Prologue

Question: When your fiancé confesses that he loves another woman, what is the most appropriate reaction for the fiancée to have?

Answer 1: Since when were we ever looking for love?  

Answer 2: So, did you sleep with her?  

Answer 3: Bring her to me.

Answer 4: Let’s break up now.

Danielle Odillon did all four of them. In other words, she said this:

“Enough. Since when were we ever looking for love? So, did you sleep with her? Bring me the face of the amazing woman who managed to seduce the great Sir Cyril Frey. If you’re going to ask me to break off the engagement, that much is the least you can do, right?”

And upon hearing those words, Cyril Frey’s face looked utterly devastated—far beyond what one could expect from a supposed betrayer.

His fair, handsome face twisted in utter misery. Under the early autumn sunlight, his eyes were like stormy gray rainclouds. Cyril, who had been kneeling on one knee on the dirt ground in the garden, as if his head might touch his chest, slowly raised his head with great difficulty and opened his mouth. His voice was still hoarse and low.

“Danielle. It’s all my fault. I’ll do anything to protect your honor and reputation. So, please…”

“Oh my, Sir Cyril. What other way is there to protect my honor besides that? If you can just do that, we can break off the engagement without any mutual responsibility, can’t we?”

Her tone was that of a noblewoman, laced with thorns at the end of every sentence. Danielle had never spoken to Cyril in such a manner before. She flicked her thick, flowing hair back like a whip. Her words, though spoken through clenched teeth, were unexpectedly steady. She was burning with anger. That heat dried out any guilt Danielle might have felt.

The words of apology she had planned to say, the words of reconciliation she had wanted to utter—all were forgotten as Danielle wielded her verbal whip. Her demands, at a glance, seemed entirely fair.

“So, bring her here. Propose to her while kneeling, just as you are now. Beg her, crying, to accept you even though you’re another woman’s fiancé. Prove that the love for which you betrayed your engagement is so irreparable that it can restore my honor. Do that, and I’ll annul the engagement, Sir Cyril Frey. Now, if you understand, get out there and bring that woman to me.”

Cyril did not respond. He neither raised his head again nor got up from the ground. Danielle turned her body first, leaving behind the man who seemed rooted to the spot as if he’d grown into the earth. Pretending to be calm, she walked back to her room step by step and slammed the door shut.

As she leaned her forehead against the cold door, only then did exhaustion wash over her at the same speed as her anger had surged.

Vows can be broken. Obligations may not always be important. But Cyril was not like her—he was someone who could not accept either. A man bound by duty. A man for whom vows were everything. That was why he had stayed by her side for twelve years as the fiancé of a girl he didn’t even like. It had been an unwanted engagement, but he hadn’t particularly rejected it either. Danielle, too, was not someone who avoided what was assigned to her. Especially if it meant aligning with the vows that were like someone’s lifeline.

Danielle knew she wasn’t in a position to hurl rage and resentment at him. She certainly had no plans to get angry at Cyril today. She certainly hadn’t intended to say, ‘Oh, so you have a woman you truly love? Bring her here, and I’ll let you go without a fight.’

What Danielle Odillon had originally intended to do was to confess that the woman Cyril had spent the night with yesterday—the woman who had taken his duty and faith—was actually her. That just as their engagement had been an accident, so too had that night been an accident. But perhaps, if accidents pile up, they might result in an ending that wasn’t so bad.

She had planned to say that. She couldn’t bring herself to say, ‘Can’t we love each other?’ But she had intended to propose that, at the very least, the conditions were suitable for fulfilling their obligations and to seek reconciliation.

It had never occurred to her that Cyril Frey might think the woman from last night wasn’t her, Danielle Odillon. Danielle had no idea what to do about the woman from last night.

Chapter 1 – So, This Is How It Happened

To explain how Danielle, the youngest daughter of Marquis Odillon, and Cyril, the only son of Viscount Frey, came to promise marriage at the age of ten, the story goes as follows:

Odillon was a prestigious noble family with estates in the Northern part of the kingdom. Long ago, their power was so strong that they even dared to call themselves kings. However, when Roigar in the South began expanding its influence, they quickly submitted and pledged their service. In hindsight, it might seem like foresight, as Roigar eventually built a great kingdom, but at the time, their seemingly spineless submission was so baffling that it naturally aroused suspicion.

Land, wealth, marriage… The King of Roigar repeatedly demanded proof of their loyalty, to the point of excess. One lord of the Odillon family eventually chose to leave their estate entirely and become a noble of the capital. By offering themselves as hostages to the royal family, Odillon secured peace.

Frey, on the other hand, was an old vassal family of Odillon, specifically a family that guarded the storerooms of their estate… In other words, a steward family. From the time when Odillon was the king of the North to when they fell to just another noble family in the capital, Frey remained by their side.

However, as one hundred, then two hundred years passed since they moved to the capital, this steward family blended into the capital far more naturally than Odillon did. They became a family capable of standing shoulder to shoulder with their former masters in the court of the vast kingdom, which was several times larger than the North.

When the small cracks that began to appear between the old lord and vassal relationship could no longer be ignored, Marquis Odillon and Viscount Frey had children just months apart. Frey had their firstborn son, who would inherit the family, while Odillon had their youngest daughter, following an older son and daughter. Viscount Winoc Frey, who craved power more than any previous Frey, subtly proposed a marriage alliance between the two children to Marquis Odillon.

‘Frey is no longer the Frey of old, but our goodwill toward Odillon remains unchanged. What better way to solidify the bond between Odillon and Frey than this? Besides, my son is the heir to Frey, so he is hardly an unworthy match for Odillon’s youngest daughter, who is neither the eldest nor the heir…’

Marquis Alexander Odillon, who had to worry about preserving his neck before his youngest daughter could even hold hers up, thought to himself: 

Should I just break Winoc Frey’s neck before he can even propose such a scheme? 

