Blue Lustre by Chiaztolite

Blue Lustre

A/N: I had this idea while writing for day 7 of Sins Week - Lust/Blue. Originally it was supposed to be a oneshot, but the idea is stuck in my head and I am too intrigued by it to leave it alone. Therefore, it WILL be a new chapter fic, and I hope I can find time in the near future to write the second chapter. In the meantime, enjoy!

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The white wedding garb was a manacle around her body; the layers of fabric were so heavy she could scarcely move. She had never worn anything so fine before, though knowing what she would have to go through, she would rather wear nothing at all. 

She sat on the dirt floor of her hut in a stiff, unmoving seiza, enduring the poking and prodding as the village chief's wife fastened a dusty, musty-smelling headdress and veil around her head.

"You should be grateful," the old crone told her for the umpteenth time. "What could an orphan like you hope to have in life? Marriage, or a life hidden inside a monastery as a lowly priestess."

She had been biting her tongue this entire time, but she could no longer bear her silence.

"I'd rather become a lowly priestess than an old lecher's concubine," she said, pleadingly pulling on the sleeve of the other woman. "Please, Mistress. It's not too late yet. Please send me off to the monastery, and you will never have to see me again—"

The crone slapped her cheek with a fan, hard enough that her head snapped back from the force. She braced her body with a palm splayed on the dirt floor, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her seething rage locked in.

"Such impertinence." The woman spat with unveiled hatred. "The landlord will surely beat it out of you. Is this your way of repaying the kindness my husband and the rest of the village have shown you?"

Her teeth sank further into the soft flesh of her cheek; she must have left imprints.

Kindness? What kindness? They might have picked her up from the river where her parents had left her to rot or drown, but they had not shown an ounce of kindness. Instead, they raised her to be the slave of the village. Then, when she was old enough to attract the leering gaze of even the most respected man in the vicinity — the Chief — they had ensconced her away in this small, damp hut to never see the light again.

Until they planned to sell her virginity and marry her off to become the sixth concubine of a local landlord.

Since the marriage announcement, she had contemplated running away many times. They must have known because they bolted her door. The last couple of days, they had even gone as far as chaining her to the wood post, releasing her only when she ate the meagre meals they provided her, or when she used the facilities. But, even then, always under constant supervision.

Still cursing under her breath, the village chief's wife left and called for the men to bring over the palanquin.

The bride-to-be stared at the covered litter that would carry her to the arms of her despicable future husband, and she swore to herself she would not go down without a fight.

————

His convoy was moving so slow, it grated on his nerves. If he had been alone, he would have flown and arrived at his destination within minutes. Instead, he had decided to get his brother to come along, even though it meant bringing along half of their household retinues.

"I understand the wanderlust," his brother said as they rode side by side. "And the urge to roam and leave the palace grounds. But why insist on dragging me with you?"

"Even in strange lands with all the new sights to behold, one wishes to escape boredom," he replied. "You are here to provide This One with some diversions, my young brother."

His brother snorted, even though one corner of his mouth twitched into a lopsided grin.

"Keh. You can be such an ass, you know that?"

He did not answer and, instead, kept his gaze forward. He had not confided in his brother that it was not merely restlessness that drove him to leave his Kingdom's borders. His brother had called it 'wanderlust', and perhaps it was simply that: a desire to hike or roam about.

It had been a long-lasting ennui he could not shake off, no matter how many endeavours he threw himself into, how many adventures and dangerous situations he entered. He hoped this short trip to their neighbouring Kingdom could cure such boredom.  

A frown appeared on his previously smooth forehead when his soldier ahead signalled for the convoy to stop.

"What is it?" He said. "Why have we stopped?"

"There is a bridal procession, my Prince," the soldier answered. "They have closed the intersection until the bride's party has passed."

His eyes strayed towards the wooden palanquin moving towards the intersection from the other road at a snail's pace. It was poorly carved and too sparsely decorated to be part of a bride's joyful day. Four sombre, lazy-looking men carried it lopsidedly over their shoulders.

It was a poor excuse for a bridal procession. The ones he had seen in his own Kingdom — even for a peasant's wedding — were much more elaborately crafted and thought out than this… wooden cage. It was barely a step higher than a chicken coop.

A peasant's wedding in a foreign land was hardly his business. Yet, for some unknown reasons, his interest was piqued. He descended from his mount; both heads of his dragon puffing and snorting as though to question his intention.

"Stay, Dragon," he said. "I will not be long."

Behind him, he heard his brother's calling out for him, but he did not turn back. Instead, he exerted a little of his power, donning the glamour that gradually changed his hair from silver to black, turned his golden eyes to brown and concealed all his markings.  

He pushed through the crowd, reaching the intersection to stand and watch like the many villagers lining the dirt road. The procession was close. He saw the groom, a toad-looking man of advanced age, waddling alongside the palanquin. The husband-to-be wore fineries not reflected in the transportation he had provided his intended.

Thus, it was perhaps no surprise when the bride herself, dressed in a white wedding outfit of poor quality, burst out of the moving box. He arched a brow at the sudden turn of an event, the people breaking into a collective gasp. Even though clothed in constricting costume, she was swift and lithe.

She grabbed hold of the groom's sword and brandished it at the crowd that surrounded her.

"Stay back!" Her clear voice rang above the enraged roar of the people and the variety of insults they hurled at her. His superior hearing could hear the tremor in her voice that the humans could not, but she maintained her brave stance.

It was difficult to see her eyes because of the headdress and the veil, but she evidently was glaring at her husband-to-be.

