Chapter 5: Three Years of Secrets
The familiar chaos of the Dero Inn’s main hall felt like a physical blow after the charged intimacy and lingering horror of the room upstairs. Roasting meat, spilled ale, woodsmoke – scents that usually spoke of comfort now scraped raw against Sekiro’s senses. He descended the worn oak stairs, the weight of Orchid’s fragile sleep pressing on him, overlaid by the cold, focused rage that had settled in his gut like a stone. The Leopard unit wasn't lounging anymore. They stood clustered near the roaring hearth, bodies coiled tight, expressions ranging from wary confusion to simmering disbelief. Tankards sat untouched on tables. The usual raucous energy was gone, replaced by a heavy, waiting silence that parted reluctantly as Sekiro approached. All eyes tracked him.
Hana remained a still shadow near the massive stone fireplace, partially obscured by the flickering light and the carved wooden screen depicting a hunting scene. Her attention wasn’t on Sekiro, not directly. It swept over the faces of the Leopards, sharp and assessing. One hand rested casually on the rough-hewn mantle, fingers stained the faint, telltale green of crushed nightshade. The other was hidden in the folds of her simple skirt. Jax stepped forward, effectively blocking Sekiro’s path to the bar. His usual sardonic ease was stripped away, leaving hard planes and harder questions.
"Prince." The title hung stiff in the air. "We need to talk. Now." He jerked his head towards a slightly less crowded corner near the kitchens, where the smell of baking bread mingled uneasily with sweat and leather.
Sekiro met his gaze. The diamond-edged grey in his light green eyes was glacial. "Here's fine." His voice, pitched low, cut through the ambient noise. He didn't raise it. Didn't need to. The command in it flattened the remaining murmurs instantly.
"Like hell it is," Thorn muttered, shifting his weight. The youngest Leopard, his face still bearing the smoothness of youth beneath the soldier’s watchfulness, looked genuinely shaken. "You spring this… this wife on us? After three years? While Keytani slithers around smelling blood?"
"Your secrecy," Varrus added, his voice tight with barely leashed anger, "nearly got her killed. Got you compromised. The throne compromised." He spat onto the sawdust-strewn floor. "You let a village teacher become your blind spot?"
Sekiro’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the back of a heavy chair. He wanted to break it. Break Jax. The image of Orchid, trembling and violated on Keytani’s lap, flashed behind his eyes. His Orchid, who taught village children their letters and tended gardens. "She is not a blind spot," he stated, each word chipped from ice. "She is my wife. My choice. My responsibility. Questions about how we married are irrelevant."
"Irrelevant?" Jax’s laugh was short, harsh. "You disappear for weeks, Prince. On 'personal reconnaissance'. We cover, we lie, we hold the line while you play house in some backwater? And now Keytani knows. He used her." The accusation was brutal, direct. "He got inside your armor because you gave him a chink. A pretty, pink-haired chink."
A muscle jumped in Sekiro's jaw. The air crackled. Hana’s hidden hand tightened fractionally. Sekiro leaned forward slightly, the movement predatory despite his stillness. "You think I don't know that?" The quiet intensity of his voice was more terrifying than a shout. "You think I didn't feel every second of what he did? The secrecy was her shield. Yours too. Until he bypassed it."
"Shield?" Another Leopard, Garret, rubbed a scar on his chin. "Looked more like a target painted on her back the moment you said vows. Secrets have a way of rotting from the inside, Prince. Like bad grain."
A brittle silence followed Garret’s words. The crackle of the fire seemed unnaturally loud. Sekiro exhaled, a slow, controlled release of air that did nothing to ease the rigid line of his shoulders. He finally moved, pulling out the heavy chair he’d been gripping and sinking into it. The worn wood groaned under his weight. He looked weary suddenly, the prince momentarily eclipsed by the man beneath.
"Honestly?" His voice was low, scraping against the quiet. "Things with her... developed unexpectedly." He met Jax’s skeptical gaze, his light green eyes holding a rawness that hadn’t been there before. "Her poise, her knowledge – gods, her beauty. Everything about her drew me in hard. Like a moth to a damn forge."
