Tristan bit the rim of his glass, thinking back to the first drinking party of January.
He’d run away from the wretched New Year festivities at the royal palace, clinked glasses with friends, and shouted it out.
‘I swear, this year I’m finally getting free of Dori Redfield!’
It hadn’t seemed that hard.
The engagement had been left to rot for ages anyway. If he just pulled in some random noble lady and pressured her family along with his, he figured the royal family and House Redfield would give up on the match before things got too messy.
But once the social season kicked off…
Something started to go wrong.
Something he couldn’t bring himself to tell even his oldest friends.
Alex refilled his brandy and asked,
“What’s with that face? Think calling off the engagement’s gonna be tough?”
“…”
“I heard Maria Meyer finally accepted a dance from you. Doubt she’s got the guts to marry a prince, but since she’s such a beauty, wouldn’t she be perfect to start a scandal and put your fiancée in her place—”
“That’s not what this is about.”
His brandy glass struck the desk with a sharp clink. Only then did Tristan continue.
“Anyway, why are you asking? It’s barely the start of the season. Are people betting on my story at that salon of yours?”
“Can’t say they aren’t. Everyone knows you’re not exactly fond of your fiancée.”
“Ha, so now even my friends are selling me out.”
“Maybe reflect on how many times you used my name to dodge the Queen’s scolding when you were sneaking over rooftops through the city.”
“…”
Tristan finally let out a small laugh.
Right, the royal family’s glamorous life existed to be every man’s idol and spectacle. Let them gnaw on him a little—it was nothing.
“Maria will come around soon enough. Bet on me winning this one.”
“Sure, I’ll trust you.”
“But tell me—does that salon of yours allow rigged bets?”
“If Madam Abigail catches you conspiring, she’ll kick you out for good. But romance isn’t something you can conspire about, is it? Just like even with your status, dancing once with Lady Maria was all you managed.”
“…”
Bastard must actually think he’ll fail to seduce Maria.
Tristan bared his teeth in a wolfish grin and said,
“Forget those salon bets. If by next spring I’m not married to the most beautiful woman, I’ll give you half my estate and then crawl naked all the way to Count Redfield’s Manor.”
“Won’t you get shot once you reach their doorstep?”
“Better to die naked than to choose the worst marriage imaginable.”
Their pointless conversation ended when another group of guests entered the club. Tired of cards, Alex was first to tidy up and leave.
A servant placed a cigar and ashtray before Tristan and quietly stepped back. But Tristan only snapped the cigar cutter—he couldn’t bring himself to actually smoke.
It was because a question he couldn’t voice to Alex kept circling his head.
‘There hadn’t been a single shift for five years. So why did Dori Redfield’s attitude suddenly change?’
When it came to this engagement, the couple themselves had always been consistently opposed—just in opposite directions.
Tristan, first of all, laughed at and loathed this engagement.
And could you blame him? The whole thing was a sloppy leftover from five years ago, when House Redfield tried to marry off their second daughter to the First Prince and failed.
It was basically a union of surplus stock from each house.
Every time this engagement came up, Tristan felt like he was hearing: ‘You’re the royal family’s expendable nobody.’
Was it irrational anger? Maybe. But from the start, this match had nothing to do with the will of those actually involved—wasn’t that the irrational part?
At eighteen, right after the engagement, Tristan had made up his mind to break it off at the very first dinner. If he had to, he’d even insult the lady.
But when he met sixteen-year-old Lady Dori Redfield that day, he couldn’t bring himself to say a single cruel word.
What could you possibly say to a girl trembling like a newly hatched chick? She looked so tiny and fragile, as if she’d catch a cold from the breeze if someone so much as sneezed.
So Tristan swallowed his harsh words, managed only a half-hearted greeting—
But she wasn’t as weak as he’d thought.
For five whole years, Dori hovered around him.
Even when Tristan acted rudely, ignored escorting her at parties, snubbed her tea parties, and didn’t bother to gift her even a robin during hunting season…
Like a single lily standing tall and straight, she kept repeating ‘an engagement is sacred,’ always looking his way.
‘Does she think she’s some kind of nun?’
But hide-and-seek with a ‘nun’ wasn’t his idea of fun.
So this year, he’d deliberately blabbed about her at the New Year’s gathering with friends, determined to burn his bridges.
As the first step, he’d flat-out told his fiancée not to expect him to ask her to dance ever again—
‘Live freely, huh?’
How did that even make sense?
Tristan had been sure she’d reply like one of those grey-haired palace priests: ‘Do not speak lightly of engagements. Heaven is watching.’
‘Then I was going to say, “You sound like a nun. I can’t marry a nun,” and turn her off!’
