TINOT 15

Chapter: 15

Even after Diamud became hers, Lishitea was fully prepared to confront Princess Florence if the princess still desired him.

She wished, if anything, that the challenge would come while she was still alive.

“But His Majesty does not wish for that,” she murmured.

Lishitea trusted Diamud’s judgment. Compared to a princess who might send an assassin out of spite after being rejected, Diamud seemed far more reliable.

“Yes. Florence’s real competitor isn’t Ilain—it’s His Majesty himself.”

Lishitea smiled faintly.

Rulers who viewed heirs as competitors who could strip them of everything were common.

“You are more timid than I expected, Your Majesty,” she added.

And such people rarely ended well.

“And also quite suspicious.”

“Would a suspicious emperor really accept me as his consort? The Marquis of Aster said my marriage with Joel Spencer might be according to His Majesty’s wishes.”

The emperor’s disapproval of Diamud marrying Florence did not automatically mean he welcomed Lishitea. For any reason—whether to keep Diamud in check or to support Spencer—he might oppose her.

“Perhaps that was true when your marriage was first arranged.”

When Emperor Oswald was still the reckless prince, the Spencer family had been the only house that did not give up on him.

Perhaps Lishitea was a gift from the emperor to his greatest supporter.

“And now?”

“A few years ago, you said it would have been better if the Cullinan Mine had been discovered on imperial land,” Diamud replied.

Years before, when the emperor had received Cullinan at a birthday banquet, he had said, “It is fortunate that it came from the empire’s land, though a pity it is not royal land,” revealing his greed. In response, Aster doubled the tribute for the following year.

“To His Majesty, I am far easier to deal with than the Spencers.”

Lishitea frowned without realizing it. She didn’t understand why everyone acted as if she were someone else’s property when she herself hadn’t asked for anything.

Clutching Diamud’s hand tightly, she said earnestly, “…Don’t let him take you.”

“I’ll try,” he replied.

Though she hadn’t received a firm promise, she wasn’t particularly worried. His confession that he, too, needed a marriage washed away her doubts. Knowing this was a transaction rather than an act of pity made her feel far more at ease.

Freed from anxiety, she found herself noticing his striking appearance again.

Hair that sparkled like crushed glass, eyes as bright red as dewy rose petals. Even among a crowd, his presence drew attention like a towering mast.

Because he had avoided public life entirely, his beauty remained unknown. If he appeared in society, countless noblewomen, abandoning their own family fortunes, would rush toward him like moths to a flame.

It would be easy to invent a love story about them—Diamud’s remarkable looks spoke for themselves.

“Let’s just say I fell for him at first sight,” Lishitea thought.

There was no need for a clumsy lie; his mere presence would convince everyone.

“No,” Diamud said softly, listening to her. He shook his head and reached for her.

“Everything that will happen to us from now on happens because I loved you.”

His fingers brushed through her hair.

“Falling in love with you by chance and being unable to forget you, feeling sorrow at the mention of your fiancé, wishing for your happiness yet failing—then confessing my love as if I’d been waiting all along—”

His hand slid down, covering hers. Pale, large, and smooth, it enveloped her hand entirely.

“Blame it all on me,” he whispered, his voice sweet enough to make her ears tingle.

She wanted to block her eyes and ears, wanting to think of nothing else.

“Will people believe it? I have no one close to deceive, but you do,” she murmured.

He, after all, carried the remnants of Crown Princess Lueira like cherished mementos.

“Then we’ll make them believe. I’ve lived quite straightforwardly; just a small change in demeanor will convince them all,” he replied.

Indeed, nothing is as neutral as kind attentiveness.

“Then promise me just one thing.”

“What?”

“Give it to me too—the fake act.”

If life itself were a stage, his kindness would no longer frighten her.

“Pretending to love me.”

If it were all an act, she could indulge in his kindness without fear of heartbreak.

“So I can dream sweet dreams until I die,” she said.

After all, she had barely a year left—just one full cycle of the seasons before her time would end.

“As much as you want,” he said, smiling and lifting her hand.

His lips pressed to the back of her hand, leaving a brief, soft kiss.

“I’ll make sure you have sweet dreams, Ritsi,” he whispered.

As his lips left her hand, a syllable she had never heard before fell from his tongue: Ritsi.

Though derived from her name, it sounded like a foreign language, strange yet tender.

Ritsi.

A name no one had ever called her, a sound she had never expected to hear, finally reached her.

A month after Lishitea returned from meeting Diamud at the Duke of Cassius’s estate, a marriage proposal from him arrived at the Marquis of Aster’s residence.

Since Crown Princess Lueira’s death, the Duke of Cassius had avoided appearing at any royal events, making this proposal all the more shocking.

The Marquis of Aster’s blood boiled with anger as he read it. He only had one unmarried daughter—naturally, he assumed the proposal targeted Celia.

The Duke of Cassius must have finally lost his mind. Otherwise, how could he dare covet Celia?

Celia, who resembled the late Emma, was already a rare talent as a mage and desired by everyone. At sixteen, she had yet to have a proper engagement because so many suitors swarmed her like hornets.

To send a proposal without warning, using the excuse that the last royal proposal cannot be refused, was audacious.

‘So predictable? Not a chance.’

It was only the first proposal, not the final one. A powerless, figurehead royal’s first proposal could be rejected without issue.

The proposal bore Diamud Lueira Cassius’s neat signature—and Lishitea’s name.

He truly had gone mad. Hiding from the emperor, restrained by his own powers, and yet sending a proposal to a woman engaged to the Spencers!

News of Diamud’s proposal sent the Marquis of Aster’s household into chaos once more.

The angry marquis and his children stormed the estate, barging into Lishitea’s room.

“What on earth is going on?”

“Did you know, sister?”

“The Duke of Cassius? Father, you won’t allow this marriage, right?”

Their shouts filled the room like a swarm of mid-summer mosquitoes buzzing near her ears.

The Marquis of Aster, seeing that everyone was talking at once, tried to control them.

“Quiet, all of you. Be quiet.”

Once the room fell silent, he cleared his throat and spoke with feigned composure:

“Does the Duke of Cassius’ proposal reflect your wishes?”

“Father, what are you saying? Of course not. This was done unilaterally…”

“Celi, listen to your father.”

“Eddie, you…”

Celia, flaring with anger, was stopped by Edward, pouting in frustration.

Amid the chaos, Lishitea slowly stood.

“You asked if the Duke’s proposal reflects my wishes?”

Staring at the piercing eyes around her, she realized she had never wanted anything as much in her life.

“Yes. This is the marriage I desire.”

A thrill of joy ran through her at the words.

The Marquis of Aster gaped in disbelief, then twisted his face in anger.

“How dare you! How dare you commit such a thing without consulting me on such an important matter!”

“I didn’t know you cared so much about me, Father. I thought leaving this house quickly would be my filial duty—was I wrong?”

For a time, the furious marquis and the calmly defiant Lishitea faced off like a storm.

Unable to contain his rage, the marquis’ fists shook violently.

“Enough of tolerating your reckless behavior!”

He raised his hand and hurled a vase, which shattered loudly against the wall.