A/N: Here is part 2! Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews, they definitely pushed me to finish this part before school stresses me out again with finals, even though I took like 4 months, I'm so so sorry. I hope you guys like this as much (or more) as you liked the first chapter, cuz it's pretty heavy both in number of words and plot. Btw, the amount of followers in just one chapter is amazing; I have the same amount of followers for Liberosis and that was after 7 chapters, so wow thank you.
And to the guest that complained about Sakura being useless and weak in this story: let me tell you something. This is the Edo period in Japan, or Tokugawa, where less than ten percent of women could read. But here is Sakura, being proficient in reading and writing and knowing several languages. And even when women could read or write, they were forbidden to teach anyone in the higher ranks. Don't even get me started on marriage, oh man. Let's just say that their husbands were entitled to kill them if they were lazy or bad wives, so even this Sasuke is good considering the circumstances.
Anyway, yep. Sakura will be more daring soon in the context of the story though, I can tell you that. She's fiery in her own little way, because she really can't be any more than that, uknowatimean? Hard times.
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Sakura often wonders why she didn't bear him a son on their wedding night after that day. Usually, that was all it took for her acquaintances to get pregnant, back when she had the freedom to talk to anyone other than her husband, way before she was signed off to someone like him—she remembers Ino in the back of her mind, a small blonde full of charisma and charm, their smiles and the afternoons spent together, but pushes the fond memories out before they can affect her in any way or form.
So she doesn't understand why it was what it was in her case.
The whole nation was waiting for an heir, and it has been engraved in her being that she must carry said heir in her womb—she had training sessions about it, even—so she does not understand her predicament one bit.
Even when most of the women she knows got pregnant on the first night, she's certain that's not always the case. As it is with her, the only way to bear him a son would be to keep trying, but they have not even made the effort. This doesn't bother her as much as it should—even if that alone should occupy ninety-nine percent of the duties she has to fulfill for him—but it still makes her wonder. Now that she knows he doesn't fully consider her his wife, having a child might also have been pushed back because of it.
And if she pushes her mind's thoughts even further, she starts to wonder why none of his previous wives bore him a son either, because even though most of them lasted less than nine months, his first wife was married to him for three years before she passed away in circumstances no one but Sasuke knows.
She stills her fingers from turning another page of the book she's holding, sitting on her favourite bench of the beautiful, intricately decorated gardens at the thought of why she hadn't bore him a son in all that time—the same time she and Sasuke have been married, too.
She closes the book, all about different kinds of herbs in different kinds of situations, with a deafening pop, and clutches it to her small chest.
Sasuke leisurely walks several meters away from where she's sitting, taking his favourite horse out of the stables by the reins. Even at such a distance, she can still see him pet her mane with a gentleness she didn't think a man like him could possess, and give her something to eat that she can not distinguish.
Sakura doesn't really get to see his eyes trailing after her as she stands and leaves the gardens in a hurry.
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She dozes off in one of the numerous libraries at their castle four days later, on the fourth floor. It's in the late of the evening while the maids try to look for her, frantically going room-to-room for dinner.
It has been a quiet kind of day, peaceful and, unlike any other day at the castle, she feels undisturbed, the kind of day that makes someone wake to the song of birds at the windowsill, like in the fairytale novels her father used to read to her, way before he was taken away.
When Sakura wakes up from her little dreamless nap, there is an unfamiliar weight resting on her stomach. She opens her eyes slowly and looks down at the books thrown about on her chest and at her sides—clearly, she had been trying to read about the wonders of a specific plant found only in Sound—and past that to see what could possibly be purring on her lap.
It's one of Sasuke's cats.
Her ears are twitching in the air, probably sensing her displease and the murderous aura around her. She recognises her as the only white cat in the mansion—or at least, the only one she's seen around, and the tiniest one at that too. She's always hiding from her on the sparse times she has seen her, though, and she's always glad that she doesn't think of her as a friend. Until now, it seems.
Sasuke's cats are never around her. It's not that she hates them, but she doesn't particularly like animals in general. And she has a theory that animals can sense that, a theory that now has been debunked for some reason.
Sasuke has so many cats that she has never tried to keep track of them, much less remember their names, and the one on her lap is no exception to the rule. Even as she concentrates on the name, it doesn't come—the only things she knows are that she's young and white—so she just shakes her head and ponders on waking the creature up or not.
