"Oh my, His Highness has invited Miss Maria to dance again. Isn't he going too far at a party where his fiancée is watching so intently?"
"At this rate, scandalous rumors might start spreading. The fiancée can't just stand by and watch, can she?"
The noblewomen whispered openly while glancing in this direction.
Their gazes were aimed at Lady Dory Redfield, the fiancée of the Third Prince—and the body I was now inhabiting.
Of course, their comments weren't out of concern for me.
They were hoping to see a dopamine-inducing drama unfold—something like a hair-pulling catfight.
But the only show I was prepared to put on involved devouring madeleines.
Ah, look! Six thousand won worth of madeleines, priced three thousand apiece in a Seoul café, had just disappeared!
The noblewomen, undeterred, kept chattering.
"Oh my, Maria has accepted the dance invitation! She's pretending to be reluctant, but it's obviously sly behavior. At this rate, she'll steal him away!"
No, she won't.
I leisurely sipped my tea, watching the handsome man and beautiful woman who had just started their dance. The woman's name was Maria Meyer. Beautiful, kind-hearted, strong-willed, and so on—a classical character archetype that had become rare in this era of romantic fantasy stories.
And the man dancing with her was…
One of the noblewomen spoke loudly enough for me to hear.
"Well, someone like Prince Tristan would naturally want a beauty who doesn't pale even by his side."
Right. The dazzling silver-haired man's name was Tristan Winter Albion.
His name brought to mind the knight from Arthurian Legend, tormented by unattainable love.
Was he living up to his name? From a glance, he looked like the type of secondary male lead who hides fiery unrequited love behind a cool exterior.
But in reality, he was neither cool-headed, nor secretly in love, nor a knight, nor a secondary male lead.
You know the type of character—
Those pathetic supporting male roles who rely on their status and wealth to flirt with the beautiful heroine.
That was Tristan's role.
Characters like him usually end up either getting punched by the male lead or disappearing into irrelevance—or worse, dying.
In this novel, Tristan's ultimate fate was—
"Dory!"
"…Sister."
My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
I turned around to see Grace, the elder sister of this body, standing there with a furious expression.
"It's been a while, Sister. Have you been well—"
"My health is always fine. It's just that seeing you makes my spirits plummet."
"Sister…"
"This is the fourth song already. Have you danced even once with His Highness?"
"No."
"Do you think you will?"
"No."
"You're too honest!"
"I can't lie to you, Sister."
"Hah…"
Grace shot a glare at the culprit, the prince.
The scoundrel who, after several dance requests, had finally secured a dance with Maria, was now grinning triumphantly, as if parading a trophy. Grace clenched her teeth at the sight.
"I know you're not fond of this marriage arrangement, but to openly embarrass his fiancée!"
"Sister, I'm truly fine. I dislike dancing, and I'm sure His Highness knows that."
"Oh, Dory! How could someone so sweet be born into the Redfield family?"
Grace pulled me into a tight hug. The sudden embrace made it hard to breathe, but the warmth was strangely comforting. Was this what familial love felt like?
But the sentiment vanished three seconds later when Grace whispered:
"Dory, being kind is good, but remember, marriage arrangements aren't just your business. Do you know which family that country bumpkin dancing with the prince comes from?"
"Baron Meyer's, isn't it?"
"She's a distant niece of the baron, to be precise. In the old days, someone like her wouldn't have even debuted. If a woman like that steals the fiancé of a daughter of the Redfield Count's family, what do you think will happen?"
Though phrased as a question, it wasn't one. She was essentially telling me not to disgrace the family and to secure the prince.
Naturally, my reply was simple.
"It's fine, Sister. His Highness will inevitably return to my side."
"Oh, Dory! You're so sweet it's practically a disease!"
Grace raised her hands as if she wanted to pull her hair out but quickly picked up her fan when she noticed the noblewomen's stares. Though her voice dropped, it still dripped with exasperation.
"Dory! You've only met the prince a few times during this long engagement. What makes you think you can rely on him?"
The original storyline.
"I trust His Highness."
"If it were me, I'd sooner believe Father will finally succeed in hunting deer this year than trust Prince Tristan."
Grace looked as if she might cry.
Meanwhile, the dance ended, and the music faded.
Tristan escorted Maria back to her seat with picture-perfect movements, then turned—
Our eyes met briefly.
If he had any conscience, he'd at least look awkward.
But of course, this b*stard had none.
He turned his head away so quickly that I wondered if he'd seen something as disgusting as dog poop.
Seriously? Even dog poop would have gotten a longer look!
Tristan, acting like nothing had happened, returned to his table and picked up a glass of sparkling water. His elegant sip reminded me of a wolf savoring its victory after a successful hunt.
Was this his way of saying I didn't matter at all?
You'll never get the heroine, you know.
