Chapter 3 – Only the Butler Came to Welcome Me
When Larisa said, “You might end up dying, you know,” the image that came to Bertina’s mind was, of course, that nightmare again.
If the cause of death in that dream had been ice instead of fire, she might have suspected Larisa.
(Though surely… the one who kills me won’t be someone as foolish as her.)
Then again, perhaps Larisa was clever in her own way.
After all, she had managed to stop someone who was already leaving just to make her feel miserable.
For Bertina, Larisa’s words touched on forbidden territory.
Ordinarily, she would have brushed them off in silence, simply to avoid making the harassment toward herself and Vitaly any worse.
But now things were different.
She had already taken steps to ensure that the duke could no longer violate Vitaly’s rights.
There was no longer any need to endure this quietly.
The marriage had not yet been made official, but unless something extraordinary happened, there was no chance it would be called off.
(As long as they don’t discover the truth about my magic, it’ll be fine.)
And it was convenient that Vitaly was not here.
If possible, she wanted him to remember only his kind, gentle older sister.
Sending him ahead to their father’s estate before her own departure had definitely been the right choice.
(Now then… which line should I use?)
The corner of Bertina’s lips lifted.
She had endured this for so long.
There had been countless times when she had argued back only in her head.
She had merely stayed silent. That did not mean she lacked sharp words of her own.
From among the many she had stored away, she selected the one that seemed most effective and opened her mouth.
“If you keep saying such awful things, men will avoid you, and you’ll miss your chance to marry, Larisa.”
Clearly not expecting any reply, Larisa stared at her in shock—then glared at her with a face like a demon.
What an impressive change of expression.
“What did you say?!”
“Well, isn’t it true? Men want kind-hearted, graceful ladies for wives.”
“As if I’d ever want to marry that monster!”
Even though her voice dripped with scorn, fury was written all over Larisa’s face.
Veins stood out on her forehead, and the way she ground her teeth made it seem as though she might bite through anything at that moment.
But Bertina only smiled faintly.
“Don’t be so angry. I’m only offering advice. You want to marry Marquis Albeck, don’t you?”
Larisa’s breath caught.
Apparently, she had not expected Bertina to know.
“The marquis is a casual acquaintance of mine. He has asked me for advice from time to time.”
The eldest son of House Albeck had only recently inherited the title.
To Bertina, he was nothing remarkable beyond that—just an ordinary young man.
Still, in the North, his pedigree, abilities, and looks were all above average. In other words, he was considered quite a desirable match.
Bertina herself regarded him as little more than a distant acquaintance, but under the pretext of “seeking advice,” he had often sent her letters and gifts.
“Advice…?”
“Yes. On the subject of marriage, actually.”
Larisa swallowed audibly.
Ever since meeting him at a party, she had gone out of her way to interact with him and had written to him repeatedly.
Of course she cared.
“It seems Marquis Albeck believes that, for the prosperity of his house, marrying a daughter from a distinguished lineage is essential.”
In that respect, the Crosswell family was ideal.
There were only two young women in House Crosswell, and of the two, only Larisa was the duke’s legitimate daughter.
There could hardly be a better match.
Relieved, Larisa let some of the tension leave her shoulders.
And then Bertina dropped the blow she had prepared.
“And so, he said he wanted to marry me. I politely turned him down—for your sake, of course.”
What he had actually said was only that, if he had to choose among the women of House Crosswell, he would prefer Bertina.
But she phrased it in the way that would have the greatest effect.
The important thing was that he had chosen her over Larisa.
(Even now, I still think he was terribly rude. Too cowardly to propose properly, and condescending besides.)
Still, if his behavior could be put to use in provoking Larisa, then perhaps it had served some purpose after all.
“That’s a lie! Someone as defective as you—”
Just as expected, Larisa lost her composure.
Her earlier smugness had vanished completely.
Her shoulders trembled with rage, and her face flushed bright red.
Bertina delivered the finishing blow.
“You may believe it or not, as you please. …Oh, right. I left the gifts he gave me in my room, so I’ll give them to you, Larisa.”
She had never known what to do with the presents he had forced on her after refusing to take no for an answer.
(Perfect timing. I’d wanted to get rid of them anyway.)
She waited a moment, but Larisa said nothing.
Oh well, Bertina thought, and climbed into the carriage.
From where she sat, she could no longer see Larisa’s face.
When she gave the word to the driver, the horses began to move at a slow pace.
No one tried to stop her.
(What beautiful flowers…)
Looking out through the carriage window, Bertina let out a quiet breath of wonder.
Towering trees stretched high above her—many times taller than she was.
Their branches were laden with purple blossoms, clustered thickly like violet clouds.
(Of course… this looks nothing like Crosswell territory.)
What came to mind was the North’s biting winds and bare trees that never bloomed.
And yet, she had never disliked that endless white, snowy landscape.
(There are so many colors in the South…)
Bathed in the warm breeze, she grew a little drowsy.
Strangely enough, she did not find the climate unpleasant.
It even felt as though leaving Crosswell had happened a long time ago.
But perhaps because she was drawing closer to her destination, Larisa’s hateful words returned to her:
“The knight commander you’re marrying is obsessed with red… not just fire, but blood too.”
Bertina frowned.
No one in the Empire could fail to know of the Sacred Flame Knights—the mighty order that served the fiery House Willpole.
