Chapter 47

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 47

Chapter Title: Passion

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'We're newlyweds. Don't get in the way and buzz off.'

The moment Irena announced she was leaving, she could see the atmosphere lighten noticeably, with Kaiyan not even bothering to hide his glee. It left her utterly exasperated.

'Did I really come all the way from Valmond to Rowen just to witness this?'

She found it ridiculous but held her tongue politely, unwilling to stoop to the level of someone from House Temneth.

"Still, I didn't expect you'd leave so soon. There's so much more I wanted to do together. Think it over again, sister."

No sooner had Clodel spoken than Kaiyan stepped in.

"Participating in a festival that means so much to the territory's people is something to be admired."

Irena was floored.

'Don't even dream of going back on your word and putting others out. Lady.'

His words reached her ears, but her mind twisted them into something entirely different.

Back in her room, Irena took in the brightly and elegantly decorated interior.

The room she occupied came with a spacious parlor and a bathroom of decent size.

The furnishings were exquisitely luxurious, clearly recently refurbished.

Rowen Castle had originally been built as a royal palace during the founding of the Oberon Kingdom.

If the current lord and lady's quarters corresponded to the king and queen's chambers of old, it made sense that this, the finest guest room, included such amenities.

It was the kind of dignified space that nobles staying at the palace would yield only to a ducal couple, yet here it was provided to Irena, who had come alone.

"Even if the lord ordered it, the butler would be the one handling the details."

Yet she doubted Kaiyan, whom she'd met, had personally fussed over her welcome. If the butler had treated her so grandly simply because she was the lady's family guest, it spoke volumes about Clodel's solid standing in the castle.

The staff in a castle were acutely sensitive to power dynamics.

Their livelihoods could vanish overnight if they misread their master's mood.

Even Kaiyan, whom she'd initially found rude, turned out to be more than he seemed.

Many noblemen were far from faithful to their wives.

They treated wives and daughters like possessions to bully, viewing only their heir sons as true children.

Or they'd play the reputable noble and gentleman abroad, only to lord over wife and children at home like gods, demanding blind obedience as if their word were law.

Men like her father, Duke Vermonte, who were generous and affectionate to wife and children, were rare.

Of course, that thought was possible only because she didn't know he treated his birth daughter differently from his niece Clodel, merely registered on the family rolls.

Irena genuinely respected and loved her father, never imagining he'd driven Clodel to the brink of ruin.

With the royal marriage decree in place, and she a widow unfit for Duke Temneth, it only made sense that Clodel, from the enemy house, would be the natural bride.

In a feud so bitter that bloodshed on the wedding night wouldn't surprise anyone, she couldn't fathom Clodel clinging desperately to her husband out of desperation, after their father had left the sisters with nowhere to turn. No, she saw only how tolerant Kaiyan was toward her, despite everything.

"At least they're getting along well."

To Irena's eyes, the man who seemed cold and ruthless to everyone—even to herself—was kind only to his wife.

It was far preferable to the reverse: indulgent with others, harsh with one's spouse.

Yet despite barely sleeping the night before, Irena couldn't find rest that night either.

"Haa."

Her fatigue lingered from lack of sleep, leaving her body limp and heavy.

She tossed and turned for ages but sleep wouldn't come.

"A husband..."

Her late husband had been a second son of a marquis house, distantly related to House Vermonte.

In times when heirs were precious, if a daughter was born, Vermonte sent her abroad or to a powerful house, so their family trees might brush at the very edges.

He was a tall man with striking red hair and gray eyes.

Irena hadn't chosen him herself; Duke Vermonte had.

At the time, she trusted that her doting father wouldn't pick a bad match for her and that men understood men best.

True to her faith, Duke Vermonte had spared no effort in selecting the finest groom.

He needed at least one Vermonte trait—red hair or golden eyes—be healthy and disease-free.

As a consort groom, his status would be lower, but he required top-tier education befitting an heir and impeccable dignity.

The five-year war had demanded immediate mobilization like Duke Temneth's, but...

Duke Vermonte had delayed, claiming he'd marry her off soon and send the son-in-law to war.

Irena wed three years ago, just shy of nineteen.

'Around Clodel's current age.'

