i.
"Sherry," he says, his hands gentle on her shoulders. "I've learned enough to know by now that I'm hardly going to convince you to do the sensible thing and allow me to nullify the engagement until you're old enough to decide what you really want." He sighs, and then laughs, and though there is exasperation within his voice, there is also fondness.
"But if this is going to work between us, I need you to understand that I come from a culture very different from yours. We define adulthood, and, consequently, consent, very differently." He sighs again, giving her shoulders a small squeeze. He's long-since learned that he doesn't need to dumb down his diplomatically-instilled vocabulary for her, not even for a moment. "You're going to want things, sometimes, that I will not be able to give you in good conscience. Just promise me you'll remember that my refusals will never mean I don't care for you. Promise me you'll remember that it's because you're important to me that sometimes I will need to tell you 'no'."
Sherry gazes at him solemnly, and he knows that though her grasp of just how deeply this may affect her in later years is perhaps somewhat limited in this moment, she does possess at least a basic understanding, and her determination shines through as clearly as ever. "I promise, Sugawara-sama," she says, her voice even and clear.
He gives her a smile - that same smile she first earned during that fateful sunrise at the Jade Palace, the first time he had ever smiled that way at her, the only time she'd ever seen him smile that way at all. "And still, I can't help but try to convince you to change your mind one last time," he says, his smile turning lop-sided. "Roses and ribbons and sweets, these are things within my power to give to you. But the rest of the things one might expect when being properly courted…"
She smiles, then, and though he's hardly about to feel butterflies for a child, regardless of the brief visions he's had of the fearsome woman she will one day most assuredly be, he also can't deny that her smile brings him a certain warmth and peace like nothing in this - or any other - world.
"I'd wait forever for you, Sugawara-sama," and he knows she means it.
ii.
The first few years between them pass relatively without incident, and their friendship grows and blossoms in the wake of the peace that Crown Princess Pina has given to the Empire.
She tells him of her parents, when the wounds in her heart from their violent deaths are not still so fresh that they threaten to drag her under. She tells him of her childhood, of her etiquette lessons and the way her mother's fingers would twist just-so in her daughter's hair in the mornings as she tied it into long twintails that fluttered in the wind like ribbons, of her father and his deep, easy laugh and the little figurines that he often whittled in the evenings, a fire flickering brightly in the background and her mother's voice rising and falling with a tale from one of the many books in their mansion's library, and Sherry contently nestled between them.
He tells her of his own childhood in Japan, of sleepy mornings on the train and shoe lockers and cleaning duties and homeroom, of the breakfasts his mother would prepare every morning without fail, of lunchboxes tied in handkerchiefs and afterschool clubs and cram school, of his favorite cat and the way she'd eagerly await a fresh cut of cattails from a nearby field that he'd bring home to her to play with, of his dreams of not only making the world better with his government work but of traveling it from start to finish, and now here he is, traveling another world entirely, a wilder dream than any he'd ever had.
They learn each other's ins and outs, one day, one meal, one moment at a time. They grow into each other like the roots of a tree into the earth, moving and changing the surroundings - each other - inch by certain inch.
Some evenings he comes home with a crease so deep in his brow that it seems it will rift his skin in two, and there she is with a fresh cup of his favorite tea. She always seems to know whether he needs to rant in exasperation, or whether he'd much rather hear an entertaining, distracting tale of what she'd gotten up to while he was away - and she's never short on stories.
Some nights he awakens to the sounds of her tears, and there is little that can fill the emptiness she still feels where her parents should be like the simple comfort of his arms around her, and he comes to know the way to her room so well he could walk there blindfolded during an earthquake.
They learn, and they grow, and slowly the earth continues to turn.
iii.
But nothing worthwhile ever comes easily, and though Sherry rises to meet the challenge of her promise to him with every ounce of discipline she possesses, she still inevitably stumbles. It only gets harder with the passage of time.
She is fourteen, and still madly in love, and she sees the lovers around her and she reads and she wishes, oh how she wishes - but she promised.
