Steel Wrapped in Silk
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 14: The Wedding
The Wedding
The journey to the Shabazu estate took less than an hour, but it felt like crossing into another world.
Mio sat motionless in the palanquin, barely able to breathe beneath the layers of silk and the heavy wig. The white makeup felt like a mask—which, she supposed, it was. Everything about this transformation was designed to make her unrecognizable, to symbolize her death and rebirth.
Mitsui Mio died months ago, she thought. Mōri Mio is dying now. And tonight, Shabazu Mio will be born.
The palanquin stopped. She heard voices outside—formal greetings, the bearers announcing her arrival.
The screen slid open.
An elderly servant bowed deeply. “Welcome, honored bride. Please, allow us to assist you.”
Two women helped her out of the palanquin—she couldn’t have managed it alone in these robes. Every movement was difficult, deliberate, controlled by the weight of the silk.
She stood in the entrance courtyard of the Shabazu estate and looked up.
The house was larger than the Mōri residence—not grand, but substantial. A proper samurai estate with multiple buildings, a formal garden visible beyond the main house, a gate that had recently been repainted.
They used my father’s money to repair this place, she thought with dark irony. My dowry fixed the gate I’m walking through.
“This way, honored bride.”
They led her to a private room where she would wait until the ceremony. It was a formal space—tatami mats, a scroll in the alcove depicting cranes in flight, a single flower arrangement of white chrysanthemums.
White. Everything was white. Death and purity and transformation.
Aoi appeared, having traveled separately. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I can’t breathe.”
“The robes are constricting. That’s intentional. You’re supposed to feel constrained—it symbolizes the weight of your new responsibilities.” Aoi adjusted one of the layers that had shifted during the palanquin ride. “The ceremony begins in one hour. Until then, rest as much as you can. You’ll be performing for hours.”
Mio nodded, not trusting her voice.
“And Mio?” Aoi’s voice softened. “Remember what I told you. You are steel wrapped in silk. All of this—” she gestured at the elaborate costume “—is just the wrapping. The steel is still there. Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t, Aoi-sama.”
Aoi bowed and left.
Mio sat alone in the formal room, listening to the sounds of the household preparing for the ceremony. Servants moving, voices calling instructions, the subtle bustle of important guests arriving.
She closed her eyes and practiced the breathing exercises her mother had taught her years ago.
In. Out. Slow. Controlled.
You can do this. It’s just another performance. You’ve practiced this hundreds of times.
Today you marry a stranger. Tomorrow you begin building a life with him. But right now, all you have to do is get through the ceremony without collapsing or making a mistake.
That’s all. Just survive the next few hours.
A knock at the shoji.
“Honored bride, it’s time.”
Mio opened her eyes, composed her face into serene acceptance, and stood.
The performance was about to begin.
The ceremony was held in the main hall of the Shabazu residence, which had been transformed into a sacred space.
Mio was led to the entrance and told to wait. Through the partially open screen, she could see the assembled guests—perhaps twenty people, all formally dressed, kneeling in precise rows.
At the front, near the alcove where the household shrine had been set up, she could see three figures:
An elderly man in ceremonial robes—the matchmaker who would officiate.
And two men kneeling side by side.
One was clearly Shabazu Matsui—she recognized him from his visit to the sword shop months ago. The man who’d negotiated her purchase. The man who’d arranged this entire transaction.
The other...
Mio’s breath caught.
The other was younger, perhaps mid-twenties, with the rigid posture of formal ceremony. She couldn’t see his face clearly from this angle—he was kneeling in profile, looking straight ahead—but something about him was familiar.
My husband, she thought, her heart pounding beneath the layers of silk. The stranger I’m about to marry.
“Enter now,” the attendant whispered.
Mio stepped into the hall.
Every eye turned to her.
She walked with the tiny, gliding steps she’d practiced for months. The heavy robes made each movement deliberate, measured. She kept her eyes downcast, as was proper, seeing only the tatami mats before her feet.
One step. Another. Don’t rush. Don’t stumble. Perfect form.
She reached the front of the hall and knelt on the cushion that had been prepared for her—directly across from the young man who would be her husband.
For the first time, she allowed herself to look up.
And her world stopped.
It was him.
The samurai from the sword shop. The one who’d complimented her knowledge of blade work. The one who’d looked at her with respect rather than condescension.
Shabazu Taichi.
