Arranged marriage with Nanami… part one?
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Nanami Kento was not in a sorcerer clan. In fact, he was the only sorcerer in his family. You had met him only once before you had been informed of the engagement, and in that brief interaction you had decided you knew exactly what type of man he was.
"It's a pain." had been his harsh words. Vitriol clear as day in his tone.
When asked what he felt about being a sorcerer his response had been that it was…a pain? Being the reserved individual he was, he didn't take the time to elaborate despite the questions of the sorcerers surrounding him.
You had rolled your eyes in that moment. Clearly, he had no sense of responsibility. No duty. I suppose that's what it means to not be in a clan. You had thought. He’s got no idea how good he has it.
And even though you chalked his image up in your mind as an irresponsible and pretentious git. The memory of his brutal gaze stuck in your mind. You knew deep down that it was simply jealousy.
Sorcery was a pain, there had been many instances where you wished you could put it aside and leave this world, but that was simply not what you were born for.
All those months ago, you had left the meeting with the Jujutsu higher-ups resentful. How lucky that man in the suit was, to not have an obligation to fulfill exactly what the clan heads asked of him. How free he must feel.
But, oh, how wrong you had been.
You had known your marriage was impending, having had meetings with your father and his subordinates on several occasions to discuss the offers from other clans.
Offers for the rest of your miserable life, for your body, for your fertility, offers to impregnate you, and nothing much else.
You had been picky, of course, having known all your life this was forthcoming you were expecting to not have to rely on Zenin blood to uphold the family name.
Your father was no kind man but if there was one thing he was, it was prideful. If even his measly daughter could brush aside an important clan born man, he too could wait for a finer offer to come.
Back then, you had no idea that would lead to this.
You stood before a full-length mirror. Your dress came below your ankle, the neckline nothing short of chic modesty.
By all accounts and by the people serving you, you were expected to be prepared.
Your wedding was nothing special, a formality, nothing more. Clans from across Japan were here to see the ceremony. Still, your heart pounded as you gulped at your reflection. A shakily deep breath brought you little comfort as you squeezed your hand into a fist.
You knew little of the man you were to marry.
He was NOT a Zenin. Hallelujah.
He was not from any clan. (This had come as a shock to you, your father having only explored offers from fellow clan heads, you had no idea how this arrangement was to be made until Gakuganji, the principal of your school, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and one of the more powerfully cruel higher-ups, had arrived at your families estate, enlisting a "fine candidate" for your immanent marriage. He had seemed certain. Immovable.)
And last of the information you had, he was seemingly strong enough for your father to deem his ability to produce "quality children" acceptable. He was a grade 1 sorcerer, nothing to scoff at.
You knew your father would not have accepted the offer of a man without heritage if the higher-up’s had not endorsed it. Even now you wondered why they were so keen on this matrimony.
And that was all you had.
"You look beautiful." A maid from the estate was arranging your hair, she moved quickly, with a soft hand. You hardly noticed her. "I've heard he is a very gentle man," She starts up again after your eyes narrowed in the reflection of the mirror, "if that's any consolation." The women ends in a whisper.
You huff out a breath, "Thank you."
That's what they all say.
You wonder if she was lying to you. This morning you had heard your mother crying in your bedroom after you had made up your sheets for the last time. It made you sad, knowing she was afraid for you.
Afraid you would turn out like her.
You swallow with some effort and look up to the maid at your side, she smiled at you.
"It looks lovely." You say, assuming she wanted praise.
She lays a hand on your shoulder and her smile crinkles in a funny way, "He is very handsome." Her eyebrows tilt in a telling fashion, she almost giggles.
What were you to say to that?
"I... see." You look at the floor and turn away from your reflection. All that was left was for your father to arrive. To take your hand in an uncomfortably tight grip and lead you down the aisle to the man that was decided to be the father of your children.
"Is there anything you would like, before I leave you? It won't be long now..." The maid tries to meet your gaze so you look up to her face once more.
"No, there's nothing, thank you for helping me." You try to smile at her but your throat hurts from the brief amount of talking you have already done.
The women nods her head, she turns to go but hesitates at the door, for a moment you think she is going to turn and speak to you, to say something as a comfort perhaps, but just as her body holts to grip the door, the hinges swing away and your father steps in.
"Move out of my way. Move! Out!” Your father shoves at the women who had been by the threshold and she escapes out the door with a hushed apology and not a glance at yourself.
