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chapter 03
“Lirianne, you look truly beautiful.”
Countess Levain gazed at Lirianne with eyes full of admiration.
The white dress, specially designed for her debutante ball, made her skin shine all the more.
The trunk brought by the man called Robert was stuffed with dresses and accessories, as if he had moved an entire noblewoman’s wardrobe.
Well worth it.
By the time their teacups had been refilled two or three times, most of the dresses in the trunk had been moved over to Lirianne’s side.
Regardless of Minuette’s own will, clothes and hats were being neatly hung behind her as well. They were carefully chosen by the Countess’s eye: dresses with matching hats, and handbags that seemed more decorative than practical.
Shopping had never been this easy.
“Minuette, you pick one too.”
The Countess urged her on as if the pile of dresses behind Minuette didn’t even exist.
Jewels glittered before her eyes, her parents looked at her with affection, and their mansion was beautiful.
Minuette nodded slowly.
Ah, this must be compensation for my past life.
I’ve been assigned to such a great team!
No, not a team—a family.
I’ll work… I mean, I’ll live even harder from now on!
Marriage was nothing but a duty.
That was the conclusion Onyx reached as he showered to wash off his hangover.
Just a few years ago, Onyx had been nothing more than a Grand Duke living in the imperial palace simply because he was of royal blood.
When his father—who had lived quietly as the emperor’s younger brother—suddenly inherited the throne after the elder emperor’s untimely death, Onyx had expected political marriages and the like.
Along with endless lessons about not sullying the royal line by indulging his lower half recklessly, he had heard to the point of nausea about the true purpose of marriage:
Not love between a man and a woman, but forming powerful in-laws to support the throne. Or, at best, building ties with groups that could bring advantage.
That was the meaning of marriage as Onyx had been taught.
So what sort of extraordinary woman has appeared this time?
Onyx was the last bulwark of a crumbling imperial house.
His father, the emperor, had been adamant:
He would not marry off his son until a match strong enough to rebuild the dynasty appeared.
Now, such a tempting prospect must have come along.
The crown prince, treated as the highest-value prize on the marriage market…
The constant treatment that should have been familiar by now only made him sick.
“Your Highness, His Majesty awaits you.”
The voice of his attendant, Docus, broke through Onyx’s thoughts.
The man waiting ahead looked astonishingly like him—except that his hair was a light brown rather than jet black.
Whenever Onyx saw that hair, he remembered his father’s childhood, when people had doubted his royal blood simply because he lacked the black hair that symbolized House Tourmaline.
And it was bitter indeed to know that his father had been chosen as heir not for his own merit, but because he would sire a black-haired successor—Onyx himself.
“Your Majesty.”
His greeting was curt, though his damp black curls shimmered in the bright morning sun.
“Onyx, your marriage partner has been decided.”
Marriage?
One of his brows shot upward. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the newspaper tossed carelessly by the fruit dish.
“You’re not about to complain that I chose without asking your opinion, are you?”
“Of course not.”
The emperor frowned at that lifted brow.
“The eldest daughter of the Levain family has recovered after a long illness.”
“Has she?”
“It’s the Levains. I needn’t explain their importance to you.”
As his father referred to the family he had just seen in the paper, Onyx thought he ought to retract his earlier scorn about reporters writing fiction. The material must have come from the palace itself—so much for imagination.
“Did you inform the papers before me just to surprise me? It already made the front page in style.”
“Stories of this sort fetch the highest price.”
So the imperial finances were that bad?
Onyx clicked his tongue at his father, who had even sold his son’s engagement news to the press.
“Well then, I’m relieved. My marriage will at least ease the treasury. Should I expect to learn about the rest of my life’s events from the newspaper too?”
From birth, Onyx had been a royal.
That gave him a languid arrogance, though never enough to court scandal. As always, he cloaked his displeasure with a smile that flirted with insolence.
But the emperor, uninterested, went on.
“As you know, the girl’s mother, Countess Levain, is a princess of Troizen. Her brother is the Troizen emperor. Marry her, and you gain a powerful ally as your in-laws.”
A woman with an imperial mother from Troizen.
Her uncle, the emperor of a great power.
It was a marriage his father had carefully chosen, hoping to give his son the secure backing and the proof of legitimacy he himself had lacked.
Troizen Empire, huh…
Onyx ran a hand through his damp hair.
Even as he tried to frame it as fatherly love, he knew the truth.
His father only meant to use this marriage as collateral to borrow money from Troizen.
A lump in his throat choked him. Ever since he had become crown prince, he had lived with the feeling of shackles around his ankles.
