Chapter 43

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 43

Chapter Title: Fated Partner

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“Queen.”

The moment he heard that reply, Valquiter felt as though some divine revelation had struck him.

Queen, of all things.

His queen's throne still sat empty.

He had stubbornly delayed his marriage, vowing to take only a bride superior to Kaiyan.

Early marriage for the sake of heirs was the norm for a king, but his twisted jealousy toward Kaiyan had left him alone all this time.

And now, in this very moment, he had found the reason.

Because he had yet to meet the woman worthy of sitting at his side.

Now, it was all right.

He had met her. Just that alone seemed enough to free him from the tangled worries that always chained together whenever marriage came up—from his royal duties straight down to Kaiyan's bride.

Fated partner.

Valquiter had never believed in such nonsense.

He'd never experienced it, after all.

Fate was something you carved out yourself through effort.

Nothing ever happened just by drifting along with the current.

All those thoughts had vanished completely now.

The woman destined to be his 'Queen' had descended upon him like a goddess on this utterly unexpected day.

In the pale early dawn before the sun had fully risen, beside the lake, she alone gleamed with warm hues, as if brushed by watercolor.

Valquiter's gaze traced her red hair as it cascaded down, entranced, following the droplets pooling in the deep hollow of her collarbone.

A fairy spoke to him in a voice clear as a bell.

“I want to get out of here.”

“Anything you desire.”

That clearly wasn't the answer she wanted—her face clouded with distress.

“I can't, because you're standing there.”

Growing frustrated at his apparent lack of understanding, she pointed toward the muddy bank.

“My clothes are over there.”

“Ah. My apologies. I'll step aside.”

“The lord's barred everyone from this rear garden. The gardener will be here soon—if we're caught, we'll be in trouble.”

“I see. Thank you for the warning.”

Valquiter answered like a fool, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face.

“I want to get out quickly too.”

“Then getting caught by the gardener would be a problem for both of us.”

He retreated, reluctance heavy in his chest.

“Until we meet again.”

No reply came, but watching her peer anxiously toward the garden entrance, fretting over who might appear, he knew lingering would only cost him points.

Once outside the rear garden, Valquiter glanced back.

“A Valmond-style dress.”

The gown crumpled by the water's edge was velvet.

The sort of thing no one would wear in the sweltering south—northern garb through and through.

What do you think?

Lady Irena is said to be a woman of exceptional talent and dazzling beauty.

Is that so? Sounds vaguely familiar.

The daughter of House Vermonte never made her debut in the capital.

She never set foot in the capital's social circles at all.

Even Valquiter, who knew the scene inside out, had never laid eyes on the famously beautiful Lady Irena.

“A beauty that defies such trite descriptions.”

At the northern edge of the continent stood House Vermonte's fortress—a mountain of a castle three times the size of Rowen Castle—where they stiffly held to their 'let the desperate come crawling' attitude.

Without their food issues, they'd have declared independence ages ago.

They stayed within Oberon's framework now, but calling Valmond anything but an independent state was a stretch.

Because they paid no land taxes to the crown.

All the taxes from that land went straight to House Vermonte.

A hidden treasure trove yielding rare precious metals, iron and copper for weapons, and more.

Rumors swirled that the wealth House Vermonte had amassed—tax exemptions included—dwarfed even the royal coffers.

Drought had plagued them these past few years, sure.

In exchange, they shipped goods by horse from the south along the Shen River to the capital, then north, exporting via northern ports with royal approval—and waived port fees.

Valquiter harbored massive resentment over it.

He was always scheming for a way to tax Valmond and charge for their port use, but no clever solution emerged.

Until the goddess he'd just encountered handed him a new answer.

Is Lady Irena truly such a beauty?

My daughter-in-law once said she's grateful for the northern debutante ball—had Lady Irena come to the capital's, she never would have married into our family.

That much?

Women are proud creatures; they rarely praise another so highly. It must be undeniable.

Marry the daughter of that old fox, Duke Vermonte, with his shrewd calculations...

With no heir to their lands, he'd have to take a consort to succeed—naturally bringing their untouchable taxes and ports rolling into his grasp.

“No wonder she wanted to come when that bastard Kaiyan wasn't at Rowen Castle.”

Lady Irena surely hadn't met Kaiyan yet.

Not when he'd summoned him to the front lines with a royal decree.

“He can't defy a king's command.”

Even if Kaiyan had fallen for Irena while caring for his bedridden wife—withered to skin and bones from illness—there was no path for them. The dutiful Kaiyan would cling earnestly to a marriage decreed by the crown.

Valquiter grew urgent.

“I need to return to the royal castle at once.”

Yet the afterimage of that woman he'd glimpsed clung to his eyes, making it hard to tear himself away.

He knew the lord was off hunting at the king's summons, so he couldn't enter House Temneth's castle.

Regret gnawing at him, Valquiter rented a room at an inn near the marketplace, rested, and filled his belly.

Rowen Castle surely held that woman.

