## Antjone's Manipulation
Burbrook arrived at the orchard management office in a state of excitement.
"The Lord said I should take good care of his wife!" he announced proudly.
Antjone's expression flickered with shock before she masked it. "He said that? About the Duchess?"
"I told him I was helping Claudel find apples, and he said to keep taking good care of her. It was a direct order from the Lord himself!"
What Kaian had actually said was entirely about apples, not the Duchess. But Burbrook's deluded mind had twisted the message into something romantic.
Antjone's mind worked quickly. Burbrook had never held a woman's hand, never had any romantic experience. He'd lied at the wedding celebration about knowing a Vermont woman, a lie that had fooled no one. He was pathetic and easy to manipulate.
"You must be friendly with her," Antjone said smoothly, refilling his glass. "Kind and gentle. Show her what real consideration looks like."
"The Lord treats her poorly," she continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "A woman's heart is like a reed—it bends toward whoever shows it warmth. If you show her kindness, she'll be drawn to you."
Burbrook nodded eagerly, swallowing the narrative she fed him.
"No woman can resist a man who has genuine feelings for her," Antjone said, smiling brightly while her thoughts turned vicious.
*The Duke said he would take care of his wife personally.*
The words troubled her. Kaian had never shown her such consideration. She, with her black Temnes hair and beautiful face, had grown up expecting to have everything she wanted. Yet here was Vermont's daughter—weak, foreign, undeserving—receiving the Duke's personal attention.
It infuriated her.
She blamed Claudel for the ring incident. When Kaian had punished Antjone for stealing it, she'd rewritten the narrative in her mind: it was Claudel's fault for being cruel, for playing victim, for turning the Lord against his own blood relative.
Antjone hadn't given up on Kaian. She wouldn't. He would age beautifully, retain his nobility and grace. If she released her claim on him, she'd be left to marry men like Burbrook—pathetic and insignificant.
"Have another drink," she said, sliding a full glass toward the intoxicated man.
*I'll make that Vermont woman regret ever coming to Rowen.*
And while she did, she'd use Burbrook like the fool he was.
---
## Claudel's Night
I woke to the sound of a pen scratching across paper.
*Srak. Crunch.*
The candles were lit, and Kaian sat at a small desk, deeply focused on his work. He wore only his shirt, sleeves rolled up, his expression fierce with concentration.
I'd meant to rest only briefly in the afternoon, but exhaustion from pregnancy had claimed me for hours. Now it was the middle of the night.
Watching him work was mesmerizing. Each movement was disciplined—the way his long fingers opened and folded documents, how he read each page with absolute focus before signing. When he reached for the wax seal, his movements were precise as a swordsman drawing a blade.
*I've never seen him like this.*
At the royal castle, he spent most time with me. Here at Rowen, his actual work as Duke demanded his attention. Yet I'd never been given household management tasks, never been offered the Duchess's traditional role. The household staff reported to him, not to me.
I didn't resent it. Watching him was enough.
The way light caught his features as he worked. The strength in his hands as he pressed the family seal into hot wax. The controlled power in every gesture.
*This is prenatal education.*
The thought struck me suddenly. The doctor had advised, "Keep good thoughts in your mind, see good things with your eyes." She meant it would influence the child I carried.
And here I was, watching my husband work with absolute competence and dedication. What better example could I give my unborn child than this?
I must have smiled without realizing it, because Kaian suddenly looked up and met my gaze.
His work was immediately forgotten. He set down his pen and approached the bed.
"You're awake."
"How long have I been asleep?"
"Since four o'clock. It's one in the morning now."
I'd slept nearly nine hours.
He sat beside me, and I reached up to touch his face. "Your insomnia is better?"
"I sleep well these days."
"I'm glad."
A slight cough seized me as I sat up. When it passed, my chest felt tight.
*Please don't let Herzol's aftermath affect the baby.*
The thought spiraled into anxiety before I forced it down. I couldn't doubt every sensation.
"You're coughing more," Kaian observed. "You should rest."
"I'm hungry," I admitted. "Terribly hungry."
He stood. "I'll wake the servants."
But I hesitated. It was the middle of the night. The household staff worked hard all day.
As if reading my thoughts, Kaian asked, "Would you like to go to the kitchen ourselves?"
My heart lifted. "Truly?"
"Come."
---
He wrapped me in a warm cloak and led me through the quiet castle. The kitchens were cold and empty, moonlight streaming through the windows.
Kaian moved with surprising ease, finding bread and cheese, warming milk over the dying coals of the kitchen fire. He prepared everything with the same precision he'd shown with his documents—each action deliberate and caring.
"Eat," he commanded softly, placing a tray before me.
As I consumed the food with ravenous hunger—another pregnancy symptom that embarrassed me—he watched with satisfaction.
"The baby is hungry," he said simply. "Feed both of you."
The casual acknowledgment of my pregnancy, his acceptance of the child growing within me, filled me with unexpected emotion.
This man, who claimed not to feel, showed his care in a thousand small actions. And I—I was learning to read his language of devotion.
*Prenatal education,* I thought again, watching him move around the kitchen with quiet competence.
Our child would learn from this. From watching their father's discipline, his strength, his quiet dedication to those he cared for.
---