retrieve him, but Naoya was faster. He was not called the swiftest Zen’in alive for anything.

They did not rain arrows on him but canted their horses at lightning speed to nip at Kuru’s hooves. Though the Hei were equipped with more weaponry, agility, and durability through their armor than he was, they did not have one thing which was the driving force to this sudden bout of madness that struck the young man.

Desperation.

For how could he live his life if he knew you belonged to another?

It was that thought alone which caused him to take up arms against the brothers he had trained with since he was but a boy, slashing the joints of their horses as those beasts whinnied and stumbled, throwing their riders off. They chased him for what felt like hours, reluctant to let their sole heir slip through their fingers.

He zipped erratically in lightning-quick lines as he approached the first landmark of the Zen’in borders; once he slipped through that rubble and into a village belonging to the first miles of neutral land, he would be free.

When the last of the Hei had fallen behind, their great warhorses out of breath and blustering from the high-speed capture, he only spurred his black beauty on, the wind whipping past and streaking cold tears from his eyes.

They had stopped pursuing him.

In what felt like eons, Naoya was a free man. He slowed Kuru to a cant, letting his stead breathe and gather its stamina for the journey ahead. Naoya had no money, food, or water on him, his name discarded in his hasty decision of returning to your side. The dust stirring from the dirt road burned his throat and he found himself in great need of a warm meal to break his fast. But he paid none of those human impulses any mind, discarding them like his titles, dignity, and status in favor of seeing your sweet face once more.

“Curse him!”

Zen’in Megumi was a young man of little worldly experience, but the patent fury in his granduncle's tone was frightening and unmissable in his resolution to end his uncle’s life. Toji was there to bear the brunt of Naobito’s anger, having been called into a farcical meeting as the regent father to the next Zen’in leader who was–Megumi gulped–him. The void his uncle had left was filled with seething disappointment on account of his spurned father and Megumi stayed still under the piles, hidden from sight but hearing all that transpired above his head.

“Naobito-san, perhaps you are being too harsh–“

“Do not minimize my rage, Toji!” Megumi could clearly picture the restrained anger in his father’s countenance as he was reminded of the sufferings he had lived under this same tyranny which he was now thrusting his son into. “Your son may be the replacement for my son, but this does not give you the power to talk over me.”

A resolute deep breath. “Yes, Master Zen’in.”

“Get out,” Naobito growled. “And tell your boy that if he even thinks of evading his duty, I will hang him in substitution for his foolish uncle.”

Megumi’s blood ran cold and he closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the cool shadows of the earth under the main office. No one had discovered his new hiding place, and it was by sheer luck that he was lankier than the other men and could easily slip through the cracks, straining his ear over Naobito’s private quarters that housed the chief discussions concerning alliances, wars, and strategy.

He heard the heavy plodding of his father’s feet dragging as he left the room. A reedy sigh, and the rustle of a book. Naobito was settling down for the evening. There was a pregnant pause and Megumi counted his granduncle's rough breaths. One, two, three–the sudden creak of the door opening made him flinch.

“Master Zen’in?” That voice was unfamiliar to Megumi and he strained to make it out. It was feminine and lilting, an edge of a simper in its user’s tone when she said, “I have a question to burden you with.”

Megumi waited for his granduncle to fly into a rage, to call her names or to even throw items at her, as he was accustomed to doing. Never would he expect a low chuckle to greet his ears.

“Do I even want to inquire deeper, child?”

A wispy sigh. “It’s just… Naoya-sama has not been paying me any attention and he’s always with that Kamo bitch. I think he’s in love with her, which begs the question–“

There was a light creak, and Megumi was stunned to hear a croaky moan from his granduncle.

“–will your baby be safe?”

A dip formed in the young man’s brow and he pressed his ear above the wooden crack to catch more of what was being said.

“My baby?” There was no mistaking the surprise in his great uncle's tone. “What on earth are you prattling about–“

“The conception time does not match up,” she whispered, and there was a sizable chunk of silence before Naobito groaned lightly.

“Do not tell me that it is my–“

“It is,” she cooed. “I am positive. And since Naoya-sama is no longer in the picture and you are in need of an heir–“

The strange woman did not have time to complete her sentence. A loud slap reverberated back to him and he heard her whimper in undeniable pain.

“Do you mistake me for a fool?” Naobito seethed. “You may have duped my son with your leech-like attitude, but you will not manipulate me. I know all you want is power and you shall never find it in my–“

“I’ll tell him,” she gasped and silence once more descended upon them. “I’ll tell him that this baby is not–“

“Don’t.” Megumi was stunned to hear a note of remorse in the older Zen’in’s tone. “Don’t. In any case if the Kamo whore does not take him back–“

“It would ruin him,” she confirmed and there was once more the dense quiet of conflicting emotions. “I understand.”

