Chapter 01

Psyche Clement had an old habit.

Between the depths of night and dawn, she would wake from sleep and begin her day by burning every marriage proposal placed on the table.

Everyone sighed in admiration upon seeing her golden hair fluttering in the wind and her lovely pink eyes, but her life drew sighs for an entirely different reason.

Freshly awakened, Psyche pressed at the space between her brows and scanned the bundle of letters on the table with weary eyes.

[Oh, swan of the Sigar Empire, Miss Psyche Clement! Would you grant me the honor of serving by your side?]

[At Lake Fargo, pink begonias blooming brilliantly—resembling your radiant eyes—have blossomed in abundance. On Saint Peter’s Day, I wish to hold your pale and delicate hand…]

Sleep still clung to her, leaving her hazy. Even so, she examined each sender written on the envelopes one by one.

As expected, none stirred any emotion within her. Every proposal had come from men with terrible reputations.

Psyche let out a small sigh and held the edge of a letter to the candlelight faintly illuminating her bedroom.

The flame began eating away at the neatly cut corner, and the dim flicker gradually grew larger.

A beautiful woman, yet powerless and poor. A woman with no one to protect her. That was Psyche Clement’s story. She was always precarious, occasionally enduring ominous days.

“Miss Psyche.”

At the head maid’s voice knocking on the door, Psyche blew softly. Black ashes scattered over the crude plywood desk.

The letter had long since lost its original form.

Clicking her tongue quietly, she sat leaning against the windowsill.

Pulling back the curtain slightly, a bleak garden touched by autumn came into view.

“Miss Psyche?”

“Come in.”

Hearing the urging voice beyond the door, she answered belatedly and turned her head.

“Good morning.”

“…Yes. Madam asked if you would join her for breakfast.”

Now that most of the servants had left, the head maid was the one who attended her mother most closely.

Entering the bedroom, the head maid seemed to notice the marriage proposals already reduced to black ash. Her expression as she looked at Psyche darkened.

Psyche knew what that expression meant.

Resentment. And disappointment. Perhaps even faint indignation.

The person who placed marriage proposals on her bedside table every dawn was none other than the head maid.

Because only by selling herself under the name of marriage could Psyche finally put an end to their relentless poverty.

Knowing this better than anyone, Psyche forced a smile.

“Understood. Could you tell Mother I’ll come down after I’m ready?”

Preparing herself was her own responsibility.

It always had been. She was a noble in title only; the education noble daughters usually received belonged to a distant world.

She had never even seen a private tutor for etiquette, much less learned accomplishments like harp or piano.

All because of their terrible poverty. Poverty so suffocating that merely breathing felt like a noose tightening around her neck.

“Yes, Miss.”

The head maid bowed skillfully and left after finishing her task.

Psyche and the Baron and Baroness Clement both knew the easiest way to erase their debts. Even the few remaining servants in the estate knew.

They had to sell Psyche in the guise of marriage to someone willing to provide the largest dowry.

That was the only way to repay the mountain of debt burdening the baronial family and maintain their future livelihood.

The aging Baron and Baroness Clement would someday need many servants again.

At present, even paying the wages of the remaining staff was difficult. Despite Psyche’s desperate efforts, the estate finances remained in deficit.

In the end, selling herself was the fastest and easiest way for everyone to become happy.

A peaceful life lay just ahead.

That is… if only Psyche alone sacrificed herself for the sake of many.

“I don’t want to sacrifice myself.”

“Psyche.”

“I’ll be unhappy. Truly miserable, Mother.”

Psyche slowly set down her fork and dabbed her lips with a napkin. Her gesture was excessively elegant for such a modest dining table.

Her father’s insistence that one must never lose pride as a noble, even while life collapsed around them, had settled into habits like this.

“I have no intention of marrying.”

As her unstable daily life sank further, Psyche breathed heavily before yet another crisis.

The Baroness placed an envelope on the table and squeezed her eyes shut. After murmuring a prayer for some time, she opened them again.

The scattered envelopes on the table were marriage proposals not yet delivered to Psyche.

“I’m sorry, Psyche.”

Perhaps from guilt, the Baroness couldn’t even look at her daughter and only sighed repeatedly.