Grace sighed deeply.
"Hah… Dory, I'll be off now. I need to dance the next number with my husband."
"All right. Thanks for the advice."
"Don't just thank me in words. If you keep dawdling, I'll have to inform Mother!"
Grace left, fuming.
Not far away, her husband greeted her. He smoothly escorted her, making her laugh as she linked arms with him.
Although aristocratic marriages were based on mutual benefits, having a partner who matched you so well didn't seem half bad.
The only small issue was that my life partner had already been decided.
That partner—or nemesis—spoke from afar. He seemed to be chatting loudly with his friend, ensuring I could hear every word.
"How was the dance with Miss Meyer, you ask? Well, I'm not the kind of cad who would critique a lady's dancing skills… Oh, should I be paying more attention to another lady? What do you mean? Did my mother attend the ball today?"
He's basically saying he should be paying attention to me. This shameless and conscience-less prince!
But Tristan Winter Albion, the third prince, no matter what nonsense you spout, you're marrying me next year.
Because that's what the original story says.
It all began two months ago.
In late winter, I was fired from my job as a nighttime librarian—a position I'd held for three years (technically, three consecutive contracts of 11 months each). I had trusted the library director's promise to hire me as a permanent librarian, only to miss other application deadlines.
As I dejectedly packed my belongings at home, an old book tumbled out of my bag. I must have accidentally brought it home during a repair session.
Although I could no longer return to the library, I figured the book should at least be returned. But upon closer inspection, it bore a rental shop barcode, not the library's. And that rental shop? It had gone out of business ages ago.
Someone must have accidentally returned a book they had purchased from that closed shop to the library.
What a miserable fate for a book—unable to find a proper place to belong and destined to be discarded even if returned.
Somehow, it reminded me of my own life.
With a pang in my chest, I instinctively rubbed my nose and opened the book. As a reader, I wanted to prove that its life as a book wasn't over yet.
That's how I ended up repairing and reading this 20-year-old, tattered novel. I was so engrossed that I failed to notice the heater in my old apartment had gone out…
…And when I opened my eyes, I had become a minor character in that very novel.
The plot was simple.
A boy and girl who were once childhood friends meet again as adults in the capital. The male lead, destined to become the next Duke of the North, and the female lead, a noblewoman of modest rank, are drawn to each other but initially resist. We can't be together—but I love you—marriage! End of story.
Sprinkled in are the usual clichés: a knightly second male lead, an antagonist who schemes against the heroine, and male side characters who flirt with her.
Tristan, the third prince, is one such male side character. Toward the end of the story, he gets beaten up by the knightly second male lead and undergoes forced character development. His role concludes with a single line in the epilogue stating that he married his fiancée.
And that devoted fiancée just so happens to be me—Lady Dory Redfield.
"Looks like the author half-heartedly wrote this part."
Why do some writers insist on pairing everyone off by the end of a story?
At least one thing was clear: no matter how much the third prince flirted with Maria throughout the social season, he would inevitably end up marrying me.
"Ugh…"
It's so frustrating!
He's confirmed to have a terrible personality, and his only redeeming quality is his face! Just because he's a prince doesn't mean he's automatically amazing! He's practically a freeloading aristocrat living off taxpayers' money. And in a society where primogeniture is the norm, there's no guarantee that younger princes like him will have stable lives!
But what choice do I have?
At least it's not a bad ending.
I should be grateful that my husband-to-be is handsome.
While indulging in this thought, I finished what would have been a year's worth of madeleines in my old life. Then, someone called my name.
"Dory Redfield! Look over here!"
It was my aunt, who accompanied me as my chaperone.
Did she finally finish gossiping?
Smiling, I turned toward her… only to be greeted by an unwelcome sight.
"…Your Highness?"
Beside my aunt stood none other than my future husband, Tristan.
Judging by his expression—like someone who had just bitten their tongue while eating—he must have been dragged here against his will.
Even in this situation, his desperate attempt to avoid making eye contact with me was downright irritating.
My aunt laughed warmly.
"Dory, you tried approaching His Highness several times today but couldn't quite manage, right? Watching you struggle broke my heart, so I brought him over to you."
I didn't try anything! I appreciate the gesture, but please don't lie so blatantly!
My aunt didn't stop there and made sure to flatter the prince.
"His Highness is always surrounded by people, so our shy little Dory couldn't bring herself to approach. We're so grateful for your kindness in coming over personally!"
Behind Tristan, my aunt widened her eyes, as if silently commanding me: Be grateful! Even if you're not, pretend to be!
"…Thank you, Your Highness, for coming."
I opened my fan to cover my face, the ultimate savior of those who can't act. Meanwhile, my aunt discreetly retreated.
Leaving only me and Tristan at the table.
Now, let's see how long this karma-ridden prince lasts before making his escape.