“Oh my, His Highness has asked Lady Maria to dance again. Such behavior at a party where his fiancée is present—it’s truly excessive.”
“At this rate, scandalous rumors might spread. Surely the fiancée won’t just sit idly by?”
The noblewon whispered loudly enough for to hear, their eyes shalessly fixed on .
Their target? Lady Dori Redfield, fiancée of the Third Prince, and the character I found myself inhabiting.
Of course, their remarks weren’t ant to be supportive.
They probably wanted to cause a scene—perhaps grab soone by the hair and create the kind of drama that would light up their dull lives.
But no. The only spectacle I planned to provide was a display of eating madeleines.
Now, if this were a café in Seoul, a single madeleine might cost 3,000 won. By that calculation, I’d just consud 6,000 won’s worth. Delightful!
Despite my apparent indifference, the noblewon kept at it, their voices dripping with mockery.
“Oh my, she accepted his dance request! She pretends to be hesitant, but it’s such an obvious ploy. At this rate, she’s going to steal him away!”
No, she won’t.
I sipped my tea, leisurely watching the handso man and the beautiful woman who had just begun to dance.
The lady’s na was Maria yer.
Beautiful, kind, and strong-willed, she possessed all the traits of a classic romantic heroine—a rarity in this era.
As for the man dancing with her, my fiancé…
One of the noblewon spoke again, her voice pointedly loud.
“Well, soone like His Highness Tristan would naturally prefer a beauty who doesn’t dim his shine.”
The man in question, the silver-haired Tristan Winter Albion, was dazzling.
His na evoked the ill-fated knight from Arthurian legend, tornted by an impossible love.
Perhaps it was fitting. With his striking appearance, Tristan looked like the classic romance side character—a knight suppressing fiery, unrequited love beneath a cold exterior.
But in reality, he was neither cold nor in love. He wasn’t a knight, nor even a supporting character.
If anything, Tristan was the clichéd, arrogant male extra you’d find in every romance. The kind of guy who flaunts his status and wealth to impress the beautiful heroine.
Characters like him typically end up being humiliated by the male lead or another supporting character. Sotis, they’re killed off entirely.
So, what happens to Tristan in this story?
“Dori!”
“...Grace.”
My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
Turning around, I saw Grace Redfield, my elder sister in this life, glaring at .
“It’s been a while, Grace. Have you been—”
“My health is as fine as ever. But seeing you makes my heart sink.”
“Grace...”
“This is the fourth dance. Have you danced with His Highness even once?”
“No.”
“Do you think you’ll dance with him soon?”
“No.”
“You’re so blunt!”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Grace.”
“Ha...”
Grace turned to glare at the culprit behind her frustration—the prince.
Having finally secured a dance with Maria after multiple attempts, Tristan now wore a triumphant smile, as if showing off a trophy.
Watching this, Grace gritted her teeth.
“I understand you don’t care for this engagent, but to humiliate his fiancée so openly!”
“Grace, I’m fine. I don’t enjoy dancing, and I’m sure His Highness knows that.”
“Oh, Dori! You’re far too kind. How could a child like you be born into the Redfield family?”
Grace pulled into a tight hug. For a mont, I couldn’t breathe, but her warm embrace was comforting. This, I thought, must be what familial love feels like.
But that fleeting sentint vanished three seconds later when Grace whispered sharply into my ear.
“Dori, being kind is all well and good, but this engagent isn’t just about you. Do you know where that country girl dancing with the prince cos from?”
“Isn’t she from the yer barony?”
“Technically, she’s a distant niece of the baron. A girl so insignificant she wouldn’t have even debuted in society in the past. If the daughter of the esteed Redfield family loses her fiancé to soone like her, can you imagine the disgrace?”
Her words weren’t a question—they were a command.
Don’t embarrass the family. Hold onto the prince.
I had only one answer.
“It’s fine, Grace. His Highness will co back to .”
“Oh, Dori! You’re too good for this world—it’s a sickness!”
Grace looked ready to tear her hair out, but quickly grabbed her fan when she noticed the stares of nearby noblewon. Lowering her voice, she continued her rant.
“Dori, you and His Highness have only t a few tis over this long engagent! What makes you so confident?”
The original novel.
“I trust His Highness.”
“...I’d sooner believe Father will finally succeed in hunting a deer this year than trust Tristan.”
Grace looked as though she might cry.
anwhile, the music in the hall ca to an end.
Tristan escorted Maria back to her table with movents as refined as those from an etiquette manual. Then, turning, his eyes briefly t mine.
Surely, I thought, he would look awkward or guilty—if he had a conscience.
But no. That man had no conscience.
Without even a fraction of hesitation, he turned his head away sharply.
Are you kidding ? Even a stray dog on the street would warrant more than 0.1 seconds of attention!
Tristan sauntered over to a nearby table, picked up a glass of sparkling water, and sipped it with the elegance of a wolf who’d just succeeded in its hunt.
Am I supposed to believe I don’t exist to you?
Listen, Tristan. You’re not getting the heroine.
