## The Test
"I want to change the castle's seamstress."
Kaian's shock was visible. He clearly hadn't expected this. "Why?"
"Just a whim."
The tone of my voice was different from usual—colder, more testing. Where I normally spoke softly, now I spoke with the precision of someone demanding honesty.
"Madame Marcel is the best seamstress available."
"If I don't like her, I can hire someone else."
"Finding another seamstress of her quality will take months."
I watched his face carefully, searching for something in his response. His refusal was immediate and absolute.
"I already have plenty of dresses."
He fell silent. I knew why—he'd destroyed all my Vermont clothes, so the wardrobe he'd built for me was extensive. My mention of "plenty" undermined any practical argument he could make.
His jaw tightened. Whatever reason he wanted to give, he couldn't without revealing something.
"It was just a whim," I said finally, releasing him from the impossible position. "I've changed my mind."
The relief that flooded his face was immediate.
But the relief didn't ease my mind. It confirmed my suspicion.
*He defended her desperately.*
---
## Claudel's Spiral
Madame Marcel was asleep on the sofa in my sitting room, her head tilted back, exhausted.
"Madame Marcel looks very tired these days," Hannah observed quietly, bringing fresh pastries.
She'd always been meticulous about her appearance, but now dark shadows hung under her eyes. Her makeup looked thin, almost abandoned.
*She's not doing something she usually does,* I realized coldly.
The realization crystallized into bitter understanding. She'd stopped maintaining her appearance because she was too busy working on something else. Something related to Kaian.
I'd heard the rumors: Madame Marcel coming out of the Duke's office late at night.
When I'd asked about replacing her, Kaian's desperation to keep her had been obvious.
*Kaian is passionate. He acts on his instincts and desires.*
The thought made my chest hollow.
I'd been so consumed with my illness, with recovery, with the pregnancy, that I'd neglected my role as wife. And in that absence, Madame Marcel had filled the void.
*He must have crossed the line first. That seems like something he would do.*
The pain was excruciating. I'd allowed myself to hope that my pregnancy might bridge the gap between us, might give us something to build on. But if Kaian had already found what he wanted in Madame Marcel...
*What was the point of my hopes?*
I couldn't ask him about it. My previous attempt at honesty—confessing my feelings—had ended in heartbreak. The experience had taught me that knowing the truth wasn't always merciful.
Better to live in uncertainty than to hear confirmation of my worst fears.
*His heart is not mine. And it never will be.*
I repeated this like a mantra, trying to make it hurt less.
---
## The Vigil
I couldn't sleep that night.
Every sigh felt like a small death. My cough persisted, raw and persistent.
Then, in the deepest hours of darkness, I heard sounds from the castle walls. The drawbridge lowering. Commotion. Knights gathering.
*Kaian?*
Despite everything—despite my suspicions, my heartbreak, my careful distance—I found myself running toward the gate.
The figure emerging from the drawbridge stopped me cold.
Kaian was bloodied.
A bandage wrapped his head. One cheek and his neck were covered in dried blood. He moved stiffly, favoring one side, as knights rushed to help him dismount.
"Get the doctor!" someone shouted.
All my carefully constructed walls crumbled.
"Kaian!" I ran toward him, propriety forgotten.
He looked up, and for just a moment, his eyes softened at the sight of me. Before the pain and exhaustion took over again.
Whatever had happened to him—whatever he'd been doing away from the castle—it had cost him blood.
And suddenly, the question of Madame Marcel felt insignificant compared to the terrifying reality of him standing before me, clearly wounded, clearly in danger.
*What happened to him?*
---