Chapter 65: Diamond and Desire
The music was a living thing, a delicate lattice of strings that wove through the opulent air of the ballroom. Giyu stood near a towering pillar of veined marble, the patterned kimono Anne had chosen feeling like an alien skin. He held a crystal flute of something bubbly and untouched, his gaze tracking the swirl of silk and perfumed nobility with the detached focus of a hunter studying unfamiliar terrain. The chandeliers overhead dripped light, each prism casting tiny rainbows over the polished floor.
Across the room, Sanemi was a storm cloud in formal black. He’d forgone the promised Kuromitsu sake for something darker and stronger, gulping it from a short glass. His kimono was closed, but the high collar did little to hide the tension in his jaw or the aggressive set of his shoulders. He looked like a caged wolf, his eyes periodically scanning the grand entrance as if expecting an ambush.
“She’s late,” Sanemi grunted, appearing at Giyu’s side without preamble. The scent of fine whiskey clung to him. “Probably primping. All this fuss for a room full of people who’ve never held a sword.”
Giyu didn’t answer. He simply took a slow breath, the wisteria-scented memory of her room a quiet anchor in the overwhelming sensory noise.
Then the music seemed to stutter, not in sound, but in spirit. A hush fell, starting near the entrance and rippling outwards like a wave. Conversations died mid-sentence. The reason stood framed in the archway, and for Giyu, the world narrowed to a single, impossible point.
Anne.
The woman who trained in knee-high socks and off-shoulder sweaters was gone. In her place stood a vision in deep sapphire silk, the gown flowing from a bodice embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like a starry night. Her hair, usually a bouncing cascade, was swept up in an intricate arrangement of twists and pins, leaving the elegant column of her neck bare. And around that neck, a diamond choker glittered with a cold, undeniable fire. It was more than jewelry; it was a statement. A crown in everything but name.
She was utterly, devastatingly royal.
Giyu’s breath caught in his throat, a sharp, painful hitch. The crystal flute in his hand felt suddenly precarious. He had known, abstractly, of her heritage. But knowing and seeing were two different forces entirely. This was not the playful girl who teased him about his clothes. This was a princess from a storybook, radiant and untouchable. The distance between them, which had felt like mere steps in her sunlit room, now stretched into a vast, polished chasm.
He saw the way the nobles bowed their heads slightly as she passed, a subtle, ingrained deference. He saw the light worship the planes of her face, the confidence in her posture that was no longer just personal charm, but born of bloodline.
Next to him, Sanemi had gone completely still. His scowl had evaporated, replaced by a look of stark, unguarded shock. His fingers, wrapped around his glass, were white-knuckled. The ice clinked once, a tiny, frantic sound. He watched her, his usual aggression banked into something quieter, more intense. He was seeing the same truth Giyu was, and it was dismantling him just as effectively.
Anne’s eyes, large and brown and familiar, found them across the crowded room. A small, private smile touched her lips, meant only for them. It was a flicker of the Anne they knew, a secret signal in the midst of the pageantry.
Then she began to move, gliding through the parted crowd with an innate grace that made the fine silk of her gown whisper against the marble.
Sanemi recovered first, his voice a low, rough scrape. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Giyu could only watch her approach, the patterned kimono he wore feeling like a child’s costume. The grand ballroom, the music, the watching eyes—it all faded into a blur. There was only her, drawing closer, and the terrifying, exhilarating realization that he had no idea what to do or say when she finally reached them.
Anne stopped before them, the subtle scent of night-blooming jasmine cutting through the ballroom’s cloying perfumes. Her gaze swept from Sanemi’s rigid form to Giyu’s frozen one, that small, knowing smile still playing on her lips. “So,” she said, her voice lower, more intimate than the room demanded. “Tell me you’re not both wishing you were back in the courtyard right now. Are you even remotely comfortable?”
Sanemi barked a laugh that was more air than sound. “This is a fancy cage, but it’s still a cage.” He gestured with his glass toward the watching nobles. “I’d rather be fighting.”
Giyu finally found his voice, rough and unused. “The kimono is… fine.” It was a pathetic answer, but it was all he could manage. He was acutely aware of the intricate pattern she had chosen for him, a silent testament to her attention.
Her smile widened, a genuine flash of the woman beneath the royal facade. “Good. I’ll find you both later. Don’t drink all the good stuff without me.”
