Chapter 10: The Revelation Beneath the Pines
The rest of the day crawled past in a thick, charged silence. Sekiro rode stiff-spined, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, radiating a tension that vibrated the air around him. Orchid kept her eyes down, watching the blur of cobblestones beneath her mare’s hooves, the secret she’d begged to hold now a live wire sparking between them. Thorn stayed further back, a silent, watchful shadow, his usual vigilance sharpened by the awkwardness of knowledge he clearly wished he didn’t possess. Hana alternated between chewing her lip raw and casting anxious glances between Orchid and Sekiro.
The scent of pine deepened as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised purple and orange. Sekiro veered sharply off the main road onto a narrow, overgrown track winding into the woods. "We camp here," he announced, his voice clipped, offering no explanation. The secluded clearing was small, carpeted in soft moss and ferns, ringed by ancient oaks. A faint ribbon of chimney smoke wisped through the trees in the distance, the only sign of other life. The air was cool, damp, thick with the smell of earth and decaying leaves.
Dismounting was a flurry of tense efficiency. Sekiro unsaddled his stallion with sharp, precise movements. Thorn took charge of the other horses, leading them towards a patch of thick grass, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Hana started gathering dry wood for a fire, her movements unnaturally quiet.
Orchid fumbled with the buckle on her mare’s girth strap. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy. The weight of Sekiro’s impending question pressed down on her shoulders, heavier than any saddle. She felt him approach before she saw him, a shift in the air, a sudden intensification of the silence. He stopped right behind her, close enough for the heat of his body to radiate against her back. She froze.
"Orchid." His voice was low, rough. It wasn’t a request.
She turned slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs. The dying light caught the diamond sparkle in his green eyes, but they were hard, searching, stripped of their usual warmth. He took another step, crowding her, his presence overwhelming. Her back bumped against the rough bark of a massive oak. There was nowhere to go.
Panic fluttered in her throat. "Sekiro, please—"
He planted one hand flat against the tree trunk beside her head, caging her in. His other hand came up, not touching her, but hovering, demanding attention. His gaze bored into hers, raw emotion churning just beneath the surface – confusion, frustration, a flicker of something that looked like betrayal. "No more 'later'," he growled. The controlled veneer was cracking. "No more diversions. No more whispers. What. Going. Each word was a hammer blow in the quiet glade. "You tell Thorn? Before me? Hana knew? What secret is so vital you hide it from your husband while dragging my guard into conspiracies?" His voice rose slightly, rough with the strain of holding back, the hurt bleeding through the anger. "What could possibly make you so afraid of me?"
Tears welled, hot and unstoppable, blurring his furious, handsome face. The fear, the exhaustion, the sheer, terrifying unknown of it all crashed over her. Her carefully constructed walls crumbled. Her hands flew out, trembling violently, not to push him away, but to grab the front of his tunic. She yanked his hovering hand down, pressing it flat and hard against her stomach, below her navel. Her fingers clamped over his knuckles, holding his palm firmly against the soft indigo silk stretched over her still-flat abdomen.
The effect was instantaneous. Sekiro froze. Utterly still. His breath hitched, the angry tension in his frame locking into place. His eyes, locked on hers, widened. The fury dissolved, replaced by shock so profound it was almost blank. He stared at her, uncomprehending for a heart-stopping moment, his hand motionless beneath hers.
Then, the shift was seismic. The hard lines of his face softened, collapsed inward with dawning, impossible awe. His green eyes, wide and luminous, flickered down to where their hands pressed together against her body, then snapped back to her face. His lips parted. "Orchid?" It was a whisper now, ragged, disbelieving. The anger was gone, utterly obliterated. Only stunned tenderness remained, fragile and luminous in the twilight. "H-how...?" He swallowed hard, his throat working. "How long?"
Her voice was a thread, choked with tears and relief. "Two months."
The world seemed to hold its breath. The forest sounds – the rustle of a squirrel, the distant cry of an owl – faded away. Sekiro’s hand, still trapped beneath hers, moved infinitesimally. His fingertips pressed gently, tentatively, exploring the plane of her stomach as if mapping uncharted, sacred territory. His gaze never left hers, swimming with a profound, overwhelming tenderness that stole her breath anew. He leaned in slowly, his forehead coming to rest against hers, his breath warm on her cheek. His other hand lifted, shaking slightly, to cradle the side of her face, his thumb brushing away a tear track. A low sound escaped him, almost a groan, filled with wonder and the shattering of his own fear. "Orchid..." Her name was a prayer on his lips.