She promised, but she still cannot help but reach instinctively for his hand, thinking to twine fingers in the way she's seen so often before -
- and though she understands immediately when he withdraws his hand from the brush of hers, she can't help the stinging sensation at the corners of her eyes. She looks bravely on ahead and clasps her hands primly in front of her and wears her smile like a shield, but it still hurts.
She can't dismiss the pain any more than Kouji can dismiss the guilt, and though he knows he's doing the right thing - whatever the rumors might say, he refuses to play any part in giving them credence - he wishes desperately he could ease the sadness in her eyes when all she wants to do is hold his hand.
Truly, he thinks, the act of holding hands is, in and of itself, an innocent and harmless one. But when it comes with the larger question of where appropriate physical boundaries should lie, it is far simpler to draw the line here, far on the obvious side of innocence. He will do absolutely nothing to compromise her childhood any further than it already has been in the war. Precocious she may be, but there are years to come before he can even begin to think of holding her hand, let alone anything more that she might long for.
So he simply places a hand on her head for a moment, gentle and warm, before continuing on into the marketplace.
And though the palm of Sherry's hand still aches to press against his, a small smile steals across her face again, and she gathers the hem of her dress in her hands and adds a spring in her step to return to his side.
iv.
It's the last eve of Sherry's fifteenth year, and for once, Sugawara has not sent her off to bed despite the unusually late hour. He is relaxing in his favorite armchair in the study, gazing drowsily at the crackling flames of the fireplace, and she is curled up on the floor, leaning against the side of his leg as she reads to him from a favorite old book from her childhood.
The hour ticks onward, and soon she hears the tell-tale sound of even breathing that tells her he has fallen asleep.
Cautiously she puts a hand on his knee, and when he doesn't stir, she sets down the book, crossing her arms over his knees and resting her chin on them, gazing up at his sleeping face with an infinite fondness.
Her gaze flickers over to the clock, and as the seconds slip past, her heart skitters more wildly in her chest.
"Because she is to marry me once she turns sixteen!" His voice echoes just as powerfully in her mind now as it did the day he saved her. She will not forget that moment for the rest of her life.
The clock ticks and ticks and ticks and suddenly, as soft chimes fill the warm space of the study, she is sixteen.
Sherry's heart hammers almost painfully as she rises to her feet, and she bites her lip. She has planned this moment for so long that now it has finally arrived, she scarcely knows what to do with herself.
But she is Sherry Tyueli, and she has never been, nor will she ever be, a retiring wallflower.
So she slides onto his lap, somehow as graceful as if she'd done it a hundred times before despite her thick skirts, and as he finally begins to awaken at the sudden weight on his thighs, she slips her delicate hands onto his cheeks and tips his head to just the right angle and as his eyes are slowly adjusting from the bleariness of sleep -
She kisses him.
There is the briefest sensation of his lips melting into hers, and she thinks that he is not yet fully awake, and is responding to her as though in a dream.
Seconds later he makes a strangled noise and his lips tighten and she can't help but smile into the kiss.
Kouji is, for his part, utterly panicking.
He let his guard down - he let his guard down, and he is suffering the consequences, and it's just past midnight and of course she planned this, his little Sherry, he really should have known by now, and dammit sixteen is still a minimum of two years too early for this…
But.
But her lips are soft and she is warm and familiar and dear and she only grows lovelier with each passing year and his hands have risen from the armrests to hover uselessly near her sides, twitching, desperate to hold her but just as desperate to tear her way and put her back safely on the ground where she belongs, out of his arms and off his lap and away from his mouth.
And… dammit. Kouji makes another strangled sound, this one substantially more resigned. He just can't do it.
One hand settles gently, reverently, at the base of her neck, the other curling as lightly against the small of her back as if she were made of glass, and - just this once - he kisses her. His kiss is light and sweet and chaste, scarcely more than a feather's touch, but it is a kiss just the same, and he kisses her once, twice, three times more.
Then, with a sigh, he pulls away from her and rests his forehead against hers, staring into her warm, twinkling brown eyes with exasperation. "You are going to be the death of me," he says, and can't help but smile when she starts to giggle, a rosy flush high in her cheeks.
"I would never, Sugawara-sama!" she says, still giggling. "I love you!"
And he sighs again and reaches up to brush a lock of hair from her face, shaking his head. "And I am altogether too fond of you for my own good, Sherry Tyueli."
