Chapter 3

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 3

Chapter Title: Clodel's Place

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“Does the spot where you'll rest eternally meet with your approval?”

Clodel whirled around in surprise at the sudden voice.

“Butler. Give the gravedigger some gold. It seems the Duchess is quite taken with her tombstone.”

“Yes. Yes, my Lord.”

The butler gave a signal to the guard standing behind him, and one of the men bowed his head before dashing off.

“……”

Clodel clamped her mouth shut, unable to utter a word. In the face of Kaiyan's icy presence, which seemed faintly laced with anger, not only she but everyone else held their breath without a sound.

“Come here.”

At his commanding tone, Clodel stepped back and stood beside him.

“Not the right— the left. Don't you even know that much?”

At his scolding words, she was pulled by the arm from where she'd instinctively stood and repositioned to his left.

A thick, masculine scent wafted from the man steadying her.

It was the scent of the man who had bound her tightly the night before.

He was remarkably skilled.

Kaiyan was strikingly handsome and possessed immense charisma, so rumors abounded that even in distant northern Valmond, a different virgin entered his bedchamber every night.

His rough words to her, who had lost her mind in her first time, stood in stark contrast to the body that had pressed against hers.

The fact that her husband, who had taken her virginity, was no novice was a great relief to Clodel.

Had he been clumsy, her sturdy frame might have left her with one or two broken limbs pinned beneath him.

When she awoke that morning, Kaiyan had already left the bedchamber, making this the first time she had seen him since their wedding night.

No first-night gift, then.

If a groom was satisfied with his bride on the first night, baskets and boxes of flowers and gifts would pile up in the lady's bedchamber and along the corridors.

It was a pointless tradition in the Oberon Kingdom, but among noblewomen, it was customary to eagerly boast about what their husbands had given them after the wedding night. The items often carried specific meanings or symbols.

Exquisite jewels to flaunt wealth, spoils from the king to display honor, or heirlooms passed down from the family head's mother to pledge eternal devotion to the new wife.

That morning, nothing had been left before Clodel's door—utterly empty.

So much was clear without words.

She could be certain she wouldn't see him in her bedchamber starting tonight.

What a wretched fate.

And yet, seeing the stone engraved with her name, she felt a grudging gratitude that at least Kaiyan had no intention of casting her out.

Clodel hid her sorrow and calmly placed flowers and wine on the tombs where the masters of House Temneth slept.

She had no idea Kaiyan was stealing glances at her profile.

After returning from the underground crypt, the celebrations continued with a feast, just as the day before.

The previous night had been a grand affair with the renowned blood kin of House Temneth getting thoroughly drunk. Today, it was the vassals who had sworn loyalty to House Temneth guzzling away.

Dogs barking as dogs—nothing more than blood kin turned vassals.

The rowdy atmosphere, filled with drunken grumbling about the distasteful marriage to House Vermonte, was no different from yesterday. Kaiyan sat impassively at the head table, the highest seat, slowly wetting his lips with wine.

What an odd woman.

His mind lingered on Clodel from the crypt earlier.

Kaiyan had arrived underground with a few armed guards. Their heavy armor must have echoed loudly, yet Clodel had seemed lost in a daze, as if entranced by something.

She had caressed the cold tombstone with hazy eyes.

Her face, serene as if the stone were some magnificent treasure she adored, made her look like she was dreaming in another world, alone amid the graves.

That expression irked Kaiyan.

Last night, when her hands had roamed his body, she should have worn that face.

Not with eyes squeezed shut and lips pressed tight, merely enduring the ordeal. Not in the arms that every maiden longed to enter but couldn't.

In fact, Kaiyan had been surprisingly satisfied with his unexpected bride. After Clodel had fallen into an exhausted sleep, he had slipped out and belatedly arranged flowers and gifts.

It had come to mind what he'd snapped at the nagging butler about tradition: “No flowers for Vermonte grow on Rowen soil.”

Clodel was his bride, his wife, after all.

Moreover, unlike his worries that her repulsiveness might make even the wedding night impossible, she hadn't felt so uncomfortable even in his sober state after the alcohol wore off.

She was no longer Vermonte.

She was Temneth now.

Glancing at the woman whose spot lay beside his own tomb—engraved with the name he had chosen when he became family head—hadn't felt so bad.

For a cursed Vermonte marriage, that was.

But seeing she hadn't accepted his gifts soured his mood entirely.

First-night gifts were meant to be worn immediately the next day during preparations.

If Clodel had accepted him as her husband, she should have adorned her hair with the flowers he'd sent and slipped the ring onto her finger.

The gift Kaiyan had given Clodel was a large blue diamond ring his mother had received as her first-night gift from the previous Duke Temneth.

