7
Kamakura, Yoritomo’s mansion.
It was a pleasant night with a spring breeze.
Next to Yoritomo, who was asleep in the bedroom, Masako sat, looking down on his sleeping face. But there was not the slightest trace of wifely affection in her gaze.
A lukewarm breeze blew from nowhere in particular, and the oil lamp flickered.
“...En?” Masako said without
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