Before Megumi could exert himself to hear more, a hand shot through the dark and dragged him out into the night. Muffling his yelp by biting hard on his lower lip, he came face to face with his father’s disapproving stare, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Zen’in Megumi, what in the world are you–“

In answer, he clasped his father’s bicep in warning, drawing him down to the hidden spot and pointed at the wooden slats of the office floor.

Quietly as he could, Megumi explained, “Granduncle is discussing with a woman about her child.” That piqued Toji’s interest and whether by sheer luck or divine intervention, he heard her admission loud and clear from his position right next to his son in the shadows.

“Let this child that I am carrying be your heir, Naobito-san.”

His father’s face had gone white as a sheet and Megumi had never seen Toji look this horror-stricken as wet smacking sounds came to the two men’s attention. The woman groaned and Naobito cursed her name, the soft creaks of the chair squeaking against the wooden floor growing louder.

“You’ll be the death of me, Ira.”

For hours Naoya rode until he could no longer bear the swaying motion of being on horseback. The Kamo fiefs were a day’s journey away through the rocky hills, and he was exhausted.

Hot rays beat down on him, reminding him of his extreme thirst and he was forced to steal a bit of water from a horse’s trough as Kuru relented its dehydration. In these parts, villages were scarce and dotted randomly, signaling his descent down into the Kamo valleys past the rocky terrain of no-man’s land. Not for the first time, Naoya wondered if he had committed the right reasoning by throwing everything he held dear in his life away.

But, as the setting sun dipped below the horizons and the wind started picking up, he was once again reminded by the thought that you were the sole person in that household who saw him for who he truly was. You did not measure his worth based on his name or his riches; you showed him a world where a new Naoya Zen’in could exist peacefully with his battle scars, insufferable behavior, and excessive pride… but still, be loved all the same.

There was no doubt about it.

He had to return to you.

The night found him under a big apple tree, fidgeting for warmth as Kuru stood over him, standing guard over his master. It was a fitful sleep at best and in the morning, he continued on his journey, chewing desolately on some ripe apples as his first meal in two days. It was an arduous rise up the hills that separated the Zen’in fiefs from the Kamos but when he reached the border, he gave a small cry of relief.

Throwing Kuru into a hasty gallop, he had half-forgotten that he was in a once-enemy land when he was accosted by four guards who ordered him to halt. He tried to stammer out that he was there to see you, but they wouldn’t hear it, easily overpowering him and threatening to gut him with their katanas until he cried out, “I am a Zen’in and I request to speak to Noritoshi-san!”

Three of those brutes jeered at him, lashing the ropes around his wrists and dragging him like some war criminal down the streets to be hanged much to the villager’s curiosity. It wasn’t until the fourth guard halted them and whispered, “He is familiar,” did those oafs take another look at him and realize that who they had in their midst was no common trespasser.

They were in the presence of a rival daimyo.

Though the two lands were unified under one marriage, they did not extend to him the same courtesy the Zen’in fiefs had thinly offered you and he was once more hauled to the estate to await trial. The large gates that he had seen only once before his forced marriage to you elicited his fear, and he fervently hoped that they would at least let him gaze on you to allow him to explain the truth.

But, fate was never as kind and when the news was heralded around the estate of a Zen’in in their midst, the women and children were sent into hiding; he did not stand a chance to meet your sweet countenance through the wide fearful eyes of the Kamo residents. Though your childhood home was not as ostentatious as his, the Kamos were still a formidable family and he was reminded of the power you held as he was dragged past a large and intricately detailed oil painting of the region’s liege family, straight to the courtroom where he would be tried.

The guards stood over him and he let his gaze settle on your visage in the oil painting. The likeness was astounding and he was reminded of how tender-achingly beautiful you were. How he had been blind to your beauty was beyond him, but despite being the fastest Zen’in warrior alive, he was remarkably slow in cherishing the woman whom he was supposed to protect and provide for his whole life.

Footsteps on the stone floor reminded him of where he was and he looked up from his kneeling on the hard surface to find Noritoshi sweeping past him, regal in his verdant green kimono. The most powerful man in this region looked down at his brother-in-law from the dais, no trace of warmth in his gaze.

“Zen’in-san,” he said and gave the signal to release his bindings. The samurai did as he bided, and Naoya rubbed his wrists, trying not to grimace at the disdain in Noritoshi’s face. Despite the familial relations as his wife’s brother, Naoya still had to give the other man the respect he deserved as someone higher in status than him and bowed low.

“Noritoshi-sama,” he rumbled, keeping his gaze down.