And now he would become the one chaining another—
fastening those same shackles onto the daughter of a noble house.
“If Troizen supports us, our plan to import mana stones and drive an industrial revolution will go more smoothly.”
“You’re starting to sound like a true crown prince.”
“Well, I am the crown prince.”
His voice, stripped of emotion, sounded flat.
How foolish—worrying about another’s shackles, when he couldn’t even escape his own.
“Very well. Tell me then: how goes the crown prince of Bisk’s attempt to import mana stones?”
At last, Onyx pulled a chair to sit beside the emperor.
It wasn’t his father he feared—it was money.
There had been countless enterprises ruined under his father’s reign.
The Bisk Empire was a slowly sinking ship. Those who knew, knew; those who didn’t, never dreamed it was going under.
That was Onyx’s shackle.
He needed a project that could raise Bisk back up—
and he had to succeed gloriously, if he was ever to free himself.
Beneath his long legs, unseen by anyone, the gleaming shackles only burned his resolve brighter.
“Father, the very large violet sapphire was the most beautiful! So I bought that too. You told Mr. Robert about it, didn’t you?”
With a coy smile, Lirianne fluttered her eyes at Count Levain. Her voice was full of satisfaction; after all, she had just filled Robert’s purse so generously that he would have no worries for years.
“Yes, I’m sure it’s beautiful. Minuette, what did you choose?”
“Minuette chose a ruby necklace. Mother picked it for her, saying it’s good for her health.”
Straightening her posture, Lirianne cut into her steak as she interrupted Minuette’s reply.
When the maids cleared the table and began serving dessert, Countess Levain glanced carefully at her husband.
“Dear… have you discussed that matter with His Majesty?”
The count exchanged looks with his wife, then stared at Minuette for a long while.
“Minuette, I’ve heard word all across the capital that your health has returned.”
His voice was heavy, as if bracing himself. Minuette set down her fork on her apple pie and stared right back.
“It may be early to say this, since you’ve only just risen from your sickbed… but a marriage proposal has arrived for you.”
“Early? What’s early about it? Minuette hasn’t even had her debutante. She’s well past marriageable age already!”
The Countess pounced on his words the moment they were out, eager for the answer she had wanted.
Lirianne, having ordered the maids to clear away her pie, dabbed delicately at her lips with her napkin.
“A proposal? My sister’s marriage?”
Minuette’s mind raced.
Marriage?
Of course. Whenever someone transmigrates into another’s body, marriage always comes first.
She accepted it easily, popping a bite of pie into her mouth.
But the imperial family?
Every night, Rena had recited lists of possible families for her.
This house was unsuitable, that one was just right…
Like a true mistress of the house, Rena had screened and sorted them all.
Yet even she hadn’t thought to include the crown prince himself…
“An arranged marriage, in this day and age? How old-fashioned the imperial family must be,” Lirianne muttered, grumbling about it being like the Pocher Imperial era.
But Countess Levain’s expression was deeply satisfied with the match.
“His Majesty has always thought fondly of our Minuette…”
The count clasped his wife’s hand warmly, and her eyes filled with tears. She even whispered that she could die without regret now.
So that makes me empress, doesn’t it?
Minuette imagined herself as empress, and a smile spread across her face.
Crown prince plus marriage equals unearned income?
Pleased with that neat little equation, Minuette announced her model answer:
“Mother, Father, please don’t worry. I’ll show you how happily I can live once I’m married.”
“What’s all this, Rena?”
Leaving her room, Minuette stopped at the second-floor corridor, stunned by the sea of flowers.
“What else could it be, my lady?”
Rena’s expression was smug with pride.
“From here to there—these are all for you, Lady Minuette, the future Crown Princess!”
“My goodness.”
“His Highness has a very generous hand.”
Though Minuette had yet to step outside the Levain mansion, she felt guilty, as though she had stolen the whole spring from the city.
Where on earth had they found so many flowers?
But the mansion kept filling up regardless of her doubts.
The next day, it was gift boxes.
The day after that, the proposal letter itself.
Day by day, Minuette’s heart grew noisier.
She told herself it was absurd to be fluttered by a fiancé she hadn’t even met, yet the sheer scale of flowers, gifts, and that romantic letter made her think—
Even if the crown prince turned out to be terribly pockmarked with buck teeth, she would be forgiving enough to overlook it.
The next morning, Minuette rose early, waiting eagerly for the imperial attendants.
What would they bring this time to move her heart?
Little did she know, the next gift would be the infamous portrait.
