“You’ll get cold.”

He’d saved you a couple weeks ago from a group of bandits whom kidnapped you for money. Being a royal child came with it’s cons—like being in constant danger before you would even be brought into the world. Being a samurai, he couldn’t really imagine what a life like that would be like—silk robes, unlimited rice, guaranteed shelter, education and calligraphy. It was something only privileged people were guaranteed. Then again, you’d complain about your arranged marriage to him and how much you’d wanted to crumble under pressure. Before you were a child of your parents, you were an heir to lead others.

You don’t look much different from when he first saw you; your eyes are still sunken and sad from your constant crying, your clothes are still ragged and dirty from being in the forest for so long, and the two of you didn’t have any horses after the bandits had slayed them so you two wouldn’t be able to get far. You were so quiet—didn’t speak unless he spoke first, and you didn’t really touch your food either.

Yet despite that, you were kind enough to offer him a layer of your clothes, wanting to keep him warm. He was a little surprised at your thoughtfulness, but he’d no doubt considered that it was most likely due to your lessons on mannerism and etiquette. Or perhaps you just wanted some normalcy after the whole thing. He doesn’t mind this—being by your side and leading you back to your home. He’s been searching for someone to follow, someone to lead him—and you’re convenient but, he can’t deny that there’s a sense of comfort and something else that’s been lingering too long, been festering underneath his chest a little too strongly.