Chapter 6: Revelations Over Red Wine
The heavy oak door of the Dero Inn's private dining room clicked shut behind them, muffling the distant clamor of the main hall instantly. The air here was thick and quiet, scented with old woodsmoke, beeswax polish, and the rich aroma of roasted venison that made Orchid’s stomach clench despite her tangled nerves. Heavy tapestries depicting forgotten hunts covered the stone walls, swallowing sound. A single, long table dominated the center of the dim room, polished to a deep gleam. One end was meticulously set for two: gleaming silver, crystal goblets filled with dark wine, a solitary candle flickering erratically in a heavy brass holder. Its small flame cast long, dancing shadows.
Orchid hovered near the door, the warmth of Sekiro’s hand still ghosting on her lower back where he’d guided her. The mortification of Hana’s revelation – He makes me fantasize about dangerously wanting things – still burned fiercely in her cheeks, hotter than any fever. She felt exposed, raw. The vulnerability Hana had laid bare for the entire Leopard unit felt like flayed skin.
Sekiro moved past her towards the table, his movements fluid yet heavy with the day’s exhaustion and tension. He pulled out a heavy, carved chair for her. The scrape of wood on stone sounded unnaturally loud. "Sit," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet. It wasn't a command, more a weary plea.
She sank into the chair, the cool leather a small shock. He took the seat opposite, the wide table suddenly feeling like a chasm. For a long moment, the only sounds were the crackle of logs in the grand fireplace tucked into one shadowed corner and the frantic flutter of the candle flame. The flickering light caught the diamond-edge grey in his green eyes, turning them fathomless pools. It caught the strands of her pink hair fallen loose around her face.
He reached for the wine bottle, the dark liquid glugging as he filled her glass, then his own. The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid. Orchid picked up her glass, the crystal cool and heavy. She didn’t drink. Instead, her thumb traced the smooth, cool rim, round and round, a nervous anchor. The facets caught the candlelight, scattering tiny prisms onto the dark wood.
She couldn’t look at him directly. Her gaze fixed on the shimmering reflections dancing near her fingers. The question that had been screaming inside her since the Leopard unit knelt, since ‘Your Highness’ echoed in that cramped hallway, finally clawed its way out. Her voice was barely a whisper, scraped raw.
"You’re the prince."
Not a question. A statement. An acknowledgment of the impossible reality that had shattered her world. Sekiro, Crown Prince of Keytar. Not the charming drifter with a mysterious job, the man she’d nursed back to health, fallen in love with, married… but the heir to the entire damn kingdom. The sheer, staggering scale of his deception threatened to overwhelm her again.
He didn't flinch. His gaze, intense and unwavering, held hers across the table. He took a slow sip of his wine, then set the glass down deliberately. The candlelight glinted off the ring on his finger. Her ring. Their ring.
"I am," he confirmed, his voice low and steady. No apology laced it, only a stark acceptance of the truth. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his hands clasped loosely. The firelight deepened the shadows beneath his eyes. "Are you… furious with me, Orchid?" The question held genuine uncertainty, a vulnerability beneath the prince’s composure that mirrored her own.
Orchid stopped tracing the rim. She looked up, finally meeting his eyes. The shifting colors in her own – lilac, blue, hints of soft gold – seemed turbulent in the dim light. Fury? The thought surprised her. The betrayal was immense, yes. The danger was terrifying. But fury? She searched the familiar planes of his face, the white hair falling across his forehead, the weary set of his broad shoulders beneath his travel-stained tunic. She saw the man who’d written her cringy love letters, who’d clumsily tried to chop wood, who’d looked at her like she was the only star in his sky.
"No," she breathed, the word surprising even herself. It felt true, resonating deep in her chest where the panic had been moments before. "I’m not furious." She hesitated, then added, the ghost of a self-deprecating smile touching her lips, "Confused?Absolutely. Terrified? Definitely. But not… furious with you. The situation is… immense. But you?" She shook her head slightly. "How could I be? You’re still Sekiro. My Sekiro."
Relief, profound and visible, softened the hard lines around his eyes. He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. "Orchid…"
"But," she interrupted, leaning forward now, mirroring his posture. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Did you… did you know? When you met me? When we…" She gestured vaguely, encompassing the cottage, the garden, the long walks, the courtship, the marriage. "Did you know who I was? That I was… Beauregard Lorenzo?" The name felt alien on her tongue. Her father’s name. The Emperor’s Shadow. A title she’d fled from, buried beneath village life and lesson plans.
Sekiro stared at her, his expression shifting from relief to complete bewilderment. He barked out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Know? Orchid, I stumbled into your garden bleeding out, half-dead from an ambush. I thought you were a goddess of wrath protecting her flowers." He ran a hand through his hair."No. Gods, no, I had no idea. Beauregard Lorenzo? The Shadow’s daughter?" His incredulity was genuine, almost comical. "I thought you were the most captivating, infuriatingly independent village teacher I’d ever met. Who happened to live in a surprisingly well-maintained, isolated cottage." He shook his head again, a wry smile finally breaking through. "I only found out about your lineage much later. When curiosity got the better of me and I looked at the marriage certificate we’d both signed only with our names. Verified it discreetly. It was… a shock."