“I would’ve expected you to at least write instead of coming up on my border patrol like this.”

Chastised, he bowed his head even lower. “I was… not thinking straight, Kamo-sama.”

Noritoshi was not blind and he noticed the exhaustion on the other man’s face, the dust on his hakama pants, and the air of travel-weariness on him. “Why have you come here without your envoys?”

Naoya straightened and steeled his gaze on the other man’s dark, beady eyes which were currently lowered to half-mast as if he was bored with this meeting.

“I came to seek out my wife.”

To his surprise, the Kamo daimyo sighed and sank back in his seat. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you would.”

“Where is she?” Naoya couldn’t hide the eagerness in his tone.

“She is resting,” he mumbled, skimming his dark gaze across his visage. “She needs a lot of respite from the emotional toil you put her through. I wouldn’t want to put too much stress on her or the babies.”

The babies. Naoya’s heart squeezed in abject longing at the thought of the two little ones his wife was carrying.

“Whatever you have heard–all the mistreatments, the lies, and the strife… it is true,” Naoya did not dare to deflect the blame off himself. “And it was all my fault. I failed her as a husband–“

“And what makes you think you can succeed this time?”

Noritoshi’s question was met with piercing silence. Naoya swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I would like to see her and apologize for everything that I have done to her,” another low bow of his head, “And to let her know that I have relinquished the title of the Zen’in daimyo in favor to be with her, in whatever shape or form.”

Another ringing silence.

“Are you saying that you have forfeited your title and this marriage is…void?”

Naoya realized his mistake a second too late, but he couldn’t back out of it now. Word was bound to reach the other prefectures one way or another.

“I have forfeited my title, but my marriage is still valid.”

In answer, his brother-in-law shook his head, exhaling a mirthless chuckle. “No, Naoya-san. That was not the agreement we had with your father. Our prior requirements were for Y/N to marry the Zen’in daimyo and if it wasn’t to be you… then you have no use being here.” The note of finality in Noritoshi’s tone broke his spirit even further. “And therefore, you are no longer welcomed in these lands and will be tried as a trespasser–the punishment of that would be death by hanging.”

A soft gasp impinged upon the ringing in his ears, and Naoya did not resist when they looped the ropes around his hands again. It was with a ceaseless sense of numbing irony that he had come to terms that this was all for naught. First, he had lost his wife, then his children, the marriage, his titles, and now… he was repaying with his life.

“Stop.”

The rushing of blood in his veins came to a standstill.

A woman with your face, grace, and regal air stepped towards her son from the courtroom’s side door, disapproval lining her features.

“Son, this is not how we treat our guests.”

Naoya was stunned at the reaction of the feared Kamo daimyo. He did not belittle his mother, or rebuke her words. He merely sighed heavily and said, “He needs to pay for trespassing.”

“He is not a stranger,” she coaxed, “He is Y/N’s husband and till their names are both co-written on a divorce statement, he is still our legal in-law.” She fixed Naoya with a glance of sympathy. “And this is not how we treat our blood, Toshi. What would Y/N say if she found out you treated her husband this way?”

“She would thank me,” he blurted out caustically. “This man has caused nothing but hurt and emotional distress to my sister. He needs to pay–“

“And he will,” the lady of the house said with a grimace. “Just not by us. This is not our fight. You know it well. Y/N is the only one who can pass judgment on him as his better half.”

Apparently wrestled into submission by the gentleness in his mother’s tone, Noritoshi spared his life with a wave of his hand. The ropes melted around Naoya’s wrists and a part of him wanted to throw himself to this woman’s feet and give gratitude for her saving his life. But, he stood still, unable to even breathe as she steered him by his shoulder towards the double doors.

Like an obedient sheep, he followed this older woman who brought him to an empty stretch of rooms where the guest chambers were.

“Do allow me to apologize on behalf of my son,” she said and led him into a spacious room. “I will see to it that the maids will provide you with a hot bath. You must be tired from your journey and you can rest here until dinner where–if you choose–you can join me in the dining hall as my guest.”

Her words washed over him like a comforting wave of heat and he nodded, voice stolen by the kindness this woman willingly showered upon him. It was in her tender actions and soft words that reminded him strongly of you and Naoya almost broke down into a flurry of sobs at that pathetic thought.

“Are you alright?”

The single-minded impulsion held him in its crushing grasp and he choked out, “Is my wife… is she safe and well?”

Lady Kamo looked over her son-in-law, noting the stark difference in him from the first day he appeared at their hearth. The man who shadowed their doorstep months ago was haughty and proud, not a trace of Takara’s goodwill on his countenance. But, this forlorn young man standing before her was a shadow of his old self. Though he still stood with the gait of a vainglorious Zen’in, his expression was softened by grief and something more–something that Fumiko could not put her finger on.

