Chains of Silk and Steel Ch. 04

Chapter Four

Kaiyan

The low buzz of conversation filled the evening air, punctuated by the occasional chime of porcelain against silver serving plates. The Imperial Garden was bathed in the glow of silk lanterns, their golden light dancing across the curved eaves of the pavilion. Plum blossoms perfumed the breeze, their sweetness blending with the fragrant steam rising from tea cups.

Unlike the lower-ranking nobles seated on cushions at low tables, Kaiyan and a select few were granted chairs--a distinction for station, though not one he particularly cared for. It was just one more thing that set him apart.

His fingers idly traced the rim of his cup, though he had no intention of drinking. The gathering had only begun, yet he already knew how it would unfold. The same tired pleasantries, the same overdone admiration, the same well-rehearsed smiles.

The event was a seasonal gathering--another excuse for nobles and officials to assemble, trading gossip while draped in their finest attire. The women drifted like wraiths in embroidered uchikake, their long sleeves trailing over polished floors. Silken layers bloomed with stitched chrysanthemums and soaring cranes. Each woman passed by his table, vying for a glance, a moment of notice. They may as well have been ghosts for all the interest they stirred in him. The men, though less extravagant, displayed their wealth in formal montsuki, their crests adorning dark fabric like banners of lineage and status.

Kaiyan's robes were fine but restrained--black silk, accented with a crimson sash, the golden insignia at his shoulder marking his station. Dressing plainly was not an option, no matter how much he might prefer it. His title demanded decorum, even in gatherings as tiresome as this.

A step behind him and to his right, Renji stood at attention. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword--a simple but well-worn blade. Not an ornamental piece meant for show, but one sharpened for use. To the outside world, he was merely a guard, a necessary shadow to Kaiyan's rank. But they both knew better. His presence was not just for protection--it was a leash, a silent deterrent to ensure Kaiyan did not slip away before his obligations were met.

He exhaled slowly, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Battles were not won over cups of tea. His hand itched for the familiar weight of his sword, for the rush that came with movement, with the clash of steel against steel. But here, amidst courtly games and hollow conversation, he was little more than a caged animal, forced to endure the company of those he cared nothing for.

His irritation must have shown because Renji's hand closed briefly around his shoulder--a firm, silent warning.

"It is your duty, my lord," he reminded in a low voice.

Kaiyan rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off the weight of this evening. "You'd sing a different tune if you were the one wading through desperate marriage proposals all day."

"You know, some might consider that a privilege."

Kaiyan shot him a dry look. "I was offered gold just for the privilege of touching my hair."

Renji bit back a smile. "Did you take it?"

He scoffed, shifting in his seat. "I wish I could say that was the strangest request I've received."

His gaze drifted over the servants weaving between the tables, filling cups and placing sweets on trays. He wasn't looking for anyone in particular. At least, that's what he told himself.

For months, his mind had been consumed by war--the grueling logistics of strategy, the relentless brutality of combat. In the chaos, the girl he had purchased at the gallows had faded into irrelevance. Or so he'd thought. But now, back within the palace walls, surrounded by its empty finery, she surfaced again.

It had been weeks since the porcelain incident.

She had looked past him--through him--as though his presence was unbearable. As though the weight of his gaze was something she could not stomach. He had reached for her, meaning only to steady her, but she had torn herself free as if his touch had burned.

The cost of that broken porcelain had been exorbitant--an outrageous sum, far beyond the worth of a few shattered cups. A manufactured debt designed to keep servants tethered forever. It was the way of the palace, but he'd never had much patience for things as they were. He had settled the debt himself, his coin sparing her from a fate he'd seen too many endure. The thought of her back stripped raw made his stomach turn. The price was nothing to him. Gold came and went.

Even still, he should have forgotten her by now.

The court was filled with women--each tripping over herself for his attention. And yet, her absence followed him, lingering like a shadow in the back of his mind.

A servant passed by, hands lowering a tray of sakura-dusted rice cakes, glutinous plum jelly and curled wafers filled with red bean paste. He noticed the movement more than the girl herself--the fluid grace in her steps. Not the same.

