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Chapter 3
A Märchen for Villains
“Did you just refer to the Prince of the Neveland Empire as that bastard…?”
“The second thing is this.”
When Snow asked again, rubbing his ear, Isabelle quickly cut him off.
“Arrange a meeting with Grand Duke Bashke. I intend to propose marriage.”
Snow, who’d been ready to scold her for insulting the imperial prince, froze with his mouth hanging open.
Probably the dumbest expression he’d made all year.
“A p–proposal?”
Why was she trying to tie herself to his master of all people?
‘Ah, come to think of it, we did send His Grace’s portrait to some foreign princess looking for a groom…’
To think this princess would be the one.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear the rumors about our Grand Duke—”
“I’m well aware the bride dies on the wedding night.”
Once again, Isabelle cut him off cleanly.
I’m not someone who gets talked over like this… Snow was stunned, but the request itself was even more stunning.
“So since I know exactly what I’m agreeing to, make sure I meet His Grace the moment he arrives.”
“…Understood. Then shall we wait over there for a while?”
Snow pointed toward the magic tower near the pier.
Isabelle shook her head.
For some reason, whenever she tried to go near the tower, her body trembled uncontrollably, and a terrible dread crawled over her skin.
“I’ll walk.”
“The ship won’t dock for at least an hour.”
“A grown man can’t manage that little walk?”
“…Excuse me?”
“With a constitution that frail, how do you juggle seven lovers?”
Tsk-tsk. Isabelle clicked her tongue as she gave him a slow once-over.
Pffft—
Snow burst out laughing so hard tears gathered under his glasses.
“I think you’re misunderstanding something. I’m sturdier than I look, Your Highness.”
He headed toward the beach on the other side of the wall.
“Question is—can you keep up with me?”
“Don’t concern yourself over that.”
The moment they crossed the wall, dried, crumbly sand muffled their footsteps. Isabelle’s heeled shoes sank deep with every step.
Without hesitation, she slipped out of her red heels and set them neatly on the sand.
Then—with no shame—she exposed her long, stockinged feet to the man before her.
“Shall we walk, Sir Snow?”
She offered him her hand.
Perhaps that caught him off guard. Snow blinked, looked from her hand to her feet, then grinned broadly.
He took her offered hand with exaggerated courtesy and placed it lightly atop his forearm.
“Just leave it to me, Princess. I’ll give you the finest escort you’ve ever had.”
⋯
The Grand Duke Bashke’s flagship finally arrived in the Kingdom of Dejar.
With the sinking sun behind it, the ship’s silhouette was magnificent.
Expressionless sailors moved across the deck with crisp precision.
And among them, descending at a relaxed pace, was none other than
Karl Bashke, Grand Duke.
Beneath the short-brimmed military cap, black hair and cold eyes appeared.
Violet irises watched the sailors’ movements with slow, elegant deliberation, and hundreds of men stiffened under that single gaze.
Every disciplined step sent his admiral’s coat fluttering behind him.
His towering height, solid build, spotless uniform—even his shadow—radiated oppressive dominance, proclaiming him master of the sea.
“Where is the Prince?”
One languid question, and a sailor hurried over to whisper a report.
The Grand Duke’s brow twitched ever so slightly.
“A private audience?”
“Yes, sir. A telegram said the kingdom’s sixth princess requests a confidential meeting.”
“Decline it.”
Not even a moment’s hesitation. The sailor faltered.
“Ah—er—apparently Advisor Snow White is already escorting her.”
Oh—there they are now.
Following his gesture, two unusual silhouettes appeared on the beach.
Snow was wearing an enormous woman’s hat to block the sun.
Beside him, Princess Isabelle strolled barefoot, basking in the light.
In her hand she carried a handful of small wildflowers plucked from somewhere.
“What are you picking those for?”
“They might be useful.”
“I’m not the sort of man swayed by flower bouquets.”
“They aren’t for you.”
“Now, now—don’t get shy—oh! Your Grace is here!”
The moment Snow spotted his liege, he sped up.
Isabelle could only cling to his arm as she was practically dragged across the sand.
Damn it, you maniac—where’s that “best escort” you promised?
“Your Grace, welcome!”
Snow bowed politely.
The oversized hat fluttered prettily with the motion.
“…And what, exactly, are you wearing?”