One part of her wants to push it off her as quickly as possible, and another part wants to stay still and hold her breath, lest the feline tries to scratch her delicately-made dress or, worse, her immaculate skin.
She suddenly remembers eyes like her own staring at her, voice serious as she told little Sakura about the dangers of animals. Her mother had told her numerous times during her childhood to never ever let a cat touch her, apparently because they were evil and brought disease with them.
Sakura doesn't really think her mother's right, for Sasuke has owned cats ever since she met him, and before that. But, considering the history of unpredictable and mysterious deaths in his family—something that still wakes her interest, although not enough for her to try to get answers—it makes her wonder for the first time.
The cat feigns not noticing her internal, small freak-out session, and opts to keep sleeping peacefully on the expensive silks that cover her thighs. Sakura bites down on her lower lip, switching from looking at the kitten to looking at the wall full of books to her far right.
She doesn't know for how long she stays like that, but it's quite a while later that she hears something other than the birds outside and the cat purring softly.
Someone opens the double doors slowly, and a brown head peers inside, noticing Sakura and letting out a sigh of relief. There's a grateful smile on the maid's worn down features as she takes one step inside, bowing respectfully after composing herself.
"Uchiha-sama, finally I have found you. I have been looking everywhere for you, my lady."
Still bowing, she waits for Sakura to respond.
"What is it?"
The maid stands straight again and smiles courteously. "Dinner is ready, for you and my lord."
Sakura nods and, as if on cue, her stomach growls softly. It isn't loud enough to alert the maid and disgrace herself, but it's enough for the feline on her lap to stretch a little. Sakura goes tense until he finally settles down again and keeps on sleeping.
"We will all be waiting for you on the first floor. Am I excused?" She looks at Sakura, smiling softly.
"Wait," she answers, and the word comes out of her throat raspy from sleep. She wants to ask the middle-age woman to get the cat off her lap, but she doesn't think it should be wise to show weakness, even if it's just a cat. She hasn't shown one shred of weakness since she married Sasuke around this castle, and she's not going to any time soon. As the wife of Fire's Shogun, she mustn't, especially since he takes many risks in order to do the same. So she asks something else instead. "What's her name?"
The woman stares at her, puzzled, and as soon as Sakura points to the cat with her eyes, she frowns even more. "The cat?"
"Yes. I don't know much of my lord's cats, but this one doesn't particularly look familiar. What's her name?"
Strangely, a kind smile resurfaces on the maid's face, looking at the cat with a certain kind of adoration. "Oh, that's the youngest one yet. It was rescued by Uchiha-sama a few weeks ago, so dirty that we thought it was a black cat at first," she takes a breath, thinking. "I don't remember the name, my lady, my apologies."
Sakura nods and sighs. "I'll go to dinner in a few minutes. You may leave."
As soon as the doors close shut, Sakura looks down at the cat.
A pair of sapphire eyes stare back at her.
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Dinner is quiet, just like the rest of the day has been. She appreciates that there are no disparingly critical changes during dinner; she thinks she has had enough for the day with the cat. After the maid left, she had calmly stepped off her lap and walked away to some other room—and Sakura hadn't known she'd been holding her breath until she left.
After she's done eating at one end of the table, she looks up. And while the maids and cooks take her plates away, she looks at Sasuke, who's at the other end of the table.
He has also finished, and is now looking back at her.
It's only for a moment, though, because then he silently pushes away his chair and gets up, and Sakura finds herself doing something she has never done before.
It's customary, one of the many unwritten rules she has been trained to learn about behaviours under his government, to stay at the table until he has left and three minutes have past.
But she gets up, too, and trails after him until she finally reaches him, touches his shoulder from behind, and widens her eyes when he turns around quickly, hand fisting the hem of her kimono in an alarmingly tight hold.
She usually stays seated until he has left the dining area as a gesture of respect for him, yes, but she has been living with him for a little over three years now, and she's tired of following every single invisible rule in the book every single day.
She hadn't expected him to be so surprised—so much so that he actually thought he was being attacked from behind by an enemy.
They stare at each other for only a second before he releases her fast. She can tell he's confused, so she clears her throat and averts her eyes quickly.
