Chapter 52

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 52

Chapter Title: Deafening the Ears, Blinding the Eyes

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“That’s not the woman. Don’t tell me it’s the one I saw at the lake……”

Anyone watching would have been chilled by how his mildly serene expression turned abruptly icy, only to melt softly again the instant he recalled the ‘woman he saw at the lake’.

The rear garden of Rowen Castle had been deliberately left untouched, resembling a patch of untouched forest.

In the pale, faint light of dawn, a water nymph had swum through the misty lake waters tinged with color.

Each time the woman sliced through the water with graceful strokes and surged to the surface, the lake seemed reluctant to release her, caressing her form before sadly slipping back to the surface.

Snow-white skin and long red hair that looked all the more luscious even when soaked.

Golden eyes that stood out strikingly amid the monochromatic hues.

And moist red lips.

Countless writings and paintings had described and praised the birth of a goddess, but Valquiter could declare with certainty.

That had been the most beautiful moment he had ever witnessed.

Perfect beings possessed an aura that could not be approached.

That was why, even as the king of the Oberon Kingdom, he had instinctively knelt before her and offered flowers.

Valquiter had not questioned the reason for his actions even as he carried them out.

A woman capable of moving a man was one worthy of it.

He had never imagined himself courting a mere woman in such a manner, lowering his body to seek her favor.

Valquiter was the sovereign of Oberon.

Born to reign supreme overhead, never to bow for anyone.

Even if the kingdom fell to invasion and he faced the enemy commander’s blade, a king’s fate was to meet his end with head held high and back straight.

Even he viewed kneeling to ask her name as entirely natural.

Because that woman had not felt like a living being of this world.

It might be humiliation for a human king to kneel before mortals, but who would call it an insult to bow before a transcendent god?

It had been such an indelible first experience for Valquiter—one that left him a little obtuse.

“Red hair and golden eyes. Duke Vermonte has two daughters.”

He had planted several spies around Kaiyan.

Every detail reached the king’s desk in his office: at the wedding in Valmond Castle, a bride so gaunt she barely looked dressed up had been dragged out, and they had departed the castle in just thirty minutes without even properly meeting each other’s eyes; the very day she set foot in Rowen Castle, her carriage had broken down, forcing her to head to the bridal chamber in a pitiful state, drenched by rain.

Thus, upon hearing that Kaiyan had consummated the marriage with such a bride, Valquiter had been quietly impressed.

Kaiyan, raised too familiarly and deemed lacking in kingly loyalty, had obeyed the royal command to spend the first night with the enemy’s unsightly daughter.

But he belatedly realized that, after the report of Lady Rowen’s recovery from illness, there had been no further descriptions of her appearance.

It had been crucial that Kaiyan married a dying bride, so the reports included details like her being emaciated or skeletal from sickness.

Yet after her recovery from Herzol, there had been no mention whatsoever of the woman regaining her beauty or vitality.

“Then that woman is Kaiyan’s?”

It was absurd.

He had orchestrated this precisely to prevent the bastard from having a proper marriage—his goddess could not be that bastard’s wife.

He had been absolutely convinced it was Irena, the princess notorious as a slut across the kingdom.

Valquiter had chopped his own foot with the very axe he trusted.

“I need to confirm it.”

For the first time, departing Prompt without meeting Kaiyan face-to-face felt like a blunder.

And amid it all, the face of the woman who had widened her eyes in shock at the sight of him before smiling lingered persistently.

Valquiter had no idea that it was no smile at all—just the awkward upturn of lips from fear, upon encountering a stranger while swimming in her underwear at the deserted dawn lake her husband had sealed off from all entry.

The enigmatic smile, preserved distorted only in his memory, continued to enchant him, over and over.

The day of the festival dawned.

“Huu. Haa.”

Clodel drew in and exhaled a deep breath from tension.

“I feel like I put on the wrong dress.”

Madam Marcel had put great care into the festival gown: one with the upper chest slightly revealed and a shallow V-cut at the center of the bust.

She knew that tube-top styles like this often bared the shoulders entirely.

She herself had spent her days in Valmond Castle as a wallflower at balls, never asked to dance, but she knew other women managed to dance both vigorously and elegantly in such form-fitting dresses.

Moreover, aware of Clodel’s anxiety and worries, Madam Marcel had even modified the design by adding shoulder straps and sleeves that wrapped to mid-arm—yet slipping into such a daring gown for the first time still left her fretting that it might slip off or the straps snap while dancing.

‘What if a strap breaks? It’d be mortifying in front of all the territory folk.’

Clodel had voiced her concerns so often that Madam Marcel had wrapped the exact same strap around her own wrist, bitten down, and tugged hard with her teeth to prove its strength firsthand.

‘Eutteusyeo? Eunseon teuntenheuz?’

