Chapter Eight: The Storm Over Kyoto

The next morning, rumors began to spread.

Arata heard them during sword practice—whispered conversations between guards that fell silent when he approached. He heard them during breakfast—servants gossiping in the corridors. He heard them during another emergency council meeting, this one about supply shortages that seemed too convenient to be coincidence.

"Lord Kiyoshi has taken a prostitute as his mistress."

"The young lord dishonors his house by housing a pleasure woman."

"First he survives when his family dies. Now this. The gods are displeased."

By midday, the whispers had grown to open murmuring. By evening, Kenshin Tsubasa requested a private audience.

"My lord," he began, his voice oily with false concern. "I feel I must speak plainly. Word has spread about your... guest. The retainers are troubled. Some question your judgment. Others question your fitness to lead."

"Question all they want," Arata said coldly. "My personal life is not their concern."

"But it is, my lord. A leader's choices affect everyone under his protection." Kenshin leaned forward. "I understand the appeal of a beautiful woman. Your father had similar appetites. But he knew to keep such entertainments discrete. Bringing her here, housing her like a lady—it sends a message of weakness."

"Or it sends a message that I make my own choices."

"Spoken like someone who's never had to make hard choices." Kenshin's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Your father understood that power requires sacrifice. That personal desires must be subordinated to duty."

"My father was a cold, cruel man who died with no one to mourn him," Arata snapped. "Forgive me if I don't rush to follow his example."

Something flickered in Kenshin's eyes—anger, maybe, or calculation. "As you wish, my lord. But know that your father's retainers may not be so understanding." He bowed and left, the threat hanging in the air like smoke.

That night, Arata couldn't sleep. He walked the corridors of his estate, past guards who watched him with expressions he couldn't quite read. Respect? Pity? Disdain?

He found himself at Akari's door. Light flickered beneath—she was awake too.

"Come in," she called when he knocked.

She sat by the window, looking out at the garden bathed in starlight. She'd tied her hair up simply, and wore a plain cotton yukata borrowed from the servants. She looked more real, more herself, than she ever had in her silk and makeup.

"Can't sleep either?" she asked.

"Too much on my mind." He settled beside her. "The retainers are calling you my whore. Kenshin practically threatened mutiny. And somewhere out there, someone's plotting my downfall and probably sees you as the perfect weapon to use against me."

"Maybe Hayato was right," Akari said quietly. "Maybe I should leave."

"No."

"Arata—"

"I said no." He turned to face her. "Running away solves nothing. It just proves to them that I'm weak, that I can be manipulated through threats. If I back down now, I'll spend the rest of my life backing down."

"Then what?"

"Then we get ahead of it." An idea was forming, reckless and possibly insane. "If they're going to call you my mistress anyway, let's give them something they can't ignore. Let's make you my wife."

Akari's eyes widened. "Now? In the middle of all this?"

"Especially in the middle of all this. It shows I'm not ashamed. That I meant what I said about choosing my own path." He took her hands. "It won't be easy. Some retainers will leave. Others will cause trouble. But the ones who stay will be the ones who are truly loyal to me, not just my position."

"Or it could destroy everything your father built."

"Then maybe that's what needs to happen." Arata's voice was fierce. "My father built his power on fear and cruelty. If I can't hold it any other way, then maybe I don't deserve it."

Akari searched his face for a long moment. "You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

She kissed him then, soft and sweet, and when she pulled back, her eyes were bright with tears. "Then yes. Yes, I'll marry you, you beautiful fool."

The announcement the next day caused exactly the chaos Arata expected. Three retainers resigned immediately, their faces twisted with disgust. Two more requested transfers to border posts—exile in all but name. The council chamber erupted in shouting matches that Hayato had to physically break up.

Through it all, Kenshin watched with calculating eyes, saying nothing.

"You're making a mistake," Hayato said privately, his voice heavy with disappointment. "A critical one."

"Maybe," Arata agreed. "But it's my mistake to make."

"And the rest of us will pay for it."

Despite the turmoil, Arata pushed forward with preparations. He would marry Akari in a week, in a simple ceremony attended by whoever chose to come. He half-expected no one to show up.

But then something strange happened.

Two days before the wedding, an old merchant arrived at the gates, requesting an audience. Arata had never seen him before—a wizened man with kind eyes and weather-worn hands.

"My lord," the merchant said, bowing low. "I've heard of your upcoming marriage. Of how you're wedding a woman from the pleasure district, despite the protests of your retainers."

"And you've come to add your voice to theirs?" Arata asked wearily.

"No, my lord. I've come to thank you." The old man straightened, his eyes glistening. "Forty years ago, I fell in love with a woman who worked in a brothel. I wanted to marry her, to give her a better life. But I was just a poor merchant, with no power, no voice. The brothel owner refused to release her. And I..." His voice cracked. "I didn't fight hard enough. I let her go. She died three years later, still in that place, still smiling for strangers."

