-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: An Awkward Breakfast with My Fiancée
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the luxurious curtains.
If she were the protagonist of a typical romance fantasy novel, she'd wake refreshed to the chirping of birds.
But Roselia's mood right now was fouler than a hungover office worker who'd downed bomb shots at a company dinner the night before.
"If only when I open my eyes, all this turns out to be a dream... Haah."
Today too, she let out a brief lament at her plight, then struggled out of bed and stood before the mirror.
In the mirror stood the empire's greatest beauty, a noble princess with golden hair and blue eyes.
But no one would dare even imagine it.
That her insides were burning pitch black.
"... Haah."
She roughly swept back her bangs and heaved a deep sigh.
"Last night... was I insane?"
Memories she desperately wanted to erase flashed by like a montage.
Love at first sight? So mad with love she climbed the wall and ran away in the dead of night?
Even rethinking it, it was a setting that made her toes curl so hard she couldn't straighten her limbs.
No matter how desperate she was to save her life, agreeing to some third-rate romance novel plot with a wildcard who popped up out of nowhere?
She should've at least played for time with political asylum or a recuperation excuse.
No, to begin with, that Duke Noxion bastard proposed that nonsense first.
Damn guy looks decent but slimy as a weasel inside.
No, correction—she had to amend that.
That bastard was worse than a weasel.
Proposing a fake fiancée act without so much as blinking, slapping on conditions with that straight face.
Irritation boiled up hot.
In the end, no matter how much she lamented her fate, there was one root cause for her mess.
Whose fault was all this?
Of all the countless romance fantasy novels, it was that godforsaken author who picked this hopeless, soul-crushing wreck.
That deranged psychopath crown prince who only dreamed of snapping the heroine's ankle, empire be damned—and her brother.
'More than that, who would've thought he'd spot right away after the possession that Roselia was acting off from her usual self....'
Others get possessed into childcare stories, swaddled by doting dads and brothers.
Or whisked to rural estates for some farming healing arc.
Even without that, they at least dangle hope: happiness after hardship.
Why was hers the only hell-mode hardcore survival grind?
"Fuck... what a shitty world, really."
A crude curse utterly unfit for a princess burst from Roselia's lips.
That was when it happened.
Knock knock.
"Your Highness, are you awake? Breakfast is ready. The Duke is waiting."
A polite maid's voice from beyond the door.
Roselia instantly smoothed her furrowed brow and switched expressions.
Foul-mouthed possessor mode: disengaged.
Noble, lovestruck tragic princess mode: activated.
But her hand on the doorknob still trembled with barely contained rage.
"Haah... fuck."
Bang!
The door flew open so violently it nearly ripped off the hinges.
The maid standing demurely with clasped hands flinched back in shock.
She couldn't have anticipated the princess kicking the door down.
Roselia, as if accustomed to such reactions,
Ignored the throbbing pain in her palm from the forceful yank, chin held high in elegant nonchalance.
"Lead the way."
To the battlefield.
No—to the breakfast table where that weasel of a fiancé waited.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
At that very moment.
The Kaltstein dining hall was shrouded in heavy silence, not even the clink of cutlery breaking through.
Normally, that silence would feel comfortable.
To me, meals were mere nutrient intake; to Seria, an extension of briefing my schedule or reporting family business.
But today's hush was different.
Sticky tension, like the eve of a storm, suffocating.
I fiddled with my water glass, stealing a sidelong glance at Seria.
She stood ramrod straight behind me, directing the servants.
Flawless posture, impeccably pressed uniform, utterly inscrutable face.
Surface level, the perfect chief maid Seria as always.
But no one could fool my eyes.
Her eyelids were faintly swollen.
And she, who would lock eyes with me straight on during reports, had been subtly dodging my gaze all morning.
'...As I thought, last night wasn't a fluke.'
Suspicion hardening into certainty.
A sharp pang stabbed my chest, uncomfortable.
What, that iron-willed woman shed tears all night over a fake engagement tale?
Unless I've caught some axe plague, this was a blatant signal.
I needed confirmation.
Dispel this nagging misunderstanding, peer into her heart—and mine.
I sipped water to moisten my parched throat.
At the same instant, Seria's lips parted as if she'd steeled herself.
"Um, Seria."
"Your Grace, I have words to say...."
Our voices collided.
We froze, staring at each other.
Seria bowed her head in flustered haste.
"S-sorry. Please, speak first, Your Grace."
"No. You go ahead."
"I couldn't dare interrupt my lord... You first."
"..."
An awkward standoff of deferrals.
In the end, I sighed faintly and broke first.
Power plays weren't my style anyway, and order hardly mattered.
"Right, it's nothing big."
I feigned utmost casualness, easing in with the lightest topic as usual.
"That urgent business from yesterday... handled alright?"
"... Ah."
Seria's shoulders jerked.
She dropped her gaze to the floor a beat, then lifted it to reply.
