Kaian lifted Claudel from the bed, cradling her against his chest. Her small body was drenched in cold sweat, her hair plastered to her skin. She trembled violently, her teeth clenched as though she were fighting something terrible in her dream.
Just like the night of their wedding.
"Claudel," he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open, golden and wet with tears. She gasped for breath, her whole body shaking.
"Ugh..."
She clung to him, her fingers gripping his shirt so tightly they turned white—as though releasing him might mean disaster.
Kaian held her close and slowly rubbed her back, waiting for the terror to pass. When her breathing finally steadied and her sobs quieted, he carefully loosened his hold.
"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, unable to speak.
He laid her back on the bed and poured water from the pitcher. When he brought the cup to her lips, she drank like a bird pecking at water—small, delicate sips. Her hands still trembled too much to hold the cup.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You need fresh clothes. You're soaked."
He retrieved a dry nightgown and returned. "Take those off."
She struggled with the wet fabric, so he helped her, his movements careful and impersonal despite her vulnerability. Once the new gown was fastened, he took a towel and gently dried her damp hair.
By the time he finished, some clarity had returned to her eyes.
Kaian lay beside her again, drawing her into his arms.
"Was the journey too demanding?" he asked. During the carriage ride to the capital, he'd ensured they traveled slowly, checking on her condition frequently.
"No. It's just the trip combined with everything else," she replied softly.
"Should I call the doctor?"
"No. It was only a nightmare."
"What did you dream about?"
She hesitated, then: "The village where I lived as a child. It caught fire."
His chest tightened. "Your father carried you away?"
"Yes. And Hannah. But I..." Her voice grew strained. "I can't remember my mother's face anymore. In the dream, her face was melting like candle wax in the flames."
Kaian held her closer, waiting for her to continue.
"My father was a strong man," she said, her voice distant with memory. "Tall, like you. He could split thick trees with one swing of an axe. But..." She paused. "He was weak toward my mother. Toward me."
She smiled faintly despite the sadness in her eyes. "He would let me win at games deliberately. When my mother scolded him, he would pretend to faint, and she would laugh despite her anger. Then he'd embrace her, and they'd look so happy together."
"What happened to him?"
"After the fire..." Her voice broke. "After my mother died in the flames, father couldn't live without her. He followed her."
The words hung between them like a terrible weight.
Kaian understood something fundamental then—something that shifted in his chest like a reordering of his entire world.
*He loved being weak.*
Evan had loved his wife's weakness, his daughter's weakness. He'd chosen weakness, cherished it, even though it ultimately destroyed him.
*I've spent my entire life making myself hard,* Kaian thought. *Never weak. Never vulnerable. Never dependent on anyone.*
But Claudel...
She was weak. Sick with Herzol. Unable to bear children perhaps. Mentally fragile from trauma. And yet...
When she clung to him during nightmares, when she needed him to feed her, when she looked at him with those golden eyes full of trust—he felt something shift in that armored heart. A vulnerability he'd never permitted himself.
"The Duke of Vermont doesn't resemble your father at all?" he asked carefully.
"Not at all. My father was kind. Gentle. The Duke is..." She trailed off diplomatically.
Kaian realized something else: Claudel had grown up watching her father love her mother completely, watching him choose love over duty, over survival itself. And then she'd been forced into marriage with a man raised to choose duty above all else.
No wonder she struggled with trust.
"I haven't had insomnia since arriving in Rowen," she said, as if sensing his worry. "I sleep well every night. With you. Tonight was just... an exception."
"We should return to the capital mansion. You need proper rest."
"No." She gripped his hand. "I want to attend the opera tomorrow. I don't know when I'll return to the capital again. Please don't make me miss it."
*She wants to live in Rowen for the rest of her life,* he realized. The thought should have felt like a burden, but instead it felt like a gift.
"If you feel unwell, you return to the castle immediately," he commanded.
"I will," she promised, and settled against him.
Within moments, she slept. This time, her dreams seemed gentle.
---
## Madame Cronac's Vigil
From the fourth-floor terrace of Salon Arvo, Cronac gazed at the royal castle. Its gold-leafed roof gleamed brilliantly even in moonlight.
"Are you having nice dreams, Claudel?" she whispered.
She'd met her daughter for the first time in ten years today. But she couldn't reveal herself. Couldn't step forward as a mother.
The memory of the Duke of Vermont's words still burned:
*"Don't come here again. Claudel? Why would you claim she's your daughter? You're just a miserable commoner!"*
He'd paid the fire's survivors to keep silent about the truth. Paid them to say the fire had taken both parents. Paid them to erase her from Claudel's life.
She'd survived that fire—survived being stabbed, burned, broken. She'd clawed her way back to life. Built Salon Arvo from nothing. Become successful, respected, essential to the capital's elite.
But the Duke of Vermont had made certain no one would ever know that Claudel Quinn Vermont was actually Claudel Cronac—Cronac's daughter.
*If only it weren't for him.*
The bitterness was sharp, but beneath it lay something deeper: the desperate hope that perhaps, in time, her daughter might find her way back home.
Perhaps the Duke of Temnes—the fierce man who'd saved her once, who clearly loved Claudel with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession—might be the one to finally break the Duke of Vermont's hold.
*Sleep well, my daughter,* she thought, watching the castle lights flicker. *Sleep well in his arms.*
---