Watching her mother’s blue eyes wander aimlessly, Psyche clenched her fists tightly.

“There must be a way to repay the debt without marriage, Mother.”

She forced the corners of her mouth upward to hide her distorted expression. Yet it only made her look ridiculous.

At least her mother wasn’t looking at her—that felt fortunate.

“I’m sorry, Psyche… But once you marry, you’ll understand. If you have a husband, you’ll have someone dependable on your side…”

“So the proposals you chose—did they come from normal men?”

When Psyche asked calmly, the Baroness sighed deeply.

As Psyche implied, there were no normal suitors.

Every one of them had serious flaws.

A position as second wife to a seventy-year-old man.

A noble from a distant land surrounded by rumors of constantly replacing his wives.

A wealthy man demanding marriage to Psyche in exchange for becoming heir to the barony. If he inherited, the Baron and Baroness could be thrown out of their territory at any time.

None of those options promised anything but misery.

Psyche grabbed one proposal from the table.

“Mother, this man is infamous for having wives who keep dying.”

The Baroness surely hadn’t handed her these proposals out of ignorance.

“…”

“And what about this man? He has three sons, and all of them are older than me.”

“Oh, Psyche. My dear, I only wanted you to…”

“I don’t receive normal proposals. You know that better than anyone.”

There were still several unread proposals left, but she turned away without another glance.

“They’d pay a lot.”

Psyche finally voiced the words she’d held back.

Yet instead of relief, guilt weighed heavier upon her. Her mother’s silence was unbearable.

Unable to endure it, Psyche lifted her head. The Baroness’s lips moved hesitantly.

“Psyche, actually…”

“…”

“I’m truly sorry. But I’m not urging you because of the family debt. You need to build your own family too, my dear.”

“…”

“Your father has become very ill. You need to marry while he’s still holding on. That way you’ll…”

The Baroness forced a faint smile while hiding an expression that seemed ready to collapse.

“…Father is ill?”

“Yes, Psyche. You needn’t worry. It’s not a fatal illness. If he receives proper treatment, he can become healthy again.”

At that moment, Psyche felt as if all the blood in her body surged backward. Her fingertips tingled, and her throat burned.

“…Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Your father insisted we keep it from you. And I agreed. I didn’t want to burden you.”

Baron Clement—Psyche’s father—had tried to cherish her above all else, even while losing everything.

He couldn’t give her extravagant debutante balls or tea parties like other noble daughters. She had to repeatedly wear an outdated party dress inherited from the Baroness Clement.

Yet Psyche’s life endured.

She never resented her circumstances or felt ashamed of owning only one dress.

Because by her side was always a father who taught her gentle love.

“Psyche, my lovely daughter. Father will surely restore the glory of the Clement family and pass it on to you proudly.”

“You are the one and only heir of the Clement family.”

Ah.

Recalling her father’s gentle voice, Psyche let out a trembling sigh.

An indescribable sorrow overwhelmed her. Anger rose at herself for failing to notice her father’s worsening health.

“So… how much is needed for treatment?”

Yet what left her lips was an extremely practical question.

The world had always been like this.

No miracle would save her father, nor would the family debt disappear easily.

The life thrust upon her had to be solved by her own hands.

“They say medicine alone costs 500 francs every month. I’ll somehow manage it. Psyche, you should live your own life now. Build your own family.”

Her mother pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. Psyche suddenly found herself unable to breathe.

“Mother, building a family is…”

That’s only possible for people living normal, ordinary lives.

The only choices I have are to sink here together with you… or selfishly abandon my parents.

Psyche swallowed those words and lowered her head.

Even in this situation, she resented her mother for speaking such unrealistic things.

Her tightly clenched fists had gone pale.

“Ah, Mother… I’m sorry. Let’s find a way to treat Father together. I’ll see if I can increase the amount of embroidery work we supply. It’s easier for two people to endure than one…”

Suppressing the turmoil in her stomach, Psyche trailed off.

An unwelcome guest had arrived in the dining room.

Psyche stared blankly at the head maid who burst through the door, slowly unfurling her fingers before clenching them again. Her rounded nails dug into her palms.

“Madam! Someone has arrived from the Grand Duchy of Haier! A marriage proposal has come for Miss Psyche!”

