I Know. You Liked This Flower
The Radner County estate lay half a day's carriage ride from the Brontë Duchy.
Half a day by carriage meant that a simple round trip alone would consume a full half of one's day inside a coach.
Does he even understand what that means?
In the carriage returning to the Brontë Duchy, Ania Brontë leaned against the window frame, lost in thought.
To nobles, half a day was a long stretch of time. Astronomical sums of money changed hands in that span—especially for a duke's daughter.
Ania Brontë was no exception. Ordinarily, she would have accompanied Duke Brontë to a business meeting today.
Edward Radner…
Had that dense man even noticed? She hoped he had, but of course he hadn't.
Just like ten years ago. Not a shred of awareness. A complete blockhead.
But the passage of time reshapes even sturdy mountains and rivers that seem destined to flow forever.
Edward, who had once seemed eternal, had changed as well.
The eyes with which Edward Radner looked at her held no love whatsoever. He treated her warmly enough out of courtesy, but Ania knew that wasn't love.
He was uncomfortable spending time with her. Reading books, swinging a sword—he carried on as if those things mattered more than Ania Brontë.
It was unmistakably annoyance. Like a man swatting away a fly that had settled on a fine meal, Edward pushed her aside.
It was an emotion she often felt toward the men who courted her, so she could read it from Edward's face alone.
Ania stared blankly at the drifting clouds before slowly parting her lips.
"Rictman."
"Yes."
"Could we move the wedding forward?"
At Ania's words, Rictman, chief butler of the Brontë Duchy, sucked in a sharp breath. Flustered and sweating, he stammered.
"M-my lady… might I ask why you've suddenly made such a decision?"
But without the slightest regard for Rictman's state of mind, Ania answered as if it were nothing.
"No particular reason. Consider it a whim."
"I shall… speak to His Grace about it, but…"
"If you tell him I asked, Father will agree."
Duke Brontë was a hopelessly doting father. He granted his daughter whatever she wanted, no matter how unreasonable the request.
This marriage was no different.
The Radners and Brontës had been business partners a full ten years ago—back when both Ania and Edward were still children.
By now the two families had no real connection left. Yet Ania had gone to her father and said, "I want to marry Edward of the Radner family."
Duke Brontë had been startled, but he agreed. To him, Ania Brontë was his one and only, precious daughter in all the world.
Still, if the man she wished to marry turned out to be a worthless scoundrel, he would kill him on the spot. Duke Brontë had resolved as much—yet fortunately, no innocent man had to die.
On the contrary, the moment he heard the name Edward Radner, Duke Brontë brightened. He even praised him as a rare and excellent nobleman. A truly strange affair.
"Edward Radner…"
Ania quietly murmured the name of her old childhood friend. As a boy he had been a simple-minded lad who trailed after her. She never imagined he would grow into such a fine man.
A body trained without excess, a refined style… His personality remained as dense as in childhood, but that wasn't entirely a bad thing.
But he had no interest in her. Even when she leaned forward to bare her chest, even when she brought her face close—he wouldn't spare her a single glance.
What's wrong with me…
That was the only thing that didn't sit well with Ania.
"The wedding… has been moved forward?"
"So it has."
The next day, William Radner sighed as he delivered the news.
It was nothing short of a bolt from the blue. I had been on the verge of completing my One Hundred Ways to Delay the Wedding with Ania.
It had been pushed forward by a full two weeks. That meant my lifespan had been shortened by fifteen days as well.
"Why?"
"How am I supposed to know the Duchy's circumstances?"
William began pressing his forehead as if a headache were setting in hard.
"Didn't you ask?"
At that, William's expression crumpled openly, his patience exhausted.
"Don't ask such stupid questions! How am I supposed to have the face to ask His Grace something like that?"
Muttering that he couldn't understand it, he left the room.
Was this also noble etiquette…? A count had no choice but to follow a duke's will.
I pulled a parchment notebook from my coat and added a line to my List of Noble Etiquette.
I couldn't understand why asking for a reason violated etiquette, but I figured it was similar to how a graduate student asking a professor a question might make the professor angry.
More importantly… why was the wedding being moved up?
This event definitely hadn't happened in the original novel. The wedding had proceeded as scheduled, and around the time autumn began and the maple leaves scattered, the two of them married.
I still remembered the wedding held beneath the crimson maple leaves.
Did I do something wrong…
I hadn't crossed Ania Brontë. I'd readily walked the garden as she wished, and even personally seen her off on her way back.
