Eric’s expression was calm, composed as a lake before dawn.
“I didn’t know it back then. But I do now. And if Prince Robert and my father truly conspired in treason, then it’s not a
possible
betrayal—it’s a
confirmed
one. And all traitors, no matter their cultivation rank or station, must face judgment.”
“…Tch. So this is how far your character goes?”
The princess chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re hilarious. Genuinely. I think I’ll forgive you for disturbing my evening—just this once.”
With that, she stood from her seat, still not picking up the scroll. I asked, cautiously,
“Will you present that scroll to His Majesty the King? If so, he might launch an official investigation—”
“No.”
The princess cut me off flatly. Her sapphire gaze shimmered like the deepest sea, harboring secrets no surface dweller could grasp.
“If the Duke saw that scroll and still had the gall to act openly, then chances are he’s already built a justification for the emptied royal treasury. He may even have already received the King’s silent approval. If that’s the case, then tossing around the word ‘treason’ and demanding an inquiry into one of His Majesty’s own allies would only backfire. First, we need to gather more evidence on the Duke…”
“There’s no time,” Eric interrupted firmly. “By the morning after tomorrow, the Grave of the Merfolk will be transferred to my father.”
The wine she was pouring stilled mid-stream. The princess froze, glass halfway full.
“…What?”
Her eyes widened, and she turned back, practically storming to her seat.
“The Grave of the Merfolk?!”
She glanced between me and Eric, eyes blazing.
Eric explained how the Grave—a forbidden and long-lost relic site—had remained in the custody of the Wedgewood family since the Viscount’s passing, and how it was now about to fall into the Duke’s hands.
With every word, the princess’s cheeks grew flush with excitement.
“And you’re just letting it slip into
his
hands? Absolutely not. That’s unacceptable. How… how do I even seize this myself…?”
She trailed off in deep thought—then, out of nowhere, pointed directly at me.
“I know. Maybe I should marry you.”
“Excuse me?”
I squinted, glancing down at her finger as if it might bite me.
It suddenly hit me—I’d heard the rumors about the princess being hot-blooded and reckless, but never that she had any particular preference for men.
Hah…
Still, even so, marriage between me and the princess… wasn’t that something this continent simply
wasn’t ready for
?
“The Temple would never sanction it,” I said quickly. “Please, Your Highness, be reasonable. And even under Imperial Law, a daughter-in-law holds no legal right to a husband’s clan property—only a wife does.”
Eric gently lowered the princess’s hand with a tired expression, as if the headache had fully bloomed in his dantian.
Wait—hold on. The issue here is temple approval and succession rights? What about
my will
?
My feelings?!
The princess sighed in disappointment, smacking her lips.
“Ugh, right. Those dusty old priests… and those stuffy parliamentary bastards… But what about
your
marriage, then?” She pointed back and forth between me and Eric. “Is the Temple really going to approve it, knowing your mother and his father are engaged?”
Eric met her gaze with unwavering determination.
“If Your Highness issues a royal marriage writ, the Temple cannot refuse.”
“…And if we sweeten the offering a little?” I added softly.
Eric shot me a glare, voice low and scandalized. “You’d bribe the Temple? That’s sacrilege.”
“They’re priests. They love spirit stones more than anyone,” I muttered under my breath.
What was I supposed to do with this innocent young master?
Eric’s way of solving problems was
so
fundamentally different from mine, it hurt.
Truthfully, while marriages involving high-ranking cultivators like the Duke did require the King’s direct approval, the union of two lesser nobles like Eric and me only needed a royal-blooded sponsor—such as a prince, princess, or queen—to issue the marriage writ. After that, a priest from the Temple could officiate the ceremony. It didn’t have to involve the King directly.
The real issue was—
Though His Majesty hadn’t issued the royal marriage writ yet, the fact that he’d permitted my mother’s engagement to the Duke was as good as granting it.
If a royal marriage, already publicly sanctioned by the reigning sovereign himself, were to be obstructed by the princess, it could spell serious consequences for her standing within the court. Then what in all the realms was Prince Eric thinking, charging in here so naïvely?
I looked toward the princess, unsure how this would unfold—but she answered at once.
“Very well. I shall sign the marriage decree.”
…Wait, what?
I turned sharply to Eric.
Did that really work? Just like that?
“Have a page fetch pen and parchment,” the princess continued. “And Lady Emelline ought to change out of that dress and those soaked shoes. The man seated beside her—soon to be her husband—has been glancing sideways at her sodden state the entire time.”
