Chapter 1: "The Third Wife"
You arrive at Sukuna's palace as his third wife—a political offering, nothing more. Unlike your predecessors, you don't arrive with expectations of love or power. You arrive with seeds for a dead garden and kindness for forgotten servants. In a palace built on fear, you plant hope. And the Emperor notices.
WC: 2,891 ───〃★ masterlist
The cherry blossoms had long since fallen.
Winter gripped the palace grounds in skeletal fingers, leaving behind bare branches and frozen earth. It was fitting, you thought, for a place like this—a palace ruled by a man they called a monster, a curse, a demon in human skin.
Ryomen Sukuna.
Your husband, as of three hours ago.
The wedding ceremony had been efficient. Cold. You'd been dressed in the finest silk—crimson and gold, colors that complemented the tattoos you'd glimpsed on his skin—and led through corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly. The few servants you'd passed had kept their eyes down, their footsteps hurried, as if lingering too long in these halls might invite catastrophe.
You didn't blame them.
You'd heard the stories. Everyone had. The Emperor who'd conquered lands with nothing but his cursed energy and ruthlessness. The man who'd taken a first wife and cast her aside when her jealousy became tiresome. A second wife who'd lasted even less time—too vapid, too eager to please, ultimately too boring to keep his interest.
Now there was you.
The third wife.
A treaty offering from your father's province, a political band-aid for a conflict your family couldn't hope to win. You'd accepted your fate with the same quiet grace you'd accepted everything else in life—with steady hands and a calm heart, even when your mother had wept.
"Someone will show you to your chambers," the officiant had said after the ceremony, and then you'd been alone.
Not entirely alone, you supposed. Somewhere in this sprawling palace, Sukuna's concubines resided. You'd seen a few during the ceremony—beautiful women dripping in jewels, their eyes sharp as they assessed the new wife. You'd met their gazes evenly, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.
You weren't here to make enemies. You weren't naive enough to think you could make friends either.
The shoji door slid open, and two young women entered—both looking no older than yourself. They bowed in perfect unison, their movements practiced but stiff with nervousness.
"Empress," the first one said, her voice barely above a whisper. She had gentle brown eyes and her hands trembled slightly. "I am Danielle. This is Haerin. We've been assigned to attend to you."
The second girl—Haerin—kept her eyes downcast, her posture rigid with fear. She was as pretty as Danielle, with delicate features and long lashes, but she looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.
"Thank you, Danielle. Haerin." You kept your voice soft, gentle, and watched as both girls' eyes widened in surprise. "I appreciate your help. This palace is... quite large. I'm afraid I'll get lost without guidance."
Danielle blinked rapidly, as if kindness was unexpected. Perhaps it was, in a place like this. "Y-yes, Empress. Your chambers have been prepared. If you'll follow us?"
They led you through more corridors, these ones slightly warmer, touched by braziers that cast dancing shadows on the walls. You noticed how they walked—Hana slightly ahead, Haerin trailing behind, both of them glancing nervously at closed doors as if expecting something terrible to emerge.
Your chambers, when you finally reached them, were surprisingly beautiful—spacious, with painted screens depicting cranes in flight, and a small garden visible through the windows.
A dead garden, you noted. Winter-killed and abandoned.
"Will there be anything else, Empress?" Danielle asked, while Haerin began arranging your few belongings with quick, efficient movements.
You turned to them both, offering a small smile. "Please, when we're alone, you can call me by my name if you'd like. And yes—do you know if there are gardening tools available? Seeds, perhaps?"
Both girls froze. Haerin's hands stilled on the silk robe she'd been folding.
"G-gardening tools, my lady?" Danielle stammered.
"The garden outside." You gestured to the window. "It seems a shame to leave it barren. I'd like to plant winter camellias. And perhaps some early plum blossoms, if the soil can support them."
Haerin finally spoke, her voice soft and uncertain. "But my lady... it's winter. Nothing will grow until—"
"Spring," you finished gently. "I know. But seeds need time to root, even in the cold. And hope needs something to tend to."
The two girls exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them. Then Danielle straightened her shoulders. "I... I'll inquire about the tools, my lady. We should have such things in storage."
