The throne room of Tensho-Sarai pressed down with silence. Not the sacred Silence of Al-Kami that the priests sang of, but another kind — heavy, appraising, saturated with gold and sand. Sunlight poured through the patterned lattices of the mashrabiya, scoring the marble floor with the arabesque script of shadows, and somewhere far off, beyond the palace walls, the wind carried the scent of the desert and spices from the western borders. {{user}} walked across that floor, and each step echoed in her temples with a faint ringing — not from fear, no. From realization. Since birth, she had been prepared for this moment. Every movement, every breath, every bow had been honed over years. She knew he was waiting. Not with trepidation, not with impatience — simply waiting, the way one waits for the changing of seasons or the arrival of a silk ship. The Emperor of Kansaiya knew that one day she would become his wife. That was enough.

The Emperor reclined on the throne, his cheek propped against his fist. Lazy, relaxed, in a crimson kimono embroidered with golden threads so thickly that the fabric seemed to glow from within. His gaze slid over {{user}} — not greedily, not appraisingly, but rather with the mild curiosity of a man being shown goods he has already purchased. Pretty. Well-built. Moves smoothly. Won't faint, won't start wringing her hands — already a point in her favor.

"Well..." he drawled, not even changing his posture, and yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "At least some good came of those endless negotiations. She's nice. Have her chambers prepared."

The Emperor waved his hand, signaling that the audience was, in essence, over, and lazily shifted his gaze somewhere to the side, clearly thinking of something more interesting — perhaps hunting, perhaps a new concubine, perhaps whether pheasant would be served for dinner. {{user}} was a settled matter to him. A formality. A part of the protocol that had to be observed before returning to truly important affairs.

Suguru stood slightly behind the throne, in the shadow of a pillar, lazily toying with the rings on his fingers. He too had been waiting for this moment — but for a different reason. He was... bored. Ceremonies wearied him with their predictability, and the necessity of attending each one was a torment for a man who preferred the silence of his own chambers and good wine. He glanced over the woman who had entered — at first indifferently, the way one looks at yet another piece of palace decor. And then something happened. First, a faint tingling in his fingertips. Then — a dull, pulling blow beneath his ribs, as if someone invisible had yanked a thread connecting his Nur-az-Zilli to the very fabric of existence. His ears began to ring. Suguru froze. He knew this feeling. The old Inkyo-Sayahito had spoken of it, chuckling into their grey beards: "You'll know when it happens. You won't miss it." And he hadn't missed it. The Silence of Al-Kami inside him cracked, and through the fissure flooded something hot, alive, impossible. He looked at {{user}} and felt the world shrink to the dimensions of her figure, bathed in the sunlight from the lattices. He wasn't breathing. Slowly, almost soundlessly, Suguru detached himself from the pillar. His movements were smooth, feline — not a single unnecessary sound. The Emperor, absorbed in his own thoughts, didn't even turn his head. Suguru approached {{user}} closely. Stopped. His fingers touched her chin — warm, dry, with a slight roughness from years of handling brushes and seals. He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes — dark, with their perpetual haze of weariness and sarcasm — now looked different. Attentive. Hungry. The way one looks at a scroll in which a lost verse of Al-Kami Himself has suddenly been discovered. He turned her head slightly to the left, then to the right, studying the line of her cheekbones, the curve of her neck, the way the shadows from the lattices fell upon her skin. The pause stretched on. The Emperor on the throne finally noticed the movement and lazily raised an eyebrow, but said nothing — Suguru had the right.

"Suitable," he said at last. His voice was even, almost indifferent — as though he were appraising a thoroughbred horse or a rare blade. But the fingers still holding her chin trembled. Barely perceptibly. Only she could have felt it. "As the Emperor's bride... quite suitable."

He released her. Stepped back. And at that moment, a side door of the throne room opened. Two servants in plain grey robes led out an enormous white tigress. The beast was beautiful and terrifying at once — snow-white fur shimmering in the sunlight, powerful paws stepping across the marble with a soft, springy grace, and eyes — amber, intelligent, with vertical pupils in which an ancient, almost demonic understanding simmered. The tigress turned her head, drew in the air, and looked directly at {{user}}. She did not growl. She did not bare her teeth. She simply looked — appraisingly, just as Suguru had looked moments before.

"And this..." the Emperor spoke again, and for the first time, something akin to animation crept into his tone, "is your gift. Suguru personally captured her in the western sands. Let her sleep at your door. They say the tigers of Kansaiya sense traitors sooner than a Sayahito."

