"Marrying a Vermont! It's a disgrace to our Temnes!"
A voice reeking of alcohol rang out across the banquet hall, where the wedding celebration was in full swing.
Then, one by one, men slammed their drinks down with heavy *thuds* and rose from their seats, flocking toward the head of the table.
"Does this even make sense? We are Temnes!"
"That scarecrow King Oberon must be laughing at us!"
"My lord, please—say something!"
The man gazing down at the shouting drunkards from the high table, Kaian, Lord of Rowen, drained his glass of wine instead of offering the words they craved.
His cold face betrayed no emotion, as rigid and unyielding as a stone statue.
Beneath well-groomed jet-black hair, crimson eyes glowed with a mysterious light as they surveyed the clamoring Temnes kinsmen.
Despite his striking appearance, he stood a full head taller than most men, and the imposing breadth of his shoulders lent him such an air of menace that, under ordinary circumstances, few would dare speak out of turn in the presence of the Duke of Temnes.
Yet in this wretched banquet hall—where empty liquor barrels rolled about and mountains of delicacies from land, sea, and sky sat untouched—several drunken hounds had slipped their leashes and were baying at their master.
"The blood of those filthy, conniving people will taint our bloodline! I will never accept it!"
*Taang.*
When Kaian set down his glass, the raucous banquet hall fell instantly silent.
"Shut up."
Even the men who had been hurling invectives clamped their mouths shut at those two words.
"Are you trying to remind me, once again, that Vermont is the enemy of Temnes?"
The cold emanating from Kaian threatened to freeze the air, already thick with the humidity of the relentless rain.
"Ha! Of course—there's no way the Duke would actually treat some wretched Vermont girl as a true wife!"
Someone who had interpreted his words favorably raised a glass skyward and shouted to shift the mood, and soon enough, those who had already forgotten the exchange a moment ago fell back into their revelry, hacking open fresh barrels of beer with Vermont as the favored topic of ridicule.
"My lord."
Just then, the butler of the lord's castle, Baron Colon, approached with a troubled expression.
"It appears the heavy rain has caused the bride's carriage to become stuck on the drawbridge. It cannot cross."
"The bride?"
Watching Kaian turn those words over with a sardonic tilt of his mouth, the butler lowered his head and pretended not to notice.
"What shall we do, my lord?"
Kaian rose and strode to the terrace.
Through the curtain of pouring rain, he could see five carriages lined up on the drawbridge, stranded and unable to advance. Among them, two stood out—northern-make. One carriage, slightly larger than the rest, sat at a precarious angle, its wheels clearly wedged in a gap between the bridge planks.
Kaian sneered.
"She is a bride unwelcome in Temnes. Let her know her place and walk in on her own two feet."
Several vassals who had overheard drifted out to the terrace to witness the scene at the castle gate, chattering with undisguised glee.
"How fitting—even the lord refuses to let a Vermont set foot in here."
"Ha ha ha!"
Leaving the jeering crowd behind, Kaian brushed the raindrops from his shoulder and turned away.
---
It was a merciless downpour.
The horses and passengers of the carriage that had traveled without rest for fifteen days from the north were utterly spent. To make matters worse, the wheels—worn thin from the grueling journey—had caught in the rain-slicked drawbridge, spun uselessly, and finally cracked apart.
"Are these people mad?! Do they think they'll live to see morning if they treat our young lady this carelessly?"
Worse still, the carriage roof had long since given up its purpose. Water had been pooling above and streaming inside in thick rivulets for some time now.
Claudel, sitting within, was a bride drenched to the bone.
Half a day's ride back, she had stopped at a gateway town to change into her wedding attire, climbing back into the carriage wearing a garland of flowers upon her head and a white veil.
But the rain had beaten the flowers into a sorry, drooping mess. The thin white veil, along with her red hair, had long since plastered itself to the nape of her neck.
Her eyes were amber-gold, and rainwater traced lines down her smooth, round forehead.
Though vivid colors seemed painted upon her very being, the slender bride—with her porcelain skin and slight frame—looked strangely fragile on the day she should have been blooming most beautifully.
Hannah, the maid who could barely contain her fury at the sight, had been raising her voice loud enough to be heard by the guard stationed at the castle gate for the past two hours.
When the butler finally reappeared, claiming he would relay their plight to the lord, Hannah brightened.
"Well? What does the Duke say?"
But his reply shattered her hope.
"Ah. Well, you see... The lord says... the lady should step down from the carriage and walk in."
"I beg your pardon?"
As Hannah recoiled, the butler averted his gaze.
"Did I hear you correctly? Is this how Temnes welcomes its new mistress?!"
"Well... I did relay the message accurately."
"And *that* was his answer?"
The butler felt cold sweat trickling down his back, already soaked through from the rain.
*"She is a bride unwelcome in Temnes. Let her know her place and walk in on her own two feet."*
Even though the butler had been unable to bring himself to repeat Kaian's exact words and had softened them considerably, it was nowhere near enough to quell the fierce maid's rage.
"Hannah. Stop."
"Miss—"
"The dress is cumbersome. I'm getting down. Will you hold my hand?"
"No, Miss. This is absurd—"
Before Hannah could protest further, Claudel stepped out of the carriage into the pouring rain.
"Butler. Lead the way."
At Claudel's words, the butler hastily cleared a path before her.
*Splash. Splash.*
The thin, soaked silk of her gown clung to her legs and ankles. Her ceremonial shoes, adorned with pearl beading, had long since ceased to protect her feet, filled to the brim with rainwater.
They say a bride walks a flower-strewn path in pretty shoes.
Kaian, the man who was to become her husband, had attended the wedding at Valmonde Castle—her family's Vermont estate—fifteen days ago, only to return to Rowen alone, claiming urgent business.
