Claudel lay among the splintered wreckage of the collapsed wooden platform.
The crocodile, now deprived of its larger prey, turned its gaze directly toward her.
In a heartbeat, it struck.
"Ahh!"
The massive jaws clamped down on her leg—so thin it barely filled even with her boots—and the creature whipped around toward the wetlands, dragging her toward the murky water.
When Kaian saw this, his vision flashed white. Then his blood ignited, boiling through his veins as if his heart would rupture.
"No!"
He drew his sword and charged toward the crocodile.
"Everyone take cover!" he commanded.
But not a single knight obeyed. The women fled screaming toward the forest, toward the scattered rest tents, but no one moved to help.
The crocodile continued its relentless drag, leaving Claudel's body ravaged across more than twenty meters of ground, scratching her until she looked like a torn rag.
Kaian caught the creature and leaped onto its back. His blade found its mark precisely—between the eyes, driving deep into the skull.
Blood erupted from the wound.
He withdrew and slashed repeatedly, with brutal efficiency. The crocodile's body convulsed, shuddered, and finally lost all strength, collapsing to the side.
Kaian shook the blood and dirt from his sword with mechanical efficiency, then turned to face Claudel.
Her condition was catastrophic.
The crocodile's bite had been so forceful that bones were exposed. Muscle and skin hung in tatters. The light deer-skin boots, which should have provided protection, had proven useless.
Kaian forced the dead crocodile's jaws open with both hands, straining against its locked grip.
He closed his eyes briefly, unable to process what he was seeing.
When he opened them again, people who moments before had been fleeing in the opposite direction suddenly came rushing back to watch.
"Thank goodness!"
Someone called out.
*Relief? Gratitude?*
The sound of their chattering filled his ears as shock momentarily stilled the chaos.
"Vermont got bitten. A blessing!"
"Heaven protected us!"
"I'm so relieved the Lord is safe..."
"What a relief."
Kaian didn't even look at the person celebrating beside him. He simply struck them down with his fist.
His voice, filled with rage, cut through the suddenly silent crowd like ice water.
"Bring a stretcher. Now."
---
The crocodile hunt—anticipated for three years—ended in disaster.
Crocodiles were valuable. Though difficult to catch, their bodies yielded abundant meat, and their hides, when properly skinned, displayed unique, beautiful patterns. The hunt was a major event in Temnes territory, a source of pride for the men and coveted luxury for the ladies.
And yet, within a month of her marriage, the Vermont bride was mauled by a crocodile during the Lord's opening remarks.
Outside the castle, whispers spread quickly.
"What did Vermont do? She ruined the entire hunt."
"At least the Lord wasn't bitten. We're fortunate."
"Vermont got bitten. I suppose they think it's fitting for the crocodile to feast on Vermont."
"Her red hair makes her stand out. Perfect hunting bait, as it turns out."
But inside the castle, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The Lord who had previously humiliated and undermined his wife before the staff was now personally attending to her every need.
---
Inside Claudel's bedroom, Hannah sat clutching her hand, tears streaming down her face as she stared at Claudel's destroyed form.
"Miss... I'm so sorry..."
Hannah herself bore bandages on her cheeks and arms, with salve applied to various wounds. When the crocodile had dragged Claudel away, she had been the first to throw herself at the creature, trying desperately to hold on. She had managed to grab Claudel's leg and kick at the crocodile's jaws, but it hadn't been enough.
Kaian studied the doctor with an expression that made the man nervous, despite having done nothing wrong. The sinister energy radiating from the Duke made it painful to relay Claudel's condition.
"The wounds across her body appear severe, but they are primarily abrasions," the doctor explained carefully. "There were no deep puncture wounds or structural damage."
"What about her legs?" Kaian's voice was sharp.
The doctor swallowed hard. "That is... the more concerning area. We performed a procedure to reattach torn muscle and skin with assistance—"
"Summarize it," Kaian cut him off coldly.
The doctor's heart ached, but he pressed on. Kaian had personally extracted her from the crocodile's jaws and had certainly seen the extent of the damage himself.
"The immediate treatment is complete. You must vigilantly prevent infection. If necrosis develops and tissue begins to decay, additional surgery to remove that section will be necessary."
"So she may not walk again," Kaian stated flatly.
"It... it may be difficult, yes."
Hannah's wailing intensified at these words. "No! Our lady... how can this be..."
"You're being loud," Kaian said coldly. "Leave now. Both of you."
"I won't leave her!" Hannah protested.
"I will remain," Kaian replied, his glare brooking no argument.