Perhaps it was in the desperation in his tone when he inquired about her daughter, but it slowly started to sink in for the Kamo matriarch who eventually came to a full-blown realization.

He looked like a heartsick young man who was suffering from the loss of love.

His expression told Fumiko everything she needed to know and her heart broke for the two anguished, lovestruck souls who were wedged apart by the horrors of politics and power. Bowing her head, she replied, “Y/N is well, and so are your babies.”

Naoya's grief deepened at the mention of his little ones and a strong rush of yearning compelled him to sag onto the foot of the bed, burying his face into his hand.

“I am sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m… I’m exhausted…”

“I understand,” Fumiko said and gave him the courtesy of turning her face away when she noticed streams of tears escaping from between the cracks of his fingers. “I’ll call the maids in and–“

“Thank you,” he uttered softly, and there was no doubt that the boy before her was fully Takara’s. She could see the sliver of her late friend in the curve of his brow and the faint trace of a smile on his visage. “I owe you my life.”

Fumiko inclined her head forward once more and left the young man to his disquieting thoughts. Naoya didn’t bother to rest, getting up and silently charting his way down the halls, trying to find you. Instead, he stumbled on a familiar face who froze when she saw him.

Her name was exhaled in a rushed breath. “Lady Misa.”

Misa was staring at him like she was seeing a ghost and quickly guided him into an empty alcove. Here, away from the Zen’ins, she did not need to bow in respect and merely fixed him with a hard stare. “Master Zen’in, what’re you doing here?”

“Can you direct me to your mistress?” The urgency in his tone was palpable. Her expression was eclipsed with distrust and he was growing impatient with how everyone was walking on eggshells around him. “Misa–“

Her brown eyes–usually genial and soft–had hardened and she eyed him with open distrust. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Master Zen’in.”

Naoya’s first instinct would be to crush her windpipe and force the answer out of her, but Misa was your best friend and prime lady; any harm done to her would be to his detriment in returning back in your good books. So, he gritted his teeth and bore this embarrassment, finding himself at the mercy of women for the second time today.

“Lady Misa, I need to make it up to her–“

“Why’re you here, Master Zen’in? Did you not want to be married to Ira?”

At the mention of his mistress, Naoya shook his head. “If I wanted to be married to my mistress of all people, why do you think I made the perilous journey here to see my wife, Misa?”

His words struck her in anticipated disbelief. He could sense from the hesitation she held that she was weighing his words against her perceptions of him. Naoya was starting to see that he was the ultimate reason why his requests to meet with you were continuously rejected under the guise of the incredulous absurdity of his words. Wincing, he murmured, “Misa, I do not intend to harm your mistress. I merely want to see her again and… and at least speak to her.”

If Misa was angry, she did not outwardly exemplify it on her countenance. She ducked her head forward and replied, “I’ll let my mistress know you are here and if she wants to meet with you, she will. If she doesn’t, I cannot help you with this.”

“Please just tell her that I will explain everything that happened when I had to ask her for the divorce.”

“Had?” There was uncertainty when she approached this topic and he despondently nodded.

“I will explain everything to her if she would have me.”

Misa appeared conflicted but she did not immediately reject his request. “I will send word if she would meet with you.” She didn’t give him time to think of additional convictions, turning on her heel and leaving Naoya in that alcove.

The whispers of her kimono sounded like mutterings of vexations by ghostly spectators, and when she approached your chambers, she was suddenly inundated by fears of how you would react. Pushing open the door, she found you curled in a fetal position in bed, stirring lightly when you heard her enter.

“Misa?”

“It is I, Lady Zen’in.”

She saw you struggle to sit up and rushed forward to help, propping your back with an additional pillow. “Am I still to be called by that title?” you mused, face warm with sleep and eyes still droopy while you fixed her with a jesting smile.

“Y/N, there is something I must share with you.” The urgency in her tone stopped you from further ruminating and you fixed her with a look of curiosity.

“What is it, Misa-chan?”

Taking your hands in hers, Misa sat on the side of your bed, her expression, unlike someone who was mortified at finding herself the bearer of bad news. “I… I don’t know how to say this–“

“What happened?” Fear coated your slowly frantic tone and thoughts. “Is my brother hurt? My mother?”

Soothing your concerns, Misa squeezed your hands with hers, the warm clasp doing little to calm your worries.

“We have a visitor here, Y/N.” Before you could interject and inquire who it was, her next words left you shell-shocked, breaths coming out in quick pants.

“Your husband–Zen’in Naoya–is in our estate and he is requesting to speak with you at your convenience.”

