Crown Prince Wilfred looked with a cold face at his confidant—though that was only Count Peregrine’s own claim—who chattered away cheerfully. 

The young Crown Prince’s face, which showed no hint of emotional fluctuation, was certainly fitting for someone at the center of such sensational rumors surrounding the royal marriage.

If only he kept his mouth shut, even people in this room would fall for his looks. Soft wheat-colored hair with gray eyes, delicate features, yet unmistakably masculine with a straight nose and jawline.

The Crown Prince placed his long, elegant hand just below that jaw.

“What did Bernard say?”

Bernard Doville was the chief court secretary of Osborne Palace and the second son of the Lord of Wordsworth, the one who had assembled a welcoming party two weeks ago to greet Princess Lucille at Wordsworth Harbor. 

Bernard was supposed to send carrier pigeons every other day to report on the welcoming party’s movements.

Count Peregrine answered.

“He says they’re waiting at Wordsworth Harbor. The Aberdeen people dropped off the princess on land and immediately fled in a hurry, leaving only a minimal crew behind. Maybe that’s why Bernard’s been sending pigeons twice a day.”

In other words, the welcoming party was stuck at the harbor, unable to either send Princess Edith back to Aberdeen or head to the royal palace. 

Naturally, from Bernard’s perspective, there was no alternative but to panic and frantically send carrier pigeons. Of course, Wilfred wasn’t the type to consider his secretary’s pitiful situation.

“I hear Lord Wordsworth’s eldest son is a complete piece of sh*t, right? The old marquis must be tearing into Bernard.”

“That’s why he didn’t want to go in the first place.”

Count Peregrine casually uttered words that would make the diligent Bernard himself gasp if he heard them. The Crown Prince narrowed his eyes.

“Should I tell Bernard to marry that princess then?”

Everyone except the Crown Prince and Count Peregrine stiffened. 

To marry a princess of a nation to not even the eldest son but the second son of some provincial lord. The joke went too far. The fact that it might not be a joke at all chilled some of their blood.

“Are you serious, Your Highness? Shouldn’t you at least confirm Lord Bernard Doville’s wishes?”

“When I’m the one ordering it, does Bernard’s opinion matter?”

The count smiled faintly.

“Should I reply with that then? If Your Highness doesn’t make a decision quickly, Lord Bernard Doville might throw himself into the waters off Wordsworth from the pressure.”

“Stop screwing around, Rodney.”

Wilfred’s tone sharpened instantly. The temperature in the conference room also dropped several degrees in an instant.

“Confess everything Bernard wrote, word for word. That chatty bastard couldn’t have written just two lines.”

Rodney Peregrine was quick-witted. 

To survive while acting up every time in front of the Crown Prince’s razor-sharp edge, you needed that level of perception. Even between relatives, the Crown Prince never showed mercy.

“The welcoming party is ready to follow the Crown Prince’s orders at any time, and they plan to add more escort forces locally. Princess Edith herself, who actually caused this mess, is apparently as carefree as can be. Without a single word about why Princess Lucille, who should have come, couldn’t make it, she takes five-hour walks along the beach every day. Only occasionally exchanging words with the Aberdeen maids who came with her.”

Light sighs arose among the nobles. The youngest daughter of a palm-sized duchy commits fraud against the Kingdom of Fenwick, yet she’s strolling along beaches. Five hours at a time on the Wordsworth coast, which has nothing but rocks and wind…?

‘Is the sea fascinating because she’s from a landlocked country?’

Wilfred’s thoughts differed.

“That princess can’t speak Fenwick.”

Count Peregrine’s eyes widened involuntarily.

‘Did the Crown Prince just speak… incredulously…?’

Like kings or crown princes who ascend too early typically do, Wilfred rarely put emotions other than anger or irritation in his voice. Though the problem, if it was a problem, was that he put anger and irritation in far too often and too much.

“Well, Fenwick isn’t a required subject for Aberdeen princesses.”

“I can speak Pragonian.”

Aberdeen was a small nation that had gained independence from Pragonia 300 years ago. Though they had a native language, the official language was still Pragonian.

“So, will you personally send a letter in Pragonian to Princess Edith?”

“I was just bragging.”

Wilfred looked somehow pleased. Now not just the quick-witted Count Peregrine, but all dozen or so high nobles sensed a similarly ominous feeling.

The Lord of Dunsany, Duke Shore, who had maintained silence until now, spoke heavily.

“Prince Wilfred, then surely you don’t mean…”

“She’s a woman I’ve only seen in a portrait anyway. Marrying her sister won’t make much difference. Ah, I hope their faces are somewhat similar though. Princess Lucille was quite a beauty.”

“…”

“Or not? Are they half-sisters? Grand Duchess Jeremiah must be prettier than the first wife, so that’s probably why the Grand Duke went through the trouble of divorcing Grand Duchess Nadia and remarrying, right?”

While no one answered, Wilfred alone continued muttering like a madman.

“Then did they deliberately switch them and send Edith because she’s prettier than Lucille? Because they were grateful for the salt I gave? If I’d known, should I have sent gold instead of salt?”

Duke Shore’s tone grew serious.

“She will become the Crown Princess of Fenwick. Since this is a royal marriage, I hope Your Highness will make a more careful decision—”

Wilfred cut off the duke’s words.