"Sorry for startling you, my lord, I did not mean it."
When he doesn't answer, she glances up at him again and tries to smile. The fingers that had tapped his shoulder are shaking, so she covers her right hand with her left to hide it.
"Sorry, I just had a question. I was going to wait until you returned to our room at night, but I fear I might forget what troubles me," she breathes out, finding it difficult to find a reason why she had had the nerve to even follow him out the doors.
"What?" And it sounds more like a demand than a question altogether, but she just sighs and takes another deep breath, and asks him.
"You have... many cats around the castle. I was wondering about one of them in specific. The white one," she says, looking briefly into his eyes before she looks down again. She sees all she has to see in his eyes to know he thinks of her—not only as a random woman living in his house, not his wife, as she had discovered a few weeks ago, but—as a crazy person now.
It is a ridiculous question, but Sakura has told herself countless of times that this marriage is going to work, and she has to start getting close to him some way or the other, right? Even if she has to ask him the most random thing in the world, not pertinent to anything related to a life-or-death situation, or even about his work outside the castle. Little steps, she thinks, might work.
She waits patiently for his reply, and he answers a heartbeat later, his voice monotonous and serene against the walls of the hallway.
"What about him?" He asks, getting impatient. He had been heading to the furthest part of the gardens, one of his favourite training sites, when Sakura had approached him out of nowhere. And if that wasn't uncharacteristic enough of her, she demands to know about one of his cats, when she has clearly shown to dislike every animal in the compound to begin with.
"She's a he? Oh..." After a pensive expression, she pretends to dust off her kimono and sighs. "Well, anyway, I only wish to know his name."
It's a few seconds later that Sasuke answers, looking at her like he has been asked the strangest question on Earth. Sakura feels embarrassment creeping up her neck, but she holds it back quickly when he speaks.
"He doesn't have one. I haven't had the time," he says, turning around and starting to walk away, back to his training. "You can grant him one if you please, though."
This makes Sakura stare at his back for the longest time, until he turns at the end of the corridor and she loses sight of him.
She has never had a pet before—it's quite a miracle she isn't downright scared of animals after hearing so many stories—so she has no idea how to name the cat, out of all animals. A cat.
She shakes her head and turns to the stairs on the right, ready to go to bed after a long bath, the idea of a name quickly pushed to the back of her mind.
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"Uchiha-sama, the hospital seems to need extra funding for this week as they plan to come up with a new antidote," his assistant explains at the foot of his office's door.
Sasuke looks outside through the window, hands clasped together at his back, looking at the near-ruins of Kusa—the Land of Grass—in contemplation.
This village had suffered one of the greatest attacks in Earth—since he had become Shogun—a month ago, and it had left the land barren and dry, with barely any houses standing and all trees burnt to a crisp. Sasuke hadn't been expecting it at all for he had been in Konoha, basking in the few days of peace and no-nonsense from the nation of Fire.
He had to leave said peace as soon as reports of an anbush reached his ears, especially since Fire's most important Daimyō, Nakamura Nogi, had just formed an alliance with Earth country for supplies in exchange of protection.
Sasuke reasons that Kusagakure had been anticipating an attack right before they made a deal with Fire for protection—because, why would they make an alliance out of nowhere if not for this? Sasuke reasons that, due to the short span of time given to him to get there right when the attacks started, it is not really his fault. He only did what he could, even if he couldn't do much or reach the battlestruck village on time.
It all makes sense in his head, but it's still not going to seat well with anyone when he returns to Fire—to Konoha, the capital—because he was the one in charge of protecting this village, and now it has been burnt to the ground over two simple nights—which was almost not enough time for his army of Samurai to get there.
"An antidote for what? I gave them enough funding last month," he calmly responds.
"With the recent attacks, your army and your funds have really helped to stop the fire, and we know you have sent a squad to chase down whatever is left of the rogue people who attacked, but my sources say a new disease has been spreading through the hospital due to unsanitary conditions. It's still so crowded that it's almost impossible to walk around without stepping on bodies on the floor."
Sasuke hears him shift on his feet, probably not at ease as his leader thinks this through. More funding means more means, which means more spending, which means more help from Fire. Sasuke thinks he has given them more than enough, but it's not his choice to make in the matter—it's his Daimyō's.