To his left, a noble lady drifted past, the cloying sweetness of her perfume preceding her. As she neared, she slowed, her eyes lifting to him, dark with invitation. Her glossy hair fell in a perfect sheet down her back, but it was too richly oiled, too perfumed--and not quite dark enough.

Across the courtyard, a girl's laughter rang out--bright, high-pitched and a touch too loud. Kaiyan's gaze flicked toward her briefly, noting the practiced tilt of her head, the coy flutter of her lashes. Too eager. Too light. A show for attention. He could not imagine her laughing like that.

His jaw tightened, irritation needling at the edges of his thoughts. Damn it. Why was he doing this?

"My lord."

The words were accompanied by a deep bow punctuated by the creak of aging joints. The man before him was a Minister of Rites--though Kaiyan couldn't quite recall his name. His jowls sagged past his cheeks, jiggling slightly as he straightened, reminding Kaiyan of the palace dogs.

Behind him, a girl stood stiffly, far too young, her eyes downcast, hands folded demurely before her. Her robes were pristine, her sash tied in a perfect butterfly knot, the fabric pale and soft as fresh cream.

Kaiyan exhaled slowly, schooling his features before meeting the man's gaze. He already knew where this was going.

"My daughter," the Minister began, his hand hovering over her shoulder like an appraiser presenting a fine celadon vase. "Harue is of pure, noble bloodline. She is well-bred, trained in poetry and music, and raised with the utmost discipline befitting a woman of her station."

Kaiyan didn't bother looking at her. "My time is spent at war," he said smoothly. "I have little need for the comforts of home."

The old man clucked his tongue. "Ah, but a man of your rank must consider his legacy. You have no wife, no heir. Should something happen to you on the battlefield, who would carry your name? The Empire needs strong bloodlines." Then, with the same casual certainty as one discussing horse stock, he added, "My daughter has wide, child-bearing hips."

Kaiyan arched a brow. The girl flushed scarlet, her fingers curling in the fabric of her sleeves as though she might shrink into them. He resisted the urge to rub his temple. She would look at him with wide, doe-like eyes, waiting to be guided. He had no patience for that. He preferred women who knew what they wanted--women with fire in their gaze, with defiance in their bones.

For a moment, he considered telling the old man exactly why he wasn't interested. But Renji's fingers pressed briefly into his shoulders--a reminder to keep his temper in check.

Kaiyan forced his expression into something resembling a polite smile, though it felt like ceremonial robes cinched too tight around his throat. Before he could muster an appropriate response, movement at his side drew his attention.

"My lord," a teasing voice purred. "Perhaps your lineage might benefit from... variety."

A woman stepped into view, her black hair pinned high with delicate pearl combs, a few loose strands artfully framing her face. Her lips were painted a deep vermilion, contrasting her powdered skin. But it was the smile curling their edges that held a knowing amusement.

Her husband followed beside her, his beard neatly kept, dark against the clean lines of his jaw. Unlike most men of the court, he did not carry himself with stiffness but with the ease of someone who had nothing to prove. Kaiyan had always respected that about him--though some of his... extracurricular interests were less to his liking.

"Lord and Lady Sugimura." Kaiyan leaned back slightly, tilting his head in acknowledgment as they bowed in unison.

None spared the Minister or his daughter a glance. The dismissal was unmistakable. The old nobleman's mouth thinned, his jowls twitching, but he knew better than to press further. He dipped into a bow, his daughter following suit with a final, disheartened glance before retreating into the crowd.

Lady Sugimura traced idle patterns along the table with her fingertip. She leaned in--not enough to breach decorum, but enough that Kaiyan couldn't ignore her. She had the air of a woman who had never known rejection.

"My husband and I," she began, her voice warm, conspiratorial, "have been talking. And we both agree--you would make an excellent addition."

Kaiyan's gaze flicked toward her. Her expression was sly. He didn't need to ask what she meant.

On his right, Renji straightened--silent as ever, but Kaiyan could feel the amusement radiating off him without looking.

"I'll have to decline," he answered as easily as if he was refusing a second cup of tea.

Lady Sugimura only smiled, shifting her weight to press a hip against the table, her ample bosom hovering near his face. "A lot of men take issue at first," she mused, trailing a painted nail along his jaw. "They assume it would feel... unnatural to be with another man."

Kaiyan said nothing.