Thorn snorted. "Bet she knew exactly who you were. Playing hard to get works wonders on princes."
Sekiro didn't rise to the bait. His gaze drifted towards the staircase, towards the room where Orchid slept. "She didn't want anything to do with me at first. Thought I was just another noble flirt, wasting her time." A ghost of a smile touched his lips, fleeting and bittersweet. "Took me months just to get her to agree to share a cup of tea. We were together two years before we married. Three married. And she knew nothing of my heritage. Nothing."
"Bullshit," Varrus muttered, shifting his stance. "How does a prince get married without the registry screaming his lineage? Paperwork doesn’t lie, Your Highness."
Sekiro sighed, a touch of color rising on his cheekbones. He traced a knot in the worn tabletop. "We both... had our own reasons for not wanting lineage discussed. Deeply personal ones. The priest performed the ceremony based on our word alone. Our names, our ages. No family histories exchanged. It worked for us both. Simple. Private." He paused, the memory playing out in his eyes. "But after a year or so... curiosity gnawed at me. I looked at the official copy of our certificate. Saw her name. Her full name."
"And?" Jax prompted, leaning forward, his earlier anger tempered by morbid fascination.
"Orchid Beauregard Lorenzo," Sekiro stated. The name hung in the smoky air.
Garret choked on his own breath. "Lorenzo? As in Marquis Lorenzo? The Emperor's Shadow? That explains the poise and the knowledge! So she ain’t just some village teacher. How the hell did she pull that off? Living out in the sticks?"
"I verified it," Sekiro said, his voice regaining some of its steel. "Discreetly. With the family themselves. They confirmed they have an adult daughter living exactly where she is. They bought the house decades ago as a safehouse, but the area was deemed too quiet, too far from anything useful. Never used." He looked back towards the stairs, warmth softening the harsh lines around his eyes. "But Orchid... she loved it. The quiet, the garden. She claimed it."
Jax whistled low. "Okay, princess in disguise. Got it. But how did you two even cross paths? Your usual haunts aren't exactly flower-filled meadows, Prince."
Sekiro’s expression shifted, a complex mix of pain, embarrassment, and profound tenderness. "By complete accident. I was... compromised. Badly injured. Bleeding out near a small cottage." He closed his eyes for a second, remembering the sharp scent of crushed petals. "I stumbled through a garden. Trampled right over a bed of these... golden flowers."
He opened his eyes. "She appeared. Like some wrathful garden spirit. Pale pink hair, eyes like storm clouds. I was a mess – blood, mud, probably looked half-dead. She took one look at the ruined blooms, then at me." He mimicked her tone, soft but fiercely clear, imbuing the words with unexpected warmth: "I understand you are injured, but that does not excuse trampling the golden orchids. Then she hauled me inside."
Sekiro’s gaze softened, fixed on the swirling grain of the worn table as if seeing the past etched there. "She tended to me, fed me, cared for me," he began, his voice rougher now, stripped of its usual command. "And the entire time, it was as if she was just looking after some man taking up a guest room." He let out a short, self-deprecating huff. "Once I was even semi-healed, she started asking me when I’d leave." A ripple of low chuckles spread through the Leopard unit gathered near the hearth. Thorn scratched his head, a reluctant grin forming. Even Varrus’s scowl eased a fraction.
Hana’s quiet snort cut through the low laughter from her place by the fire. Her sharp eyes met Sekiro’s briefly, a knowing glint in them. "Yeah," she murmured, her voice carrying easily in the hushed corner. "That sounds like her."
Sekiro nodded, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips as he continued. "But," he emphasized, the word hanging warm in the smoky air, "I had already grown so enamored with her." He leaned back slightly, the chair creaking. "The way she made sure I got outside for air, even when hauling my sorry carcass out the door was a struggle." He mimicked a weak gesture. "The way she’d read to me because my hand couldn’t hold a damn book steady." His voice deepened, warmed by the memory. "How she’d check on me when I was fighting a fever, all hours of the night, cool cloths and quiet murmurs." The image was vivid, a stark contrast to the hardened prince before them. "And then," he paused dramatically, a wry twist to his mouth, "when I was actually healed? She basically kicked me out. Told me not to come back."