It is rare that he takes her by surprise or makes her speechless - all too often it is the other way around - and when he realizes that he has succeeded in this moment, Kouji can't help but savor it.
"Happy sixteenth birthday," he says, kissing her lightly on the temple.
v.
She is eighteen, and still Kouji - for he is no longer 'Sugawara-sama' but 'Kouji' - has only consented to kiss her on her birthday and only her birthday, these past two years.
Sherry had hoped that his strict behavior might ease even the slightest bit after that fateful evening the night she turned sixteen. She had hoped even moreso when they finally became wed in the eyes of the law, some weeks later.
But still he refrains, and her heart aches all the more to realize just how far her promise from six years ago would have to carry her - that promise to always remember that it is because he respects and values and cares for her that he must make the choices he does.
She has long since blossomed into womanhood in the eyes of her own culture, long since been of an age that more than one of the girls she has grown up with are not only wed but have borne children of their own, and still, still Kouji will not even clasp his hand with hers to walk about town.
Sherry wants to understand, she tries desperately hard to understand, because she fears that if she pushes too hard he will sever their tie and leave her behind, but she is eighteen years old and she is in love and she cannot help that she wants him to take her into his arms and kiss her until they are both breathless and whisper sweet nothings into her ear as their hands finally begin to wander. She knew she loved him long ago but now more than ever she is certain it is true. The way his eyes say more than his expression ever will, the way he crafts words so cleverly to tell people what they want to hear while giving nothing away, the way he shows genuine kindness to those in need and always searches for the peaceful solution, the lines of his back and shoulders and the way he gestures with his hands as he speaks, the way he always seems to know when she needs his comfort the most. She loves him down to the last hair on his head.
She loves him and she wants him and she wants to understand but she cannot.
Even worse, she hears the whispers. She knows the people around town talk, she knows what they think.
That Kouji is cold, that Kouji is impotent, that their relationship is as clearly fraudulent as it was the day he rescued her at the Jade Palace, that she is perhaps the cold one...
Kouji, she knows, hears them too, and has remained firm despite it all.
What she doesn't know is that even as the sadness inside her gains ground with each touch she longs for and does not receive, Kouji is slowly becoming swallowed by fear.
He is afraid of how much she trusts him, he is terrified of the fact that if he crumbles, she will welcome it, because he is not immune to those temptations. He wishes desperately that he was, but he isn't, and he wants more than anything to preserve her ability to choose for as long as he possibly can. On that day years ago, he saved her in the only way he knew how - the noble world had long heard rumors of their supposed engagement, thanks to Sherry's clever words and her persistence and the way she was rarely far from his side in places of public view, and it was exactly this that would lead credence to his declaration that she was indeed promised to him. But just because they had no choice then doesn't mean that she should have no choice now, and though she insists she would only ever choose him, he still wants her to have the chance to say otherwise.
He wants her to have the chance to fall in love with someone who isn't thirteen years older than her, with someone who can court her in all the ways he never could right from the start, with someone who she finds instead of someone she is forced into the arms of at the age of twelve.
And it grows harder and harder with the inevitable passage of time because he falls more in love with her by the day.
Where Sherry was sharp at the age of twelve, at the age of eighteen she is a honed blade of steel, clever and quick and kind, her eyes as clear and bright as they are quick to smile, and she has long since taken to diplomacy like a fish to water, and he adores her.
Sherry walks the line of being what she is needed to be and yet remaining true to herself with all the grace and elegance of a noblewoman twice, three times her years. She stands ever tall with shoulders squared and head held high, and the strength of her spirit shines through as much as her beauty. She has her mother's eyes and her father's smile and the fierce determination of both.
She is the light of Kouji's life, and he is near-helpless against her.
vi.
There is, however, one aspect of a culture that is as young in its history as this one is that Kouji failed to take into consideration: the ease with which the married nobles take lovers on the side.
He should have expected it, should have known better - in a society still largely populated with political marriages, of course there are going to be many who look elsewhere to find love and affection. Such dalliances are an unspoken but well-understood aspect of their culture. Kouji had fought so hard, all this time, to give Sherry the chance to find a love for herself.