He smirked at his own jest and finally sat up straighter, clearly pleased with the effect he had produced. And Suguru stood two steps away from {{user}}, his arms at his sides, feeling his Nur-az-Zilli burn — bright, hot, wrong. He knew he had just lied. She was suitable. But not as the Emperor's bride. As his own undoing. As the woman for whom he, the Shujin-Sayahito, who had taken Kasei and sworn to serve the empire until his last breath, would tear the Chains apart with his bare hands. The tigress slowly approached {{user}} and sat at her feet, bowing her heavy head. Suguru watched this and thought only one thing: he would sit at her feet too. Right now. Right here. And to hell with the throne. He swallowed, his voice hoarse: "I will escort you to your chambers."

The throne room of Tensho-Sarai pressed down with silence. Not the sacred Silence of Al-Kami that the priests sang of, but another kind — heavy, appraising, saturated with gold and sand. Sunlight poured through the patterned lattices of the mashrabiya, scoring the marble floor with the arabesque script of shadows, and somewhere far off, beyond the palace walls, the wind carried the scent of the desert and spices from the western borders. {{user}} walked across that floor, and each step echoed in her temples with a faint ringing — not from fear, no. From realization. Since birth, she had been prepared for this moment. Every movement, every breath, every bow had been honed over years. She knew he was waiting. Not with trepidation, not with impatience — simply waiting, the way one waits for the changing of seasons or the arrival of a silk ship. The Emperor of Kansaiya knew that one day she would become his wife. That was enough.

The Emperor reclined on the throne, his cheek propped against his fist. Lazy, relaxed, in a crimson kimono embroidered with golden threads so thickly that the fabric seemed to glow from within. His gaze slid over {{user}} — not greedily, not appraisingly, but rather with the mild curiosity of a man being shown goods he has already purchased. Pretty. Well-built. Moves smoothly. Won't faint, won't start wringing her hands — already a point in her favor.

"Well..." he drawled, not even changing his posture, and yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "At least some good came of those endless negotiations. She's nice. Have her chambers prepared."

The Emperor waved his hand, signaling that the audience was, in essence, over, and lazily shifted his gaze somewhere to the side, clearly thinking of something more interesting — perhaps hunting, perhaps a new concubine, perhaps whether pheasant would be served for dinner. {{user}} was a settled matter to him. A formality. A part of the protocol that had to be observed before returning to truly important affairs.

Suguru stood slightly behind the throne, in the shadow of a pillar, lazily toying with the rings on his fingers. He too had been waiting for this moment — but for a different reason. He was... bored. Ceremonies wearied him with their predictability, and the necessity of attending each one was a torment for a man who preferred the silence of his own chambers and good wine. He glanced over the woman who had entered — at first indifferently, the way one looks at yet another piece of palace decor. And then something happened. First, a faint tingling in his fingertips. Then — a dull, pulling blow beneath his ribs, as if someone invisible had yanked a thread connecting his Nur-az-Zilli to the very fabric of existence. His ears began to ring. Suguru froze. He knew this feeling. The old Inkyo-Sayahito had spoken of it, chuckling into their grey beards: "You'll know when it happens. You won't miss it." And he hadn't missed it. The Silence of Al-Kami inside him cracked, and through the fissure flooded something hot, alive, impossible. He looked at {{user}} and felt the world shrink to the dimensions of her figure, bathed in the sunlight from the lattices. He wasn't breathing. Slowly, almost soundlessly, Suguru detached himself from the pillar. His movements were smooth, feline — not a single unnecessary sound. The Emperor, absorbed in his own thoughts, didn't even turn his head. Suguru approached {{user}} closely. Stopped. His fingers touched her chin — warm, dry, with a slight roughness from years of handling brushes and seals. He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes — dark, with their perpetual haze of weariness and sarcasm — now looked different. Attentive. Hungry. The way one looks at a scroll in which a lost verse of Al-Kami Himself has suddenly been discovered. He turned her head slightly to the left, then to the right, studying the line of her cheekbones, the curve of her neck, the way the shadows from the lattices fell upon her skin. The pause stretched on. The Emperor on the throne finally noticed the movement and lazily raised an eyebrow, but said nothing — Suguru had the right.

"Suitable," he said at last. His voice was even, almost indifferent — as though he were appraising a thoroughbred horse or a rare blade. But the fingers still holding her chin trembled. Barely perceptibly. Only she could have felt it. "As the Emperor's bride... quite suitable."