Arata's throat tightened.

"But you, my lord—you have power. And you're using it not to take what you want, but to give freedom to someone who deserves it." The merchant pulled a small package from his sleeve. "I'm just an old man with little to offer. But I wanted you to have this."

Inside was a delicate jade comb, clearly an heirloom.

"For your bride," the merchant said. "So she knows that some of us understand. That some of us think what you're doing is not weakness, but courage."

After the merchant left, Arata sat holding the comb, feeling the weight of it—not just the jade, but what it represented. Maybe he wasn't as alone as he'd thought.

Over the next two days, more people came. Common folk, mostly—merchants and craftsmen and farmers who'd heard the story. They brought small gifts, offered blessings, shared their own tales of love lost or found. Not all approved, but enough did to make Arata feel that maybe, just maybe, he was doing the right thing.

But on the eve of the wedding, everything fell apart.

Arata was reviewing last-minute preparations when Hayato burst into his study, his face pale. "We need to move. Now."

"What—"

"Assassins. At least a dozen, approaching from the east. Someone leaked your location and schedule." Hayato was already pulling him toward the door. "We need to get you and Akari to safety."

They ran through corridors, Hayato barking orders at guards. Arata's heart hammered. "How did they know?"

"Someone told them. Someone in your house." Hayato's jaw was tight. "We'll worry about who after we survive."

They reached Akari's room to find her already surrounded by guards, her face pale but determined. "What's happening?"

"No time," Hayato said. "Come with us. Now."

The group moved quickly through the estate's back passages, heading for a hidden exit that led to the stables. Behind them, Arata heard shouting, the clash of steel, screams.

They'd almost reached the stables when figures emerged from the shadows ahead—six men in dark clothing, swords drawn.

"Protect the lord!" Hayato roared, stepping forward.

What followed was chaos. Hayato moved like a demon, his blade singing as it cut through attackers. The guards fought desperately, but they were outnumbered. One fell, then another. An assassin broke through the line, heading straight for Arata.

Instinct took over—months of training with Hayato finally paying off. Arata drew his own blade, met the attack, felt the shock of steel on steel. The assassin was skilled, but Arata was desperate. They traded blows, each strike bringing him closer to death or survival.

Then Akari screamed.

Arata's attention wavered for just a moment. The assassin's blade sliced across his ribs—not deep, but enough to send hot pain lancing through his side. He stumbled, and the assassin raised his sword for the killing blow.

Hayato's katana took the man's head off in one clean stroke.

"Stay down," the retainer commanded, already turning to face the next attacker.

The fight ended as quickly as it began. The assassins fled into the night, leaving three dead and two wounded guards behind. Hayato stood among the bodies, breathing hard, his clothes spattered with blood.

"Check the perimeter!" he ordered. "I want every entrance secured! No one enters or leaves without my permission!"

Akari was at Arata's side immediately, pressing cloth against his bleeding ribs. "You're hurt."

"It's not deep." He tried to stand, hissed in pain. "But they knew. Someone told them exactly where we'd be."

"Kenshin," Hayato said grimly. "It has to be. He's been too quiet, too measured. Waiting for the perfect moment."

"Do you have proof?"

"I'll find it." Hayato's eyes were hard as flint. "But for now, we need to assume everyone is suspect. Trust no one."

They retreated to the most defensible part of the estate—Arata's private chambers, with guards posted at every entrance. A physician was summoned to tend Arata's wound. Akari refused to leave his side, her hands trembling as she watched the physician work.

"This is my fault," she whispered. "If I hadn't come here—"

"Don't." Arata caught her hand. "Don't blame yourself for someone else's evil."

But the damage was done. The assassination attempt confirmed everyone's worst fears—that Arata was vulnerable, that his judgment was compromised, that his house was falling apart from within.

By morning, two more retainers had resigned. The wedding, scheduled for that afternoon, seemed impossible now.

"We should postpone," Hayato urged. "Regroup. Figure out who we can trust before we proceed."

"No," Arata said stubbornly. "We do it today. As planned. I won't let them win."

"My lord—"

"That's an order, Hayato-san." Arata met his old mentor's eyes. "They want me afraid. They want me hiding. I refuse to give them that satisfaction."

The wedding was small, held in the estate's private shrine with only a handful of witnesses. Hayato attended, his face carved from stone. A few loyal servants. The old merchant who'd given Akari the jade comb. And a Buddhist priest who'd known Arata's mother—the real one, whoever she'd been—and agreed to perform the ceremony despite the controversy.

Akari wore a simple white kimono, her hair adorned with the jade comb. She looked radiant and terrified in equal measure.

As they exchanged cups of sake, completing the ritual binding, Arata felt something settle in his chest. This was right. Whatever chaos followed, whatever price he had to pay, this moment was worth it.

But even as he thought it, he saw Hayato slip out of the shrine, his hand on his sword hilt. Trouble was coming. He could feel it in the air like the charge before lightning strikes