My brow twitched. Eric’s eyebrow, too, gave a slight jerk.
“I haven’t been glancing
that
much,” he protested.
“Fine. Roughly five times. Satisfied?”
✵
✵
✵
After Emelline Wedgwood stepped out to change garments, the princess sat alone in the room with Prince Eric and began writing the marriage decree.
Royal decrees, especially those involving matrimony, were to be inscribed in the court’s high tongue, heavily derived from the ancient language. While Lord Robert still fumbled with such script, Princess Ella wrote it with ease.
Once she’d finished, she folded the decree neatly and slid it into a silk sleeve dyed in the royal family’s exclusive colors. Just before handing it to Eric, she paused.
“Do you know why I’m granting this union, Prince?”
“Because of the Grave of the Merfolk…”
“I don’t put much stock in such legends,” she cut him off. “And even if I did, what good would stealing such a place do Robert? That fool couldn’t usurp my throne if he tried. I’m far too capable for that.”
She said this with a proud gleam in her eyes, fixed on Eric.
Eric already suspected she didn’t fully believe what he’d told her. Still, the handwriting on the secret chamber’s wall—his mother’s script—the certainty in Emelline’s eyes, the strange aura that clung to his father… These were not things one could explain in mere words.
Princess Ella watched Eric’s silence with an assessing gaze.
“You do know,” she said at last, “that even if this is a fraudulent marriage, it only becomes legally binding once it is consummated.”
Eric choked suddenly, coughing at her blunt words. Ella let out a short laugh at his flustered expression.
“Amusing, isn’t it?”
“It is not,” he croaked. “I mean this sincerely. You may have forgotten.”
Creaaak—
At that moment, the chamber door opened slightly. Emelline stepped inside, dressed now in the princess’s indigo gown. She hesitated on the threshold before carefully stepping forward.
From across the chamber, Princess Ella watched Eric’s eyes land squarely on Emelline—and remain there.
She’d seen that look before, in the tale
Rose That Blooms at Night
—a gaze that struck straight and unflinching.
People often thought libertines incapable of recognizing true feelings, but the truth was quite the opposite. Rakes and charmers were, in fact, hypersensitive to others’ sincerity. The problem was not their awareness—but what they chose to do with it.
Smiling faintly, Ella glanced down at the glass slippers Emelline now wore. A memory came to her—one of a noble who fell so deeply in love with a commoner that they broke through class barriers to wed.
If she played this marriage decree just right, Ella could pose as a righteous heroine—one who blocked the Duke’s false marriage and helped two star-crossed lovers unite.
Yes… That’s how the name came to be. Cinderella—from the old tongue, meaning “Beloved of Ella.”
To Ella, the king was not one who believed in ancient myths like the so-called Grave of the Merfolk. He was the kind who
created
legends.
And really, what was the worth of a magic-stone deposit in this age? Night now shone like day thanks to the empire’s wide-reaching use of spirit-powered lamps.
No, romance was far more entertaining—especially a romance that overcame the bounds of status.
“Truly,” she murmured, eyes glinting, “what a most useful fraudulent marriage this is, serving everyone’s needs.”
✵
✵
✵
At the princess’s command, I entered the changing room and glanced down at the glass slippers the attendant had brought me.
“These were prepared in advance by Young Master Eric,” the attendant said.
Glass slippers. The very same ones I’d left behind at the inn. So Eric had gone back to retrieve them.
I couldn’t help but laugh under my breath, imagining Eric—his robes wrinkled, golden buttons missing from his outer robe, his hair disheveled—carefully collecting the shoes I’d abandoned. Even then, he’d probably thought,
You shouldn’t just discard someone else’s belongings.
The more I saw of Eric Orléans, the more I realized—he was an odd one.
He’d told me not to run while I was trying to escape, worried I might fall. He’d trusted me instead of threatening me, even after I’d blackmailed him. And…
…he’d prepared a wedding ring, despite it being a sham marriage.
I slipped on the shoes and stood before the mirror. The ring on my finger caught the light and shimmered.
Sure, it’s a sham. A fake marriage. But I still believe marriage is sacred, and that means a proper proposal is essential.
I remembered Eric’s stammered words, that foolishly sincere tone of his.
I could never live as righteously as someone like him—but there was one thing I could do. No matter how twisted or false this marriage was, if we were going to become a family, even by contract—
“Family protects family, Emeline.”
I gently turned the ring on my finger.
Now that I was wearing this, Eric was officially my accomplice. And even the worst villains protect their own.
So I’ll protect you too, Eric.
One way or another.
Chapter 25