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Chapter : 4
A Fairy Tale for the Villain
“I already know all about the rumors surrounding Your Grace. I’ve made my offer knowing full well what it means.”
“So what I’m hearing is that you chose me because you want to die.”
The Grand Duke slowly removed his hat, set it on the table, and swept back his hair.
Isabelle stared, spellbound by the starkly revealed features of his face before snapping back to her senses.
This man—judging from how unimpressed he is—must be used to being ogled. And did he just talk down to me?
“I said I wanted us to marry. Not that I wanted to die.”
So Isabelle casually dropped her speech level as well.
The Grand Duke narrowed his eyes and gave a short laugh before his face returned to stone.
“Proposing to me is no different from declaring your own death. Go home, foolish princess.”
His tone was icier than she’d expected.
When a useless man gets uppity, it’s pathetic—but when a handsome one does, it passes as charm.
Isabelle clenched her teeth.
“I may have met you for the first time today, but I wasn’t expecting to be called foolish. How unfortunate.”
You think you’re the only one who can go expressionless? I’m a rumored villainess myself.
She met his bleak expression with one of her own.
“I have exactly three months left to live, Your Grace.”
The Grand Duke didn’t even blink.
He simply stared at her left cheek, swollen from the king’s beating.
“I hear you married twelve brides. Every last one of them died on the wedding night.”
“Princess.”
“You must have grieved each time, but…”
Staring down at the bare table in the command room, Isabelle slowly lifted her gaze.
“And yet you kept holding weddings. You must have a reason.”
A muscle jumped in the corner of the Grand Duke Baskhe’s brow.
He had assumed she was yet another woman blinded by rank and good looks, babbling foolish love.
What is her aim?
Even scrutinizing those proud turquoise eyes yielded no answer.
They were like the depths of a sea that hid everything beneath.
“I won’t ask what your purpose is. Just use me. Let me be your thirteenth bride.”
“And what do you want from me, Princess?”
“Let’s just say—I want to die properly.”
“To die… properly?”
“Yes. If I’m doomed anyway, I’d rather my corpse look presentable.”
With language wholly lacking in refinement, Isabelle formed a circle with her thumb and finger and wiggled it.
Pay me well, it meant.
The Grand Duke, staring at her gesture, gave a short, incredulous laugh.
“I fail to understand.”
“Understanding isn’t what I need right now. Just an answer. Strange that the one who sent me a portrait is hesitating.”
The Grand Duke’s brow knit. Who had sent the princess a proposal portrait?
Proposal portraits were essentially marriage contracts—never sent lightly.
Snow must’ve meddled again…
Rubbing his forehead, the duke sighed.
“I need time to think.”
“Who knew the man commanding this enormous warship would be so indecisive.”
Isabelle deliberately provoked him.
She needed his decision today. If she returned to the palace now, she would run into the crown prince—and her father would sell her to him.
“Unfortunately, provocation doesn’t sway me, Princess.”
He was far colder than she’d hoped.
Of course. Gorgeous face, annoyingly rational mind.
Isabelle clenched the bouquet of wildflowers and rose to her feet.
She strode around the table to the sofa opposite him.
Snow’s oversized shoes clomped ridiculously with every step, but she ignored it.
Then—Isabelle knelt at the Grand Duke’s feet.
“Princess?”
“Please marry me.”
She thrust the bouquet toward him with both hands.
After all this, he’d better answer me.
His eyes flickered wildly in surprise—just as expected.
“Enough games. Stand up, Princess.”
“I won’t until you answer.”
“Princess—”
Perhaps he needed something more. Isabelle delivered her pièce de résistance.
“Grand Duke Karl Baskhe, I fell in love with you the moment I saw you.”
“…”
Still, no answer.
Right. Heard that before, have you?
“If we marry, I can promise you two things.”
Like a student body election, she began listing pledges. It had been ages since she’d done something like this.
“First, until the wedding day, I won’t bother you in the slightest.”
Maria had told her—the Grand Duke was fabulously wealthy.
He showered every bride with enormous sums before their wedding night.
So Isabelle planned to live very comfortably on her own. She had zero intention of hanging around him.
“And second—on that first night, even if my death comes as foretold, I will not resent you. Not in the least.”
She pressed the wilted bouquet—plucked on the beach—into his stiff hand.
The flowers, nearly dead, drooped lifelessly. Like his enthusiasm for marriage.
He sighed again, staring at the pathetic stems.
