I was going to die tonight.
That was my first clear thought as I crouched behind a meticulously pruned juniper bush, my knees aching against the cold stone of the courtyard.
In the distance, the faint, elegant plucking of a koto drifted through the night air. The annual Tsukimi, the Moon-Viewing Festival, was in full swing at the main Imperial Palace. The sky was clear, the autumn moon a brilliant silver coin, and the entire capital was steeped in plum wine and poetry.
Except for me.
I adjusted the small black ribbon holding back my shoulder-length, light gray hair. My hands trembled so badly I nearly pulled the knot loose.
Compose yourself, Kitsune, I chided inwardly, my dark purple eyes scanning the shadows. You are a minor court lady of the Bureau of Divination. You must endure this.
That, too, was a lie. I was a low-ranking clerk whose only gift was a pitiful trace of spirit-sight. I could perceive lingering traces of magic and the occasional harmless dust-spirit. I had no rightful place sneaking into the temporary estate of Kurogane Akira.
The Third Prince. The exiled Lord of the Northern Marches.
The Demon Prince.
Even thinking his name made my stomach tighten. Everyone in the court knew the rumors. He was a ruthless warlord, burdened with a forbidden yokai bloodline, capable of crushing rebellions with a single motion of his hand.
But I was not here for him. I was here for his cat.
"Only a small handful of fur," I whispered under my breath, fingers tightening around the silver sewing scissors hidden in my sleeve. "That is all I need."
My younger sister, Rin, lay in our narrow, drafty room at this very moment, burning with spirit-sickness. The court physician had already given his verdict that the only cure was an elixir brewed from the fur of a sacred nekomata bound to a supreme onmyoji.
An impossible prescription. There was only one such nekomata in the capital.
I slipped out from behind the bush, my soft silk slippers making no sound against the wooden planks of the engawa. I moved past the shoji screens, careful to steady my breathing.
Then, I saw it.
Seated atop a stone water basin, bathed in silver moonlight, was what I sought.
Yuki.
The cat was small and impossibly fluffy, its fur as white as fresh snow. Around its neck rested a vivid red bow, adorned with a small golden bell that chimed faintly in the breeze. It looked like the cherished pet of a high noble.
But through my weak spirit-sight, the truth revealed itself. Blue light flickered around its paws. Its bright turquoise eyes glowed in the darkness. This was no mere pet...it was an ancient spirit of considerable power.
And it was watching me.
Those luminous eyes met mine without wavering. The cat radiated a quiet, judging awareness. It did not hiss. It did not flee. It simply waited.
"…Good evening," I whispered, feeling faintly ridiculous. I raised my hands slowly, showing I meant no harm. "A fine spirit… truly. Please, remain at ease."
Yuki blinked once, slow and deliberate.
I stepped closer. The cat did not move.
"I have no wish to harm you," I said softly, drawing the silver scissors from my sleeve. "Only a small trim… you will scarcely notice. Your coat is already abundant."
I reached out, my hand trembling.
Jingle.
Yuki rose, the bell at its throat chiming lightly. It stretched, entirely unconcerned by the stranger armed with scissors within its master's grounds.
Then, it did the last thing I expected.
Yuki leaped from the basin and landed squarely in my arms.
"Oof—!" I staggered back, barely managing to catch the heavy bundle of fur. The scissors slipped from my grasp, clattering loudly against the wooden boards.
This is bad.
I froze, waiting for guards to descend upon me. Nothing happened. The crickets continued their song.
I looked down at the cat. Yuki looked up at me.
"Meow," it said.
It was not a normal sound. It carried the weight of command.
"I cannot take you with me," I whispered urgently, attempting to lower the cat back onto the porch. "I require only a little of your fur. Release me, please."
Yuki sank its small claws into my sleeves...not enough to wound, but enough to refuse. Then it began to purr.
The sound was deep, resonant, vibrating through my chest. And yet...it was more than sound.
A sudden warmth surged through my arms. My spirit-sight flared violently, blinding me for an instant. A glowing crest of blue and gold light unfolded between us before sinking into my chest.
I gasped, stumbling back. My heart raced wildly. What was that? A binding? A ward?
There was no time to understand. The cat would not release me, my scissors lay exposed, and I had triggered some unknown onmyodo working.
"Very well," I muttered under my breath, tightening my hold on the creature. "Then you will come with me."
I turned, intent on fleeing toward the garden wall.
The air froze.
Not merely chilled...the very atmosphere solidified. The crickets fell silent. The moonlight dimmed. A crushing spiritual pressure descended upon me, forcing me to my knees.
Yuki merely shifted in my lap, purring louder.
"Do you intend to leave?"
The voice was soft, refined like silk concealing a blade. It sent a chill down my spine.
Slowly, I raised my head.
A man stepped from the shadows of the paper doors.
Even through my fear, I knew he was striking. He wore dark indigo hakama, his robes loose yet composed, carrying an effortless authority.
But it was his hair that drew the eye. Long, flowing, and unmistakably pink, it caught the moonlight like a mark of something otherworldly. It was gathered half-up in a noble style, cascading over his broad shoulders the visible sign of his yokai blood.
Kurogane Akira.
His amber eyes, sharp and unyielding, were fixed upon me. Nothing escaped that gaze.
My breath faltered. I shut my eyes tightly. This is the end. I will be executed here. Forgive me, Rin.
I waited for fire, for pain or for death.
Nothing came.
The crushing pressure vanished at once.
A heavy silence stretched.
I opened one eye, then the other.
The Demon Prince was no longer regarding me with killing intent. His gaze had shifted to my chest, where the glowing crest had vanished moments before.
His eyes widened slightly. The fearsome warlord looked… shaken.
He stepped forward slowly, his presence filling the space between us. I shrank back against the wooden floor, clutching Yuki closer. The bell at its neck chimed softly.
Akira lowered himself with quiet grace, kneeling before me until we were at eye level. He extended a hand. I flinched instinctively.
But he did not reach for my throat.
Instead, his fingers brushed lightly against a loose strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear with surprising care. His touch was warm.
When he spoke again, his voice held no anger. Only something heavy...something I could not name.
"The ritual," he said softly, his gaze unwavering. "You have completed the Consort Rite."
I stared at him, my thoughts utterly blank.
"...What?"
His expression deepened, devotion burning in his eyes with frightening intensity.
"I have waited twenty years for you, my wife."