Chapter 2: Lovers
An array of glossy black-and-white portraits lined the desktop. Byakuya frowned the moment he saw the arrangement. He had been avoiding this day for months. His excuses, however, had finally dried up. His grandfather simply refused to entertain his appeals.
"Lord Kuchiki," his aunt greeted him with a soothing voice and a sweet glance, "we have some very lovely candidates."
Byakuya hesitantly neared the desk and glanced down. There were thirty women. Each woman had submitted two portraits. Sixty in total. Sixty sets of eyes and sixty faces stared up at him from the desk. They were all physically beautiful women. His aunt had likely pruned the herd, removing candidates who lacked certain qualities such as beauty or wit.
He sighed.
It was a pointless endeavor. He did not know the women. His training and duties as a young heir prevented him from interacting with females. With the distinct exception of the Gotei 13, noble females and men occupied different spheres. Spheres that rarely intersected, and, when they did intersect, it was an orchestrated event.
The miai was one of those orchestrated events. His family presented it as a choice, but it lacked the characteristics of a choice: His family had pre-qualified the women, meaning that there were many more hopefuls than he had a chance to examine. Then, there was the fact that he did not actually know any of the women, meaning that the only information to which he had access had been sanitized by the women's families. Regardless, he was certain that all of the women would make a respectable match. All the hopefuls possessed the requisite qualification necessary to be his wife—nobility.
"Is the young lord displeased?"
His aunt's words pulled him from his contemplation, and he realized that he was scowling. A deep dissatisfied scowl bent his mouth. He sighed lightly as he surveyed the photographs.
His aunt gently slid a picture forward. It was of a lovely woman with large bright eyes, pale skin, and long dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders. "I believe Lady Nanako would prove compatible. She is talented in haiku, and she has a keen intellect."
Byakuya's gaze wandered to the open door. Escape was so close. It was practically staring him in the face, breathing down the collar of his robes.
He could agree to the courtship, and that would be the end of it. The words were stinging his tongue, but his heart squelched them. Something stopped him, stealing his breath and steeling his mind. He knew if he consented then his fate was sealed. His father's courtship was infamously short. Sōjun selected Byakuya's mother in the winter, and, by spring, the two were wedded.
"Marriage would bring her family under our banner," his aunt continued, but her persuasive words met deaf ears.
Absently, his fingertips skated over a photograph. The woman was pretty, like the others, with small delicate features. Her eyes, however, were sad, and her smile was strained and small. She did not want to be there, taking the photo. She did not want to be his wife.
"Lady Rie," his aunt said, narrowing in on his interest, "her family is very respectable..."
His aunt's words washed over him, but his thoughts drowned them out. He wanted to be anywhere else, and his gaze betrayed him. His eyes shot over to the door. He had been giving the exit lingering looks since he arrived, but something caught his attention and kept it.
Dressed in a luscious red kimono, Hisana passed the door on her way to administer treatments to his father. Surrounding her on nearly all sides was a procession of guards and servants. Her head bent in the direction of the manor's steward. The two were in a deep discussion about something. He watched her intently. Tranquility wrapped around him, relaxing the tension in his muscles and calming his mind.
"Lord Byakuya," his aunt called sharply, breaking the spell. Her eyes narrowed, and her expression blackened. "This would go more smoothly if you concentrated," she said, enunciating her words to a fine point. If they had been daggers, they would have cut him deeply. "Would you like to see Rei's personal history?"
Byakuya exhaled a deep sigh. His eyes darted back to the door. "She is adequately beautiful, talented, intelligent, and healthy," he murmured, eying Hisana. "She has a gentle soul and a warm heart. She would be entirely appropriate if not for the fact," Byakuya paused to turn to his aunt, "If not for the fact that the family wishes me to court a noble."
"She is a noble," his aunt stated. Confusion clouded her grey eyes, and she tilted her head to the side. Her gaze shot over to the door, where she observed the commotion lingering a few paces away. Cold realization flashed over her. With a look, her eyes told him that she knew. She knew what had captured the young lord's attention so completely. His gaze had betrayed him.
Byakuya shook his head. "More noble, like Nadako."
"Nanako," she corrected.
Byakuya's blank stare said it all. He found the exercise pointless. It was a waste of his time. There were more productive things to be doing.
Somewhere between taking a mental accounting of all the things he could be doing, he noticed it: His aunt leaned over close to him. Her weight shifted to one elbow, and she whispered, "I want you to look at one of these portraits the same way you look at the Vice Captain of the Fourth."
Byakuya started at her words. His aunt might as well have dumped a bucket of frigid water over his head. The resulting feeling was the same: His body went numb. He could hear the clicking of his nerves firing in his head. His heart froze for a few moments, and he felt like his body had forgotten how to breathe.