The promise was barely out of her mouth before a man in immaculate court robes materialized at her elbow. He offered a deep, practiced bow. “Your Highness. The Duke of the Western Province awaits the honor of your dance.”
Anne’s posture shifted infinitesimally, her shoulders squaring into a regal line. She offered Giyu one last, almost apologetic glance before turning. “Of course.” She placed her hand on the duke’s offered arm and let herself be led away into the swirling colors of the dance floor.
Giyu watched her go, the sapphire silk a beacon he couldn’t tear his eyes from. He saw the way the duke’s hand rested on her back, proprietary and polite. A hot, unfamiliar twist coiled in his gut.
Sanemi knocked back the rest of his whiskey in one go. “Her Highness,” he muttered, the title a curse. He slammed the empty glass onto a passing tray. “I need air. Or a fight. Preferably both.”
He stalked off toward the terrace, leaving Giyu alone with the pillar and his untouched champagne. Giyu stood his ground, a stoic rock in a river of silk and gossip. He watched Anne through dance after dance. She was grace itself, smiling and conversing with a stream of polished nobles, but he saw the subtle tension in her neck, the way her eyes occasionally scanned the room. She was performing.
The music shifted into a new, slower melody. The crowd on the dance floor thinned, couples drawing closer. And then she was there, suddenly in front of him again, her chest rising and falling with a quickened breath. The diamond choker at her throat sparkled with each pulse.
“I’ve been dancing with strangers all night,” she said, her words a soft rush. She extended her hand, palm up, in the space between them. It was not a request from a princess, but an invitation from the woman who had taught him about patterned kimonos. “Dance with me.”
Giyu stared at her offered hand. His own felt heavy, clumsy. “I don’t…”
“You remember the steps,” she interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. “From the last time. At the winter festival.” Her eyes held his, a silent challenge and a plea. “Please, Giyu.”
He remembered. The unspoken understanding that had passed between them then, a quiet harmony amidst the celebration. The memory was a tether to a simpler version of this moment. He let out a slow breath, the tight coil in his chest loosening its grip.
He took her hand.
His calloused fingers closed around her softer ones, and a current, warm and undeniable, passed between them. She led him onto the floor, her other hand coming to rest on his shoulder. His free hand found its place on the small of her back, the silk smooth and cool under his palm.
They began to move, a slow, turning circle amidst the other couples. He was stiff at first, his movements those of a swordsman, not a dancer. But she guided him with subtle pressures, her body a whisper against his. The overwhelming noise of the ballroom faded, the colors blending into a vague periphery.
It was just them, and the music, and the remembered rhythm of that other night.
“My parents have been watching you,” she murmured, her head tilted close to his so her words were for him alone. Her breath was warm against his jaw. “They’re intrigued. I’d like you to meet them.”
Giyu’s steps faltered for a single second. Meet her parents. The King and Queen. The air felt thin. He looked down at her, at the absolute sincerity in her brown eyes, and saw the immense trust she was placing in him. This was more dangerous than any demon.
“Anne…” he started, her name a rough whisper.
“Just meet them,” she said, her fingers giving his a slight squeeze. “That’s all. After this dance.”
He didn’t answer. He simply pulled her a fraction of an inch closer, his hand pressing more firmly against her back. He stopped fighting the steps and let the music carry them. She relaxed into his lead, her head dipping so her temple nearly brushed his chin.
They moved as one, a silent agreement passing between them in the space of a single, turning box step. The chandeliers cast their light, the diamonds at her throat winked, and for the length of the song, the vast chasm between the Water Hashira and the princess simply ceased to exist.
The final note of the song hung in the air, a delicate vibration that faded into the murmur of the crowd. Anne’s hand remained in his a moment longer than necessary, her warmth seeping through the formal silk. “Ready?” she asked, her voice low.
He wasn’t, but he gave a single nod. She led him off the dance floor, her grip firm. The crowd seemed to part for her with a new, deeper respect, their eyes lingering on the diamond choker. They approached a raised dais where two figures sat on ornate chairs, observing the ball with a calm that felt like power.
Anne bowed deeply, and Giyu followed suit, the motion unfamiliar to his body. “Mother, Father,” she said, straightening. “May I present Giyu Tomioka, the Water Hashira.”