"I will not have you as a husband," she coolly said.

A few beats of silence ensued before the incensed local lord shouted at her, spraying spittle from his frothy, angry mouth.

"Stupid girl! Ungrateful little bitch! You should be so lucky to be my whore! Who else would have you? Who?!"

The Prince narrowed his eyes at the use of such vulgar language. The tips of his fingers burned; his hands itched to summon his toxic whip that would inflict injuries without fail. Quietly, he watched the woman flinch and take a step back. She faltered for a moment, looking around frantically for either a way out or for some help.

Then, suddenly, their eyes met. The moment their gazes collided, the commotion faded into the background, disappearing beneath the dimming white noise. Things seemed to move slowly around him as though time was coming to a standstill. He could see the flutter of her lashes as her eyes widened at the sight of him.

Do we know each other? Have we met… perhaps in a different life?

"Him!" She yelled out, pointing her sword at him. "I will have him as my husband."

There was deafening silence before the crowd ruptured into another collective scandalized shout.

The din of the crowd began to annoy him to a dangerous degree. He stepped forward and let his glamour dissolve before their widened eyes. The humans stepped back, and most of them scampered away, giving him a wide berth.

He glued his eyes on the woman, and she boldly kept hers on him. Then, against all logic, he drew a deep breath and raised his voice above the commotion.

"The woman has spoken," he said. "She has chosen This One, and her husband I shall be."

Amid the rising whispers of disbelief, the woman's shoulders visibly slumped. With relief, he hoped.

His soldiers quickly cleared the intersection, chasing away the crowd, including the infuriated lord and his vassals, until there were only two of them standing on the dusty path.

"What is your name?" He asked as he gently pulled her bridal headdress and veil away from her head. The woman's raven curls, so black they acquired a blue sheen under the sunlight, spilled over her shoulders and back.

He observed the heart-shaped face, the creamy smooth and unlined skin, and the defiant tilt of her chin. Her eyes were striking, as blue as the azure jade his Kingdom prized as one of the rarest stones, full of ancient magic.

"I am… Miko," she said, her voice low but steady. "An orphan nobody."

Silently, he tested her name on his tongue. "What a funny word," he said. "Is that truly your name?"

She shook her head. "I was abandoned since I was a newborn babe, but I remember someone calling me Miko. The villagers wanted to call me something else, but I insisted only Miko could be my name."

He nodded. "Thus, 'Miko' you shall be. I am—"

Something in her gaze wreaked havoc with his thoughts; he could not even remember his own name.

"The demon Prince… of the West," he finally said.

Those azure eyes. That blue lustre. He felt strongly he had seen them before, staring up at him with such lust for life even as light and life slowly drained away from them. The crimson of blood was so stark against pale skin. White, cracked lips whispered repeatedly:

Sesshōmaru. Sesshōmaru… Don't ever forget—

The sharp pain in his chest made him shake his head to rid himself of the image.

"Does the name Sesshōmaru mean anything to you?" He asked the woman.

She looked a little dazed, and she shook her head uncertainly.

In those blue depths, he saw that same lust for life for which he had yearned, and something inside him shifted and clicked into place. Perhaps there had been a reason for the listlessness that plagued him. A reason why he had decided to leave the palace today, why his convoy had decided to take this very path, why he had descended his mount and left his attendants even though the wedding of a local lord should not concern him at all.

Each little decision led them to this moment, to them standing in front of each other, face to face.

Like this was meant to be. Like this was… fate.

He lifted a hand to touch her cheek, savouring her warmth beneath his fingertips. Even the feel of her smooth skin seemed so familiar.

He had left his Kingdom on a journey with no destination and without a purpose. But he would return with a wife and a mate.

"You are going to change my life, aren't you?" He said, his voice full of wonder.

————

She stared at the strange yet wonderful male standing in front of her. His long, silver hair swayed gently in the breeze, each strand looking as soft as silk. He bore alluring markings the colour of deep magenta and purple.

His beauty was the ethereal type, out of this world, and she was powerless to stop herself from staring at him.

A demon, he said? She had never seen his kind up close before.

He had such beautiful eyes. Amber flecks flickered in the darker parts of his irises. Her heart beat a recognizable rhythm as soon as he was near and refused to be silenced. There was something familiar about those eyes, about this male, like an echo of a forgotten dream. A ripple in the pond of her memory.

Had she ever stared into the same golden eyes, but bright with… tears? Those same full lips, calling her name as he tried to anchor her to the lands where the sun rose in the east.

Miko. Miko. I love you. Don't go—

The pain in her chest was like taking a thousand arrow shafts to her heart. She could barely breathe, and the only way she could was by tucking away that fragile thread somewhere deep between the folds of her recollections.

The memory faded. The ripples smoothed out, leaving the surface of the water undisturbed. She looked at this male and told herself she did not recognize him — not at all.

He might be yet another cold, cruel male. He could hurt her, or mistreat her. Despite what he had done to save her from the fate of becoming the disgusting landlord's mistress, she did not know him, or anything about him.

Yet, no matter how much she warned herself to distrust him, something intrinsic inside her once again whispered of a story long forgotten. It told her about a powerful male who would turn back time for her, scour the lands of the dead to find her, and defy the wills of the gods, over and over until one day they would once again be reunited.

She could not stop herself from smiling and raising herself on her toes. She pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth. His chest shook and rumbled underneath her palm, but the hand that cupped the small of her back was steady.

You are going to change my life, aren't you.

"As you will change mine," she whispered.