"I will not be satisfied until you do," she added with a thin wicked grin.
"She is a peasant," he protested, hoping that it would lessen her suspicion. Hisana's peasantry had proven to be an effective staying point. Whatever strange feelings she stirred in him, he easily dismissed because she would be forever out of reach. The law strictly forbade such a pairing.
"I am aware," his aunt snapped back, "which is why we need to find you an appropriate mate before you do something rash."
His eyes widened at the insinuation. "Rash?" he echoed, offended.
She sighed. "This low predilection must be redirected toward more sensible pursuits. We are redirecting." With her middle finger, she pushed Lady Nanako's portrait forward. "She comes highly recommended."
It was a veiled threat.
. . . .
Hisana lifted her sleeve back, and she tilted the teapot forward. The fragrant aroma of jasmine flooded the room. When the cup filled, she picked it up. Her hands were graceful, refined. Her movements fluttering like that of a butterfly's wings.
"Your color returns, Vice Captain" she said, pouring herself a cup of tea.
Sōjun took a small sip. The liquid was hot, inedible. He knew it was too hot, but, yet, he tried anyway—always too eager, always too hopeful. The steam from the tea warmed his cheeks, turning them a pale shade of pink. "Yes," he said after sucking in a few cool breaths. "Your treatments have made me feel much improved."
Hisana filled her mouth with tea. It was hot, but she was used to the scorching feeling. It had proved to be a faithful companion during long nights at the Fourth, keeping her awake. Swallowing, she smiled politely. "How is your stamina?"
Sōjun's thin black brows lifted at the question. He had not returned to training for a week, but he had begun to think about it. "Yes," he said after comparing his ability to fight back the urge to sleep for the last few days.
"Your appetite?" Hisana set her cup down on its saucer. Her action was nearly soundless. Only a light tinkling of porcelain against porcelain rang in the air.
"I have been eating more."
"More than okayu, I hope?"
He smiled and nodded his head. "Yes."
She returned his smile. "Good."
"I believe my son will send a servant for you at any moment," Sōjun murmured, shifting in his robes. A knowing glint lit his eyes, but it went unnoticed by Hisana. She was fussing with her medical kit.
"I have some unguent for his wound." The sound of glass bottles clinking against metal and other glass bottles partially obscured her voice.
"His wound?" Sōjun asked. Clearly, Byakuya had not informed him of any injuries. "Is he well?"
Hisana gave Sōjun a fleeting look, and she grinned sweetly up at him. "He will make a full recovery." She then continued to fish inside of her case.
"What happened?"
"Here it is," she mumbled under her breath. Her thin nimble fingers withdrew a round container of salve. "Oh," she said to herself, looking over at Sōjun as if his question had reached her on a delay, "he burned himself during a simulation."
Sōjun furrowed his brow. "During a simulation?" he asked incredulously.
She lifted her eyebrows and stared at him with wide blue eyes. Briefly, she wondered how often Byakuya confided in his father. Probably, not frequently, she guessed. She always seemed to know more about Byakuya than Sōjun did. "I believe that was his explanation. I did not confirm it, however."
"Oh," Sōjun said quietly, taking a sip of tea. He shook his head. "He may be delayed," he noted, seemingly remembering something important.
"That is quite alright," Hisana replied, fingering the container in her hand. "I can leave this with his personal servant."
Sōjun's smile dimmed. "I think Byakuya will be disappointed, then." Disappointed was a generous word. Sōjun was aware of his son's affinity for the Fourth's Vice Captain. Byakuya never turned down the chance to steal a glance or a conversation from Hisana. She was likely the one soul in the entire realm that he genuinely cared for without reason or duty.
Sōjun understood his son's fascination. Hisana was young yet nubile. She was petite and delicate, but she had a world-weariness that far exceeded her years. Her eyes were bright and large like a child's, but there was a deep strength behind them. A calm sort of strength that Sōjun wished for Byakuya.
For a moment, Sōjun wondered if Hisana was aware of Byakuya's infatuation. She did not mention it either way. In fact, he would have been surprised if she suspected it at all. Hisana was an unassuming spirit. Unless Byakuya declared his undying love for the woman, Sōjun was confident that she would never even notice.
Suddenly, Sōjun prayed that his son would never do such a thing. Byakuya had his moments of succumbing to reckless ideas. But, Hisana did not deserve to have her life reduced to fodder for the scandal section of the morning paper.
A quiet rapping on the door preceded a soft voice, "Sir Kuchiki requests the Vice Captain's assistance."
Hisana smiled up at Sōjun, but she did not move. To move would have been impolite. She was nothing if not incredibly respectful. He had to dismiss her.
Sōjun waited a few heartbeats, staring into her gentle eyes. He knew his son fancied her from the moment she stepped across the manor's threshold. He knew because, if he had been Byakuya's age, he would have fancied her, too.
