The world stopped.
Literally. The pale pink cherry blossoms falling from the courtyard trees froze in mid-air, suspended by the sheer, crushing weight of Akira's sudden spiritual pressure.
But I didn't care about the floating petals. I didn't care about the hundreds of terrified nobles staring at us.
I was back in the basement.
My lungs seized. The bright morning sun vanished, replaced by the damp, freezing shadows of the Bureau's lower levels. I could smell the toxic spirit-ash. I could hear the sharp crack of the bamboo practice sword striking the stone wall beside my head.
Scrub harder, you useless rats!
"Kitsune!" Uncle Kenji stomped up the pristine white steps, his face an ugly, mottled purple. He paid no heed to the deadly aura radiating from the Demon Prince standing beside me. Arrogance and a healthy dose of morning plum wine had dulled his sense. "Are you deaf? I told you to come here at once!"
I tried to step back. I wanted to hide behind Akira. I wanted to run.
But my body betrayed me. My legs locked. My throat tightened so fiercely it ached. I opened my mouth to speak, to say anything, but only a weak, broken sound escaped.
I was trembling so violently that the silver bells on my beautiful, ill-fitting dress began to chime.
Akira felt it at once.
His large, warm hand tightened around my icy fingers. He did not look at Kenji. He looked down at me, his sharp amber eyes flashing with sudden alarm.
"Wife?" he murmured, his voice cutting through the noise in my ears. "Breathe. Look at me."
I could not. I was staring at Uncle Kenji's hand, waiting for the bamboo sword to fall.
Kenji let out a harsh, mocking laugh. It rang across the silent courtyard.
"Wife?" Kenji struck his knee. "Lord Kurogane, I do not know what deception this is, but you have been gravely misled. This wretched creature is no noblewoman. She is my niece."
A wave of shocked murmurs spread through the gathered ministers.
His niece?
Is that not Kenji of the Bureau of Divination?
But his household is... hardly of standing!
"That is correct!" Kenji lifted his chin, addressing the court. He pointed a thick, accusing finger toward me. "She is a floor-scrubber. A creature of the basement. She possesses no true spirit core. She can scarcely perceive a dust-spirit, let alone wield onmyodo. She has no right to wear the colors of a High Lord."
I squeezed my eyes shut. Heat stung behind my eyelids.
It is over, my thoughts whispered. He knows. They all know. I am nothing but a fraud.
I waited for Akira to release my hand. I waited for the warmth of his grasp to vanish, replaced by cold fury. I braced myself for punishment.
Instead, Akira stepped forward, placing his tall frame between me and my uncle.
He did not release my hand. He held it more firmly, steadying me.
"I will ask you once more," Akira said. His voice remained low, yet it carried through the courtyard with dreadful weight. "Who permitted you to address my Consort in such a manner, insect?"
The air grew cold. Frost crept along the red pillars of the palace.
Kenji faltered at last. He swallowed, his face paling, yet his greed drove him onward.
"M-My Lord!" Kenji stammered, bowing awkwardly. "You misunderstand. I seek only to assist you. She is deceitful. A thief. She must have used some forbidden means to bewitch you. Hand her over. I hold the right to discipline her."
"Discipline," Akira repeated quietly. The word fell like judgment.
Jingle.
A flash of white leapt from Akira's shoulder.
Yuki landed upon the gravel between Akira and Kenji. The small cat arched its back, its pristine fur bristling until it seemed twice its size.
"A... a cat?" Kenji blinked.
Yuki did not merely hiss. The nekomata opened its mouth, and a deep, unnatural roar sounded from its small form. Blue flames rose along its twin tails, scorching the pale gravel.
Several ministers cried out and stumbled backward, entangled in their robes.
"Yuki," Akira said evenly. "That is enough. I will handle this."
The cat snapped once more at Kenji before settling, though its tails continued to lash, trailing blue fire.
"My Lord," Kenji said, fumbling as he drew a yellow talisman from his sleeve. His hands trembled visibly. "Please. Observe her aura. She conceals it. I will strip away her illusion and prove she is nothing but a rat."
"No," I forced out, my voice rough with fear.
If that talisman struck me, it would clash with the Consort Mark. Everything would be revealed.
"You see?" Kenji cried, emboldened. "She fears it. Reveal."
He cast the talisman toward me.
Akira did not move. He raised two fingers.
The talisman halted in the air, just before my face. Then it crumbled into fine white ash.
"You dare," Akira said, his amber eyes burning with cold light, "to cast a spell upon my wife. Before me."
The pressure grew unbearable. Somewhere behind us, two nobles collapsed.
Kenji fell to his knees, all arrogance gone. He scrambled backward across the gravel, his robes disordered.
"Mercy!" he cried, pointing toward me with a shaking hand. "My Lord, you must believe me. She is a criminal. She was not at the festival last night to admire the moon. I know why she left."
Akira stilled. His presence did not lessen, but his gaze sharpened. "Choose your next words with care. They will decide whether you keep your tongue."
I grasped at Akira's sleeve. "Akira, please—"
"She was desperate!" Kenji rushed on, sweat running down his face. "Her useless sister suffers from spirit-sickness. The cure requires a high-level familiar. She did not go to your estate to seek marriage, Lord Akira."
Kenji pointed at me again, his voice rising.
"She went there to skin your sacred cat."
Silence fell. Absolute and suffocating.
My hand slipped from Akira's sleeve. It dropped to my side.
I lowered my gaze, my chest tightening painfully. The truth, stripped of mercy, lay bare before the court.
I waited for anger. For fury. For the moment he would see me clearly.
Not a consort. Not chosen. Only a desperate thief.
Slowly, Akira turned his head to look at me.
His expression gave nothing away.
"Kitsune," he said, his voice calm in a way that frightened me more than rage.
And for the first time since I met him, he let go of my hand.