Hannah finally relented, departing in tears so profound that her sobs echoed down the hallway.
Once silence returned, Kaian allowed himself to truly examine Claudel's condition.
She seemed to diminish with each encounter. Last time he'd thought her entire face would fit in his palm—now she appeared even smaller.
*When was the last time I saw her sleep peacefully?*
Her delicate skin was scratched raw, her cheeks and arms crusted with blood. But these injuries were secondary.
Her leg.
The sight of crocodile teeth embedded in flesh so thin he thought he could wrap his hand around it. The doctor's words—*difficult to walk again*—weighed heavily on him.
*Why did she save me?*
The question consumed him.
Didn't she hate him? After everything that had happened since she arrived at Rowan Castle, shouldn't she have blamed him? Should have wanted him hurt?
She had saved him instead.
She was his benefactor.
Given the enmity between Vermont and Temnes, the Duke of Vermont would have celebrated if Kaian had been seriously injured. If Kaian had died from infection, Claudel's status as his widow would give her access to his assets. She could have escaped, begun anew.
Yet she had risked everything to save him.
*Perhaps...*
Did she care for him?
No matter what she claimed, she was a woman who never left his side despite her indifferent expression. Could she truly be so drawn to him—to the point of sacrificing herself?
*She likes me.*
The thought was interrupted by a soft groan.
Claudel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Ugh..."
She moaned, but her reaction seemed strangely muted for injuries of such severity. He'd witnessed far worse on the battlefield—men screaming, dying in agony. Yet she barely made a sound.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Sick," she answered weakly, her hand moving to her chest.
"Yes."
"Am I... badly hurt?"
"A little."
"I see."
Kaian found her lack of reaction peculiar. *What kind of person endures such wounds with such composure?*
On the battlefield, he'd observed countless injured soldiers. Noble women, in particular, typically valued their appearance above all—they had far more to lose from scarring than men, who could wear battle scars as medals of honor.
And yet, here she was—utterly unmoved.
Should he admire her courage or question her indifference?
But the truth was, Kaian didn't want to discuss her shattered leg. It would only discourage her recovery. So he remained silent, feeling oddly grateful for her reticence.
He summoned the doctor's assistant to bring medication—bitter medicine the doctor had insisted she take in full measure despite the taste.
Claudel swallowed it without complaint.
*Why doesn't she protest? Why doesn't she even acknowledge her own pain?*
Kaian found himself genuinely puzzled by her stoicism.
"Rest more," he instructed gently.
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes closing.
Kaian sighed, squeezing her small hand carefully.
"Don't worry about your legs. I will find a way to make you better."
---
Kaian had changed.
He was now kind to Claudel, as though he'd forgotten every harsh word, every moment of anger and cruelty. It was as though those episodes had never occurred.
Hannah, arranging the flowers Kaian sent daily, grudgingly admitted her reassessment.
"I thought he was trash," she muttered to herself, "but perhaps he is capable of conscience after all."
Her judgment of him had always hinged on one criterion: how he treated Claudel. After the accident, when his demeanor toward her transformed, Hannah's harsh evaluation had softened considerably.
"How do these look?" Hannah asked, arranging a profusion of roses in a vase.
Claudel nodded. "Pretty."
"Flowers are innocent. They make everything better," Hannah said, smiling as she arranged them.
"Which do you prefer—these, or yesterday's flowers?"
"Today's," Claudel replied.
Hannah removed yesterday's vase from the nightstand and replaced it with the fresh arrangement. Claudel's entire bedroom had begun to resemble a flower shop, so frequently did Kaian send new bouquets.
"Lunch will be ready soon," Hannah said, organizing a nearby table and chair. "I'm relieved you've been eating better. You barely touched food for so long. Continue eating well, and you'll recover quickly."
Only light bandages remained on Claudel's legs now. The wounds across her body had fully healed long ago. The leg wound, though deep, had been fortunate—no lingering infections, no necrosis. Only scars would remain.
Hannah had been relieved to hear this news, though she maintained careful watch for any sign of deterioration.
*Knock. Knock.*
"Come in," Hannah called cheerfully, expecting the lunch maids.
Instead, Antyone entered.
She wore delicate ballet-style shoes with ribbons tied artfully around her ankles—clearly a deliberate display. Her calf-length dress was cut to deliberately expose those ankles, the pale skin gleaming as she moved with practiced elegance toward Claudel's bed.
Her smile was sharp.
"I heard you had a terrible accident with your leg?" she said sweetly. "How dreadful for you."
---