If the portrait came from my side, then should the princess choose me, the wedding must proceed regardless…
Even so—why kneel? Why say such embarrassing things?
Reluctance warred with curiosity—and curiosity won.
“And you truly won’t resent me?”
Still staring at the flowers, he asked.
He’s considering it!
Isabelle’s tense face broke into a radiant smile.
His gaze drifted from the dead bouquet to her smile—alive, burning with energy.
“On the contrary—I’ll be grateful. Because thanks to you, I’ll live freely as myself until the very last moment.”
Later, after Isabelle left the command room…
Grand Duke Karl Baskhe summoned Snow White.
“Was it you?”
“What was, my lord?”
“The fool who sent my portrait to Princess Isabelle Desar.”
“Ah—caught, did I?”
Yikes—Snow narrowly dodged the duke’s flying boot aimed at his shins.
“Had that landed, my leg would’ve snapped in two, my lord!”
“Why pull such a foolish stunt?”
“So you’re calling off the wedding?”
The duke couldn’t answer immediately.
“See? You were looking for someone who could endure it.”
“…”
“Your reputation in the empire is disastrous. That’s why I started searching abroad.”
Snow pushed up his glasses indignantly.
How could it be otherwise? Twelve brides dead in five years.
The public’s scorn grew worse every time.
Yet he kept marrying—because so many women still rushed to him…and because every night of his life was agony under the curse.
“A proper bride must exist somewhere. Even the High Priest said so.”
Cursed to become a beast every night, the duke roamed the hills in monstrous form.
Some nights livestock died. Some nights, people.
At first, he hadn’t cared. He’d wanted to tear the empire apart anyway.
Even as women who adored him fell one by one, his heart remained frozen.
But as years passed, self-loathing sank in like poison, hollowing him.
“How many more times must I marry before that damned bride appears?”
“Just wait a little longer. That priest may be useless, but the oracle works. He predicted my father would remarry—and look how that turned out.”
No one in the empire had expected that corpse of a man to remarry. Snow snorted.
“Surely you’re not worried about the brides, right? Every one of them knew the stakes.”
And you know it too.
Snow shook his head, remembering the duke’s previous candidates.
The ones likely to bolt never applied.
Only those whose greed outweighed their fear—or whose arrogance made them believe they were special—threw themselves into the fire like moths.
The duke lavished riches on each bride and her family. Until the wedding night, they lived like royalty.
“You chose this path. Will you give up now?”
The duke gave a bitter laugh. Yes—blood already pooled at his feet like a river. Why hesitate?
‘Even if I die on the first night, I will not resent you.’
That imperious princess flashed through his mind, and an absurd laugh escaped him.
“Prepare a proper bouquet, Snow.”
“When?”
“Now. Something alive—not this shriveled thing.”
He tossed the wilted flowers at Snow.
“Huh? The princess picked these herself on the beach. Why do you still have them?”
The duke offered no reply, striding briskly from the room.
“Sounds like a very romantic proposal,” Snow chuckled behind him.
Meanwhile, King Desar was taking tea with the crown prince.
“You’ve been through much. Thank the heavens you’re unharmed, Your Highness.”
“I’m grateful for the warm welcome, Your Majesty.”
“Ha! We’ve seen many imperial guests lately. I hear the first princess’s stepson visited the Tower as well.”
“You mean Snow White.”
What business did that wretch have at the Mage Tower?
The prince’s eyes narrowed.
“I also hear the Grand Duke Baskhe’s warship will arrive soon. You’ll return to the empire safely.”
“Thank you. But—may I ask one more favor?”
“Anything.”
“I wish to find a young lady.”
“A lady?”
“A beautiful one. Blonde hair, rather… distinctive personality.”
Clatter. The king set his teacup down far too loudly.
“Are you alright?”
Flustered, the king dabbed his beard with the handkerchief the prince offered.
“You seem to know whom I mean.”
Of course she was someone of rank—the king recognized her description immediately.
She had recognized the prince at first glance after all.
And blondes were rare.
“Did she offend Your Highness?”
“No. On the contrary—she saved me.”
At that, the king sagged in relief.
“Thank goodness.”
“I couldn’t catch her—she ran so fast. But I intend to repay the kindness.”
“Repay…?”
“I want to formally invite her to the Empire. Please help me.”
A prince inviting a foreign noblewoman formally was no trivial matter.
So Isabelle caught his eye. And the gifts he brings could be considerable.
At last, that useless girl may serve her purpose.
King Desar’s eyes gleamed.