"Damn it all, Orchid," a sharp whisper sliced through the moment. Hana stood a few paces away, clutching an armful of firewood, her eyes wide. Thorn stood frozen beside the horses, his usual stoicism replaced by profound awkwardness. He stared determinedly at the ground, his ears bright red. Hana recovered first, her voice dropping to an urgent hiss. "Touching is sweet, but standing might be better? You look like you're about to topple over." She nodded pointedly at Orchid's legs, which were indeed trembling violently, locked only by the tree and Sekiro's proximity.
Sekiro jerked back slightly, startled out of the intimate bubble. He looked down at Orchid, truly seeing her now – the pallor, the exhaustion etched around her eyes, the fine tremors running through her. Understanding, sharp and immediate, replaced the dazed wonder. "You're ill," he stated, his voice thick with self-recrimination. "All day... the ginger... that's why?"
Orchid nodded weakly, leaning heavily against the tree now that his supporting presence had shifted. "Mostly. And... scared." She couldn't meet his eyes.
"Scared?" Sekiro breathed the word, his gaze searching her face. "Of... me? Of this?" He gestured vaguely, helplessly, between them, his hand still tingling where it had pressed against her.
"Of everything," Orchid whispered. "The journey. The capital. The court snakes. Throwing this," she placed her own hand over her stomach, "into the middle of your... your world. When you have so much else..." She trailed off, the enormity of it suffocating.
The raw vulnerability in Orchid’s whisper hung heavy in the cooling air. Sekiro stared at her, truly seeing the exhaustion etched deep beneath her eyes, the tremor in her hands still pressed over her stomach. Her fear wasn't just of him, or the pregnancy, but of the entire crushing weight of his life descending upon hers before she’d found her footing. The frantic journey, the vipers of court, the sheer unknown – she’d been carrying it all, plus this new, fragile life, alone.
Understanding slammed into him, sharp and humbling. Her world wasn't just changing; it was being violently uprooted, replanted in hostile soil, and now this. Before she could even breathe. "Ah, Orchid," he breathed, the last vestiges of tension dissolving into profound remorse. He sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to come from his bones. "Forgive me. I didn't see... any of it."
In one smooth motion, he bent and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest like something infinitely precious. She gasped, instinctively curling into the solid warmth of him, her blush pink hair spilling over his arm. "Sekiro—"
"Hush," he murmured, his voice thick. He adjusted his hold, ensuring she was secure. "My fault entirely. Still learning how to be both prince and husband, it seems." He turned, carrying her effortlessly towards the edge of the clearing where Thorn had efficiently set up a small, surprisingly luxurious encampment – silk-draped pavilion, low table, braziers already glowing. "Hana!"
The herbalist materialized instantly, her sharp eyes taking in Orchid in Sekiro's arms. "Your Highness?"
"Find the cook. Immediately." Sekiro’s tone brooked no delay, though his gaze remained locked on Orchid’s pale face. "Prepare something appropriate. Gentle. Sustaining, something to eat, perhaps? Whatever you recommend." He didn’t need to specify why; the implication hung clear.
Hana nodded curtly, relief warring with professional focus. "Understood." She shot Orchid a quick, reassuring look before turning and practically sprinting towards the bustling camp kitchen area tucked behind the main pavilion.
Sekiro carried Orchid inside the pavilion, the scent of expensive incense replacing pine. He lowered her gently onto plush cushions piled near a glowing brazier. Kneeling beside her, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. Orchid frowned, her shifting eyes searching his. "Can't we... keep this a secret? Just for now?" The plea was barely audible. "Until we're settled? Until I'm settled?"
He sighed again, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His light green eyes held hers steadily, edged with that diamond sparkle softened by concern. "Within a certain circle, yes. The innermost guard, Hana, the physician... Thorn already knows, obviously." He grimaced slightly. "But not completely, my love. You are about to become Imperial Crown Princess. Your health, your safety... they are matters of state now. Those tasked with protecting you must know."
He saw the flicker of panic, the overwhelm threatening to drown her again. He squeezed her hand tighter. "I know. Stars above, Orchid, I know how immense this is. How terrifying." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "But we face it together. Every step. Every wretched courtier. Every unknown." A slow, radiant smile broke across his face then, pure, unadulterated joy breaking through the gravity. "You're pregnant," he breathed, wonder filling the words. "With our child."