Her husband finally spoke, placing a hand on his wife's lower back. "In these cases, we prefer to start slow."

"Slow?" Kaiyan repeated, more incredulous than curious.

Lord Sugimura's fingers drifted lightly over the silk sash tied at the woman's waist. "You would not be expected to engage with me. You and my wife would enjoy each other while I watched. Nothing more. At first."

Kaiyan sighed, and this time, Renji did not step in to remind him to be cordial. The bastard was enjoying this.

"As you grew accustomed to his presence," Lady Sugimura smiled, teeth glinting, "my husband would have me alongside you. And eventually, he would have you alone."

Kaiyan's patience snapped. "You'll have to find another man to entertain you."

Lady Sugimura let out a low, throaty laugh as if she had expected his answer. She straightened, smoothing an invisible crease from her sleeve. "Think about it," she said lightly, her tone neither pressing nor deterred.

Then, with practiced grace, they bowed and drifted on as though the conversation had never occurred.

They were hardly out of earshot before Renji let out a quiet chuckle. "You do attract all sorts, my lord."

Kaiyan groaned, dropping his chin into his palm and tapping his cheek with his fingers. "Shut up, Renji."

His gaze swept over the crowd, already bored, his mind turning over potential excuses--any justification that might see him released from this tiresome gathering.

A slight shift in the shadows near the veranda caught his attention. A slender figure slipped between columns, trays stacked in her arms as she made her way to a cart at the courtyard's edge.

It was... her.

Kaiyan stilled, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

Unlike the other attendants, her robes were plain, unadorned. She was not high-ranking enough to wait on guests--little more than a workhorse, hauling dishes to and from the kitchens. Unseen but necessary.

Kaiyan watched her set the trays on the cart, a strand of hair slipping loose from the cornflower blue ribbon binding her hair. If he didn't act quick, she would be gone.

He drained his tea in a single motion, setting the cup down with a clink.

"Thought you didn't like jasmine," Renji said, smirking.

Kaiyan nudged the plate of uneaten sweets toward him. "Eat--and keep your mouth shut."

Renji's eyes followed his master's line of sight, his mouth curling upward. But he said nothing, plucking a bun from the tray with an amused exhale.

The moment a servant approached to refill his cup, Kaiyan lifted a hand, stopping her with a flick of his fingers. "Not you," he said curtly. He gestured toward the far side of the courtyard. "The girl. By the veranda. Have her attend me."

The servant hesitated, gaze darting toward the girl in question before dropping into a bow. "Yes, my lord."

Kaiyan's eyes followed the servant as she wove through the tables, crossing the courtyard toward the girl at the edge. She leaned in to speak, delivering his message--but he was no longer looking at her.

He was watching for her reaction. And he was not disappointed.

The girl paused, her hands tightening around the platter she'd just set down. Slowly, she turned. Even from a distance, he saw the moment recognition struck--the faint shift in her eyes as she realized who had summoned her.

Dislike flickered across her face--a tightening at the corners of her mouth, the faintest pinch between her brows. But it was gone just as quickly, smoothed into something neutral. But it had not escaped Kaiyan's notice. His amusement deepened.

She did not lower her gaze in deference when their eyes met, nor did she feign gratitude at being summoned by a man of his rank. Instead, her lips pressed into a thin line, her shoulders squaring. He waited, wondering if she might refuse him. But then, she took the teapot from the other servant's hands and marched toward him.

Kaiyan settled back in his seat, eyes following her as she approached.

Renji leaned in. "You only show this much interest when there's a sword in your hand."

Kaiyan didn't bother responding. His smile widened as she reached the end of his table. She didn't bow--not even a tilt of her head. He felt Renji watching beside him, waiting for his reaction to such blatant disrespect. He gave none.

Without a word, he nudged his cup toward her.

She lifted the teapot, tilting the spout. Steam curled between them, carrying the faint scent of jasmine as the liquid trickled into the porcelain. Her movements were swift--devoid of care, but not careless.

He let the silence stretch as she poured, watching the candlelight catch the raven strands that slipped over her shoulder.

"You've been avoiding me." He leaned in, elbows resting on the table, fingers laced beneath his chin.

Her fingers tightened around the pot's handle. "I serve where I'm needed," she answered curtly.