The Queen’s smile was a quieter version of Anne’s, her eyes just as perceptive. She reached out and gently adjusted the small, glittering tiara nestled in Anne’s upswept hair. “It had tilted during your dance, my dear.” Her gaze then shifted to Giyu. “We have heard much of your skill, Tomioka-san. It is a honor to welcome you.”
The King leaned forward slightly, his demeanor surprisingly genial. “Your presence here speaks highly of your character. Our daughter is quite selective in her friends.”
A man in his late twenties, with Anne’s same brown eyes and a confident ease, joined them. He clapped a friendly hand on Giyu’s shoulder. “So she managed to get you back here”. It was the crown prince her older brother Kazuhiro. “It is good to see you again and I’m thankful again for everything you have done”.
Later, seeking a moment of quiet, Giyu stood on a balcony overlooking a moonlit garden. The cool air was a relief. Through an adjacent, open window, Anne’s voice, sharp and strained, carried out to him.
“You cannot comment on my life as if I’m still a child you need to protect.”
“We don’t want to lose you, Anne,” a deeper, more cautious voice replied. Her second brother. “These slayers… they live a brutal existence. You’ve seen the scars on that Wind Hashira. It’s a miracle he’s still breathing.”
“It is not a life, it is a death sentence,” a third voice added, softer but no less concerned. “Come home. Properly.”
“That is absurd,” Anne shot back, her tone firm. “And if you are so determined to test the mettle of a slayer, I will keep Sanemi far away from you. You would not enjoy the experience.”
A beat of silence. Then, the second brother spoke again, a challenge in his voice. “Fine. Then let one of them duel us. A simple spar. Let us see this legendary strength for ourselves.”
Giyu turned to leave, to give them privacy, but Anne’s next words froze him in place. “Giyu will do it.” Her decision was immediate. “But you will listen to me. One duel and that’s the last I’m speaking of this”.
She found him on the balcony moments later, her regal composure replaced by a faint, apologetic weariness. “You heard.”
It wasn’t a question. He nodded.
“They mean well,” she sighed, leaning on the balustrade beside him. “They’re just afraid. Will you? A short duel just to show them what slayers are made of. Just… don’t hurt them. Please, you’re the only one I trust to do this.”
He looked at her, at the worry in her eyes that had nothing to do with his safety and everything to do with her family’s. “I will not,” he said.
Only a few moments later, the atmosphere was crisp and tense. Anne’s two older brothers stood opposite Giyu, holding wooden swords. They looked confident, competent. Nobles who trained.
Giyu held a single practice blade loosely at his side. He hadn’t even adopted a stance.
The second brother lunged first, his form technically correct but telegraphed. Giyu didn’t parry. He shifted his weight a fraction, and the wooden sword whistled past his chest, missing by a breath. The third brother came from the side, a sweeping strike aimed at Giyu’s legs. Giyu simply stepped over it, his movement fluid and effortless, like water parting around a stone.
They attacked in earnest then, a coordinated assault. Giyu weaved between them, his feet barely disturbing the sand. He was a study in minimalism, every motion precise and economical. He never raised his own sword to block, only to redirect a blow with a subtle tap when absolutely necessary. The brothers began to breathe heavily, their movements growing frustrated.
With a final, synchronized lunge, they came at him from both sides, certain they had him trapped. Giyu dropped into a low spin, his practice blade tapping the back of each brother’s knee in quick succession. It was a touch, not a strike. They stumbled, not from pain, but from the sudden, shocking disruption of their balance, and landed in the sand on their hands and knees.
They looked up, stunned. Giyu stood where he had begun, his breathing even, not a hair out of place. He offered a hand to the second brother.
The brother took it, his expression one of dazed respect. “You never even tried to hit us,” he breathed.
“That was not the objective,” Giyu replied.
The third brother got to his feet, brushing sand from his clothes. He looked from Giyu to Anne, who watched from the sidelines with a small, proud smile. He gave a slow, appreciative nod. “I see,” he said. The two words carried more understanding than any lengthy apology.
The tension bled from the courtyard, replaced by a grudging respect that hung in the cool night air. Anne’s brothers bowed, a shallow but genuine dip of their heads, before retreating toward the palace lights. The silence they left behind was comfortable, filled only with the rustle of night insects.
