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Chapter : 5
Märchen for the Villain
“The woman the prince claims to have seen… could she possibly—”
The king began to speak, but—
“Your Majesty, the Grand Duke Karl Baschke of the Nebellant Empire requests an audience.”
The chamberlain rushed forward.
“Already? His warship has arrived?”
“Yes, and Princess Isabel is with him.”
“Isabel too?”
The king recalled Isabel’s earlier bombshell announcement—that she would marry the grand duke.
There’s no way that happened so quickly.
The king threw a glance at the prince, then nodded.
“Show them in.”
As soon as permission was granted, the drawing room doors opened and Grand Duke Karl Baschke entered, Princess Isabel at his side.
Behind them followed Snow, carrying a large chest.
The attendants standing guard gasped faintly and bowed low.
The ill-tempered princess.
The grand duke rumored to have killed twelve brides.
And the smiling aide who served such a monster.
Their looks were as beautiful as statues before a temple—yet their presence was as chilling as a legion of demons.
“That’s the foreign noble who killed twelve brides?”
“Shh! Shut it unless you want your head rolling.”
The whispering servants went silent as the trio passed.
Isabel’s party took seats at the king’s invitation.
“My goodness—Your Highness, you’re safe!”
Only Snow, the most sociable of the three, greeted the prince brightly.
“Haha. Never thought I’d see Sir Snow White here.”
“I’m glad you’re unharmed.”
The grand duke, seated beside the prince, offered a stiff greeting.
“Thank you for coming all this way, Grand Duke.”
The prince clapped his shoulder lightly.
The grand duke stared coldly at the prince’s hand, then back at the prince.
“It was only natural.”
“And how did you know what I wanted?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You found the woman I asked His Majesty to locate.”
The prince smiled toward Isabel.
“To think you’d be here—the one who abandoned me and ran.”
“Isabel Dezaar, sixth princess of the Kingdom of Dezaar, greets Your Highness.”
Isabel dipped her head slightly, still seated.
Her tone was stiff—nothing like when they first met.
The prince blinked, then burst into hearty laughter.
“You spoke so freely earlier—now you’re a proper lady.”
“I’m afraid I don’t recall.”
Isabel answered coldly and looked away.
“I was just about to summon you—Isabel. I hear you saved Prince Edwin?”
The king smiled only with the edges of his mouth, eyes sharp at her insolent attitude.
“No, Father. Another woman saved him. The prince keeps assuming otherwise.”
“You’re still insisting on that nonsense, Princess.”
The prince shook his head, troubled.
The grand duke, who had been silently observing with interest, finally grasped the situation and smirked faintly.
Isabel drew a deep breath and addressed the king.
“Father, I’m here because I have something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“That marriage I mentioned earlier.”
She nodded toward the grand duke.
At it again with that stubbornness.
The king glanced at the prince, then leaned in to whisper.
“I have not approved your choice.”
“I chose my groom from the portraits you provided.”
“Circumstances have changed. You’ll decide later.”
“The royal tradition states I choose on my twenty-second birthday—and that is today.”
“Isabel!”
The short-tempered king seized her wrist tightly.
Veteran of rifles and seas, he had a dangerously powerful grip.
Isabel clenched her teeth through the pain, convinced the bone might snap.
“Your Majesty.”
Grand Duke Karl called out as he stepped in between them.
His murderous gaze flickered toward Isabel’s wrist.
Fresh-faced brat dares presume!
The king recoiled and released Isabel.
“What is it.”
“I’ve just proposed to Princess Isabel.”
A perfectly delivered lie.
Isabel hid her reddening wrist beneath the table and tried not to react.
“You spoke directly to Isabel?”
The king wasn’t the only one stunned.
The prince stared wide-eyed between them.
“Yes. And I’d like to formally declare my intentions now.”
The grand duke rose and strode toward Isabel.
He glanced briefly at her feet.
Snow had removed the old shoes and replaced them with neat ones that fit perfectly—much prettier.
“Here it is, my lord.”
Snow handed over the chest.
The grand duke removed a bouquet—fresh peonies and Juliet roses filling the cold room with spring.
He looked like a mural from a sacred temple.
Even the handmaidens sneaking glances couldn’t help but gasp in awe.
Anyone would think he’s the male lead of this story.
Isabel stared, temporarily lost.
“Princess Isabel Dezaar.”
The grand duke knelt on one knee before her.
To kneel twice for the same woman in one day.
The absurdity made him chuckle—but he still said,
“Please, marry me.”
Isabel reflexively smiled like a fool, then quickly wiped the expression.
Did my face muscles just betray me?