Laughter erupted this time, louder and warmer, easing the lingering tension. Jax slapped his thigh, shaking his head. Garret chuckled into his tankard. The absurdity of the Crown Prince of Keytar being ejected by a small-town teacher was potent.
Sekiro spread his hands, palms up, a gesture of bewildered defeat that drew another round of laughter. "I thought, well, that was that. Another passing fancy." He shook his head, strands of white hair falling across his diamond-edged green eyes. "But." He paused again, meeting their amused gazes squarely. "I just couldn’t get her out of my mind. So… I pursued her." He said it plainly, a touch of color rising on his cheekbones.
Hana’s laugh was sharp, bright, cutting through the men’s rumbling amusement. "You stalked her!" she declared, leaning forward slightly, her hidden hand momentarily forgotten. The firelight caught the mirth in her eyes. "Oh, Orchid has told me the stories."
Sekiro’s head snapped towards her, the brief vulnerability evaporating, replaced by mild alarm. His gaze sharpened, assessing Hana with sudden intensity. "How much?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly, the playful tone replaced by genuine, wary curiosity. "Does she tell you… everything?"
Hana’s smile widened into something broad and deeply satisfied, a flash of teeth that held an edge of friendly challenge. "Enough," she drawled, letting the word linger, "that you would be embarrassed." Her eyes danced with mischief.
The group roared. Jax laughed until he wheezed, pounding the table. Thorn wiped tears from his eyes. Varrus actually cracked a reluctant smile.
The echoes of Sekiro's admission and Hana’s sharp laughter faded, leaving a strange, charged warmth in the smoky air near the Dero Inn’s hearth. Jax wiped his eyes, still chuckling, while Garret shook his head in disbelief. Thorn looked faintly awestruck. Varrus’s reluctant smile lingered, a crack in his usual stoic facade.
Sekiro shifted slightly, the faintest flush still high on his cheekbones beneath the firelight’s flicker. He glanced at Hana, a flicker of wary curiosity replacing the earlier alarm. "Alright," he conceded, his voice rough but softer than his battlefield commands. "Since you seem to know so much… what exactly did she tell you?" He almost winced as the question left his lips, bracing himself. The scent of roasting pork felt incongruously domestic against the tension.
Hana pushed off the carved wooden screen, stepping fully into the circle of light. Her face held a knowing, almost predatory amusement. "Oh, Prince," she drawled, her eyes glinting. "Where do I start?" She ticked points off on her green-stained fingers. "How you’d haunt the lane outside the village schoolhouse like a lovesick ghost, waiting for her lessons to end?" Sekiro’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. "How you’d leave baskets of ridiculously specific flowers on her porch – moon lilies, wasn't it? Because they matched her hair?" Garret snorted, trying to smother another laugh.
"And the letters," Hana continued, leaning forward conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a stage whisper the soldiers strained to hear. "Gods, the letters. Must have kept the local pigeon post in business. Flowery prose, dramatic declarations…" She raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "From what I hear? You're a real lover boy." She gave an exaggerated shrug, eyebrows dancing. The Leopards exchanged incredulous looks – their lethal commander, reduced to teenage poetry.
Sekiro ran a hand through his white hair, the diamond glint in his green eyes looking distinctly sheepish. "She told me they were cringy," he admitted, a low rumble. "Hopelessly romantic. Said they made her want to burn the paper."
The brief levity died as Hana’s expression sobered. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, momentarily illuminating the serious lines etched around her eyes. "No," she said, her voice firm and clear, cutting through the lingering amusement. "She didn't think that at all. Not really. She only said that." She met Sekiro’s gaze directly. "She was fighting it. Fighting you. Fighting how much those letters meant."
