His words came out harshly, denying everything.
"There's no way I would give something like that as a gift."
In that moment, his eyes met Claudel's.
Her gaze—which had looked at him with that doll-like indifference, silently asking for help—became dim. Disappointment flooded her expression. He felt a sharp pang of remorse instantly, but his word was absolute law in this castle.
If Kaian declared something true, it was true. If he called blue red, every vassal would nod and agree. If he said white was black, every castle worker would accept it without question. His authority as lord was so complete that he could never retract words spoken before so many witnesses.
And certainly not over something so trivial as whether he'd given a insignificant button decoration.
"As expected, Vermont trash would treasure such worthless things."
"I suppose the rumors about Vermont's castle being covered in gold were merely lies."
"Ha! She's never even seen real jewelry before, has she?"
Laughter erupted, directed at both Claudel and Hannah.
Kaian's voice cut through the commotion. "Enough. Everyone, leave. Now."
The servants continued their jeers and insinuations until the hallway finally emptied. Even from the stairwell below came a final shout: "You're a thief!" followed by raucous laughter echoing into the distance.
Afterward, Kaian felt only embarrassment.
Claudel had lowered her head and sealed her lips. Hannah, who had been torn at and struck by several maids, sat on the floor, bloodied and bruised.
He had never offered a comforting hand to anyone, nor would he. That was not what was expected of a lord. He had to be as hard as a shield, as sharp and strong as a sword. Could one imagine a shield or sword offering gentle solace?
His words had been correct, so he would never apologize.
Yet for the first time in his life, an unfamiliar sensation spread across his chest—something uncomfortable, something that felt like shame. He resented this feeling, blaming Claudel for requesting something trivial and then foolishly boasting about it.
"Don't cause a fuss," he said coldly, his tone sharp.
"To live quietly means to live like a rat. No one in Rowen Castle will ever take your side."
With those final harsh words, he turned and strode away, grateful the matter was concluded.
*Why would she ask for something like that?*
He left with long, angry strides, refusing to examine the uncomfortable weight in his chest.
---
## Claudel's Perspective
"No, there are people like that in this castle?" Hannah muttered furiously while applying medicine to her cuts and bruises.
"The worst quality of people I've ever encountered!" she spat. "The absolute worst!"
"Hannah, please stop," I said quietly, trying to calm her.
"Why should I stop? I haven't even begun yet!"
She continued her tirade. "He harasses people with such calculated cruelty. Once might be coincidence, but twice? Twice is intentional. I won't forgive him."
"He's not like that," I protested weakly. "It's a misunderstanding..."
Hannah's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you truly defending him? After he humiliated you like that?"
I pressed my lips together, unable to respond.
When her gaze fell on the ring—or rather, the button decoration—still adorning my finger, Hannah's eyes flashed with recognition and fury.
"Give that to me," she demanded. "I'll take it to the kitchen and burn it to kindling."
"Don't do that," I said, pulling my hand away.
She reached for me, but seeing how thin and fragile I'd become, Hannah relented, withdrawing her strength to avoid hurting my delicate fingers.
"I don't want to see this," she said bitterly. "I really don't."
"I'm sorry, Hannah."
"Not you, Lady. *That.*" She gestured angrily at the ring. "I just hate it. I hate it with everything in me."
"I'm sorry."
"Take that cursed thing off and throw it out the window. Did you see what he did? Even after witnessing that cruelty, I can't believe you still..."
I covered my mouth as a cough seized me—a soft, controlled sound that I tried desperately to suppress.
*Cough.*
I understood Hannah's anger, but there was no way to make her comprehend what I felt, what I had come to understand about my own situation.
---
I had learned of my illness two months ago.
Valmonde Castle lay far north in Oberon's kingdom, in a frozen land where ice and snow ruled for half the year. In that harsh climate lived a disease called Herzole—a devastating coughing sickness. Those afflicted would cough for a hundred days, then vomit blood and perish. It was hideously contagious; if one person contracted it, eighty percent of the village would follow.
But centuries ago, someone had discovered a way to survive it.
If you contracted a mild case of Herzole and recovered, you would never catch it again.
Because the disease was so lethal—even infants would die from its fever—the Duke of Vermont, hundreds of years prior, had taken a revolutionary step. He established a small village dedicated to controlled infection of the disease.
Any child brought to the village before their first birthday would receive the "Baptism of Ice." A patient with mild symptoms would be rubbed against the child's face, deliberately transmitting a weak strain of the illness. The child would suffer mildly, then recover, forever immune.
Before this practice, entire villages had been wiped out by Herzole.
When the Duke offered tax forgiveness to families who brought their children for baptism, everyone complied. Gradually, the death toll from the disease ceased.
I had contracted this incurable illness because of who my father was.