Straps that tough should hold—no problem there—so in the end, even she had nodded.

“Madam! The lord’s speech is wrapping up.”

Hanna entered the tent where she waited and rested, reporting the situation outside.

Madam Marcel followed, trailed by three assistants carrying armfuls of voluminous festival petticoats.

“I switched to lighter fabric in case it’d burden Madam. Apparently, these festival skirts aren’t made new every year. They usually craft a fresh set when the lord’s lady first enters the castle, then repair and reuse them thereafter.”

“I see. First I’ve heard of it.”

“The previous seamstress had some half-done ones, but they were awful, so I remade them myself.”

“The old seamstress lacked both skill and sense. You did well, Madam Marcel.”

Hanna stepped up proudly.

The assistants’ arms, laden with skirts bundled like fluffy chiffon puffs, emptied one by one.

Draping all three layered skirts upward turned Clodel into what looked like a walking bouquet.

“Wow. So dazzling.”

“Hehe. You missed the banquet from illness. Today’s your chance to make a real impression on the Rowen folk, so it has to be this extravagant.”

Clodel stood in a daze, peering into the mirror an assistant held up.

Her red hair had been sleekly styled, with side sections braided and the back rolled into a large, secure updo.

Flowers native to Rowen territory crowned her hair, topped by a tiara.

Around her neck—refreshingly bared by the tantalizing V-neck that teased cleavage—hung the ruby necklace Kaiyan had commissioned custom-made.

Thumbnail-sized rubies shaped like flowers, lavishly surrounded by tiny white diamonds, formed a design resembling a wreath of intertwined roses and mist flowers—unique and utterly splendid.

Even with light, natural makeup, her petite face appeared far brighter than usual.

“I thought this wouldn’t suit me at all.”

The vivid, primary-colored festival skirts complemented her red hair and golden eyes perfectly, lending her the air of a passionate beauty.

“Madam’s skin is so flawless—every color suits you.”

“It’s uncanny. I look like someone else.”

Madam Marcel chuckled endearingly at Clodel, who kept glancing at the mirror.

“Madam. Time to head out.”

The butler poked his head into the tent, delivered the message, and widened his eyes.

Satisfied by the reaction, Madam Marcel and Hanna burst into laughter in unison.

“The skirts may feel cumbersome, so please walk slowly.”

Escorted by the butler toward the festival square, cheers and songs thundered through the sky.

Clodel’s heart raced.

Until now, she had never stepped forward as duchess in Rowen territory, but after revealing herself today, things would change from tomorrow onward.

Yet with each step Clodel took toward the square, the area around her fell eerily silent, as if snuffed out.

Too tense to notice at first, by the time she reached Kaiyan waiting in the square, even the lively music had cut off abruptly.

‘Me? Because I’m a Vermonte?’

Suppressing her surging unease, she stood before Kaiyan.

Kaiyan, dressed impeccably for the festival, cut an imposing figure. Beneath his neatly bared forehead, his eyes gleamed red in the noon sun.

Kaiyan wore his usual cool expression, lips pressed firmly.

But today, she could not read her now-familiar husband’s feelings at all.

Like calling her pretty or something.

‘I knew he was stingy with praise, but is he displeased? Does this glamour not suit me?’

Clodel took the hand Kaiyan extended to her, then matched his steps side by side toward the circular square.

As the band resumed playing amid the awkwardly hushed surroundings, the crowd clapped along to the rhythm.

In one swift motion, Kaiyan swept her into his arms and lifted her high.

“Eh?”

As Clodel’s eyes flew wide in surprise, Kaiyan whispered into her ear.

“Stay relaxed, Madam.”

He spun her with terrifying strength, sending the festival skirts—crafted with Madam Marcel’s utmost effort—fluttering in layers to reveal the inner petticoats unfurling from red to purple in rainbow sequence.

Waaaaah!

The crowd gasped in awe at the magnificent sight, their cheers swelling as excitement reignited.

Clodel was breathless.

Barely taking any steps, held aloft and whirled about in Kaiyan’s arms, she still felt intoxicated by the festival fervor.

The square brimmed with people on all sides, the world spinning in a dizzying blur.

When the dance finally halted.

“Hah. Hah.”

Clodel panted, clinging tightly to him.

“Clodel. Lift your head.”

When she looked up, Kaiyan leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

Waaaaah! Waaaaaaah!

The crowd erupted in fervent roars.

The deafening cheers rendered Clodel’s ears deaf, while the dazzling shower of swirling petals blinded her eyes.

She had no memory of how they returned to the castle—her mind too hazy.

“Kaiyan.”

As if snapping out of a drunken stupor, when her wits returned, he had locked her bedroom door and pinned her beneath his arm.

“Are you set on driving me insane?”

“Wh-what……”

At his touch, the dress was yanked down in one fell swoop.