Chapter 1.

Psyche Clement had an old habit.

Between the depths of night and dawn, she would wake from sleep and begin her day by burning every marriage proposal placed on the table.

Everyone sighed in admiration upon seeing her golden hair fluttering in the wind and her lovely pink eyes, but her life drew sighs for an entirely different reason.

Freshly awakened, Psyche pressed at the space between her brows and scanned the bundle of letters on the table with weary eyes.

[Oh, swan of the Sigar Empire, Miss Psyche Clement! Would you grant me the honor of serving by your side?]

[At Lake Fargo, pink begonias blooming brilliantly—resembling your radiant eyes—have blossomed in abundance. On Saint Peter’s Day, I wish to hold your pale and delicate hand…]

Sleep still clung to her, leaving her hazy. Even so, she examined each sender written on the envelopes one by one.

As expected, none stirred any emotion within her. Every proposal had come from men with terrible reputations.

Psyche let out a small sigh and held the edge of a letter to the candlelight faintly illuminating her bedroom.

The flame began eating away at the neatly cut corner, and the dim flicker gradually grew larger.

A beautiful woman, yet powerless and poor. A woman with no one to protect her. That was Psyche Clement’s story. She was always precarious, occasionally enduring ominous days.

“Miss Psyche.”

At the head maid’s voice knocking on the door, Psyche blew softly. Black ashes scattered over the crude plywood desk.

The letter had long since lost its original form.

Clicking her tongue quietly, she sat leaning against the windowsill.

Pulling back the curtain slightly, a bleak garden touched by autumn came into view.

“Miss Psyche?”

“Come in.”

Hearing the urging voice beyond the door, she answered belatedly and turned her head.

“Good morning.”

“…Yes. Madam asked if you would join her for breakfast.”

Now that most of the servants had left, the head maid was the one who attended her mother most closely.

Entering the bedroom, the head maid seemed to notice the marriage proposals already reduced to black ash. Her expression as she looked at Psyche darkened.

Psyche knew what that expression meant.

Resentment. And disappointment. Perhaps even faint indignation.

The person who placed marriage proposals on her bedside table every dawn was none other than the head maid.

Because only by selling herself under the name of marriage could Psyche finally put an end to their relentless poverty.

Knowing this better than anyone, Psyche forced a smile.

“Understood. Could you tell Mother I’ll come down after I’m ready?”

Preparing herself was her own responsibility.

It always had been. She was a noble in title only; the education noble daughters usually received belonged to a distant world.

She had never even seen a private tutor for etiquette, much less learned accomplishments like harp or piano.

All because of their terrible poverty. Poverty so suffocating that merely breathing felt like a noose tightening around her neck.

“Yes, Miss.”

The head maid bowed skillfully and left after finishing her task.

Psyche and the Baron and Baroness Clement both knew the easiest way to erase their debts. Even the few remaining servants in the estate knew.

They had to sell Psyche in the guise of marriage to someone willing to provide the largest dowry.

That was the only way to repay the mountain of debt burdening the baronial family and maintain their future livelihood.

The aging Baron and Baroness Clement would someday need many servants again.

At present, even paying the wages of the remaining staff was difficult. Despite Psyche’s desperate efforts, the estate finances remained in deficit.

In the end, selling herself was the fastest and easiest way for everyone to become happy.

A peaceful life lay just ahead.

That is… if only Psyche alone sacrificed herself for the sake of many.

“I don’t want to sacrifice myself.”

“Psyche.”

“I’ll be unhappy. Truly miserable, Mother.”

Psyche slowly set down her fork and dabbed her lips with a napkin. Her gesture was excessively elegant for such a modest dining table.

Her father’s insistence that one must never lose pride as a noble, even while life collapsed around them, had settled into habits like this.

“I have no intention of marrying.”

As her unstable daily life sank further, Psyche breathed heavily before yet another crisis.

The Baroness placed an envelope on the table and squeezed her eyes shut. After murmuring a prayer for some time, she opened them again.

The scattered envelopes on the table were marriage proposals not yet delivered to Psyche.

“I’m sorry, Psyche.”

Perhaps from guilt, the Baroness couldn’t even look at her daughter and only sighed repeatedly.