"Thank you, Danielle." You looked at Haerin, who was still staring at you with wide, uncertain eyes. "And Haerin, if you're not too busy tomorrow, would you help me plan the garden layout? I'd appreciate another perspective."
The girl's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "M-me, my lady?"
"Yes, you. I imagine you know this palace better than I do. You'd know where the sun hits, where the shadows fall."
A faint blush colored Haerin's cheeks. "I... yes, my lady. I would be honored."
You didn't see Sukuna for three days.
It didn't surprise you. Political marriages rarely involved actual interaction, and you imagined an emperor had better things to do than visit a wife he'd been forced to take.
So you kept yourself occupied.
The garden became your first project. You worked alongside Danielle and Harin—much to their shock—kneeling in the cold earth with your sleeves tied back, planting camellia seeds with careful hands.
"My lady, please," Danielle had protested on the first day, looking genuinely distressed. "This isn't proper. If the Emperor sees—"
"Then he sees," you'd said simply, patting soil over a seed. "My mother always said that anything worth having is worth working for. Besides, I like the feel of earth under my fingernails. It reminds me that I'm alive."
Haerin had knelt beside you then, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. "My grandmother used to garden," she'd said softly. "Before she passed. She said that plants were like people—they needed patience and care to thrive."
"Your grandmother sounds wise," you'd replied, and the smile Haerin gave you was like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Word spread quickly through the palace. The new empress, kneeling in the dirt like a common servant. The new empress, who spoke gently to her attendants and worked alongside them. The new empress, who didn't demand or throw tantrums or weep dramatically like the others.
You pretended not to notice the whispers, but you noticed how Danielle and Haerin began to relax around you. How Danielle started humming while she worked. How Haerin laughed—actually laughed—when you made a joke about your dirt-stained hands.
On the fourth day, you encountered your first concubine.
She was beautiful—of course she was—with long dark hair and sharp, calculating eyes. She found you in the garden again, wrapped in a thick cloak against the winter wind, sketching plans for a stone path while Danielle and Haerinarranged tools nearby.
"So you're the new one," she said without preamble.
You looked up, setting down your charcoal. Danielle and Haerin immediately tensed, bowing low. You gestured for them to rise. "I am. And you're...?"
"Ningning." She tilted her head, studying you like a cat studies a mouse. Her gaze flickered to your attendants dismissively before returning to you. "I've been here two years. Longer than either of your predecessors."
"Then you must be very special," you said simply, without irony.
That seemed to throw her. Her eyes narrowed. "You're not what I expected."
"I'm sorry to disappoint."
"I didn't say I was disappointed." She crouched down, her fine robes pooling around her, seemingly unconcerned about the dirt. "The first wife was a shrew. The second was a fool. What are you?"
You considered the question, then smiled. "A gardener, apparently."
Despite herself, Ningning laughed. It was a surprised sound, quickly stifled. "You're planting flowers in winter. That makes you a fool too."
"Perhaps," you agreed. "But even fools can hope for spring."
She studied you for another long moment, then stood. "He'll break you," she said, not unkindly. "Sukuna breaks everything eventually. It's his nature."
"Maybe," you said softly. "Or maybe some things are strong enough to bend instead of break."
Ningning left without another word, but you thought you saw something like respect in her eyes.
After she was gone, Haerin leaned closer to you. "My lady... you weren't afraid of her."
"Should I have been?"
"The second empress was," Danielle said quietly. "She used to cry after the concubines visited. Said they were cruel to her."
You looked at both girls thoughtfully. "Did you know the second empress well?"
They exchanged glances. "We didn't serve her," Haerin admitted. "We worked in the kitchens usually. But we heard things."
"She screamed at the servants," Danielle added, her voice barely a whisper. "Threw things when she was angry. We were... surprised when we were assigned to you. We thought..."
"You thought I'd be the same," you finished gently.
Both girls looked down, ashamed.
"It's alright," you said, reaching out to squeeze Danielle's hand briefly. "You can't be blamed for expecting the worst. But I promise you both—I'm not here to make anyone's life harder. We're all just trying to survive in our own ways."
Haerin's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Thank you, my lady," she whispered.