When Sōjun dismissed her, Hisana gracefully moved out of the room. Once outside the threshold, her hands rhythmically worked the wrinkles from the fabric of her kimono. She bowed politely at Byakuya's personal servant.
"Miss Hisana," the old man murmured softly, "it is good to see you."
"It is good to see you as well," she replied, following the old man through the winding halls. "I do not think I could ever learn this house," she whispered.
The old servant gave her a knowing sidelong glance and winked. "It is very difficult."
She smiled to herself.
When the two arrived at the young lord's study, the servant bowed politely and helped Hisana kneel before the door. The man cracked the middle joint of his index finger against the wooden frame. "Milord, Miss Hisana of the Fourth awaits your instruction."
Hisana began sliding the door back before Byakuya had the chance to command her to enter. In the proscribed manner, she opened the door and scooted on her knees into the room.
She was never good at making entrances, Byakuya noted as he watched her struggle with her kimono. And, while he would have been critical of the court ladies with similar etiquette, he found her graceless movements captivating. The more she fought against the fabric of her dress, the more his could see her small figure, catching glimpses of the lean outline of her body.
"My apologies," she murmured, bowing gracefully before him. Her arms, thin but strong, reached out in front of her. She placed her hands on the floor tentatively. Her hair fell to the sides of her face, leaving the back of her neck unguarded.
His gaze lingered on her neck for a few moments. The bones of her vertebrae formed two small bumps, and for some reason the taut milky skin covering them teased him.
When she sat up, she reached for the teapot, and poured him a cup. "Tea?" she asked, belatedly, offering the cup balanced neatly on its saucer.
Mechanically, Byakuya took the tea from her and watched her pull her sleeve up as she poured herself a cup. The vibrant red fabric against her pale skin tortured him from across the room.
Glancing up at him, she offered him a small smile. "Studying for exams?" she asked, eying the papers on his desk.
"Yes," he murmured, trying his level best to compose himself.
Her smile widened. "If you need help with the kido portion, we can practice."
The last thing he wanted was to practice with her. His ambivalence had steadily grown since she stepped through the door. He did not know why, but he could not focus. He could barely remember why she was there—why he had requested his servant to collect her from his father. "Yes," was the only sound he could make. What he was agreeing to, however, he did not recall.
She set her tea to the side, and she moved closer to him. "How is your arm feeling?" she asked.
Byakuya stared blankly ahead, trying not to let his gaze land on her. All he could think about was how her plum perfume complimented the fragrance of jasmine on her breath—her warm breath that heated his hand. When he finally mastered the courage, he looked down at her just in time to feel her knee press against his thigh. He was sure it was an accidental touch on her part, but the sensation nearly short-circuited his brain. He stared ahead, unable to process anything. When his vision returned a few seconds later, he noticed that she was sitting beside him so closely, so demurely. Her head bent down. Dark tresses fell down the sides of her face, and her thick eyelashes obscured her eyes.
Without warning, she reached out and touched him. It was an intentional touch. Her fingers, soft and cool, turned his wrist up, and, with her other hand, she pulled back the sleeve of his kimono.
He felt a spark in his chest. The spark quickly escalated into a wildfire, lighting and consuming his nerves. The familiar feeling of electric sparks crackled under his flesh. Each electric fuse set off the next in a strange chain reaction until his whole body felt like it was burning, threatening to crumble into ash.
She applied the balm to his burn, slowly, gently.
His heart began to stammer as he watched her dip her index and middle finger into the small round container of salve. She made little circles in the thick substance. Satisfied with the amount, she gently rubbed it into his wound.
Finishing, she licked her lips and glanced up at him. "Would you like to practice on me?" she asked. Her eyes were gentle, innocent, which only made him feel worse.
Byakuya stared at her, unresponsive.
"I have a small contusion," she noted helpfully. Eagerly, she lifted the sleeve to her right arm, and extended her reach to him.
Byakuya instinctively placed his hand lightly against the back of hers. Her skin was so soft, so supple. He could not imagine anything that felt better. Gently, his fingertips trailed up her arm until he reached the bruise. He shut his eyes, tightly, hoping that his kido would temper his feelings.
"Too much," she murmured, glancing up at him. "It is only a minor wound." A wry smile split her lips, "Here, let me show you." Again, her small hands were against his arm. Sliding her fingers under his sleeve, she tenderly caressed the bend of his elbow. How she knew he had injured his elbow baffled him. Perhaps she could just sense it. Perhaps she had noticed him favoring it.
Maybe, just maybe, she watched him as intensely as he watched her, and she had seen it.
"Close your eyes," she commanded in a breathy voice.
He submitted for a flash before his eyes flew open. The sensation of her reiatsu licking against his flesh proved too much.
