Surprisingly, Tristan quietly sat across from me at the table.
Maybe it was because the elders had arranged this meeting? Despite his discomfort, he maintained a semblance of courtesy, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a slight sense of camaraderie—
"Ugh… Let's not waste each other's time."
—before the prince shattered my sentiment.
The moment our eyes met was brief. He slumped into his chair as if he couldn't stand even showing his face, staring at the ceiling instead. From my perspective, all I could see was his sharp jawline and the rough curve of his neck that moved as he spoke.
"Dory Redfield, do you remember the day you first heard about our engagement?"
"Was it five years ago? I believe my parents mentioned it during dinner."
"I recall it with painful clarity—down to the time and place. It was five in the afternoon when I was returning from training. My uncle, whom I ran into by chance, casually said, 'Tristan, have you ever met Dory Redfield? She's your fiancée.' Just like that. Every word in that sentence was news to me."
"…"
"Unwilling engagements are common, but this? This was ridiculous. Even now, five years later, the memory still riles me up."
Well… that does sound like a bombshell.
For a fleeting moment, I felt sympathy for Tristan—only for him to crush that, too, with his next words.
"If nothing else, had the other party been a beauty, I might've felt like I received a delightful surprise. But this… ha."
"…"
Excuse me? You're like a fancy box with a rotten potato inside. What are you even talking about?
Then, as if realizing he might've gone too far, he waved his hand dismissively and added,
"Ah, don't misunderstand. I'm not saying you're unattractive. You're like a lily, graceful and elegant, but… not my type. So don't overthink it."
Oh? A compliment? Maybe he has a conscience after all—
—or not.
"But I do worry that, standing next to me, you might not even look like a lily. Perhaps just a plain weed. After all, everyone has a place where they truly belong."
I almost punched him. Truly, I almost did.
But no, I can endure this. I've dealt with worse.
Even that one library patron who said, 'I can't sleep. Read me the book you're holding,' as if I were some nighttime storyteller. I endured then, holding Ulysses in my hands, resisting the urge to accidentally drop the hardcover on their foot.
While I silently worked to quell my rising anger, Tristan cautiously peeked up at me, as if to gauge my reaction.
"…Are you listening, Dory Redfield?"
"Of course. I always pay attention to your words, Your Highness."
I'll listen, sure. I just won't care.
Tristan looked a little uneasy but continued,
"Anyway, I don't consider our relationship a proper engagement. The initial discussions didn't involve us, and nothing's happened since then, has it?"
"Yes, I've heard as much."
Apparently, Count Redfield originally aimed for a match between his second daughter, the most beautiful of the three sisters, and the Crown Prince. But the talks fell through and instead concluded with a vague promise to wed someday—his youngest daughter to their third son.
Now, at 21 years old for me and 23 for Tristan, the arrangement hadn't advanced at all.
To the royal family, it didn't matter. To the Redfield family, it was a "nice-to-have" but not a necessity. The only one truly bound by this invisible chain was the Third Prince himself.
Tristan sighed and said,
"Let's make this clear, then. Even if this banquet lasts until dawn, I will not ask you to dance. Not tonight, not at the next ball, or the one after that."
"Understood."
"No misplaced hopes or—wait a moment."
Tristan abruptly stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening.
"Dory Redfield, did you actually understand what I just said?"
"Yes. You're stating that an arrangement made as a passing joke by our parents lacks the binding force of a formal engagement. Isn't that right?"
"That's… correct."
"I'm glad to have understood correctly. Of course, dismissing the arrangement without our parents' consent is impossible. However, I have no desire for my existence to infringe upon your freedom."
"Are you saying—"
"I'll simply await the decision of my parents and Your Highness. Until then, please live as freely as you wish, just as you are now."
Go ahead, pile up those cringe-worthy moments. You're destined to marry me anyway.
One day, when you're groveling with apologies, I'll enjoy it with popcorn in hand.
Tristan's expression stiffened as my words sank in. For the first time, he truly looked at me. His silvery-blue eyes, far too stunning for such a petty villain, trembled with uncertainty.
"In that case… I don't want to assume, but I must ask—do you happen to have someone else in your heart?"
…I nearly threw my fist instead of an answer. What kind of logic is this?
"Of course not! What are you saying, Your Highness?"
"Then how am I supposed to interpret my fiancée telling me to 'live freely'?"
"Don't misunderstand, it's literally what I mean. I trust and follow the decisions of the royal family and our parents while simply wishing not to bring shame to the prince I so deeply respect."
"..."
"This is the wisest choice I can make. Really, don't worry about me. I'll stay quiet."
Yet Tristan's face looked as though he was going crazy from worry.
