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Chapter : 7
A Fairy Tale for the Villain
At that time, the prince who had returned to the imperial palace lay on his bed, lost in thought.
The lips that smiled kindly at everyone were now stiff as he chewed the stem of his pipe.
“Isabelle Desar.”
He murmured her name quietly.
To think she dared humiliate me and choose Karl Baschke instead.
The prince had hated the duke since childhood. Hadn’t that bastard always stolen the attention that should have been his?
Even his own mother, Empress Gwendolyn, paid more heed to Karl than to him.
The very fact that loyal followers still trailed after Baschke—even after he was cursed and reduced to wandering the seas on a ship—made the prince’s blood boil.
“What’s troubling you so deeply?”
A woman, draped only in a thin robe and sitting astride his body, tilted her head.
Her name was Flute.
A bastard daughter of Viscount Hamel, gifted at controlling small animals with her flute and quick on her feet.
Thanks to that talent, she became the prince’s informant—and his openly kept mistress.
“Don’t ask pointless questions, Flute.”
“But you’re not in the mood. You keep drifting off.”
“Then get off.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the prince shoved her aside and rang the bell.
A servant cautiously stepped inside.
“I told you today I wanted a blonde.”
“L–Lady Flute said that—”
The servant reddened as he flicked a glance at Flute.
Her original hair color was light brown, but she had dyed it blonde.
“I meant a woman who is naturally blonde, you idiot.”
How dare they mock me with a fake.
The prince pointed his pipe stem at Flute, displeased. She bowed her head pitifully.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I dyed my hair only because I knew you wanted a blonde.”
“You’re not the one I wanted.”
As if the disaster on the ship wasn’t enough to sour his mood.
The prince swept a hand through his hair.
“Where is my brother?”
“The crown prince has yet to awaken since the incident, Your Highness.”
The prince had hosted a cruise party and invited his younger brother, the crown prince.
I even bribed pirates to take him.
But the Baschke navy had rescued him safely.
Then a tidal wave hit, and I nearly died instead.
Perhaps it was fortunate that the crown prince was still comatose from the poison used at the party. Damn it.
That Baschke bastard must have figured out my plan and interfered.
Karl Baschke’s ship had arrived suspiciously early on the shores of Desar, where the prince had gone missing. But he had no proof—only suspicion.
“I’ll go check on my brother.”
Maybe that would settle this filthy mood.
The brother that damn Baschke had so skillfully saved.
Grinning, the prince buttoned the fresh shirt the servant handed him.
“Flute.”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Investigate Princess Isabelle Desar. Completely.”
“P–Princess…?”
So the princess was blonde. The pitiful look vanished from Flute’s eyes, replaced by sharpness.
The prince took women easily enough, but it was rare that he asked for information.
Just what sort of woman had caught his attention so thoroughly?
“You’re interested in her?”
“Yes. She should have been mine.”
“But?”
“Karl Baschke got to her first.”
Not that it’s a bad thing. Isn’t it more fun to take back what was stolen?
Ten days after signing the marriage contract.
Snow approached the grand duke, whispering while the duke trained his sailors aboard the warship.
“Still holed up in the tower today?”
“Yes, she hasn’t left her room at all.”
The princess, who had boldly declared she would spend money wildly, refused to go outside.
She even ate her meals in her room.
“Is she unwell?”
It would be a problem if she died before the wedding.
The duke frowned.
“The servants say she eats all her meals and snacks well. Her spirits are fine.”
“No particular issues?”
“She claims she sees things sometimes.”
“Sees things?”
“That a red–haired water ghost appears.”
“A water ghost, huh.”
“Would it be best if you visited her, Your Grace?”
“We just need her alive until the wedding. That’s all.”
The duke turned his attention back to the soldiers training on deck.
A woman destined to die on the wedding night, three months later.
Whether she saw ghosts or not—it had nothing to do with him.
Showing concern would only be a loss.
But Duke Karl Baschke would later realize how terribly mistaken he was.
A future awaited him where he would be dancing back and forth at Isabelle’s every whim like an obedient dog.
