TPB 7

Chapter:  7

After Charlotte left the sitting room, leaving behind the words “I’m disappointed” for Edward, a long silence settled between Edward and Ian.

At last, Ian rose slowly.

“I’ll go check on Charlotte.”

“I’m sorry.”

At the weak voice behind him, Ian turned around. Edward had his face buried in one hand, looking weighed down by guilt.

The succession laws of Grand Batten followed strict rules: direct lineage first, male preference above all.

Because of that, Ian ranked higher in the line of succession than his elder sister, Charlotte. If Edward were to relinquish his claim to the throne, Ian would become Crown Prince.

Is he apologizing for pushing the crown onto me… or for disappointing Charlotte?

Probably both—but Ian hoped it wasn’t the latter.

“I’m most sorry to you,” Edward said. “I know it’s a selfish decision. But—”

“I know.”

Ian cut him off. He had no desire to hear his brother struggle for words.

“I know.”

“……”

Ian knew about Edward’s long-held love.

Eris was a princess of a ducal house—technically from a cadet branch, but dearly favored by the Queen Dowager. She had grown up in Malik House alongside the royal siblings. Gentle, yet stubbornly competitive, she had been the kind of girl people naturally followed. Ian, two years her junior, had adored her.

Because Eris was Edward’s cousin and the same age, she alone possessed the special privilege of smacking the Crown Prince upside the head.

The two clashed constantly, so most people remembered them as having a terrible relationship. But perceptive Ian had always known the truth: they were each other’s first love—and that love had never once cooled.

Yet, as the saying goes, first love rarely comes true. Eris followed the fate of most princesses and was married off to another country, becoming the Duchess Consort of the Duchy of Hainsnover.

The problem was that her husband, Heinrich III, was a complete bastard.

It took less than five years for the once-strong Eris to break.

Edward had watched helplessly, shedding tears of blood and drowning in regret. Now that she had returned in disgrace after such a long detour, he clearly had no intention of letting go of his first love again.

There’s no way Charlotte doesn’t know all this.

Ian thought as he cut through the cool night air.

Then why did she get angry first?

All three siblings of the Asteus royal family loved Eris. Charlotte had shared a particularly deep friendship with her and had been more outraged than anyone when she learned what Eris had suffered.

Charlotte’s reaction felt… off.

“Charlotte.”

It wasn’t hard to find her tucked away in a corner of the garden. Whenever she was angry, she came to this place—her private garden with the old swing, even in the dead of night.

“What about Edward?”

Sitting on the swing, Charlotte asked while rhythmically swinging her legs.

“Saying you were disappointed was too harsh. You know how obsessed Edward is with duty.”

“Don’t we matter at all?”

“Sister.”

“…I know. I know. I was being cruel on purpose. And don’t call me that.”

Despite her sharp words earlier, her voice now lacked strength—clearly regret had set in.

The two sat side by side on the swing, silently gazing up at the night sky.

Though he hadn’t shown it in front of Edward, Ian felt as though he were slowly sinking into a swamp.

The throne.

Nothing had been decided yet, but just imagining it made his chest feel unbearably tight.

After some time, Charlotte spoke again.

“Brother has more responsibility than anyone. It must’ve felt like carving out his own flesh. I know how much Edward loved Eris—and how much he regretted letting her go. I know how devastated he was when he learned that mad bastard was abusing her. I nearly lost my mind back then too.”

“……”

“But still—how could he give it up so easily?”

“For Edward, it was never an easy choice.”

“I know. But even so… if it were me—if it were me, I wouldn’t have chosen that. If it came to that, I’d rather—”

Charlotte clenched the ropes of the swing, swallowing the words that nearly burst out. She fell silent, lost in thought, then spoke again much later.

“If Edward really marries Eris.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll become King of Grand Batten, and I’ll become someone’s queen… or a prince’s wife.”

“…Probably.”

“Then, Ian.”

Charlotte, who had been murmuring as if under a spell, suddenly stopped. Ian instinctively turned toward her.

At that moment, a cool breeze slipped between the siblings.

“Sometimes, I dream of making a different choice.”

The unusually clear white moon, the quiet garden, her long golden hair fluttering in the wind—her face, so much like his own, came slowly into focus.

“It may sound strange, but I envy you and Edward.”

Darkness clouded Charlotte’s eyes. Perhaps because of that, Ian couldn’t read her expression.