Watching her mother’s blue eyes wander aimlessly, Psyche clenched her fists tightly.

“There must be a way to repay the debt without marriage, Mother.”

She forced the corners of her mouth upward to hide her distorted expression. Yet it only made her look ridiculous.

At least her mother wasn’t looking at her—that felt fortunate.

“I’m sorry, Psyche… But once you marry, you’ll understand. If you have a husband, you’ll have someone dependable on your side…”

“So the proposals you chose—did they come from normal men?”

When Psyche asked calmly, the Baroness sighed deeply.

As Psyche implied, there were no normal suitors.

Every one of them had serious flaws.

A position as second wife to a seventy-year-old man.

A noble from a distant land surrounded by rumors of constantly replacing his wives.

A wealthy man demanding marriage to Psyche in exchange for becoming heir to the barony. If he inherited, the Baron and Baroness could be thrown out of their territory at any time.

None of those options promised anything but misery.

Psyche grabbed one proposal from the table.

“Mother, this man is infamous for having wives who keep dying.”

The Baroness surely hadn’t handed her these proposals out of ignorance.

“…”

“And what about this man? He has three sons, and all of them are older than me.”

“Oh, Psyche. My dear, I only wanted you to…”

“I don’t receive normal proposals. You know that better than anyone.”

There were still several unread proposals left, but she turned away without another glance.

“They’d pay a lot.”

Psyche finally voiced the words she’d held back.

Yet instead of relief, guilt weighed heavier upon her. Her mother’s silence was unbearable.

Unable to endure it, Psyche lifted her head. The Baroness’s lips moved hesitantly.

“Psyche, actually…”

“…”

“I’m truly sorry. But I’m not urging you because of the family debt. You need to build your own family too, my dear.”

“…”

“Your father has become very ill. You need to marry while he’s still holding on. That way you’ll…”

The Baroness forced a faint smile while hiding an expression that seemed ready to collapse.

“…Father is ill?”

“Yes, Psyche. You needn’t worry. It’s not a fatal illness. If he receives proper treatment, he can become healthy again.”

At that moment, Psyche felt as if all the blood in her body surged backward. Her fingertips tingled, and her throat burned.

“…Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Your father insisted we keep it from you. And I agreed. I didn’t want to burden you.”

Baron Clement—Psyche’s father—had tried to cherish her above all else, even while losing everything.

He couldn’t give her extravagant debutante balls or tea parties like other noble daughters. She had to repeatedly wear an outdated party dress inherited from the Baroness Clement.

Yet Psyche’s life endured.

She never resented her circumstances or felt ashamed of owning only one dress.

Because by her side was always a father who taught her gentle love.

“Psyche, my lovely daughter. Father will surely restore the glory of the Clement family and pass it on to you proudly.”

“You are the one and only heir of the Clement family.”

Ah.

Recalling her father’s gentle voice, Psyche let out a trembling sigh.

An indescribable sorrow overwhelmed her. Anger rose at herself for failing to notice her father’s worsening health.

“So… how much is needed for treatment?”

Yet what left her lips was an extremely practical question.

The world had always been like this.

No miracle would save her father, nor would the family debt disappear easily.

The life thrust upon her had to be solved by her own hands.

“They say medicine alone costs 500 francs every month. I’ll somehow manage it. Psyche, you should live your own life now. Build your own family.”

Her mother pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. Psyche suddenly found herself unable to breathe.

“Mother, building a family is…”

That’s only possible for people living normal, ordinary lives.

The only choices I have are to sink here together with you… or selfishly abandon my parents.

Psyche swallowed those words and lowered her head.

Even in this situation, she resented her mother for speaking such unrealistic things.

Her tightly clenched fists had gone pale.

“Ah, Mother… I’m sorry. Let’s find a way to treat Father together. I’ll see if I can increase the amount of embroidery work we supply. It’s easier for two people to endure than one…”

Suppressing the turmoil in her stomach, Psyche trailed off.

An unwelcome guest had arrived in the dining room.

Psyche stared blankly at the head maid who burst through the door, slowly unfurling her fingers before clenching them again. Her rounded nails dug into her palms.

“Madam! Someone has arrived from the Grand Duchy of Haier! A marriage proposal has come for Miss Psyche!”