FPML 16

Chapter 16

‘Why doesn’t the arranged marriage world have magic?’

Marienne pressed her throbbing forehead.

As a reader, speaking from personal preference, she rather liked Arranged Marriage just fine without magic. It gave off a more realistic political revenge-drama vibe.

Because once magic comes in, so many problems get solved with magical tools or divine power.

You could talk to someone on another continent through a crystal ball, summon illusions, teleport people or objects.

And you could even cast a baldness curse on the thorn-in-the-eye Duke.

Ever since she’d decided to make Cain Blackwood into a shiny egg, Marienne had regretted that this was a magicless world.

Baldness curse. What an irresistibly charming set of four syllables.

It wasn’t even some high-level curse that endangered lives—surely it would’ve been available for a reasonable price?

Which meant even a government clerk’s salary—like Marienne Didi’s—could’ve covered it.

‘Not that it matters to fantasize now.’

Yesterday, Marienne admitted her own incompetence and asked Baileon for help. He was discreet and nearly as sharp as Odette. Worst case, she could even appeal to his sentiment.

But an unexpected problem arose. Despite vowing to reveal the bare minimum, she ended up spilling all sorts of things under his barrage of questions.

“What exactly are you planning to put on the Duke’s hair?”

“It’s not poison. You can rest assured on that front.”

“Now that you mention it, you’ve always had an odd aversion to the Duke’s black hair. And last time you even brought up the Fourth Princess’s taste for dark hair and tried to convince me to dye mine…”

He strung together deductions in no time, and it looked like he’d soon conclude that what she intended to apply was a depilatory cream.

She was already dizzy from hearing “my person” earlier, and now he was interrogating her in that calm tone?

Baileon’s charm +999.
Marienne’s heart rate +999.
Marienne’s reason suffers ‘Paralysis.’

Panic closed in. Marienne leapt up from her chair and dropped to her knees.

Thud!

“Lord Beers! Please, think of it as saving many lives and help me find a way!”

Marienne Didi’s patented move—“Sudden Kneel Technique”—shook Baileon’s composure.

“Once this is done, I’ll never hover around Duke Blackwood again. And it’s definitely not a dangerous cream! I swear on my life!”

That was the end of the flashback. Marienne returned to reality, pleased with her reflection in the corridor mirror.

She wore a brown wig, a striped dress, and a white apron. In the apron pocket she hid the depilatory cream and a wooden spatula.

Today, she was disguised as a palace maid to slip the cream into the northern brute’s shampoo.

‘Genius plan. As expected of Baileon, the Sun of the Empire!’

His solution had been almost laughably simple.

If the cream didn’t smell bad, the surest way was to add it to the Duke’s shampoo.

If his old Academy habits held, five minutes would be plenty—Cain supposedly let shampoo foam sit in his hair while he shaved and scrubbed his body with a sponge.

That’s when Marienne recalled they’d been senior and junior at the Imperial Academy. She lit up at the insider info Baileon shared.

Habits didn’t change easily.

‘He was just summoned to the Crown Prince’s palace. Normally, rooms are cleaned while the occupant is out…’

Marienne draped a snow-white towel over her arm.

‘Now’s the chance!’

She rounded a corner and stopped at Cain’s room. After a perfunctory knock, she opened the door.

The northern brute had been given the most luxurious guest room in the palace—complete with private study, lounge, reception room, and a bathroom with golden faucets.

Closing the door behind her, Marienne tiptoed past a grand piano and slipped into the bathroom.

Finally—the goal was in sight. Heart pounding, she pushed the ornate bathroom door open.

‘All I need is the shampoo bottle. It should be near the tub…’

She stepped inside. The air was strangely moist and fragrant.

Then she turned her head—and her heart plummeted. Impossible! She had seen Cain Blackwood head toward the Crown Prince’s palace with her own eyes.

‘So why is he in the bathtub? When did he come back? How did he get here before me?’

Marienne froze in shock.

‘C-calm down, Marienne Didi. He hasn’t seen you yet.’

But it was only a matter of time.

Should she flee? Stay? Strike? Stay? Strike?

“Hey, you. Cold air’s getting in. Shut the door. And change out this steam towel before you leave.”

Cain set aside the towel covering his eyes, leaned back in the tub, and tilted his head, waiting for service.

Marienne, who had been frantically debating whether to bolt, noticed one crucial thing—his eyes were still closed.

