I didn’t wait for the northern guards to secure the battlements.

I grabbed Rin’s hand and practically flew down the steep, icy stone stairs of the fortress wall. My dark green wool tunic whipped around my legs. Yuki floated grumpily behind us, muttering curses about his frozen toes and the sheer audacity of capital nobles.

By the time I reached the main courtyard, the massive black iron gates were groaning open.

The wind howled, blowing a thick cloud of white snow and gray monster ash into the courtyard. Walking right through the center of it was Akira.

He looked terrible.

His heavy indigo outer robes were singed and torn at the hem. His pink hair, usually tied back so neatly, was a tangled, wild mess plastered to his forehead with sweat. The terrifying, glowing Warlord aura was completely gone. He was leaning heavily on his sheathed katana like a walking stick, his broad shoulders slumped in pure exhaustion.

But the moment he saw me standing in the courtyard, he stopped.

He dropped his katana. It clattered loudly against the frozen cobblestones.

He didn’t say a word. He just opened his arms.

I crashed into him so hard I nearly knocked us both over.

Akira let out a rough, breathless sound, his massive arms wrapping instantly around my waist. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, holding me so tight my ribs ached. I grabbed fistfuls of his torn silk robes, burying my face in his chest.

He smelled like burnt ozone, pine, and sweat. It was the best thing I had ever smelled in my life.

"You’re shaking," Akira murmured against my skin, his deep voice thick and raspy.

"You smell like a campfire," I choked out, a watery laugh escaping my throat. I pulled back just enough to look at his face. "Are you hurt? Did the bone giant—"

"I am fine," he promised, his calloused hands moving up to cup my face. His thumbs brushed away a stray tear I hadn’t even realized I shed. "Just completely drained. The shield... the fire... it took everything."

"Excuse me! Some of us actually did real work today!"

We both turned our heads.

Yuki was marching across the courtyard, his oversized white kimono dragging in the snow. He pointed an angry finger at Akira.

"You owe me a barrel of premium tuna!" the twelve-year-old ancient spirit shrieked. "Do you have any idea what happened while you were out there playing with mud? Prince Jin broke in! Through the shadows! And he brought twenty assassins!"

Akira went perfectly rigid. The exhaustion vanished from his face, replaced instantly by a terrifying, murderous pale look. His amber eyes snapped back to me, frantic, checking me over for injuries.

"Jin was here?" Akira’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Did he touch you? I swear to the gods, I will march to the capital right now and—"

"He didn’t touch me," I quickly grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight. "Akira, look at me. I’m fine. Rin is fine. Yuki literally blasted them all into a wall."

"It was a masterpiece of magical violence," Yuki agreed smugly, crossing his arms. "I am a deity of mass destruction. Also, my socks are wet."

Commander Tomoe jogged into the courtyard, her armor clanking loudly.

"My Lord!" Tomoe called out, her scarred face breaking into a grin when she saw him standing. "The moat is secured. The outer wards are back up. And my men just dragged a bleeding Imperial Mage out of the lower armory hallway. Said he’s the Lady’s uncle."

Akira’s jaw locked. "Throw him in the deepest dungeon cell. Let him freeze."

"Already done," Tomoe laughed. She looked at Akira’s pale, exhausted face. "Go inside, My Lord. You look like you’re going to fall over. We have the watch."

Akira gave her a stiff nod. He bent down, heavily picking up his katana, and turned back to me.

"Let’s go," I said softly, slipping my arm around his waist to help support his weight. "Rin, stay with Tomoe for a bit. Yuki, go tell the kitchens you want your tuna."

"Finally, some respect!" Yuki huffed, floating away toward the Great Hall.

I helped Akira walk through the winding, quiet corridors of the inner keep. He leaned a good portion of his weight on me. Without his magic holding him up, the Warlord was just a very large, very tired man.

We reached our massive bedroom suite. I slid the paper doors shut behind us, completely sealing out the noise of the fortress.

The charcoal brazier was burning low, casting a warm, orange glow over the tatami mats and the massive, piled futon.

Akira didn’t make it to the futon. He sank down onto the wooden floor near the brazier, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. He dropped his katana by his side and rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

I knelt down in front of him.

"Armor first," I told him, keeping my voice gentle.

