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Rukia's trembling fingers curled into fists as she bowed her head in a sign of respect.
While her stormy violet eyes were downcast and shielded from her brother’s dispassionate gaze, she allowed her temper and dismay to flash through them.
She had known all her life that this day would come. That her brother would invite her into his rooms to announce that he had found and arranged a suitable match for her.
Rukia had not felt any trepidation or qualms about this future awaiting her.
To marry in a way benefiting her clan and helping to create alliances was the most important duty of a woman of her class; a duty Rukia had accepted long ago.
Even if her husband-to-be would likely be someone she’d never met.
But now that her brother had finally made his announcement and informed her of her upcoming marriage, it was hard to keep calm.
Of all the clans her brother wished to ally himself with, why must he have decided on the Shiba?
The pain that raked at her heart was dull but deep, an old ache she'd carried around for years.
Once, when she had been young, she'd all but longed to be the wife of a Shiba.
That had been a foolish wish, however, since Kaien-dono had already been married.
Young girls’ hearts were often like that – full of foolish yearning, made all the more romantic by the knowledge that the object of their affections would forever remain unattained.
Rukia pushed aside her turbulent feelings and straightened herself.
Spine stiff, she let her gaze briefly flick to meet her brother’s eyes.
“As you wish,” she said.
What other option was there, but to accede to the match her brother had negotiated for her?
She was no longer young and foolish, so her thoughts were of duty, not of romance.
After all, something as frivolous as love played no part in the marriages of the samurai.
She tipped back the lacquered cup one last time, let the ceremonial sake flow down her throat. Binding herself in marriage to the man sitting beside her.
He looked nothing like Kaien-dono, which was a relief. Instead of easy smiles, her husband was scowling, and his hair was a strange, foreign colour.
Yet he was certainly a Shiba. As Rukia knew where to look, she could tell his features bore a remarked resemblance to Kaien-dono’s. She tried to ignore it, as she had been ignoring the old, dull ache in her heart for years now.
They did not speak to one another. Did not laugh as people from both their clans toasted to them and made merry.
This wedding celebration was not about them, or even about the marriage they had just entered into.
It was about the union and alliance between the Kuchiki and the Shiba, about ties forged by joining the daughter of one clan with the son of the other.
Later that evening, after the she had excused herself from the merriments, after the servants had helped undress Rukia from all the heavy layers of her wedding finery, she sat on the tatami of her husband’s bedroom.
Clad only in her white underkimono now, she looked at the two futon the servants had laid out, side by side. The flickering lanterns made the shadows dance on the walls as she waited.
The shoji screen slid open with a raspy whisper.
She looked up and saw Shiba Ichigo standing in the doorway, in a simple dark kimono.
His gaze first landed on her, then slanted to the two futon next to her. He quickly looked away.
In the dim light of the room Rukia couldn’t be sure, but it almost looked like he was blushing.
The dull ache deep inside eased as the corners of Rukia’s lips twitched.
Ichigo stepped in, slid the shoji screen shut and scratched his neck, clearly ill at ease.
“Greetings, husband,” Rukia spoke, amusement lacing her tone.
He nearly flinched at the address, and seeing how uncomfortable he appeared to be – standing in his bedroom, finally alone with his new bride – kindled something soft and tender where there had been pain before.
She extended her hand to him in invitation. “Come.”
Agitated hesitation shimmered in the lines of his body, but then he crossed the room, took his seat across from her.
The two futon lay between them, a silent reminder of the one last bit of duty expected of them.
Ichigo was careful not to look at the mattresses.
“This wasn’t my idea, you know,” he spoke for the first time, his voice gruff.
Rukia tilted her head. “I know. A marriage like ours is formed for the sake of clans, not out of personal preference. Though I would have thought you had at least some say in the making this match.”
“Yes. I accepted it, because I –” he clamped his mouth shut, didn’t meet her eyes.
And this time, Rukia was sure of that faint pink flush across his cheeks.
Something light and warm stirred as Rukia’s lips quirked.
Interesting.
“We don’t have to… you know,” Ichigo continued abruptly, glancing at the futon. “If you don’t want to.”
Rukia clutched her hands demurely in her lap, slanted her husband a look from under her lashes. “I accept my duty. This particular one included.”
He huffed out a breath, rubbed at the back of his neck again. “Shouldn’t be about duty,” he muttered.
“Perhaps then, about partnership,” Rukia suggested.
His head jerked up, his startled brown eyes met hers.
Rukia placed her hands on top of the futon with practiced ease, bent gracefully into a low bow.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Kuchiki – ahh, Shiba Rukia.”
She didn’t see or hear him move, but suddenly his finger curled under her chin, the touch warm and a little tentative.
He tilted her head up, until once again their eyes met, gazes locked.
“I’m Shiba Ichigo.”
And when Rukia straightened from her bow, when his large hand gently clasped hers, the smile that rose to her lips held the first glimmers of hope.
Rukia stirred from her sleep slowly, softly. This time, the culprit wasn't a sharp wail from the infant that slept curled against her breast.
Her son was still fully asleep, huffing out small even breaths.
Her eyes still closed, Rukia smiled in the dark of the early morning.
Judging by the warm, calloused fingers sliding up along her arm and disappearing under the sleeve of her underkimono, by the gentle kiss pressed to his favourite spot on the back of her neck, it was her husband who had woken her.
His lips found her earlobe next, his arm snaked around her waist.
His breath against her skin sent a tremor down her spine as his sleep-gruff voice whispered good morning.
Her heart full with happiness, Rukia placed her hand on top of his and, in a voice tendered by love, whispered back.