Though it was more an expression of annoyance than an actual plot, the Marquis spent years mulling over it while watching the two children grow up side by side. After all, it was still too early to seriously discuss a marriage contract. There was no justification to stop the Frey family from visiting with their child.

Cyril Frey had been an exceptionally beautiful child from birth. When he was very young, he was often mistaken for a girl, much to the annoyance of his power-hungry and prideful father, Winoc Frey. His radiant blonde hair and clear gray eyes were assets he had from infancy, and his easygoing personality, which allowed him to smile in the arms of anyone, only added to his charm.

There was no way such a child wouldn’t grow up to be a handsome man. Adults who saw Cyril couldn’t help but think so, forgetting the universal truth that all children are cute regardless of their looks. This sentiment was shared by Marquis Odillon and his wife, who already had three children.

Marchioness Valerie Odillon adored Cyril without ulterior motives, simply because he was a child. However, the Marquis was deeply displeased by how often Frey paraded their beautiful child in front of him. Still, preventing children under ten from playing together out of fear that one might charm the other seemed far too petty, even given the uncomfortable history between the families. All the Marquis could do was hold his equally beautiful daughter in his arms and mutter incomprehensible warnings about being wary of boys, especially Cyril Frey.

That beautiful daughter, Danielle Odillon, was born and raised in the capital, unlike her two older siblings who grew up in the Northern domain. Her name was also chosen according to capital trends, unlike her elder siblings Xasha and Lyudmila, who bore Northern names.

Her jet-black hair and emerald-green eyes were typical Northern features, but in the family, she was cherished as if she embodied the spring of the capital. Her large eyes were framed by thick, lush lashes from a young age, and even the way her chubby fingers wriggled was exceptionally endearing. She learned to walk and run much faster than her peers, and every movement she made was light and graceful.

Marquis Alexander Odillon was so proud of his lovely, adorable, and undoubtedly intelligent youngest daughter that he made a slight mistake: he taught her not just to be cautious of Cyril Frey but to never lose to him.

As a result, the beautiful garden of the Odillon estate soon became a chaotic playground for the two mischievous children.

***

“I’m tired.”

The first words Danielle uttered that day, after being fussed over and dressed up like an adult, were these. She tried to rub her half-closed eyes with the back of her hand, but her maid stopped her quickly.

“Miss, rubbing your eyes will only make them swell more. Let me bring you a cold compress. Please bear with it a little longer, alright?”

“What does it matter how my face looks? Besides, Father said I was cute even if I couldn’t open my eyes.”

“But you’ll wear makeup later, and rubbing your eyes will ruin them. Also, the Master said you were cute, not pretty.”

At the maid’s merciless correction, Danielle quietly pouted. Of course, a ten-year-old girl couldn’t possibly not know the difference between being cute and being pretty. The maid, skilled in handling her young lady, added new lace to her birthday dress as she gently soothed her.

“And why does your face not matter, Miss? Today is your birthday.”

“I fought with Cyril yesterday.”

“Oh dear.”

So that’s why she’s upset. 

Fifteen-year-old Brie, a maid chosen for her exceptional talent with children and given a position far beyond her years, drew out her words as she tried to console Danielle. 

This clever young lady wasn’t difficult to care for as long as one knew when to firmly point out the truth and when to gently cater to her mood. Except, of course, when she couldn’t tolerate losing and ended up in a scuffle with Cyril from the neighboring estate.

“I told him I wanted a new rabbit doll for my birthday. Last time, he said Lily was too dirty and told me to throw her away.”

“I worked so hard to clean up Lily, and the Young Master still said that? How unfair.”

Danielle didn’t want to part with her beloved doll, but she was old enough to understand that it was just a doll. Even if she had no intention of throwing Lily away, her pride wouldn’t let her be treated like a child. So, in a fit of defiance, she must have demanded Cyril replace it with something new.

‘But if it was yesterday, the birthday present should have already been wrapped by now.’

Brie, curious about what that inflexible Young Master might have said, waited for the rest of the story.

“Well, he said, ‘Isn’t it time you stopped playing with dolls?’ This, coming from someone who hides a teddy bear in his own room!”

Ah, so it wasn’t about the rabbit doll… 

Brie suppressed a laugh as she thought of the poor boy, destined to be met with disdain no matter what fine gift he might bring. She moved behind Danielle, carefully tying a pearl-colored ribbon into her long, wavy hair as she tried to comfort her.

“Still, I’m sure he picked something pretty and nice. If you really can’t forgive him, just accept Cyril’s gift and open it later.”

“…Is that okay?”

“Of course, Miss. It’s your gift. No one can stop you. Though Madam might have something to say.”

“That means it’s not okay.”

“I was just saying. The Young Master isn’t a child anymore; surely, he knows when he’s done something wrong.”

“He’s still got a long way to go.”

Once Brie finished arranging the ends of the ribbon, Danielle tilted her head proudly. She looked every bit the star of the day, angelic in her appearance. Her dress, a subtle pearly hue rather than pink or yellow, resembled an elegant bridal gown. As Brie admired her handiwork, the little lady mumbled something under her breath.

“…Brie. Actually… it’s just that…”

“Yes?”

“Well…”

Danielle raised her hand and waved it vaguely toward herself. Brie, careful not to disturb the large ribbon, leaned closer to her young lady. Danielle whispered softly into her ear, her tone almost confessional.

“Actually… I’m a little scared that I might like Cyril’s gift. If I don’t open it, like you said, Mother won’t scold me too much, right?”

This time, Brie couldn’t hold back her laughter.