TPB 15

Chapter: 15

“I’m still against this method.”

“Charlotte, I tell you every time—this isn’t a sacrifice.”

“I don’t want to wear a crown by dragging your reputation through the mud.”

“I am Ian David Martin Astiers. What does my reputation matter?”

It was astounding confidence—deeply irritating, yet strangely convincing. Charlotte hesitated, momentarily at a loss for words.

“…Choosing your marriage partner like this is absurd.”

“I was going to enter a political marriage with a woman I barely know anyway. I don’t see the difference.”

“You don’t see the difference?”

Standing by the window and glaring at the innocent scenery, Charlotte finally turned to look at her younger brother.

At the same moment, Ian, who had been lounging lazily on the long sofa, lifted his eyelids. Two identical faces locked eyes.

“……”

“……”

The tense standoff was broken by a perfectly timed interruption.

“Your Highness, today’s schedule—”

Marcus entered the room.

“My apologies, Princess. I’ll come back later.”

Unaware of Charlotte’s visit, Marcus had entered Ian’s office at his usual time and immediately began backing away.

“Perfect timing, Marcus. You can come in.”

The prince’s unusually warm voice stopped him.

Marcus instinctively glanced at Charlotte. The princess was glaring sharply at the prince, clearly displeased.

“Thank you for your hard work. Go ahead and report.”

Ian slowly sat up and smiled brightly at Marcus. Charlotte, who had been shooting daggers at him, turned back toward the window.

In the uncomfortable air, Marcus forced a professional smile and began delivering the day’s schedule. Despite having welcomed him, Ian quickly grew bored—nothing differed from his usual routine.

“Oh, and Your Highness. This is the investigation you requested on David.”

After finishing the report, Marcus handed Ian a file.

Strangely, there was no reaction. Wondering if Ian had forgotten the name “David,” Marcus kindly clarified.

“David is a pen name—Miss Natalie Dawes, daughter of Baron Warfield.”

Charlotte, who had been staring out the window, reacted to the familiar name. She slowly approached the table.

Well-trained as ever, Marcus summarized the findings.

“After being acquitted, she returned to Warfield and appears to have stayed inside the estate ever since. Other than her younger sister, Miss Dorothy Dawes, debuting in society last year, there’s nothing notable. That Dorothy seems to have received no invitations this year either and will remain in Warfield.”

He continued.

“Her name still occasionally comes up as gossip in social circles, but there have been no proper articles about her since the trial. About eight sensational pieces were published by very minor tabloids, but none had any factual basis. There’s been no mention of her at all in the past six months.”

The report ended, but Ian showed no reaction—he merely listened.

“…Shall I dig deeper?”

Marcus grew uneasy at Ian’s silence.

“……”

Ian remained expressionless, his thoughts unreadable.

Charlotte, who had been watching him with interest, opened the file herself instead.

“Did I order an investigation into her?”

Ian finally spoke.

“You told me to look into it yesterday—”

“I didn’t.”

Ian lifted his head and stared at Marcus. The look in his eyes—seriously considering whether to have him dismissed—was one Marcus hadn’t seen in a long time.

As Marcus scrambled to find the right words—

“How pitiful.”

Charlotte, perched on the armrest of the sofa and flipping through the pages, muttered.

“It’s been years, so I don’t remember all the details, but what she did wasn’t even illegal, was it? She just offended a bunch of elderly nobles, if I recall.”

Ian’s gaze shifted from Marcus to Charlotte.

My goodness. Thank you, Princess.

Marcus silently poured out gratitude to her for drawing the prince’s attention away.

“They were already looking for an excuse, so her identity being revealed was only a matter of time—but you can’t say the royal family had nothing to do with it.”

Charlotte smirked, her tone subtly accusatory. Ian’s eyes narrowed.

“And poor Dorothy. A young lady in her prime, unable to receive a single invitation. That must feel like hell, day after day.”

“Charlotte. What are you getting at?”

Charlotte wasn’t particularly compassionate—but she was especially indulgent toward young girls. She turned to the still-silent Marcus.

“Marcus. Send an invitation to the Warfield family.”

“To the royal ball you’re hosting, Your Highness?”

“Yes. I feel like showing a bit of mercy for once.”

