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Chapter: 13
“Was the diplomatic tour comfortable somehow…? You look even more… somehow.”
The man hesitated for a moment, then walked toward the sofa, muttering to himself in astonishment the whole way.
“This is really incredible… You ought to bow every single day to Her Majesty the Queen. I’ve said this several times already, but there will never again be anyone who can rival her beauty. Well—except for you and Princess Charlotte, of course. I mean, the three of you look practically identical.”
“You’re still as talkative as ever. Sit.”
“No, but seriously—did you really go on a tour?”
The man was simply stunned. Even with dozens of attendants, a diplomatic tour that required traveling by ship for months was brutal. Yet somehow, the prince standing before him looked more radiant than he had a year ago.
“Quiet.”
“How cold as ever! Well, your prickliness is part of your charm. In any case, it’s been a long time. Ah—greetings to His Highness Prince Ian of Baldemar, Duke of Baldemar. Congratulations on your safe return.”
There was so much wrong with his etiquette that it was hard to know where to begin—addressing royalty with manners and order completely in shambles.
“One day, if the Horace family loses its ducal title, it’ll be because of your insolence.”
“By the way, I won’t be going to White Tail anymore. The water’s gotten far too muddy.”
Seated elegantly with his legs crossed on the silk sofa, Duke Horace—Aster Horace—smoothly changed the subject, pretending not to hear Ian’s icy warning.
It was a liberty only he could take, as the prince’s longtime friend and the head of the Horace family, whose lineage was as old as the Grand Baten royal house itself.
“It’s pointless. Dwan is noisy and chaotic no matter where you go.”
“It’s a city you’re meant to rule—at least try to love it. Love takes effort too. My successful marriage is a fine example.”
As Aster reminisced about his marriage, he poured whiskey generously into an ornate crystal glass.
“I truly love my wife—my duchess.”
He did call it love, but his feelings for his wife were closer to camaraderie forged through shared duty. After fulfilling their noble obligation of producing an heir, the ducal couple each kept lovers of their own. It was an open secret.
“Hm. Well.”
“…?”
He’d made the remark casually, but Ian’s reaction was oddly subtle. Aster, who had been about to raise his glass, set it back down. Though somewhat talkative for a high-ranking noble, he was quick-witted.
“You… what’s with that meaningful reaction? That thing you said you’d tell me when the time came—are you ready now?”
Though they were alone in the room, Aster instinctively lowered his voice. Ian answered only with a faint smile.
“Good heavens. Of course—you wouldn’t have summoned me out of boredom. I’m ready anytime, so tell me now. You know how curious I’ve been.”
“I plan to marry during this social season.”
At the crisp reply, Aster couldn’t hide his disappointment.
“…That’s it? After three years of preparation, it’s just marriage? I mean, you are overdue, but still.”
“That’s why I’m doing it.”
“How anticlimactic… So who’s the lucky princess? From which country?”
“I have to find her now. I’d like the duchess’s help. That’s why I called you today.”
Aster blinked several times. He couldn’t immediately process Ian’s words.
“Ian, it’s true my duchess is called the queen of Dwan’s social scene, but her connections only extend within Grand Baten, don’t they…?”
“Exactly. That’s why I need Catherine’s help.”
“Wait—Ian.”
They were clearly speaking the same language, yet nothing made sense. The conversation felt completely off track.
“I’m not following you. Could you explain step by step? How is Catherine supposed to find your bride? She’s impressive, yes, but she isn’t acquainted with foreign princesses.”
“I’m going to marry a lady of Grand Baten.”
“…What? But—that’s not allowed, is it?”
At Aster’s dumbfounded response, Ian smiled brightly. Seeing that deeply satisfied smile, Aster lost even more of his ability to speak, his lips merely twitching.
“Are you saying you’ll enter a mismatched marriage? You do know what that means, right?”
“A half-marriage between unequal ranks. An abnormal union that carries disadvantages in inheritance.”
It went against the old and strict convention that nobles must marry nobles, royalty must marry royalty.
The prince answered without hesitation.
“No—Ian. I wasn’t asking for… for a definition….”
Already sensing his stubborn resolve, Aster shook his head slightly, as if denying reality.
“You’re taking the House of Nobles far too lightly. You could lose your claim to succession like your brother—”
“You said it yourself. That among us, Charlotte is the most suited to be monarch. I respect your judgment.”
Aster slowly frowned. He distinctly remembered saying that when they were young.
“…So that’s why Charlotte joined the diplomatic tour—to solidify her position.”
Roughly rubbing his face, Aster stared grimly into the air.
After a long pause, he spoke again.
