Chapter 1

"'Vermonte' marriage, it's a disgrace to our 'Temnes'!"

The voice, thick with the smell of alcohol, echoed loudly in the banquet hall where the wedding celebration was in full swing.

Then, with sounds of clinking, those who had been drinking stood up from their seats, moving toward the high table with indignation.

"How can this be? We are Temnes!"

"Like puppets to King Oberon's words, we have become a laughingstock."

"Lord! Please say something!"

Gazing down at the drunken ruffians from the high table, Lord Kayan of Rowen, instead of uttering the words they wanted to hear, tilted his wine glass.

His cold face, void of emotion, was as stern as a carved stone statue.

Beneath his well-groomed jet-black hair, his red eyes shone brightly as he looked down upon the uproarious Temnes bloodline.

Despite his handsome appearance, his towering height and broad shoulders imposed a sense of awe, making it difficult for an ordinary person to even utter a word in front of Kayan, the head of the Temnes family.

However, the banquet hall, littered with heaps of land, sea, and air delicacies and empty barrels of wine, was full of drunken fools who, like rabid dogs, rushed towards their master, barking and snarling.

"Mixing the vile and cunning blood of those people into our noble lineage! I will never accept this!"

Thud.

As Kayan set down his wine glass, the previously noisy banquet hall suddenly fell silent.

"Shut up."

At his single word, even the boisterous men closed their mouths.

"Are you trying to teach me that the Vermontes are the enemies of the Temnes?"

Kayan's icy aura seemed to freeze the humid air on this drizzly day.

"Ah! As expected, the Duke won't treat those lowly Vermontes properly!"

Someone interpreted his words favorably and, lifting a wine glass, shouted, leading the crowd to forget the earlier incident and start attacking the barrels of wine, using Vermonte as their new topic.

"Uh, my lord."

Approaching with a troubled face was the steward of the lord's mansion, Baron Colon.

"The bride's carriage is stuck on the drawbridge due to the heavy rain."

"The bride?"

Kayan savored the word with a hint of mockery, and the steward bowed his head, pretending not to notice.

"What shall we do?"

Kayan stood up and headed towards the terrace.

Beneath the pouring rain, a line of carriages was stuck, unable to move forward or back, on the drawbridge.

Among them, two modestly sized carriages belonged to the North.

One slightly larger carriage seemed to be stuck in a gap of the drawbridge.

Kayan sneered.

"A bride unwelcomed by the Temnes. She should know her place and walk in on her own."

Hearing his words, a few vassals who had come to the terrace to watch the scene in front of the mansion's gates laughed uproariously.

"Just how much does the Vermonte detest setting foot in the lord's mansion!"

"Hahaha!"

Ignoring the laughing fools, Kayan shook off the raindrops from his shoulder and turned around.

It was a terrible downpour.

The carriage, having traveled non-stop from the North for half a month, was as exhausted as its horses and passengers.

In the middle of the rain-soaked drawbridge, the carriage wheel, worn from the long journey, got stuck and broke.

"These people are insane! Treating our lady this way and still expecting to live!"

Moreover, the carriage roof, soaked with water, failed to function properly and had been leaking thick streams of water inside for a while.

Inside, sat Clodelle, the drenched bride.

She had rented an inn in the gateway city for half a day, changed clothes, put on a wreath, and donned a white veil before boarding the carriage.

"Flowers drooping miserably in the rain, and a thin white veil, long since soaked and clinging to her nape, combined with her red hair."

Beneath the forehead washed by rainwater, the downcast eyes revealed pumpkin-colored golden irises.

Despite her striking features and pale skin, the fragile bride, Clodelle, appeared strangely vulnerable on what should have been her most radiant day.

Hanna, the maid, consumed with anxiety, had been arguing with the guards at the gate for two hours.

When the steward, who had gone to report to the lord, returned, Hanna brightened up.

"What did the Duke say?"

The steward's reply, however, disappointed her.

"Ahem, well, the Lord instructed the bride to get down from the carriage and walk in."

"What did you say?"

Hanna's outburst made the steward avert his eyes.

"Did you convey that correctly? Is this how the Temnes welcome their new mistress?"

"Yes, I asked correctly."

"And he said that?"

The steward felt sweat trickling down his damp back.

'The bride unwelcome in the Temnes. She should know her place and walk in on her own.'

Unable to relay Kayan's exact words and softening them, the steward still found it insufficient to quell the fierce maid's anger.

"Hanna. Enough."

"My lady."

"The clothes are cumbersome. I'll get down, so could you give me a hand?"

"No, my lady. That's absurd."

Before Hanna could protest, Clodelle stepped out of the carriage into the pouring rain.

"Go on. Lead the way."

Clodelle's command had the steward quickly clearing a path.

Squelch. Squelch.