Charlotte was Ian’s mirror—inside and out, the person most like him in the world. He had always believed he understood her better than anyone.

But right now, she wore a face he didn’t know.

Ian felt as though he were dreaming.

“I’m sorry. Forget it. You’re probably the most unsettled right now, and here I am clinging to you and whining like a child.”

As if proving it had all been a dream, Charlotte smiled the way she always did.

“I should apologize when we go back inside.”

Perhaps the one who had been hiding their feelings wasn’t Edward—but Charlotte.

✦ ✦ ✦

If Grand Batten had become the center of politics and economics, then culture still belonged to Fossa, its neighboring state.

With the waltz all the rage in Fossa, Grand Batten’s social scene was in the midst of a full-blown waltz craze as well.

Men and women swept across the floor in dizzying 3/4 time. Holding hands tightly and pressing their upper bodies close, they made conservative matrons sigh deeply the moment the music began.

Natalie was one of the sighers.

A waltz without even a single beat to rest was pure torture for someone as rhythm-challenged as her.

Normally, she would’ve fled to the wall the moment the prelude began and nursed a glass of punch—but tonight, that wasn’t an option.

Mrs. Heaton had clearly made up her mind. She dragged gentleman after gentleman over to Natalie and Emily, looking as though the night wouldn’t end until they’d danced with every eligible man in Dwan. Natalie found herself missing the easily avoidable Lady Morin.

“Natalie, this is Sir Fisher Heather. Sir, this is my niece, Natalie Dawes, eldest daughter of Baron Warfield.”

What kind of fish-head name is that?

Natalie was genuinely taken aback.

Before she knew it, she was spinning around the floor with the so-called fish head.

“Warfield… if I recall, that’s in the north?”

The fish head declared confidently—and incorrectly.

“The south. Along the coast.”

“Ah… Still, quite far from Dwan, isn’t it?”

“The railway was built a few years ago, so by train it’s not too bad. And you, sir—”

“By the way, how many children would you like?”

She barely had time to be surprised by his interruption before the question hit her full force.

“…Children? Out of nowhere?”

“I’d prefer the first to be a son. A spare is necessary, so the second should also be a son. After that, perhaps two daughters.”

Good heavens. Not a single bit of that was information she wanted.

“Discussing that on our first dance is rather—”

“So how many siblings do you have, Miss Dawes?”

He talked right over her. Worse, the purpose of this sudden background check was painfully obvious.

“…Would knowing my siblings help you predict the future?”

Natalie gathered what remained of her patience and gave the fish head one last chance.

Sir Heather smiled broadly.

“Of course. A daughter’s fertility usually takes after her mother.”

That settled it. Undeniably a fish head.

Natalie lowered her lashes shyly and curved her lips into the gentle smile she had practiced so diligently.

“Our family is—”

Then, perfectly in time with the music, she lifted her knee and stomped down with all her strength on the fish head’s foot.

“We’re rich in daughters.”

Crunch.

“Aaagh—”

Two hours into the ball, Natalie’s heels had already claimed five victims.

She fled back to the wall the moment Mrs. Heaton turned her attention to Emily.

“Any luck, Miss Dawes?”

Christina asked, lightly fanning herself.

“Does it look like it, Miss Dowie?”

Christina, who had been leaning against the wall watching Natalie all night, burst into laughter. Several people glanced her way, but the marquis’s daughter didn’t care in the least.

Once she calmed down, Christina handed Natalie some ice cream, equally skilled at teasing and comforting her.

Natalie stared blankly at the dance floor, eating in silence for a while before muttering,

“I’m really not asking for much, you know.”

Despite her many complaints about a lady’s life, Natalie was still a realist.

There are no princes in reality.

A woman living in this harsh world must never forget that simple truth because of rosy fantasies.

So instead of waiting for a “prince,” it was better to move quickly and secure a slightly better husband.

Christina searched her memory.

“Hmm. Your conditions were… within five years of your age, and no bad breath when he talks?”

“Exactly. And let’s add that we should be able to exchange at least two rounds of conversation on one topic. Is that asking too much?”

“Still modest, I’d say.”

“Right? That’s realistic. So why are they all like that? I really think I’ll never get married.”

Natalie shook her head in utter disgust.

“Oh my. That’s wonderful. Then keep playing with me forever.”

“I’m serious, Christina,” Natalie replied wearily.

Christina fell silent and followed Natalie’s gaze back to the dance floor.

Everywhere she looked, men and women were busy sizing each other up.