Nakashima Chiharu was the youngest of three, aged only sixteen when her father, Nakashima Shigeru, approached her, smiling widely, letter in hand. “Otou-san.” Shooing her cousin, she shuffled aside, allowing him to sit aside her on the engawa. “What is it?” She asked. “You’re awfully excited.”

“Chiharu. You are a fine woman, gentle and diligent. Your mother and I have spoken, and we have decided that you are ready to marry,” Shigeru said, his single eye glittering. She had never dared to ask why he had lost the other; her father was an extremely private man. Indeed, he remained a mystery to even her mother, Nakashima Rie. Sensing he had more to say, she remained silent, biting the inside of her cheek. “We have been blessed with an audience with the Aroi family. My hope is that their nephew will take interest in you.” Shigeru grinned, resting a hand on her head. “My beautiful daughter.”

Chiharu smiled weakly. It was an honour—the Aroi were famous, decorated—but it was impossible what he expected of her. How could she fare against the Tanzo and the Karada? The Nakashima were an artisan family, and certainly not of wealth. Did her father truly believe that the Aroi would accept anything less? “I… I’m honoured,” she replied, skirting the issue. “But me? Surely, Kaede would be better suited…”

Shigeru clicked his tongue, climbing to his feet. His greying face held scorn for her reluctance. “The responsibility has fallen to you, Chiharu. We will be leaving tomorrow at dawn. Be ready.”

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Chiharu fidgeted as Rie combed her hair; her mother had insisted upon the hime cut, citing it fashionable. She guided Chiharu to her feet, looking her over with deep scrutiny. The resemblance between them was uncanny and, Chiharu was certain, a point of resentment for Rie. The silence was uncomfortable, heavy and suffocating, time crawling slowly as Rie adjusted what she thought out of place. She demanded no less than perfection, the pressure of meeting the Aroi ailing her patience. It was a welcome relief when she stepped back.

Chiharu’s kimono had been tailored for the occasion, made of fine silk with floral embroidery. She peered at her reflection; it was a work of art, far beyond what Kaede had received for her omiai. She faltered, spotting Rie’s frown in the glass, and bowed her head. “Sumimasen.”

“Really, where is your head?” Rie said. Chiharu stepped aside, surrendering the mirror to her mother and moving outside, face upturned. The sky was clear, promising good weather for their journey; if only the same could be said for her heart. She had never felt restraint, even as a child, her father’s doting ensuring she could do as she pleased. The thought of taking a husband, a stranger… It was far beyond understanding. But, she supposed, as her mother had imposed: “There is no room in this world for childish dreaming.”

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They arrived in the afternoon. A sly wind had come in from the east, bringing with it dark cloud and biting chill. The Aroi residence was larger than Chiharu had thought, easily thrice the size of their own. A retainer came to meet Shigeru, bowing deeply and inviting the family inside. The opulence was not lost on her, the full weight of her duty weighing heavily. How could she even dream of competing with women of higher nobility? They were guided to a tatami room, the retainer asking leave to fetch his lord. She felt a hand on her shoulder, Rie hissing a warning in her ear as they entered. Chiharu knelt on the floor, a hand on her lap and the other adjusting her hair, her heart in her throat. Her mother seated herself beside her, leaning close to conspire.

“Remember,” Rie said, face still as stone. “Men are simple. Charm them, and you will have them in your palm.”

“Yes, okaa-san.”

“Do not fail me.”

“No, okaa-san.”