You met Sukuna on the fifth night.
You'd been preparing for bed, braiding your hair by candlelight, when the door opened without warning. Danielle and Haerin had left for the evening—you'd insisted they rest, that you could manage alone—so when his massive frame filled the doorway, you were alone.
Completely alone.
With the man they called a monster.
He was... larger than you'd expected. Taller. The tattoos you'd glimpsed during the ceremony covered more of his skin—intricate patterns that seemed to move in the flickering light. His eyes, all four of them, fixed on you with an intensity that would have made lesser women tremble.
You set down your brush and stood, bowing respectfully. "Emperor."
"Sukuna," he corrected, his voice like gravel and silk. "You're my wife. Use my name."
"Sukuna," you repeated softly.
He moved into the room with predatory grace, and you noticed he was studying you the same way Ningning had—like he was trying to solve a puzzle. His eyes traveled from your simple sleeping robe to your bare feet, to the loose braid draped over your shoulder.
"You're not afraid," he observed.
"Should I be?"
"Most people are."
You met his gaze steadily. "Most people haven't been raised by a father who negotiated with warlords since childhood. I learned early that fear is only useful if it keeps you alive. Otherwise, it's just... exhausting."
Something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity?
He moved closer, and you caught his scent—sandalwood and something darker, like smoke and steel. He reached out, and you held perfectly still as he caught your braid between his fingers, testing its weight.
"You've been gardening," he said.
Not a question. A statement.
"Yes."
"In winter."
"Yes."
"Why?"
You considered how to answer. Honesty, you decided, was probably safest with a man who could smell lies. "Because the garden was dead, and I don't like looking at dead things. Because even in winter, there's potential for growth—you just have to be patient enough to wait for it. And because..." you paused, then continued softly, "because I needed something beautiful to tend to."
His eyes—all of them—focused on you with unnerving intensity. "You think you can make something beautiful here? In my palace?"
"I think," you said carefully, "that beauty exists everywhere, if you're willing to look for it. Even in unlikely places."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—a sharp, dangerous thing that should have terrified you.
It didn't.
"The others tried to change me," he said, releasing your braid. "The first wife wept and begged me to send away my concubines. The second tried to seduce me into compliance, thinking her body was enough to hold my attention."
"I have no intention of changing you," you replied. "You are who you are. An emperor. A force of nature. I'd have better luck trying to convince winter to become spring ahead of schedule."
"And yet you plant flowers."
"I plant flowers," you agreed, "because that's who I am. Not to change the winter, but to be ready when spring comes on its own."
He stared at you for so long you wondered if you'd said something wrong. Then he turned and walked to the door.
"The servants say you work alongside them," he said without looking back. "That you learn their names and ask about their families."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because they're people," you said simply. "And people deserve to be seen."
He paused in the doorway, his massive frame silhouetted against the corridor light. "You're strange."
"I've been told that before."
"I haven't decided yet," he said, "if you're wise or foolish."
"Perhaps I'm both," you offered. "Most interesting people are."
You could have sworn you heard him laugh—a low, rumbling sound—before he disappeared into the darkness.
Sleep came surprisingly easily that night.
The next morning, you found something waiting in your garden.
A single winter camellia, already in bloom, planted in the center of the space you'd been preparing. Its petals were the palest pink, almost white, delicate against the frozen earth.
Impossible. Camellias from seed took years to bloom.
But there it was.
Danielle and Haerin found you staring at it, your fingers pressed to your lips.
"The Emperor's work," Danielle whispered, her eyes wide. "His cursed energy can manipulate growth. Force life from death." She hesitated. "He's never used it for flowers before. Only for... other purposes."
Haerin clutched your arm gently. "My lady... what does it mean?"
You knelt beside the camellia, touching its petals with reverent fingers. They were real. Alive. Beautiful.
"Even monsters," you whispered, "can create something gentle."
Behind you, your two attendants exchanged hopeful glances.
And high above, unseen and unheard, Sukuna watched from a window.
He told himself it was a whim. A momentary curiosity about the strange woman who'd invaded his palace with her quiet voice and dirt-stained hands.
He told himself it meant nothing.
He was a liar.
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