"Controlled and measured. The solider you heal is not the one you fight. You don't want to overwhelm him." Her gaze lifted to his visage. "You feel that?" she said under her breath.
He stared at her. He felt a lot. There was so much to sift through to figure out which feeling she was referring to.
Her healing kido relented, and she bent close to his arm. "Heal the wound but not the scars," she said, examining the besmirched flesh. "Memories," she sighed, lightly tracing the raised tissue.
Byakuya lowered his head toward hers. He was half expecting her to move, but she did not. She sat perfectly still, chin lifted up, and her wide innocent gaze darkened briefly. It excited him—her stillness, her eyes, the way her lips looked slightly moistened. Intoxication washed over him, numbing him. He could hardly feel his hands. He could hardly perceive his own body. The body he had honed, perfected for his purposes. It failed him. Its movements were graceless and slow. He felt lumbering like one of the witless men of the Eleventh. He felt imposing near her. She was so small, so delicate, fragile almost. It was the first time. It was the first time he felt so flawed, so oafish. It was the first time that his mind went fuzzy. He could not control himself, not that he didn't want to control himself, but that he simply could not. Gravity pulled him, forcing him down toward her mouth. It was the first time that he was leaning toward a woman. It was instinct—hateful, blissful, alluring instinct. His mouth went wet in anticipation of tasting her.
"Miss Hisana?"
His aunt's voice seared through him like a lightning bolt, jolting him up, ramrod straight. He felt electric. His muscles burned. He could feel the lightning crackle in his knuckles and catch in his teeth. His mouth went dry, cottony. His tongue was thick, and his throat parched. He could not speak. He could not comprehend anything other than the fact that what he was doing was wrong. His family would be disappointed. He was not living up to expectations.
"Yes, Lady Kuchiki," Hisana said turning to the woman. Hisana seemed unfazed. As if, it had never happened. As if, he had not being leaning toward her with lips parted and pupils dilated. As if, she had not remained so still, perhaps wanting to feel his mouth against hers. As if, it had not happened at all—a mere delusion of his, a fantasy.
Perhaps, he had not made his advance. Perhaps it was all in his head. It never happened. It was for the better that he had not given into his baser instincts, he reassured himself. It was for the better. Yet, it did not feel for the better. He felt hungry—unsated. A promise unfulfilled, and his body railed against him. It burned and stung, and his muscles cried out, aching. The tension had not been relieved, and, for a fleeting moment, he wondered if it would ever.
Likely not.
He would be married in spring to another woman. He would be married to a woman designed solely by and for his family. His family would select this woman. His family would dress this woman in finery. His family would anoint this woman as his wife, and he would have to pretend. He would have to pretend that he felt something for her, that she stirred something deep within him. But, she would not. It was a dirty secret that she would not, and his family knew. His family knew of the predilections of noblemen, dissatisfied with the woman plucked for them. His family knew that men had a woman that they loved and a woman that they married. Rarely were the two women one and the same.
"We need your assistance," his aunt murmured. A wild look caught in her eyes, gleaming. At first, Byakuya wondered if the look was scolding. Perhaps his nearness to Hisana had only added to the mounting evidence. Perhaps his dazed stare and improper reception had sealed his fate.
"Yes, Lady Kuchiki," Hisana stated softly, "what is the matter?" She was so calm, so gentle, so graceful. She turned in a single fluid motion to face his aunt. His busybody aunt.
"Lady Megumi is in the throes."
Hisana's eyes fluttered open and shut. "Throes?" she repeated, questioningly.
"Yes, she is expecting, and it is happening."
A smile crept across Hisana's face. "She is in labor," she noted.
"Yes, but she is waning."
Hisana nodded, unsurprised. Coolly, unthinkingly even, she bent and grasped her medical box. "Take me to Lady Megumi."
And like that she was gone. Byakuya watched her leave. Her red kimono trailed behind her as she politely scooted out of the room. Once she crossed the threshold, she stood. Her steps were quick but effortless. Her expression was determined but kind. Her heart was steady but eager.
He could not follow her. Tradition forbade men from entering the birthing house. There was nothing he could do, he told himself. He would only be in the way. Instead, he watched her silhouette move outside his room. His gaze steadfast until it was not, until the manor closed around her—consuming her.
Byakuya exhaled a sigh, hoping the breath would purge his want.
It did not. The burning and stinging resided deep within him, rattling around in his bones. He rolled his head back, and his gaze unwittingly found the door. It was cracked open only slightly, but enough for him to see his father. With an easy movement, his father drew the door back. "We need to speak," Sōjun said quietly, warningly.
Byakuya's heart sunk. It sunk because he knew the reason, and he was not prepared to submit. Not today. Perhaps not ever.
Author's Note: If all goes as planned, the next chapter should begin the plot proper. Thanks for reading! Thanks for reviewing!