Irena leaned against the closed guest room door and released a long, shaky sigh. She fanned her flushed cheeks with trembling hands.
*What on earth did I just witness?*
---
During dinner, she'd excused herself briefly to wash her hands. She'd had little desire to dine with the arrogant man—Kaian appeared determined to treat her poorly. More troubling was watching Claudel struggle in his presence. Despite any marital bond, Claudel seemed to tolerate his coldness and rudeness without complaint.
Leaving one's seat during an intimate meal—something Irena had done—was a subtle but unmistakable expression of displeasure. It was unspoken etiquette among nobility.
What had truly offended her was Kaian's remarks that seemed designed to diminish Valmonde itself—her homeland, her pride, her inheritance.
Unlike Claudel, who'd become Vermont's adopted daughter through misfortune, Irena's pride in the Valmonde estate ran deep. Though her eventual husband would assume the lordship, Valmonde's inheritance was, in truth, as much hers.
Even her father, the Duke of Vermont—who typically presented only his finest aspects—sometimes couldn't contain his resentment toward Temnes in front of her.
*"My darling daughter,"* she recalled him saying, *"it is my intention to prevent Temnes from even breathing on our lands by the time you become a lord's wife. How much longer must we endure these filthy, ignorant people calling themselves nobles while they parade through Oberon?"*
Valmonde had resources. Weapons could be manufactured from the iron ore they mined. Soldiers could be purchased from mercenaries across the Sol Continent using Rowan's treasury. The only obstacle had always been food.
But Claudel was trapped in Temnes.
---
When Irena returned to the dining room, servants and maids were hurriedly departing.
*What's happening?*
She peered inside.
At the head table, a man and woman were entwined, kissing.
Claudel's small body was nearly obscured beneath the larger man's frame. Only the hem of her dress remained visible. But the man's head was lowered, his lips consuming Claudel's with the fierce intensity of a ravenous wolf tearing at meat.
Irena's first instinct was to rescue Claudel from his grasp.
Then she saw it.
A small, pale hand emerging from Kaian's shoulder, moving upward along his muscular neck, fingers combing through his dark hair.
*Thud.*
The restaurant door closed before Irena's shocked gaze.
She stood frozen as the butler approached with practiced delicacy. "My Lord and my Lady are quite fond of one another," he said politely.
Irena couldn't respond. Her mouth fell open, words failing her.
The butler continued kindly, "If you require additional food, I shall bring it to your chamber. We have arranged access to the castle library, or meetings with our gardener at your convenience. The night-blooming flowers in the garden are particularly lovely for evening walks."
The butler seemed to have anticipated this exact scenario.
"I'm retiring to my room," Irena managed finally. "I've eaten sufficiently. Please leave me undisturbed."
---
Back in her chamber, the image of Kaian and Claudel kissing replayed like an afterimage burned into her vision.
*Well,* she thought, *I've seen people kiss before.*
But even as the rationalization formed, she knew it was false. This was the first time she'd witnessed such passionate, uninhibited intimacy.
*I thought such things only existed in books.*
Hannah had circulated romance novels among the castle maids. Irena had read one with Claudel—tales of handsome, well-mannered lords with impressive physiques. But in her experience, such men were mythical creatures.
Becoming a lord at such a young age was nearly impossible. Most lords were experienced, educated, and renowned—men like her father, with wives and children and years of accumulated authority.
*But Kaian...*
Irena tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to sleep.
---
The next day, Kaian and Claudel remained conspicuously absent.
The butler explained tactfully: "My Lord and my Lady have matters requiring their attention. Of course, as guests, you understand that their duties take precedence."
A lakeside picnic was arranged for Irena alone, where she was to admire wildflowers. She spent the afternoon walking the gardens and reading, avoiding thoughts of what the couple was doing upstairs while the noon sun beat down relentlessly.
*At least let me see Claudel before evening,* she thought.
---
It was only in the evening that Claudel appeared, slightly disheveled and flushed.
"Sister, I apologize for my absence. I wasn't feeling well and overslept," Claudel said, as though she'd slept and not—Irena forcibly stopped that line of thinking.