You stand before him. Resolved to not shutter in these moments. Neither of you speak until he swings his arms and says,
You almost want to laugh. How you wish you could look up at the domineering man and say, no I don't think I am, but you knew better, and although he extends no arm to you, you take the few steps to his presence and heave a sign.
"Stand up straight. Serve us well."
You knew those would be all the words you heard from him tonight, as unhappy as you were to be married to a strange man, you felt pleased to know you would no longer be living in your clans estate, just as you knew your father would be glad to be rid of you.
Your fathers movements seemed all too fast. His steps, his reaching for your arm, his pulling you out the door and into the hall.
You felt as if time was slowing but those around you weren't effected. Your father huffed angrily, tugging you along. This was happening too fast. You didn't want this. You weren't ready.
You wiped the sweat from your palms over the satin dress hanging on your waist. The collar that once seemed elegant was starting to choke you. The door to the ceremony was drawing closer, you could hear music but it was almost as if the closer you came, the foggier it sounded.
Echos of your mother’s cries this morning permeated your brain. You knew you were asking for too much. But in those last moments before your autonomy would be taken from you, you had only one wish.
That the maid was right. That the man at the alter would truly be a gentle creature...would be tender....would be mild?
The doors were swinging open. The light was bright, but you did not dare to raise a hand to block its assault. You walked slowly, arm tightly locked in your fathers grasp. You noticed the clan leaders in the audience, but as your eyes tried to take in the man at the front of the room, you stuttered in your steps.
Hoping your father would take no notice, you tried to recall how you knew the man who was meeting your eye.
You began to put together who this man was, having met him before, though you hadn't been introduced. That one interaction had showed you he would not have been a man you would want to live the rest of your days with. He had seemed unhappy in those moment.
An unhappy husband was more dangerous than any curse you had faced.
Having stared long enough, you drop your gaze from his own piercing one. You almost want to smile, but you're unable to.
Maybe he isn't as free as you thought he was. Poor him.
You wonder how he even managed to get in this predicament as the music began to come to its end. You're stepping up onto the platform that your future husband stood upon, your ankle wobbles in the heels that were chosen for you.
In a flash you see his arm reach out for you but you’re only confused, shrinking back a bit father from him.
You look to meet his gaze once more. He's barely a few breaths from you. His eyes seem focused on your face.
The officiant is talking but you cannot hear him.
You realize one of two things in this particular moment, one, the maid was right about something, this man was remarkably handsome. And second, you realize you're feeling quite faint.
The dress had not been so hot before you were standing before this man in front of all these people under the shine of all these lights. You swallow, dig your nails into your palms, the officiant seems to be speaking to the man before you and it isn't long before your husband speaks out a low, "I do."
You feel as though you must pay attention, your bit is coming up now and you would hate to embarrass your family, but you can hardly hear the man over the pounding in your ears. A prick of sweat starts to form on the back of your neck.
There is a pause in the mans speech, he looks at you intently, after a moment he raises a brow.
Ah, right. "I do." You say.
You look anywhere but your husband. Knowing you weren't expected to kiss, you try to take in some more air. This was it.
The officiant hands something to the man before you.
He's so tall. The suit he is wearing seems to fit him perfectly, and you can’t help wondering who helped him here today if he had no clan members.
His arm is suddenly in front of you, palm up. It takes you but a moment to know what he is asking for. You brace yourself and set your hand within his own.
He places his other hand onto yours for a moment, engulfing your hand in his grasp. You are shaking, you know you are, but with everything going on in this very moment, you are hoping he won't notice.
A ring is being slipped onto your finger. Good, now your turn.
He hands you his own, a plain ring of gold.
Don't drop it. Do not drop it. Don't-
You miss his ring finger once before finally sliding it on. You hope no one noticed. You pull your hand free of his first and look to your father in the crowd.
There was an echo of the efficient, "I now pronounce you husband and wife", and the group before you claps in respect.
The man who you had just married is bending down to your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You look him from your peripheral vision, and he is tilting his head down the aisle a bit.
Ah, yes. Your hand is in his own as you go back down where you just came. Your life is forever changed now.
So much lay before you, so much for you to worry about, but the one thing on your mind in this moment is how the grip of your husbands hand is infinitely more pleasant than the aggressive clasp your father had on you.
You hope against hope, that maybe, you would never feel the harsh grip of a man again.
But that was too wishful, was it not?