Though it was customary for the groom to escort his bride, Claudel understood that Kaian was making his true feelings plain: he would not accept her. She had spent the last three of those fifteen days from Valmonde to Rowen with rain hammering her carriage, and somehow the water drenching her now felt strangely fitting.
Yet as the hem of her gown tangled around her feet, growing heavier with each sodden step, she struggled to gather the fabric in her hands. With every step toward the Castle of Rowen, her feet sank deeper into the muddy mire.
She was afraid. It felt as though something precious were being stripped away from her.
His cold treatment continued even after she was ushered inside the castle.
"Please draw a hot bath for the Duchess. She's been out in the cold for far too long—and light the stove."
But every servant and maid in the castle turned the other way, as though they hadn't heard a word.
"Isn't Valmonde supposed to be an ice fortress?"
"The girl from the east says she's cold from a bit of rain."
As the household staff taunted her in voices just loud enough to be heard, Hannah's fury reached a boiling point.
"Do none of you know your place?!"
"Our place? Where does some stray stone roll in from and start giving orders?"
"A stray stone?"
"Country bumpkins—do you even know where you are? Coming from a ruined territory and daring to act so grand."
"Why, you—! Have you said your fill?"
Hannah, as though seized by a fit, lunged to grab the nearest castle maid by the hair—
"Hannah. Please prepare a change of clothes."
Claudel's quiet voice carried through the open bedroom door to those bickering in the hallway.
"You. Count yourself lucky. We'll settle this later."
Arms crossed, Hannah stalked back into the room, cursing under her breath at the maids who still showed no intention of drawing a bath.
Meanwhile, Claudel found a towel with her own hands and began dabbing the moisture from her soaked garments.
The bridal headdress and veil, however, were beyond salvaging—utterly ruined.
"Oh... What are we to do with this?"
When Hannah saw the state of them, she let out a defeated sigh.
"The Duke needs to see the bride."
"Seeing her like this will only sour his mood further. It would be better to simply remove them."
At last, Hannah lifted the ruined headdress from Claudel's hair and, sighing once more, peeled away the white veil.
"They say no man can resist a beautiful woman. You looked truly lovely earlier, Miss."
"It's all right, Hannah. I'm fine."
Claudel shook her head gently at her loyal maid's kind but hollow words.
In the end, since the castle staff refused to lift a finger, Hannah bravely stormed the kitchens herself, scolding everyone in her path until hot, steaming water filled the bathtub.
After finally washing, the warmth slowly crept back into her body—she had been chilled for so long that it took time to feel anything at all.
Claudel stepped out and caught her reflection in the washroom mirror.
A thin body with not a trace of fullness, set against lifeless, pallid skin.
Tangled red hair. Yellow eyes.
Hannah's words had been nothing more than flattery born of pity.
Wasn't a woman's charm supposed to include vitality—warmth—a certain lushness?
Her complexion was so washed out that even her lips were a faint, bloodless pink.
In short, she looked like an invalid.
Kaian, whom she had glimpsed only briefly at the wedding, had not spared her a second glance.
Even if she emptied every last treasure from the family vaults and adorned herself as lavishly as possible, Claudel—dry and withered as old chaff—would never catch his eye.
The man had risen to the pinnacle of the kingdom's power.
He had achieved the greatest prosperity of any Duke of Temnes in living memory and possessed everything one could desire. He was so formidable that the King himself felt compelled to keep him in check.
And so Kaian had been forced to marry her.
Everything she had endured in her brief time at Rowen Castle felt like a foretaste of what her life here would become.
The weight of it all pressed down upon her chest.
Claudel was so overwhelmed that she couldn't even manage a proper sigh.
---
Kaian had drunk far more than he should have.
Night had fallen early.
A night laden with meaning—when two families were to become one.
Yet the moment the image of the red-haired bride surfaced in his mind, revulsion twisted through him.
Of all the Dukes of Temnes—whose power had reached its zenith under his rule—none despised Vermont more than Kaian.
*"If you encounter a Vermonter, do not leave a single one alive."*
That was the foremost tenet in the education of every heir to the Temnes dukedom, passed down through generations.
It meant that even if you spared your enemy, you must never spare a Vermont.
Kaian had spent so many years fighting at the forefront of the battlefield that he had not yet personally taken a Vermont head.
But seeing Vermont—his father-in-law—and his wife for the first time in his life had stirred something volatile within him.
Certain he would not be able to endure the wedding night in his right mind, he had drunk far more than was his custom.
"You won't even spare a change of clothes?!"
A woman's furious voice rang from the direction of the bedroom.
"You people really aren't even human!"
The maid, red-faced and shaking with frustration, stormed into the room—and froze when she saw him.
The bride, battered by the rain, stood in nothing but thin undergarments.
The downpour had been so fierce that the clothes they'd brought had been soaked through, and they had asked for something dry to change into.
But it seemed there were no garments in this castle fit to offer a Vermont.
Kaian raised one corner of his mouth in a crooked half-smile.
"There's no need to find something she'll only be taking off."
The maid's jaw dropped as though to retort, but Kaian cut her short.
"Get out."
She hesitated for one agonized moment, then rushed from the room and pulled the door shut behind her.
The woman who was to be his bride stood illuminated by the guttering candlelight. She had been sitting on the edge of the bed; now she slowly rose to her feet.
She was small. And thin.
Kaian, who had been thoroughly opposed to this marriage from the start, had attended the ceremony only to leave immediately afterward, never once speaking a word to her.
What was he supposed to say now?
To a wife whose body he would know before he ever knew her words.
Then she spoke first.
"Shall I take it off?"