## Valquiterre's Moment of Truth
Valquiterre stared at Kaian in disbelief. "Opera? Since when do you attend operas?"
"Married life is a series of adventures," Kaian replied, his tone light as he donned his gloves.
"Adventures?" Valquiterre felt something twist in his chest.
"Newlyweds have many experiences worth exploring." Kaian draped his cloak over his shoulders. "The opera, for instance."
The ease with which Kaian spoke of marriage, of shared experiences with Claudel, made Valquiterre's blood pressure spike.
"You shouldn't talk about private matters between husband and wife," Kaian added, though his tone suggested he might, if pressed.
"I command you as King," Valquiterre said coldly.
"Still, you probably don't want to hear the details." Kaian's smile was infuriating—confident, possessive.
As Kaian turned to leave, Valquiterre noticed something in his expression. The cold aura had disappeared. His eyes were soft.
*Even though she's Vermont's daughter, you care for the Duchess.*
Kaian's eyes had hardened at "Vermont." But at "Duchess," they relaxed again.
"She is Temnes. She is my wife," Kaian said simply, drawing a clear line.
Then he was gone, leaving Valquiterre alone with the bitter knowledge that his cousin possessed something he could never have.
*He has it and I don't.*
Valquiterre clenched his fist. Kaian had a wife to call his own, a woman to spend evenings with at the opera, a partner in adventures.
The King of Oberon had neither.
Courtier Makie approached with careful steps. "Your Majesty. The Grand Duke Luxen has entered the capital gates."
Valquiterre stood abruptly. "My father is coming?"
"He'll arrive at the castle soon. Princess Bianque sent word—the Grand Duke requests to meet you in the Hanging Gardens."
After Makie departed, Valquiterre observed the courtier's unusual demeanor. *Makie's always like this when Father visits.* The loyal courtier harbored an old affection for Queen Silvia, who was Valquiterre's mother. When the Grand Duke came to celebrate his son's birthday, Makie's carefully maintained composure cracked.
"At least Father will be here," Valquiterre muttered, thinking of his sister Bianque, who had been sent as a royal envoy to their father's lands. "That impulsive Princess will complicate matters further."
---
## The Theater
*Karl Hamlain's Revenge* was the capital's most popular opera.
Outside the theater, chaos reigned—horses, carriages, nobility, servants all mixing in a frenzy rivaling the fall festival.
It was in this commotion that Hannah's voice pierced through: "...Aunt Leonie?"
Madame Cronac's breath caught.
*This child. Of course she'd be here.*
Three people had survived the fire that consumed Plogne village that terrible night. Madame Cronac's brother Evan, her niece Claudel, and Hannah—a neighboring girl who'd become like a daughter.
She'd known Hannah remained at Claudel's side at Valmonde, a small comfort in the frozen castle. But now, confronted with recognition, Madame Cronac faced a dangerous moment.
Two names. Two lives. Leonie and Madame Cronac could not coexist—like the sun and moon dividing day from night, unable to occupy the same sky.
She turned deliberately, showing Hannah only her scarred left side.
Hannah's eyes widened in shock, but she recovered quickly. "Who is this lady, Madame Marcel?"
"Madame Cronac," Marcel introduced. "Owner of the capital's finest salon."
Hannah stared, clearly struggling with recognition, but forced herself to look away. "I'm sorry for staring."
Claudel appeared briefly, and Madame Cronac caught her gaze—would she suspect? But Claudel's expression remained calm, politely distant.
"This way," Madame Cronac said smoothly, guiding them inside. "I'll show you to a private rest area before the performance begins."
Hannah still looked troubled, her usual confidence shaken.
---
## Kaian's Arrival
The crowd parted instinctively as Kaian emerged, moving with the unconscious dominance of a predator. He extended his arms and pulled Claudel close without hesitation.
"Kaian!" She looked up in delighted surprise.
"I'm not late," he said, though she'd sent attendants to check.
"Late or not, you owe me a reward for coming."
Madame Cronac observed them from a distance, struck by the contrast. The Duke of Temnes—a man whose red eyes held no pity, who weighed life and death in cold calculation—showed Claudel unexpected tenderness.
It was dangerous. Like watching a small animal play with a lion's mane, utterly unaware of the lethal power it touched.
Kaian noticed her. "The salon owner herself attended."
"The Duke requested it," she replied smoothly.
He nodded approval. "You can leave. I'll spend the evening with my wife."
As Kaian escorted Claudel through the theater, crowds parted and whispered. She heard murmurs of recognition: *"Vermont."*
The box seats were exclusive and spacious—eight seats total, with the finest view of the stage. Once Madame Marcel and Hannah were settled, Madame Cronac excused herself.
In the corridor, she took a shaky breath.
She was nearly to her carriage when a hand suddenly seized her arm.
"Wait."
Hannah's grip was firm. Before Madame Cronac could respond, Hannah rolled up her sleeve, exposing the inner forearm.
There, in faded scarring, was a branded symbol—the mark of a freed serf from Vermont, the mark of ownership and release.
Hannah's breath came in short gasps. "Oh my God."
Madame Cronac smiled sadly. "It's been a long time, Hannah."
The truth hung between them—impossible to deny, impossible to explain away.
Hannah knew. She'd grown up with Leonie, the woman who'd survived the fire, who'd become an informant for Kaian, who'd operated in shadow as Madame Cronac.
The same woman who'd cared for her as a daughter. The same woman who'd been paying close attention to Claudel all these years through her position in the capital.
"How long?" Hannah whispered.
"Since the fire."
"Does Claudel know?"
"No." Madame Cronac's voice was firm. "And she won't. This woman—Madame Cronac—that's who I am now. Leonie died in those flames."
Hannah's hand trembled on her arm. "But you lived."
"Yes. And I'll keep living as this. For Claudel's sake, for yours, for all of us."
Inside the theater, the opera began. The curtains rose on a story of revenge and betrayal, while outside, two women grappled with secrets that could unravel everything.
---