Her Pretend Fiancé

"Prolouge"

The wind moved gently through the Moon Garden. Cherry petals drifted down like slow snow, and the swaying lanterns painted the pond in fractured gold.

The Princess stood before him, her long sleeves trembling in the breeze. She had practiced these words for a hundred nights, whispering them to the empty darkness of her chambers.

"Kaoru." Her voice was soft, weighted with a quiet seriousness. "Let this betrothal be real."

The moon hung full and heavy above them. The entire garden seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

Kaoru did not smile. His eyes remained perfectly cold, mirroring the distant stars. "I am sorry, Princess. To me, you are only the Princess." He turned his face away, cutting off her gaze.

The wind died instantly.

The falling petals seemed to freeze in the air for one breathless second, before dropping, one by one, onto the still, dark water.

The Princess smiled.

It was the exact same smile she wore for the royal court—flawless, calm, and entirely hollow. "I see," she said, a soft, self-deprecating laugh escaping her lips. "How silly of me."

She tilted her face toward the moon so he wouldn't see the light leave her eyes. Her hands shook violently at her sides, but she hid them deep within her sleeves, the way she had always hidden everything that truly mattered.

"Of course", she thought. "Of course he would say that."

Her mind drifted back to the afternoon she had proposed the arrangement: a fake engagement, meant strictly for the public eye. She had laughed lightheartedly as she suggested it, masking her desperation.

"I called it this relationship a fake and he believed me."

She thought of every cup of tea he had quietly brewed for her. Every late night he had stayed behind, gently brushing out her hair when she was too exhausted to move. "Was it all just duty to him?"

"Why didn't I tell him sooner? Why did I wait until it was too late?"

"Please forgive me," she whispered to the empty air between them. "I only wanted to be yours forever."

---

One Year Earlier...

In Moonrise District, the lanterns slept by day and woke at night.

By evening, every roof along the lane had a lit paper lantern, red and gold, and the whole street glowed like hot coals. Cheap incense smoke drifted out of every door, so thick you could taste it. Behind the paper doors, men laughed and women answered them, and somewhere a koto was being tuned for the night.

At the very end of the lane, past the last lantern, stood a narrow wooden house with a faded blue curtain over the door. No incense burned there. From inside came the steady *clack, clack* of a loom, the only sound in the whole district that never joined the noise.

Kaoru, eighteen, knelt by the door and tied a cloth bundle shut. Inside were a bronze mirror, a flat comb, a box of white powder, a small dish of red paint for the lips, a roll of thin brushes, and a stick of charcoal for eyebrows. He touched each thing once to check it, the way another man might count his coins.

His mother sat at the tall loom with her back straight, passing the thread back and forth. In the lamplight, the dark blue silk looked like water. Beside her, on a low stool, his youngest sister Sayo sorted spools by color and hummed out of tune.

"I'm going to Kiku-san," he said. "Tomoe-san and Ayame-san are there too. They will perform tonight, and they're waiting for me."

"Then you will be late," his mother said, without looking up.

"Probably," he replied. "I'll stay with them tonight."

"Ittekimasu," he said. *(I'm going, and I'll be back.)*

"Itterasshai," she answered. *(Go, and come back.)* The loom started again, but its sound grew softer for a moment, the way it always did.

Kaoru was only three steps down the lane when a small, sweet voice called behind him. "Onii-chan!"

Sayo came running, her sleeves flapping, and grabbed his robe with both hands. "Can I come too?" she asked. "I want to see Kiku-san dance!"

He bent down until his eyes were level with hers. His mouth moved a little. It was not quite a smile, but it was the closest he came to one outside that door. "When you've grown a little taller," he said.

"What about now?" she pleaded.

"Not yet," he replied. He tapped her forehead with one finger and wiped a spot of dye off her cheek. "Help Okaa-san," he added. "I'll bring you something sweet tomorrow."

She puffed out her cheeks, but she let go. He stood up and bowed to his mother through the open door, then walked away. When he looked back from the corner, Sayo was still waving with both arms.