My father, Evan, was the younger brother of the Duke of Vermont. The Duke had exiled him to the southern reaches of the estate, as far from Valmonde Castle as possible. Later, I learned my father had been under constant surveillance, reported to the Duke's spies at every turn.
Despite carrying Vermont blood more than anyone, I had never received the Baptism of Ice. This was the same protection that even Hannah, born in distant Plonne village far from the castle, had received. But I—raised in exile in warmer lands—had been left vulnerable.
When the Duke discovered I was dying of a disease that only affected those born and raised in frozen soil, he had finally relented. He accepted my death without protest.
*Herzole has no cure. You cannot be saved.*
His words were spoken as simple fact. I had nodded my acceptance.
The nobles and vassals at court meant little to me. But the local residents—those who had waved and smiled at me when I performed my duties—they reminded me of my old neighbors in Plonne. They were the ones I cared about.
*What if those children are starving? What if they're going to die anyway?*
Even if I suffered humiliation for a brief time, if my suffering lasted only a month or two... it seemed a small price. In a life where I had accomplished so little, surely I could do this much.
I pressed the ring tightly in my palm, feeling its warmth.
I was Claudel Vermont. I had not asked for this trivial item because I didn't know its value. I asked because I needed to be *different*—different from the girl who receives nothing, different from the girl who endures silently.
What I could keep for myself was precious precisely because it would become a keepsake after my death. After a month or so, it would become something meaningful—something I could take with me to the afterlife, even if only a small piece.
*Funny enough, that's what I thought.*
"Cough."
My coughing intensified. I tried to suppress it, but the effort only made it worse.
"I won't ask you to give it up," Hannah said finally, her anger dissolving into concern. "Just... rest. Please."
She released my hands and gently massaged them.
"Your cold isn't improving," she said quietly. "I'll find a way to bring the doctor tomorrow, somehow."
"Thank you, Hannah."
*If Hannah discovered the truth about Herzole, she would strike the Duke of Vermont with her own fists.* I had no doubt she was capable of it. She had earned a reputation in Valmonde for physically punishing rude servants. But fortunately, no one could help her if she sought a doctor here at Rowen Castle.
---
## Kaian's Perspective
It was the final day of the wedding celebration—the day the new Lady was to formally appear before the court.
Yet rumors had already spread throughout the Temnes family and Rowen estate that Claudel resembled a "withered flower crushed by rain."
On the first day of the celebration, numerous relatives had witnessed her walking through the downpour in her muddied bridal gown. Each had carried that image home, spreading the tale.
Kaian had briefly wondered if adorning her might improve matters. But Claudel did not attend that day's banquet.
"What do you mean she won't attend?" he demanded.
"Your Grace, she says she's too ill," the steward replied carefully.
Kaian's brow darkened. *She seems intent on embarrassing me further, making a fuss over nothing.*
"Tell her she will never be invited to another banquet," he commanded coldly.
The steward hesitated. "Your Excellency, surely—"
"Leave," Kaian cut him off sharply.
The loyal butler, who had served since the previous Duke's reign, had pestered Kaian repeatedly since King Oberon had forced this marriage upon him.
*No matter how unwilling the union, neglecting your wife damages the family's reputation.*
The butler was a true Temnes—his hatred for Vermont ran deep, and family prestige mattered above all. Yet hadn't Kaian ultimately relented and prepared that first night's gift, exactly as the man had advised?
The butler clearly knew about today's humiliating scene but had said nothing to Kaian. Now, the man seemed to harbor some pointed observation he wished to make. But Kaian deliberately refused to dwell on it, turning his thoughts away from Claudel.
*She must be disappointed in me.*
The thought was absurd. They had met face-to-face only days ago. For someone from an enemy house to expect his support so quickly was ridiculous.
Yet her disappointment implied expectation. And that expectation... somehow made him feel as though he had wronged her.
*It's Vermont. That's how things are for them.*
This was his established life. He had already planned Vermont's annihilation. If everything proceeded as intended, there was a distinct possibility that Claudel's head would fall to his own sword within the month.
King Oberon's marriage order had changed nothing.
Yet because he felt guilty—as though he had personally wronged her—it had become uncomfortable to face her.
That night, Kaian found himself lingering outside her bedroom.
Perhaps because of the day's events, or because she claimed illness, the hallway was deserted and silent even without the lights.
*She's ill. Her maid will be attending to her.*
The thought of Hannah—glaring at him with murder in her eyes—made even entering the room impossible. He stood before Claudel's door, his jaw clenched.
But Hannah, believing Kaian was inside caring for Claudel, had stationed herself outside *his* bedroom instead.
"Come out," her voice carried through the heavy door. "I won't leave you alone."
Finally, in the early hours of morning, the door opened. A figure emerged.
Hannah's fists clenched. Her eyes grew wide with furious recognition.
---