The absurdity of it hit them both at the same moment. Two people, hiding colossal secrets, utterly oblivious to the other’s hidden world. She, the reclusive daughter of the realm’s most feared spymaster, living anonymously. He, the Crown Prince, disguised as a wanderer. Meeting by chance in a trampled flowerbed.
A soft giggle escaped Orchid. It felt strange, bubbling up through the tension. Sekiro’s chuckle joined it, low and warm. Then it blossomed into genuine laughter, shaky at first, then fuller, echoing softly in the tapestry-lined room. It was the release of years of hidden tension, the absurdity of their situation cutting through the fear and the shock. They laughed until tears stung Orchid’s eyes, the sound mingling with the crackle of the fire.
As the laughter subsided, leaving them breathless and strangely lighter, Orchid wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She picked up her wine glass again, taking a proper sip this time. The rich, dark liquid was smooth and warming. She looked towards the door, as if she could see through it to where Hana likely still lurked near the main hall hearth.
"And Hana?" Sekiro asked softly, following her gaze, a knowing look in his diamond-edged eyes. "Are you plotting her slow, painful demise for spilling your secrets?"
Orchid sighed, swirling the wine in her glass. A faint, rueful smile touched her lips. "No," she admitted. "Not really. It was… mortifying. Deeply, soul-crushingly embarrassing. Especially… that part." Her cheeks flushed again at the memory of her own words flung into the tense air of the main hall. "But," she continued, meeting his gaze, "she’s Hana. She saw things I couldn’t admit, even to myself back then. She meant well, in her own brutally honest way. She always does." She took another sip. "Besides, seeing your face when she called you out on the poetry was almost worth it."
Sekiro groaned theatrically, burying his face in his hands for a moment, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter. He looked up, the candlelight softening his features. "Hopelessly romantic," he quoted her earlier words, a self-mocking grin on his face. He reached across the table, his hand palm up, an invitation.
Orchid hesitated for only a heartbeat. She slid her hand into his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong, calloused from swordplay yet familiar as her own heartbeat. The polished wood of the table, the flickering candle, the scent of food and woodsmoke – it all faded for a moment. Across the chasm of secrets revealed and dangers looming, their fingers intertwined. Not prince and marquis’s daughter. Just Sekiro and Orchid. Still holding on.
Still holding on. Orchid’s thumb brushed the ridge of Sekiro’s knuckles, tracing the familiar scar near his thumb. The warmth of his hand grounded her, a tether against the dizzying implications swirling in her mind like storm clouds. She took a slow breath, the scent of venison and aged wine suddenly sharp. "I tried so hard," she began, her voice hushed, scraping against the quiet tapestries. "To avoid exactly this." She gestured vaguely upwards, towards the unseen capital, the crushing weight of protocol. "Court. The scrutiny. The… performance." A shiver ran through her, unrelated to the room's warmth. "It terrifies me, Sekiro. Truly."
She met his gaze, her shifting eyes wide and vulnerable in the candlelight. "But if that’s what you need… if that’s where you are…" Her fingers tightened around his. "I’ll do it." The words felt heavy, final, like dropping a stone into a deep well. "I’ll endure every stifling minute, every sideways glance." A flicker of fierce determination sparked beneath the fear. "If it means I get to see you. Every single day."
Sekiro’s breath caught. He saw the monumental effort behind her words, the sheer terror she was willingly stepping into – for him. For them. The enormity of her sacrifice, her courage, slammed into him. His throat tightened. "Orchid…" Her name was a rough whisper, thick with emotion. He surged forward, the heavy chair scraping harshly on the stone floor. He leaned across the polished table, his free hand cupping her jaw, tilting her face up. His kiss wasn't gentle. It was deep, claiming, pouring every ounce of his stunned gratitude, his fierce love, his aching relief into the connection. It tasted of wine and shared secrets and a future suddenly blazingly bright.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling. "You," he murmured, his voice vibrating with intensity, "are my entire world. Every sunrise, every star." His thumb traced the delicate line of her jaw. "But gods help me," a low, predatory rumble entered his tone, "how am I supposed to control myself?" His gaze burned into hers, hot and possessive. "Seeing you draped in silks and jewels? Moving through those halls with that quiet grace?" He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear, his whisper sending shivers down her spine. "Always within reach… but surrounded by eyes?" A dark chuckle escaped him. "You thought I had too much energy in bed before? Just you wait."
Heat flooded Orchid’s face, blooming crimson from her neck to her hairline. She could feel the blush like a brand. A startled gasp escaped her lips, followed by a treacherous curl of answering heat low in her belly. Her fingers dug into his forearm. But just as quickly, the warmth vanished, replaced by a chilling dread that froze her blood. Her eyes widened, the playful intimacy evaporating. "Sekiro," she breathed, her voice suddenly thin, brittle. "Our fathers."
