The wind was cold that night.
Naoko stood on the edge of the Moonblossom Terrace, her gaze fixed on the lake where she and Shisui used to train. The surface was still, save for the gentle ripple of wind-kissed water, reflecting the stars like shattered glass.
She had heard the news from her mother, not Shisui.
> "The Daimyō has announced a second engagement—Lady Himeya of the Verdant Valleys."
The words had rung through her head like a bell she couldn't silence.
Footsteps approached, soft against the polished stone. She didn't turn. She already knew it was him.
"Naoko."
"Why didn't you tell me yourself, Shisui?" she asked quietly, arms folded as if shielding her chest from something colder than the wind.
He stood a few paces behind her, shoulders heavy with regret. "I was going to. I just… didn't know how."
Naoko turned to face him, her expression composed, but her eyes—those fierce, clear eyes—held pain behind them.
"You were always brave enough to face monsters. Why not me?"
He looked away. "Because you matter more."
A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the sounds of swaying trees and a nightbird's cry.
Naoko stepped forward. "Do you love her?"
"No," Shisui replied without hesitation. "She's kind. I respect her. But my heart… it's always been yours."
Her breath caught.
"But it's not just about love anymore, is it?" she said. "You're not just Shisui. You're the son of a Daimyō. The heir to a kingdom. Your choices aren't yours alone."
He nodded. "That's the curse of the crown."
Naoko placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. "Then make me a promise."
"Anything."
"No matter how many others they put around you—don't let them change who you are inside. Don't forget this. Don't forget us."
His hand closed over hers. "Never."
She leaned in, resting her forehead against his, their connection a silent vow amidst the chaos of duty and destiny.
That night, under the pale moonlight, no titles, no politics, no arranged marriages could break the bond they had forged over years of shared hardship, trust, and quiet longing.
Even if the world demanded a different story—this chapter belonged to them.