Kaiyan hummed. "So it would seem."

She held the pot to her chest, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond him, but there was a pink tinge to her cheeks. "If that's all, I will take my leave." She was already stepping back before he could answer.

Kaiyan let her go. For now.

He watched her retreat, her back straight, steps brisk. She moved with the quiet purpose of someone eager to disappear. The corner of his mouth curled.

Renji's hand clasped his shoulder, and this time, the squeeze was friendly. "I think that's the fastest a woman has ever run from you."

Kaiyan swirled the tea, letting its fragrance rise before setting the cup aside, untouched. "What did you find?" he asked quietly. He'd meant to wait until later to request Renji's report, but now seemed as good a time as any.

Renji inclined his head. "Kagawa Sayuri," he answered. "Daughter of a merchant. No noble ties. No family name of importance."

Kaiyan's brow lifted. No name. No title. Just another faceless servant.

And yet, she hadn't looked like one--not that night. Not standing on the cliff's edge, wind pulling at her robes, eyes hollow with something heavier than fear. There had to be more.

"Any other familial ties?" he asked.

"Not anymore," Renji said. "She had a younger sister. Makoto. But she died two years ago."

Kaiyan's gaze lifted, his lips turning down at the corners. He'd never known what it was like to lose a sibling--he had never had one. But if the two had been close... "Cause?"

"The records don't say," Renji admitted. "Just that she was cast out before her death." He paused, "And that no one cared to ask further."

Kaiyan exhaled slowly. He'd seen it before--families eager to scrub their ruined daughters from memory. What use was a name if no one spoke it?

"And the girl?" he asked.

"Imprisoned for poisoning a nobleman. Curiously, the name of her victim has been omitted from any official documentation."

Kaiyan's grip tightened around the arm of his chair. He didn't like loose ends. "And her time here?"

"Relegated to kitchen duties. No incidents, no complaints--aside from the training courtyard blunder a few weeks back."

Kaiyan smirked. "Of course."

"But there's something else," Renji added. "She visits one of the guards. Regularly. At night."

Kaiyan stiffened. The amusement drained from his face. His jaw tensed, heat coiling low in his chest--irritation, perhaps.

"Who?" he demanded.

Renji shook his head. "I haven't gotten word on a name yet."

Kaiyan's teeth snapped together, impatience scraping against his ribs. She could hardly stand to look at him, but she'd sought out someone else? A guard.

Servants and guards were not permitted relations. If they were caught, the punishment would be severe. He had seen men lose their heads. Seen women lashed bloody until their screams turned hoarse.

And she was willing to risk it? For some nameless guard?

His stomach twisted, the sensation unfamiliar--unwelcome. His chair scraped against stone as he stood abruptly.

Renji's eyes shot up. "My lord--"

"Find out who," Kaiyan ordered. "And look into the sister's death."

His strides were already carrying him away before Renji could respond.

The evening's festivities faded behind him, swallowed by the hush of the palace's outer corridors. Kaiyan should have gone back to his quarters. Or perhaps to the training yard, where the bite of steel and sweat might bleed away the tightness in his chest. That had been his intention--Renji be damned.

But his feet carried him elsewhere, following the path she had taken, down a quieter hall, where the glow of lanterns softened and the voices of nobility dwindled to a distant hum.

He barely noticed the shift at first, but with each turn, the illusion of courtly refinement began to unravel. The opulence of silk-draped corridors gave way to unadorned stone, and the scent of incense and plum wine was replaced by something earthier--smoke, damp wood and the faint traces of cooking oil.

This was not a place meant for nobles' eyes.

He should turn back. Whatever foolish impulse had led him here had served its purpose. He had indulged his curiosity enough for one night.

But then, ahead of him, he saw her.

The girl--Sayuri.

The name surfaced in his mind--shaped by Renji's voice, but now his own. Small lily.

It was delicate. Too delicate. But then--wasn't she? The first time he'd seen her, standing on the cliff's edge, she'd seemed so small. So vulnerable. He knew better now--she was anything but fragile.

Kaiyan slowed, watching her navigate the narrowing hall, the battered cart before her rattling softly against the uneven ground. It was almost laughable how easily she blended into this world. A girl burdened with menial tasks, slipping through the cracks of palace life like an afterthought.