He did not account for the sheer number of hopeful suitors that would pursue her themselves.
But Sherry is lovely and ever-smiling and clever and has a voice as sweet and warm as honey and he really, really should have expected it. Especially with the rumors about the two of them and their less than physically-affectionate relationship being what they are.
The young men eye her at the parties, they sweep her up for dances and offer her drinks or pluck berries covered in chocolate off of serving trays to offer her or tuck wild flowers behind her ear and linger over her hand just a little too long when they bring it to their lips for a polite kiss, and Kouji, who has perfected the art of watching over her even when he appears not to be, notices.
He also notices the way she responds - kind, of course, but only just enough to refrain from being rude. She'll allow a single dance, take the occasional piece of fruit, hold a drink that she takes a mere sip or two from, and that is all.
Kouji feels relieved and hates himself for it.
He wanted to let her choose for herself, but in the end he still wants her to choose him, and the resulting guilt threatens to swallow him whole.
Sherry, for her part, takes the advances of her young suitors with grace, but she wishes, even just once, that Kouji might intervene on her behalf. That even just once, she might glance over and find him grimacing at the boy that holds her hand. That even just once, he would cut in and steal her away from the man that has led her onto the dance floor. But he is ever the diplomat, as unflappable as he always was, and she knows that he will not. Diplomats, ambassadors, are not prone to displays of passion, after all. To this day, his enraged "Get your filthy hands off her!" is the only time she has ever seen him give in to such emotions.
But though she understands, it still overwhelms her every now and then, and one such evening she takes to the garden behind their current host's mansion, fleeing the loud clamor of the party and the overeager attentions of the young men to retreat to the safety of the night air.
Out here the moon hangs high and the stars twinkle pleasantly in the deep velvet blanket of the night sky. Sherry takes a deep breath as she steps between the hedges of rose bushes, the floral scents in the evening air tickling at her nose. She can hear the nearby trickle of a fountain, and sure enough, a short walk brings her to the stone circle of its shape. She pushes her heavy skirts to one side and settles onto its edge with a sigh, bending to trail her fingers through the water.
She is startled to hear the sudden sounds of footsteps on cobblestone, and straightens quickly, drying her fingers discreetly against the fabric of her dress.
She is dismayed to find that she was not, in fact, discreet enough in her departure: one of her would-be suitors has followed her into the garden.
"Ah, Rauchefort," she says, giving him her politest smile. "A lovely evening we're having." She doesn't ask why he's here; she already knows, and she's clinging to the slim hope that she can talk her way around it. She rises from the fountain and brushes down her skirt. "I was just about to return to the party... the garden is all yours!" She curtsies formally and then attempts to return the way she came.
Rauchefort catches her by the wrist, and her heart sinks.
"Sherry, wait!" he says, drawing her backwards, towards him. "Please don't go. It is a lovely evening indeed, and you are even lovelier."
His fingers slip further down the side of her hand, as if to hold it, and she immediately withdraws, clasping her hands tightly in front of her instead.
Rauchefort sighs and steps around her side to face her, reaching out to touch her wrist again. "Sherry... why do you allow yourself to be tied down by that man?" He says the word 'man' with obvious distaste. "You deserve so much more than that!"
He steps close, too close, and Sherry steps back automatically.
Rauchefort's hands find her shoulders, and he gazes into her eyes desperately. "I can't stop thinking about you, Sherry... you're everything I've ever dreamed of."
And it's the right words but the wrong man and her heart twists painfully in her chest, and the edges of her smile start to slip, her eyes burning.
He steps close again, close enough that she can feel the warm drafts of his breath on her cheeks, his grip tightening on her shoulders. "Please, just give me a chance... I'd do anything to make you happy!"
Rauchefort bends towards her as if to kiss her, and she tries to lean back but his hands keep her in place and she feels the first tears slip down her cheeks because this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong and her hands fly up to his chest as she tries to force him away from her, her voice feeling trapped in her throat-
-and then suddenly he's stumbling back from her, his eyes wide, a hand tightly gripping him by the scruff of the neck.
"I must sincerely request that you keep your hands off of my wife," says Kouji from behind him, his voice quiet, pleasant... and as frigid as the depths of winter.
