Chapter 54

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 54

Chapter Title: Indulgent Toward Beauty

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“Once isn't enough. Three times would be...”

He'd try to hold back somehow after that.

'No way! How is that holding back?!'

Clodel couldn't bring herself to argue.

...She liked Kaiyan too much.

Looking back on her life since being thrust into this unfamiliar castle after losing her parents, there had been much to be grateful for, but never a moment of true happiness.

That was why Clodel understood Hanna's clinging attachment to her.

The flames that had razed her hometown village where she'd been born and raised hadn't even left her a single scrap of memory to cherish.

There were no shortages of food or clothing.

She could attend all the lessons that Irena, the princess of Valmond, received.

No one in the castle blocked Clodel's paths, and no one scolded her for holing up in the library with her books.

But there was no one who truly cared for Clodel.

Her adoptive parents, Duke Vermonte and the Duchess, were incredibly busy. Unlike the Duke, the Duchess tried to treat Clodel kindly, but she could never show the same affection as she did to her own daughter, Irena.

Raising Irena was nurturing her flesh and blood, while tending to Clodel was just "work"—taking care of a niece she'd formally added to the family register.

To Clodel, Hanna was a precious friend, an irreplaceable bond unlike any other.

Even so, Hanna wasn't caring for Clodel out of pure selflessness; she was doing it for her own sake.

The trauma of the village fire had been so overwhelming that without Clodel, Hanna truly wouldn't have been able to go on living. She'd latched onto Clodel to give her own life meaning, finding a way to survive.

Even at just ten years old, Clodel understood Hanna's position—different from her own, since she'd at least been placed in her uncle's household.

She understood that she'd become the sole remaining person in ten-year-old Hanna's world, her only human connection.

She believed that genuine, overflowing affection—springing forth without reason—was something only parents gave their children.

No matter how much they told each other "You're precious to me," Clodel could never be Hanna's parent, just as Hanna could never be Clodel's mom or dad.

Having lost her own parents, Clodel knew that sense of loss all too well.

Kaiyan was the head of House Temneth, her sworn enemies.

The man who had treated her so coldly and harshly as the daughter of his foes.

Yet in Rowen Castle—what she'd thought would be the bitter end of her unfortunate life—Clodel had found hope.

She'd never imagined it would be this man, but somehow, she'd come to like him this much.

Even though Kaiyan often spat harsh words with his ingrained stern, icy expression.

His hands that soothed her were warm and gentle.

He'd act indifferent, scolding or snapping at her, only to quietly fill in her shortcomings later.

Filling her empty wardrobe and jewelry box to the brim.

Though he vowed each day to leave her plate untouched, he'd sneak on portions of her favorite dishes after she'd cleared it.

Her husband, whom she'd expected to treat her worse than a stranger, embraced her warmth-starved body every night and lulled her to sleep.

Clodel hugged Kaiyan back with all her might.

She wrapped her arms around his body—which thrummed like she'd wrenched her very heart from her chest with the utmost strength she could muster.

Once wasn't enough for Clodel either.

Suddenly, an unexpected incident erupted in the festival square at the height of the excitement.

Right after the dance signaling the festival's start, the Lord and his Lady had vanished.

"The Lady looked a bit pale when the dance ended."

"Yeah. Seemed like the Lord was half-carrying her as he supported her."

As whispers spread through the crowd, a massive cart draped in oiled paper rolled into the square's center.

It was a gigantic cake made from the first autumn harvest of wheat ground into flour, mixed with tangy stewed apples and lard, then baked crisp.

The crowd drooled at this delicacy—available only once a year during the autumn festival—its exterior crackling more enticingly than butter.

The man who ascended the platform wearing a stylish hat adorned with large feathers was Baron Colon, the butler of Rowen Castle.

A longtime retainer of House Temneth, he himself held a baron's title and was a key power in Rowen territory.

He shouted toward the now-quieting square.

"Today, we celebrate the bounty from the heavens and earth bestowed upon Rowen!"

Hooray!

The crowd erupted in cheers at the butler's words.

"As you've likely heard, the Lady has only recently overcome a grave illness. Even the brutal plague of Valmond, cold enough to kill, withered away without taking root in our Rowen lands!"

The savvy butler grabbed Valmond by the hair, and the Rowen folk began to buzz with excitement.

"That's right!"

"Herzol? That disease is unheard of here in Rowen!"

"This is the land of the sun!"

"Quiet!"

The butler continued.

"Out of stubborn devotion to Rowen's traditions, the Lady has poured her efforts into preparing this festival despite her condition. She overcame Herzol—the plague that wipes out entire villages! Out of love for our Rowen lands that made it possible! Defying her doctor's orders with her body not yet recovered, she attended the festival!"

Ah, so that's how it is.

Of course.

Such a thing.

Sighs rose amid the murmuring territory folk.

Hanna, watching the eloquent butler from the side, was genuinely impressed.

'Wow. Could one of the butler's ancestors have been a Vermonte?'

As she marveled at his competence,

"Thus, for today's cake cutting, we'll have the Lady's maid from Valmond, Miss Hanna Pebble, assist. Miss Hanna?"