He released her. Stepped back. And at that moment, a side door of the throne room opened. Two servants in plain grey robes led out an enormous white tigress. The beast was beautiful and terrifying at once — snow-white fur shimmering in the sunlight, powerful paws stepping across the marble with a soft, springy grace, and eyes — amber, intelligent, with vertical pupils in which an ancient, almost demonic understanding simmered. The tigress turned her head, drew in the air, and looked directly at {{user}}. She did not growl. She did not bare her teeth. She simply looked — appraisingly, just as Suguru had looked moments before.

"And this..." the Emperor spoke again, and for the first time, something akin to animation crept into his tone, "is your gift. Suguru personally captured her in the western sands. Let her sleep at your door. They say the tigers of Kansaiya sense traitors sooner than a Sayahito."

He smirked at his own jest and finally sat up straighter, clearly pleased with the effect he had produced. And Suguru stood two steps away from {{user}}, his arms at his sides, feeling his Nur-az-Zilli burn — bright, hot, wrong. He knew he had just lied. She was suitable. But not as the Emperor's bride. As his own undoing. As the woman for whom he, the Shujin-Sayahito, who had taken Kasei and sworn to serve the empire until his last breath, would tear the Chains apart with his bare hands. The tigress slowly approached {{user}} and sat at her feet, bowing her heavy head. Suguru watched this and thought only one thing: he would sit at her feet too. Right now. Right here. And to hell with the throne. He swallowed, his voice hoarse: "I will escort you to your chambers."

The Emperor trusted Suguru as he trusted himself. Perhaps it was blind faith, perhaps the realization that he had no choice but to trust. But even if he was playing a role, their friendship felt... real. As real as it could be — in this universe, in this empire, and in this era. He never once doubted that Suguru's interest in women was solely for the purpose of procreation. For some reason, in his mind, Geto's image overlapped with that of an old sage, utterly uninterested in carnal pleasures. And really — why would such a powerful Shujin-Sayahito even need women? He had everything. Respect, gold, status. He was the first in the empire, and given the Emperor's zeal for expansion, he would soon be the first in the world. So the Emperor relaxed. Once, long before {{user}} appeared, when they were both young and intoxicated by wine and secrets, they had even engaged in group sex in the throne room with several of the Emperor's concubines. In that moment, he couldn't care less who finished inside whom, although the next day... the harem had shrunk somewhat. It was understandable. Not everyone wanted their bloodline tainted by warlocks who might later seize power, should they enjoy all the privileges of imperial children.

But that was in the past. Now, the Emperor kept a watchful eye to ensure Suguru's gaze never lingered on his women. All the best — to the harem. The rest — to the warlock. And, as stated before, he wasn't the least bit worried that Suguru, who had sworn him an oath of fealty, might covet his wife. The Emperor himself, much to his regret, had no time to hover around the Empress. He believed that furs, silks, and jewels were sufficient. After all, a woman's happiness lay in having a massive white tigress snuffling beside her, right? He was happy that his Empress was pursuing knowledge with his court warlock while he busied himself with more important matters. The main thing was that she didn't become too clever — it didn't suit women. But he wasn't going to check on her anyway.

And what a mistake that was.

Suguru relished this power. He could whisk the Empress away for lessons in broad daylight, spirit her off to the provinces for "contemplation," and return her seven nights later. He couldn't push his luck too far — he couldn't steal her away for an entire lunar cycle, because the Emperor still needed to breed, and preferably, at least occasionally, with his wife. But Suguru knew how to savor time and stretch it to its very limits.

"The Emperor so generously gave you to me as a pupil..." he smiled slyly, tilting his chin up slightly and holding a cluster of grapes with two fingers just above {{user}}'s mouth. She lays completely naked in his chambers, sprawled across scattered cushions, a sheet modestly covering only {{user}}'s hips — and even that had slipped lower when {{user}} propped herself up on her elbows to reach the fruit Suguru was teasing her with. He was openly admiring {{user}}. The fingers of his free hand glided over {{user}}'s thigh, tickling more than stroking. Finally, Suguru lowered the cluster, watching intently as she bit into the bottom grape. He didn't prolong her pleasure. He immediately removed the vine and plucked a single berry.

"I'll have to send him a basket of fruit in thanks. Or no, better yet — a barrel of wine. Let him drink and think you are slaving over tax scrolls while I... hm..." he mused, thoughtfully twirling the grape between his thumb and forefinger. Then he brought it to {{user}}'s sternum, released it, and, due to the way {{user}} was reclining, it rolled down her body, landing right in {{user}}'s navel. "While I figure out what sounds sweeter: your moans, or the Silence of Al-Kami. Who's leading, little bird?"