Chapter Text
The military base bustled with measured order—boots striking earth in perfect cadence, officers delivering crisp commands, the scent of steel and ink mingling in the late morning air. Miyo stepped softly through the gates, a neatly wrapped parcel of lunch cradled in her hands. She drew little attention at first, her figure demure, her steps careful, but her presence was unusual enough to invite curiosity.
Most of the men kept their distance, bowing politely as she passed. But one guard—new to his post, still green enough to let curiosity overrule discipline—allowed his gaze to linger. He straightened from where he stood, smoothing the front of his uniform as he moved into her path.
“Good day, miss,” he said with a shallow bow, his smile practiced and just a touch too bold. “Forgive me, but you don’t seem to be a visitor I recognize. Are you perhaps lost?”
Miyo stopped, startled, her grip tightening on the parcel. “Ah, no, I…” Her voice trailed off, unsure how much she ought to explain.
The guard tilted his head, studying her with a smile that bordered on flirtation. “Then you’re expected, I take it? May I know your name? It’s not often we see someone of your refinement here. Surely someone ought to escort you properly.”
Miyo lowered her gaze, flustered. “That isn’t necessary. I’m only here to deliver—”
“Please,” he interrupted smoothly, leaning just slightly closer. “It would ease my mind to see you safely inside. A lady such as yourself shouldn’t wander these grounds unaccompanied. Some men might take advantage of the opportunity to speak with you.” His grin widened, the irony of his own words apparently lost on him.
Her steps faltered backward, uncertain how to refuse without drawing more attention. She clutched the parcel tighter, her cheeks warming. “I… truly, that isn’t needed—”
“Not needed?” the guard said lightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a private jest. “On the contrary, I insist. Allow me—”
His words cut short.
The cadence of boots striking earth broke through the air with sharp finality. A cold, commanding presence loomed behind him, its weight palpable even before a voice followed.
“Step. Aside.”
The guard stiffened, color draining from his face as he turned. Lord Kudo stood a few paces away, his expression unreadable, his gaze like drawn steel.
“My lord—I meant no offense,” the guard stammered, bowing low, the boldness from moments before evaporating in an instant.
“You spoke without knowing to whom you addressed yourself,” Kiyoka said evenly, though the air about him was taut, bristling with warning. “Consider this your first and only error.”
The guard dropped his head further, mumbling apologies before retreating swiftly to his post, eager to vanish from the commander’s sight.
Only then did Kiyoka move forward, offering his arm to Miyo. His hand was steady, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the storm beneath his composure. “Come,” he said softly, guiding her away without another glance at the flustered man.
Miyo obeyed, her cheeks still warm, the parcel trembling faintly in her grasp. She did not dare look back, though she felt the sting of gazes upon her as they crossed the yard—none daring to comment, yet all noting the rare sight of Lord Kudo personally leading a woman into the heart of the base.
Inside his office, the door slid shut with a soft thud, sealing away the rhythm of marching boots and barked orders outside. The stillness pressed in, broken only by the faint rustle of paper on Kiyoka’s desk and the uneven sound of Miyo’s breath as she smoothed her sleeve.
For a long moment, he did not speak. He stood near the door, his back straight, his gloved hand still resting against the hilt of his sword as though reining in his own temper. His gaze remained fixed on the wood before him.
“He did not know,” he said at last, his voice clipped, too controlled.
Miyo tilted her head, her hands tightening around the parcel. “The guard?”
“Yes.” His jaw flexed. “Had he been aware you are my wife, he would not have dared speak to you so… familiarly.”
She lowered her eyes, unsure whether to soothe him or leave his silence undisturbed. “He meant no harm, Kiyoka. He was only—perhaps too forward in his politeness.”
At that, his head turned. His eyes met hers, sharp and unblinking, the restraint in them cracking faintly. He crossed the space between them in two measured strides, stopping close enough that she caught the faint scent of cedarwood and steel clinging to his uniform.
“Politeness?” he repeated, the word flat. His hand lifted, hovering before it finally brushed the back of hers, a delicate touch that contradicted the tension in his frame. “I watched him lean toward you. I watched him smile, as though your attention were his to claim.” His thumb traced her knuckles slowly, deliberately. “And I could not bear it.”
Miyo’s breath caught. She had never seen him quite like this—still composed, but with emotion bleeding through the cracks in his armor. “Kiyoka…”
His eyes softened, though the intensity did not wane. His hand rose higher, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. The graze of his glove was feather-light, yet it sent a tremor through her. “Forgive me,” he murmured, voice low. “I am not accustomed to such feelings. But seeing another man look at you so—” His hand slid to rest at her waist, the pressure firm, possessive. “—it was intolerable.”
Her lips curved faintly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You have no need to worry. I belong nowhere else but with you.”
The words undid him. His restraint shattered like brittle glass. His arm tightened around her waist, drawing her flush against him, and before she could draw another breath his mouth claimed hers.
The kiss was fierce, unguarded—an outpouring of everything he had suppressed, jealousy and devotion tangled together. Miyo gasped softly against him, then melted into his embrace, her fingers gripping his uniform as though afraid he might pull away.
When he finally drew back, his breath was uneven, his gaze dark and unwavering. He rested his forehead against hers, his voice roughened by the force of his feelings.
“We will finish this conversation,” he murmured, each word deliberate, “at home.”
Miyo’s cheeks burned scarlet, her lips still tingling, but her answering smile was tender. She nodded once, her hand lingering over the steady beat of his heart.
Outside, orders rang and boots struck in rhythm. But within these four walls, there was only the quiet certainty of his vow—and the promise of what awaited when the day was done.