Heart thumping erratically, your grip went slack in hers and you found yourself unable to breathe correctly. What should’ve been a natural occurrence of the rise and fall of your chest was stilled by this revelation and you found the room suddenly spinning.

“W-what–“

“Do not despair, Y/N,” she reassured. “He is alone and if there are any efforts to wrest your babies or you away back to that cursed home, then Noritoshi would not allow it.”

You let her words sink in with the comfort of a warm bath and you gripped her palms tighter. “I will see what he wishes to inquire about,” you decided, ignoring how the thought of meeting your husband again was throwing your heartbeat into erratic loops. “Then we will proceed from there.”

Misa bit her reasonings on why that would be a detracting idea, respecting your wishes.

“Send him word that I will meet with him in the garden tonight before midnight. If he is late, then this meeting will be forfeited.”

Bringing your palms to her lips, Misa kissed your knuckles tenderly, unlike how an older sister would act, and left you alone once more to find rest. But sleep evaded you and you tossed on the thin mattress, mind plagued with the ceaseless thoughts of why your husband was here.

There was no sheer reason why Naoya would make the treacherous journey alone if he were here to confront you and take you back to the Zen’in estate. But what you couldn’t fathom was why he did it. Why did he risk his life to traverse across the fiefs without his men if all he wanted to do was seek you out? Naoya was the one to broach the subject of the divorce yet he was acting as if he was the injured party to this impetuous union.

Those precipitating thoughts haunted you and you found you were troubled. Getting up from bed, you gingerly perch by your vanity, taking in your countenance. Though it has been a few days since you had been emancipated from the Zen’ins’ clutches, your cheeks appear rounder, the glow that others noticed gleaming off you finally making its way to your attention. You resembled a healthy, well-rested young woman, evidence of how the change in the environment was to your benefit.

Standing up, you regarded the tiny bump that was steadily encroaching your awareness. Before this, you had assumed that the widening of your waist, lack of moon blood, and overall body aches were due to the high strain that came as the wife of a daimyo-to-be. It wasn’t until you could leisurely feel safe in your space that you noticed how apparent the growth of your babies was. If you closed your eyes, you could almost picture two sweet little palms holding onto each other as they drifted comfortably in your womb, unaware of the trials you had to overcome to conceive them into this world.

Right this instance, the father who had not yet greeted their presence was somewhere in these walls and a part of you wanted to disregard your previous reservations and run into his arms. After all, it was within the confines of rationalism to yearn for the presence of the man who had aided you in creating these wonderful babies, right?

Those thoughts swirled around you, cresting like waves that ebbed and flowed, disintegrating logic and reasoning to leave you once more aching for Naoya to be by your side.

“Papa is here,” the sadness could be heard from your tone as you gently held your bump with both hands, whispering to your babies. “Mama is scared. She is so scared of seeing your papa after all that he did to her.” A single tear trickled down your cheek. “But mama still wants him here–for you both to love him.”

The revelation of your own words hit you like a bolt of lightning. That must be his motive; Naoya was not here for you. He was here for his babies, for his heirs, and to reason with you to bring yourself back, not because he wanted you–no. He wanted your babies to secure his line.

Sighing, you lifted your palms and clasped them together, pressing them to your forehead.

“Silly, stupid mama–” you gasped softly and the tears slipped down faster. “–such a foolish thought to even believe that he is here for m-me.”

In that instant, Naoya felt like dying.

Misa’s words came back to him and he nodded, acknowledging your instructions. Though he was outwardly stoic, he was inwardly exclaiming with excitement at your agreement to meet with him.

But soon, the weariness of travel coupled with exhaustion caught up with him, and what was supposed to be a minute of him closing his eyes transpired into waking up in a body that was far smaller than his own, to a woman who was beaming down at him with a heart-achingly familiar smile.

“Mama.”

His voice was different–child-like and filled with wonder at the sight of the figure he had wished to lay his eyes on before her untimely demise.

Zen’in Takara was as radiant as the sun, her soft features filled with immense tenderness as she woke him up from his slumber. “Come on, my little prince,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Or we’ll be late for breakfast.”

Naoya sprang from the bed and launched himself into her arms, once more a boy of seven who centered his world on the first woman he would ever love. Her laughter was dipped with tones of surprise, and she rubbed his back.

“Aw, Naoya, what’s got you so clingy like a vine this morning?” Though she teased him, there was an edge of worry when her son did not respond. Takara felt hot tears seeping through her resplendent kimono and made a sound of panic, stunned to find her little boy weeping.

“Naoya–“

“I had a dream you were g-gone,” he hiccupped, wiping the tears from his eyes, unable to meet his mother’s gaze. “And you left me with f-father. He… h-he beat me, mama, a-and–“

He dissolved into tears and Takara shushed him, cradling him close to her chest. “I will never leave you, Naoya,” she cooed, running her fingers through his soft hair. “I will always be by your side.”

