Chapter Four
Kaiyan
The low buzz of conversation filled the evening air, punctuated by the occasional chime of porcelain against silver serving plates. The Imperial Garden was bathed in the glow of silk lanterns, their golden light dancing across the curved eaves of the pavilion. Plum blossoms perfumed the breeze, their sweetness blending with the fragrant steam rising from tea cups.
Unlike the lower-ranking nobles seated on cushions at low tables, Kaiyan and a select few were granted chairs--a distinction for station, though not one he particularly cared for. It was just one more thing that set him apart.
His fingers idly traced the rim of his cup, though he had no intention of drinking. The gathering had only begun, yet he already knew how it would unfold. The same tired pleasantries, the same overdone admiration, the same well-rehearsed smiles.
The event was a seasonal gathering--another excuse for nobles and officials to assemble, trading gossip while draped in their finest attire. The women drifted like wraiths in embroidered uchikake, their long sleeves trailing over polished floors. Silken layers bloomed with stitched chrysanthemums and soaring cranes. Each woman passed by his table, vying for a glance, a moment of notice. They may as well have been ghosts for all the interest they stirred in him. The men, though less extravagant, displayed their wealth in formal montsuki, their crests adorning dark fabric like banners of lineage and status.
Kaiyan's robes were fine but restrained--black silk, accented with a crimson sash, the golden insignia at his shoulder marking his station. Dressing plainly was not an option, no matter how much he might prefer it. His title demanded decorum, even in gatherings as tiresome as this.
A step behind him and to his right, Renji stood at attention. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword--a simple but well-worn blade. Not an ornamental piece meant for show, but one sharpened for use. To the outside world, he was merely a guard, a necessary shadow to Kaiyan's rank. But they both knew better. His presence was not just for protection--it was a leash, a silent deterrent to ensure Kaiyan did not slip away before his obligations were met.
He exhaled slowly, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Battles were not won over cups of tea. His hand itched for the familiar weight of his sword, for the rush that came with movement, with the clash of steel against steel. But here, amidst courtly games and hollow conversation, he was little more than a caged animal, forced to endure the company of those he cared nothing for.
His irritation must have shown because Renji's hand closed briefly around his shoulder--a firm, silent warning.
"It is your duty, my lord," he reminded in a low voice.
Kaiyan rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off the weight of this evening. "You'd sing a different tune if you were the one wading through desperate marriage proposals all day."
"You know, some might consider that a privilege."
Kaiyan shot him a dry look. "I was offered gold just for the
privilege
of touching my hair."
Renji bit back a smile. "Did you take it?"
He scoffed, shifting in his seat. "I wish I could say that was the strangest request I've received."
His gaze drifted over the servants weaving between the tables, filling cups and placing sweets on trays. He wasn't looking for anyone in particular. At least, that's what he told himself.
For months, his mind had been consumed by war--the grueling logistics of strategy, the relentless brutality of combat. In the chaos, the girl he had purchased at the gallows had faded into irrelevance. Or so he'd thought. But now, back within the palace walls, surrounded by its empty finery, she surfaced again.
It had been weeks since the porcelain incident.
She had looked past him--through him--as though his presence was unbearable. As though the weight of his gaze was something she could not stomach. He had reached for her, meaning only to steady her, but she had torn herself free as if his touch had burned.
The cost of that broken porcelain had been exorbitant--an outrageous sum, far beyond the worth of a few shattered cups. A manufactured debt designed to keep servants tethered forever. It was the way of the palace, but he'd never had much patience for things as they were. He had settled the debt himself, his coin sparing her from a fate he'd seen too many endure. The thought of her back stripped raw made his stomach turn. The price was nothing to him. Gold came and went.
Even still, he should have forgotten her by now.
The court was filled with women--each tripping over herself for his attention. And yet, her absence followed him, lingering like a shadow in the back of his mind.
A servant passed by, hands lowering a tray of sakura-dusted rice cakes, glutinous plum jelly and curled wafers filled with red bean paste. He noticed the movement more than the girl herself--the fluid grace in her steps. Not the same.
To his left, a noble lady drifted past, the cloying sweetness of her perfume preceding her. As she neared, she slowed, her eyes lifting to him, dark with invitation. Her glossy hair fell in a perfect sheet down her back, but it was too richly oiled, too perfumed--and not quite dark enough.
Across the courtyard, a girl's laughter rang out--bright, high-pitched and a touch too loud. Kaiyan's gaze flicked toward her briefly, noting the practiced tilt of her head, the coy flutter of her lashes. Too eager. Too light. A show for attention. He could not imagine
her
laughing like that.
His jaw tightened, irritation needling at the edges of his thoughts. Damn it. Why was he doing this?
"My lord."
The words were accompanied by a deep bow punctuated by the creak of aging joints. The man before him was a Minister of Rites--though Kaiyan couldn't quite recall his name. His jowls sagged past his cheeks, jiggling slightly as he straightened, reminding Kaiyan of the palace dogs.
Behind him, a girl stood stiffly, far too young, her eyes downcast, hands folded demurely before her. Her robes were pristine, her sash tied in a perfect butterfly knot, the fabric pale and soft as fresh cream.
Kaiyan exhaled slowly, schooling his features before meeting the man's gaze. He already knew where this was going.
"My daughter," the Minister began, his hand hovering over her shoulder like an appraiser presenting a fine celadon vase. "Harue is of pure, noble bloodline. She is well-bred, trained in poetry and music, and raised with the utmost discipline befitting a woman of her station."
Kaiyan didn't bother looking at her. "My time is spent at war," he said smoothly. "I have little need for the comforts of home."
The old man clucked his tongue. "Ah, but a man of your rank must consider his legacy. You have no wife, no heir. Should something happen to you on the battlefield, who would carry your name? The Empire needs strong bloodlines." Then, with the same casual certainty as one discussing horse stock, he added, "My daughter has wide, child-bearing hips."
Kaiyan arched a brow. The girl flushed scarlet, her fingers curling in the fabric of her sleeves as though she might shrink into them. He resisted the urge to rub his temple. She would look at him with wide, doe-like eyes, waiting to be guided. He had no patience for that. He preferred women who knew what they wanted--women with fire in their gaze, with defiance in their bones.
For a moment, he considered telling the old man exactly why he wasn't interested. But Renji's fingers pressed briefly into his shoulders--a reminder to keep his temper in check.
Kaiyan forced his expression into something resembling a polite smile, though it felt like ceremonial robes cinched too tight around his throat. Before he could muster an appropriate response, movement at his side drew his attention.
"My lord," a teasing voice purred. "Perhaps your lineage might benefit from...variety."
A woman stepped into view, her black hair pinned high with delicate pearl combs, a few loose strands artfully framing her face. Her lips were painted a deep vermilion, contrasting her powdered skin. But it was the smile curling their edges that held a knowing amusement.
Her husband followed beside her, his beard neatly kept, dark against the clean lines of his jaw. Unlike most men of the court, he did not carry himself with stiffness but with the ease of someone who had nothing to prove. Kaiyan had always respected that about him--though some of his...extracurricular interests were less to his liking.
"Lord and Lady Sugimura." Kaiyan leaned back slightly, tilting his head in acknowledgment as they bowed in unison.
