The servants' voices grew more animated as they discussed the scandal.
"I saw Madame Marcel coming out of the Lord's office late at night!"
"Perhaps he needed to discuss the dress—"
"At ten o'clock when the sun has set? And every single day?"
Every day.
Claudel's hand trembled on the door handle. The servants continued chattering about excited laughter echoing from the office, about how embarrassed they felt passing that hallway at night.
"Still, the Lord seems to care for the Duchess," one voice offered weakly.
"Noble marriages are always like that," another replied. "On the surface, it looks fine."
"That's right. A marriage without love, really."
The words settled over Claudel like poison.
*A marriage without love.*
She'd known the marriage was forced. Kaian had never claimed to love her. But love existed in other forms—in his late-night presence, in the way he noticed her pain before she mentioned it, in how he came to her bed every night despite his office work.
Or had those all been something else entirely?
She sank to the floor, nausea rising. Kaian had been coming to her bedroom later and later recently. She'd thought it was work. But what if—
What if he was spending his time with Madame Marcel instead?
The realization that the world she'd built was collapsing made her physically ill. She remembered Madame Marcel's bitter confession during the journey to the capital—how her ex-husband had had an affair with a maid, how she'd said she'd become a murderer if she saw him again.
*And now she's doing the same thing to me.*
A cough seized her, violent and sudden. Her chest tightened with anxiety as much as illness.
*I can't let anyone else know. I need to see this myself.*
---
## That Night
Claudel walked through the dark castle hallways, holding an oil lamp. The hem of her dress whispered against the stone floor with each step.
She rarely came to Kaian's office. It was his domain, not hers. She existed in the bedroom, meals brought to her, rarely venturing into the public spaces of the castle.
When she spotted the office guarded by two soldiers, she heard it—laughter. Madame Marcel's laughter.
The guards straightened immediately, clearly shocked to see the Duchess wandering at night.
"Tell me honestly," Claudel said quietly. "Does Madame Marcel come to his office every day?"
The guards exchanged glances. Their hesitation was answer enough.
*So the rumors are true.*
The world tilted. "You must not tell the Lord that I was here."
They bowed without speaking.
---
## Kaian's Perspective
Madame Marcel examined the completed bridal gown with satisfaction. It was extraordinary—layers of white silk and precious lace, every stitch perfection.
Kaian studied the dress with genuine appreciation. "That's amazing. It's great."
His praise, rare and genuine, made Madame Marcel glow. For weeks she'd been pestering him to tell Claudel about the gown, but he'd refused. The secret was important to him—he wanted to surprise her, wanted to see her face when she realized what he'd created for her.
"When will she wear it?" Madame Marcel asked eagerly.
"Soon," Kaian replied, already imagining the moment. "I've been planning this carefully."
He felt almost giddy as he left the office. The bridal gown was complete. Soon Claudel would understand that this marriage, this commitment, meant everything to him. He would show her through this dress—through months of his devotion and care, hidden for the perfect reveal—how much she mattered.
---
## The Confrontation
When Kaian entered Claudel's bedroom with hope singing in his chest, he found her waiting.
Her face was dark. Closed off. The expression of someone who'd made a terrible discovery.
"Claudel? What's wrong? What happened?"
She looked at him with something like betrayal in her eyes.
"I want to change the castle's seamstress."
The words landed like a blow. "What? Why?"
"Because I don't think Madame Marcel is appropriate for this position."
Kaian's confusion deepened. "Claudel, explain. What happened?"
She turned away from him, her voice hollow. "I heard the servants talking. They said she visits your office every night. That there's laughter. That no one can pass the hallway without hearing the two of you together."
Understanding crashed over him.
*Oh.*
"Claudel—"
"Don't," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I don't need explanations. I just... I want her gone."
Kaian reached for her, but she pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. The gesture was defensive—as if she was holding herself together against falling apart.
"You're wrong," he said firmly. "Completely wrong about what you think is happening."
"Am I?" Her laugh was bitter. "Then explain why she visits your office late into the night. Every single night."
Kaian could see the hurt in her posture, the way she held herself distant from him. And he realized, with crushing certainty, that she believed he'd been unfaithful.
That she thought his devotion—months of working on a dress that would tell her, without words, that he chose her—was actually time spent with another woman.
"Claudel, I—"
But she cut him off. "Just let me rest. Please."
As he left the room, still carrying the weight of the secret he'd been so carefully protecting, Kaian understood: sometimes the greatest acts of love could be mistaken for the deepest betrayals.
---