So why had her attitude changed all of a sudden?
He didn’t know the reason.
But if he had to say when…
‘That’s right, there’s that.’
This past March, at House Redfield’s spring formal tea service, he’d seen his fiancée for the first time in a while. She’d been fidgeting like a stray cat dragged into a tea party, making so many tiny mistakes that even the Countess had sighed out loud.
And it was that day.
While the Countess and his mother went off to tour the gardens, bored Tristan was playing with the Count’s pet dog, the maids were busy chasing tablecloths flapping in the spring breeze—
Dori Redfield, a lady praised as the most elegant in the capital—
…lunged to catch a meringue cookie falling off the table as if rescuing a baby bird from a nest, then stuffed it straight into her mouth.
‘Swear to god, I thought my eyes were broken.’
Reaching for food that was falling? Even if it hadn’t hit the ground, actually eating it?
Right after that, a napkin fluttered between them, so Dori probably had no idea he’d seen her little mishap.
When the napkin cleared, Lady Dori Redfield sat there completely composed—white crumbs still clinging to her lips.
It still made no damn sense.
A Count’s daughter, the fiancée of a prince, doing something like that?
‘Acting like a walking etiquette manual, then… somehow, it was kinda cute…’
“Cough, cough, cough!”
The thought startled him so much that brandy went down the wrong pipe.
A servant rushed over.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?”
“F-fine, cough!”
His throat felt scorched. But Tristan couldn’t bring himself to sip the water the servant brought.
If he tried, he was sure he’d choke again.
‘What the hell. Cute? Am I out of my mind?’
Finding something so catastrophically improper cute—what kind of twisted thought was that?
‘She’s not even close to cute by any standard.’
Sure, that washed-out carrot hair of hers had looked halfway decent in the sun that day, and her usually rigid green eyes had sparkled so triumphantly when she caught the cookie that he couldn’t look away, and maybe he hadn’t not wondered what those peach-like cheeks would feel like while she nibbled the cookie, but…
The moment he pictured Dori’s face, his heart started to pound faster. Just like when recalling a horror story.
Tristan drew a quick conclusion.
‘Five years is way too long to be stuck in an engagement. My body recoils at the thought of her.’
That must be why his heart had jolted every time he met Dori’s eyes at the last party.
There was no way it was excitement. It was just that he’d had to turn away quickly each time so she wouldn’t notice how much he hated facing her.
‘Going on five years like this. I’m seriously done with Alex harassing me about being tied down!’
For a better future.
Muttering that, Tristan threw back the rest of his brandy.
* * *
Early April. The debutantes kicked off the social season, and anyone with money started throwing parties left and right to build their networks. For a lady, attending these was both a duty and a right.
But for introverted me, it was just exhausting.
Once again, I spoke to my aunt, who was serving as my chaperone.
“Aunt, His Highness isn’t coming to this party, right? Is it really okay for me to be out here alone when I have a fiancé?”
“Of course it is. And if someone asks you to dance, accept. His Highness needs to hear that you’re not some unpopular wallflower, doesn’t he?”
He doesn’t even care about that sort of thing!
Besides, what if nobody asks me at all?
Before I could voice that self-esteem-crushing question, my aunt sighed.
“And… in case His Highness ends up abandoning you for good, shouldn’t you at least find one decent man?”
“…”
“Good luck.”
That actually tugged at my heart a bit, but my aunt just left to mingle with her friends right after saying it. Was she really here to help me? Or just using me as an excuse to have fun herself?
Well, it did take the pressure off.
I headed straight for the dessert table.
Not just to eat, though.
‘No escaping high society. Might as well start getting used to it.’
The general European history shelf was… Dewey Decimal 920, right? I tried comparing details from books I’d read to this novel’s setting.
First, memorize faces.
At the entrance, a servant called out every new guest. Some Viscount so-and-so, Lady such-and-such!
Then the people close to them moved forward, while enemies ducked into the crowd.
Watching their relationships play out was actually pretty entertaining.
By then, the music had changed twice. Ladies who’d just finished dancing were now giggling and crowding around the side table.
Then the gossip started.
“Men who aren’t popular are just hopeless! He asked me if he could have the next dance too, just because I accepted the first!”
“Oh my, clueless much? That’s like asking, ‘Is your dance card empty because nobody wants you?’”
“Exactly! I mean, I didn’t have anyone lined up, but it’s not like I couldn’t get a partner.”
“Right. Besides, neither Maria nor Natalie are here today, are they?”
Familiar names. The beautiful heroine and the beautiful villainess sister.
I perked up, listening closer. They didn’t seem to notice me at all as they kept chattering on.
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