And especially not their commander:
(…Theodore Iglesias.)
Even Bertina, who had never once left Crosswell territory before, had heard of his exploits.
Among an order full of powerful flame users, Theodore was said to stand above them all.
His control over fire was so great that it supposedly surpassed even that of the ducal family’s direct bloodline.
He had crossed battlefields from his mid-teens onward, and by the time he came of age, it was said that there was no knight around him who could defeat him.
And yet, despite his immense power, he apparently did not like using flashy flames in battle.
More often than not, he killed with his sword.
(So on the battlefield, he was stained red with blood rather than fire…)
Had he left such red traces upon Crosswell’s snowfields as well?
He was surely a frightening man.
And yet, somehow, Bertina found him difficult to picture as real.
As Larisa had said, there were many rumors about him.
Some were almost harmless—like comparisons to a ferocious bear.
Others were absurd: a monster that drank living blood, or a demon who could kill with a single thought.
And then there were rumors of an entirely different kind.
That he was a man of striking beauty, acknowledged by all, and changed women as often as he pleased.
That he never grew serious about anyone and only associated with women who wanted nothing more than fleeting amusement.
Bertina found herself vaguely thinking that perhaps those rumors, at least, might not be entirely false.
(Since my goal is simply not to be killed, I honestly don’t care about any of that.)
If possible, she would like him to at least pretend to respect her in public as his wife.
But she came from an enemy house.
Even that might be too much to hope for.
With a resigned sigh, she looked out the window once more.
Purple blossoms drifted through the air like powdered snow.
“It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Bertina Crosswell.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, my lady. My name is Felix, and I serve as the head butler of this household.”
The man who called himself Felix looked to be in his mid-twenties, with black hair and black eyes.
(That’s quite young for a head butler…)
His tone was mild, but his gaze seemed coolly observant, as though he were carefully assessing her.
Even at his age, anyone entrusted with the role of head butler must be highly capable, Bertina thought.
(Though…)
As her gaze shifted slightly, searching for something, Felix seemed to understand at once and spoke.
“The master has gone out on a mission.”
“A mission…”
That answer made Bertina blink in surprise.
Now that a ceasefire had been concluded with Crosswell, even for the Sacred Flame Knights, there should not have been many missions so urgent that they would take priority over welcoming the wife who had traveled for days to meet him for the first time.
(So I’m not welcome, then.)
She could not even bring herself to sigh.
Fortunately, Bertina was the sort of person whose emotions rarely showed on her face.
To others, she probably looked perfectly composed.
She had prepared herself to some extent.
But even so, she had not expected avoidance this blatant.
(At this point, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he spent tonight with another woman.)
He had probably lost comrades in the recent war.
And now a girl from enemy territory had been thrust upon him as a bride.
She could understand his feelings.
But—
(…Even so, am I not worth even the bare minimum of courtesy?)
She felt her mood sink, but forced herself to steady it.
“If it’s work, then it can’t be helped.”
She spoke as though nothing were wrong.
Perhaps at this moment, Bertina looked like a woman of ice—someone utterly devoid of emotion.
But that was fine.
Far better than letting herself fall apart.
“I will show you to your room,” Felix said with a slight bow.
Bertina nodded quietly.
It was all right.
She had never expected anything to begin with.
(It wasn’t much different in Crosswell, after all.)
Her uncle had never treated her like family.
So perhaps, one day, she would simply grow used to not being treated like a wife either.
Repeating that to herself, Bertina followed Felix into the mansion.
“Theodore.”
At the sound of his name, a man with crimson eyes turned around.
“There were no abnormalities.”
After receiving the report from one of his subordinates, Theodore answered curtly.
“…I see. Dismissed.”
He gave a slight nod, looking faintly displeased.
A young man with brown hair who had been listening nearby shrugged.
“I told you there’d be no problem. Come on, Captain, let’s head back already.”
He pouted like someone begging not to be made to wait.
“I haven’t had a chance to cut loose yet. I wouldn’t mind going hunting.”
That comment came from another man with a powerful build.
His short hair, sun-darkened skin, and well-trained muscles made it obvious that he was a knight, even in clothes meant to help him blend into the town.
Apparently, the three of them had been inspecting the city.
“Shut up, Ward,” the brown-haired man snapped, glaring at the bigger man.
Then, after clearing his throat, he tried again.
“Your wife should be arriving by now, so—”
“Hector,” Theodore cut in coldly, “I’m in a bad mood right now.”
At once, the man named Hector sucked in a sharp breath.
Silence fell.
“My apologies.”
Under Theodore’s gaze—a gaze that reminded him of Theodore on the battlefield—Hector froze.
No matter how long they had worked together, he still could not defy those fierce eyes.
And when Theodore’s presence turned menacing, it was terrifying.
That was something he had never grown used to.
Seeing Hector lower his head, Theodore let out a sigh.
Unwilling though he might have been, he seemed to understand that it was time to return.
“…We’re going back.”
His voice was low as he turned on his heel.
Character
Bertina
A noblewoman of the Ice Ducal House who has been married off to Theodore. She is tormented by recurring nightmares of her own death.
Theodore
Commander of the Sacred Flame Knights. He is wary of Bertina because she comes from House Crosswell.
Larisa
Bertina’s cousin. Despite her doll-like appearance, she is selfish and spiteful.