By debutante norms, both she and Clodel had married late.

Not that anyone dared whisper it about Vermonte's daughter.

Irena's memories of her husband were brief and fragmented.

They'd spent only a week together, crammed with ceremonies, not truly alone.

He died in battle a month later.

'Weakling! I held him back from the front for four years, and he dies the moment he's sent?'

Duke Vermonte had raged upon hearing of his son-in-law's death.

Irena hadn't cried then.

She didn't know him well enough to grieve, nor had they bonded deeply.

Had marriage changed her residence or made her a marquis's daughter-in-law with a visit home?

He was essentially bought as an heir by Duke Vermonte, so her life remained unchanged before and after.

He'd simply appeared briefly and vanished.

But seeing Clodel and Kaiyan stirred an odd emptiness in her.

'If my husband were alive.'

Would he have gazed at her with such affection?

'With a couple so visibly devoted.'

...If one died like in her case, would she have shed the tears she hadn't?

Her marriage had been political necessity.

Vermonte still lacked an heir, and she knew her father was selecting another match.

"Ah... tears..."

Ridiculously, tears she hadn't shed at his death now trickled down her cheek as she lay on her side.

"Why am I crying now?"

She hadn't even attended his funeral.

Duke Vermonte forbade it, citing her shock rendering her unable to travel.

Her consort husband was buried not in Vermonte's crypt but his family's.

The marquis protested in writing repeatedly, but Vermonte ignored it.

Publicly acknowledging her as the marquis's daughter-in-law at the funeral would hinder remarriage.

Her father was Valmond's great lord, Duke Vermonte.

Irena couldn't defy him.

She'd been a puppet in marriage and barred from mourning.

It was heavy and sad, so she'd avoided dwelling on it.

Lady Irena.

Technically not a lady, but no one hesitated to call her one.

Kaiyan and Clodel's intimacy stood out sharper in her eyes.

They looked stunning together, impossibly suited despite Vermonte and Temneth.

"...Hic. Huhuc."

Irena wept through the night, soaking her pillow with inexplicable emotion.

Irena departed after lunch.

The carriage luggage rack held several rose saplings, roots wrapped generously in soil, branches neatly pruned.

"Thank you."

With hand to chest and a curtsy, Irena expressed her gratitude, but Kaiyan replied coolly.

"Clodel mentioned you like flowers, Lady."

Even as he spoke, his gaze flicked to Clodel, nestled in his arm.

"Yes, that's right. It's an honor you thought of me."

"Sister, we can't see each other often with the distance, but come again soon."

"I will. Every year. The wildflowers in the rear garden are so lovely."

"The rear garden. Full of our memories."

Kaiyan seemed desperate to flaunt their bond.

Married mere four months—what memories could there be?

Irena boarded amid their farewell.

Hoofbeats and wheel rumbles synced rhythmically as Rowen Castle receded.

Clodel waved until the carriage was distant, till Kaiyan said something; she shook her head no.

Bickering over trifles, he scooped her up and vanished inside.

"Can't bear to see his wife standing to see her off?"

Exasperating, but viewing it as newlywed affection, she could only smile.

Days later, Irena realized something was off with her.

Alone in her inn at night, tears came unbidden.

Gazing blankly at scenery from the carriage, memories of her sister's kiss surfaced.

Passion.

Yes, that was passion.

Irena had never experienced it herself.

At Valmond Castle's wedding and first night, her husband had been exceedingly courteous.

Their kiss was feather-light, like chick down brushing lips; his touches similarly tentative.

'That suffocating pleasure exists only in books. Reality's different.'

She'd dismissed her wedding night that way.

The truth—that her consort husband, intimidated by the glaring Duke Vermonte in mighty Valmond, had been passive even with his beautiful bride—died with him.

Irena had no way of knowing.

The way they clutched each other desperately, Clodel's waist arching in Kaiyan's arms, the soft nasal breaths amid their raw lip-lock.

Why did these haunt her? She couldn't understand.

So fixated, when Duke Vermonte appeared at her inn in Oberon's capital—midway to Valmond—she couldn't greet him warmly as usual.

"...Father? What brings you here?"

Stammering, she managed, as he beamed openly.

"Play your cards right, and you might become queen, Irena."