## The Past
The village of Plogne sat deep in the mountains, home to fewer than thirty people. But it held a secret known only to the initiated: it protected Arbor, the sacred tree—the navel of the continent itself.
Every major disaster on the continent affected Arbor. Though most had forgotten this legend, royal families across the world still maintained contact with those who tended the sacred tree.
Leonie was Plogne's keeper—its chief and Arbor's fortune teller.
The day disaster came, leaves fell from the sacred tree without reason. Withering began. Leonie knew what it meant: calamity was coming.
When the burning started, Evan—her husband—took Claudel and Hannah down to the castle at the mountain's base. He'd wanted to keep them safe.
A dagger had pierced Leonie's body. As consciousness returned, fire consumed everything around her. Crawling, the blade still embedded in her shoulder, she dragged herself from the burning house toward survival—her only thought.
But when she emerged, she faced a worse sight.
Arbor burned.
The sacred tree—planted by God himself at the continent's creation—was engulfed in flames.
The children of Plogne were born as Arbor's children. From birth, they performed rituals with gourds of water, tending the tree their entire lives. They lived under its shade, praying nothing would happen.
Seeing it burn was like watching her own soul ignite.
Leonie escaped to an underground spring, collapsing into the water. The bay was spared—built along a natural waterway—but she lay bleeding for days as the village burned silently around her.
When consciousness returned, she heard voices.
"Is there someone alive?"
Through narrowed eyes, she saw armored knights bearing a lion crest—Temnes.
"Should we end her?" one suggested.
The figure in silver armor raised his hand and removed his helmet.
A boy. Black-haired, red-eyed. Physically mature but with an impossibly young, pure face. Perhaps fifteen years old, yet carrying the authority of his lineage.
A lion cub is still a lion.
She'd heard stories of the Duke of Temnes's heir—the family growing ever more powerful through this generation. Here stood that heir, weighing her life with absolute indifference in his gaze.
Could a fifteen-year-old possess such clinical detachment?
"Let her live," he commanded quietly.
With that single word, Leonie was saved.
---
Recovery was torment.
The sword wounds below her shoulder and above her chest were fatal, but clotting blood had sealed them. The burns were catastrophic. Necrosis spread across the injured skin. Inflammation raged. New skin wouldn't grow across the damaged areas.
From her left cheek to her neck, shoulder, arm, and part of her thigh—the burns were extensive.
High fevers came and went. Between them, she writhed as skin pulled taut, her body ceasing to feel human.
During her delirium, she searched desperately for Evan and Claudel in her mind.
*I'm grateful they were away when the fire came. If they'd been there...*
But because Temnes had saved her, she couldn't move to find them. Knights placed her in a quiet villa, but she couldn't sit, couldn't walk, couldn't leave.
All she could do was endure treatment and fight to survive.
After more than half a year of surgery and recovery, Leonie could finally walk.
---
When the Temnes heir visited, his question was direct. "Do you have family?"
"No," she lied.
She couldn't tell the heir of Temnes that her husband was Vermont's second son. She couldn't reveal they'd been lovers rather than legally married—such unions between commoners and nobles weren't recognized by law. Evan, technically, had died unmarried.
"Where will you go?"
"I'll try to find distant relatives."
Kaian placed a bag of gold coins before her. "You made an oath to me. Your life is mine."
"Yes."
"No one can know that anyone survived Plogne. Understand?"
The waves of grief crashed over her, but she accepted it. *I don't deserve to mourn. I survived when all others died. I must live for Claudel.*
"I understand."
---
She traveled to Valmonde with the gold coins, her newly scarred skin cracking in the cold northern climate.
At the castle, she demanded to see the Duke of Vermont.
"I'm from Plogne village. Please, I must see him."
The gatekeeper, convinced she was mad, eventually granted her entry.
The Duke—Evan's older brother—received her with a cold expression.
"Evan is dead," he announced, as though discussing the weather. "He killed himself after his wife died. Which fool was he trying to impress?"
*No. My Evan wouldn't—*
"He's buried in the catacombs. You can view the body if you wish."
Leonie collapsed under the weight of that news.
When she recovered enough to speak, desperation made her bold.
"I want to take Claudel with me."
The Duke's eyes turned to ice. "Don't even speak to me again. Claudel? How would she be your daughter? A miserable commoner claiming kinship? My brother was never married. Do you have evidence you were his wife?"
The truth struck like a physical blow.
Evan and Leonie had sworn loyalty to each other, but the law didn't recognize it. Without Evan alive, there was no proof she was his wife. No proof Claudel was her daughter.
"Please," she begged, tears streaming. "Let me take her. That child is my life."
"You'll raise her looking like that?" The Duke gestured with contempt at her scarred face. "Claudel will suffer in shame."
Leonie couldn't respond.
"Get out. Never set foot on Valmonde lands again."
When she resisted, the Duke had her thrown into a cage like an animal. For days, she received only water and hard bread through the grate before being loaded onto a cart and transported away—a four-day journey of degradation.
She was treated worse than livestock.
---
The Duke of Vermont was right about one thing: Claudel, raised by her scarred mother, would suffer endlessly.
But the bitterness of his rightness couldn't override her need to survive.
*I must become strong. I must make money. When I can finally meet Claudel, I'll be worthy to take care of her.*
With Kaian's help, Leonie opened Salon Arvo in the capital and lived with grim determination.
She worked as an informant for Temnes, something she'd once have considered treason. But it meant hearing occasional news of Claudel's welfare through rumors from Valmonde.
And then—divine intervention.
A royal order commanded Claudel marry Kaian.
Leonie had nearly lost her mind with joy. Her daughter, held prisoner by the Duke of Vermont all these years, would finally be free. And she'd marry the very man who'd saved Leonie's life.
Against all rumors to the contrary, Kaian proved himself dignified and faithful. He kept his promise to maintain Plogne's secret while keeping her alive.
When Leonie heard Claudel was dying from Herzol, her blood nearly boiled with panic.
Then she remembered: Evan had left a prescription with an herbalist in the mountains—a cure for Herzol, in case their northern daughter ever needed it. She found the herbalist still living, still keeping the remedy Evan had entrusted to her years ago.
Leonie sent it to Temnes territory.
Her ten years living under the name Cronac Delmore—her daughter's name woven into her false identity—finally gained meaning.
---
## The Present
The morning of the opera, Madame Cronac dressed with unusual care, applying makeup with trembling hands.
*That girl has grown into such a beautiful woman. Though I suspect she doesn't truly want to see opera.*
But she'd pushed the recommendation because she desperately wanted one more glimpse of her daughter. She'd arranged to hand over the tickets in person.
When Claudel stepped from the carriage at the theater, Madame Cronac's breath caught.
The beautiful flower-like face she'd seen yesterday now showed troubling signs. Her complexion carried a faint paleness. Beneath her eyes, shadows lingered.
The Herzol was returning.
Madame Cronac's hand opened involuntarily, and the opera tickets fell to the ground.
"Duchess!" she called out, her voice trembling. "What happened? Your face—"
---