The thin silk dress, soaked and clinging to her legs and ankles, hindered her movement. The pearl-beaded ceremonial shoes, now muddy and no longer protective, were drenched.

Some walk a flower-strewn path in beautiful shoes.

Kayan, to be her husband, had come to her family's Vermonte estate in Balmond Castle for the wedding and then hurried back to Rowen alone, citing urgent matters.

Usually, the groom escorts the bride, but Clodelle took Kayan's departure as a sign he didn't accept her as his bride.

Having spent the last three days of the fortnight-long journey from Balmond to Rowen in a carriage under falling rain, why would the raindrops drenching her now seem unusual?

Yet, as the dress grew heavier and more cumbersome with each step towards the Lord's mansion, she felt like stepping into a muddy quagmire, frightening her.

Her reception in the mansion continued to be cold.

"Bring hot bath water for the Duchess. She's been outside long, so light the fireplace too."

But the servants in the mansion ignored Hanna's orders, treating Clodelle with disdain.

"Is Balmond an ice castle?"

"A woman from the frozen lands complains about a bit of rain?"

The lower servants snickered, prompting Hanna to explode.

"Do you not know your place?"

"Place? What nerve from a rolling stone!"

"Rolling stone?"

"A country bumpkin, acting high and mighty here? From a failing estate?"

"Hey! Are you done?"

As Hanna tried to grab the maid's hair in a fit of rage, Clodelle's voice softly intervened from the open bedroom door.

"You're lucky this time. We'll see later."

Hanna, still defiant, returned to the room, where the servants showed no intention of bringing bath water.

In the meantime, Clodelle had found a towel herself and was wiping off the dampness from her wet clothes.

However, the bride's head ornament and veil were still awkwardly soaked.

"Sigh. What should we do about this?" Hanna sighed in dismay, observing the state.

"The Duke is supposed to see the bride."

"Seeing me like this will only upset him. Maybe I should just take it off."

Eventually, Hanna untangled the head ornament, sighed deeply, and removed the sodden white veil.

"Men dislike no beauty. You really looked beautiful earlier."

"That's enough, Hanna. I'm fine."

Clodelle shook her head at the maid's flattering, yet sympathetic words.

Finally, after the workers of the mansion continued to ignore her, Hanna forcefully went to the kitchen and managed to get hot water filled in the bathtub.

After a much-needed bath, warmth slowly returned to Clodelle's body, which had lost much heat.

Clodelle glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Pale, lifeless skin, a body so thin it was almost skeletal.

With tangled red hair and yellow eyes, Hanna's words were mere flattery out of pity.

The charm of an ordinary woman usually includes vitality and fullness.

Clodelle's complexion was so pale it was almost ghastly, her lips barely had any pink tint.

In short, she looked like a patient.

Kayan, whom she had briefly seen at the wedding, hadn't spared her a glance.

Even if she adorned herself with all the treasures from her family's vault, the thin, scrawny Clodelle wouldn't catch his eye.

Kayan was at the pinnacle of the kingdom's power, the most prosperous Duke Temnes ever had, too exceptional that he became a target of the king's check.

And so, he was forced into marriage with her.

The day's events at Rowen castle felt like a preview of what she might face during her stay here.

A heavy sense of dread pressed down on her heart.

Clodelle found it hard to even take a proper breath under the weight of it all.

Kayan had drunk quite a lot.

It was the wedding night.

A significant night where two families were to become one.

However, the thought of the red-haired bride made him feel nauseous.

If there was anyone in the Temnes Ducal family who hated Vermonte the most, it was undoubtedly Kayan.

"Kill every Vermonte you encounter," was the most crucial part of Temnes ducal education.

Kayan, who had fought in the forefront of the battlefield for a long time, had yet to have a chance to take a Vermonte's life.

But now, his first proper encounter with a Vermonte was as a father-in-law and a wife, a ridiculous situation.

He drank excessively, not feeling in the right mind to consummate the marriage.

"Where are the clothes for her?"

A sharp female voice echoed from the bedroom.

"You people are inhumane."

The indignant maid stopped abruptly as she entered and saw him.

The drenched bride was in thin undergarments.

Considering the carriage's state in the rainstorm, her belongings must have been soaked, and she had requested clothes.

But of course, there would be no clothes for a Vermonte in this castle.

Kayan's lips curled slightly.

"No need to bother finding clothes that will soon be removed."

At his words, the maid gasped and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The flickering candlelight revealed the woman who was to be his bride. The woman, sitting on the bed, slowly stood up.

She was small and frail.

Kayan, displeased with the marriage, had returned to his territory immediately after the ceremony, having never spoken a word to her until now.

What should he say to her now?

Before exchanging words, the wife he was about to physically unite with spoke first.

"Shall I undress?"

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