“Your Highness, you’re not going out again today?”
Badel tidied Isabelle’s hair as she lazed on the bed.
“I know. I thought I’d go spend the duke’s money like crazy, but I just don’t feel like going out.”
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“I’m too comfortable, and it bothers me.”
After that cryptic remark, Isabelle sat up.
A plate clinked on the blanket, and Badel quickly whisked it away.
Traces of room-service meals eaten on the bed.
“Wow, the view is amazing.”
Even a penthouse overlooking the Han River wouldn’t beat this.
Beyond the grand windows lay the mansion’s gardens, and the ocean beyond.
One small drawback to the perfect view:
“She’s staring this way again.”
The mermaid peeked toward the duke’s estate every so often.
How did she follow me all the way from the kingdom’s sea?
She must think the prince is here.
What does she see in that shameless man, to follow so desperately?
The mermaid looked gloomier than ever.
“Princess, are you seeing that red-haired water ghost again?”
“She’s a mermaid, Badel.”
“There’s no such thing as mermaids in real life, Your Highness.”
What do we do with our poor princess… Badel sighed as he continued brushing.
This is literally the fairy tale world.
Isabelle couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud and massaged her scalp.
“Badel, you’ll pull all my hair out at that rate.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
“You’re good at everything except touching my hair.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Feeling bad for snapping at her only ally, Isabelle flashed a smile.
But Badel flinched more, lowering her head further.
Fifteen days at the ducal residence.
Guess I was more worn out than I realized.
Isabelle lay sprawled on the bed again.
How long had it been since she last went outside? She tried counting on her fingers, then gave up.
She’d thought knowing the time of her death would make her live life to the fullest.
Who knew I’d turn into a sloth instead.
Not that she was doing absolutely nothing.
“Princess, the masseuse has arrived.”
“Let them in.”
“And the novel you were reading?”
“This one’s decent, Badel. Bring me the next volume too.”
The plot was nonsense, but the steamy development was delightful.
Isabelle handed the book over and flipped onto her stomach.
The masseuse’s hands began kneading melted warmth into her body, floral oil scents drifting lazily around the room.
Why live diligently when you’re doomed to die soon?
She’d heard the ticking only once the last time she regressed.
Probably a sign that this life is the last.
So next time, she’d head to the afterlife.
After dying so many times, Isabelle had come to believe in it.
Heaven or hell—whichever it was, who cared?
This is heaven already.
She closed her eyes in bliss.
“How is the pressure, Your Highness?”
“Perfect. Keep going.”
“You were so slender when we first met, but you’ve filled out nicely.”
Fair enough—she had put on weight.
Eating and lying around all day would do that.
Isabelle shot the masseuse a wary glance.
Perhaps her naturally sharp expression was to blame.
The masseuse blanched.
“I—I meant it suits you, Your Highness!”
Your waist is still tiny, but everywhere else is fuller—have mercy! Sob!
She suddenly threw herself face-down on the floor, begging for her life.
Um, hello? You’re supposed to be massaging me—not kneeling on the floor with those precious hands.
Isabelle opened her mouth to tell her to get up—
“Your Highness, the duke has arrived.”
Wow. What timing.
Her upper body was completely bare, lower half covered only by a blanket.
She scanned for her clothes—none in sight.
“Where are my clothes?”
She glared down at the trembling masseuse.
“I—I spilled oil on them earlier and—sent them to the laundry…”
She confessed through shaking teeth.
She’d meant to dry the clothes secretly and fetch a new set, but fate had other ideas.
“P–please kill me, sob!”
As the woman burst into tears, the door opened.
The grand duke entered, Snow right behind.
Isabelle yanked the blanket up over her chest.
“Your Highness, are you al—!”
Perfectly well, I see.
Snow cleared his throat, squinting before turning sharply away.
His ears burned red.
The attendants mimicked him, turning and squeezing their eyes shut.
Only Karl Baschke continued walking forward unfazed.
Excuse me? The woman you’re marrying is NAKED and you just march over without hesitation!?
Isabelle clutched the blanket tighter.