"I will bestow them one-fourth of what was given to them a month ago, and no more. See what they can make of that."
Considering the large amount of money he had donated to the village before, no one can complain. His assistant thinks so too, for he hears him scribble something down hurriedly.
"Anything else you need, Shikamaru?" He turns around and sits on the only chair in the office, in front of his ample desk with several stacks of paper on it, looking up at his military strategies expert-slash-genius with feigned interest. Shikamaru stares back with something at the tip of his tongue, and Sasuke knows this like he knows the palm of his hand.
He sees this man more often than he sees his wife, so it's safe to say he trusts him in being his close advisor, especially since he goes wherever the tide takes him, no matter how ridiculous or mundane—like this trip to Grass after a relatively peaceful two weeks.
The man clears his throat.
"Sir, the Saitō clan want to strike a deal about Konoha's resources in regards to the Shaiga Bridge. As soon as possible, so they say," Shikamaru adds nonchalantly, looking at his superior with very similar dark bags under his eyes. "It looks like Konoha's feudal lord will also attend the meeting."
This has Sasuke's hair stand on edge.
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Geisha are beautiful, poised and trained women of the arts. They are taught from a very young age to entertain, pleasure, and obey men of high ranks and political statuses.
In that sense, Sakura feels she and they are very much alike.
But they differ greatly in many other things, mainly the fact that they can dance and Sakura, due to her focus on other topics of learning, cannot. But also in that Geisha are very well respected women in the Fire nation—the only women, really, in the entire country—whereas Sakura is insignificant and small even as the wife of a great man of power.
She has only seen Geisha perform once before in her life, and the memory is blurry and faded from her younger years. So she's surprised, to say the least, when one morning one of the housemaids hands her an envelope with her name on it, stating in simple words: on Sunday, be ready for the carriage at sundown.
"Is this my husband's writing?" She asks the maid, one of the many nameless people in the castle that come and go and she never gets to see twice anyway.
At her nod, she tightens her hold on the note and stares at the fire burning in front of her, tempting her slowly. "My lord's advisor says it's about a Geisha performance. Would you like me to choose your clothing for today, Uchiha-sama?"
The few words make the rest of the paper seem endless, yet they stay imprinted in her brain for the remaining days that lead to sunday.
A Geisha performance.
She hasn't been out of the castle in three years, so she doesn't see why he would take her outside now, to see a show on top of it all; a show which she didn't even think he would be interested in at all.
Konoha has been eerily quiet for the past few weeks, and she has been seeing her husband more—for two whole weeks—because of such peace—even if he had to leave two days ago for something up in Grass—so maybe that would explain his need for entertainment. The man was restless if he didn't battle and negotiate, after all.
But she still grimaces because it seems very strange, thinking how silly it would be for Sasuke out of all people to crave the entertainment of several women dancing sensually to music, and throws the letter into the burning flames of the chimney.
His reason must be something else, or else she fears she has been seeing a lie in her husband's personality all along.
She tries to ignore the way the nameless maid gasps at her gesture.
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Sunday comes and it comes crashing down.
Just as she expected, it's not just his doing the fact that they're going to a Geisha performance. Just as she enters the establishment with Sasuke by her side, she's hit by a wave of smoke that envelops the entire room.
Different scents, a slow tune, and several drunken boisterous laughs echo for a few seconds, but it doesn't faze Sasuke at all. Used to these environments, he places a careful hand on the small of Sakura's back, lest she loses herself in the fog and makes a scene, and walks forward.
A group of men he identifies as the leaders of the Saitō clan sit around a round table at the front of the stage, slightly to the right of the room, looking at him knowingly. There are two empty spaces next to each other at the table reserved for them, and as they near said space, he notices Sakura stiff in realization.
He does not particularly enjoy using his wife for political benefits and advantages, but she has an exotic beauty he has never seen on anyone else before, the greenest eyes and the pinkest hue of blonde hair, and her small frame accentuates her flawless face, so he takes her along for business only when strictly necessary—just as when he took her to a meeting with Orochimaru, one that he doesn't really like remembering.
But she came in handy sometimes, especially since everyone in the nation was catatonic about her looks—only from their wedding day, for he had not let her go outside ever since and the country had quieted down their murmurs of awe.
