## Surface Moments
Kaian dismissed Hannah and Rohan with barely a glance, not even noticing they were holding hands, that their eyes shone with barely-concealed affection.
"Enjoy yourselves," he said carelessly.
Claudel watched them leave, amazed at his obliviousness. "You didn't even know they were together."
"What?" He helped her aboard his hastily prepared ship, his hand warm and steady on hers as she climbed. Once on deck, he studied her red lace dress with disapproval. "This is too thin. Weren't you told it would be cold?"
"I got motion sick easily, so I refused the quilted dress."
"You should rest in the cabin if you're cold."
"Yes, all right."
She agreed immediately, and his expression softened. He touched her face gently, as though she might break.
And that was the moment she understood the tragedy.
---
## The Invisible Scale
*We can only speak about trivial things.*
Weather. Clothing. Schedules. Food.
When Claudel tried to say anything deeper—to share her true thoughts, to confess her love—Kaian grew cold. He dismissed her. He made it clear that her Vermont origin was a weight that tipped every balance.
There was an invisible scale between them.
On one side: Vermont. Heavy. Permanent. Damning.
On the other side: anything Claudel tried to give—love, loyalty, sacrifice. Always lighter. Always insufficient.
Even when she'd confessed her feelings, he'd rejected her. Even when she'd tried to explain misunderstandings, he'd made clear that her explanations didn't matter.
She was Vermont's daughter. That was the only truth that mattered.
---
## The Clarification That Changes Nothing
As the festival boats floated past, their lanterns creating a river of light across the dark water, Claudel tried one more time.
"The telegram to Vermont—it was a misunderstanding. I wasn't acting as a spy."
"Hannah used her own initiative," Kaian said carefully. "It doesn't matter."
"And what I said in the royal castle. You misheard the context—"
"Your ears are good enough," he interrupted. "Let's say what you said was accurate."
*He won't even let me explain.*
"Why bring this up now?" he asked, studying her with concern.
"I just... wanted you to know."
Claudel turned away from him, feeling the last thread of hope fray.
Kaian cupped her face, forcing her to meet his red eyes. His touch was careful, tender—as though she were made of fragile glass.
"Why are you like this?" he asked gently.
The gentleness was worse than coldness.
"Because I finally understand," she whispered. "You don't care what I think. You just do what you think is necessary. Save a dying woman because of necessity. Accept a child because of necessity. Send me away because of necessity."
"Claudel—"
"Is there any other reason you can't accept me?" The question broke from her like a sob. "Just... any other reason besides Vermont blood?"
But he said nothing.
The energy drained from her completely.
---
## The Breaking Point
Kaian went inside to find her something warmer to wear, troubled by the misunderstandings she'd tried to clarify.
*She still cares for me,* he thought with relief. *She wouldn't bring up these things if she didn't.*
But when he returned to the deck, he froze.
Claudel stood at the bow railing, barefoot, her red dress billowing in the night wind.
She was standing on the thin flagpole that extended over the water.
One step would be enough.
"...Claudel."
---