TMRM 01

Chapter 1

She was a strange woman.

Standing in the center of the ballroom, Johan thought so as he watched the woman whose eyelids trembled faintly.
She had arrived last, clearly intending to draw everyone’s attention—yet now that all eyes were upon her, she looked afraid of it.

He turned his gaze to the man beside her.
Samué Denegher.
The well-known Crown Prince.
That woman was his partner.

Of course she was. It was only natural that the Crown Prince’s fiancée should be his partner.
Johan tilted his head slightly, bored.

The woman was beautiful enough, graceful enough—but nothing about her was particularly remarkable.

Yes, she truly was an unremarkable woman.

Johan repeated the thought to himself.
If anything about her was interesting, it was that she looked far too timid for someone destined to become Empress.

Is that really your taste, Your Highness?

Johan finally withdrew his gaze from the pair.

“Lord Magnum,” a voice greeted him politely. “Are you enjoying the party?”

The hostess had seized a chance to approach him.
Marchioness Talips—the Emperor’s mistress.

The only reason a mere marchioness could compel both the Crown Prince and Johan to attend her party was because she happened to be the Emperor’s lover.

Rather than show his distaste, Johan offered her his usual gentle smile.

“Thanks to you, I am enjoying it.”

“Truly? I heard you haven’t asked a single lady to dance tonight.”

Ah, so this is what she’s after, Johan thought lightly.

“I didn’t wish to get in anyone’s way.”

“My, my. What young lady in the Empire would consider an invitation from Johannes Magnum an inconvenience? Even the married ladies are waiting for you to ask them.”

Clearly urged on by them, she nodded toward several women nearby.

“Don’t make them pine for you too long.”

Pine, is it?

“I’m not so sure,” Johan murmured, lowering his eyes to the women who quickly turned their faces away the moment his gaze met theirs.

“You’re not worried about that article in the morning paper, are you?” Talips pressed on. “It’s just passing gossip.”

At the word gossip, Johan’s lips curved faintly upward.
Of course he knew that Marchioness Talips owned that very newspaper.

Instead of answering, he simply extended a hand to her—inviting her to dance.

Feigning surprise, Talips nevertheless accepted at once.
It was an offer she couldn’t possibly refuse.
After all, who would refuse him?

Just being seen conversing comfortably with Johannes Magnum elevated her status another step higher.
Talips was the sort who washed away the stain of being the Emperor’s mistress with sheer power.
If she endured the scorn of being an old ruler’s lover, it was for moments like this.

But Johan hadn’t asked her to dance for her power.
His purpose lay elsewhere.

His gaze found another woman—
the one dancing hand in hand with the Crown Prince.

“In any case,” Talips said lightly, “you truly needn’t worry about that little gossip article—”

“I’m not worried at all,” Johan cut in softly. “So there’s no need to mention it again, Madame Talips.”

Silenced, she blinked. Johan returned his focus to her.

She was only four steps away.
He could tell exactly how close he was by the sound of their shoes gliding across the floor.

Her dancing was peculiar—technically perfect, yet somehow hesitant.

“…Since you’ve been gracious enough to dance with me,” Talips said, forcing a smile, “I really must ask—was the article true?”

Johan didn’t reply. She hurried to add,

“Don’t misunderstand! I wouldn’t mind if it were true, honestly. Who cares about such trivial gossip?”

Everyone cares.

Johan gently pushed her hand away—a movement that was part of the dance, yet unmistakably cold.
It forced Talips to look straight at him.

Only now, with a bit of distance, did she fully take in his face.

It was the kind of face that left people speechless.
Even she, confident in her beauty, could feel her composure slipping.

No wonder those highborn young ladies risk embarrassment to ask favors of him, she thought.

“Is that so,” Johan said flatly.

His voice held no inflection whatsoever—whereas hers wavered slightly.

She hurried to cover the awkwardness.

“I suppose it was just the foolish longing of some naïve girl. You must have plenty of those hanging themselves over you.”

Johan didn’t bother to answer.
He only pulled her close again and spun her once.

“L-Lord Magnum—” she began.

But the music changed.
It was time to switch partners.

Johan released her hand and bowed politely before turning to the next dancer.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” he said—
to the strange woman, Anel Morata.

It was a strange man.

Anel could feel the weight of his stare following her wherever she went.
At first, she thought she was imagining it—just her nerves, perhaps a touch of vanity.
Surely that man wasn’t looking at her.

But after their eyes met several times, her uncertainty hardened into conviction.

…But really, why would he…?

It made no sense.
Johannes Magnum, of all people, staring so persistently at a woman who wasn’t even his partner?

Just to be sure, Anel glanced his way again.
No, it wasn’t her imagination. He was looking at her.
And he hadn’t even brought a partner tonight.

“My goodness, I never thought Lord Magnum would attend,” whispered one lady nearby.
“It means rumors can’t touch him—what confidence!” another replied.

Their gossip reached Anel’s ears.

Of course.
If he had even a shred of shame, he should have kept to himself tonight.
Anyone who had read the morning paper would think so.

Johannes Magnum.
The man who was a headline every day.

Being the sole heir to the Magnum dukedom was one thing—but even without his title, he was famous.
First for his unmatched beauty, but there was something beyond that too.

No one could quite explain it.
At least, Anel couldn’t—she had never spoken to him before.

