Every night, they pass her room, hair kept up in intricate ties and draped in elegant kimonos of the most sophisticated designs. They wear dark makeup of coal around their eyes, and their lips are painted the darkest of reds, alluring. Beautiful women from every corner of the earth all make their way past her room, answering to their master's call. They hold their hands folded before them as their trains create the barest of whispers on the polished floor, taunting her. Their steps are slight, making them glide like ghosts, stopping time and space as they pass before her eyes. Even if she stands in her doorway, candle held out into the hall to illuminate the new woman's face, she is not seen by those raised, half-lidded eyes. She is but a dirty creature fouling their noble air, not worth the effort of moving their eyes to gaze upon her.
The woman this night tinkles as the many rubies and gems dangling from her pointed ears touch one another, like a chime in a gentle breeze. This woman is more beautiful than the last still, with the palest of green eyes and whitest of skin. She is of an unknown race of demon, probably nothing more than a legend in the land she has travelled from, commanded by the most powerful demon to appear before him. Her nails are long and painted red to match her lips.
Just like all of the others, she has been made up to sate his desire.
She stands in the hall and watches as the demoness moves into the darkness toward her lord's rooms. Tentatively, she follows, trying to imitate the elegance of the demoness with her human limbs, practicing. The woman knows of her follower and despises her, but she has been warned of the lord's nosy, human ward, and she does not give the young woman the satisfaction of irritation.
The hallway grows darker and cooler as they continue. The candle of the human throws many dancing shadows of the demoness's beautiful form upon the wall. Light from her golden hair lays over the images, creating the illusion of refracting light on the surface of water, and sends rippling shadows down the hall around them.
With a bend in the walkway, his door comes into view, and the human suddenly stops, remaining by the corner. The demoness continues on, stopping suddenly beside the door. Her earrings let out another series of tinkles as she turns to face it. Before the paper door, the woman gracefully floats to the floor in a bow, her many layers of expensive silk sighing against the wooden floor as they spread out beneath her. The woman touches her forehead to the floor, the one and only time she has ever had to do so.
For many long moments, the demoness remains that way, forced to hold the submissive position as the demon lord takes his time. Wanting a better look at the demoness, the human woman steps out from behind the bend, examining her with the light of her candle. For many long minutes, nothing happens, an odd tension growing in the air as both human and demoness await their lord's appearance.
When the door slides open swiftly, the demoness does not flinch, but the human stumbles backward, startled, as he steps into the hallway and stands over the fair demoness. "Rise," he commands, his cold voice filling the air completely and moving through it smoothly like smoke through the air of a cool, winter night.
With golden eyes, he watches her rise before him, face turned down as she floats to her feet. "My lord," she says as she finally stands tall, head bowed before her in respect and submission. Her voice is a false sweet, a bitter undertone hidden skillfully beneath its music. The tall lord pays this no mind as he steps aside, allowing her entrance to the completely dark room behind him.
Demons do not need light. They are dark creatures.
As the noble woman passes him, his golden eyes pierce the darkness, finding those of his troublesome ward. There is no emotion in those depths, but as he turns to follow the demoness, his hand brushes in her direction and the candle goes out as his energy swarms her. Standing in the complete darkness, the human woman knows her lord is displeased with her, but cannot leave, listening to the rustle of clothing and clinking of the woman's body jewelry as she is taken like all of the others.
In the morning, the demoness is absent from the palace, sent away after the fulfillment of her duty. As the human woman kneels before her morning meal, untouched and cold, her lord enters. She rises and addresses him with a bow, but does not look at him, her eyes focused on the polished wood of the floor.
"Rin, you disobeyed me." There is no anger in his voice, but she knows he is aggravated.
Without raising herself from her bent position, she replies, "I apologize, Lord Sesshomaru. It shall not happen again."
"Make that so," he snaps, his frustration showing in the shortness of his words. Too well, she understands the threat hidden within his statement. Too many times he has caught her outside of his rooms during the night. His patience has worn thin, and she knows him well enough to heed that warning.
No longer will he find her standing in the hallway watching his newest mistress enter his rooms.
