Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 1

1

The young king, Vermelique II, held the surrender document from the Principality of Sidate in his hand, a satisfied smile curling his lips. The sunlight streaming through the palace’s glass windows made his platinum-blonde hair shine even brighter.

“Excellent.”

Today was the day the long and arduous war had finally come to an end. Standing in the center of the hall, the veteran warrior Margrave Cladnier and his knights fixed their gaze on the king.

“This was a feat even my father couldn’t achieve. The territory expanded beyond the Halek Iron Mines.”

As the king lowered the document, he looked up at the knights under the margrave’s command. Despite their undeniable achievements, their faces were filled with tension rather than pride.

The king chuckled softly, a sound of genuine amusement escaping his lips. After a moment of relishing their tense expressions, he spoke in a melodious voice.

“Deciding what rewards to bestow upon you all has been quite a delightful task.”

The king’s eyes scanned the line of knights one by one, stopping on a young man standing to the right of the margrave. It wasn’t hard to spot the heir of the Cladnier family, given his remarkably robust physique, even among his stalwart kin.

His serene black hair and deep blue-black eyes stood out. His well-proportioned and handsome features, along with his meticulously maintained armor, reflected his upright nature. His posture, straight as a rod, spoke of a life lived without a single blemish.

The king was already aware of the heir’s valor in battle. However, discovering his exceptional appearance was an unexpected delight, one the king couldn’t hide his satisfaction over.

As the king gazed at him intently, a spark of interest flashed in his noble eyes.

“Fine, I shall give you my sister, dearer to me than anything.”

The king’s words, seemingly tinged with regret, sent a cold shockwave through the central palace.

No one had ever seen the king’s sister, who was shrouded in mystery. Rumors had been growing that she might already be dead, no longer of this world.

The king, knowing well the glory of victory would only further elevate the esteemed Cladnier family, had no intention of letting this go unchecked. The margrave, caught off guard by the king’s strategic move, broke into a cold sweat.

“Margrave, hasn’t your heir reached the age of marriage? The royal family must take responsibility. So, how old is he this year?”

“…Eirik is now twenty-four.”

Far from having passed the marriageable age, he had just entered it. Yet, the king, disinterested in his age and not even bothering to remember it, gave a perfunctory nod and signaled to the courtier.

“Ah, the age is perfect. Miesa is twenty.”

No one paid attention to the meaningless words. Minds buzzed, trying to decipher the hidden motives behind the king’s decision.

Meanwhile, Eirik Cladnier’s expression remained as serene as ever, devoid of any emotion, despite suddenly finding himself in a situation where he might marry a woman who could either become a royal spy or a weakness to his family.

As if pre-arranged, the doors opened, and a young woman, unmistakably the king’s sister, appeared.

The pale-faced woman was indeed beautiful. With the same platinum-blonde hair as the king, a delicate frame, and clad in a white dress, she seemed almost fragile. Yet, no one paid attention to her beauty.

Now, which will it be?

The margrave’s eyes moved rapidly, trying to gauge if she would be as cunning and loyal to her brother as to stab them in the back or if she would poison their meals with a fragile tear in her eye.

“The princess is quite shy. Miesa, come here.”

Even before the king finished speaking, the princess stumbled forward as if she had been pushed from behind. Step by step, she wobbled forward, her movements unsteady. The faces of the knights grew increasingly troubled with each faltering step she took.

“……!”

“Ah…”

It became clear that the future lady of their house was in poor health. Upon realizing this, the knights all gasped, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. Some even averted their eyes to the floor, unable to watch her awkward gait.

When she finally reached the bottom of the throne’s steps and turned, her face as pale as death, she looked more like a cow being led to slaughter than a princess. Yet, no one in the hall had any reason or luxury to feel sympathy for her.

“It is an honor for our family to welcome the princess,” the margrave managed to say, struggling to keep his composure. While he pondered how to add more to his statement, his son Eirik spoke in a respectful tone.

“I shall also strive to better myself so as not to bring dishonor to Your Majesty and the princess.”

The king’s laughter, like that of a child who had just received a new toy, echoed through the hall. Vermelique II, his eyes gleaming with mischief, beckoned to Eirik.

“A fine couple, aren’t they? Yes, you should get a closer look at your future wife.”

Eirik walked steadily towards the trembling princess and knelt before her on one knee. As the king urged from above, the princess’s quivering hand hesitantly rose.

Just as Eirik was about to take her bony hand and kiss it, she suddenly pulled it away. Startled, Eirik looked up.

What he saw was the princess, her mouth wide open in a silent scream. Her face was twisted in a bizarre expression that was neither a smile nor a cry. It was a look no ordinary person, let alone royalty, should make.

Eirik forgot to breathe, utterly taken aback by the unexpected sight. Time seemed to stand still until,

“Ah, ah!”

The princess suddenly screamed like a child and stumbled backward, tripping over her dress and falling to the floor. As Eirik narrowed his eyes to understand what was happening, the king’s voice, feigning apology, filled the hall.

“Oh dear. The princess, due to her condition, has behaved improperly. Miesa! That’s not acceptable.”

The princess, who had crawled to the king’s feet, lay flat on the floor. The king petted her head like one would a dog, and the princess, who had been on the verge of tears, scrunched up her nose and smiled foolishly.

The color drained from the faces of Margrave Cladnier and his retainers. This simple-minded princess, who lay down wherever she pleased, was the royal family’s reward for their years of loyal service.

***

The faces of those returning to the Cladnier mansion in the capital, having faced the winter wind, were marked with deep despondency.

“What about the engagement with the Crispin family…?” Eirik’s cousin, Emmerich, began to speak but then closed his mouth again. The Margrave squeezed his eyes shut in response, unable to give an answer.

The Margravine of Cladnier, who had been silently listening to all this, took a sip of the strong liquor she had been pouring for her husband. Even the potent alcohol couldn’t ease the complex emotions that churned within her at the thought of the princess becoming her daughter-in-law overnight. The sound of her placing the glass down was harsh and loud.

The atmosphere, heavier than at a funeral, plummeted even further when the royal wedding date, set for two months hence, was announced.

Ten days later, the palace maids visited the Cladnier mansion under the pretext of inspecting the princess’s future chambers.

“How can it be that the princess will use a bedroom by herself? And the bathroom is far too distant from here. Moreover…”

As the maids picked at every little detail, the Margravine’s lips twitched with irritation. Still, she maintained her composure and replied as softly as she could.

“I have never heard of a couple sharing a bedroom in any noble family. As you can see, there is a connecting passage between their rooms, so there is no need for them to share a single chamber.”

Despite her efforts, the maids remained obstinate.

“Your Ladyship, the princess is in poor health. She will often need assistance during the night.”

“Then we can arrange for an attendant to be stationed…”

“My goodness, an attendant? Are you suggesting that the princess’s safety be entrusted to a servant in the dead of night?”

Initially, she did not fully grasp their point, but it soon became clear: they expected the heir of the Cladnier family to personally attend to the princess’s needs, even her nightly visits to the bathroom.

The Margravine could no longer hide her displeasure. To think that her son, someone she had always been proud to present to the world, would be treated worse than a common servant was beyond belief.

As she tried to regain her composure, a calm, low voice spoke from behind her.

“What is going on here?”

The previously noisy maids fell silent at once, noticing the man who had silently walked in and was now standing by the door. The man, having entered the room, raised his eyebrows silently. At his quiet inquiry, the maid who had been directing her final words at the Margravine stammered out a response.