Knowing the answer for certain, yet circling it endlessly, only fueled his impatience.

This was the first time he'd felt such emotions.

Valquiter had been born into a world where everything came easily.

“Never felt regret like this before. Or... is it the second time?”

It was then, as he wandered aimlessly through the marketplace.

Rounding a corner, his eyes fell on a spacious rose garden where she sat.

Queen!

So overjoyed was he that Valquiter nearly shouted her name.

Amid women baring their shoulders in bright, airy midday attire, she stood out sharply in her high-neck velvet gown, buttoned primly to the collar.

The woman facing her was hard to see clearly from her angle, but the vibe suggested another notable beauty.

Though she's wearing Rowen-style dress.

At that moment, a maid approached the table where the two red-haired women sat—perhaps returning from an errand—and called out to her.

“Lady Irena. I brought the hat you asked for.”

The woman in Valmond-style dress smiled and took it.

“Thank you, Hanna.”

Having obtained the answer he sought, Valquiter felt a shiver race through him.

...Lady Irena.

There was work to be done.

Valquiter mounted his horse, tied in the woods near the castle, and rode off swiftly.

Toward the north, and the royal castle.

Irena gazed at the blooming roses in admiration.

“They're so beautiful. So this is what they look like. Far bigger and lovelier than in paintings.”

“Hee-hee. You like them?”

Borrowing Clodel's dress and surrounded by roses, she looked utterly content.

“Thanks to having such a great little sister. I thought I'd never see roses in my lifetime.”

“Why?”

“Roses bloom most in Rowen, and with our enmity toward House Temneth... I never imagined coming from Valmond to Rowen.”

Watching Irena's pure delight, Clodel felt a pang of bitterness.

Duke Vermonte had been a truly wonderful father to his own daughter.

Kind, affectionate, pouring out heartfelt love.

It was only her second day in Rowen Castle, but Clodel could tell Irena truly knew nothing—she'd come purely to see the flowers.

That was her uncle.

He'd never let his cherished Irena learn of their filthy schemes.

If Irena returned to Valmond and told Duke Vermonte, “I envied Clodel. I want to stay in Rowen forever,” he'd move heaven and earth to seat his daughter as Duchess Temneth.

Of the hundred joys in the world, Irena held nearly all of them.

Clodel felt like she'd finally picked a tiny gold nugget from the sand after waves of misfortune.

Having Kaiyan in her heart now held that meaning for her.

Yet even as she wanted to show rose-loving Irena these lush blooms, she fretted that it might make her want to stay here.

She was pathetic for it.

She'd just grasped a fragile hope of newfound happiness.

Though her husband, burning with hatred for House Vermonte, meant it was hope alone—not complete bliss.

“It's wonderful. Tomorrow's picnic in the rear garden, right?”

“Yes. I told the butler to prepare it.”

“Yay! I can't wait.”

Clodel smiled along with her childlike glee, then recalled the dawn incident.

What an odd man.

Ever since Kaiyan—obsessed with kisses—had strictly forbidden anyone from the rear garden, only the gardener had set foot there.

She'd snuck in for secret swims without issue.

Recently, as she lightly kissed him while he lay with his head on her lap under a tree, reading, he'd nipped her lip and whispered like an incantation.

No one comes here. Really.

And if no one came, what then?

Having given her heart to him, Clodel helplessly followed Kaiyan's lead.

To the deepest tree shadows.

She'd let her guard down, convinced no one would come, when her eyes met a stranger in a wide-brimmed brown hat and cloak.

She nearly fainted from shock.

More absurd still: the man had asked her name.

Does anyone in this castle not know I'm the duchess?

Fearing he was deranged and might provoke her, she'd given her middle name, “Queen.”

He'd lit up with joy.

Ugh. So frightening.

She resolved to ask Kaiyan—whatever it took—to bar her from going alone anymore.

She'd request permission to go with Hanna.

“Better with the hat on?”

“Yes.”

Having lent Irena a Rowen-style dress, Clodel herself wore Valmond fashion.

Lately, chills and cold had plagued her; with Kaiyan away, she'd thought it fine and dressed accordingly today.

Even so, sitting outside under the blazing sun, she'd asked Hanna for a hat.

Sigh. If my health doesn't improve, I should see a doctor.

Sometimes her back felt eerily cold, her stomach fluttered, her ankles ached with fatigue and pain—it worried her.

“Try this. It's delicious.”

Irena happily munched the pastry Clodel offered.

“Can't wait for the picnic.”

That evening, as Clodel busied herself with hospitality, she encountered Kaiyan.

He'd returned to the castle ahead of schedule.

Back from the hunt, his face was sharp and edged.

Something about his unfamiliar air made Clodel wary of his mood.

“D-Duke. This is my sister, Irena.”

Irena, too, greeted him awkwardly, taken aback by his intensity.

“Hello. Irena of House Vermonte.”

He furrowed his brow and spoke coldly.

“The day Vermonte sets foot in my castle draws near.”