The district was fully awake by the time he reached its center. Lanterns swayed above him. Incense smoke rolled out of every house in slow grey ribbons. A drunk man in a crooked hat bowed to him very proudly, and Kaoru bowed back without slowing down.

When a street seller stepped out of a doorway and saw who it was, he quietly stepped back in. Nobody in Moonrise District bothered the boy with the cloth bundle. He had grown up here, and the street no longer surprised him.

Three young women waited outside the house, under the red lanterns.

Kiku leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She was the tallest of the three, with a sharp jaw, long black hair pinned high, and dark eyes that missed nothing. One eyebrow was already raised, as if she had known exactly when he would arrive and was ready to tease him for being a breath late.

Tomoe sat on the step with a koto case across her knees. Her hair fell straight and loose to her waist, and her face was soft, pale, and calm as a pond at dawn. She looked like the quietest person in the whole district. Only the faint curve at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

Ayame bounced on her toes, humming. She was the smallest of them, with a round face, rosy cheeks, and wavy chestnut hair that bounced along with her. Her wide brown eyes lit up the moment she saw him, and she waved with her whole arm, as if he were still half a street away.

Kaoru stopped in front of them and just stood there, bundle in hand.

"Did you bring everything?" Tomoe asked.

"Yes," he answered. "Mirror, red paint, powder, brushes." He lifted the bundle. "Two extra combs, in case one breaks," he added. "And the thin brush for Ayame-san's eyes."

"The thin one?" Ayame gasped. "You remembered?"

"Yeah! I bought it today. You complain every time," Kaoru replied.

"Kao-chan," Kiku said sweetly, "you are staying with us tonight, aren't you?"

"I'll help Granny Haru carry trays until the last guest leaves," he said. "Then I'll sleep."

"Of course you will," Kiku said with a smile.

Ayame threw both arms around his neck. Tomoe took his cheek between two fingers and pulled it gently, as if checking a fruit. Kiku just messed up his hair, which she knew he hated. Kaoru stood stiff as a post while three women laughed, and he did not fight it.

"Thank you for coming," Tomoe said, more softly. "It matters to us."

Inside, the dressing room smelled of camellia oil and warm wood. A low lamp glowed in the corner, and the paper walls shut out the noise of the lane.

Ayame began to sing a bright, silly scale that climbed up and slid down again. Kiku stretched her arms over her head, rolled her shoulders, and turned a slow half circle across the floor, as sharp and graceful as a blade being drawn. Tomoe settled the koto across her knees and plucked a single string. The note hung in the air, and the room went quiet around it.

Kaoru had meant to stay by the wall. He always did. But Ayame caught his hand and tugged him forward before he could protest.

"Come on, Kao-chan! Just the chorus!"

"I'm only here to help," he said.

"Then help us!"

He knew every step, because he had watched them a hundred times. When the chorus came, he sang it with them, low and steady, and turned when they turned, side by side. Kiku's eyebrow lifted, and she smiled. Ayame laughed out loud. Tomoe did not look up from the strings, but the music grew warmer.

They went through the whole piece twice. When the last note faded, nobody had checked the time.

After a while, Kaoru knelt and spread the bundle open on the low table.

Kiku sat first, chin lifted, her back as straight as a post. He ran the comb through her long black hair in slow, even strokes until it shone, then twisted it high and slid in a single pin. It was sharp and clean, just the way she liked it.

"Pull it tighter," she said.

"It's already tight," he replied.

"Tighter."

He sighed and tightened the knot by a hair. She tilted her head left and right, then nodded, satisfied.

Tomoe was next. Her hair fell straight to her waist, and she wanted nothing done to it. He brushed it once, warmed a drop of camellia oil between his palms, and smoothed it down her back. Tomoe closed her eyes and said nothing at all.

Ayame came last, bouncing on her stool. Her bouncy brown curls refused to stay in place, and each time he gathered them, they sprang loose again.

"Hold still, Ayame-san," he said.

"I am holding still!" she protested.

"You are breathing," Kaoru replied.