The moment that promise left her lips, the scene tilted at a dizzying angle and the bright morning sun filtering through the shōji doors was replaced by the impenetrable darkness of the mourning drapes. White candles and the scent of jasmine hung heavily in the air, surrounding a figure lying on a bed. The taste of loss lingered like a murky film, a taste which Naoya vividly remembered from his mother’s death. The memory of that overcast day seared through his mind and he slowly ambled over to her.

Takara–once the most beautiful woman in all of the fiefs–had been reduced to a shadow of her former self, a husk that he intrinsically knew as his mother but couldn’t find it in his heart to accept it.

She caught sight of him standing beside her and reached out her hand to touch his cold cheek. “Be brave, my son,” she whispered, soul breaking at the tears running down his face. It seemed like he was staring at her from two points of view; one of a disconsolate boy of seven and another as a man of twenty-five who already knew how this would end.

Fits of coughing stole her breath for the last time and her palm went limp, slipping down his face, never to bless him with her warmth ever again. Naoya remembered how he had howled in pain at the loss of his mother, and once more when his father arrived, grief-stricken and boiling with untamed anger at the son he was forced to raise without the woman he loved. He remembered the beatings that came after her death, the force of rage his father held towards him for existing when it should’ve been his mother in his place.

Whether by divine intervention or the moon rays teasing his closed lids, Naoya stirred back into the present, blinking his wet eyes. The unfamiliar room came into focus and he took a moment to remember where he was. Stirring fully awake, the first thing he smelled was the pleasant scent of grilled meat, and looking to his left, he noted that someone had left him a plate of rice, some side dishes, slivers of tender beef, and a bowl of soup.

That would’ve meant… Naoya quickly got to his feet, ignoring his pangs of hunger as he threw open the chamber doors. It was close to midnight and your words resonated in him like the reverberation of a gong. Without another moment to lose, he quickened his pace towards the center garden, the clacking of his getas loud in the disconcerting quiet. The Kamo estate was unlike the one he grew up in; the atmosphere was solemn and nary an orb of light beyond the moon’s silvery waterfall of light bathing his frantic figure.

He had almost lost his way but luck was on his side and he skirted into the plush garden. It was surrounded by bonsai trees, the tinkling of a tiny waterfall, and an elegant bridge crossing two seams of man-constructed land together. There was no sight of you. Naoya staggered into a pagoda that held a viewpoint of the whole garden, but you weren’t there.

It must’ve been a few minutes past midnight. He had lost his sole chance to speak to you.

Pitching his head forward, he recollected his breath, mind coming up with a multitude of ways to reach out to you. Maybe he could catch Misa in the hallways and send her a message. Maybe he could beg Noritoshi for an audience with you. Maybe–

“You’re late.”

Time seemed to stop in motion. Naoya spun around to find you standing at the side of the pagoda, an impassive expression on your countenance. Not caring that it was an ungodly hour and the repercussions should the rumours of this meeting come to your brother’s ears, he drank in the sight of you like how parched soil after a drought would consume a bourn of rain.

The lack of light coupled with the soft melodious flow of the gently streaming water cast a dazzling luminescence towards your presence; you were the moon princess descending from her castle of clouds to bear witness to his misery.

“Y/N.” Even the sound of your name burned his lips. “Oh, Y/N.”

You did not halt his advancement towards you but took a step back when he extended his hand. The silky light blue yukata you wore that was befitting of this balmy night clung to your curves, accentuating the slight bump of your lower stomach. Your hair fell around you in loosened curtains and he ached to run his fingers through your strands. You were like an alluring piece of art that he could view but could not touch.

“Please do not reach out to me,” you murmured, taking another step back. “I am here merely to speak to you, Naoya.”

Dropping his hand like he had been singed, Naoya fixed you with a look that was purely lined with desperation.

“I… are you well, Y/N?”

Arching a brow at him, you almost scoffed a mirthless laugh. “You made this journey across the fiefs just to ask me how I am faring?”

He was cognizant of the bitter antipathy in your tone and rushed to amend his wrongs. “No. No, I did not make this journey just to ask you that. I–“ he trailed off, unable to speak. Though there was an unmistakable radiance about you, the expression you wore was befitting of a deity who was a hair's breadth away from smiting him where he stood.

A shred of courage was still left in him, and he forced himself to gaze into your eyes. “I am here to beg for your forgiveness and to give you an explanation of what happened the last time we conversed.”

