Chapter Text
He is hardly an ideal marriage prospect for a noble lady, especially the king’s niece. Putting his general undesirable attitude and flock of political enemies aside, he certainly doesn’t look like he is part of the high nobility. His unkempt, shaggy hair; how his wrinkled clothes seem loose in all the wrong places; the slovenly way in which he carries himself, shoulders slumped, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Lord Aizawa Shouta could learn a thing or two about keeping up appearances and the manners and customs of your land, but something tells you he might not care to.
Good. Many of the ladies in waiting and of the court would never consider him to be an ideal match, but with your humble nature and status, he might actually agree to this…unless he wants to die a bachelor, of course.
In the wee small hours, you sneak out of your chamber and tiptoe through half the castle just to find yourself standing at his doorstep with your fist raised. Now that you’re here, just the simple task of knocking seems much more daunting than it did in your head. Despite singling him out as the most suitable candidate, you realize there isn’t much you know about Aizawa. Not taking rumors into account…and those aren’t exactly flattering.
As you linger there, contemplating, the door suddenly opens, and you come face to chest with the man himself.
Lord Aizawa Shouta. Not much is known about the faraway land he comes from. He arrived to your kingdom about a decade ago, on a ship filled with riches rivaling those of the crown. After he donated generously to your uncle – the King – he was granted lordship and given some land in the North, although his duties keep him at court for months at a time.
In spite of him being essentially omnipresent, this is the first time you get to see him up-close. His black eyes, boring straight into yours, are piercing, unreadable. Flustered by the intensity of his gaze, you avoid it, although the view of his stubble-covered jaw isn’t much better. Moving lower, you notice he is dressed simply in grey robes tied around his waist. He’s also barefoot. You frown, confused. Was he sleeping? You’re confident you didn’t make any noise on your way here.
“Is there any urgent matter you wish to discuss, or did you simply confuse my chamber with that of your dalliance?” He speaks at last, in a deep, gravelly voice, sending shivers down your spine. There is no welcoming air about him. In fact, he seems of a mind to call the guards on you for disturbing…whatever it is he has been doing.
Already regretting everything, you take a cautious step back. “I was…I’m sorry to have bothered you, good sir.” You quickly bow and start walking away, cursing yourself for your stupidity. What a silly little goose you are, hoping to be saved by her knight in shining armor…or a merchant in a ratty robe, in his case.
“Wait. Girl.” His harsh whisper makes you stop dead in your tracks and face him, if only to wrinkle your nose at his impudence.
(Girl?! Is that any way to refer to a lady of a higher standing than his?)
You frown. “I already told you, my lord, I was mistaken-”
“And you expect me to believe that?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly exasperated. “Cease that suspicious behavior and come inside – unless you want to be discovered wandering castle halls at night, that is.”
Although he speaks reason, you are not so easily swayed. A proper lady does not accept just any man’s invitation to his bedchamber – never mind if she stood on his doorstep for the past half an hour. “With all due respect, how do I know you don’t have unsavory intentions?”
Your words seem to amuse him a great deal, for you are rewarded with a wolfish grin. “I could ask you the same thing, my lady.”
Shocked and appalled, you feel your cheeks heat up at such outrageous remark. “My lord! I am a woman of the Faith-”
“And I, a barbarian to your people, am not, and thus it is safe to assume I’m permanently preoccupied by sin.” Aizawa points out, studying your reactions with unhidden amusement.
Finding yourself at a loss for words, you stare at the ground in an unladylike manner. It is true that as a foreigner, Aizawa is looked down upon by priests, nobles and common folk alike. Many a time were you thrown out of sewing circles for giggling madly at the wild tales of gullible ladies-in-waiting and matrons, who depicted him as a horned beast, if not the Devil himself. But while you are almost certain Aizawa hides no tail in his robes, you are aware he comes from a world which differs vastly from yours.
And, in a situation such as yours, one can never be too cautious.
“I did not wish to offend my good lord,” you murmur, nervously playing with the laced edges of your sleeves.
Lord Aizawa only sighs, as if he’s been through the same exact conversation a hundred of times, and knowing your people, he probably has. “It is fine. Now, if you would please step inside, my lady…”
You gulp and lift your skirts, following him into the darkness of his chambers. He closes the door after you, turns the key. It clicks softly. Your palms begin to sweat; your knees feel weak.
Without offering you a seat, he sprawls in a chair and eyes you lazily. Like you’re not a respectable lady of the Court, the King’s own niece, but merely a servant girl who fancies him and came to indulge herself. Heat rises to your cheeks; he underestimates you, and what’s worse, you’ve given him every reason to.
“So, what is it? Your father sent you to seduce me and exchange your kisses for information? Are the kisses free of charge? Or did you hear the rumors and simply wish to see for yourself the Devil the Court painted me to be? In that case, I’m afraid your long journey here was for nothing; I’m every bit as mundane and uninteresting as any Westerner.”
All the mentions of kisses, along with the implications, leave you gasping and scandalized. He looks amused by your reaction, and so, to spare him the satisfaction, you at last gather yourself together and speak your mind. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lord, for every one of your guesses is wrong. I’m not here to play the Game, I do not wish to bed you and I’m not nearly foolish enough to believe in tall tales.”