"Pardon?"

Startled by the butler's urging glance to hurry up, she reflexively climbed the platform.

"Say a few words."

Hanna's eyes widened in horror before she lowered her voice to whisper to the butler.

"What should I say?"

"Just throw in some Valmond bashing."

Ah. Hanna got it immediately.

Truth be told, at Valmond's autumn festivals, she'd heard the excited Duke Vermonte trash House Temneth from the platform every year from age ten to twenty.

It had gotten even more extreme after the drought, she recalled.

Clearing her throat after taking the conical megaphone on stage, Hanna declared,

"I was born in Valmond, but my soul shall live as a servant of House Temneth!"

Woooaaah!

"I shall serve the great Lord Duke of House Temneth all my life and beyond, until I'm laid to rest in Rowen soil!"

Hwaaaah!

The young woman's passionate cry stirred the hearts of Rowen's people.

"Farewell to Valmond's withered grass clippings! Rowen food is the best in the world!"

Yeah!

She knows her stuff!

As Hanna struggled to calm her excitement, several Temneth collateral kin ascended the platform at the butler's call.

Hanna lifted the massive cake knife— as long as her arm—with both hands.

"Hiyah!"

The huge cake chunk, tall as an adult's waist, sliced perfectly in half under the hands of Hanna, who had secretly trained her arms to protect Clodel.

The square fell silent for a moment, then exploded in cheers.

Hwaaaah!

"Next year will be a bumper crop!"

"Keh keh! Not bad!"

"She's got spirit. That's what it takes to serve House Temneth!"

The butler patted the blinking Hanna's shoulder with a warm smile amid the cheers.

"Cutting the cake clean in half at once is an omen for a bountiful harvest next year."

"Oh, uh, really?"

"I was worried with the Lord absent, but you've eased a great burden. Well done."

"Ah. Yes. Haha."

Hanna laughed awkwardly amid the cheering crowd.

The fireworks ignition rite was handled by other Temneth collaterals.

Several men with House Temneth's signature jet-black hair lit the large cannons packed with gunpowder using club-sized torches. The fuses hissed before massive fireworks rocketed skyward with thunderous booms, illuminating the night.

As the festival peaked, enormous beer barrels—tall as grown men—began rolling into the crowd's center amid clapping rhythms.

It was a spectacle: burly brewery workers dancing in step, rolling barn-sized barrels side by side with precise coordination.

With the Lord remaining in the castle out of concern for his Lady, the honor of the first drink went to Madam Marcel, the new seamstress from the capital now at Rowen Castle.

Upon hearing it was Rowen custom for newcomers to introduce themselves at festivals, she lit up with excitement.

"Ho ho ho. Everyone! So nice to meet you! I'm the one who made that stunning dress the Lady wore while dancing today!"

Kyaah!

Hwaaaah!

This time, the women's gasps of admiration rang out loudest.

"I'm thrilled to live in Rowen! Any girls wanting to learn sewing, apply at the castle!"

Having neatly advertised for hires, Madam Marcel deftly caught the geyser of foam bursting from the barrel after the butler uncorked it, filling her glass.

"Let's drink! To Rowen!"

She boldly raised her glass and downed it in one go.

As she lowered it, her eyes met the butler's outstretched hand.

"Oh?"

"It's custom to share the glass."

"Ah. Haha. Sorry."

The butler pretended to sip the empty glass handed to him and waved to the territory folk.

Thanks to the baron's stellar performance, the Lord's and Lady's absence was glossed over, but truthfully, it hardly mattered to the people.

While the Lord spoke, village lads and lasses made eyes at each other, amused uncles watched with grins only to get elbowed by their wives, and sneaky side-glances were the norm.

What mattered to them was the feast food and booze to stuff themselves with, songs, dances.

And for some, drunken flings.

But today, the square buzzed everywhere with talk of the Lady.

"Never seen anyone so beautiful."

"Yeah. Wondered what kind of woman would pair with our Lord."

"She didn't even seem of this world."

Not a peep about her being from Vermonte.

People had always been indulgent toward beauty.

Our Lord's Lady is such a dazzling beauty!

And her illness was completely cured in our Rowen lands!

She pairs perfectly with our Lord, too. Their heir will surely take after them—can't wait.

The territory folk were utterly smitten with their first sight of the Lord's Lady.

"Wasn't there talk of her being a rain-wilted flower?"

"Pfft. That downpour? Half the seed storage got washed away—don't you remember?"

"True. Surviving unscathed would've been weirder."

"No! That's all fake! She wasn't like that before!"

A shrill voice pierced the praises of Clodel's beauty.

"I saw it! Her face wasn't always like that!"

Several turned to see a woman with black hair and blue eyes standing there.

"She stole the Lord's Lady's ring."

"Shh. She's crazy. Loses it whenever that comes up. Better steer clear."

The crowd recoiled and slipped away.

"It's true! I was prettier!"

No one paid Antyone's words any mind.

"Lord Kaiyan is being deceived."