"No! Absolutely not!"
Both Hannah and Madame Marcel shouted so loudly that I dropped the stone I'd been holding.
"Oh..." My face fell as the stone rolled toward the doorway.
Madame Marcel quickly retrieved it, placing it gently back in my hand. "Why not, Madame?"
"This is ridiculous," Hannah declared, crossing her arms. "The Lord is expecting something meaningful!"
"He told me not to feel pressured," I protested weakly.
"That's a lie," Hannah said bluntly. "Do you remember the first night gift? Because of Antjone's interference, the Lord asked you three times if you liked it and why you weren't wearing it."
"That's... true."
"And the moment Lady Irena wore the dress he gave you, you noticed immediately."
"Well, it was a distinctive design—"
"Madame, I watched him," Madame Marcel interrupted gently. "Most noblemen don't notice or care what their wives wear. But your husband notices everything. Is there only one dress made for you? Do you think he'd be pleased if you wore clothes he gave to another woman?"
"No," I admitted quietly.
I felt unfairly judged. Didn't people talk more when they were interested? We hardly talked at all. Most of our interactions involved... well, our lips touching.
*I can't tell Hannah that.*
I sighed internally. "When I saw him at the marketplace this morning, I couldn't find anything suitable to buy."
Hannah softened slightly. "The Duke of Vermont was always happy receiving hand-knitted socks from Irena on his birthday. Even though she's not particularly skilled—she used leftover yarn and repeated the same gift every year. He was always delighted."
"So it's about the heart," I said hopefully.
"It's about sincerity," Madame Marcel corrected. "A stone—even a pretty stone—lacks that."
*But I dove to the bottom of the lake to retrieve it myself,* I thought defensively. *Doesn't that count?*
Apparently not.
I'd always given my uncle more elaborate gifts than Irena did—I'd spent an entire year's savings on some of them. He'd only ever said "thank you" or "good work." But somehow, I imagined Kaian might react differently. That he might look at me the way the Duke looked at Irena when she gave him her simple gift.
Seeing my dejection, Madame Marcel wrapped an arm around my shoulders compassionately.
"A gift like this could become a special memory," she said softly. "You can give it to him next year."
"Really?"
"This is his first birthday as a married man. His first with you." She smiled mysteriously. "I have an idea."
She signaled to her assistant, who brought forward a large box. Inside was a magnificently crafted dark blue hat.
"Oh!" I exclaimed. "This is beautiful!"
"It is," Hannah agreed, clapping her hands. "But there's more?"
Madame Marcel opened another box, revealing colorful feathers dyed in rich hues.
*Ah. The man I saw this morning was wearing a hat like this.*
I began selecting feathers, laying them out on the hat. Madame Marcel encouraged my choices, and soon Hannah was playfully adding a feather that looked like a raccoon tail to both sides, making us all burst into laughter.
"I think it's finished," I finally said.
"Not quite." Madame Marcel pulled a needle from the holder at her wrist and, with quick, practiced movements, began securing the feathers from the inside with precise stitches.
As Hannah and I watched, time dissolved.
"It's complete," Madame Marcel announced. "What you created with the help of my skill—this is truly one of a kind in the world."
The hat, even I had to admit, looked magnificent.
"Thank you both," I said sincerely. "After the birthday banquet, we'll arrange a special thank-you celebration."
Madame Marcel beamed with pride, and Hannah looked equally satisfied at having prevented me from gifting a rock.
As we placed the hat in a luxurious round box and tied an elegant ribbon, the sun was setting.
"I should prepare a dress for tomorrow," Madame Marcel said. "You'll need to wake early."
"Thank you."
After she departed, Hannah asked, "Shall I bring dinner?"
"Yes, please. I'm hungry."
"I'll prepare it right away!" She disappeared cheerfully.
---
Alone, I withdrew the heart-shaped stone from my pocket.
*It was beautiful in the water.*
Flowers in meadows are lovely but wilt quickly once picked. This stone, which had gleamed like a jewel when wet, now appeared dull grey-brown. Yet its shape remained smooth and perfectly symmetrical—distinctly heart-shaped.
I went to my desk and began writing.
*Kaian,*
*This letter is for your future self. I wanted to give you this stone for your first birthday. I found it at the bottom of the lake—it reminded me of something I'd read: the human heart's shape resembles this exactly. But Madame Marcel and Hannah refused. They said perhaps next year instead.*
*I lost that argument. So I'm giving you something else this year. But do you understand what I meant to say with this shape? That I—*
The words became too complicated. I set down the pen.
*Do you think he would understand that I was trying to tell him I like him?*
But it felt like too much trouble. And if Madame Marcel and Hannah objected as vehemently next year, this stone would remain forever unshared.
I finished simply:
*Happy birthday. From Claudel.*
Then I did something impulsive. I cut a thin section of my own red hair and braided it carefully, binding it at both ends so it wouldn't unravel. It was an old superstition—virgin women braiding their hair as a keepsake for absent lovers, asking them not to forget, not to stray.
I'd never had a lover before Kaian, and I wanted to try everything I'd read about.
I placed the stone, the letter, and the braided hair in a small box I'd quietly taken from Madame Marcel's supplies. When wrapped, it was perfectly palm-sized.
*It's not as if he's going far,* I thought with a small smile. *But I suppose I wanted to give him something that says: come back to me.*
I tucked the box into my desk drawer and hoped next year would arrive quickly.
---
## Kaian
The day had consumed him entirely.
He'd missed lunch with Claudel—something that had become essential to him. Before returning to Rowen, he would have simply eaten bread with ingredients while working. Now, he found himself making excuses to visit her chambers, to feed her, to hold her fragrant body against his.
*Not just to see her. To touch her.*
There had been times when he'd lost his composure entirely, asking the butler for advice like some lovesick youth. But recently, things with Claudel had progressed smoothly.
He remembered her first days at the castle—lifeless, indifferent, waiting for death. He'd thought her unresponsive to him. Then he'd realized: she was simply waiting to die, devoid of motivation to live.
But she wasn't a helpless woman. She was quirky, lively, increasingly attractive the more he knew her.
And sometimes, she was passionate.
Tonight, when he knocked on her bedroom door late, she opened it immediately.
"You're late."
"Work. The banquet preparations have been complicated."
He pulled her close, seeking her lips first, needing her warmth against him. His irritation at the necessary preparations melted as he held her soft body in its thin pajamas.
"Happy birthday, Kaian."
"What?"
"It's past midnight."
*Already?* He'd lost track of time.
"I'm glad I could celebrate with you," she said softly.
She guided him to sit on the bed, adjusted her height, and kissed his forehead, both cheeks, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips—a blessing more than a greeting.
He felt cherished.
"What about the gift?" he asked eventually.
"Now?"
"You're celebrating me, but there's no gift?"
She smiled mysteriously and produced a large box.
Inside was a hat—a magnificently crafted piece with decorative feathers that could only be Madame Marcel's work, yet with a personal touch that suggested Claudel's involvement.
"Did you make this?" he asked, studying it.
"Madame Marcel helped, but I chose the decorations. I worked very hard."
"Directly?"
Claudel nodded.
Kaian removed the hat from the box and examined it, then placed it on his head. "What do you think?"
"You look wonderful in it. But..."
"But?"
"I want to see you wearing only the hat."
Her cheeks flushed, but she was already reaching for him, pulling him close once more.
---