I reached for the heavy iron buckles at his shoulders. My calloused fingers worked the leather straps, popping them loose one by one. Akira didn’t move. He just let me pull the heavy black iron breastplate off his chest, setting it aside with a heavy thud.

Next was the dark indigo outer robe. It was ruined anyway, singed by his own fire. I untied the thick sash and pulled the heavy silk off his shoulders.

He was left in just his loose, white inner robes. The fabric hung open at his collar, exposing the angry pink burn scars over his heart.

"You look exhausted," I whispered, brushing a damp strand of pink hair out of his eyes.

Akira finally opened his eyes. They were dark, entirely focused on me.

He reached out, his large hand gently wrapping around my wrist. He pulled my hand down, pressing my calloused knuckles against his cheek.

"Jin," Akira breathed, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. "He brought assassins into our home. If Yuki had not been there..."

"But he was," I interrupted softly. "And I wasn’t helpless, Akira. I broke Uncle Kenji’s sword."

Akira blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You broke a bamboo sword? With what? You have no magic."

I smiled, reaching into my sash with my free hand. I pulled out the heavy black iron Tessen.

"With this," I said, setting the iron fan on his lap. "You taught me how to step out of the strike zone. You told me a ghost doesn’t rely on magic. I stepped in, caught his blade in the iron ribs, and snapped it."

Akira stared at the heavy iron fan resting on his legs. Then, he looked up at me.

The guilt and terror that had been clouding his eyes completely washed away, replaced by an overwhelming, breathless surge of pride.

"You broke an Imperial Mage’s weapon," Akira murmured, a slow, devastatingly handsome smile spreading across his tired face. "With a court lady’s fan."

"I hit him in the jaw with it, too," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush hot. "He bled on your floor. I’m sorry about the mess."

A rich, deep chuckle vibrated in Akira’s chest. He let go of my wrist, lifting both of his hands to gently cup my face.

"You are my absolute ruin," the Warlord whispered reverently. "I spent twenty years building iron walls to protect myself, and the strongest thing in this entire fortress is the girl sitting right in front of me."

My breath caught. My heart hammered so violently against my ribs I was sure he could feel it through my tunic.

"I’m just practical," I squeaked out, completely unable to break his gaze.

"You are magnificent," he corrected.

He leaned forward. I didn’t pull away. I closed my eyes, entirely surrendering to the gravity pulling us together.

His lips finally met mine.

It wasn’t a desperate, crushing kiss like the ones I had seen in capital plays. It was incredibly soft. Tender. He moved slowly, as if he were holding something fragile, completely terrified of breaking it.

His mouth was warm, tasting faintly of winter air and sweet plum wine. The heat from his skin radiated through his thin white robes, warming me right to the bone.

I let out a soft sigh, my hands naturally sliding up from his chest to tangle in his messy pink hair.

The moment my fingers brushed his scalp, a low, deep groan rumbled in his throat. He pulled me closer, one of his massive hands sliding down to rest securely on my lower back, entirely bridging the gap between us.

The kiss deepened, the slow, agonizing tension of the past few days finally snapping into a blinding rush of heat. My mind went completely blank. There was no Emperor, no assassins, no freezing basement. There was only him.

The Consort Mark on my chest flared—not with pain, but with a warm, pulsing thrum of absolute magic and belonging. His soul was singing right back to mine.

We finally broke apart, both of us breathing heavily.

I rested my forehead against his, keeping my eyes closed. My face was burning so hot I felt feverish.

"Wow," I whispered into the quiet room.

Akira let out a soft laugh, his thumb gently stroking my cheekbone. "Indeed."

"You... you should sleep," I managed to say, slowly opening my eyes. "You have to rebuild your core. And I have to figure out how to get the monster ash out of my hair."

"Stay," Akira murmured, his grip on my waist tightening slightly. He looked incredibly vulnerable, entirely stripped of his terrifying Warlord mask. "Please. Just for tonight. Sleep next to me."

I looked at the massive, empty futon. Then I looked at the man who had just torn a bone giant apart with his bare hands just to keep me safe.

"Okay," I smiled softly. "But if you steal the blankets, I am using the iron fan on you."

Akira smiled, a genuine, completely relaxed expression that made his amber eyes shine in the firelight.

"I would expect nothing less, wife."