Now, as he looks upon the faces of his businessmen, he knows he's made the right decision. All eyes on his prized possesion, hungry and awed, and Sasuke suddenly feels disgusted and proud at the same time toward the repulsive old men trying to keep their drool inside.
They all stand quickly and bow.
"Uchiha Sasuke, pleasure to have you here tonight. I almost thought you would not make it," one of them says—the leader, he guesses. He's the only one who seems composed enough to speak, it seems.
They border the round table until they reach the empty spots, and Sasuke bows curtly.
"I would not possibly miss it. Please, sit," he responds, all tenor and hard angles, and Sakura stands next to him like a statue would, elegant and immobile.
Every man but one sits down on his respective chair. Sakura keeps her gaze down on the tablecloth of the large table, but she takes a sneak peak at the standing man directly opposite to them, and wonders who it could possibly be.
Light brown hair and light brown eyes, tall built, nothing out of the ordinary save for the slightly attractive features on an ageing face.
When she feels Sasuke bow his head slightly, she doesn't have to guess anymore.
It's the Daimyō, in all his overweight glory, standing and offering a curt nod toward Sasuke in acknowledgment. Even though Sasuke could be considered a Daimyō himself because of the sole title of Shogun, the mere fact that he's younger than the one in front of them makes him hold less power.
He directs his eyes toward her next, and she quickly averts her own and bows to the man—this man who can somehow be more important than Sasuke—who in return nods to her too. This is when he finally sits, and they follow suit.
"Uchiha Sasuke, I have not had the pleasure to meet with you, face to face, since your brother died in battle."
If she wasn't so uncomfortable at the several other eyes on her, she would have noticed her husband tense for a second at the mention of his deceased brother.
"Nor have I, but it has been quite a busy two years, my lord," Sasuke answers the Daimyō with the most respect she has seen him possess. It's strange to her, how Sakura's idea of the most powerful man in the nation—because he's the only man in power she's known in the last three years—can refer to someone else as his superior.
To Sakura, there isn't anyone superior to Sasuke.
"That is true, but you should know that is not why we are meeting here today," the Daimyō comments, hands hidden under the table and spine erect.
"I know the focus of our meeting, but I do not know the reason for the locale," Sasuke says. The music slows down and the lights start to dim, much to Sakura's content.
The man next to the Daimyō—his advisor, it seems, for his frail frame and small stature don't give way for the title of personal bodyguard, even if he's remarkably younger than any of the other unfamiliar men at the table—speaks up at that.
"My lord Nakamura-sama has approved this setting for obvious reasons, Uchiha-san. The first one being that the music and the drunk men will hide whatever conversation we're having. The second being that no one of the higher ranks would ever look for us men in a place like this, you see."
Sakura stays with her head bowed down, staring at the mostly empty table, still void of food but full of drinks. Her ears may be curious but her eyes stay cleverly low. It is not in her place to speak up in this setting, even if called.
"What was not obvious, my lord, was the appearance of your wife this evening," another voice chimes in, presumably one of the negotiators of the night.
Sakura lifts up her head when Sasuke whispers the command to her, and she smiles respectfully at the table full of men like she knows how to.
"I would think this meeting would be kept strictly confidential, given all the precautions taken beforehand," Nakamura's advisor chimes in again, sounding innocently smug as he indirectly complains about her presence.
At this point, Sakura steals a glance at her husband. He looks anything but conflicted, almost like he's unaffected by all this blabber, but Sakura knows by now how to read the special glint in his eyes: he's thinking about sending her home, one way or the other. The evening's not exactly going as he had expected.
"Yes, it is quite the surprise," the Daimyō responds thoughtfully, looking at Sakura under his caramel bangs with a gaze she can't quite decipher, even as it leaves her shuddering under the four layers of kimono. "But, please, I'm sure your lovely wife would not say anything. Nobody has seen her after the wedding, in any case. So, why now?"
Nakamura takes a sip of his drink as he awaits the answer. And when Sasuke does answer, the words make Sakura's stomach churn and turn over ever so slowly. She looks up at his profile, illuminated by the background lights of the room, and hopes, in the deepest part of her soul, that he's only saying these things for appearances' sake.
"After being married quite a few times, you learn to be cautious. I don't usually walk around with my wife outside as I did with previous ones, but tonight is an exception, you see."