"It's fine. I rested as well," Irena replied, though she'd done anything but.
After a brief delay, Kaian entered the dining room. His expression was cold and unpleasant as always, but when his eyes fell on Irena, his eyebrows rose.
"That dress..."
Irena had borrowed one of Claudel's garments—a creation by Madame Marcel. It was exquisite white chiffon with red trim, perfectly complementing Irena's red hair. The dress was so exclusive that even in the capital, with unlimited gold, one couldn't purchase it.
*Does he actually know his wife's wardrobe?* Irena was surprised. Most male nobles were entirely ignorant of such matters.
Claudel placed a hand on Kaian's arm. "I lent it to my sister. It's warm here, and she doesn't have Rowan-style dresses."
Kaian's eyebrows, which had been rising toward the heavens, slowly lowered. "Hmm. Yes."
Irena felt compelled to speak. "The dress is truly beautiful. Madame Marcel's creations are nearly impossible to obtain even in the capital. This is the first Rowan-style dress I've seen her produce."
"Is it?" Kaian's cold, hard expression cracked slightly. A hint of smugness appeared.
"Her catalog circulates even to the northern territories," Irena continued. "She's quite famous."
"Is she that renowned?"
"Extremely."
Kaian's lips curved into something approaching a smile. "A new seamstress arrives at the castle next week."
"A new seamstress?" Irena asked.
"The previous seamstress lacks talent sufficient to create dresses that suit my wife."
*Why does he announce this in front of guests?* Irena wondered.
"From now on, Madame Marcel will create her wardrobe," Kaian continued.
Irena's eyes widened. "Wait—Madame Marcel is your new seamstress?"
"Yes. My wife deserves nothing but the finest. This dress Madame Marcel brought as proof of her worthiness to serve as my wife's seamstress."
Irena couldn't quite process this. Madame Marcel was a woman who commanded the capital's wealth. She worked so rarely that her prices were astronomical—even if one wore her creations once and resold them, one would recover the purchase price.
And Kaian had hired her exclusively for Claudel?
The expense would be astronomical. It was beyond what one would typically spend simply to maintain a noblewoman's dignity.
Kaian continued smoothly, "Princess Irena, you seem knowledgeable about current fashion trends. When Madame Marcel arrives next week, ensure both you and Claudel receive new gowns. I'll have them sent to Valmonde once completed."
"... Yes," Irena managed, her mind reeling.
Suddenly, Kaian seemed different to her.
Until that moment, she'd perceived him as arrogant, unlucky, and rude. But now she recognized something else: a man desperate to earn praise from a wife who remained largely indifferent to material possessions.
For a brief moment, Irena almost felt sympathy for him. She'd nearly said, *"Claudel would prefer scholarly works—Mar Miller's Kingdom Theory or Gredol Mann's latest book from the quarterly magazine."*
But she'd caught herself. Such information to her enemy was too valuable.
Instead, she said, "The jewelry you gave her matches beautifully."
---
During dinner that evening, Irena observed Kaian smile exactly once—when Claudel ate the sweet stewed carrots he'd prepared and fed to her with his fork.
She noticed something else: the plate of intricately minced food in front of Kaian. He'd cut meat into tiny pieces suited to Claudel's small mouth, then barely ate himself, remaining satiated simply from watching her consume what he'd prepared.
*Are they truly on good terms?* Irena found herself confused. She had a warm relationship with her own parents, the Duke and Duchess, but she'd never witnessed anything like this.
Unable to bear the spectacle any longer, Irena announced the next evening: "I'm departing tomorrow."
"Already?" Claudel's eyes widened. "You've only just arrived."
"I've heard your favorite seamstress is arriving next week. I don't wish to intrude," Irena said diplomatically.
"But you should stay for the picnic—"
"No. I must return for the autumn festival at Valmonde."
"I see." Kaian's expression remained cold. "That's a sensible decision."
He didn't encourage her to stay—exactly what Irena had anticipated. Yet the polite words felt hollow. How important were such courtesies in noble relationships?
Now Kaian seemed almost like Irena herself. Just by observing his eyes, she could read his thoughts:
*I'm newly married. Leave me alone.*
---