“But Baron Warfield’s family doesn’t meet the bride selection criteria set by His Highness. They have no outstanding debts, the baron is still alive, and there’s a son—no succession issues either.”

“Who said they’re being invited as bride candidates? It’s not as if only those damned candidates are attending. Inviting one or two more won’t hurt.”

The true purpose of the royal ball Princess Charlotte was hosting was none other than finding a ‘problematic bride.’

Charlotte raised an eyebrow at Ian, as if asking whether it was acceptable.

“Do whatever you want.”

As she said, inviting one extra young lady wouldn’t disrupt his plan.

Still, the woman who kept resurfacing when he least expected it bothered him in a strange way.

***

“I’ll kill you if you act like you know me.”

Faced with Dorothy’s terrifying threat from the seat across from her, Natalie quietly turned her head toward the train window.

“What dreadful language! Mind yourself, Dorothy. Think of how hard-won this opportunity is.”

Baroness Warfield glanced around nervously, afraid someone might overhear, and scolded Dorothy in a trembling voice. Her youngest daughter’s increasingly harsh speech shocked her anew each day.

Only then did Dorothy stop glaring at Natalie. Freed from the burning stare, Natalie was finally able to take in the scenery outside. Sparse young grass dotted the barren landscape rushing past the window.

Clatter, clatter.

The train rocked violently, the noise relentless, making her dizzy. Riding a train for the first time in three years, she found the experience just as awful as ever.

But the problem wasn’t the train.

What kind of disaster is this?

Natalie still couldn’t believe she was heading to Duane—voluntarily crawling back into that nightmarish place.

Just yesterday morning, a luxurious, gold-embossed letter had arrived for Natalie and Dorothy: an invitation to a royal ball. Princess Charlotte, newly returned from a year-long tour, was hosting her first ball.

Had the princess mistakenly sent the invitations, unfamiliar with hosting her first event? It was a reasonable suspicion.

Natalie wasn’t the only one troubled. Baron Warfield and his wife disliked the idea of Natalie returning to society. They had already suffered enough from scandal and ridicule and wanted no new gossip.

Yet declining a royal invitation was unthinkable—and it was already too late even to send regrets.

The ball was only a week away. For some reason, the invitation had arrived unusually late.

Even if they managed to secure train tickets immediately, there was barely enough time to commission new dresses. And lodging was another issue entirely.

Beyond the expense, finding a suitable estate to rent was impossible, and with the social season in full swing, even decent hotels would be fully booked. Any remaining accommodations would be far beyond what a modest country noble could afford.

Realistically, going to Duane seemed reckless.

And yet, for Dorothy, this was everything.

Upon receiving Princess Charlotte’s invitation, Dorothy—who had acted as though she’d given up on life since the last social season—smiled brightly for the first time. No one had the heart to disappoint her.

Determined to send his youngest daughter to Duane, the baron had servants procure three train tickets: one for Dorothy, and two for Natalie and the baroness.

Since there was no one else to chaperone the girls in Duane, the baroness made a difficult decision as well. With her husband having inherited the title by chance due to the former baron’s lack of sons—and possessing no experience with balls—it was better that she go herself.

When the couple prepared to swallow their pride and knock on a neighbor’s door for funds, Natalie offered the money she had set aside to add to Dorothy’s dowry.

Dorothy wasn’t grateful. She merely responded that since Natalie had ruined her life, this much was only fair.

Thus, scraping together what little they had, the three women boarded the first train bound for Duane.

If one ignored the sisters’ hostility and the awkwardness between mother and daughters, the journey went suspiciously smoothly.

As if suppressing her anxiety, Natalie closed her eyes out of habit.

The problem, as always, was herself.

“I should have done nothing.”

Natalie carried Bianca’s words—spoken the day her identity as David was exposed—etched into her heart every second of every day.

Do nothing. Live as if dead.

That was why she didn’t even want to look in Duane’s direction. She couldn’t understand how someone implicitly banned from society had been invited to a princess’s ball.

Get a grip, Natalie. Just don’t catch anyone’s eye.

She steadied herself again and again.

Please let the nobles of Duane have forgotten the names Warfield and Dawes.

Clatter, clatter.
The train shook endlessly, refusing to let her sleep.