Chapter 8
How should I even describe this texture?
If I say “soft,” it sounds flimsy, like a pillow stuffed with cotton. But it isn’t purely firm either. Baileon’s chest was thick and springy, firm enough to absorb impact but still resilient.
“Bouncy?”
Pervert. Total pervert. Utter degenerate. Marion Didi, is there anything you won’t say?!
Nestled snugly in Baileon’s arms, she caught that faint whiff of mint soap again. Up close, the scent was even fresher. If not now, then when would she ever get to take it in properly? So, while Baileon recited his lines, Marion was busy taking deep breaths.
Wasn’t there a way to store this wonderful smell somewhere? If she could bottle it into a perfume, she’d spray it in the air whenever life got hard, to comfort herself.
“Secretary Didi, I’ve been thinking.”
“…Huh? Oh, yes.”
Baileon pulled her out of his arms, and along with him, the good scent drifted away. What a shame.
“No matter how careful I am, yanking someone’s wrist is too violent.”
He slowly moved behind Marion.
“I also worry if I could control my strength in an actual situation.”
“May I say you’re worrying a bit too much, sir?”
“I don’t know why you trust me so blindly… but despite how I look, I’m actually quite strong.”
With those arms, that chest, those thighs—if he wasn’t strong, that would be the real problem. Marion quietly rolled her eyes. If anything, Baileon might fail to catch Odette’s wrist, but he’d never, ever hurt her.
He was the only one who didn’t realize this.
“If the goal is to stop someone from leaving, then maybe…”
The next instant, Baileon hugged Marion tightly from behind. That broad chest she had praised so highly was now pressed against her back. He held her as though binding her, then lowered his head—so that his face came right beside hers.
Their cheeks brushed together.
Baileon’s soft cheek grazed her skin.
“I think hugging from behind like this would be better.”
“……”
“What do you think?”
Marion had been ready to let her wrist bruise for the sake of his practice. She’d prepared herself for anything—except for this.
The spot where their cheeks touched tickled, like a drifting dandelion seed had landed there.
For a moment, she couldn’t think straight. Her mind went white like the fluff of a dandelion, then black like that northern bastard’s hair, back and forth. Naturally, she couldn’t even speak properly.
“Uh, uhh, ahh…”
She had to answer his question, but only strange noises spilled out.
“Uhh… ahhh.”
“……!”
Startled, Baileon quickly pulled away. He frantically checked her over, asking if she was hurt. The more Marion opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, the darker his expression grew.
“No, it’s not that I’m hurt—”
Finally, she squeezed out something resembling human speech.
“It’s just… really close, um, our faces touched. So, yeah.”
“You were startled.”
“Y-yes…”
The spot where they touched still tingled. If she’d just turned her head a little more, her lips would’ve brushed his cheek. His warmth, his low voice, his breath, that fresh scent, and the almond-colored hair falling forward—
It was beyond fluttering. It was almost shocking. Was there something special about skin-to-skin contact? Was this why Odette had that strange dream that night?
Even if Baileon had ripped himself out of a book and started dancing naked, it wouldn’t have shocked her this much.
“I’m sorry, Secretary Didi. I should have asked for your permission first.”
He sighed, rubbing his forehead.
“Truly, I’m sorry.”
“Ah…”
“This method clearly isn’t right. To be honest, if this is really Her Highness’s taste… then I’m worried for her safety.”
He added that it wasn’t even good for Odette herself. A perfectly rational man, making perfectly rational remarks. Emergency. Red alert. He was about to quit practicing. Marion’s scattered mind snapped back into focus.
“Right! Let’s try what you just did again. It was fine. Actually—uh—it was good! Let’s refine the movements a little more!”
She put on an overly cheerful front. Practice continued for another twenty minutes. They tried different poses and lines, but Baileon never dropped his grave expression.
Meanwhile, Marion spent the entire session worried her cheeks must be red as strawberries, making mistake after mistake.
In short, both of them were lost in their own thoughts.
◇ ◆ ◇
After four days of coaxing Baileon, who kept saying “this doesn’t feel right,” Marion finally decided to scrap the “act like a northern brute” strategy. They hadn’t even gotten past practice, but she had no regrets.
Because truthfully, Baileon had done nothing wrong. If anything, the past few days only reaffirmed his many talents.
He could imitate the northern man’s way of speaking and acting whenever he wanted. He’d even devised an excellent compromise: hugging from behind instead of yanking a wrist.
But the end doesn’t justify the means.
Marion sighed softly.
No matter the reason or for whom, wrong is wrong. He even apologized to his subordinate who went along with it.
His upright nature deeply moved Marion Didi, who was otherwise willing to excuse all kinds of violence if it would make Baileon Viers the male lead.
“I’ll make it happen.”
Her deep sky-blue eyes burned with resolve.
“Under a righteous lord, there’s always a slightly sly strategist.”
Leave the dirty work to me. You just walk the flower path. I’ll find a way, no matter what.