Grace sighed.
“Well, Dori, I’m leaving now. I have to dance with my husband for the next number.”
“All right. Thank you for the advice.”
“Don’t just thank with words! If you keep acting like this, I’ll tell Mother!”
Grace stord off.
From a distance, I saw her husband greet her. His graceful escort made her laugh brightly as she took his arm.
Arranged marriages among nobles could be surprisingly pleasant if you found a compatible partner like that.
The problem is, my life partner is already set.
And that partner—or nesis—was now speaking, loud enough for his friends to hear.
“How was the dance with Miss yer? Well, I’m not one to judge a lady’s dancing skills. …Is there another lady I should be concerned with tonight? My mother, perhaps?”
Unbelievable. That shaless prince.
But Tristan Winter Albion, the Third Prince.
No matter what nonsense you spout, you’re marrying next year.
The original novel says so.
It All Began Two Months Ago
Late winter.
I had just been let go from my job as a nightti librarian—a position I’d held for three years, or more precisely, for three contracts of 11 months each. Trusting the library director’s promise to hire as a permanent staff mber, I’d missed the opportunity to apply elsewhere.
Drained of energy, I returned ho and started unpacking my bag when an old book tumbled out. I must have accidentally taken it while doing restoration work.
I couldn’t go back to the library, but at the very least, I needed to return the book.
However, upon closer inspection, I noticed sothing odd. Instead of the library’s barcode, the book bore one from a long-defunct rental shop.
Soone must have mistakenly returned a book they’d purchased from that closed rental shop to the library.
A book with such an unlucky fate…
Abandoned and without a proper place, destined to be discarded even if it were returned to the library—it struck a chord with . It felt a little too much like my own life.
My nose tingled with emotion, and I rubbed it a few tis before opening the book. At the very least, I could prove that its life as a book wasn’t over yet—by reading it.
So I did. I spent the evening repairing and reading that tattered book, oblivious to the fact that the old boiler in my tiny apartnt had gone out.
And when I opened my eyes again, I had beco a minor character in that very novel.
The Plot Was Simple.
Once childhood friends, the male and female leads reunite in the capital as adults. The male lead, the heir to a northern duchy, and the female lead, a lower-ranking noble, are drawn to each other.
They wrestle with feelings of we’re too different, this will never work, but oh, how I love you, until they finally marry. The end.
To spice things up, the story throws in a lovestruck knight as a secondary male lead, a villainess who covets the male lead, and, of course, an annoying male extra who pesters the heroine.
That annoying extra is none other than the Third Prince, Tristan. His role? To get pumled by the knightly secondary lead in the later chapters and undergo a forced redemption arc.
In the epilogue, it’s casually ntioned that Tristan marries his patient, long-suffering fiancée. That’s the entirety of his character’s resolution.
And that devoted fiancée? That’s now—Dori Redfield.
“Lazy writing,” I muttered.
Why do so authors insist on pairing everyone off at the end?
Still, one thing was clear: even if Tristan spends the entire social season chasing after Maria, he will, inevitably, end up marrying .
“Ugh...”
Frustrated, I let out a deep sigh.
What’s the point of a husband whose only good quality is his face? Being a prince doesn’t make him special—he’s just a glorified freeloader living off the people’s taxes!
In a society where primogeniture reigns, there’s no guarantee that princes who aren’t first in line will lead stable lives.
But what choice did I have?
At least it’s not a bad ending.
I should be grateful that I’d end up with a husband who’s easy on the eyes.
I was halfway through devouring a year’s worth of madeleines—a luxury I could rarely afford in my previous life—when soone called my na.
“Dori Redfield! Look this way, please.”
It was my chaperone, my aunt, who had taken on the role of supervising at these social events.
Apparently, she’d spent most of the party chatting, convinced that Dori is so well-behaved she doesn’t need much watching.
Well, I suppose she was done talking now.
Smiling politely, I turned my head.
And saw soone I didn’t want to.
“...Your Highness?”
Standing beside my aunt was my future husband, Tristan.
Judging by his expression—like soone who had bitten their tongue while eating—he’d been dragged over against his will.
Even now, he was doing his utmost to avoid eting my gaze. His dedication to being unpleasant was truly impressive.
My aunt chuckled.
“Dori, you’ve been trying to approach His Highness all evening but couldn’t manage it, could you? I felt so sorry for you that I brought him over myself.”
I never tried to approach him!
While I appreciated her effort, I wished she hadn’t done it in such a horrifyingly false manner.
She wasn’t done, though. My aunt continued to praise Tristan.
“His Highness is always surrounded by people, so our shy Dori couldn’t possibly approach. How thoughtful of him to co to her instead!”
Behind Tristan, my aunt gave a pointed look, as if to say, Be grateful! Even if you’re not, at least act like it!
“...Your Highness. How kind of you to co,” I said, unfolding my fan to partially cover my face.
Taking advantage of the awkward atmosphere, my aunt slipped away quietly, leaving just the two of us at the table.
I wondered how long this professional troublemaker would endure before running off.
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