Chapter 1
Liberte frowned slightly as she looked up at the man standing before her. She was tall herself, but he was still a head taller.
His unkempt black hair and beard, along with the large scar running across his face, made him look as though the well-fitted uniform he wore was stifling and awkward.
Beside him, the chancellor pretended to smile good-naturedly, but sweat was already running down his forehead as he glanced nervously at her expression.
The tall man said nothing, and only the chancellor filled the silence with excuses.
“Your Highness Liberte is now of a fine age, and here stands none other than Duke Frosta of the North—under His Majesty’s reign, the finest of all bridegrooms. Surely this is a most favorable proposal. Indeed, it is by His Majesty’s own consent that this union is considered…”
His voice droned on with gestures to match. To Liberte, who by noble standards had already far outlasted the proper “marriageable age,” it all sounded absurd.
Only recently, the same chancellor had come to her with a marriage proposal involving his own son. When she had rejected it outright, he had been humiliated, and she had known it.
Now, flipping his stance as easily as turning his hand, he was arranging another match—but this time he had even secured the emperor’s blessing to make refusal nearly impossible. Truly, his cunning was remarkable.
“I greet Your Highness, Princess Liberte.”
The man’s low voice was flat, stripped of feeling. Liberte caught herself, dipped her head slightly, and replied. His face was not entirely unfamiliar. He was the Grand Duke of Nortr, the far-northern territory.
Once every two or three years, he came to the capital to report on battles against monsters. Before her father, the late emperor, had passed away, she too had attended the council meetings and had seen him there.
She could see the chancellor’s ploy clearly.
“So this is Duke Frosta. I am pleased to meet you.”
Liberte knew well that her voice and manner were never considered gentle. People often said she was cold and sharp; more still said she lacked warmth or kindness.
It was natural: those who approached her nearly always sought gain, and such intent always revealed itself.
Their expectations wearied her—expecting tenderness, then feeling disappointment, resenting her for not indulging them, for not offering favors.
So, for Liberte, reading the expressions and voices of those she met for the first time had become instinct. Yet, hidden behind the beard and scar of the duke’s face, she could read nothing at all.
His empty, emotionless voice was almost a relief. For the sake of putting the chancellor in his place, she wanted to reject everything outright, but strangely, she found herself intrigued.
“And what luck, Duke Frosta happened to be in the capital for his annual report. Hahaha! So I, most exceptionally, most specially, obtained His Majesty’s permission for you young people to share tea and pleasant conversation together.”
The chancellor stressed “exceptional” and “special.” Indeed, it was unusual.
Normally, couples would see each other’s faces only at the wedding ceremony itself.
To meet beforehand, when the emperor himself had already agreed—it was, in truth, a forced match disguised as a tea party.
So he “happened” to be here, did he? Clearly, they planned to exile her to the farthest borders. To dare handle the emperor’s sister’s marriage so arbitrarily!
Even if her brother, the current emperor, was weak, this was far too much. Liberte’s crimson eyes fixed on the chancellor with undisguised displeasure.
“Well then, I shall take my leave. May you enjoy your time together.”
Her eyes—red, cold, identical to the late emperor’s—were too much for him. The man, who had been babbling endlessly, fled as if chased.
Liberte exhaled softly and gestured to a seat across the lavishly decorated table. The flowers arranged there struck her as garish and tasteless.
A waste of blooms—no doubt the chancellor’s doing.
“My apologies. You did not come to the capital for such matters, I presume.”
Her tone slipped into complaint without her intending it. It was the chancellor who had stripped her of every part in government to keep the emperor under his control.
A man who would do anything, hidden or blatant, for power. Impossible to like. And this marriage was certainly another of his schemes, planned ever since she had rejected his son.
He must have persuaded her brother with words of her “happiness as a woman,” disguising compulsion as kindness.
Perhaps he even feared she might wield influence over her brother. Not that she had ever intended to.
“You seem… uneasy.”
She gave a bitter smile. It seemed she had shown too much. Of course she was uneasy, but to let her feelings be so transparent was improper.