The Daimyō smirks, downs his cup, and understands something Sakura had yet to.
"It's a test," he says, "I wish I had the same patience for my wives, Sasuke-san. You have waited three years to start trusting her, after all. That's impressive, if I may say so."
The man lifts his cup up and Sasuke barely moves his head in a nod of acknowledgement, opting to drink out of his own cup at the same time Nakamura does.
Sakura refrains from frowning in disgust, even as she feels the bile creep up her throat. It's sickening, whatever they are thinking in their close-minded brains, and she slowly, subconsciously moves her arm away from Sasuke's, even in the small space given by two chairs that are next to each other.
He notices—because she knows he does; it's Uchiha Sasuke after all, and nothing goes past that man—as he does with everything, and clears his throat.
She wishes the topic would change, but as luck will have it, her husband decides to change it right when she looks away and toward the stage full of Geisha getting into position for the upcoming performance, and she doesn't try to pay attention to the men at the table anymore.
"Gentlemen, we should start talking about Shaiga's Bridge, and what its construction could mean for the nation's commerce," her husband announces.
A man slams his fist on the table drunkenly, taking everyone by surprise. Sakura does everything to not jump in her seat.
"Let's order some food and watch the show, shall we? We'll talk about business later, my friend. The night is young."
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A few minutes into the show, and while everyone but her is eating, she excuses herself to the bathroom. No one but Sasuke takes notice, anyway, or so she had thought.
She should have known better than to walk away from the protection of her husband. Even if said husband had been insulting her presence ever since they got there, he was also the only form of protection she had had, and now, feeling someone behind her as she attempts to slide the door of the bathroom close, she only wishes she hadn't stood up at all.
It's not hard to imagine who the presence belongs to. The Daimyō had been ogling her all throughout the evening, never taking his light eyes away and stealing furtive glances he thought she couldn't see, something that she only hopes now her husband had also seen.
"There were whispers about your undying beauty, of how you resembled a frail little blossom, of how your name did you justice."
Sakura stills as soon as she hears the voice, not exactly expecting him to start talking to her so close (or at all, really), hand still holding tight the door of the bathroom she was about to close.
Her eyes widen, and there are so many alarm bells going off in her brain that she doesn't dare turn for a few heartbeats after he finishes. It's only when she feels a much taller body press up against her back that she lets go of the door and turns around.
It's the Daimyō, just as she had predicted, looking at her like he has since she stepped foot on the establishment. She doesn't even know his first name yet, mostly because she doesn't go outside or hear news about new Daimyō in the nation—or any government news, to begin with. And because the Daimyō own all private lands in the Fire country, as feudal lords only one step below the Emperor, no one can interfere now.
It doesn't help that every person who walks toward them walks away as soon as they recognise the important emblem on his hat.
"I know now they were true. Sasuke-san sure is lucky."
His heavy breath fans over her lips as he dips his head, and there are lines around his mouth that show life has been catching up to him, and she immediately turns her face away. Not that she has ever kissed Sasuke, but this is not him, and she is lawfully entitled to him and him only, so it's not her fault she doesn't want her first kiss to be with a drunk, forty-five year old man she doesn't know.
It's a rude, disrespectful thing to do, but at the moment, in this situation, it's the only thing she can do to not vomit all over his silks. His breath reeks of alcohol and his hands are clumsy when he grabs her face, turning it so that she's facing him once again.
"I have not met a woman with your level of audacity before. I can almost see the fire in your eyes," he almost but purrs, placing his free hand to her neck and caressing the skin there. "Tell me, do you not want this?"
She knows she shouldn't talk, especially since she's been taught to stay quiet during moments like these. But she had never been in situations like these before, so she doesn't really care when she opens her mouth and spits out figural fire. Her patience is running on thin ice.
"I have a husband, Nakamura-san, and I love him very much, so I think that answers your question," she says. It's an obvious lie in her mind, but it should do its work.
In the background, past the hall that separates the bathrooms and the main room, the music of the Geisha increases to a steady crescendo.
"Is that so?" He emits a throaty laugh that she almost feels through his chest as it rumbles, as if silently mocking her. His amber eyes trail over her figure before settling on her face. "And I have many wives, so I know how to share. I don't see the problem here."