It was one of House Temneth's heirlooms, though Clodel wouldn't know that.

So extravagant that even this fails to impress her?

He vaguely recalled Clodel on their wedding day, draped in treasures from head to toe.

Tiara, rings, necklace, brooch, belt—all priceless jewels fit for raiding a royal treasury.

A woman who enjoyed such finery might have found the simply set rare blue diamond ring lacking, but his masculine pride was wounded nonetheless.

“I wish a year would pass quickly.”

One of the vassals grumbled.

“Once the marriage term is fulfilled, we can drive the Vermonte out of Rowen lands as soon as possible.”

“Indeed. Only 364 days left now.”

As Kaiyan remained silent, they chattered excitedly, treating Clodel's expulsion from the castle in a year as a foregone conclusion.

“Your Grace, congratulations on the marriage.”

Among them, a gaunt middle-aged man with dark reddish hair and a beard approached, rubbing his hands. It was Burbrook Cranden, in charge of the territory's orchards.

“Is it worth celebrating?”

“Of course it is. Marrying the pampered daughter of Duke Vermonte? No, wait—sending his adopted daughter packing is something even he can turn a blind eye to.”

Burbrook eyed him carefully.

“Who doesn't know Clodel is the black sheep of that house? Had Your Grace married Lady Irena, the duke's rumored favorite, he might have sent assassins to Rowen Castle after yesterday's snub.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about Vermonte.”

At Kaiyan's response, Burbrook lit up.

Until entering the bridal chamber last night, he hadn't even known the name of the woman he married.

He had simply been forced into a sudden union with some Vermonte woman due to that damned Oberon King, with no intention of taking it seriously.

Clodel was Duke Vermonte's adopted daughter.

The duke had a younger brother, whom he had banished to the territory's fringes over succession worries, leaving him little better than a commoner.

That brother's daughter with a commoner woman was Clodel.

But noble-commoner marriages weren't recognized under Oberon law, so Clodel had floated in limbo without status until past age ten.

After her mother died in an accident, her father returned to Valmond Castle with the young Clodel, left her in his brother's care via a note about joining his beloved wife, and took his own life.

Fortunately, Clodel had the red hair and golden eyes exclusive to Vermonte direct bloodline.

Rumors swirled that the duke had paid a king's ransom to his duchess to formally adopt her into the family.

Kaiyan intended to annihilate Vermonte in this territorial war.

He aimed to erase the name from Oberon's future entirely—a long-cherished goal of House Temneth.

Yet the shrewd Oberon King had no desire to see Vermonte utterly destroyed.

Still, as Burbrook said, using an adopted daughter rather than his trueborn for this political marriage was cunningly kingly. It was tantamount to turning a blind eye to Kaiyan's divorce or annulment later.

Burbrook lingered by the pensive Kaiyan, clearly angling for something.

“So, Your Grace, after the marriage term ends and you cast out the Vermonte, send her my way.”

“What?”

“I had a fling with a Valmond woman in my youth. Ha, I've longed to see her again, but what red-haired northern lass marries into enemy Rowen lands? I've lived a widower's life ever since.”

A lecherous grin creased Burbrook's wrinkled eyes.

“She's as good as discarded by Vermonte too. Once Your Grace discards her, she'll have nowhere to go—let me take her in.”

“Do as you like.”

Kaiyan indifferently raised his glass.

“Thank you.”

Shoving aside the grateful Burbrook, a drunken vassal bowed before him.

“This marriage is an insult! Give the word, and I'll ride north this instant to slaughter those Vermonte vermin……”

Pushing through the chaos before Kaiyan, the butler reported.

“Your Grace. Duke Vermonte has just arrived at the castle.”

“Now?”

He sneered knowingly.

“He rushes like a debt collector when it's time to claim the bride price.”

With the wedding night consummated, it was time to deliver the promised grain to starving Valmond.

Kaiyan drained his glass and rose.

The Duchess of Temneth's chambers were opulent and bright.

Rose sculptures carved from pale pink jade adorned the white stone pillars, framed in gold, dazzling especially in the full light of day.

Seated there, Clodel looked even more pallid and wan.

“Damn Temneth scum. They've sunk deep into luxury.”

In truth, her uncle, Duke Vermonte, was a man with the same red hair and golden eyes as Clodel.

He had accepted his niece into House Vermonte solely because she bore the symbolic traits exclusive to the direct line.

Without the red hair and golden eyes, she never would have been sent to Rowen.

This alliance hinged on sending a daughter of Vermonte.

Ignoring Clodel entirely, Duke Vermonte spent time cursing Temneth while inspecting the room before finally settling on the sofa opposite her and lifting his teacup.

“How's your health?”

When Clodel didn't reply, he pressed impatiently.

“I'm asking if you're preparing well to die.”