She giggled so hard the whole stool shook, and he had to start the braid again. In the end, he tied it with a yellow ribbon, and she turned her head left and right to admire it, delighted.

Then came the part he did himself, as he always did. He took the costumes from the rack and helped the three of them dress, one after another, with the calm hands of someone who had done it a hundred times. He never rushed, and he never stared. His eyes stayed on the cloth. He folded each layer smooth with the side of his hand, pulled each sash snug, and set each collar straight.

"Done," he said at last.

Kiku looked at herself in the mirror. "It's beautiful," she said. She did not say it to him. She said it to the three of them.

---

The tea house was full by the second bell. Nobles in dark robes filled the front rows, sitting straight on their cushions with their sleeves folded neatly over their knees. Behind them sat men whose servants wore badges that Kaoru knew better than to stare at. Granny Haru, who ran the place, stood beside the kitchen curtain with a lacquer tray in her hands.

Kaoru stepped forward, and she pushed the tray into his hands without a word.

He carried tea and small plates of sweet bean paste down the aisles. At each cushion he set down a cup, bowed, and stepped back. A noble in grey silk raised two fingers without turning his head, and Kaoru refilled his cup.

When the last cup was set down, Kaoru's shoulders dropped a little, and he walked to the back wall and stood close to it, tray in hand.

On the wooden platform, the lamps went dim. One by one, the small flames shrank to soft orange dots, and the whole tea house sank into a warm shadow. The guests stopped talking. Even the clink of cups went quiet.

Tomoe played the first note.

She sat on the left side of the platform with the koto across her knees, her back straight and her face calm. Her fingers moved over the strings with gentle, careful plucks, and each sound rolled out slowly, like a drop falling into still water. Her eyes were half closed, as if she were listening to something far away that only she could hear.

Kiku rose through it like smoke.

She stood in the middle of the platform with her deep red layers spread around her, and she lifted both arms slowly. Her sleeves opened like wings. She turned, one soft step, then another, and the red silk swept across the wooden floor without a sound. Every turn landed exactly on the beat of the koto, and every movement flowed into the next as if the whole dance were one single breath.

And Ayame's voice soared over the strings.

She stood on the right side, in her yellow robe with the white cranes, her hands folded gently in front of her. Her voice was warm and clear and sweet, and it floated through the tea house like moonlight through paper doors. It wrapped around the koto and the dance, and the three of them together felt like something too beautiful to be real. Every few lines she smiled softly, as if she were sharing a secret with everyone in the room.

In the front rows, one young noble set down his cup and forgot to pick it up again. He leaned forward until his hands rested on the floor.

"Remarkable," a lord in blue murmured to the man beside him.

"I have never heard the koto sound like this," the man whispered in reply.

Kaoru stood at the back with the empty tray against his chest, watching, and for the first time that evening he let himself breathe. He knew each note. He knew when Kiku would turn and when Ayame would pause for breath, because he had heard it all a hundred times through the thin walls of their house. But it never sounded the same when the lanterns shone on it.

The song slowed. Ayame's voice dropped to a gentle hum, and Kiku sank into a long, quiet bow with her sleeves trailing on the floor. The koto played one last, soft phrase, and the whole room waited for the next one.

Then Tomoe's hands stopped on the strings for just a moment, and her eyes found his across the whole tea house.

She smiled. It was small, calm, and perfectly innocent. It was the same smile she wore whenever she had already told the others something he would not like.

A drop of sweat slid down the side of Kaoru's forehead.

He knew exactly what that smile meant. And he had a terrible feeling that tonight's surprise was him.

---

Author's Note: 📝

Thank you for reading Her Pretend Fiancé! 🌸

This is a slow-burn romance about a shy beautician, a fake engagement, and a very possessive princess. The prologue is only a glimpse of what's coming. The real story begins one year earlier.

📝Quick guide to the Japanese words:

Ittekimasu / Itterasshai: "I'm going, and I'll be back" / "Go, and come back" ✅

San: polite, Chan: Close and Affectionate. ✅

Onii-chan: big brother, Okaa-san: mother. ✅

Tell me what you think Tomoe's surprise is! 💛