He straightened slightly, his expression shifting from heated promise to sharp focus. He didn't release her hand. "Ah," he acknowledged, a thoughtful tilt to his head. "The Marquis Lorenzo and the Emperor." He nodded slowly. "They will be furious. Incandescently furious." He met her terrified gaze squarely, a flicker of grim amusement in his diamond-edged eyes. "About the secrecy, Orchid. Absolutely. Three years of marriage hidden?" He gave a short, dry laugh. "They'll likely want to skin us both alive for that."
He squeezed her hand, his voice firming, grounding her. "But furious about the match?" He shook his head decisively. "Impossible. Unthinkable." A confident certainty settled over him. "The Emperor’s Shadow and the Crown Prince? Their children united?" A genuine, almost feral smile touched his lips. "They might rage about how it happened, my love. But they will welcome that it did. Trust me."
Sekiro pushed back his chair, the scrape echoing sharply in the tapestried quiet. "Too much distance," he murmured, his gaze fixed on hers. He gestured towards the heavy stone bench built into the fireplace alcove, warmed by radiating heat. "Come."
Orchid followed, the soft scrape of her bare feet on the cool stone floor the only sound. The bench felt solid, rough-hewn granite beneath her, radiating a welcome heat that seeped into her chilled bones. He settled beside her, his thigh pressing warmly against hers through the thin fabric of her skirt. The scent of woodsmoke and his familiar, clean sweat enveloped her.
"You're probably right," she sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing as she leaned into his solid side. His arm came around her instantly, pulling her closer, tucking her securely against him. The rough wool of his tunic scratched her cheek, a grounding sensation. "About our fathers," she clarified, staring into the dancing orange flames. "The union... they'll see the strategic benefit. Eventually. But the secrecy..."
"It changes nothing between us, Orchid," Sekiro stated, his voice low and firm against her hair. His fingers traced idle patterns on her arm. "Listen. Court protocol? All the bows, the titles, the stifling rituals?" He shook his head, his jaw set. "It means nothing to me. Not where we are concerned." He turned his head, his lips brushing her temple. "I won't sacrifice one moment of this," he squeezed her gently, "for the sake of noble mouths flapping. Let them talk." He leaned closer, his breath warm on her ear. "We are married. They can talk themselves hoarse."
Orchid felt the heat rise in her cheeks again, a different kind of warmth spreading under his touch. "I just hope," she mumbled, tracing the seam of his tunic sleeve with a fingertip, "nothing too vulgar finds its way into the gossip."
Sekiro chuckled, a low rumble in his chest she felt more than heard. "No," he promised, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. His hand, resting on her waist, slid slowly upwards, trailing the curve of her stomach beneath her tunic. The fabric whispered against her skin. "Nothing too vulgar in front of the court." The implication hung in the firelit air, thick and promising.
Orchid tilted her head back to look at him, her shifting eyes catching the firelight – lilac, blue, gold swirling. "I still can't believe it," she confessed, her voice soft with awe. "That you're the Crown Prince. The way you are... with me." She searched his diamond-edged green eyes. "In bed. So attuned. So passionate. So incredibly considerate. So... loving." The words tumbled out, raw and honest. "It doesn't fit the image of a detached royal heir."
A slow, genuine smile spread across Sekiro's face, softening the prince and revealing the man she knew. "Orchid," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. "That's because it is with you." He leaned in, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was tender, deep, and full of unspoken promises. It spoke of their garden, their cottage, their secret years, and the terrifying, exhilarating future unfolding.
The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the heat of the fire, the roughness of the stone, the taste of him. He pulled her tighter, his hand still warm on her stomach, his other tangling in her blush-pink hair. The crackle of the logs sounded impossibly loud.
A deliberate, pointed thump echoed near the door. They broke apart, breathing unevenly. Thorn stood silhouetted in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame, his expression caught between awkwardness and soldierly stoicism. He cleared his throat loudly. "Right. So." He shifted his weight. "I'm only going to ask this once, Your Highness. Ma'am." He gestured vaguely at their intertwined forms on the bench. "Then I'll relay the answer to the rest of the group shivering their arses off out there." He took a deliberate breath. "Is this," he jabbed a finger towards them again, "the level of... erm... lovey-dovey behavior we're to expect regularly now? On missions? In war councils? Just... generally?"
Sekiro and Orchid looked at each other. A silent conversation passed between them – shared memories of trampled orchids, hidden letters, Hana’s brutal honesty, Keytani’s vile touch, and the terrifying, beautiful truth now laid bare. Their fear of court protocol momentarily forgotten, replaced by the simple, fierce reality of them. A soft, knowing smile touched both their lips simultaneously. They turned their heads back to Thorn, their expressions perfectly mirrored: defiant, united, utterly unapologetic.
"Yes."