Thankfully, no one noticed.
Every eye was fixed on the grand duke.
Silence fell.
The prince tapped his teacup with a cold expression, sneering inwardly.
Losing the woman I marked for myself—how pathetic.
To Karl Baschke, no less.
That infuriating bastard.
A cursed murderer who couldn’t even show his face in society—daring to take center stage.
The princess would flee the moment she learned his true nature.
She’ll regret not choosing me first.
Though seething inside, the prince wore a gentle smile.
Meanwhile, Isabel accepted the bouquet.
“Oh my, how happy I am, Your Grace.”
She tried to speak naturally, but her lips trembled.
Smiling for long was exhausting when one had no practice at all.
“From the moment I first saw you, I fell instantly in love.”
At that, Isabel’s smile vanished.
“Please, marry me.”
“I fell in love at first sight.”
He’s repeating exactly what I said on the ship!
She smiled stiffly and glared.
The grand duke only blinked—otherwise expressionless.
“If you marry me, I promise two things.”
“Promises…?”
He’s copying everything! Isabel squeezed the bouquet.
“I will give whatever bridal price the princess or His Majesty desires.”
No one beamed brighter than the king.
Isabel, however, could not be pleased.
He was mocking the conditions she once declared.
“And second—until your last breath, I will do my utmost. I won’t give you reason to resent me.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Flawless terms.”
Isabel helped him rise, muttering with sarcasm:
“You really like to return every word, don’t you?”
“A man commanding a warship cannot afford to be indecisive.”
“A man in charge of such a great ship is surprisingly indecisive.”
Their barbed smiles matched.
Wow, his personality is awful.
Did I ditch a trash cart only to board a dumpster truck?
Isabel glanced at the prince.
Just for a second, the grand duke’s looks had raised the standard so high she barely registered the prince’s features.
But she could see well enough that he was fuming under a forced smile.
Still, better the grand duke than the prince.
Let’s chalk up that personality to matching his face.
Isabel lifted her chin proudly.
“Please grant your permission, Father.”
“Ah… very well. If you insist.”
The king stroked his white beard and studied the grand duke.
“Karl Baschke, I have cherished my daughter dearly. Treat her more preciously than any jewel.”
“More than Your Majesty cherishes her—rest assured.”
The grand duke answered, staring blatantly at Isabel’s swollen cheek and wrist.
Rude man, the king swallowed a sigh.
The prince’s look was sour, but he didn’t take back his consent.
With Isabel’s temper, she’ll flee back home soon enough.
Or he’ll tire of her and cancel the marriage himself.
A man so flawed—fuss would be easy.
Whatever dowry was meant to be paid could be reclaimed as compensation.
Then Isabel would be useful again.
The king grinned slyly and offered his blessing.
A robed wizard wandered near the Mage Tower.
He was the stuttering Chief Mage—often mocked for it.
Where on earth did he go?
He tapped his long staff on the ground; light flickered, but no trace-reading magic caught anything.
Of course. He’d never leave sloppy tracks.
The mage ran past the city wall toward the beach.
Luckily, the person he sought was standing there, alone.
Red hair in a side braid.
What was it called—changpao? A long slit robe from the eastern continent, over trousers.
From behind, one couldn’t tell if he was man or woman.
“M-Mage Lord! P-Please, you m-must attend the mee…meeting!”
“Why attend a gathering of idiots who’ll reach the same conclusion without me.”
His low voice erased any doubt of gender.
The mage lord stared at something on the shore.
“S-Still, you should b-be present! W-What are you doing h-here?”
“Someone might’ve drowned themselves.”
He jerked his chin to what he’d been staring at.
A pair of shoes Isabel had removed while walking with Snow—but they would never know that.
“It’s just… shoes.”
“I don’t know. They look familiar.”
The mage lord picked them up.
Bracelets clinked along his arms as he moved.
“I like them. Red shoes.”
Chaiman grinned and examined them leisurely.
“A-Aren’t they far t-too small f-for you to wear?”
“I’m not going to wear them.”
“E-Excuse me?”
“Just going to look at them. Quietly.”
“Th-That’s such a s-strange hobby!”
“It’s my most polite one.”
Chaiman flicked the shoes toward the mage without looking.
They smacked him in the face.
“ACK!”
“Put those in my lab, Do-Do. I’ll need them.”
Chaiman curled his red lips and sauntered toward the tower.
“D-Don’t call me that! I hate that n-name!”
“It suits you perfectly.”
“I-I was once b-brave—w-wait! M-Mage Lord, wait for me!”
The mage scrambled after him, clutching the shoes as his robe flapped in the sea breeze.