"Yes. Thanks to you... wrapped it up overnight. Sorry for the worry."
A lie. No such urgent business existed.
But I played along.
Why dismantle her earnest fib meant to soothe me?
"Good to hear. Just don't push too hard. Those red rims around your eyes from the all-nighter, yeah? You'd paralyze this sprawling Kaltstein castle if you dropped."
"Red rims... Noted."
"..."
Silence crashed back in an instant.
Couldn't let the talk die here.
I drummed the table, gauging the moment.
I was losing my mind, desperate to probe Seria's true feelings even a second sooner.
Last night marked the first time since reincarnation my heart truly raced, sleep fleeing entirely.
"... Ahem, Seria."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"About what went down in the garden yesterday."
I swiveled to face her squarely.
Seria's pupils quivered wide.
As if she'd instinctively clocked it.
What I meant to say.
"You said people's affairs are unpredictable."
"That was...."
"Your face then... it wasn't just a subordinate fretting over my future."
"..."
"Could it be the engagement to the princess...."
My heart hammered.
Dread mingled with anticipation for her answer.
If she admitted it.
If she confessed feelings for me too, then I'd...
"Uncomfor...."
The instant the final syllable nearly escaped—
Bang—!
The dining hall door slammed open, cleaving our exchange.
Our heads snapped toward it in unison.
'Damn, talk about impeccable timing.'
There at the threshold stood Second Princess Roselia, vibe screaming she'd just been yanking her hair out in divine curses indoors.
Yet now, flawlessly arrayed as if nothing amiss.
"Sorry for the tardiness, Duke."
She glided in gracefully, a hand lightly pinching her dress hem.
But my eyes didn't miss it.
The seething fury in her gaze, the facial muscles spasming from the forced smirk.
Her expression was downright murderous.
"Last night... too thrilled to sleep properly, ended up oversleeping."
Roselia settled into the seat across from me, beaming the world's most infuriating smile.
"I missed you, my love."
"..."
'Ha.'
The abrupt love proclamation had me pinching my brow.
The mood-ruining interloper torpedoed my talk with Seria, leaving it unresolved.
A quick sidelong peek: Seria had donned her flawless chief maid mask anew.
Cold. Rigid. As ever.
'Goddamn timing.'
I inwardly tsked, pasting a strained smile for the faux fiancée before me.
"You've arrived, Your Highness. Or... Roselia?"
This charade felt treacherous from the jump... wishful thinking, right?
Praying fervently inside, I pressed on.
"We rushed a guest room unfit for Your Highness's noble form... hope you rested well."
"Of course. My love."
"..."
'Ah, seriously—dial it back.'
Another "my love" iced the room's air.
Seria's hand micro-hitched, caught in my peripheral.
I stifled a hollow chuckle inside.
I'd said act the part, but this was overkill.
"My love"? From lips spewing profanities at me yesterday?
What to do, though.
Stage set, maids and butlers agog at our theater.
Any half-assed reaction from me would tank the scripted ploy.
I wrenched up my wooden smile.
"Good... no discomfort then. Was quite concerned."
"Oh my."
"Anxious if you'd slept sound, I barely closed my eyes. Believe me?"
My own words nearly induced vomiting.
Roselia—the possessor—twitched a brow; she clearly agreed.
Bet she's inwardly scoffing, 'What bullshit....'
The thought embarrassed me on the spot.
No, she was such a pro that I questioned if this was the same airheaded princess from the banquet.
Roselia whipped up a touched facade in a flash, clasping hands tight.
"Goodness... Me too. Tossed all night dreaming of you, Duke. Heart thumped nonstop, unrequited love finally fulfilled."
No clue how many dream-stabbings I endured.
We traded saccharine stares.
Meantime, Seria impassively laid out the pre-meal soup.
Clink.
The plate hit rougher than usual.
"Breakfast served."
Clinical tone.
But I sensed it crystal clear.
Seria dodging my eyes with ruthless precision.
'Haah....'
Guts churning.
We'd teetered on misunderstanding's edge moments ago.
A shot at confirming ages-old wonder, botched by this tactless possessor.
This scene? Seria's misconception deepens, no chance of thaw.
'You meddling possessor bastard—why drag me into your crap, sparking this mess!'
Spoon in hand, I addressed Roselia's unrelenting honey gaze.
Just to air out the mood.
"Hope the food suits. Northern palate runs salty."
"With you, Duke—even poison tastes sweet."
"..."
No, please. Moderation.
Maids flushed, hands over mouths.
Envy? Or our hamminess inducing nausea? Indistinguishable.
Roselia, gut-reading be damned, doubled down gleefully.
She sliced meat with knife, speared a bite, proffering it feed-me style.
"Ahh—here, hubby."
"..."
You wretched woman—no need for this excess.
We're fresh off dating!
My fluster drew her eye-signal.
'Chow down quick. Arm aches.'
I fired back via glare.
'You nuts?'
This meal promised chaos beyond my wildest imaginings.