I, Alicia Gran Oldwood, had a marriage partner chosen for me for as long as I can remember.
His name was Edward Gran Etherdam, the Crown Prince of the Etherdam Kingdom.
I doubt I will ever forget the day my parents first introduced us, not until the day I die. His hair shimmered like gold, his eyes sparkled like stars, and his delicate, almost fragile expression was more than enough to make a young girl fall in love at first sight. It was more than enough to make me believe I had been born solely for his sake.
As His Highness was the first in line for the throne, my role as his future queen was set in stone the moment we were engaged.
Etherdam was a great power that placed heavy importance on magical tradition. Having been raised with constant instructions on how to act and speak, I never once found it boring to follow the path laid out for me. If anything, my path was more brilliant than any other noble's, and at its end lay the glorious position of standing by His Highness’s side.
I resolved to become someone worthy of that honor, and I worked tirelessly to achieve it. My magic, my studies—everything was for him. And for my parents, who had arranged our union.
However, I made a grave mistake.
That mistake was failing to hold onto His Highness’s heart. Driven by a petty, childish jealousy, I challenged a commoner woman to a duel and was defeated in front of everyone.
I had spent my entire life living for him; when an unknown woman appeared on the path I was meant to walk—standing right where I belonged—I was overcome with an unspeakable anxiety and loathing. It would have been best if I had simply endured it, but my followers were displeased to see a commoner at the aristocratic Academy. Their reactions were excessive, and I found myself unable to restrain them.
Caught up in the theater of a fabricated duel, I lost my way. I ended up suffering an injury so hideous that I was no longer fit to be a noble lady.
I resented the followers who had let things get out of hand, but as I sat in the carriage later, I reflected deeply and realized the fault was mine alone for my lack of virtue. When His Highness informed me that our engagement was annulled, he told me this:
"I have no love for traditions, customs, or predetermined paths."
"Do you even know what food I like? My favorite places, my favorite books, what I do for fun... you don't know any of it, do you?"
"You are a paragon of nobility, living exactly as your parents dictated. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot love you."
"Patricia, however, understood my feelings. She walks through the stalls in the Castle Town with me, and she makes me delicious, freshly prepared meals and sweets."
He was right. It was exactly as he said.
I had known he was slipping away to the Castle Town in secret, but I’d had no interest in what he did there. I didn't care about his books or his hobbies. I couldn't cook, and I certainly couldn't make sweets. I had assumed servants would handle such things; to me, that was what it meant to be a noble. I never even thought to doubt it. After all, my only duty was to be a presence that would not bring him shame when he eventually took the throne.
Having been defeated, I was forced to realize I no longer held a place in his heart. I meekly accepted my parents' rebuke and the news that I was to be married off to the Brave Territory, also known as The Abandoned Land.
What was romance? What was love?
The feelings and efforts I had poured into those dozen or so years were an undeniable reality, but my blind devotion meant nothing to His Highness. It was difficult; life simply did not go as one wished. Having lost everything, I found I no longer understood anything at all.
The burn scar near my left eye throbbed. At the same time, I felt as if a needle were piercing my heart. No matter how I tried to suppress them, dark, murky emotions kept overflowing. It was as if the part of me that refused to accept this reality was trying to fill the void where my heart used to be.
I was on the verge of vomiting from the constant flashes of what had happened at the Academy when the carriage finally arrived at The Abandoned Land.
There were no trains here, and no tall buildings. It was a vast, open landscape with a direct view of the mountain range. There, I met the Margrave, Laguna Ver Brave.
I had expected a middle-aged noble from such a dangerous territory, but he looked to be about the same age as me.
"Whoa."
That was his first reaction upon seeing me—a look of pure distaste. I felt a surge of anger, but I knew the scar was hideous to anyone who looked at it. The only difference was whether people said it out loud or not, so I told myself it didn't matter. After the annulment, every noble who visited the House of the Duke had looked at me with those same eyes.
"That burn... how did you get it?"
However, he bypassed the usual boundaries of rudeness and threw that outrageous question straight at me. I gasped, but he just kept talking.
"Well, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine."
Then why ask in the first place? I had met many nobles who couldn't read a room, but never one quite like this. So this was the lord of the Brave Territory.
I had told myself there was no difference between someone thinking it or saying it, but having it pointed out so bluntly made my heart sting. Since the lord himself acted this way, I assumed his vassals and servants would treat me just as harshly. I wondered if this was the punishment I was meant to endure.
That was when he spoke again.
"In the Brave Territory, something like that is perfectly normal."
He gave me a carefree smile. It was an honest, open expression, as if he truly believed what he was saying. I was bewildered; it had been a very long time since anyone had looked at me like that.
Then, as I began to follow the butler toward the manor, he suddenly reached out and brushed my shoulder without a word.
"...What? Was there dust on me? My apologies, these are old clothes."
None of my former dresses had been included in the luggage my parents' servants had prepared for me. I assumed they felt that dusty, old clothes were good enough for a "damaged" woman. Being treated that way by the servants I had lived with and trusted for years had taken its toll, so I spat the words at him with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
"No, our house is even dustier than those clothes, so they're high-quality by our standards," he shot back, still smiling.
I felt a flash of irritation. I wasn't the kind of person who deserved a smile like that. He said something else after that, but I ignored him and headed inside.
The place really was dusty.
And yet, for some reason, I felt as if my heart had grown lighter. It felt as though the dark emotions that had been threatening to consume me had thinned out, if only a little, through my conversation with him.
My first impression was that he was an insolent man.
But Laguna Ver Brave was a strange man, unlike anyone I had ever met before.