The awe in his voice, the sheer, luminous happiness transforming his handsome features, melted her resistance. Before she could reply, he cupped her face and kissed her. Deeply. Passionately. Not the desperate kiss of earlier, but one filled with profound tenderness, fierce protectiveness, and a dawning, shared wonder that pushed back the encroaching shadows of the capital. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the brazier and the frantic beat of two hearts syncing to a new, impossible rhythm.
The kiss deepened, a slow exploration that held the echo of his wonder and the promise of something more primal simmering beneath. Sekiro’s hands slid from her face, tracing the delicate line of her jaw, the column of her throat, each touch igniting trails of heat on her skin. Orchid sighed, melting into the cushions, the day’s fear and exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by the sheer, solid reality of him.
He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down the sensitive skin of her neck, his teeth grazing lightly, drawing a sharp gasp from her. His fingers hooked into the neckline of her indigo silk tunic. She winced involuntarily as the fabric scraped against her shoulders, pulled down roughly to bunch around her elbows. The sudden exposure to the cool pavilion air sent goosebumps skittering across her skin. "Sekiro," she breathed, her voice already thick, unsteady. "Wait… maybe we should wait? We’ve been riding all day. I haven’t bathed… I probably smell like horse and pine resin."
He chuckled, a low, warm rumble against her collarbone that vibrated straight through her. "Don’t care," he murmured, his hands already working the ties at her waist, the silk whispering as it gave way. He nudged her gently down onto the cushions, his eyes darkening to deep forest green as he peeled the tunic completely off, leaving her in only her thin linen shift. "Not one damn bit." His gaze raked over her, appreciative, hungry. Orchid fought to steady her increasingly shallow, languid breaths, the heat pooling low in her belly warring with a flutter of self-consciousness.
He shifted, kneeling between her legs, his hands sliding up her inner thighs, pushing the hem of her shift higher. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with fear. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, easing them down her hips along with her smallclothes in one smooth motion. Cool air brushed her most intimate skin. Then, his hands were spreading her thighs wider, his head dipping between them. Panic, sharp and sudden, lanced through the haze of building arousal.
"No!" Orchid gasped, her hands flying to tangle in his impossibly soft white hair, not pulling him closer but pushing against his scalp. "Sekiro, stop! You don’t have to—" Her voice hitched, embarrassment burning her cheeks. "I’m not clean down there! Not after riding… and the vomiting, all day… please, it’s—"
He stopped, lifting his head just enough to meet her wide, mortified gaze. His light green eyes held hers, utterly unfazed. One large hand gently but firmly wrapped around her wrist, pulling her resisting hand away from his hair. "So what?" he said, his voice rough, honest, his breath warm against her inner thigh. "Doesn't matter to me. Not even a little." He held her gaze for a heartbeat, the intensity in his eyes stripping away her doubts, before lowering his head once more.
Orchid’s protest died on a strangled moan as his mouth found her, hot and demanding. She arched off the cushions, her fingers tightening convulsively in his hair. A deep, mortified blush flooded her entire body, neck to toes. "Gods, you utter gross pervert!" she managed to gasp, the insult lacking any real heat, dissolving into another helpless sound. Sekiro just laughed against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her core, his tongue already beginning a devastatingly thorough exploration, proving with every teasing, relentless stroke that her cleanliness truly meant nothing to him at all.
Sekiro just laughed against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her core, his tongue already beginning a devastatingly thorough exploration, proving with every teasing, relentless stroke that her cleanliness truly meant nothing to him at all. Orchid’s mortified protest dissolved completely, replaced by a strangled cry as her hips bucked involuntarily off the cushions. The heat building low in her belly was a wildfire now, fanned by his unyielding mouth, his hands anchoring her hips firmly against the silk. "Gods... Sekiro..." she gasped, her voice breaking, the last shreds of conscious thought incinerated by the relentless pressure coiling tighter, impossibly tight, deep within.
Just as she teetered on that unbearable edge, he lifted his head. His lips glistened, his eyes were pure, molten heat. He didn't speak. In one powerful, fluid movement, he straightened up, his own clothes somehow discarded in the frantic interim. His hands slid beneath her, fingers digging possessively into the swell of her hips, lifting her towards him as he positioned himself. Orchid barely had time to draw breath, the sudden shift dizzying, before he guided himself to her pooling, slick entrance. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough gravel. She met his intense gaze, those diamond-edged green eyes holding hers captive.