“Then, pray tell, what possessed you to visit the most hated noble this side of the castle in the dead of the night…so scarcely dressed if I might add?” He points a finger at the nightgown you’re wearing. Self-conscious, you cross your arms over your chest in a flimsy attempt to cover yourself.
“I left my chambers long after my maids prepared me for the night, to avoid suspicion,” you explain, briefly.
He raises his brow, intrigued. “What about the guards?”
“There is only one, and he’s deep asleep. I slipped him some wine, as he is a notorious lightweight.”
“How do you know?”
“All the other guards said so.”
“Do all ladies make the affairs of their guardsmen their business?” A small smile tugs at his lips.
You lift your chin up, not hiding the pride you take in your endeavor. Many days have you waited for the opportunity to present itself, and many days have you spent listening behind closed doors only to find yourself on the other side of his tonight. “Only those who wish to slip away unnoticed.”
Impressed, he leans back in his chair. “I must say, my lady, you are a meticulous planner. Even though, much hassle could have been avoided if you let me know of your visit in advance.”
“This feat, I had no way of accomplishing,” you admit, sheepishly.
He cocks an eyebrow. “How so?”
“My father. He wouldn’t allow for us to meet. I contemplated sending a letter by one of my maids, but deemed it too risky. The servants are paid from my father’s purse, and are thus loyal only to him. I would fear for both of our reputations if the incriminated correspondence were to fall into his hands.” Maybe you shouldn’t be so truthful with him; maybe you should stay your hand and keep some of the cards to yourself, but your instincts tell you to trust this man. This outsider, so wealthy and yet so humbly dressed, who is hated and ridiculed, and, this must please him, feared by your brethren.
But not by yourself. Even if you stand right in the lion’s den, you are not afraid of him.
“Seems to me he keeps his daughter on a tight leash. Any particular reason?”
There it is. The cause of your troubles and paranoia for the past few weeks. Averting your gaze, you bite your lip. “He wishes to marry me off soon,” you finally say, in a voice smaller than you’d like.
Aizawa oohs in understanding. “Ah. He fears a scandal would scare off potential suitors.”
You nod, face grim. When you aren’t being paraded about for all the eligible bachelors of the court to see, father doesn’t allow you as much as look at a man, let alone talk to him. “Precisely.”
Before he can say anything else, you feel a sharp sense of helplessness surge through you. Everything you are and may be is riding on the mercy of the man in front of you, and you’re not entirely sure your case is important enough to pique his interest.
“Lord Aizawa. If I may be so bold I…I have a proposal. But first, if you would be so kind as to hear me out, I believe it would give you much insight into my situation, and maybe even soften your heart to my pleas, If I-”
He silences you by raising a hand. Inwardly, you panic. Have you said something wrong? Did your begging disgust him?
But instead of ridiculing you, of sending you to be on your way, he merely gets up from his chair and moves to a pair of armchairs in front of the fireplace. “Apologies for my manners earlier, my lady. I let you stand, thinking this whole ordeal will be over in a blink. I congratulate you on proving me wrong. Please.” He gestures for you to take a seat.
Aizawa waits until you are seated, then does so himself. You fold your hands in your lap, both confused and grateful. He truly is a strange man, this Aizawa.
“By all means, tell me your story,” he encourages you, his onyx eyes twinkling with curiosity.
You take a deep breath, and knowing you have nothing to lose and a whole lot to gain, start at the very beginning.
“I’m the only child of my father, the King’s own younger brother. The Duke is…an avaricious man, to say the least, and he strives to add to his wealth by whatever means possible…” You trail off, letting him catch your meaning.
“Even by selling his only daughter?” He idly taps his nails against the armrest.
You nod. “Since my lady mother’s death, his focus has shifted entirely to blind pursuit of riches. He enjoys luxuries of all kinds; the tastiest food, the softest materials, the brightest jewels to adorn the necks of the most beautiful of women.” Your tone turns bitter. His betrayal of Mother is yet another item on the long list of ways in which he’s disappointed you over the years, and perhaps one that hurts the most. “It’s no surprise his coffers are running out faster than he can fill them. He’s already had to sell one of our winter estates to settle debts. It left a deep scar on his pride, and rather than to face the shame of having to give up worldly possessions again, he would give me up.”
Aizawa listens with intent, keeping his thoughts to himself until you’re finished. “I see,” he hums, expression unreadable.
You gulp. Now comes the hard part. “Truth be told, my lord, I’m not as highly sought after as you may think. Father knows of only one man who’s seriously interested, and he may have scared all the others away.”
His face darkens at that, recognizing the identity of your suitor just by the fear shaking your voice alone. “Don’t tell me he is…”
“I fear you may be right. None other than the Lord Shigaraki asked for my hand.”
The name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You’ve met him for but one instance, and that moment has been enough to taint your opinion of him forever. Coldness seemed to seep off him; you felt chilled merely by standing in his presence.
