Chapter 1
He is in need of a wife.
And so, today, he had decided to make precisely his twenty-ninth marriage proposal.
“Noble Miss Mandel.”
On one sunny spring day.
Maximilian, the Warden Duke, guardian of the frontier who commanded the harsh and rugged frozen lands in the northern reaches of the Ardena Empire, was seated across from a woman in a garden. However, the attitude of the man, who had crossed and stretched out his long legs—legs that could hardly be called refined and were practically no different from a horse’s thighs—was extremely insincere. He had good reason. He had not even managed to memorize the name of the blonde lady before him, and had vaguely skipped over even her family name. Just like that, his blunt proposal continued without any flowery language.
“Will you marry me?”
As if he were sending a challenge to a duel.
Missus— No, Miss— No, Lady Mandel snorted at the man. At the same time, as if speaking for her displeasure, the little dog held to her chest began baring its teeth and barking. Woof woof, yip, grrrrrr! It was a dog with a tiny head, huge bulging eyes, and a tremendous temper. Apparently, it was a breed in fashion in the capital’s court society, like some designer handbag, but Maximilian couldn’t understand those nobles’ deranged sense of beauty at all. That’s cute? What part of it?
“Of course, you may bring that damned mong… dog with you to Saint Montshire.”
“My, how generous of you.”
“On the condition that it won’t accompany you during meals or into the bedroom.”
Now he sounded like a negotiator.
At this, Mandel curved her lips into her specialty—a deep, lingering smile. A woman innately free-spirited, and unlucky enough to have been driven out by her ex-husband. A woman who had nearly been dragged before the court on the charge of using the beauty mark by her lips to seduce countless men. She was certain of it. This pitch-black handsome man, who seemed to repel even every last ray of sunlight on this budding spring day, probably didn’t even know the color of her eyes.
Those Grand Dukes of the North. Tsk.
Just look at that man.
Pale skin that did not tan easily
Distinct features shaped by wild sea winds.
Shadowed, ink-black eyes, as if they held long, long winter nights, and unlike those eyes, a burly physique that would surely rip enemy soldiers apart in any battle.
Wasn’t he the perfect Grand Duke of the North, as if he had leapt straight out of some grand portrait hanging inside a castle?
Anyway, they think being dizzyingly handsome is all it takes. They think it doesn’t matter even if they’re prickly.
Mandel, who had played around so wantonly that she was no longer swayed by a man’s looks, suddenly thought this. Those damned popular novels that intensified fantasies about northern men were the problem. Wasn’t it because everyone squealed and worshiped them that their manners never improved?
At last, she answered the proposal.
“Grand Duke Maximilian.”
“I am not yet a Grand Duke—”
“Warden Duke. Shall I slap you across the cheek?”
“Pardon?”
“Or should I pour a glass of water on you? The proper way?”
In other words, it meant that she firmly refused to become his wife. At this, Maximilian, who had fallen silent for a moment, let out a sigh.
“With a glass of water, please. Not wine. If you pour it over my head, it gets sticky and attracts flying insects, so I would appreciate it if you could splash it on my coat instead.”
“My, you must have had that happen quite often.”
“Do you even need to ask? The moment I open my mouth, women shudder at me. As if I’ve been cursed.”
There was a limit to enduring horribly astringent tea and cake made by dumping in a dreadful amount of sugar. Maximilian threw down his napkin as if giving up and rose to his feet. Let’s find the thirtieth woman. As he turned away without a trace of regret, Mandel cackled at him.
“It’s probably because of that attitude of yours, the one that says it doesn’t matter even if it’s not you.”
She had hit the nail on the head.
However, it was not as though Maximilian Romundale had nothing to say for himself. He clenched his jaw and glared at Mandel. She was scratching the little dog under the chin.
“Marriage between high-ranking nobles is, by its very nature…”
“Yes, marriage is a transaction. I’m not exactly trying to argue some idealistic notion that desperate love is essential to marriage either. But I truly can’t stand that look on your face, the one that says you’re rescuing this poor divorced woman who’s been sued for a fortune over adultery and is being turned away even by her relatives. Did you think I’d rejoice at your marriage proposal like you were my savior?”
“……”
“Oh, don’t give me that b******t about how you pitied my circumstances, Warden Duke. You were going to use my weakness against me. Anyway, don’t worry. I intend to marry another man who said he’d pay off the damages from my lawsuit for me.”
“Who?”
“An old man at least forty years older than you. I hear he’s already seen his great-grandchildren. I’m going to be his fourth… no, fifth later wife, was it?”
So she was saying he was worse than that lecherous old geezer.
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