Before arriving at the ball, Kaian had given me a necklace.
As I was finishing my preparations, he'd produced it without ceremony. "I've been keeping this at the mansion. Will it suit you?"
I'd accepted it, assuming it was simply fine jewelry from his collection. But when the Duke of Vermont saw it around my neck, his expression shifted dramatically.
"That necklace," he said slowly. "It's from the Royal Treasures Encyclopedia. A gift from the Duke of Vermont to the late King Robert."
Kaian's smile turned cold.
"I heard the King gave it to a Princess when she married and left the royal family," the Duke continued, triumph in his voice. "It eventually returned to Vermont. Full circle."
"Full circle," Kaian repeated softly. Then, with deliberate cruelty: "What was Vermont's became Temnes's. The necklace. And Claudel."
He pulled me close, his arm possessive around my waist, making the claim absolute. Every noble in proximity heard it. *She is mine.*
The Duke's face flushed crimson.
Before he could respond, horns announced Valquiterre's arrival.
The King descended with Princess Bianque at his side—not Irena. When the Grand Duke Luxen entered behind them, several nobles wept at the reminder of the deceased Queen.
But all eyes were on Valquiterre's gaze. He was looking directly at Irena, standing beside her parents.
The intensity was unmistakable.
Whispers rippled through the crowd: *The King's first choice should be the Vermont Princess.*
Yet he'd brought Bianque.
I touched Kaian's hand gently, understanding the political complexity. Geographic distance between Temnes and Rowen meant we rarely had to navigate such public conflicts. But if Irena became Queen—if Vermont gained that power—everything would change.
*If my sister becomes Queen, will I need to navigate these tensions frequently?*
But I was adopted Vermont. My position was precarious. Having a sister as Queen would solidify my standing. Irena could mediate between me and Bianque. Perhaps smooth away the existing resentment.
The thought filled me with conflicting emotions—ambition and guilt tangled together.
When Valquiterre rose from his throne to make his opening speech, his manner was transformed. Gone was the "Bark" I'd walked with in the gardens. This was the King—every gesture calculated for majesty, every word carefully articulated. His smile was brilliant but false, his eyes distant.
*He's wearing a mask.*
Not like Kaian, who remained consistently himself whether public or private. Kaian had no need for transformation. His coldness served him equally well in both contexts.
But observing Valquiterre's performance made me appreciate something about my husband: the way he noticed my leg pain before I mentioned it, the small twitches of his expression when teasing me, the particular lift of his eyebrow when he was genuinely amused.
*I know him better than anyone else does.*
It was a private victory, one only I could fully appreciate.
The band began playing a lively melody.
Everyone waited. The King would invite Irena to the first dance—tradition dictated it, propriety demanded it, and his obvious attention to her made it inevitable.
But Valquiterre stood and descended from his throne.
Instead of approaching Irena, he walked directly to Princess Bianque.
The nobles gasped.
"Your Highness?" Bianque's expression shifted from confusion to indignation as he took her hand. She was being dragged toward the dance floor, visibly protesting.
The King and Princess—siblings with identical blonde hair and blue eyes—began dancing together.
It was coldly beautiful and deeply wrong.
The Duke of Vermont surged to his feet, his face purple with rage. For a moment, I thought he'd physically attack the King. But the Duchess whispered urgently, restraining him with subtle pressure.
The dance ended quickly. As Valquiterre released Bianque and turned away, several eager men rushed toward Irena, sensing her availability.
"Claudel," Kaian said quietly.
"Yes?"
He executed a perfect courtesy before extending his hand. "Would you dance with me?"
It wasn't a question. It was a declaration—another claiming, another public statement of possession.
I placed my hand in his, and he drew me toward the dance floor.
As we moved together, I was acutely aware of what this moment meant. Every eye followed us. The Duke of Temnes dancing with his Vermont bride. The necklace catching light at my throat—Madame Elise's treasure, now mine.
*What was Vermont's became Temnes's.*
And I was the prize that proved it.
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