A heavy silence fell, thick with unspoken implications. The crackle of the fire, the distant clink of tankards from other patrons, seemed suddenly loud. Hana glanced towards the dark staircase leading to Orchid’s room, her voice softening. "I was there, you know. Stationed in that little town on medical leave after that nasty skirmish near the Western Pass. Needed somewhere quiet to heal my leg. I knew Orchid months before you stumbled into her garden." She gestured vaguely towards Sekiro. "We became friends. Real friends. She helped me when I was… adrift."
Hana’s gaze returned to Sekiro, sharp and assessing. "Orchid found you captivating. Instantly. Honestly baffled me how she didn't recognize the Crown Prince of Keytar." She shook her head, a wry twist to her mouth. "So many girls have your damn posters plastered above their beds. But Orchid? Grew up isolated out there. Tutors lived with her until she was grown, then she stayed. Kept to herself. I don't think she even realized how deep her loneliness went… until you started popping up everywhere." Hana paused, letting the image settle: the famously reclusive Marquis's daughter, unknowingly yearning, suddenly pursued by the oblivious prince. "Like sunshine breaking through thick fog," she murmured.
Sekiro stared at Hana, utterly still. The vulnerability Hana had teased moments before was gone, replaced by a profound, aching focus. He looked like a man deciphering a vital code. "She… lit up?" he asked, the words barely more than a breath. His knuckles were white where they gripped the chair arm.
"Like a damned festival lantern," Hana confirmed, her voice dropping lower, becoming intimate despite the audience. "Every time you came back from one of your mysterious 'absences'. She’d try to hide it, scowl at your muddy boots tracking dirt onto her clean floors, scold you for startling her… but the light in her eyes?" Hana shook her head slowly. "Unmistakable. Even when she was convinced you’d get bored. Convinced you had some beautiful noblewoman waiting back in the capital, or that your vanishing acts meant you were faithless." She leaned closer, her gaze intense. "She was terrified of trusting it. Terrified of you."
Hana took a steadying breath, the firelight catching the gold flecks in her brown eyes. "And she’ll probably try to stab me later for telling you this," she added, a ghost of her earlier smirk returning, "but… remember when you were half-healed? Still limping around her cottage?" Sekiro gave the faintest nod, his eyes never leaving hers. "She asked me once, when you were out trying to chop wood like a stubborn fool, when she thought you might finally be well enough to leave…" Hana paused, the air crackling with anticipation. She lowered her voice to a near-whisper, perfectly mimicking Orchid’s distinct, clear tone laced with bewildered frustration: "He makes me fantasize about dangerously wanting things."
The hushed intensity in the Dero Inn’s corner shattered like dropped glass. Orchid materialized behind Hana, barefoot and terrifying, her face flushed crimson with mortified fury. Before Hana could react, Orchid’s arm snaked around her throat, tightening with surprising strength, cutting off her next word. "You talk too much!" Orchid hissed, her breath hot and frantic against Hana’s ear, her voice trembling with embarrassment and anger. "Why? Why would you tell all of them this?"
Hana’s eyes widened, then immediately softened. She tapped Orchid’s forearm twice, rapidly – the clear signal for surrender. Orchid’s grip loosened just enough for Hana to suck in a ragged gasp of smoky air. "Oh, come on," Hana wheezed, twisting slightly to meet Orchid’s storm-grey eyes, a familiar, teasing glint fighting through her own discomfort. She tugged weakly at Orchid’s arm. "He’s your husband after all! Shouldn’t he know these things?"
Sekiro was already moving, the stunned silence of the Leopard unit dissolving into choked coughs and hastily averted gazes behind him. He crossed the worn floorboards in three swift strides, the scent of roasting meat and Orchid’s unique blend of herbal soap and fury filling his senses. Without preamble, he slid one strong arm around Orchid’s slender waist, his hand warm and possessive. Gently, firmly, he pried her arm from Hana’s neck. "Enough," he murmured, his voice low and steady against her temple, catching the faint salt-sweat scent of her distress. He started walking her backwards, away from the gawking soldiers and Hana rubbing her throat with a rueful grin. "Orchid," he asked, his tone shifting seamlessly to something softer, utterly incongruous after the display, "do you want to eat?"