*How will I endure this?*
Looking back at my life after losing my parents—forced into an unfamiliar castle, married to an enemy—I realized I'd never truly been happy until now.
My childhood had been burned away with my village. The fire that consumed Plonne destroyed everything worth remembering. I had food, clothing, education alongside Irena. No one prevented me from wandering the library or castle. Yet no one truly gave me life.
The Duke and Duchess, my adoptive parents, were busy. The Duchess tried to be kind, but her care felt more like duty than maternal affection. Raising Irena was raising her own child. Caring for me was her obligation to her brother's orphaned niece.
Only Hannah loved me without reservation.
Even at ten years old, I'd understood her position. The village fire had left her unable to live without me. She'd made me the center of her world, the meaning of her existence. I'd recognized this as something other than parental love—precious, but fundamentally different.
Kaian, Duke of Temnes and my enemy's heir, had treated me coldly at first.
Yet somewhere between despair and recovery, I'd come to care for him deeply. This man who spoke harsh words with a stern expression had warm, attentive hands. When he scolded me coldly, he later quietly filled my gaps—my empty closet, my bare jewelry box. He cut my favorite dishes into small pieces, placed them secretly on my plate. His warm arms hold me every night, comforting me when I'm hungry, when I need warmth.
I held him tightly now, clutching his body as though I'd just torn my own heart free and was holding it in my hands.
It was the same for him—he couldn't restrain himself. Not even once.
Kaian was so good to me.
---
## The Festival Continues
An untimely incident had occurred in the crowded square.
Immediately after the opening dance, the Lord and his wife disappeared.
"The Lady seemed unwell after the dance," whispered the crowd. "The Lord is holding her, supporting her."
A massive cart covered in waxed paper rolled into the square's center.
The huge festival cake—made from first harvest wheat, mixed with sour stewed apples and pork fat, baked until crisp and golden—arrived to collective hunger. This delicacy could only be eaten once yearly.
Baron Colon, the Lord's butler, ascended the stage in a stylish feathered hat. A long-time vassal and powerful figure in Rowen, he commanded attention.
"Today, we celebrate the abundance that heaven and earth have bestowed upon our Rowen domain!"
**Yeaaah!** Cheers erupted.
"You've heard rumors," Colon continued, "that our Lady recently overcame grave illness. Valmonde's vicious Herzol—a curse that nearly claimed her life—could not survive in our sun-blessed land!"
The crowd grew excited as the butler skillfully reminded them of Valmonde's inferiority.
"That's right!"
"Herzol? Never heard of such a disease in Rowen!"
"This is the land of sunshine!"
"Quiet!" Colon raised his voice. "Our Lady, despite her fragile recovery, insisted on honoring Rowen's festival traditions! She persisted despite the doctor's warnings! Herzol strikes only when villages perish. With love for our domain, she attended despite her weakened body!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Hannah, watching from the side, was genuinely impressed. *Remarkable. Could one of his ancestors be from Vermont?*
Colon gestured. "Miss Hannah Pebble, Madam's maid from Valmonde, will assist with the cake cutting. Miss Hannah?"
Startled, Hannah scrambled onto the platform. Colon whispered, "Say something."
Hannah's eyes widened. She lowered her voice. "What should I say?"
"Mix in some cursing about Valmonde."
Hannah understood immediately. From age ten to twenty, she'd heard the Duke of Vermont curse Temnes passionately during Valmonde's fall festivals. The drought had made such speeches even more extreme.
She seized the cone-shaped loudspeaker and cleared her throat.
"I was born in Valmonde, but I will serve Temnes with my entire soul!"
## Waaa!
"I will serve the great Lord, Duke of Temnes, for my lifetime! I will serve him and his successors for generations, and be buried in Rowen's soil!"
## Waaaaaa!
Hannah's sincere cry touched the hearts of Rowen's residents.
"Goodbye to skinny, withering Valmonde! Rowen's food is the most delicious in the world!"
## Yes!
Several of Temnes's collateral relatives ascended the stage at Colon's nomination. Hannah lifted the enormous cake knife—an adult's length—with both hands.
"Yaaaaaaap!"
She cut clean through the massive cake, dividing it exactly in half with a single, powerful stroke.
The square fell silent, then erupted.
## Wow!
"There will be a good harvest next year!"
"She has spirit!"
"You'll serve Temnes well!"
Colon patted Hannah's shoulder warmly as she blinked in surprise. "When you cut the cake in half in one stroke, it means good harvest next year."
"Oh! I didn't mean—"
"The Lord couldn't be here. Your work saved considerable difficulty. Excellent job."
Hannah laughed awkwardly among the cheering crowd.
---
Other Temnes relatives lit the fireworks.
Several men with the distinctive jet-black hair of Temnes came forward, lighting massive cannons filled with explosives using bat-sized torches. The wicks burned, tremendous noise followed, and pyrotechnics exploded across the sky.
As the festival reached its peak, a barrel of alcohol—as tall as an adult—rolled into the crowd. Everyone clapped in rhythm as brewery workers, feet synchronized to the beat like dancers, rolled three enormous barrels into position.
Since the Lord remained at the castle out of concern for his wife, the honor of the first drink fell to Madame Marcel, the seamstress from the capital.
She eagerly accepted, excited to introduce herself to Rowen's residents during the festival.
"Hello, everyone! I'm Madame Marcel, creator of the stunning dress our Lady wore during the opening dance!"
The crowd responded enthusiastically. Women especially voiced admiration.
"I'm thrilled to live in Rowen! If any girls wish to learn sewing, please apply to the castle!"
Madame Marcel skillfully promoted recruitment, then received her glass from Colon. She uncorked the barrel's tap, catching the flowing drink without spilling a drop.
"Let's celebrate Rowen!" She raised her glass and drank in one gulp.
As she finished, she met Colon's eyes over her empty cup. "Ah?"
"It's customary to share drinks," he said, extending his hand.
"Ah! Of course. My apologies." Madame Marcel laughed, pretending to drink from the empty cup Colon presented before waving to the crowd.
Thanks to Colon's excellent performance, no one particularly cared that the Lord and Lady were absent. The residents were occupied with feast food, alcohol, singing, and dancing. Some engaged in the mild transgressions that alcohol encouraged. The younger bachelors flirted while their elders' wives pinched their sides in mock disapproval.
What mattered to them was celebration itself.
But one subject dominated conversation.
"I've never seen anyone so beautiful."
"Yes. I wondered what kind of woman would suit our Lord."
"She was otherworldly."
The public had always been generous toward beautiful things.
They marveled that such a dazzlingly beautiful woman was their Lord's wife. They celebrated that a serious illness couldn't survive in Rowen's blessed land. They delighted that the Lord and Lady got along so well. They already imagined the beautiful heir they would produce together.
The residents had fallen in love with their Lady at first sight.
"Wasn't there a rumor she was a withered flower beaten down by rain?" someone asked.
"I don't remember that," another replied. "That heavy rain destroyed half the seed storage—I was too busy with that disaster."
"But isn't it remarkable she recovered so completely?"
"No! It was all exaggerated!"
A new voice cut through the praise.
A woman with black hair and blue eyes stood at the crowd's edge.
"She didn't look like that at all! I saw her!"
The few people nearby turned. One gasped, "She's saying the Lady stole the Lord's ring..."
"Shh. That woman is unstable. If this spreads, there will be an uproar. We should avoid her."
The crowd dispersed, disgusted.
"I'm telling the truth! She was much prettier—I mean, much sicker!"
No one listened to Antyone's frantic words.
*Kaian, he's being deceived,* she thought bitterly, watching the crowd celebrate the woman who had stolen her position.
---