In noble marriages, a woman's fertility was paramount. Her value lay in producing heirs.
I was barren.
Herzol had ravaged my body's vitality, killing through slow internal destruction. When the Duke of Vermont realized my condition, he'd suggested my sacrifice was meaningless anyway. My menstruation had stopped even before receiving the King's command.
Few survived such disease. Those who did often faced permanent consequences—chronic pain with every breath, depleted strength, damaged fertility.
I'd recovered better than expected. My lungs and heart showed no serious damage. But producing children seemed impossible.
Even after the cure, my cycles hadn't returned.
*If I fail to bear an heir, Kaian will need another wife.*
It was acceptable—expected, even—for a lord to take a mistress if his wife couldn't provide an heir. While some men were known for enjoying such arrangements openly, framing it as necessity for succession was considered reasonable.
A barren wife was cursed. Her family was pitied, then mocked.
Childlessness for years was legitimate grounds for divorce. A family couldn't allow its heir to be born of a concubine. So men divorced, their wives entering monasteries, branded as unlucky women who'd failed their primary duty.
The monasteries welcomed them—for a substantial donation.
*Is that where I'm destined?*
I'd once expected to be coldly treated by Kaian, then cast aside.
But I couldn't see past this moment. The knowledge of my approaching death had consumed my capacity for planning, for hope. I was drowning, trying to fill an impossible void.
Caring about Kaian had become a reef that caught and held me fast.
The love that had felt like sailing on calm, favorable seas now lay stranded and broken.
The village with its white plastered walls covered in colorful flowers, the gentle breeze, the warmth of his presence—it all lost meaning.
---
"This is your first time asking about my parents," he observed as we walked slowly through the market.
He hadn't noticed my despair.
"I think you'll become a parent who asks whether your child will come," I said quietly.
"Why?"
"Because... you're good at asking how someone is feeling."
A shadow crossed my mind as I imagined a child resembling him—black-haired, red-eyed, beautiful.
Guilt crashed through me. I was deceiving him by staying, accepting warmth while hiding my inability to give him what he most needed.
*I want his heart.*
But I was full of worry, drowning in it.
Still, Kaian had saved me—a poor girl from his enemy family. I wanted to rely on his generosity, at least for a moment longer. I hadn't felt this warmth since my parents died.
If the time came when I had to leave due to my own failings, I wanted to hold these memories like embers from a dying fire. Perhaps that would be enough to sustain me through whatever came next.
"Why are you making such a serious face?" he asked, stopping beside me.
"It's nothing serious."
"There's no need to be so grave about the education of unborn children. I have thin ears anyway."
His gentle scolding felt warm rather than frightening.
"Kaian," I said, calling his name like one calls to the sun itself.
"Yes?"
"There's open space here, and people are passing by. If I asked you to kiss me, you'd think I was an improper woman, wouldn't you?"
He stopped walking.
"Why do you think so negatively?"
"Because this is your territory. Everyone respects you, their Lord."
Unlike before, I now understood that people stared because of him. Not because red hair was unusual—though it was. But because he commanded attention.
"From now on," he said firmly, "develop the habit of thinking positively."
"For example?"
"If you ask me to kiss you here, I would like it."
His strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. He lowered his head beneath the parasol's shade.
"Do you really have thoughts in your head?" he murmured against my lips. "It will be difficult if you teach my child something strange later."
"Yes," I whispered.
Our lips met—soft, gentle, completely at odds with my urgent tone. The more I kissed him, the more addicted I became.
Beneath the parasol's shade, we created memories for our journey.
---
## That Evening
In the inn's room, Hannah and Madame Marcel couldn't stop praising Kaian. Not merely for the excellent food—skewered beef and fatty quail in perfect pastry—but for his attention to me.
"My Lord truly cares for his wife," Madame Marcel observed.
"When we reach the capital, it will cause quite a stir," Hannah added. "Everyone will discover the Duke isn't as cold and dismissive toward women as his reputation suggests."
Two women who'd witnessed our closeness up close exchanged knowing glances.
"Does he typically bother women?" I asked quietly.
The rumor in Valmonde had been that he changed lovers daily. When I thought I was dying, it hadn't mattered. After realizing I loved him, I'd wondered—but couldn't ask.
*How many lovers has he had? If he's been with someone each night for two years... does he expect me not to care?*
I couldn't possibly ask such a thing.
Madame Marcel seemed to read my thoughts. "The Lord actually dislikes social events."
"Really?"
"If the King calls him ten times, he might come once. He's quite busy managing his estate."
"But there's always time if there's will," the seamstress continued. "Most nobles who enjoy entertainment maintain capital mansions and delegate estate management to vassals."
She had a point. If Kaian enjoyed such things, he'd find time.
"And he's never asked anyone to dance," Madame Marcel added. "The heartbreak among capital women is considerable."
"Truly?"
"In romance novels, don't they usually end in dancing, conversation, and... nights out?" She smiled knowingly.
Though I'd been a wallflower, I'd read enough to understand the convention.
"Handsome grooms like the Duke are extremely rare now," Madame Marcel continued. "The war took so many men that nobles even petitioned the King to legalize polygamy."
"Something like that actually happened?"
Oberon was legally monogamous. Extramarital relationships held no protection. Men divorced barren wives to marry again, risking family strife and broken alliances.
"Every girl wants to find one good husband," Madame Marcel said softly. "If she's lucky once in her life."
I'd never had great expectations. Irena would eventually marry to secure Valmonde's future. My marriage to Kaian had seemed similarly transactional.
"Polygamy," I said to Hannah with a bitter laugh. "Would you want to become his fifteenth wife?"
Madame Marcel laughed aloud. "That's exactly what the nobles argued. The opposition was fierce—they practically came to blows over it."
"The world of nobility is certainly fierce," I observed.
Hannah, giggling, asked me: "How does it feel to be married to such a man, Lady?"
"I have no idea," I sighed.
"You have no idea? He's your husband! Surely you feel fortunate among noble ladies?"
"He's my husband, but he's not..." I paused. "He's not on my side."
Hannah and Madame Marcel exchanged glances above my head.
They were hoping I would accept what my heart already knew. They saw a man who possessed everything yet couldn't win his wife's trust—despite his many attempts.
Madame Marcel had revealed her compensation to Hannah, and the maid had been astonished. The amount itself spoke volumes about Kaian's sincerity. But having heard about my experiences at Rowen Castle, she understood why I couldn't simply open my heart.
Hannah had once considered running away with me. Eventually, she'd convinced herself the situation was hopeless. Yet her loyalty to Kaian—her decision to give her soul to Temnes—prevented her from actually leaving.
"Lady, I've decided on something," Hannah announced suddenly.
She'd previously won a bet with me about whether Kaian would become interested in Irena, but had kept her prize wish secret.
"What? Tell me. It has to be something I can do," I urged.
"Of course it is!" Hannah said triumphantly, her eyes gleaming with determination.
"Confess to the Lord that you love him."
---