"Please," she pleads, her voice coming out a pitch higher when the hand he had used to turn her face lowers to her hip, drawing lazy circles on her hipbone, over the relatively thin layers of clothing. "Let go."
The pleading seems to go to deaf ears. He smirks at her, moving his face closer until she can feel the ghost of a kiss taking place, and says, "I think we should move to a more... private place, don't you think?"
And that's when she snaps.
She breathes in, breathes out, closes her eyes, and pushes with all of her might against his chest. She doesn't care anymore about the consequences, she just wants the man gone. She wants to leave, go to the castle, and maybe never come out again. If this is what happens when she goes out into the world, then she doesn't want any of it.
Or maybe Sasuke should have brought someone with him to follow them were they to leave the table. Or maybe Sasuke himself should have followed the man when he left right after she did. Or maybe, maybe she shouldn't have agreed to any of this because she doesn't even have to be there in the first place.
She was being used as bait for his business plans. Just like he had with the snake man, Orochimaru. Is this what he wanted? Is this why he hadn't come to her rescue? Because he knew? Because he knows exactly what's happening?
It's in between her internal rambling that she finally pushes him away, catching him by surprise right before he could join their lips together.
Sakura runs away immediately, away from him and away from his advisor, who, surprisingly, stands right in the path to the main room knowingly—to the tables where her husband sits.
She turns opposite to where the show was taking place, and runs down the hallway where she had just come from, with neon red lights all around, and misses Nakamura's grasp by a hair.
She feels out of her nature, with her high shoes clinking against the hardwood floor as she runs, and something like a rush coursing through her body. It's a little disorienting, but she manages. After a few set of turns, she finally sees a door at the end of the hallway, open enough for her to see the outside peeking through.
She doesn't know what to do once outside, or what she would say to her husband when they found her so as to not give away any of this, or where she would go. She had been living in another completely different village before her marriage to Sasuke, and she has no idea on how to navigate through this town. But she has to. She has to.
Only that she doesn't reach the door. Instead, she's thrown back harshly by her intricate bun, and crashed into a body once again. Sakura lets out a gasp and struggles to no avail.
"You're going to learn to never run away from me again."
He forces her hands together at the small of her back and makes her walk in front of him back the way she had struggled to run from. They walk past his advisor, who stands with a snarl on his displeased face, and walks to the table on the side, but front, of the stage. It's bad enough what he's tried to do to her, and Sakura thinks she has had enough for one night, but it doesn't appear like that in his mind.
He brings her to the table where they were sitting a few minutes ago.
Now the show she had been looking forward to has ended and, whilst everyone is applauding and standing for the group of Geisha, she's carelessly thrown to the floor like a rag doll, right at the foot of the table.
Nobody important sees her, too occupied to notice her amongst the smoke and bright lights.
But Sasuke does.
He turns around as if her mind calls to him, and stops clapping immediately.
He sees, and Sakura's heart skips a beat when their eyes meet, and just for a tiny, tiny moment, under the colourful lights, she thinks she sees his eyes flash an angry red instead of the usual, bottomless black.
She drops her head, though, and hunches over in shame and something else she can't describe. She's sure her loud mistake in refusing the man behind her will cost her greatly, especially since she had publicly disrespected someone in a higher position than Sasuke, but also since now this was going to make the plans about Shaiga's bridge null.
In the back of her brain she remembers that, as sickenly as he had made it sound before, this outing was a test for her. To see if he could trust her. To see if they could move forward.
She wants to cry at how he must think of that now that she's on the floor by hand of the Daimyō, with no other explanation, with her kimono slightly crooked and her hair a tangled mess.
She has her forehead pressed to the cool floor and her eyes closed tightly for a beating that never comes, so she doesn't get to see him stride over to the Daimyō; she doesn't get to hear the yelling, the accusations against her by Nakamura, or the concern in her husband's voice at the end of the conversation; she doesn't get to see the crowd move away from them, or hear the gasps and the ceasing of the flutes, or see her husband's voice escalate as threats pour over, leaving the older man fuming and demanding respect.
She doesn't get to see or hear any of that, but she feels Sasuke pick her up from the floor, hook one arm under her knees and the other under her head, and she can only give in and shut everything else out at that point. She grabs hold of his sleeve all the way home, hoping that tomorrow, by some miracle, she still has her head attached to the rest of her body.
.
.
.