Chapter 7

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 7

Chapter Title: Stealing, of All Things

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Clodel spread her hand in front of Hanna.

On her left ring finger gleamed a plain gold ring. Simple though it was, it suited her pale, slender fingers, thinned by illness, perfectly.

"Oh my. Did the Duke really give you this?"

"Yeah. Pretty, right?"

She sat by the window, holding it up to the gentle morning sunlight spilling in.

No matter how small or thin, gold was gold.

As she tilted her hand, sunlight danced across the curved surface of the yellow metal.

Hanna, her face flushed with excitement, spoke to Clodel, who gazed at it with delight.

"See? No man can resist a beautiful woman."

Clodel didn't respond.

There was a flaw in Hanna's words.

For one, she wasn't a beauty, and it wasn't as if Kaiyan didn't hate her.

Didn't people usually show some flicker of expression?

By that measure, Kaiyan wasn't an ordinary man.

With cold eyes, brows and the corners slightly raised in faint anger, he would glare at her with vivid crimson irises.

In any case, it couldn't be called affection, nor could she say he didn't despise her.

'It's because I'm a Vermonte. No helping it.'

It was a loveless marriage.

So she'd never expected tenderness.

Even as he spent the night with her, the redhead he loathed, he seemed to feel ashamed of his own arousal.

Contempt and chill coexisted in his heated gaze and throbbing excitement.

Facing that made her sad, so Clodel had kept her eyes tightly shut the entire time he held her.

That was why she'd brushed off the lack of gifts after their first night.

She figured he just wanted to make it obvious how much he hated her, avoiding even the customary ritual.

Yet somewhere in the heart of Clodel, who had just turned twenty, a hidden expectation had taken root without her realizing.

She'd imagined the humiliations she might face in marrying into House Temneth hundreds, thousands of times in her mind.

Even arriving at Rowen Castle soaked by rain, her bridal gown splattered with mud—it was just an extension of the cold reception she'd envisioned.

But for a woman raised chastely, losing something so precious brought a sense of loss all its own.

Learning she wouldn't receive a wedding gift had felt like being robbed of something deep inside.

Duke Vermonte had sold her for food supplies, leaving her with nothing in return.

All Clodel wanted was that first-night gift from him.

Even a single flower—she would have been satisfied just knowing she'd received it.

Cleaning up the clothes crumpled on the floor had been her way of enduring the awkward atmosphere, needing to do something.

When something fell from his garments, she'd startled, fearing she'd ruined them and would get scolded.

But seeing it looked like it would fit her finger perfectly, she'd felt an urge to try it on.

The ring didn't seem like a mere button bezel—it was unmistakably just a ring.

That was why Clodel liked it so much.

'Can I keep this?'

Even as she asked, she hadn't thought he'd allow it.

She'd assumed he wouldn't seek her out again after their first night, but he'd come back.

His casual tone, saying it had fallen off several times before, had sparked a small burst of courage.

Even if he said Vermontes got nothing from him.

She felt confident she wouldn't be hurt by such words.

'Whatever.'

His cold permission was permission nonetheless.

"Last night wasn't out of duty, was it? And yet he came to see you—that means he must like you."

Hanna seemed even more thrilled than Clodel.

"He'll give you even better gifts from now on."

Clodel didn't reply.

She didn't crave anything better.

Having received something—anything—was enough.

"I'll fetch breakfast. You'll eat, right?"

As her illness worsened, Clodel had barely eaten.

Deep breaths or chewing and swallowing felt like claws raking her chest, intensifying the pain.

Today, feeling better, she thought she might manage something, so she nodded.

"Yeah. I'll eat."

"I'll head to the kitchen right away and bring it up."

Energetic Hanna bustled off excitedly.

Clodel gazed at the gold ring sparkling in the morning quiet that enveloped her.

"...I got it."

Hanna hummed cheerfully as she headed to the castle kitchen.

Today marked her third day at Rowen Castle.

The fact that she had to go to the kitchen herself meant the maids on this floor, where Clodel stayed, had ignored all her requests.

Every previous trip had left her fuming, steam practically pouring from her head.

"Hmm~ Hm-hmm~."

A jaunty tune danced on the bridge of Hanna's nose.

"If only you'd given it yesterday—imagine how thrilled she'd be."

While Clodel had lived as a lady in Valmond Castle, Hanna had mingled with the maids.

The castle maids had pitied the young Hanna, who had lost her parents in an accident at just ten and drifted to this unfamiliar place.

So young for castle drudgery.

Most maids came from large families of serfs. Seeing Hanna reminded them of little siblings left behind, so they constantly slipped her pastries and candies.

