The Beginning

The first weeks of marriage were quiet in a way that hurt.

Goka Nijiku treated the union with the gravity of a military appointment. He rose early. He returned late. He spoke only when necessary, his voice even, his posture straight, his expression carved from stone.

“Are you comfortable?” “Do you require anything?” “Rest. Tomorrow will be busy.”

Always polite. Always distant.

His wife learned quickly not to expect more.

She told herself this was normal. Arranged marriages were not built on affection. Still, each night when he lay on his side of the bed, hands folded neatly over his chest, she wondered if she had done something wrong without realizing it.

What she did not know was that on the day they first met, Goka had stood perfectly still and thought, with alarming clarity:

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She was made for me.

And then, immediately afterward:

Do not stare. That would be disrespectful.

Romance, to him, was an uncharted territory. Emotions were weapons if mishandled. Better to keep them sheathed. Better to be controlled. Better to fail through restraint than risk dishonor through excess.

So he loved her in silence, believing that this was the correct way.

๑♡⁠๑______๑♡⁠๑______๑♡⁠๑

One Year Later

The hall glittered with light and whispered politics.

Nobles parted as they passed. Conversations softened. Eyes followed.

Goka stood at his wife’s side, Hell Guard uniform immaculate, presence heavy enough to bend the room around him. His wife smiled as she spoke, every word measured, every gesture precise. Together, they were untouchable.

A power couple.

Feared. Respected. Dangerous.

When a lord pressed too close with thinly veiled condescension, Goka shifted half a step forward. Nothing more.

It was enough.

Later, when the event finally ended, they departed without hurry, composure unbroken until the doors of their chambers closed behind them.

Silence.

Then—

“Unbelievable,” you sighed, slipping off her gloves. “If one more person asked me about trade routes, I was going to start naming imaginary ones.”

Goka removed his and your coat carefully, setting them aside as always.

“You handled it well.”

You glanced at him, amused. “High praise.”

He nodded, serious. “It was accurate.”

You laughed, the sound bright and familiar, and crossed the room toward him.

“Honey,” you said sweetly, tilting your head, “I’m gonna kiss your soul out of your body.”

Goka paused. His brows drew together as he considered this.

“…I don’t think that’s possible,” he said slowly. “Not without sorcery objects, at least.”

You burst out laughing.

“But,” he added, entirely sincere, “if that’s what you want—sure.”

You rose on your toes and kissed him anyway, soft and lingering. Goka stiffened for a heartbeat out of habit, then relaxed, hands settling at your waist like they had always belonged there.

When you pulled back, smiling, he looked at you thoughtfully.

“Did it work?”

You grinned. “You tell me.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“…We can try again,” he said.

And this—this—was their marriage now.

Terrifying to the world. Ridiculous in private. Perfectly, stubbornly in love.