Azrya saw to it that the boy had a room and was looked after before retiring to her own quarters, exhausted from the ride, too tired to sup with the rest of the men. One of the workers had brought her a change of clothes from the belongings she had packed.
She began to undress, fingers fumbling with the corset-style laces at the back of her dress. She struggled, arms twisted awkwardly, still trying to undo them when the door suddenly burst open.
Akio entered, holding a bowl of stew with a large chunk of bread and a cup of wine.
Azrya cast a brief, frosty glance in his direction. He met her glare with one even colder, then walked past her and set the food down on the table in the corner.
Without a word, he strode over to her and took the strings from her hands, beginning to undo them.
Feeling suddenly shy, Azrya tried to step away, mumbling,
"It's alright. I can do it myself."
But Akio didn't respond. He simply lifted her gently by the waist, as though she weighed nothing, and turned her back around to face away from him. His fingers resumed untying the laces with quiet precision.
Staying still, she reluctantly murmured a quiet, "Thank you," as he stepped back.
"Eat the food after you've changed," he said, his tone soft but firm. "You need to keep your strength up."
Azrya said nothing, slipping out of her dress. She stood in nothing but her undergarment—bare from the waist up—as Akio turned to glance at her again.
His gaze dropped, not to her exposed chest, but to the long, angry scars running down her back. They were thick and raised, the kind that came from repeated beatings, lash after lash. In the dim candlelight the night they'd first shared a bed, he hadn't noticed. But now, in the bright light of afternoon, he saw every mark with brutal clarity.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his voice low and eerily calm—the voice he used when balancing on the edge of rage.
"Come here."
Azrya froze at the shift in his tone. She turned slowly, a flicker of fear in her chest, and approached him. Her bare feet padded softly against the wooden floor. She stood before him, barely clothed, but for once, he didn't even glance at her body.
Akio stood and moved behind her. She flinched slightly when she felt the brush of a calloused fingertip against one of the scars. Then his hands—rough and worn from battle—moved gently over her back, tracing each mark with a touch so soft it made her shudder.
"Turn around," he said.
She obeyed, slowly, her eyes meeting his.
But this time, the cold was gone from his gaze. What she saw instead was pain in his eyes.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, voice low.
Azrya's lips parted but no sound came out. Tears welled in her eyes. She clenched them shut, ashamed to cry in front of him.
What happened next stunned her.
He stepped forward and pulled her into a tight embrace. Strong arms wrapped around her, and a large, warm hand stroked her hair while she rested her head on his broad chest. Just minutes ago, she couldn't stand him. But now, in his arms, she felt something she hadn't felt in years—safe.
"No one will ever hurt you like this again," he whispered. "I promise to protect you... even if it means laying down my life."
Azrya didn't respond. Her thoughts were a tangled mess. No one had ever said anything like that to her. No one had ever meant it.
And so, overwhelmed by the weight of his words, she broke down completely, sobbing into his chest.
Could that really be it? Could that be the reason he'd acted so violently, killing a boy just for being part of a group that had threatened her? Did the thought of her being in danger truly make him blind to reason?
Why? Why would this man—whom she had only just begun to know—feel this way about her?
It made no sense. It felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke, toying with her emotions. Was this a blessing... or a curse?
Azrya tried to stifle her sobs, turning away from him with clenched fists, her nails digging into her palms as she sniffled. But even with her back to him, the tears wouldn't stop. They streamed down her cheeks, silent and unrelenting.
She heard his footsteps behind her, felt his presence draw close.
"You don't have to be strong in front of me," he said softly.
His hand grazed her wet cheek, tender and featherlight.
And something in her broke.
She collapsed to her knees, her body shaking with the force of her cries. But before she could fall fully, Akio caught her, scooping her up as if she were weightless and cradling her in his arms. He sat on the bed with her in his lap, rocking her gently like a child.
"It's okay," he whispered. "You're safe with me. You'll always be safe with me."
Azrya couldn't understand him.
He was so unpredictable. One minute cold and cruel, the next minute willing to kill for her, to die for her. Feeding her. Dressing her. Holding her like she mattered. She didn't know how to process it.
Eventually, her sobs quieted. He laid her gently on the bed, then retrieved her nightdress.
"Lift your arms," he said, crouching before her.
Azrya stared at the floor, embarrassed. The moment felt strange—like she was a child being looked after. But then, for the first time, he added softly,
"Please."
That single word disarmed her. She obeyed.
He dressed her gently, then sat her down on the bed and knelt in front of her, taking her small hands into his.
"Wait for me. I'll return shortly."
He stood, took the now-cold tray of food, and left the room.
Moments later, he returned with a fresh tray—hot, steaming food that filled the room with a rich, savory aroma.
Akio sat beside her and scooped a spoonful of stew.
"Open," he said, voice softer now.
Azrya hesitated, eyes lowering in embarrassment. But in the end, she obeyed, opening her mouth and allowing him to feed her, one spoonful at a time.
When she had finished, he got up and placed the empty bowl aside.
She then lay back, resting her head on the pillow. Akio pulled the covers over her and gently stroked her hair.
"I'll be back soon. There are some things I need to sort out. Try to sleep."
She nodded.
And the moment the door shut behind him, she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Hours later, she stirred in the darkness. Her eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the dim light. She saw the outline of a figure lying beside her. A gap remained between them.
Without thinking, Azrya shifted closer. Her head found its place on his chest, arms curling around him as she dozed off again.
Akio was still awake. He hadn't been able to sleep—not with the image of her scarred back burned into his mind. He had been lying there, plotting all the ways he would kill the man responsible.
But when she moved closer and rested against him, something inside him eased.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and gently traced circles on her back, as though his touch alone could erase her pain.
Eventually, he too fell asleep.
And they stayed that way—wrapped in each other—through the rest of the night and into the morning.