A girl who had once stood on the gallows.

A girl who had run from him.

His gaze caught on her hair--loose from its ribbon now, untamed, strands lifting softly in the breeze. It shifted as she moved, brushing against the curve of her neck, dark tendrils shining faintly in the torchlight. His eyes lingered on the line of her throat as she walked, trailing lower--following the slope of her shoulder where her robes had slipped, revealing a notch of pale skin.

The irritation in his chest twisted, thickening into something hotter. He could almost feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips again--could imagine how she would tense at his touch before yielding.

He quickened his pace, closing the space between them. The noise of the cart masked his presence. She was utterly unaware--so absorbed in her task, in the simple act of returning to the kitchens, that she failed to sense the predator at her back.

A dark realization slid through him. If he were another kind of a man... a more dangerous kind... she would have never known until it was too late.

The thought coiled tight in his chest, colder now. Was that what had happened to her?

The nobleman she'd poisoned--had he been that kind of man? The kind who saw women like her as prey? His teeth pressed together, the warmth in his chest hollowing out. If that was the case, then the bastard had deserved the poison in his cup.

But it hadn't been justice she'd been given. It had been the noose.

Something sharp settled in his gut--resentment, maybe. Or something darker. Whatever it was, he vowed to find the man and see to punishment himself.

His gaze snapped back to her. The thought of another man touching her--taking what she had not given--boiled him alive.

But just as swiftly, another thought struck. Any man touching her. Even if she had wanted it.

The guard she visited at night--had she sought him out? Had she let him close? Let his hands roam places Kaiyan had only brushed against by chance?

The heat in his chest turned blistering--rage and something else, something more primal, searing low in his gut.

He knew what it felt like to hold her--soft and sweaty against his body. Her breasts crushed to his chest. The grip of her thighs tight around his waist. He could still hear her sharp inhale when he had leaned in--had nearly caught her mouth with his. He'd wanted to taste her. That need had rooted itself in him like an imprint he could not rid himself of.

His fingers twitched at his side.

Sayuri reached the kitchen door, her steps slowing as the muffled clatter of dishes and low voices bled through the wood. Her hand lifted, fingers brushing the worn edge of the grip, ready to pull it open.

But before she could, his hand came down beside her head, palm flattening against the wood with a thump. The door remained closed.

She startled. Her shoulders jerked, and she spun, back pressing against the door as her wide eyes locked onto him. A sharp exhale slipped from her lips. Then her chin lifted, defiance sparking in her light gaze like a struck match. But she was trapped between him and the door. He stepped into that space--into her--pressing forward, letting the shadows fold around them.

The quick flutter of her pulse danced in the hollow of her throat. White sage drifted from her hair--soft, clean, threading beneath the heavier scents of oil and smoke.

"Careless," he murmured, voice low. "You should pay better attention to your surroundings, little moth."

She stiffened, every inch of her body taut, coiled tight. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as though she longed for nothing more than to hit him.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Tell me, why is it you despise me so?"

She said nothing, her breath pulling heavier through her nose as she held his gaze.

The refusal stoked something darkly amused in him. Sayuri was the first woman to ever bristle under his attention, the first who looked at him without awe, without fluttered lashes or simpering smiles meant to coax his favor. There was no fear in her either. No submission. No need.

Nothing but challenge.

And yet, what unsettled him was not her resistance. It was the pull in his chest.

Desire, yes--but there was something else tangled beneath it. Something that resisted being ignored, no matter how hard he tried.

His gaze dropped, tracing the slope of her collarbone where her robes parted--the faintest sliver of skin visible in the low light. He imagined how that skin would feel against his lips, how it would taste, how she might arch into him, pulling him closer...

The thought burned hot, echoing in the twitch of his cock.

He lifted a hand, trailing a single fingertip along the fall of her hair where it draped over her shoulder--soft and smooth like silk. It was a small, inconsequential touch--one he had done a thousand times with countless other women. Women who leaned into it, who shivered in delight.

Sayuri didn't react at all.

"You're the first woman who doesn't respond to me," he murmured, almost to himself. "I'm not sure what to do with you."

It was not a taunt. Not a demand. Just a realization--one that left an unfamiliar weight in his chest.