The name from Kaito’s correspondence suddenly connected to a face, a memory, a person.
She’d been preparing to marry a stranger, and discovered she was marrying the one samurai who’d ever seen her as something other than a merchant’s daughter to be overlooked.
Their eyes met.
And she saw the exact moment he recognized her.
His eyes widened slightly—barely visible, but she’d been trained to read subtle expressions. His breath caught. His hands, resting formally on his thighs, tensed.
He knows, she thought. He remembers me.
But the ceremony was beginning. Neither of them could speak, acknowledge the recognition, or do anything but perform their roles.
The matchmaker began the formal invocation, his voice sonorous and ceremonial:
“We gather today to witness the union of Shabazu Taichi, son of Shabazu Matsui and Shabazu Koko, with Mōri Mio, daughter of Mōri Kaito and Mōri Aoi, in the bonds of sacred marriage...”
Mio barely heard the words. Her mind was reeling.
He knows. He’s known this whole time—or at least, he’s known since this morning. Does he know about the arrangement? Does he know I’m not really Kaito’s daughter? Does he know what they did to me?
She forced herself to focus. To breathe. To maintain her serene expression.
Later, she told herself. Process this later. Right now, just perform the ceremony.
The matchmaker called for the san-san-kudo—the ritual exchange of sake that would bind them together.
Three cups were presented. Small, medium, large—representing heaven, earth, and humanity.
Taichi took the first cup. Raised it. Took three sips. Passed it to Mio.
Their fingers brushed as she accepted it.
The touch sent electricity through her—the first physical contact with the man who would be her husband.
She raised the cup to her lips with trembling hands and drank. Three sips, as ritual demanded. The sake was sweet, warm.
She passed the cup back.
Second cup. Medium. Representing earth and the physical world.
Three sips. Pass.
Three sips. Return.
Third cup. Large. Representing humanity and the bonds between people.
This time, when Taichi passed the cup to Mio, his eyes met hers again.
And in that brief moment of contact, she saw something in his expression. Not triumph. Not possession.
Apology.
He’s sorry, she realized. He knows what this cost me, and he’s sorry.
The recognition was devastating. Because it meant he wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t ignorant of what had happened to her.
He knew. And he felt guilty.
Which made everything more complicated.
She completed the final three sips and passed the cup back to the matchmaker.
The san-san-kudo was complete.
They were married.
Bound together until death.
“The union is sealed,” the matchmaker pronounced. “Mōri Mio is no more. Shabazu Mio is born. May this marriage bring honor, prosperity, and harmony to both families.”
Formal acknowledgments from both sets of parents. Bows. Ceremonial words.
Mio knelt through all of it in a daze, barely processing what was being said.
She was married.
To the samurai from the sword shop.
To a man who remembered her.
To someone who seemed to regret this arrangement as much as she did.
What does this mean? she wondered. Is it better or worse that he knows who I was? That he remembers the merchant’s daughter examining his blade?
After the ceremony, Mio was led away to change robes.
The white Shiromuku was removed—symbolizing the death of Mōri Mio—and replaced with the Iro-uchikake. The vibrant coral-pink silk with golden cranes embroidered in flight. The robe that symbolized rebirth, color returning to her life, the beginning of her new identity.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
The transformation was complete. She looked like a samurai bride. Beautiful, elegant, expensive.
Nothing about her appearance suggested she’d ever worked in a sword shop, kept merchant accounts, or examined blade construction with expert hands.
She was Shabazu Mio now.
And the steel-wrapped-in-silk merchant’s daughter would have to stay hidden deeper than ever.
When she returned to the reception hall, the guests had moved to celebrate. Food had been laid out—elaborate dishes, sake flowing freely, formal congratulations being offered.
Taichi stood as she entered. He’d changed as well—now wearing more comfortable formal wear, though still ceremonial.
He bowed to her. Formally. Correctly.
“Welcome to our household ... wife.”
The word hung in the air between them. Wife. The new role she would perform for the rest of her life.
“Thank you ... husband.” The word felt strange on her tongue. Foreign.
They knelt side by side to receive congratulations from the guests.
One by one, people approached. Offered formal blessings. Commented on what a beautiful ceremony it had been, what an elegant bride, what a promising match.
And through it all, Mio and Taichi sat mere inches apart, maintaining perfect composure, unable to speak privately or acknowledge the recognition that hummed between them like a drawn blade.
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