"Kouji!" Sherry says, relief flooding her and making her bones feel weak.
Kouji is at her side an instant later, a comforting arm curling around her shoulders, his other hand resting on her abdomen, just above the skirt of her dress. He is still smiling, but his diplomat's smile is as sharp as any sword, and she can see the lines of tension in his jaw and at the creases of his eyes. Her heart somersaults in her chest.
"Keep my hands off her? You mean the same way you do, you cold-hearted bastard?" Rauchefort says bitterly, his fists clenching at his sides. "You ignore her and then act like you have any right to her? What is she, a trophy in your case?"
Sherry feels Kouji's hands tremor against her, though his expression still betrays nothing. "My relationship with my wife is hardly any business of yours," he says calmly, "but I can assure you that I also do not make a habit of cornering women alone and forcing my advances upon them."
Rauchefort flushes hot with anger. "I would never force her!" he insists. "I was simply trying to set the mood when you-"
At this, Kouji's smile disappears altogether, his eyebrows drawing a harsh line across the tops of his eyes. "Take care, Rauchefort. I respect your family greatly, but if you are incapable of reading the body language of a girl who is in tears and is trying to fend you off or break free of your grasp, I may be forced to recommend to your parents that they provide you with some additional training in this matter."
This seems to startle Rauchefort out of his anger, and he looks at Sherry in dismay, finally seeing the wet tracks on her cheeks where tears have indeed fallen, finally seeing the trembling in her hands and the way she can hardly bring herself to meet his eyes, and Rauchefort's hands loosen at his sides.
"Sherry," Rauchefort says, his voice suddenly thick with guilt. "I didn't-I never meant..." When all she can do is nod, trying and failing to smile at him, he turns abruptly on his heel. "I'm sorry...!"
He flees somewhere off into the night, leaving Sherry held tight in the warmth of Kouji's arms.
Kouji takes a deep, steadying breath and then turns her in his grasp, gazing down at her with concern. "Are you all right?" he says, and one of his hands lifts to touch her face, gently drying her tears with the pad of his thumb.
"I am now," she says softly, and gives him her bravest smile, when all she wants to do is bury herself in his warmth.
His eyes search hers for a long moment, and then he lets out a breath, his brow creasing. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and she looks at him quizzically.
"What are you apologizing for...?" she says, her voice laced with uncertainty.
"I should have come to escort you when I saw you leave," he says, his thumb still rubbing gentle circles against her cheek, though it is long since dry. "I thought perhaps you wanted to be alone, and I..." His fingers grow still, his expression turning unreadable. "But then I saw him follow you out..." She can feel all the tension suddenly return to him, running through his silhouette like lines of electricity. "And I followed him. When I saw what he was doing, I... Well. Were I in a different position, I, ah, l probably would have punched him."
He doesn't quite meet her gaze as he mutters this, and Sherry realizes that in the bright glow of the moon's light, she can make out faint traces of red running high along his cheeks.
Sherry doesn't know whether to laugh or cry in relief, so she settles for both.
Kouji is visibly startled, his hands fluttering at her shoulders in alarm. "Sherry...?"
"I'm sorry, Kouji," she says, pressing the heel of her hand to one eye. "It's just... I know what I promised you, so long ago, but sometimes I still worry... I love you, so much, and sometimes I'm frightened that... that you don't really..." She trails off, unable to continue.
In that moment, something in Kouji finally snaps, and he places trembling hands on the sides of her face, pressing his forehead to hers. "No..." he says, his voice rasping slightly. "I can assure you that is most certainly not the case." He press his lips to her cheek, to the still-damp corners of her eyes, to her lashes and eyelids, to the sides and bridge and tip of her nose, to the points in her cheeks that dimple when she smiles, and Sherry is stunned but she is giggling helplessly, her stomach entirely awash with giddiness, her small hands coming up to curl over his and steady them.
"K... Kouji...!" she squeaks, still laughing. "What...?"
