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The sun had barely touched the edge of the horizon, casting the meadow in warm gold when Kagome arrived.
She had been summoned—though not in the formal way the courtiers at the Western shiro might expect. A note, slipped beneath her chamber door just before dawn. No seal. No signature. Only three words written in an elegant hand:
- Come. Sunset. Meadow.
And beneath it, a single pressed tiger lily.
She recognized it instantly. Bold orange petals with striking black speckles.
Kagome pressed her hand over her heart as she stepped through the field of waist-high grass and swaying blossoms. The tiger lilies stretched across the open land like fire laced through green. Wind stirred the meadow gently, and above, the sky bloomed with stars not yet bright, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
And there, at the center of it all, stood Sesshoumaru.
He wore no armor, no crest, no formality. His haori was pale silver, open at the collar. His silken sash was darker, bound low at his hips in a knot that looked both casual and impossibly regal. His hair had been gathered into a loose tie, strands escaping in the wind, catching faint sunlight like white gold.
Kagome slowed her steps.
He turned to her. And her breath caught in her throat.
No words passed between them at first.
He looked at her as though he had waited a hundred years for this very moment. She felt the weight of his gaze settle on her like a touch—delicate, reverent. Her heart was pounding again, too loud in her chest, but she didn’t look away.
Sesshoumaru stepped forward, boots silent on the grass. “You came.”
She smiled, nervous. “You asked.”
Another pause, another long look that stirred her down to her bones.
The wind shifted. A hush fell over the field as the last edge of sun dipped below the horizon. Somewhere nearby, a low hum of music began—soft strings, distant flutes, no players in sight. A whisper of magic? Perhaps. Kagome couldn’t tell.
Her eyes widened. “What is this?”
“A dance,” Sesshoumaru said, lifting one hand toward her. “If you’ll allow it.”
He had never touched her without reason. Never crossed that threshold. But now, standing there with his palm upturned, open and waiting, he was giving her a choice.
She placed her hand in his.
His touch was cool at first—light, respectful—but steady. He guided her wordlessly to the center of the field. The lilies bowed around them. Kagome couldn’t remember the last time she had danced. Not like this. Not where every movement held something unspoken.
Sesshoumaru’s hand found her waist, the other still holding hers with practiced grace. The music surrounded them like a hush, and they moved together—slow, fluid. His steps were effortless. Of course he would be a graceful dancer. Even his stillness was elegance made flesh.
But there was tension in him too.
Held beneath the surface.
His gaze never left hers, though he said nothing. And yet Kagome could feel it. Something restrained. Something just on the edge of unraveling.
“You don’t usually ask people to dance,” she said gently, voice just above a whisper.
“I do not,” he agreed.
A pause.
Her heart beat faster. “So why now?”
Sesshoumaru was silent for a moment. Then:
“The garden,” he said simply. “I acted… impulsively.”
She remembered. The closeness. The almost-kiss.
“And you regret it?”
His brow furrowed slightly, not with anger—but with something like hesitation. “I do not regret it. But I was… uncertain.”
Kagome couldn’t help the small smile. “You wanted to kiss me.”
He didn’t look away. “Yes.”
There it was. No flourish. No softness. Just a truth laid bare, offered plainly in the only way he knew how.
“And now?” she asked.
He was quiet again. The stars had begun to show themselves overhead, pale silver pinpricks against the deepening blue.
Sesshoumaru’s gaze lowered to her mouth for the briefest moment before returning to her eyes.
“Now,” he said, “I do not wish to be interrupted.”
And then, as the music swelled faintly in the background, he leaned in—not hastily, not unsurely, but with deliberation. As if he had chosen this moment from thousands, and he would not allow it to slip away.
Their lips met.
It wasn’t a kiss that sought to claim. It was a kiss that recognized. A soft, unhurried acknowledgment of what had long been brewing beneath the surface of careful words and long stares.
She melted into him, arms around his neck, and the world spun in a slow, golden blur. Time stopped. The stars watched in silence. The tiger lilies swayed.
And when they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Sesshoumaru whispered the words that had lived unspoken between them for years.
“I’ve never known love,” he admitted quietly, eyes fixed on hers. “Not truly. But... if it means always wanting you near, wanting to shield you from everything that would dare bring you harm—if it’s the ache I feel when you’re gone, the calm when you smile...”
He paused, his voice barely above a whisper now.
“Then perhaps… I’ve loved you without knowing it.”
Kagome didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her heart ached in her chest, full to bursting, as tears welled up.
Then she smiled, tears catching in her lashes. “You’re not supposed to say things that romantic without warning.”
“Then I shall offer no apology.”
Kagome pulled him down into a kiss—warm, slow, and full of everything that couldn’t be spoken. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, one hand ghosting over her cheek, the other resting tentatively at her waist, as if afraid she might disappear. When they parted, his forehead rested against hers, breath uneven, and neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was no longer heavy with doubt, but threaded with something softer. Hopeful. Real.
“I don’t know how this will work,” she whispered, voice tight. “You, me. Everything.”
“You do not have to know,” Sesshoumaru said. “You only have to be here.”
Her lips trembled. “And if I’m not enough? I have no title, no wealth… nothing that makes me belong in your world.”
He leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers, his breath warm and steady.
“Then I’ll build a world where none of that matters,” he said. “Only that you're in it… and that you're mine.”
A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the rustle of lilies and the soft thrum of night insects.
“Dance with me again,” she said suddenly.
His brow lifted, almost imperceptibly. “There is no more music.”
“There doesn’t have to be.”
She stepped back, pulling him gently. To her surprise, he followed without resistance. They moved again among the lilies—slower now, softer. Her bare feet brushed through the petals, his steps always perfectly measured. They needed no rhythm but the sound of their hearts.
And in that hidden meadow, far from duty and legacy, nobility bowed to warmth, pride softened into devotion—and two souls, once so distant, began to dance as one.