And what had he just said? Change the towel?

‘He thinks I’m a maid.’

Her gaze locked on the long black hair spilling over the tub’s edge.

That damned black hair. If only it were gone, everything would be fine. She couldn’t let Baileon shed tears of blood over failing to erase it.

‘Even if this is a trap, I won’t back down.’

Resolved, Marienne picked up a fresh towel from the sink. She prayed he wouldn’t open his eyes until she reached his blind spot.

Slowly. Steadily.

She moved behind Cain, dipped the towel in hot water, wrung it out, and let the herbs inside release their fragrance.

Normally, this was when a romance novel would begin describing Cain Blackwood’s bare body—broad shoulders, muscular chest, droplets sliding down scarred skin.

But Marienne had read enough of that in the original work. She couldn’t care less about the brute’s body.

‘Shampoo bottle… there it is.’

Her sky-blue eyes gleamed as she mapped out her route.

Just then—

“Your movements are rather slow…”

Cain’s voice edged with irritation. What if he opened his eyes? Marienne instantly slapped the hot towel over his face.

The wet cloth landed with a slap.

“Strong hands, I see.”

What lunatic compliments someone after getting smacked in the face?

“Massage my shoulders.”

I swear I’ll see you rot in jail.

Keeping her eyes on the shampoo, she reluctantly set her hands on his shoulders. The feel of bare skin made her grimace.

She hadn’t even touched her favorite’s bare skin yet, and here she was manhandling the northern brute’s body. Worst.

“Right side.”

He even had the gall to dictate where.

“Left side.”

Does this bastard know? Is he doing this on purpose?

“Pound with your fists.”

Rolling up her sleeves, Marienne struck with all her strength.

His shoulders were like iron slabs wrapped in skin. Just a few blows left sweat beading on her brow.

‘Fake muscles. All bluff. Once that hair’s gone, he’ll deflate like a pastry.’

She channeled her hatred into her fists.

“You’re quiet and strong. Much better than the maid who used to come.”

Damn him—he was even evaluating her. Marienne swallowed her rage and grabbed the shampoo bottle with one hand.

She carefully unscrewed the cap, dumped out most of the contents, and tipped the depilatory inside. Even then, Cain remained oblivious.

But just as the white cream trickled in—

“Why are you only using one hand now?”

He suddenly turned, knocking the towel into the water.

Emergency! Hide the evidence!

In a flash, Marienne shoved the cream back into her apron and replaced the shampoo bottle. Then she brandished her trump card.

“Don’t move.”

A large pair of scissors glinted in her grip—the backup she’d stashed in her apron.

How had she moved so fast? Who knew. Maybe desperation granted her superhuman speed.

“If you move, I’ll cut.”

“…Cut what?”

“This.”

Snip!

She hacked off a fistful of black hair—then bolted.

The countdown to death began. How long until Cain processed what happened and gave chase?

‘Stay dazed just a little longer. I need distance.’

Halfway down the stairs, she heard the sound of a door being smashed.

Moments later, she locked eyes with Cain—shirtless, only trousers thrown on, radiating murderous intent.

‘Run.’

Marienne took the steps two at a time and sprinted down the corridor, screaming:

“This is all I wanted! Can’t you let me go?”

The madman chased with terrifying speed. She was going to die. Really die this time. The killing intent rolling off him chilled her to the core.

“It’s an old custom to keep a lock of hair from someone you like!”

Creepy bastard. Stop chasing me! Her lungs burned from the nonstop sprint.

If she was going to use shock tactics anyway, maybe a kiss would’ve been easier to explain? No—too horrifying.

“Kyaaa! Lord Beers!”

At last, Marienne screamed Baileon’s name.

“Save meeee!”

Her cries echoed through the halls. People peeked out, saw Duke Blackwood pursuing, and quickly shut their doors.

‘Can I make it all the way to the Ministry?’

She doubted it. She didn’t dare glance back. One look and she’d be caught.

“Lord Beers!”

All humans died eventually. But Marienne Didi couldn’t die today. Not before seeing the northern brute’s head turned into a polished egg.

The moment she rounded a corner, a painting on the wall swung open. Baileon himself had opened a secret passage.

When God first said, “Let there be light,” Baileon Beers was born.

Tearfully, Marienne dove into her savior’s arms. As the secret door shut, Cain Blackwood came tearing around the corner.

Marienne survived by the narrowest margin.