She waved away the attendants moving to pour the tea, serving herself instead. The duke, too, filled his own cup—clearly accustomed to simple habits.
Liberte sipped and thought the tea bitterer than usual.
“Forgive me for being blunt, but this situation is not comfortable for me. I suspect it is the same for you. Such things come suddenly, after all.”
“I understand your meaning.”
When she raised her head, she found the duke wearing the same bitter smile.
Indeed. He had been summoned to the emperor as soon as he arrived in the capital. To think the emperor danced so easily to another’s tune! It was almost laughable, though she did not say it aloud.
Best not, when the attendants might well be the chancellor’s spies.
“My apologies. It seems I have burdened you with troublesome baggage.”
An emperor’s order could not be refused. His words made his reddish-brown eyes narrow. For him, too, the emperor’s most beloved child and the emperor’s sister would be a heavy weight to bear.
Liberte fiddled with the thin teacup rimmed in gold. So fragile it seemed ready to shatter at a touch. It reminded her of herself: an “emperor’s sister” in name only, fragile and hollow.
This was not her first proposal. An emperor’s daughter was a valuable tool for political marriage, a chalice of power easily drunk from. But her father had always heeded her pleas not to marry, turning every offer aside.
Not out of indulgence, but because he refused to empower any faction through her marriage. He would not make her a burden upon any land or its people.
From the time he carried her through his provinces, even onto battlefields, he had repeated this lesson.
But now, matters had changed. He was gone. The throne had passed, not to her as many had expected, but to her brother.
And those who hungered for power saw her not as useless but as a threat—a great obstacle.
She looked up, sensing his gaze. The duke tilted his head slightly, calmly meeting her crimson eyes. His face, scarred and bearded, betrayed no expression.
Silence pressed down, broken only by the sunlight catching in a faintly gleaming blue earring beneath his dark curls. She could not look away. Time slipped, whether a moment or an eternity, she could not tell.
“Your Highness… you are an interesting person.”
His unexpected words, paired with a sly smile, startled her. The scarred, gruff man suddenly looked almost playful. She raised her brow in surprise, and he continued in a quiet voice:
“Perhaps you do not recall, but when I last came to report at the council, I saw you standing by the late emperor’s side.”
Nortr, his duchy, was a harsh, frozen land. They said monsters had plagued it for a thousand years, that even a dragon of frost dwelled there.
So far removed, its rulers could not meddle in politics, nor could emperors interfere in its affairs.
Most lords resided in the capital, attending councils at least once or twice a year. The Duke of Nortr alone was permitted to come but every two or three years. He must have been recalling those earlier meetings, before her father’s death—a council severe, strict, but brimming with zeal for the people’s welfare.
“Then, I thought you stern and cold. To see this side of you now… it pleases me.”
He drained his cup, smiled faintly, and added, “Forgive me if I speak out of turn.” Even with attendants listening, he spoke freely. Unlike Liberte, who sought excuses to refuse, he seemed already resigned.
No—perhaps not resigned, but stripped of any choice. He had no right to refuse. Nor did she.
“As you know, His Majesty’s word is to me a command that cannot be broken. I believe your heart must be the same.”
Liberte quietly nodded. She despised following the chancellor’s design, yet to defy her brother’s decree was unthinkable. Neither refusal nor escape was possible. In truth, there was no decision to make at all.
Everything would be as the emperor commanded. Nothing more.
Yes, that man was clever indeed. Her fingers clenched the teacup. The cooled tea rippled faintly. Her mind knew the truth already, but her heart resisted it.
Was this meeting only the chancellor’s way of forcing her to realize it? Was everything falling into his hands once again? The directionless anger inside her stirred like the water in her cup.
“I see. Then all is already decided…”
Falling into thought, she did not notice until the duke rose, hand to chest, bowing before quietly departing. By then, the sun was sinking in the west.
As he left, even the attendants slipped away like the tide, leaving her alone. In the darkening chamber, only Liberte remained, lost in thought.
