"You're doing everything wrong."
The Duke of Vermont's voice cut through the quiet room. I'd been trying to hold myself together, to act appropriately for my position as Duchess. It wasn't working.
"I sent you grain," he continued, his face reddening. "More than enough for Valmonde. And this is the gratitude I receive?"
"If I'm not grateful enough—"
"Don't dare speak back to me!" He advanced with long strides, and I felt my body instinctively recoil. Trauma, old and deep, stirred in my chest.
"Wearing a necklace doesn't make you the Duchess of Temnes," he hissed. "You're still the orphaned girl I took in. Ungrateful. Useless."
I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it. If I argued, he'd escalate. If I apologized, he'd continue. I'd learned this pattern.
But something in me refused to play along anymore.
"You sent grain because you wanted something in return," I said quietly. "You wanted Temnes to avoid war with Vermont. You needed that food as leverage, nothing more."
The Duke's eyes narrowed dangerously. But before he could respond, I continued.
"The Duke doesn't care about me the way you're implying. I'm an orphan. Uneducated. Skinny. Why would he? I asked him to help because children were starving. Like a dog begging. That's all."
Something shifted in his expression. The anger seemed to drain away, replaced by calculation.
"Is that so?" He studied me as though seeing me for the first time. "You've learned to think strategically."
Without another word, he turned and left.
I stood alone, shaking, realizing I'd just used his own logic against him. I'd learned from someone far more dangerous than my uncle.
But as the adrenaline faded, my stomach twisted. I ran to the bathroom and vomited violently—nothing but bitter bile, since I'd eaten nothing all day to fit into my dress.
*He knew. He's always known that if I survive, he can use me.*
The thought made me retch again.
---
When the nausea finally passed, I found Kaian waiting on the terrace. He draped his cloak over my shoulders without asking questions and settled me into a soft chair, covering me with blankets.
"Did you have a good conversation with your family?" he asked.
"What about you? The nobles?"
He didn't press for details. Instead, he spoke about politics—the plea from nobles about serfdom on the Pagos Plain.
"They're afraid liberation will spread," I said, thinking of what I'd heard from servants. "If your serfs become free people, others will demand the same."
"Yes. But shouldn't they have the choice?"
I understood this better than anyone. "The desire for freedom can't be forced. It's cruel to force a certain life on people who are trapped and can't escape."
Kaian nodded thoughtfully. We sat in silence, watching the night sky.
Then he withdrew his pocket watch. "It'll start soon."
Before I could ask what, fireworks exploded across the darkness—red, gold, crimson flowers of light blooming against the black sky. They reflected off the river below, painting the world in dancing colors.
"So beautiful," I whispered.
"It has vigor," Kaian replied.
We held hands under the blanket, and I made a deliberate choice to remember this moment, not the Duke's words. This was what mattered—the good things. My beautiful dress. Kaian in his finest. Seeing Irena and the Duchess's genuine joy that I'd survived Herzol. Dancing with my husband.
*It was a good day.*
I removed my gloves and took Kaian's hands, placing them back under the blanket against my bare skin.
He looked at me curiously, then wrapped his large hand around mine.
I wanted to tell him what I'd been feeling for months. I wanted to stop this unrequited torture.
"Kaian," I whispered. "I like you."
His expression didn't change, but his hand tightened around mine.
"Do you like me too?" I asked, my voice small. "Can you feel the same way?"
For a moment, I thought he might say nothing. The silence stretched, eternal.
Then: "No."
The word hit like ice water.
"I don't like you," he continued, his voice low and certain.
My heart shattered in my chest.
But then his other hand came up, cupping my face, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"I love you," he said plainly, as though stating simple fact. "There's a difference. Liking is a choice. Love isn't. Love is what I have no control over. Love is what I feel when you smile. Love is why I came to the capital. Why I brought you to the hot springs. Why I gave you my mother's necklace."
His thumb traced my cheekbone. "You asked if I feel the same way. The answer is no—I feel more. I've felt more for months."
Tears spilled down my face.
"So the answer to your question," he said, pulling me close, "is that I don't like you. I love you. There's no unrequited feeling here, Claudel. Only love on both sides."
I buried my face in his chest, overwhelmed by the confession, by the correction, by the realization that everything I'd feared was unfounded.
Under the fireworks, with his arms around me, I finally believed that I was chosen—not out of duty or obligation, but out of love.
---