## Valquiterre
*It's not her. She couldn't be the woman I saw at the lake.*
His face, which had turned dangerously cold, instantly warmed at the memory.
The lake near Rowen Castle—a place that seemed intentionally preserved as natural forest. There, he'd witnessed something transcendent.
A water fairy moving through colored mist, backlit by pale dawn light. Each time her body surfaced, the water caressed her as though reluctant to release her. Pure white skin. Long red hair that retained beauty even when wet. Golden eyes brilliant against cool tones. Moist crimson lips.
Many poets and artists had attempted to capture divine beauty. But Valquiterre could say with absolute certainty: she was the most beautiful moment he'd ever witnessed.
Such perfection carried an unapproachable aura.
Yet even he—King of Oberon—had bowed before her, gathering flowers to offer.
He hadn't questioned his own behavior then. A woman capable of moving a man merited such response. He'd never imagined stooping to request a woman's name, yet doing so had seemed natural, even necessary.
Valquiterre was born to reign. From his first breath, he was destined to stand above all others, never bowing. If kingdoms fell and enemies came beneath his sword, a king faced death with head held high and back straight.
Yet kneeling before her had seemed right.
Because she hadn't seemed entirely of this world.
It would have been humiliating for a human king to kneel before criminals. But bowing before a god—a transcendent being? That was different.
It was an extraordinary first experience, leaving him somewhat dumbfounded.
*Red hair and golden eyes. Vermont has two daughters.*
He'd stationed people around Kaian to gather intelligence. During the wedding ceremony at Valmonde Castle, a skeletal woman with no adornment had been presented as the bride. Kaian had remained less than thirty minutes, departing without even meeting her eyes. Later, he'd reported how the carriage broke down, forcing him to approach his bride's chamber in rain-soaked clothes.
Valquiterre had been impressed. Kaian—known for being easygoing and, the King thought, lacking proper subject loyalty—had obeyed to the point of consummating a marriage with the enemy's dying daughter.
But those reports had never included information about how the Lord and Lady of Rowen appeared after her illness resolved. The reports had focused on her dying state—emaciated, skull-like—but nothing about recovery or improvement.
*So that woman at the lake was Kaian's wife?*
Impossible. This was meant to prevent Kaian's prosperous marriage. His water fairy goddess shouldn't be his wife.
Valquiterre had firmly believed she was Princess Irena—the wealthy, famous beauty throughout the kingdom.
*I've been stabbed in the foot by an ax I trusted.*
For the first time, he regretted returning from Promhunt without meeting Kaian in person.
The woman's face kept flashing in his memory—her surprised smile as she'd opened her eyes.
Valquiterre didn't know the truth: that the woman had felt threatened, swimming nearly naked in a deserted early morning lake her husband had barred from public access. Her smile hadn't been genuine—merely her mouth's awkward response to fear.
Yet that distorted smile, existing only in his memory, captivated and bewitched him.
---
## Claudel
The festival day had arrived.
"Whew. Ha."
I took deep, nervous breaths.
"I think I'm wearing the wrong clothes," I whispered.
Madame Marcel's festival dress exposed my collarbone and upper chest with a bold V-neckline. These tube-top style gowns typically left shoulders entirely bare. At Valmonde Castle balls, I'd been a wallflower—no one had asked me to dance. But I'd observed other women moving gracefully in such form-fitting garments.
Understanding my anxiety, Madame Marcel had eventually modified the design, adding straps that covered my shoulders and extended halfway down my arms. Yet even with these modifications, I worried the dress might slip while dancing, or the straps might tear.
When I'd expressed concern, Madame Marcel had tied the cord around her own wrist, bitten it with her teeth, and pulled hard to demonstrate its strength. Satisfied it wouldn't fail, I'd finally agreed.
"My Lady! The Lord's congratulatory speech is ending," Hannah announced, entering the waiting tent.
She was followed by Madame Marcel and three assistants, each carrying armfuls of elaborate chiffon skirts.
"The material is lighter than traditional festival wear," Madame Marcel explained. "These skirts aren't remade annually. When new lords and ladies arrive, we create one, then maintain it through repairs. The previous seamstress had done adequate work, but I've improved it significantly."
Hannah beamed with pride in her Lord's dismissal of the old seamstress.
The assistants gradually emptied their arms. With three layers wrapped around me, I resembled a walking flower, each petal layer perfectly arranged.
"It's truly gorgeous," Hannah breathed.
"I learned you were ill and unable to attend the banquet," Madame Marcel said warmly. "Today, you'll properly introduce yourself to Rowen. This must reflect that."
I stared at my reflection in the mirror the assistant held.
My red hair, smoothed and braided on either side, was gathered into an elaborate bun adorned with flowers from Rowen's estate and topped with a tiara. Around my exposed collarbone rested a custom ruby necklace Kaian had commissioned—a delicate wreath of roses and baby's breath rendered in rubies and white diamonds. Its design was unique, extravagant.
My pale face appeared unusually bright beneath light makeup.
"I didn't expect to look like this," I admitted.
The multicolored festival skirt complemented my red hair and golden eyes perfectly, transforming me into someone I didn't quite recognize.
"You have fair skin that suits all colors," Madame Marcel said, smiling. "And you possess a natural charm."
"I feel like a different person," I murmured, still studying my reflection.
"My Lady, it's time to depart," the butler announced, poking his head into the tent.
My eyes widened. Hannah and Madame Marcel burst into delighted laughter.
"Walk slowly—the skirts are heavy," the butler advised as we proceeded toward the festival square.
As we approached, I heard cheers and music that seemed to shake the sky. My heart pounded.
Until today, I'd done nothing as Duchess of Rowen. But after introducing myself like this, everything would change tomorrow.
Yet as I approached the square step by step, the noise diminished. It was as if a switch had been turned off.
*Is it because I'm from Vermont?*
I suppressed my anxiety and reached the square, where Kaian waited. He looked impressive in festival attire—his forehead exposed, his red eyes gleaming in the midday sun. His expression remained cold and impassive.
But today, I couldn't read his thoughts as I usually could.
*Does he think I'm pretty? Or is he offended? Do these fancy clothes not suit me?*
I took his extended hand, and we began walking toward the circular platform, matching our steps.
When the orchestra resumed after an awkward silence, the crowd applauded rhythmically.
Then Kaian lifted me into his arms.
"Ah!"
Before I could react, he whispered, "Please calm down," and spun me with formidable strength.
My festival skirt fluttered layer after layer, petticoats unfurling in rainbow order—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.
The crowd's amazement erupted into cheers, their excitement visibly surging.
I was breathless. Though I barely moved and was held suspended while Kaian danced, I felt intoxicated by the festival's fervor. People surrounded us. The world spun dizzyingly.
When the dancing finally stopped:
"Oh... oh..."
I gasped, holding tightly to him.
"Claudel. Look at me."
I raised my head. Kaian lowered his and kissed me.
The crowd erupted.
Cheers blinded my ears. Falling flower petals blinded my eyes. The world dissolved.
I have no memory of returning to the castle.
---
"Kaian..."
When we'd arrived back—I seemingly intoxicated—he'd locked my bedroom door and trapped me beneath his arm.
"Have you decided to drive me insane?"
"W-what...?"
His hands moved, and my dress slipped downward.
---