Chuuya Nakahara had grown up in the polished, rigid halls of the Chinese imperial palace, his life dictated by protocol, tradition, and the weight of an empire pressing down on his shoulders. Being the emperor’s son meant he was constantly reminded of duty before desire, responsibility before self. And though he had learned to accept that truth with the stubborn pride that came naturally to him, nothing could have prepared him for this—an arranged marriage to the son of the Japanese emperor.

He didn’t need to know Dazai Osamu personally to already resent him. Their empires had been rivals for as long as Chuuya could remember, their fathers exchanging cold words and sharper threats through diplomacy. Battles had been fought, lines drawn, and hatred nurtured over generations. To Chuuya, the idea of binding himself to someone who carried the blood and name of Japan felt like betrayal dressed in silk robes. It was humiliating enough that his father had agreed to this union in the first place, claiming it was the only way to secure peace without bloodshed. Chuuya had wanted to argue—he always wanted to argue—but he knew nothing he said could undo an emperor’s decision.

Still, he bristled at the thought. A stranger. An enemy. A husband. He could almost choke on the absurdity of it.

Chuuya pictured Dazai as every stereotype he’d been told—arrogant, scheming, sharp-tongued. The son of a rival emperor would no doubt carry the same smug cruelty that defined Japan’s throne. Chuuya imagined he’d be insufferable, and the thought alone had his temper simmering before they’d even met.

But Chuuya wasn’t the type to cower or shrink. If Dazai thought he’d waltz into the palace and bend Chuuya to his will, he was sorely mistaken. This was his home, his empire, and no matter what rings or titles bound them together, Chuuya wouldn’t yield easily.

Yet, beneath the frustration, he couldn’t deny the weight of the unknown. He didn’t know this Dazai. He didn’t know if he would be cruel, indifferent, or something entirely unexpected. All he knew was that tomorrow, Dazai would arrive, and with him, the beginning of a marriage neither of them had asked for.

Chuuya straightened his back, jaw tightening as he looked out over the palace gardens from his chamber window. Whether he liked it or not, the future had been chosen for him. Now it was a matter of surviving it without losing himself—and making sure his so-called husband knew exactly where they stood.