“His lordship has been married six times already, each of his wives perishing under mysterious circumstances. And there are rumors circulating…of the horrible things he put them through before their deaths…I…scarcely sleep at night, imagining…” Imagining I could end up like them. You cut off hopelessly, not nearly brave enough to speak those terrible accusations aloud, even if you believe them to be true.
“Why not involve yourself in a scandal, hope to scare him away?” A man of logic, Aizawa offers a sensible solution to this madness, seemingly unaware Shigaraki is anything but reasonable.
“My lord, this man is fearless and has his mind set on marrying me. He cares not for reputation, for his trade in slaves will not suffer because of it, and hasn’t been thrown away by the ridiculous price father put on my head. He is determined to have me, and there is only one thing to stop him in the eyes of the law. If I’m married to someone else.” You look at him meaningfully then, hoping he’ll catch your drift.
And he does. And to your shock, he laughs, although there is little humor behind it. As if he couldn’t believe it all; your proposal, the guts it took, or how someone like him, a stranger in this country, at this Court, caught the attention of a member of the royal family.
“I’m a foreigner,” he argues, “surely your dear old dad would not give his only daughter to a barbarian, a pagan?!”
“You are wealthy. Wealthier than even Shigaraki. That is all father cares for.”
“A bit of a bastard, your father.”
You can’t help but agree. “Indeed.”
There is a brief pause before you both start speaking, at the same time. Reddened, you motion for him to go first, and so he does, clearing his throat. “My lady, are you certain this is what you want?”
To say you’re surprised would be an understatement. When was the last time someone inquired about your preference, your wants? Your own father sees you as something to be capitalized upon, your suitor lusts after you for God knows what awful reason. Yet Lord Aizawa, a stranger, shows concern where others didn’t bother.
Wide-eyed, you stare at him before you compose yourself, becoming every bit the noble young woman you are, expression impenetrable like the castle walls.
“I ask of you to ask my father for my hand in marriage. You ask me if I want to be your wife, but all I know is that I need to be in order to survive.”
“You’ve said it yourself. I’m wealthy. I could get you on a boat, send you far away from this place. Why do you insist on staying, even if it means marrying an unfamiliar man? Why not simply run away?”
“There are two reasons. One; my education, as a woman, is limited to embroidery, songs and prayer. How would I get by in a country where my title and lineage means less than nothing? Whore myself out?” Isn’t it what you’re doing right now? You ignore the ugly thought and continue. “I don’t fancy my chances of survival as a lonely woman on the road either. Not to mention, you stand to gain nothing from simply helping me escape. But marrying me offers certain…benefits.” You try not to cringe at the word.
“Oh? Enlighten me.” He crosses his legs, looking at you intently.
Here it comes. The negotiator in you prepared for this moment so vigorously, spending hours on end practicing before the mirror. You’re not physically strong and you don’t consider yourself a brave person either, but you have a way of words, a cunning you inherited from your mother.
“You are a merchant, a businessman. As you know, the Church accumulates more wealth than even the Crown. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you the Church doesn’t acknowledge you at the moment. But that could change. Marrying a woman of the true Faith would gain you their full favor. You would be open to an entire new world of business opportunities.”
It’s a good enough plan, yes. But Lord Aizawa’s true motivations continue to evade you as he replies without even considering it.
“My dear, I’m afraid you confuse me with your father. I may be a greedy man, but not greedy enough to suck up to the Church. Besides…” He grins suddenly, brazenly. “Wouldn’t such a union have to be consummated?”
You blush furiously. “My lord, I-” You struggle to answer in a way that doesn’t involve slapping him.
“Calm down. I’m not interested in girls.” So he’s not interested? That would explain a great deal of things. Maybe you can even use it to your advantage.
“Is it the men you like, then?” You suggest, non-judgmental. Half the nobility engages in sodomy. If you could give your honest opinion, you’d point out that putting people in chains seems a sin far greater than loving the same sex.
He chuckles, and you realize you’re growing accustomed to the sound; rich and mirthful. “Women. I like women.”
“Women,” you repeat, then flush again, this time from having your pride stepped on. “Are you implying I’m not woman enough?! I’m of age, had my bleeding-”
“Those are not signs of maturity,” he brushes you off, the grin falling from his lips suddenly. He looks you over, from head to toe, as if judging said maturity with his own eyes.
You keep your chin up high. “Is what you see to your liking?”
“Perhaps.” He closes his eyes, then sighs deeply. “I will give you my answer on the morrow. Meet me by the fountain in the gardens, right after you have broken your fast.”
Your heart leaps with joy, thankful for even this shaky promise. Giddy, you get up and curtsy, a gesture he acknowledges with a simple nod of his head, then head to the door. There, you hesitate, looking back at the man who might just hold your life in his hands.
“You are not at all what I expected, my lord Aizawa,” you admit.
“Oh? You will have to explain yourself.” He is still seated, the light from the fireplace casting long shadows on his tired face. However, it doesn’t make him look older. If you had to pick the word, it would be mysterious. Dreamy, even.
“You are…” You hesitate, then bite your lip. Again you can feel blood rushing to your face, dusting your cheeks an agreeable shade of pink. “Handsome.”
Before you bolt out of the room, you hear him chuckle.