You did not encourage him to speak and he took a deep breath. “I was forced to divorce you.” The incredulity of his words reached back to him in the form of a frown besmirching your pretty lips. “My father, he… he threatened me to divorce you by putting your life on the line. I was forced to comply due to his anger over the Takayama battle. I-I would’ve never made that choice of my own will if it were my doing.”

For the longest time, neither of you spoke. Eventually, your phlegmatic stance fractured at the edges, and your brow creased.

“Are you meaning to tell me that Naobito was the one who strong-armed you into divorcing me?”

“Yes, he did.” Both literally and physically, Naoya wanted to utter but the words were lodged in his throat. “He wanted me to discard you and marry Ira because she is carrying my heir.”

At the mention of the other woman, your gaze hardened infinitesimally. “And now you want me to return because I am carrying yours, as well?”

The furrow in his brow deepened and he shook his head. “N-no, Y/N. I want you to return to me because I… I…”

“What?” Your tone had reached hyperborean levels. He could tell from your expression that you did not have faith in any of his reasoning.

“I cannot deny it any longer.” Honeyed hazels fixed onto yours with the deepest sorrow, the screaming of his soul aching to spill past his trembling lips. “You have bewitched me, body and soul. I… I must tell you that I am in love with you. Most ardently so.”

Like a dagger, his words pierced through your defenses and it was reflected on your countenance when you parted your lips in shock. The stillness rang like a shrill shriek between this suspended space of disbelief and dubiety between two lovers who could not be the furthest suggestion of that notion.

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

Naoya snapped his attention from your moon-soaked lips to gaze right into your impassive eyes beseechingly.

“I know I have given you a multitude of reasons to distrust that notion–“

“A multitude?” Though your utterances were faint, there was no mistaking the steel dagger behind your shock. Closing your eyes, you shook your head, as if to dispel the calamity his words incurred in you. “I find that to be an insult.”

It was his turn to feel disparaging stupefaction at your callous response. “An insult?” As if he could remedy the frosty chasm that existed between you two, Naoya took a step forward which resulted in you flinching and taking a step back.

“Why?” he asked after a beat of horrendous silence. “Why would you think my declaration of love is an affront to you?”

The fervor of pain you held at bay for almost two months of marriage seemed to burst from the seams and you were no longer composed, clutching your midsection to keep yourself upright and not faint at his unwanted disclosure of affection.

“Did you think I am a fool to trust that paltry notion? Why is it an affront? Why? It is because the man I married showed little regard for my well-being, constantly minimized my sufferings, treated me as nothing but a breeding mare, and left me looking like a foolish and useless wife when he got the resident cook pregnant!” Your voice rang with the shrill inescapability of his sins towards you. For a moment, none of you spoke, labored breaths loud in the disconsolate silence.

“So forgive me–“ you choked back tears when the quiet got too loud to bear. “–forgive me if I do not believe this sudden change of affections from you, Naoya.”

“It was not sudden,” he countered fervidly, yearning to embrace you in his arms. “Please believe me when I say–“

“Am I to believe that after weeks of degradation, mistreatment, and pain that you have assaulted into me… both physically and emotionally that you… that you love me?” A hysterical burst of laughter marked your next words with the impudence of his presumption. “Lies. This is merely your ploy to get me back with you because you want my children. You do not care for me. I will not believe these l-lies for another second longer.”

“I am not lying,” he pleaded. “Y/N, please. My affections are true and yes, they were marked with prejudice on my end due to my excessive pride, but I want you.” In a softer, supplicating tone, he murmured, “I want you and I love you.”

“But did you ever think about what I wanted?” The sharded glass edge of your whisper cut him deep. “Did you not take into account how I wanted this marriage to flourish?” His reticent silence spoke volumes and you plowed on.

“I wanted a man who would love me, who would cherish me and at the very least respect me as if I were human. But you did neither of these, husband. You treated me as if I was inferior–as if my longings, wants, and needs were less-than compared to yours. So, no. You do not get to tell me that you are sorry when all you’ve caused me was a heart full of thorns and pain and sickness and–“

You were gasping now, clutching your stomach, suddenly unable to breathe. The band of the obi around your waist–though loosely tied because of the blessings you were carrying–felt like a suffocating pair of arms. Closing your eyes to ward off the shimmer of tears, you opened them again to meet his grief-stricken ones.

“I hate you,” you whispered. “If I could’ve turned back time to the day where we met, I would’ve forced myself to hate you more than I do now because it burns, Naoya. It burns to love someone who doesn’t see you as someone worthy to give that love.” Swallowing hard, you divulged to him this final truth. “It burns to love you.”

You disdained this sudden influx of emotion and were about to spin on your heel and abandon this foolish notion of love to protect what was left of your pride when you felt his arms around you.