Naturally.
She was the Crown Prince’s fiancée.
Since the moment she could remember, she had been.
It was unthinkable for her to pay attention to any other man.

“Anel, you can breathe, you know,” said her fiancé gently.

At that, Anel froze.
Had she really stopped breathing? Or just been doing it wrong?

“You looked like you were suffocating,” Samué said, smiling with concern. “Did I startle you?”

“No, Your Highness. It’s just… a little warm in here.”

“Shall we step out for some air?” he asked, his voice full of tenderness.

That soft tone eased her nerves a little.
To be distracted by another man when she had such a kind fiancé—what a foolish thought.

Anel smiled and shook her head. She didn’t want to worry him.

“I’m all right. It’s been a while since we’ve been to a party.”

It was true.
She rarely attended such gatherings.
Because of that, she’d earned herself some unpleasant nicknames—
none befitting a future empress.

“The Glass Doll of House Morata.”
That was what they called her.
She was said to be too precious for her father, the Grand Duke, to ever let her out of his sight.

Grand Duke Morata—
the Emperor’s most loyal right hand, and noblest of nobles—had only one beloved daughter.
Everyone knew of his obsession with her.

…Though the truth is nothing like that, Anel thought bitterly, biting the inside of her cheek.
It was a nervous habit—one her father had scolded her for many times.

“I’m sorry for tonight,” Samué said quietly, his voice heavy with guilt.

“It’s not your fault,” she said quickly.
They were here because her father had insisted on it.

“It wasn’t Your Highness’s doing. Please don’t apologize.”

“But it was His Majesty’s wish. That makes it mine as well.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile.
Even after the late Empress had long passed away, the Emperor’s behavior was still shameful.
Mistresses were one thing, but granting them open power was another.

“I know you dislike these events,” he said gently.

He was right, of course.
Anel didn’t like parties.
But she wasn’t in a position to do only what she liked—neither of them were.

“I’m truly fine, Your Highness. Please don’t worry so much.”

“How could I not worry? You’re my fiancée.”

Samué’s tone hardened slightly as his gaze shifted toward Marchioness Talips.
It was rare to see such open disgust on his face.

Anel found it unfamiliar, but she understood.

“I will never have a mistress,” he said firmly.

“You must at least have an empress,” she replied automatically—words her father had drilled into her countless times.

‘The Crown Prince is too gentle and holds you too dear. That worries me. You must help him rule his heart. Make sure he takes many consorts, produces heirs, and secures the nobles’ favor.’

Her father’s words had never once considered her feelings.
Nor Samué’s.

“Do you truly wish that, Anel?”

“…It’s the proper thing to do.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

His voice carried an edge—but soon softened again.

“Forgive me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Your Highness.”

“I feel as though I keep making mistakes with you tonight.”

You haven’t, she thought, shaking her head with a faint smile.

Then, softly, she took his hand.

“Shall we dance?”

At that, Samué’s expression brightened instantly.
He nodded.

“Anytime.”

As they stepped into the center of the ballroom, the crowd’s attention followed them.
It was only natural.
For the Crown Prince not to dance even once would have been scandalous.

He had refrained for her sake, of course—but his consideration only embarrassed her more.
He always treated her as if she were made of fragile glass.

No—he always had.

Father must have made him see me that way, she thought.

Even his fingertips, holding hers, were absurdly careful.

“How’s the temperature? Not too cold, not too hot?”

“…Perfectly fine.”

“Good. The Grand Duke made me promise to ensure your comfort.”

“Did you… speak to Marchioness Talips about that?”

“My aide handled it. You don’t need to worry.”

As if I could not worry.

Grand Duke Morata adored his daughter.
He bought her anything she wanted, and when he hosted parties for her, they rivaled the royal family’s in splendor—
at least, outwardly.

But Anel wasn’t made of glass. She was a person.

“…Next time, you needn’t go to such lengths for me.”

“I’ll always do as much as I can for you.”

Even as they spoke, their movements were flawless.
Anel knew she wouldn’t make a mistake—she had practiced this thousands of times for moments like this.

Every gaze on them carried the same unspoken wish:
for her to slip, even once.

“Don’t be nervous, Anel. You can even step on my foot,” Samué teased.

“…I could never.”

She knew the truth—
if she stumbled even once, tomorrow’s paper would read:

‘The Crown Prince’s Fiancée—or His Puppet?’

“I can’t imagine why everyone worries so much about my poor feet,” he laughed.

“They’re the most precious feet in the Empire,” she replied.

Samué was beloved by the Empire—not merely for being the Crown Prince, but for who he was.
A beautiful young man wherever he went—kind eyes, gentle smile, gracious manners, and perfect conduct.

“They’re your feet, Anel,” he said softly.

“They’re not,” she murmured.

He volunteered every weekend, never caused a single scandal.
There wasn’t a citizen who didn’t love him.
If his name appeared in the paper, it was only for his good deeds—or his fiancée.

That was why Anel always had to be perfect—for the perfect prince.

“Ah, the music’s changing,” he said at last. “It’s time to hand you over to your next partner.”

As the melody shifted, Anel’s hand naturally passed into another’s.
Focused only on not making a mistake, she didn’t even glance to see who it was.

She simply followed the steps, blankly—
until a cool, unfamiliar voice spoke.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.”