Baileon probably hadn’t intended it this way, but ironically, the better he behaved, the more determined Marion became.
A man who never confessed “I love you” until the book ended—but only because he didn’t want to burden Odette. A man who gave everything except that confession. A devotion the northern brute could never dream of—yet Baileon gave it.
There was no denying Baileon Viers was a far better man than Cain Blackwood. Odette would agree. Even Cain would agree.
Why should the better man be the one to suffer more?
This had always gnawed at Marion. Having good character doesn’t guarantee your love will be returned—but at least, couldn’t the courtship hurt a little less?
Why must the supporting man be the one to witness the main couple’s kiss, the moment they confirm their love?
It was always Baileon, not that northern brute, who stayed by Odette’s side when she was troubled. Always him. Yet the one time he stepped away, just briefly—of course, that was when he returned to find them locked in a fiery kiss.
And like a proper supporting role, he quietly turned and left. The single bright sunflower in his hand only made the scene more tragic.
Even after Odette took the throne, nothing changed.
In the epilogue, Baileon barely appeared at all. When he did, it was to comfort the Empress after a quarrel with her husband.
And days later, he had to watch them engage in another display of passionate affection, as though nothing had happened. Then, as always, he approached with a faint smile, ready to discuss state affairs.
A man who would support Odette for decades, under constant checks from the northern brute.
Marion pitied Baileon deeply—for all his lifelong devotion, he would remain nothing more than a trusted friend and loyal minister.
“Ha…”
Enough with the sad story. Time for practical thoughts.
The hair-dye plan had failed.
The original male lead imitation plan had failed.
Time was running out. So now what?
“I know there’s some brilliant method. It’s right there, almost in reach, but it won’t come to me…”
She must have hit her head hard when she fell into this novel. That had to be why her memory center was damaged. Things either popped right up—or never at all. Teasingly close, yet just out of reach. Maddening.
“There’s a hidden card that could flip the entire game. I remember that much, but not the details.”
Marion Didi, who remembered every single cringe line of the northern brute, had forgotten the most important plot device. Maddening enough to make her jump out of her skin.
Not that she could jump, since her arms were full of a heavy box crammed with documents she had to deliver to the Chancellor’s office. Others, recognizing her affiliation, had piled on additional things to “drop off on the way.”
She wasn’t complaining exactly—but really, why did she have to handle returning a book Sally the cleaning lady had borrowed, on top of everything else?
“It’s because I look too cute…”
Marion sighed deeply.
“They don’t realize how crazy the soul inside this body is, so they’re not afraid of me at all.”
Clunk. Rumble-rumble.
“Still, errands are fine. Compared to that northern brute, carrying boxes is nothing.”
The Third Secretary’s salary wasn’t bad, and the internal perks were great. Unlike someone up north, Marion Didi had a conscience—so she couldn’t just freeload her pay.
Just then, she heard shouting in the distance, and several people running toward her.
“Watch out!” someone yelled.
She turned her head—and saw a freight wagon charging straight at her. Worse, the horse pulling it was panicked, thrashing wildly.
Her mind knew she should drop the box and run, but her body froze.
Up close, the horse looked enormous. If it reared and came down on her, her small body would snap like a twig.
So that’s why people die from being trampled by horses…
Her legs betrayed her, rooted in place. All those mental drills of “if this happens, I’ll dodge like this” were useless.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered what would happen if she died here, inside the novel. Would Alliance Marriage let her rewind to a certain point? She couldn’t move to safety, but she had time to think of that? Ridiculous.
“Get out of the way!”
Mister Guard, I’d love to—but my body won’t move. And it hasn’t even been five seconds since I saw the wagon!
Thankfully, the horse veered. But that only meant the wagon swung wide with terrifying force—straight toward her.
Damn it. So the only difference is that I’ll die crushed by a cart instead.
That was her final thought.
Someone leapt between her and the wagon. He pulled her into his arms, shielding her with his back. Rationally, that should’ve only added another casualty. But what followed defied all reason.
At the moment of impact, it was the wagon that shattered, spilling heavy sacks onto the ground.
Fine sugar dust burst from the torn sacks, floating down onto Marion’s hair, eyebrows, and lips like snow. The wooden debris scattered everywhere, but the man’s massive frame shielded her.
Time itself seemed to slow. Every movement became sluggish.
Why are there special effects here?
The sweetness on her tongue felt wrong. A shower of sugar in a life-or-death moment—utterly inappropriate. A bad premonition crept up her spine. Slowly, she lifted her head from the man’s chest.
“You are…”
Hair blacker than a devil’s gut rippled in a breeze that shouldn’t exist. A moment ago, there had been no wind at all.
Eyes of cold blue, utterly devoid of emotion. An arrogant air, as though the whole world was beneath him. That unmistakable northern scent.
Her body recoiled from head to toe. Instinct screamed silently.
From the very moment he appeared—utterly detestable.
It could only be Cain Blackwood.