With little regard for the possible consequences, she finds the demoness she knows prepares the women for her lord. Informing this woman that her lord does not desire a companion that evening, she effectively begins her plan weeks in the making. The jealously that has burned through her for years provides the flame that she uses to boldly confront the woman. When the demoness looks at her suspiciously, the human woman holds her ground and insists that her lord has sent her with this information, too busy to notify her himself. Finally, the demoness accepts her words, grateful for her first night off in many months.
As she walks past to inform the woman who was meant to be his companion that night that she is no longer needed, the young ward cunningly slips into the empty room she has left, looking about carefully for everything that she will need. The layered kimono hangs on the wall, the box of makeup open on the table, utensils already spread out for use. She slides the door closed behind her, locking it as she begins to prepare, settling beside the low table and adjusting the reflective glass. When her face appears in the glass, she hesitates, not recognizing the burn in her eyes. It vanishes a moment later as she recognizes her own wide, brown eyes staring back at her. They are so different from the narrowed eyes of the women her lord normally requests. Her face is round, innocent, not angular or elegant. Although her features are beautiful, they are nothing like those of the demonesses' who pass her room every night. She possesses a beauty that is to be protected as innocent, not ravished in heat.
Pressing the thoughts away, she raises the brush to her eye, painting it the way she has so carefully examined on the women. She is so close; she can't give up. If she wavers, her disobedience will be discovered shortly and she could be sent away, never to experience her lord as these women have.
The makeup is easy enough, but pinning her own hair proves difficult, and she soon settles on pinning it up simply. It retains the same shape as the other women's, but lacks the intricacy of each defined lock. Dressing in the heavy kimono also proves tedious, but after a long and exhausting hour, she rights the layers exactly as she has seen them every night for the last many years.
Night has fallen and she knows it was now time to move. It is drilled into her head like an alarm that forewarns her every evening, alerting her that the chosen woman will soon pass her rooms, moving to take the attention of her lord in a way she never would, but this night, as she passes her own room, she does not look at the doors, imitating the indifference that the women always showed her.
Her steps are graceful even in the pitch black, carefully practiced every night for weeks. Her chin is held high as she has always seen, a mask of confidence upon her face, but inside, she trembles, fearing her lord's reaction. Even now, she is sure he knows of her trickery, able to sense her so easily. She rounds the bend that she always refuses to pass with a confident step, almost feeling the imaginary barrier pulling at her skin.
She does not falter, taking the same path as every one of the women before her. When she reaches his door, she turns gracefully, a whisper of silks, and drops to the floor, forehead to the polished wood. The door slides open almost immediately, swift, and she expects his scolding voice to sound above her, but instead, she hears, "Rise."
His voice is the same as every night, and she continues as she has practiced, rising gracefully with her face lowered. When she finally stands tall, she gives the reply, "My lord," her voice confident and strong. It almost startles her, the moment finally becoming solid as her own voice reverberates off of the walls, sweet and melodic, not a bitter trace found anywhere within it.
Without hesitation, he steps aside for her to enter, and she passes him, her face still bowed respectfully. She stops in the center of the room as the door slides closed behind her, hands folded before her as she waits for whatever is next. Moonlight flows through the window before her, illuminating the room in a gray glow that does not leave shadows. It is a soft light that fills every corner, not quite bright enough to make out objects but enough to know they are there. She chose this night for that exact reason. Able to see her lord lit by the light of the crescent moon, but unable to make out the expression on his face so she may arrange the dancing darkness into any expression she likes.
She does not dare look about her as she hears her lord's soft footfalls approach her from behind. His strong hands tug at the bow resting against her lower back, not touching her in any other way. As the cloth falls to the floor, she realizes that he will not send her away. He reaches over her shoulders to rest his hands on the collar of her kimono and pulls all of the layers off at once, his claws running gently along her skin as the fabric falls heavily to the floor.
Standing naked, her back to him as she hears him loosening his own clothing, she finally feels content. She has succeeded.