“To begin with, it’s doubtful whether the Grand Baten Church would even recognize a marriage between a prince and a mere noble lady… And things are different now than in Edward’s time. The House of Nobles won’t easily give up the last remaining prince.”
Last year, when Eris won her annulment lawsuit after two years, public opinion swung in favor of Edward and Eris’s love.
The House of Nobles and the royal family stepped back, and the two were able to marry.
The crown prince’s seat had remained vacant for over three years.
“Yes. So I’ll have to make an even crazier choice than Edward. One so extreme that they won’t be able to overlook it just because I’m a prince.”
“…You don’t have to. Can’t you not do that?”
“That’s why, Duke, I want my bride to be as problematic as possible. Not the best of the season—but the worst.”
“Ah….”
“You also hold a seat in the House of Nobles, so you’ll be useful. I need a lady who would make you say, ‘If you marry that woman, you must forfeit all the rights you enjoy as a prince of Grand Baten.’”
“Hah….”
Aster groaned repeatedly. The marriage criteria of Prince Ian—known as the most perfect of princes—were truly revolutionary.
“And after one year, I’ll divorce her.”
“Kyaa—!”
Aster finally screamed, like someone who had just heard something truly horrifying.
‘Divorce is a sin.’
In a world where one is born into the Church and dies with it, doctrine is another form of law.
The reason the House of Nobles opposed the divorced former Princess of Hinesnover for so long was rooted more in religion than diplomacy.
The head of the Grand Baten Church is the king himself. A history of divorce is unacceptable for him.
“Aster, I’m going to become a divorced man.”
“You—you! You’re insane! Completely insane!”
“I like that reaction very much.”
Ian laughed with visible delight as he watched Aster jump in agitation.
“You’re really just trying to find a woman who’s easy to divorce, aren’t you…?”
“If you have questions, send them to Malik House. Don’t come in person. You’re too noisy.”
Before Aster could regain his senses, Ian placed a letter detailing the bride requirements onto the table. Then he rose lightly, as though his business was finished.
Aster stared at Ian’s back, his face pale.
“Oh—and watch your tongue.”
“Oh, Ian. Why on earth do you hate the idea of becoming king? Being king is great. Let’s not make this complicated. Just a moment—”
“That beard doesn’t suit you.”
Ian said it without even turning around.
Having become a duke at a young age, Aster had grown a mustache to cultivate an air of authority. He covered his mouth with a slightly wounded expression.
Regardless, Ian’s steps as he passed through the private room’s exclusive door were lighter than usual.
Aster was sharp enough to know where he should place his loyalties by now. Having abused his power to dump the most troublesome task—finding a bride—onto Aster, Ian felt uncharacteristically pleased.
Behind him, Aster’s scream echoed like a lament:
“What the hell is wrong with you siblings?! Why are you all so determined to ruin your blessed lives with your own hands?!”
“Your Highness, shall we go to Malik House?”
Marcus Feeble, following Ian, asked.
Ian slowed at that moment. Through the corridor window leading from the private room, an unexpected figure came into view.
‘Lieutenant Roger Heaton.’
Though his somewhat frivolous demeanor made Aster seem like a casual gentleman at first glance, he was, as befitted a high noble, arrogant and conservative to the core. It seemed the “dog or cow” he’d referred to earlier had been Roger Heaton.
Ian finally came to a stop without realizing it. Seeing Roger Heaton naturally brought certain things to mind.
An apricot-colored envelope. Handwriting like a general’s.
A newsboy cap and suspenders.
A pale face, chestnut-brown eyes and hair with an exotic air.
Despite her flamboyant record of escapades, the shocking sight of her trembling in fear, crying and sniffling—yet still relentlessly needling the prosecutor.
For someone he hadn’t thought of in ages, everything was astonishingly vivid. Clear enough to surprise even himself, as though he’d never forgotten her at all.
That woman’s name was—
“Your Highness?”
“…Natalie Douse.”
“Yes…?”
For once, Marcus responded foolishly.
He couldn’t even begin to guess why the prince would suddenly bring up a name he hadn’t mentioned once in three years—one that had circulated only back then—and at this exact moment.
While Marcus struggled to keep up with his lord’s train of thought, Ian began moving again.
“What became of her after she was acquitted….”
He murmured to himself.
“I—I’m not sure either. I’ll look into it.”
Tilting his head, Marcus hurried after Ian, who had already pulled ahead. Strangely, there was no response.
Ian hadn’t been hearing Marcus at all for some time now, but the aide never imagined that the prince could be so lost in thought that he wouldn’t hear him.
It was Marcus Feeble’s first mistake.