Anne moved to Giyu’s side, her sapphire gown whispering against the sand. “Thank you for that,” she said, her voice soft. She looked up at him, the moonlight catching the relief in her brown eyes. “You handled them perfectly. They needed to see that.”
She paused, her gaze drifting toward the grand ballroom, then back to him. “You’ll wait for me after the ball to go home together, right?” The question was casual, but her eyes held a deeper urgency.
“Yes,” Giyu answered immediately. The thought of leaving without her, of the palace gates closing and keeping her inside forever, was a cold knot in his stomach. He didn’t want it any other way.
A genuine smile, bright and relieved, broke across her face. “Good. I just need to gather my things. I won’t be long.” She turned and walked back toward the palace, the regal silhouette of her figure gradually swallowed by the glowing interior.
Giyu waited, leaning against a wooden pillar near the estate's entrance where the carriages were readied. The sounds of the ball were a distant murmur. He watched the shadows, his senses alert out of habit. Then movement in a nearby alcove caught his eye.
Anne was there, speaking with a man in ornate royal robes. He was tall, with a confident posture that bordered on arrogance. Giyu recognized the type—entitled, used to getting what he wanted. Anne’s body language was polite but closed, one hand gripping her elbow.
The man laughed at something she said, the sound carrying a sharp, dismissive edge. Then his hand shot out, gripping her arm. He pulled her toward him and crushed his mouth against hers.
It was over in a second. Anne shoved him back with a violence that sent him stumbling into the wall. “Get your fucking hands off me!” Her shout ripped through the quiet night, raw and furious. “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t just grab people, you piece of shit!”
The man stared, his arrogance replaced by stunned shock. Anne wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a look of pure disgust on her face before she turned and stormed away, leaving him speechless in the alcove.
The journey back to the Corps headquarters was conducted in a thick, heavy silence. Anne sat rigidly in the carriage, her fists clenched in the fabric of her simple travel cloak. She stared out at the passing darkness, her jaw tight.
Giyu watched her, the memory of the man’s assault playing behind his eyes. He understood her anger, could feel its heat radiating from her. Still, he needed to hear it. “You’re still angry,” he said, his voice low.
Anne let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “He’s a lord from a minor house. Thinks his family’s name is a blank check.” She turned from the window, her eyes blazing in the dim light. “Men like that… a royal who likes you never takes no for an answer. ‘No’ is just a challenge to them. A game.” She looked down at her own hands, unclenching them slowly. “They see a title, not a person. They think they have a right.”
The carriage wheels clattered over a rough patch of road, jolting them both. Anne’s rigid posture finally broke with the vibration, a long, shaky sigh escaping her lips. She unclenched her hands and laid them flat on her knees, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else.
“I’m okay,” she said, more to herself than to him. The raw fury was receding, leaving behind a weary residue. She leaned her head back against the cushioned seat, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she looked at Giyu, a faint, wry twist to her mouth. “Well. I guess I need to brush my lips instead of my teeth tonight.”
The joke was brittle, a deliberate crack in the tension. Giyu didn’t smile, but his gaze held hers, a silent acknowledgment of the attempt. He gave a single, slow nod.
The remaining ride passed in a quieter silence. The adrenaline had drained from her, leaving exhaustion in its wake. The gentle rocking of the carriage and the steady, solid presence of the man beside her became a lullaby. Her head began to dip, then lolled sideways.
It came to rest on Giyu’s shoulder.
He went perfectly still. He could feel the weight of her, the soft strands of her hair against his neck. Her breathing evened out into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. He remained a statue, not daring to move, his own breathing shallow so as not to disturb her.
When the carriage finally rolled to a stop at the Corps headquarters, the driver cleared his throat softly. Giyu shifted just enough to see that Anne was still deeply asleep. He carefully slid an arm behind her back and another under her knees, lifting her from the seat. She murmured something unintelligible but didn’t wake, her head nestling against his chest.
He carried her through the silent, moonlit courtyards, his footsteps nearly soundless on the gravel paths. Her room was as she’d left it, the familiar scent of sunshine and clean linen a stark contrast to the ballroom’s cloying perfumes. He laid her gently on the futon, pulling the quilt up to her shoulders.
For a long moment, he stood there in the dark, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Then he turned and slid the door closed behind him, the soft click of the wood a final note to the long, tumultuous night.