I was absolutely, unequivocally going to die tonight.
That was my first coherent 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 drunk on plum wine and poetry.
Except for me.
I adjusted the small black ribbon holding back my shoulder-length, light gray hair. My hands were shaking so badly I almost pulled the knot loose.
Pull it together, Kitsune, I scolded myself, my dark purple eyes frantically scanning the shadows. You are a minor court lady of the Bureau of Divination. You can do this.
That was a lie. I was a glorified paper-pusher whose only magical talent was a very weak spirit-sight. I could see leftover magical energy and the occasional harmless dust-spirit. I had no business sneaking into the temporary estate of Kurogane Akira.
The Third Prince. The exiled Lord of the Northern Marches.
The Demon Prince.
Just thinking his name made my stomach twist. Everyone in the court knew the rumors. He was a ruthless warlord cursed with a forbidden yokai bloodline, capable of crushing rebellions with a single wave of his hand.
But I wasn't here for him. I was here for his cat.
"Just a handful of fur," I whispered under my breath, clutching a pair of silver sewing scissors in my pocket. "That's all I need."
My younger sister, Rin, was lying in our tiny, drafty room right now, burning up with spirit-sickness. The court physician had basically signed her death warrant, casually tossing out that the only cure was an elixir brewed from the fur of a sacred nekomata bound to a supreme onmyoji.
It was an impossible prescription. There was only one nekomata in the capital.
I crept out from behind the bush, my soft silk slippers making no sound on the wooden planks of the engawa porch. I bypassed the sliding shoji screens, keeping my breathing shallow.
Then, I saw it.
Sitting atop a stone water basin, bathed in the moonlight, was the target.
Yuki.
The cat was tiny and incredibly fluffy, with a coat of pure, snow-white fur. Around its neck was a vibrant red bow, complete with a little golden bell that jingled ever so softly in the breeze. It looked like an adorable, pampered aristocrat's pet.
But through my weak spirit-sight, I could see the truth. Blue aura crackled around its tiny paws. Its bright turquoise eyes literally glowed in the dark. This wasn't just a pet; it was an ancient, powerful spirit.
And it was staring right at me.
Those glowing turquoise eyes locked onto my wide, dark purple ones. The cat radiated a smug, deeply judgmental energy. It didn't hiss. It didn't run. It just sat there, waiting for me to explain myself.
"Hi," I whispered, feeling incredibly stupid. I slowly raised my hands to show I wasn't a threat. "Good kitty. Nice, ancient, terrifying kitty."
Yuki blinked slowly.
I took a step closer. The cat didn't move.
"I don't want to hurt you," I pleaded in a hushed tone, pulling the silver scissors from my pocket. "I just need a tiny little haircut. You won't even notice it's gone. You're so fluffy already."
I reached out with a trembling hand.
Jingle.
Yuki stood up, the bell on its red bow chiming cheerfully. It stretched its front legs, completely unbothered by the stranger holding sharp implements in its master's secure courtyard.
Then, it did the absolute last thing I expected.
Yuki leaped off the stone basin and landed directly into my arms.
"Oof!" I staggered back, barely catching the heavy bundle of white fluff. I dropped my scissors with a loud clatter on the wooden deck.
Oh no. I froze, waiting for the courtyard guards to rush in. Nothing happened. The crickets kept chirping.
I looked down at the cat in my arms. Yuki looked up at me.
"Meow," it said. It wasn't a normal meow. It sounded like an order.
"I can't carry you," I whispered frantically, trying to set the cat down on the porch. "I just need a little bit of your fur. Let me go, please."
Yuki dug its tiny claws into the silk of my sleeves. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to say, I'm not going anywhere. Then, it began to purr.
It was a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated against my chest. But it wasn't just a sound.
Suddenly, a wave of warmth rushed up my arms. My spirit-sight flared violently, blinding me for a split second. A glowing, intricate crest made of blue and gold light bloomed in the air between me and the cat, before sinking directly into my chest.
I gasped, stumbling backward. My heart hammered wildly. What was that? A curse? An alarm?
I didn't have time to figure it out. The cat was refusing to let go, my scissors were on the ground, and I had just triggered some kind of terrifying onmyodo magic.
"Fine," I hissed, wrapping my arms around the fluffy menace. "You're coming with me. We'll do the haircut at my place."
I turned on my heel, ready to sprint back toward the garden wall.
The air in the courtyard froze.
I don't mean it got chilly. I mean the very atmosphere solidified. The crickets stopped chirping. The moonlight seemed to dim. A suffocating, terrifying spiritual pressure slammed down on my shoulders, so heavy I instantly dropped to my knees.
Yuki simply adjusted its position in my lap, purring louder.
"Going somewhere?"
The voice was like velvet wrapped around a steel blade. It sent a shiver of pure terror straight down my spine.
I slowly, shakily lifted my head.
Stepping out from the shadows of the paper doors was a man.
Even in my sheer panic, my brain registered that he was breathtaking. He wore an elegant, dark indigo hakama, the robes loose and casual, yet radiating absolute authority.
But it was his hair that caught the moonlight. Long, flowing, and a distinct, striking shade of pink. It was pulled half-up in an elegant noble's style, cascading over his broad shoulders. It was the demon mark—the physical proof of his forbidden yokai lineage.
Kurogane Akira.
His eyes, a sharp, intense amber, were locked onto me. They glowed dangerously in the dim light, missing absolutely nothing.
My breath hitched. I squeezed my eyes shut. This is it. He's going to execute me right here. I'm a dead woman. I'm sorry, Rin.
I waited for the fiery blast of onmyodo magic. I waited for the killing blow.
Instead, the crushing spiritual pressure vanished in an instant.
The silence stretched. It was thick and confusing.
I hesitantly opened one purple eye, then the other.
The Demon Prince was no longer looking at me with murderous intent. He was staring directly at my chest—right where that strange, glowing crest had sunk into my skin moments before.
His sharp amber eyes widened. The dangerous, terrifying warlord suddenly looked... stunned.
He took a slow step forward, his tall frame towering over me. I shrank back against the wooden floorboards, clutching Yuki tighter. The cat just jingled its little bell.
Akira slowly lowered himself, kneeling gracefully onto the wooden deck until he was eye-level with me. He reached out a large, calloused hand. I flinched, bracing myself.
But his fingers didn't reach for my throat. They gently, almost reverently, brushed against a stray lock of my light gray hair, tucking it behind my ear. His touch was incredibly warm.
When he finally spoke, his terrifying voice was completely devoid of anger. Instead, it was thick with a strange, heavy emotion I couldn't understand.
"The ritual," he murmured, his amber eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter. "You completed the Consort Rite."
I stared at him, my brain completely flatlining. "...What?"
His gaze darkened with a fierce, absolute devotion that terrified me more than his magic ever could.
"I have waited twenty years for you, my wife."