His hand settles on her shoulder suddenly, and he roughly spins her to face him. Surprised, she forgets to divert her eyes and looks her lord in the face. Her blood runs cold at the look in his eyes. They are a molten gold, blazing with every emotion close to fury. His arm suddenly closes around her waist, pressing her against his nude form as he twists, hurling her onto the raised bed.
He follows her swiftly, pinning her with his large body in the center. His hands find hers, pinning them above her head as he leans close to her, his silver hair falling over his shoulder to cover her upper body. She shivers and swallows, closing her eyes and trying to escape his gaze. "Lord Sesshomaru," she whimpers, not knowing what else to say.
"Rin," he growls, his tone dangerous, "You've defied me."
Her eyes open suddenly as she shakes her head, terrified. "No, Lord Sesshomaru, please! I did not!" She cries, struggling to free her wrists.
His golden eyes pierce her own, their brilliant color glowing in the darkness. "So, you challenge my words, Rin?" His voice grows deeper, his fangs flashing in the moonlight as he bares them in fury. "Do you think me a fool, Rin?" He demands when she does not respond, his voice rising for one of the only times she can remember. "Do you think I did not know what you intended?"
"No, my lord," she whimpers, trying to turn her face away, but he shifts his grip on her wrists to one hand, roughly grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him, "I do not think you a fool."
"Then what did you think would come of this?" His harshly whispers, his warm breath moving across her lips. When she does not respond, whimpering beneath him, close to tears, he continues to glare down at her. He allows her to fear him until it overwhelms his senses and her sweet scent is completely masked by it, and then he pulls away, releasing her and rising on his knees before her.
Slowly, she opens her eyes. From his position now, she realizes he was not in any way aroused, and a tear runs down her face as she realizes that she failed to attract him.
"Rin." His voice is flat again, normal. She takes it as a form of warmth and looks up at him. His eyes are calm and collected as they look at her, as they almost always are. "You may dress and leave. I will not send you away, and you may remain in my home, but never again may you enter my rooms or follow another woman here." At her frantic nods, he pauses, continuing to stare at her but in no way moving to let her slide off of the bed. Finally, he speaks again, "Or you may remain here. If you choose this, you will never be permitted to leave the palace grounds, and I will not give you children. I will call upon you, and be warned, I shall not be gentle."
Mouth slightly agape, she cannot speak, bewildered by what he has just said. Their eyes lock for several long moments, her tears receding and her fear fading slowly. The flame burning within her, her love, suddenly flares, and she slowly raises her arms to him, inviting him to her, her eyes sure and determined. His face does not change as he lowers himself onto her. He does not embrace her or kiss her for her decision but guides her through the acts, his motions and words kinder than he implied they would be.
When he finally takes her, he is kind and pauses for several moments before continuing, gentler than he would ever be again. She does not take pleasure in this encounter as he suspected she would not, and he does not promise anything different in the future as he watches her dress herself. When she leaves, he follows her to the door, not bothering to dress, and watches her move down the hallway, trying desperately to maintain the same grace she had arrived in, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks and the pain between her legs.
For the next several days, he does not appear before her, allowing her time to herself. Much has happened in a short time, and her regret does not escape him as she radiates it in her scent. On the third day, the demoness who she tricked appears before her. There is disgust in her eyes as she informs the young woman that their lord has called upon her. Both eager and afraid, she goes with the demoness to be dressed and once again makes the short journey to her lord's rooms.
This time, she does not have the opportunity to drop to the floor before his door opens, and he draws her in with an arm about her waist, crushing her to him. Quickly, she is undressed and his robe is discarded. This time, he seeks her pleasure as much as his own, and as her nails dig into his back, a growl much resembling her name slips from his lips, but when she questions him, he becomes silent, face once again expressionless as he moves.
When he finally rolls from her, he does not embrace her, nor does he send her away. Turning his back to her, he pulls the blanket over them both, settling to rest. For a moment, she does not move, clutching the blanket under her chin as she eyes her large lord beside her, his strong, bare shoulder and upper back showing above the blanket. With a burst of boldness, she rolls on her side as well, pressing her body against his back, her arm draping over his abdomen. She imagines the maroon markings over his hips covered by her arm and is content. He does not protest or encourage her.