I hadn't forgotten to lightly kiss the back of her hand, either. (Apparently that's etiquette among nobles.)
Perhaps… that perfect etiquette had accelerated the wedding? But Ania Brontë was a woman who knew nothing of love. There was no chance she would fall for me.
Though I might fall for her, for all I know…
Just holding her hand briefly had set my heart pounding as if it would burst. What would happen once we actually married?
After the wedding, Edward and Ania set up their newlywed household in a mansion not far from the imperial capital.
Of course, their married life was hardly sweet.
Ania had initially shown interest in Edward, but it soon cooled.
As a result, she made countless requests to send him as far away as possible—dispatching him to places distant from the Empire.
Even then, Ania met countless other men. It was a situation that could be called classic NTR, yet even knowing this, Edward never got angry.
Instead, he blamed himself for being away from home so long. He was so stupid it made me wonder if this was a real medieval doormat.
Edward, who had wished single-mindedly for Ania's happiness, died a glorious death in battle against assassins targeting her life.
Glorious… if you could call it that. Wasn't it just throwing his life away for nothing? Sacrificing himself for a woman who didn't love him.
And Ania, who had driven Edward to his death, met another man and remarried.
That was the original story.
The author said there were three more volumes left, but I wasn't curious about the rest. She would have ended it with something like, "Ania Brontë met a good man and lived happily ever after."
Don't you feel sorry for Edward… You cruel bastard.
Authors who write garbage novels like this need to reflect. So I sent the author a long letter.
An email of a full ten thousand characters, starting with "Dear Author, I'm a reader who's been enjoying your work. However…" Perhaps possessing Edward was because of that.
"Might as well practice…"
What good would blaming anyone do now? Since things had come to this, I might as well try to survive. Who knew if I'd ever return to my original world.
I picked up the wooden sword from the corner of the room and trudged out to the courtyard.
"…Does Ania Brontë, daughter of House Brontë, take Edward Radner of House Radner as her husband, and swear to love one another and live in happiness?"
"I swear."
"Edward Radner, do you take Lady Ania as your wife, and swear before God to make her happy for all eternity?"
"…Yes. I swear."
I had prayed so hard that this day would never come, yet the wedding day arrived all the same.
Surrounded by countless nobles bound by tangled interests, Ania Brontë and I were finally married.
"If you make the lady cry, I won't let it stand."
"You've finally become a man, Edward."
"A true noble never makes his wife weep."
"Your wife is truly a beauty."
Nobles whose faces I didn't even know came up to me as if we were acquainted. Under the pretext of offering blessings, they began heaping praise on Ania Brontë.
"Thank you."
Since I had no idea who any of them were, I simply bowed my head and offered my thanks.
Ania, by contrast, was thoroughly practiced. She not only recited the names of countless nobles without hesitation, but deftly rebuffed any rude remarks and received compliments with modest grace.
And yet—why was it? Why did I sense sadness in Ania Brontë's eyes as she spoke?
Was marrying Edward so thoroughly disagreeable to her? Or was I the problem?
Once the ceremony ended and the greetings were finished, we slipped out of the lavish banquet hall. All that remained was to board the waiting carriage and head for the mansion where our married life would begin. Then the wedding would be over.
"I'm exhausted."
Ania Brontë swayed as she spoke.
"Rest your eyes a little on the way."
"Once we arrive, I'll need to call a physician."
She had been frail since childhood, Ania Brontë. It was a fact almost no one knew outside her innermost circle, but it was true.
On the path from the banquet hall toward the carriage, something suddenly caught my eye. A yellow flower.
A bloom that shone like gold under bright sunlight, and so was called Geumdonghwa. I was certain… it was Ania Brontë's favorite flower.
Why on earth had I remembered that? Content from a novel I'd read three years ago. Before I knew it, the words slipped out.
"Geumdonghwa."
When I murmured it quietly, Ania's eyes went round with surprise.
"You know this flower?"
"I know. You liked this flower."
"…"
Ania looked even more startled than before. Her footsteps stopped entirely; when I turned back, she was still some distance behind.
"Was I mistaken?"
"No… you're right. It's my favorite flower."
Ania walked slowly forward and breathed in the scent of the Geumdonghwa. That the profile of her face was more beautiful than the flower itself remains my private secret.
Smiling faintly, Ania hurried up beside me in little steps and lightly linked her arm through mine.
"Let's go."
I didn't realize then that Ania's face, as she said it, had brightened just a little.