Ugh, why? It's not like you're going to suddenly repent and start acting kindly now, right?
You're not even the male lead, just a petty side character.
"Do you have anything more to say?"
Hurry up and go flirt with Maria or something.
Tristan seemed to have more on his mind, his lips moving as though searching for words, but eventually, he rose from his seat without a word. My view was suddenly obscured by his tall frame. Despite his sharp-tongued image, he carried a faint woody scent, much like a library.
In that fleeting moment of unexpected attraction, he turned to leave, leaving behind these words:
"...Fine. If you truly don't wish to dance with me, then see to it that you don't end up gazing at me longingly in the future."
Agh! That mouth of his!
I've never looked at you longingly! You must have mistaken my occasional glances of disdain!
As I stood there dumbfounded, struggling for words, Tristan strode away.
Ugh, what bad luck!
How on earth am I supposed to live face-to-face with someone like that?
Feeling stifled, I reached for a Madeleine again, only for my brief respite to be interrupted by a deep sigh from behind me. It was my aunt.
"Dory… Why did His Highness leave so soon? Did you say more of those 'nice' things to him again?"
"Excuse me? Well, I couldn't exactly be rude, could I?"
"Being rude doesn't mean much! Couldn't you at least say something like 'I want to keep you all to myself'?"
"That's impossible for me!"
Just thinking about it gave me chills.
That would be downright cruel to my mental health!
As my aunt lamented, "Are you really going to leave without a single dance? What will your parents say?" I caught sight of Tristan briefly glancing back at me from the hall. His eyes bore an air of disdain before he quickly turned away.
***
"Dorys Redfield!"
So calling your child by their full name when angry is universal, huh?
That idle thought was interrupted by the furious voice of my father, Count Redfield, raining down on me.
"How is it that you didn't dance even once with His Highness? Explain yourself!"
"His Highness…"
"No excuses! It's obvious he was probably chasing after some beautiful lady. But does that mean you just stood there watching? You should've grabbed his arm, and he'd have at least humored you with one dance!"
"..."
"If you can't win him over with looks, at least make up for it with wit or persistence! What did you even learn from your sisters?"
The Count gestured to the portrait hanging on the wall, where the three Redfield sisters were smiling.
Grace, Natalie, and Dory. Their names conveniently followed the alphabet, making them easy to remember.
The figure on the left was my eldest sister, Grace, whom I'd met earlier at the party. She was the most amiable person in this household but rarely visited after getting married.
"Grace was beloved by everyone. Look at her now, a baroness. She's clever, too."
In the center was the glamorous beauty, Natalie, with striking red hair and an intense gaze that naturally drew attention.
"It was such a pity the marriage between Natalie and the First Prince fell through. I'm sure even he regrets missing out on such a beauty!"
"..."
"Natalie will undoubtedly secure an excellent match. There's no doubt about it!"
The Count's eyes gleamed with greed, as though he were looking at a goldmine rather than his daughter. That absurd dream of his will never come true.
Natalie is the villainess of this novel, after all.
She's destined to embarrass herself while trying to win over the Northern Grand Duke male lead and ultimately ends up in a convent.
Not that I plan to warn him about it.
Finally, the Count's gaze settled on the youngest daughter in the portrait.
Oddly enough, the face there was no longer that of the original Dory Redfield but my own—Kim Doremi's.
When I first transmigrated here, the youngest daughter's face looked like a ghost's, but as I adapted to this world, it gradually morphed into mine.
It seems that the original side character's shallow traits were overwritten by my existence, influencing her appearance.
Honestly, I'm satisfied with my looks, but in a world like this, where beauty inflation is so extreme, comparisons are inevitable.
The Count let out a deep sigh.
"You're… not unattractive. Though I may see you with kind eyes because I'm your father, so don't find solace in that."
"..."
"Still, you don't know how to enhance your beauty, you lack any sharp wit or charm in your speech, and your dancing skills are… unimpressive. It pains me to say this, but don't take offense at my words."
Nothing good ever follows that preface.
The Count's nonsense, however, exceeded even my worst expectations.
"Have you considered entering a convent?"
"Excuse me?"
"If you keep acting foolishly, you'll surely be abandoned by His Highness and become the laughingstock of society. And not just you—our entire family will be disgraced!"
"..."
"It would be far better to withdraw gracefully from society on your own terms before that happens. You could even contribute your dowry to Natalie's prospects."
"Father…"
I had tried to keep my head down and live quietly like the original Dory, but this was too much.
Invest? In Natalie?
"What if my investment succeeds?"
"…What are you saying?"
"I'm asking, Father—if I were to marry His Highness Tristan, what would you do for me?"
* * *