Then he pushed in. Slowly. Deliberately. Filling her completely. Orchid’s head thumped back against the cushions, a loud moan ripped from her throat. She clamped her teeth onto her lower lip, biting down hard. The walls, she thought desperately, the luxurious silk pavilion offering no soundproofing against the camp outside. Sekiro held himself deep, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust, letting her feel the overwhelming stretch, the perfect fit. His gaze never wavered, watching the play of shock, pleasure, and sheer overwhelm on her face. The world shrank to the point where their bodies joined, the crackle of the brazier fading beneath the rush of her own pulse in her ears.
He began to move. Not frantic, not demanding. A slow, deep withdrawal, then an even deeper, deliberate thrust back in. The rhythm was ancient, primal, the one he knew unraveled her completely. Each deep stroke dragged against that perfect spot inside, a relentless glide that stoked the fire higher, hotter. "Oh," she whimpered against her own wrist now pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the sounds. "Oh, gods..." His eyes darkened further, a predatory satisfaction in his expression as he maintained the torturous, perfect pace. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew her.
His thumb found her clit, slick and swollen, circling with just the right pressure. The dual assault – the deep, claiming penetration and the sharp, insistent friction – shattered her last thread of control. The climax hit like a thunderclap, silent only because her cry was muffled into her own skin. Her body convulsed, tightening fiercely around him in rhythmic pulses, pulling him deeper still as she arched off the cushions. Sekiro groaned, a deep, guttural sound ripped from his chest as her inner muscles clenched him. Her vision whited out, the world dissolving into pure, shuddering sensation.
Sensing her peak, feeling her grip him like a vise, Sekiro abandoned the slow rhythm. He drove into her hard, fast, chasing his own release. His thrusts became powerful, urgent pistons, the slap of skin on skin loud in the intimate space. Orchid could only cling to him, boneless and overwhelmed, riding the aftershocks as he pounded into her. A final, deep plunge, a choked groan against her neck, and he stilled, buried deep, pulsing within her as he found his own climax. Heat flooded her core. For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the crackling brazier.
He slowly eased his weight off her, still connected, still deep inside. He brushed damp strands of blush pink hair from her forehead. Orchid blinked up at him, her shifting eyes hazy, her body humming and utterly spent. "Gods help me," she breathed, her voice hoarse. "I love you. Even if you are a gross, magnificent pervert."
Sekiro chuckled, a low, satisfied rumble. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of salt and shared heat. "Mmm," he murmured against her mouth when they finally parted. "I warned you." He pressed one more soft kiss to her swollen lips before carefully, gently, withdrawing. The sudden emptiness made her shiver. "I warned you what happened to wives who kept secrets." He reached for her discarded shift, his movements tender now, efficient. "The bath should be ready. Hana saw to it."
He helped her sit up, her limbs feeling like overcooked noodles, and carefully dressed her in the shift, his touch lingering on her stomach for a heartbeat. Then he pulled her own indigo silk tunic over her head, smoothing it down. Standing, he offered his hand. Orchid took it, swaying slightly as she got to her feet. The promise of hot water after the day’s sickness and the exertion just now was a siren song. She hadn't dared hope for such a luxury on the road.
Sekiro guided her out of the pavilion. The cool night air was a shock on her heated skin. Thorn was conspicuously absent from his usual post near the entrance. A short distance away, nestled near a cluster of pines and shielded by a canvas screen, stood the royal bathing chamber – essentially a large, sturdy tent housing a freestanding copper tub. Steam curled invitingly from its surface, visible in the lantern light Hana had hung. The scent of pine and something faintly floral – lavender, maybe – mixed with the woodsmoke from the campfire.
Orchid practically whimpered with relief. "Oh, thank the stars." Sekiro led her inside the small, warm space, the air thick with steam. He helped her out of her tunic and shift again, leaving her naked beside the tub. The water looked blissful. He steadied her as she stepped over the high rim and slowly lowered herself into the deep, blessedly hot water. It enveloped her aching muscles, the heat sinking deep into her bones. A groan of pure pleasure escaped her as she sank down, the water rising to her shoulders. "Heaven. This is actual heaven."
She leaned her head back against the rolled edge of the tub, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them, Sekiro was still there, watching her, a small, soft smile on his lips. He'd pulled on loose trousers but remained shirtless. "Sekiro?" she asked, her voice muffled slightly by the steam. "Aren't you... coming in?" The thought of his hard warmth pressed against her in the water sent a fresh, languid thrum through her spent body.
He shook his head, kneeling beside the tub. He dipped a hand in, testing the temperature, then trailed wet fingers gently down her arm. "Later," he said, his voice a low murmur. "This is for you. Just soak. Relax." He picked up a soft cloth and a cake of soap that smelled of almonds. "Let me?"