"One room is sufficient," Kaian said coldly, cutting off the attendant mid-sentence.
He fixed the servant with that characteristic gaze—sharp enough to pierce steel, cold enough to freeze blood.
"You serve His Majesty the King in the royal castle, yet you don't even know the genealogy of royal relatives?" His voice carried contempt. "You called my wife the Duchess of Vermont. Why?"
The servant seemed to shrink.
Kaian must have been born into the wrong climate. Everything about him—the cold radiating from his body, the icy disdain in his expression—belonged to Valmonde's frozen wasteland, not Rowen's sun-drenched lands.
"That was a mistake, Your Grace."
"A mistake?" Kaian's lips curved without warmth. "If she is the Duchess of Vermont, she would be the Princess of Valmonde, wouldn't she?"
The royal servants and maids exchanged panicked glances, all lowering their heads.
"Remember clearly," Kaian continued with dangerous precision. "My wife is Temnes. If I hear 'Vermont' spoken in reference to my Duchess again, I will draw my sword for each offense. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Duke. I sincerely apologize."
The maid bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the ground. Only then did Kaian release his tension. He uncrossed his arms and took my frozen hand, placing it on his arm.
"Guide us. I'm exhausted and need to rest immediately."
"Yes. This way."
The attendant hurried ahead.
I followed Kaian at a careful pace, trying not to show the discomfort in my legs. He was walking faster than usual—faster than I could easily manage. My leg, where the crocodile had bitten me, began to ache.
He glanced at me, his expression darkening further.
I suspected the servant's mistake had triggered his foul mood. But truthfully, he'd been irritable since meeting the King's messenger at the Temnes mansion earlier, when we'd been unexpectedly summoned back to the castle.
*"Whew."*
I forced myself to keep pace, biting back the pain. The rain had kept me confined to the carriage all day without proper rest. The castle's grandeur—high walls, imposing architecture—intimidated me.
If not for Kaian standing there with squared shoulders and absolute confidence, as though the royal castle were his own home, I might have fallen apart.
My usually demanding husband had his uses.
He commanded atmospheres wherever he went—Rowen Castle or the capital, it mattered not.
The hallway seemed endless. My legs grew heavier with each step.
"Ugh."
A small sound of pain escaped me.
Kaian stopped immediately, his expression shifting to concern. "Why?"
"Ah. It's nothing."
"Does your leg hurt?"
I felt my shoulders collapse as servants and maids stared at us. I didn't want to reveal weakness before these strangers.
During our carriage ride, Kaian had shared stories about Valquiterre. *"We called each other by our first names as children. My mother and Queen Silvia are sisters. Even now, when alone, they use each other's names freely."*
I'd found it fascinating—royal family secrets shared intimately.
*"Valquiterre has his wayward side, but he carries an impossible burden. Being King at such a young age leaves little room for weakness."*
His eyes had been soft when speaking of the King—genuine affection.
*If I mention my leg hurts, rumors will spread.* Noble gossip twisted everything. If word reached the King that the Duchess of Temnes had a damaged leg from her injury, it would reflect poorly on Kaian. Points deducted from his standing. Weakness perceived where there should be none.
"Aren't you asking if I'm uncomfortable walking?"
"No. It's fine. If you just walk a little slower—"
Before I could finish, Kaian lifted me effortlessly into his arms.
"Hurry," he commanded the attendant.
"Yes, Yes, Duke."
*What will the King think if he hears about this?* My anxiety spiraled. What marks would this leave on Kaian's reputation?
---
"This is your chamber. Please rest comfortably," the attendant said, wiping sweat from his forehead before straightening. "Would you like food or tea?"
"Neither. Just prepare the bath." Kaian's tone allowed no argument. "I'm resting. Don't disturb us."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The attendants withdrew. The door closed.
Kaian carefully laid me on the bed, then, without preamble, began removing my traveling clothes.
"Kaian?" I questioned his sudden intensity.
"You said it was fine, right? That your leg was fine?"
"It's just that you were walking too fast—"
"If your leg hurts, you should say so." He'd already removed my stockings, and now examined the scars where the crocodile had bitten. "Why suffer in silence?"
"Because you seemed upset."
His hands were cold—from the rainy weather, no doubt—but gentle as they traced the scarred tissue. I held my breath at the sensation.
"There's heat here," he observed. "Perhaps a steam bath would help."
"Kaian, I'm fine. Truly. The journey was uneventful. I had no discomfort during the Territory Festival either."
"Perhaps we should have brought the doctor from Rowen."
"Kaian. Are you listening to me?"
"I'm listening. But you're talking nonsense. You moaned in pain, so obviously something bothers you."
I had no response. There was no winning against him with words.
"The royal doctor is trustworthy," he continued, unbuttoning my traveling dress. "If you experience any discomfort, tell me immediately."
"All right."
He removed my boots and the remaining stockings, then adjusted my skirt. When my small, pale feet emerged from beneath the hem, he looked at them with genuine wonder, reaching out to touch my toes with gentle fingertips.
"What are you doing?" I asked, embarrassed.
"Amazed at how small they are."
I folded my knees and hid my feet beneath my skirt. His response was immediate—he pressed his body against mine.
"Kaian—" His lips found mine.
The kiss was deep, thorough, after days of traveling. The gentle kisses we'd shared throughout our journey felt like scenes meant to become memories—beautiful as purple verbena blooming in bright sunlight, sweet as the candy shop scents wafting through carriage windows.
But this was different. This was a promise, delivered through the press of his entire body against mine.
"Ha—" I gasped, arms wrapping around his neck as sensation flooded through me.
He was unique, incomparable.
Somehow, even as our lips remained joined and I was completely distracted by the intensity of his kiss, he'd unbuttoned all thirty of Madame Marcel's carefully crafted buttons.
"That's annoying," he muttered against my skin. "Why so many buttons? I think I hired the wrong seamstress."
"Don't blame the buttons. You've been irritable since we left the mansion."
"I was planning to spend time with you," he said quietly.
I cupped his cheek. "Hannah and Madame Marcel will be fine staying elsewhere."
"I'd prefer they stayed with us."
Understanding dawned. "You're worried about what the King might think?"
His voice lowered dangerously. "Finish what you started to say in the carriage."
"What?"
"Something dirty."
I placed my hand between us, blocking his descent. "I'm hungry."
He pulled back, displeased. "I'll be quick."
"Liar."
"..." He ran his hands through his disheveled hair, clearly irritated. "Why didn't you tell the servant you wanted food?"
"Because you threw them out before I could speak."
"Because you said your leg hurt."
"Lie." I met his eyes. "You wanted to do something dirty, didn't you?"
Despite my laugh, he sighed and rose from the bed, his expression one of pure disgust at his own predicament.
---
## The King's Chamber
The royal servant reported in a panic to King Valquiterre.
The renowned Duke and Duchess of Temnes had arrived at the castle. Preparations had been made—separate chambers, as befitted royal etiquette and the King's orders. Yet the Duke had immediately moved his wife to his own quarters.
"We prepared as you commanded, Your Majesty, but the Duke said one room was sufficient. He didn't precisely disobey, but—"
"I understand." Valquiterre's voice carried cold amusement. "What did you expect? The Duke does as he wishes."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Leave. And make certain no one disturbs them."
"Yes, Your Majesty the King."
Once alone, Valquiterre murmured to himself: "One room is enough."
His fingers traced the rim of a wine glass as he stared toward the window.
The Duke of Temnes had always been independent, even as a child. But this—this was different. The man was claiming his wife so openly, so defiantly, that it bordered on declaration.
Valquiterre felt something dark and cold expand in his chest.
*What have you become, Kaian?*
---