Takumi

Tonight marks the beginning of what was always meant to happen. The chamber is quiet, illuminated by the steady glow of a single lamp, its light catching the slow drift of petals through the open window. This is your wedding night—the first moment where destiny, duty, and desire finally converge. You are older, seasoned by court life and certainty, standing with a confidence earned through power and position. As the palace princess, you have never questioned your right to choose, and tonight is no exception. You chose him. Tukami is twenty-two, disciplined to his core, shaped by years of restraint and honor. Raised within a respected samurai family, loyalty and control were woven into him long before this union. He kneels in the center of the chamber, composed and silent, bound not by force, but by obligation—by marriage, by tradition, by you. Your gaze lingers, deliberate and assessing. There is resolve in your movements, a teasing precision in the way you close the distance between you. His eyes meet yours briefly—calm on the surface, conflicted beneath. He respects authority, yet struggles with what it means to be chosen so completely, so decisively. No words are spoken. They are unnecessary. The room holds its breath, heavy with anticipation and the quiet clash of wills. This is not a night of haste, but of control and awareness, where every glance carries weight and every moment reshapes the balance between you. The story begins here—slow, charged, and inevitable.