Sayuri's throat bobbed with her swallow. Still, she held her ground. "Men like you use their beauty for gain," she said at last, her voice clipped and sharp.

Kaiyan let out a husky chuckle. "Beauty," he echoed, tasting the word like a rare delicacy. "Is that what you think of me?"

"You know what you are," she hissed.

The amusement in his smile deepened, but there was something else behind it now--something considering, something patient. His fingers drifted lower, knuckles brushing the delicate skin of her throat, the contact light, designed to linger. Not forceful. Not demanding. Simply a test.

She didn't move, but the pulse at her neck fluttered wildly against his touch. Her breath hitched when his fingers traced along her exposed collarbone, then brushed the edge of her robes where fabric met skin.

It was subtle. But he knew. She was not unaffected. She wanted to be--was fighting to be--but her body had already betrayed her.

The thought stirred low in his gut, dark and potent. If this was how she responded to the smallest touch, what would she do when she was bare before him? When he was coaxing the desire from her trembling body? When he was driving himself into her dripping cunt so hard she forgot her own name...

His cock swelled, the ache hot and insistent now. Satisfaction curled in his chest, but it was laced with hunger--an appetite sharpened by restraint.

He could take her here. Now. No one would stop him.

The thought pressed deeper, slower. Men of his rank took what they wanted. Servants, noblewomen, courtesans--none dared refuse. They were raised to please, to bow, to offer themselves like gifts at his feet.

If he beckoned, Sayuri would have no choice but to obey.

And yet, that was not what he wanted. It was not her body alone that drove him, nor even her defiance--it was the thought of breaking it. Not through force. Not with rank or command. But by making her crave him in return.

That was what would satisfy him. That was what would bind her to him. That was what he was after.

A slow smile curved his lips.

He would have her, but not yet. It would take more than a simple touch to make her cave. But it would start here. Tonight.

He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he breathed, "You're not as immune as you pretend to be, little moth."

A ripple of tension moved through her. The delicate hairs at the nape of her neck lifted beneath his fingertips. Her lips parted slightly, and her seafoam gaze darkened, pupils swallowing the color.

He sensed it all--the tremor beneath his touch, the rise of her chest just a little too fast, and beneath her layers of linen, the softest rustle--like the whisper of her thighs drawing together.

Heat licked up his spine. His fingers curled against the door, aching to pull her closer--to see how far he could push before her control slipped away.

Because it would. He could feel it.

Gods, he wanted her.

Sayuri moved. A sudden jerk, and she tore herself free, wrenching the door open with too much force. Warmth from the kitchen flooded over his skin, but it only sharpened the chill of her absence.

She didn't look back.

She was gone.

Kaiyan stayed where he was, staring at the empty space she left behind. The heat in his blood refused to fade. The tension in his body lingered--tight, unsatisfied. His fingers flexed at his side, the ghost of her warmth still clinging to his skin.

The click of sandals against stone broke the hush of the corridor.

He didn't turn. Not at first. But then the sound stuttered. A sharp inhale followed, and then a shift in weight--the telltale pause of someone caught off guard.

Kaiyan finally glanced over, his gaze settling on the young woman who dropped to her knees a few feet away. Recognition flickered. Her round face was flushed, lips parted as though she'd been about to speak before realizing who she would be addressing. Her eyes slipped to the closed door Sayuri had just disappeared behind, and a glimmer of irritation lingered in her gaze before she smothered it beneath lowered eyes.

That's when he placed her--the girl from the training courtyard, the confrontation over the shattered porcelain. The one whose sharp tongue had made the little moth bristle.

Finally, he spoke. "The girl who just went inside, do you know her?"

Her fingers twitched on the ground before her voice emerged, carefully neutral. "Yes, my lord."

"Move her to my service."

This time, there was no mistaking the look that crossed her face. Her brows pinched, not in confusion but bitterness.

But she had no choice but to obey his command.

Her head dipped lower. "At once, my lord."

Kaiyan turned, walking away. The heat in his blood had dulled, but gratification took its place.

Whatever favor Sayuri had found in the company of her precious guard, it wouldn't matter now. No man could pull those reactions from her. No one but him.

The little moth was his. She would learn it soon enough.