The next morning when she awakes, his arm is draped across her stomach, his face in her hair. He is not asleep, and she freezes, unsure. "Lord Sesshomaru?" she stutters.
"Be still, Rin," he commands, pulling her closer. "Do not speak."
She does as he commands, remaining completely still as he stares at her, his brow furrowed the smallest amount. Slowly, his hand finds her chin and turns her face to him. She meets his eyes, forgetting once again not to, but he does not scold, he never does. He draws away from her then, rising to bathe and dress for the day.
As she steps into the hall, fully dressed, he informs her that he will be call on her again that night and closes the door carefully. This time, she walks away with a smile, ignoring the distasteful looks of the servants who smell their lord on her.
That night, he does not turn away from her when he pulls the blanket over them, but remains on his back, once again allowing her to snuggle up beside him. This time, she lays her head on his shoulder.
In the morning, his arm is wrapped possessively about her waist, holding her flush against him. When she awakens, she is surprised when he pins her with his body, looking down at her closely, foreheads nearly touching. His golden eyes look directly into hers, cold. Remembering what he'd said the previous morning, she remains still and calm as he searches her face. He leans back and draws off the covers, examining her closely from head to toe as he runs his fingers over her skin, his keen eyes following the path of his fingers. So surprised by her lord's tenderness, she tenses, clutching at the sheets beside her, uncertain of him.
When he finishes, he leans over her, his silver hair falling over her in much the same way as their first night together. This time, however, he allows his lips brush over hers gently, but then, he pulls away, twisting angrily from the bed to dress, his motions irritated. Silently, she watches from the bed, confused and hurt, as he opens the door to leave. Just before he shuts it, he stops, not looking back at her. "Remain here," he says, then slides the door shut with a slap.
The entire day, she remains in his bed, dozing and thinking of his strange behavior. When night falls, and he still does not return, she rises, moving to the door to peer out. Just as she opens it, she gasps, stepping back as his large form appears before her, towering over her. Swiftly, he draws her up against him by the waist, moving into the room with several strong strides before pinning her against the cushioning of the bed, disregarding the open door entirely. The silk of his clothing is soft on her bare skin, and she shivers, looking up at him just as his lips crash down on hers, hungry and angry for it. Finally, he draws back, nose touching her, his breath hot against her cheek as his hands begin to pull at the ties of his armor.
"Lord Sesshomaru?" She whispers softly as she runs her lips across his temple and the shell of his ear.
He turns his face into her cheek as the armor loosens, growling out, "You are to remain here from now on, Rin. Your things will be brought here from your rooms, but until I say so, you may not leave." Straightening for a moment, he raises his armor over his head, all but slamming it against the floor as he loosens his swords and rests them against it, his eyes lingering on his father's sword for a moment before turning back to the human woman lying on his bed. As he stares at her, his hands pull at his sash, taking in her puzzled expression.
"But, Lord Sesshomaru," she finally breathes as he moves to her, wrapping his arm around her waist and moving her to the center of the bed before settling between her legs, "Why?"
As he presses his nose into her neck, his hands grip her waist, pulling her as close as he can, but he does not respond, taking her swiftly. For days, he does not leave her side other than to bring food, which most times she does not get to eat before he has her again. Realization strikes her one night as she snuggles into his side, and happy tears begin running down her face.
Smelling them, he opens his eyes to look at her, his gaze as expressionless as ever. "What is it, Rin?" he asks, his voice flat.
But these things are a part of her lord, and she smiles at him, bringing a hand to his cheek as she presses her forehead to his. "I will bear you strong pups, Lord Sesshomaru. I promise you shall be proud of them."
He grunts, his arm wrapping around her waist and hauling her on top of his chest. "Foolish woman," he mutters as he holds her there. "They will be children of mine. I do not worry."
Smiling at his pride, Rin lays her head upon Sesshomaru's bare chest and slips into a deep slumber, surrounded by his warmth and stubborn love.