*I'm a newlywed, so don't bother me and get out.*
That unspoken message was clear in Kaian's eyes.
Claudel tried to convince Irena to stay longer. "But I didn't expect you to leave so quickly. There are still so many things we could do together. Please reconsider, sister."
Kaian emerged. "It's admirable that the residents of your territory wish to participate in festivals meaningful to them."
*Don't even dream of changing your mind and staying, Princess.*
The true meaning beneath his polite words was unmistakable.
---
Irena returned to her guest chamber and observed it with fresh perspective.
The sitting room was spacious and elegantly decorated. The furniture appeared newly renovated. A generous bathroom adjoined the bedroom.
Rowen Castle had been constructed as a royal castle during Oberon's founding. The space Kaian and Claudel occupied had once housed the King and Queen. This guest room, the finest available, reflected that royal heritage.
For one guest traveling alone, such luxury was extraordinary.
*Either Kaian gave explicit instructions for this treatment, or the butler chose to honor Claudel so thoroughly.*
Kaian seemed unlikely to extend such hospitality. But if the butler treated her so lavishly as Claudel's guest, it revealed something significant about Claudel's status within the castle.
Castle servants understood power structures intimately. Their livelihoods depended on their employers' fortunes.
Kaian, who'd appeared rude initially, was clearly different than he seemed.
---
Irena had observed that most noble men were not faithful to their wives. They treated wives and daughters as property, intimidated them, and valued only their sons and heirs. Many presented themselves as dignified benefactors to the outside world while ruling their households like despots, demanding absolute obedience.
Few possessed the generosity and affection toward family that her father, the Duke of Vermont, displayed.
Of course, Irena didn't know that her father treated his biological daughter and his registered niece very differently.
She deeply loved and respected her father—so much so that she couldn't imagine he would have driven Claudel toward death. The King's order had required her marriage. As a widow with no children, she couldn't become Kaian's wife. Claudel's sacrifice had seemed natural, even expected.
Between families so hostile that Claudel could have been stabbed on her wedding night, Kaian's generosity toward Vermont was remarkable. Claudel had no one to rely on because her father had sacrificed her for the family's survival.
*At least she's thriving,* Irena thought, observing that Kaian treated Claudel with tenderness while remaining cold to everyone else—even to Irena.
But even as she formulated this thought, insomnia claimed her. She tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
---
Her husband had been the Marquis's untitled second son—a distant Vermont relation. When daughters were born, Vermont sent them to marry abroad or into influential families, following complex genealogies that ensured useful connections.
He was tall with red hair and gray eyes.
The Duke of Vermont had chosen him personally, selecting carefully for Vermont traits: red hair or golden eyes, good health, freedom from disease. Though his status would lower as a son-in-law, he needed education befitting a successor and dignified bearing.
The Five Years' War should have claimed him immediately like Kaian, but the Duke had delayed. "I will send my son-in-law to war soon enough," he'd said.
Irena had married three years ago at nineteen.
*Claudel is exactly the same age I was.*
Both had married late by social standards, yet no one questioned a Vermont daughter's choices.
Her memories of her husband were brief and fragmented. They'd spent only a week together—a week consumed by wedding ceremonies, leaving them no time alone.
He'd departed for war and died within a month.
Her father's reaction had been fury. "Weak! I delayed sending him to war for four years, and he dies as soon as he leaves!"
Irena hadn't cried then. She hadn't known him well enough to mourn, nor felt any deep bond. Her life had changed nothing before or after marriage. Her husband had existed briefly, then vanished.
But witnessing Claudel and Kaian had stirred something unfamiliar.
*If only my husband were alive. Would he have looked at me with such affection?*
Those were dangerous thoughts.
---
Irena couldn't attend her husband's funeral.
The Duke had forbidden it. "My daughter, in her shock, cannot move."
Her husband—the Duke's son-in-law—was buried not in Valmonde's catacombs but in the family cemetery. The Marquis had written complaints multiple times, all ignored.
The Duke's reasoning was practical: if Irena's attendance officially recognized her husband's status as son-in-law, remarrying her would become disadvantageous.
The Duke of Vermont was Valmonde's great lord. Irena couldn't oppose him.
She'd married a helpless man, then become forbidden from attending his funeral. The weight of this reality was so heavy she'd learned to avoid thinking about it—running from her own life.
---
The castle staff called her "Princess," though technically she wasn't one.
Watching Claudel and Kaian together revealed something extraordinary. They were beautiful, perfectly matched—impossible to believe they were Vermont and Temnes.
That night, tears flowed unbidden. She cried until her pillowcase was soaked, unable to identify the emotions driving them.
*Why am I crying now?*
---
The next morning, Irena departed after lunch.
Rose seedlings occupied her carriage—carefully rooted with trimmed branches.
Kaian's farewell was characteristically cold. "Thank you," she said, placing her hand over her heart and bowing.
"Claudel mentioned you enjoy flowers," he replied, glancing briefly at Claudel.
"Yes, truly. I'm honored by the consideration."
"Sister, you can't visit often—it's so far," Claudel said. "Please come again next time."
"I'll come every year. The wildflowers in the back garden are stunning."
"That's our special place," Kaian said. "We have many memories there." He seemed almost impatient to boast of his affection for Claudel.
Only four months of marriage, yet they already had memories enough to cherish.
Irena climbed into the carriage. As Rowen Castle receded, Claudel continued waving until they were quite far away. Kaian said something, and she shook her head in disapproval—a playful disagreement.
Then he pulled her inside.
*I can't even see my wife's face to say goodbye?*
Irena was startled, then realized: it wasn't cruelty, but tenderness. He wouldn't let her stand in the sun. The gesture moved her.
---
Over the following days, something strange happened.
At night, alone in roadside inns, she wept. Sitting in her carriage watching the landscape pass, she kept remembering their kiss—the passion between them.
*Passion.*
She'd never experienced it firsthand.
Her husband had entered the bridal chamber politely. His kisses were careful as butterfly wings. His touches were gentle.
*The breathless pleasure I've read about in books—reality is different.*
She'd accepted her first night without question. The truth—that he'd been intimidated by her father watching with sharp eyes, that he'd remained passive before her beauty—had died with him.
There was no way for her to understand what she'd truly experienced.
She couldn't stop thinking about it: Claudel and Kaian embracing as though desperate for each other. Claudel's back arching. Their lips pressing together.
This preoccupation consumed her completely.
When the Duke of Vermont appeared at her inn in Oberon's capital, midway through her journey home, Irena didn't welcome him as usual.
"...Father? What are you doing here?" she barely managed to ask.
His joyful smile was unguarded. "If you perform well, you might become Queen, Irena."
---