Chapter 102: Fake Marriage
The moon hung low and heavy in the sky, a sliver of polished bone against a canvas of deep, star-dusted violet. The streets of the dragonkin city were quiet now, the earlier, boisterous energy of the market having given way to a silent, watchful peace. My footsteps were the only sound as I made my way through the sleeping city, the weight of Yumi, now fast asleep in my arms, a strange, comforting anchor in the storm of my own thoughts.
I stopped before a modest but elegant mansion, its walls carved from the same dark, volcanic stone as the surrounding mountains, its windows glowing with a soft, warm light. This was it. The home of the girl whose fate was now inexplicably, and irrevocably, tied to my own.
I knocked.
The door opened a moment later, revealing the tall, regal figure of Christina’s father. His face, which had been a mask of profound, soul-deep sorrow in the garden, was now etched with a weary, guarded suspicion. His eyes, the color of a summer sky, widened in surprise as he saw me, and then widened even further as he saw the small, sleeping child in my arms.
"Hi," I said, my voice a low, quiet murmur. "My name is... ah, never mind. I can’t come up with a made-up name on the spot, so let’s just leave it." I gestured with my head toward the sleeping Yumi. "She’s exhausted."
We were still standing on the doorstep, a strange, silent tableau in the cool night air. "You may be wondering many things," I continued, my voice a low, steady murmur that was designed to both soothe and command. "So why don’t we sit inside and talk?"
He hesitated for a long, tense moment, his gaze shifting from me to Yumi, his mind clearly a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Then, with a slow, weary sigh of resignation, he stepped aside and welcomed me into his home.
I was sitting face to face with him in a large, elegantly furnished drawing room, the only sound the gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth. "Can you call your daughter?" I asked, my voice a quiet, respectful murmur. "The whole thing is about her, after all."
Her father called her, and she came a moment later, her own mother, a woman with the same silvery-white hair and a face etched with a quiet, dignified sorrow, at her side.
"Umm... miss," I said, my voice a little softer now as I stood and gently transferred the sleeping Yumi into her mother’s arms. "Can you please place this child in your bedroom?"