“Are you saying this out of genuine concern for Fenwick’s future, or because you think Lady Camilla Shore should rightfully claim the crown princess’s coronet, Lord Dunsany?”

Becoming displeased, then pleased, muttering to himself, then suddenly turning aggressive within a minute—this was the Crown Prince’s trademark.

The King’s subjects—meaning they weren’t yet Wilfred’s subjects—quickly exchanged glances. 

No matter that he was King Joffrey’s legitimate son and a formally invested Crown Prince, Wilfred was still far too young, too weak in power, and had too many enemies to command nobles with a mere gesture. 

For such a Crown Prince, there was only one way to rapidly build power: forming marriage ties with powerful families.

Even among the nobles gathered here, there were those like Duke Shore who had suitable daughters or nieces as Crown Princess candidates. 

Since Wilfred was invested as Crown Prince four years ago, every one of them had appealed to the Crown Prince about these numerous Crown Princess candidates, whether subtly or overtly. 

Yet the Crown Prince adamantly refused to meet any family’s lady.

He avoided women so thoroughly that a year ago, his enemies spread slander linking him romantically with Count Peregrine, claiming they engaged in sodomy. 

So many people believed it that it eventually reached the Crown Prince’s ears, resulting in public stoning in Osborne’s marketplace and execution by tongue-cutting.

Such a Crown Prince would accept a youngest princess from a frontier nation as his consort…?

This was never a welcome development for Fenwick’s nobles. But above all, it was the most disadvantageous choice for the Crown Prince himself. 

If he married Duke Shore’s only daughter, the entire Dunsany territory would eventually belong to the royal family. And no matter how pretty the Aberdeen princess might be, wasn’t Lady Camilla Shore the most splendid and beautiful flower in Fenwick society?

Duke Shore, who knew this fact better than anyone, looked noticeably displeased. Regardless, Wilfred said what he wanted to say.

“I’m choosing the woman who will become my consort myself—how dare you step forward and lecture me about prudence?”

“…My deepest apologies.”

Wilfred didn’t even pretend to hear the duke’s apology. Instead, he turned toward Count Peregrine.

“Prepare the wedding ceremony with Princess Edith. Within ten days.”

From Wordsworth Harbor where Princess Edith was staying to Osborne Palace where the Crown Prince resided was exactly a ten-day journey.

* * *

Compared to the Goddess Frieze’s trial, everything about the Fenwick royal wedding was extremely transparent and straightforward. 

After racing carriages at full speed for ten days from Wordsworth, the marriage ceremony would be held immediately upon entering Osborne. The wedding night would be spent at the castle, followed by a three-day banquet celebrating the birth of the Crown Prince couple. 

According to custom, the Crown Prince couple should honeymoon at Rosewood where the royal family’s villa was located, but since His Majesty King Joffrey was ill, they would refrain from honeymooning.

A marriage ceremony immediately upon arrival.

More than that lightning-fast speed, Edith was more surprised by the fact that the Fenwick royal family had decided to accept her. Not that she could ask the Fenwick people who were extremely wary of her,

“What scheme does your Crown Prince harbor?”

The thing weighing more heavily on Edith’s mind than the immediately approaching wedding was the language problem. Since Lucille was originally supposed to come to Fenwick, Edith, who ended up coming in Lucille’s place at the last minute, had only a month to learn Fenwick.

After cramming vocabulary into her head twelve hours a day, her vocabulary reached an enviable level, but speaking a language she’d never used before fluently in just a month was difficult. 

Especially not the rough speech commoners threw around, but language suitable for use in a nation’s royal court.

Fenwick and Aberdeen’s common language had very different word orders. Also, the endless variations in endings made it difficult to distinguish between honorifics and casual speech. She was grateful that the welcoming party spoke clearly and slowly so she could understand well.

“Your Highness. Is there anything uncomfortable?”

One of the maids who came to dress the new bride asked.

The servants who had accompanied Her Highness from Aberdeen were sent back to their homeland according to custom. 

Edith was making the final touches to her appearance before the wedding ceremony. She gazed into the mirror. The reflection staring back at her was devoid of expression. It was not the face of a joyful bride.

That didn’t mean the wedding dress enveloping her lost its luster though.

Fenwick’s lace wasn’t lighter than Aberdeen’s, but it was delicate, and the dress made by layering that delicate lace many times over shimmered with a subtle pearl color. 

Lucille’s words about islanders being less refined than continentals seemed wrong, at least regarding clothing.

It was also amazing that such a well-fitted dress had been completed in the meantime when they’d only sent measurements from Wordsworth. 

Real pearls dangled from the ends of the veil, which was even thinner and more splendid than what was used for the dress. Compared to that, Edith thought her hair was too black and her complexion too pale.

The jet-black hair belonged to Grand Duchess Jeremiah—the woman Grand Duke Angelic finally obtained after going through divorce with his first wife, Grand Duchess Nadia. 

That’s why Lucille despised this hair, the color black, every trace that woman who pushed her birth mother into humiliation left on Edith.

「Black is unlucky. That’s why mourning clothes are black too. In House Seymour, the only people with that hair color are you and that adulteress. If I were you, I would have dyed that hair a different color.」