“I borrowed it so my porcelain skin wouldn’t burn, Your Grace.”
“Borrowed from whom?”
“Her Highness. Ah—allow me to introduce her. This is Princess Isabelle de Dejar.”
The owner of the hat, sir.
Isabelle, breathless and grimacing from being hauled at speed, forced out a greeting.
“Hah—huff—pleased… to meet you, Duke.”
She sounded more like a winded beast than a royal princess.
Ugh, can’t even stand properly…
Clutching her aching chest, Isabelle struggled for breath.
“An honor, Princess. Karl Bashke, at your service.”
Any other man might have been flustered by such a graceless greeting, but the Grand Duke did not waver.
His gaze flicked to Isabelle’s bare feet, then returned to Snow, who merely shrugged.
“I hear you requested a private audience.”
“Whew—hah—well—it’s not that it needs to be private—”
She couldn’t continue.
Her weak body couldn’t handle even a brisk walk, let alone the near-run Snow had dragged her into.
“…Are you all right?”
No emotion at all. Cold, flat questioning.
She merely waved a hand in answer.
A beat of silence.
When the setting sun struck Isabelle’s face directly, the Duke jerked his chin at Snow.
Right! Snow removed the hat and settled it properly atop Isabelle’s head.
Recovering, she straightened her back and tilted her chin high—regal and composed, as if nothing had happened.
“Thank you for waiting, Duke.”
Her sudden shift in attitude was apparently amusing—
Snow snorted loudly and clapped a hand over his mouth.
Isabelle shot him a glare.
“Sir Snow’s ardent escort left me quite breathless.”
“My apologies. I will discipline him, Princess.”
“Hold on—why am I getting hit by the arrows here?”
Snow protested, but the Grand Duke ignored him entirely.
“What business brings you to request a private meeting?”
“No need for privacy—the matter is short.”
Isabelle raised her chin and met his eyes.
Up close, she finally understood why her sister Maria had raved about him.
Black hair framing long, sharp eyes—violet irises shining like rare gems.
A proud nose, firm mouth—an almost perfect balance.
“Princess?”
“Oh—sorry.”
She’d lost herself staring at his face.
She cut to the chase.
“Well, my request is simple, Grand Duke Bashke. I would like to—”
“This is not the place.”
He cut her off the instant the word marriage left her tongue.
“I’ll escort you to my quarters.”
Those sharp, reading eyes passed over Isabelle and landed on Snow.
Snow squirmed under the weight of a thousand silent questions.
“Shoes, Snow.”
“…Sir?”
The Duke flicked his gaze toward Isabelle’s bare feet.
“…Right away, Your Grace.”
Snow peeled off his own shoes reluctantly.
“I’m fine. I prefer barefoot.”
“My apologies, Princess.”
The violet eyes swept the area—wall to wall with men.
“As you can see, this place is full of men. Shoes. Now.”
That commanding tone carried the weight of unquestioned authority.
For a moment Isabelle nearly obeyed like a trained dog.
Focus. I’m here to negotiate.
She gathered her skirts to her knees and lifted her foot.
If you want shoes on my feet, you put them there.
She tilted her head and smiled sweetly.
The Grand Duke sighed deeply—how troublesome.
But a princess was still a princess.
Slowly, he knelt.
Even crouched, the size and pressure of him were overwhelming.
Carefully, he slid the shoe onto her foot and tightened the laces so it fit snugly.
Surprisingly gentle hands for such a large man.
“Thank you, Duke.”
She offered him her hand, raising an eyebrow.
And don’t you dare escort me the way your boorish aide did.
Expressionless, he took her hand without comment.
His escort to the commander’s quarters was flawless.
⋯
“No need to serve tea. This won’t take long.”
She spoke as soon as she sat on the sofa.
“I had no intention of serving tea.”
He informed her—seriously—that there was no time for tea on a warship.
Not even the barest hint of polite pretense touched his face.
Wow. What a jerk.
At least he’s handsome. Otherwise there’d be nothing redeeming here.
Well…the body also had potential.
While her thoughts wandered, he addressed her again.
“What is your business?”
“Marriage.”
She said it as casually as if asking for salt.
“…Marriage? With whom?”
“You.”
She pointed straight at him.
And watching a crack appear in that stone-calm face was extremely satisfying.