Suddenly Sherry quiets as his lips find hers, dazed by the way the warmth of his mouth bleeds into and mingles with her own, the way the shapes of their lips melt and mold to fit, the way his fingers work gently into the long locks of her hair to cradle her head and keep her close, as if she isn't nearly close enough. She feels him untying the single ribbon at the back of her head, feels his hands working their way back into her hair, curling against her scalp and tugging her head back, ducking his head to her throat and trailing kisses from the hollow upwards and back again. She lets out a soft sound of surprise. It seems as though the blood in her veins suddenly runs thicker and slower, like honey, and her own hands find their way to his perfectly-combed black hair, her fingers slipping between the strands in a haphazard fashion as his lips find their way up the side of her jaw, to her temple, back down to her mouth.
Kouji curls his arms around her, crushing her against him for a moment, and buries his face in the mess of hair at the side of her neck. "No one makes me lose my composure like you do, you silly girl," he says at last, his voice low and rough. "I've been at odds with myself for months now because I wanted you to have the freedom to choose a love all your own, unburdened by the circumstances that bound us together when you were only twelve. I was afraid that you had only chosen me because you'd never been given the chance to know what you otherwise might have had. But make no mistake, Sherry, it is you, and only you, whom I love."
He kneels, now, and clasps both of her hands in his, his gaze earnest. "I love you, Sherry. Will you marry me?"
And she laughs again, even as fresh tears tumble down her cheeks, and squeezes his hands so tight her knuckles whiten. "We're already married, you silly man."
Kouji smiles, and lifts her hands to his lips and trails warm kisses along the backs of her knuckles. "I know that we celebrated the customs here... but I want to take you home, to Japan, and have a wedding like the ones traditional in my culture, see you in a beautiful white dress and carry you over the threshold, and..." he pauses, pressing his face into the backs of her hands, his cheeks suddenly heating, "...and I want to give you a proper wedding night."
Sherry feels her own cheeks turn pink, and she ducks her head, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. "Then... I would love to marry you again, Kouji."
Kouji squeezes her hands and finally looks up again, and the tender smile that he gives her in that moment is more dazzling than the light of the moon that hangs above them. He rises to his feet and scoops her into his arms, lifting her feet from the ground and spinning her around in a circle that causes her skirts to and hair to fly out around them, fluttering like ribbons in the wind, and she giggles and throws her arms around his neck.
When at last he sets her feet back on the ground, they kiss, and laugh, and kiss again, and to Sherry it seems as though now he has finally allowed himself to kiss her, he can hardly stop - and she loves it dearly.
By the time they make their way back to the party, both are noticeably disheveled, despite their (admittedly half-hearted) attempts to straighten their hair and clothes. Sherry's hair remains free of its ribbon, Kouji's hair part is completely off kilter, and both have a flush high in their cheeks that has nothing to do with alcohol.
The other party-goers notice, of course, and even of even more interest to them is the fact that Kouji refuses to leave Sherry's side for the remainder of the evening. Not a single other man is given the opportunity to steal her for a dance, or offer her sweets from a tray, or tuck flowers in her hair - for there is a red rose curled over her ear, and an arm curled securely around her waist, and a man whose polite smile could draw blood if it so chose.
Were either of them less wrapped up in their own little world, they might have even heard the general consensus amongst the whispers that follow them throughout the room:
'It's about damn time.'
vii.
"Sherry," Kouji murmurs against the top of his wife's head where it rests on his shoulder, the carriage jostling them slightly as it rolls over a bump in the road.
"Mmm...?" Her response is drowsy; the hour is late, and it feels as though the two of them have danced more in this one night than they have in the rest of their lives combined.
He smiles and kisses her hair, his fingers trailing through the ends of her long ash-blonde locks. "Would you do me the honor of taking you about town tomorrow? I would like very much to spoil you with roses and ribbons and sweets... and perhaps, if you'll allow me the honor, I would like to hold your hand."
Sherry tips her head back to look at him, and when she smiles, he thinks that there is no angel in heaven that could match her in radiance. "I'd love to," she says, and she leans up to kiss him before settling against him once more.
As Kouji leans back against the carriage seat, the warmth of their bodies melding together in a most pleasant way, he thinks that he is, perhaps, the luckiest man in either of their two worlds, and that every moment up until now - every single moment they waited for each other, in spite of everything - was worth it.