But they couldn't hold back their vulgar chatter in front of a child.

At that curious age, the maids—victims of all sorts of abuses in the castle—were obsessed with tales of whoever had been dragged off by the lord for a night.

Unfortunately, Valmond lacked the young, handsome, hot-blooded lord they craved.

Duke Vermonte was old, and his marriage harmonious.

They had only one daughter, Irena, but their bond was so strong—no succession issues arose from lacking a son.

Valmond Castle was certainly no hotbed of scandals.

They spilled society gossip and rumors freely, then giggled awkwardly when young Hanna blinked innocently, saying, "She'll learn someday."

Sharp as she was, Hanna grasped it early—but with Clodel, she shared only the sweet cookies and candies from her "big sisters."

She believed learning the world's dirty underbelly too soon stemmed from her own wretched circumstances.

To Hanna, Clodel—growing up delicately as a "lady" in this grand castle—was a sacred existence.

She had no need to know such things, nor should she.

Clodel had lost her parents too, but she'd live differently.

Marrying a handsome noble who wouldn't touch the young maids—crucial to Hanna—and basking in overflowing love, living happily.

But House Temneth, of all houses!

Hanna knew exactly what this marriage meant.

No—having grown up closer to Duke and Duchess Vermonte than any other castle maid, she knew all too well.

"That old raccoon—I should've killed him myself."

Duke Vermonte had sold Clodel.

Traded her lady for a month's rations for the territory's people.

When Hanna heard, her blood boiled.

Knowing nobles prized blind servant loyalty, she still stormed his study, screaming, "How could you?!"

Guilty, the duke didn't punish her insolence but averted his eyes, saying, "If you wish, go to Rowen with her."

Grinding her teeth, Hanna left—and from that day, she built her strength.

Swinging heavy clubs in the dead of night.

Hanna knew better than Clodel how abused wives fared.

Especially nobles—divorce harder due to family interests.

Even if the contracted daughter died from cruelty.

The marriage on paper endured; the chief victim died bearing her killer's family name.

Temneth and Vermonte didn't just clash over black or red hair—even commoners fought to injury or death on sight.

If the foe died or was hurt, the family head rewarded it.

Fragile Clodel, like a flower, couldn't survive that.

So Hanna had to protect her.

But since the marriage decision, Clodel's appetite dwindled; she withered daily.

Watching drove Hanna mad with worry.

The political wedding rushed a month later—by the day, Hanna feared she'd starve or get beaten by Temneth first.

Valmond's doctor insisted she was healthy; Clodel claimed the same. Hanna could only assume the horrific match stressed her.

Anyway, knowing no first-night gift was a huge blow for a noblewoman, Hanna had puzzled over comforting her.

One little ring had made her so happy.

Hanna bumped Kaiyan's rating up five points—from rock bottom.

As she entered the bustling kitchen, the murmurs cut off abruptly.

Odd, but Hanna grabbed a tray, added a shallow bowl for soup, a plate for bread, and headed to the hearth.

"Vermonte has no pride."

A mocking maid's jab flew.

"What?"

"That redhead serving your lady. Stole a button ornament from the master's clothes yesterday, didn't she?"

"What are you talking about?"

The maids narrowed their eyes, sneering.

"This morning, she showed it to you, claiming the duke gave it."

"Seamstress says it fell off his clothes."

Crash!

The tray slipped from Hanna's hands; dishes shattered.

Kaiyan headed to Clodel's room.

Tonight, the third night, featured a banquet where they'd sit together.

Curious if preparations went well; maybe share a simple lunch.

'Am I overdoing it?'

Vermonte or not, Clodel didn't repulse him.

Pre-wedding rage had notably faded.

"Stealing!"

"What? You lunatic! How dare you spout such nonsense!"

But in the corridor before Clodel's door, maids clawed at each other's hair in a brawl.

"In Vermonte, do they indulge bad habits like sticky fingers?"

Servants' eyes widened at Kaiyan's sudden appearance; they scattered.

Clodel stood by the door; before her, her maid—hair and clothes torn, disheveled.

"Master! They're spewing lies!"

"What happened?"

One maid eagerly tattled.

"She stole a button ornament from your clothes and pretended you gave it to her—like it was a ring, even wearing it."

A servant bellowed.

"Mocking our duke like that? As if he'd gift trash like that!"

Clodel glanced at him, embarrassed.

Kaiyan was just as flustered.

He was their sovereign.

House Temneth's head becoming a laughingstock to servants?

"As if I'd give something like that as a gift."