“Please,” was his mouthed prayer into your neck. “Please do not leave me. Do not abandon me, my love.”

Barely affording you the space to refuse him, Naoya turned you to face him and sank to his knees, his cheek pressed to your stomach. “You are all I desire. I can barely go through my day, eat or even sleep without the thought of you constantly on my mind.”

The tears which you couldn’t staunch dribbled down your cheeks and you swiped them away before he could lay his eyes on them.

A shaky breath rattled past your lips. “You hurt me, Naoya. You made me believe that I was unworthy of love or even your respect. You made me believe that I did not have morals or standing just because I fell in love once and gave myself to another man who was not you. You–“ An errant sob was freed from your efforts to not burst into tears. “You broke me when you m-made another woman pregnant and ruined my reputation.”

Why? Why were you the one who had to suffer in this sham of marriage when he was allowed no repercussions?

“All I ever wanted… all I ever wanted was for someone to love me and to build a family with so I would no longer be alone. But you… you were incapable of loving me and you-you made me feel so… so unloved. And unwanted. A-and unworthy.”

The cries that you had fought hard to abandon slipped from your teeth.

“Y/N,” he whispered brokenly, unable to fathom the amount of pain he had brought you, “My love, I…I’ve been horrible to you–“

“You told me once that you hated me,” was your broken interjection. “I know you call me a bloodsucking witch behind my back. I know you perceive me as a whore who does not deserve even the slightest bit of affection.”

“No,” he whispered into your clothed bump. “I was f-foolish and filled with hatred and spite back then. I did not think clearly–“

“Do you despise me that m-much…” your voice broke towards the end, “Am I that despicable to you that you had to think twice to treat me with bare decency?”

Your words–without a shred of deceit–rang hollow in his ears.

“I am sorry,” he mumbled, tears streaking down his face. “I am ardently sorry. I c-can never amend the wrongs I have done towards you, Y/N, but I want to. Please, if you would let me. I will be the husband–“

“It is too late.”

The note of finality in your tone was not fabricated. Naoya dared to lift his red-rimmed eyes to yours and what he saw in them devastated him further. There was no indication of remission in your flinty countenance.

“I am promised to Kamo Choso.“

His name burned like hot coals in Naoya’s chest and almost pathetically, he moaned out, “No, please.”

You soldiered on, forcing yourself not to look at him as you spilled the words that would shatter whatever remained of his heart.

“He wants to raise my babies as his own.”

“Don’t–“

“And he has promised to protect me and keep me safe–“

“Please, do not do this–“

“I am to wed him next week during the half-moon.”

The void decisiveness in your utterances was what broke the last strand of hope he had and for the second time in his life, the esteemed legitimate Zen’in heir–the future ruler of a thriving fiefdom, a decorated warrior with more kill counts than any of his Hei brothers–dissolved into inconsolable sobs on his knees.

Naoya wept as he had never wept in his life, begging his once affectionate and kind-hearted wife for even a sliver of love to be given unto him. You couldn’t bear to hear his cries without succumbing to them and gently pried his hands off your yukata.

“Go back home, Naoya,” you murmured, ignoring the cracks in your soul at the watery misery lining his expression. “You have Ira and a son on the way. You are to be the future Zen’in leader, with or without me. Y-you will be fine.”

“I won’t.” It was the utter affliction in his tone that drew you up short. “My father has disowned me for riding out to seek you. He will be giving M-Megumi the titles and lands. I will have nothing.”

Before you could digest this sudden revelation, he stood up and staggered with shaky steps to lean against the wooden beams of the pagoda, looking every bit like a man who had lost his way in the world.

“There is nothing left for me but to take my own life.”

“Don’t lie–“

“Do you think I would lie about something like this?” Naoya was all out of tears and he could not bear to look at you. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his countenance. “I-I discarded everything to be with you, but if you will not even have me, then this life has ceased its meaning.”

“Naoya–“

Surprising you, he gifted you with an upward quirk of his lips, wiping a stray tear with the heel of his palm. “I believe this is my comeuppance.” In a quieter voice, he murmured, “I will respect your decision, Y/N. I love you too much to stand in your way. If you want to leave and be with Kamo Choso, then I… I will let you go.”

Naoya dropped his gaze, the tracks of his tears shimmering under the silvery celestial rays. “But before I do I want to say… thank you.”

You couldn’t stop the tremble in your tone. “For what?”

He fixed you with those lachrymose honeyed hazels, pinning you to the spot; your husband was not wearing a smirk nor were his lips curled in disdain. For the first time since you had married him, he was sharing a genuine smile with you–one that was as bright and warm as the gentle breeze on a summery day.

“I want to thank you for showing me–no matter how fleeting it was–what true love felt like.”