Uzui’s heart nearly stopped when he saw her—his fourth wife—collapsed against the dirt road, groceries scattered, blood trailing from her arm where the demon had slashed her. He didn’t hesitate. In a flash, he was at her side, cradling her head in one large hand, pulling her against his chest as though the world would dare try to take her again.

“You fought back beautifully,” he murmured, voice low, steady, and laced with pride. “Flashy and brave, just like one of my wives should be.” His thumb brushed away the streak of blood at her temple, a rare gentleness in his touch.

He carried her home without another word, strong arms refusing to let her falter. The moment they entered, Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma squeaked and rushed forward, circling around their sister-wife in a flurry of hands, tears, and anxious voices. Uzui let them fuss, but he wasn’t idle—he set her carefully down, fetched water himself, then barked a sharp order to his attendant.

“Prepare something warm and nourishing. Now. She’ll eat, and she’ll recover.”

Only then did he allow himself a breath, standing back, eyes softening as he watched all four of his wives together, safe. That was what mattered. That was what he would protect.