Young Couples in the Capital All Do It This Way
I had never so much as dated anyone in my life, and now, overnight, I was a married man. Married, no less, to Ania Brontë—the woman called the most beautiful in the entire empire.
As expected, word of our marriage became the hottest gossip at every noble gathering.
"That Ania Brontë, married to the eldest son of the Radner Count family, they say."
"Poor thing."
"That Brontë girl? To a Radner? What could she possibly be lacking?"
The talk reached my own ears often enough. The reaction was always the same: Why on earth would Ania Brontë marry a man from the House of Radner?
Frankly, I wondered the same thing.
What had Ania Brontë seen in Edward that made her decide to marry him—and to push the wedding forward, no less?
Unfortunately, there was no way to find out.
Walking up to Ania and asking, "Why did you agree to marry me?" would have been absurd.
Noble marriages were never free romance to begin with. They were contracts. The sensible conclusion was that some deal had been struck between William Radner, head of the Radner family, and Valentine Brontë, head of the Brontë family.
Even so, one fact remained unchanged.
From this day forward, I would have to live with Ania Brontë. I would have to build a future with her as my wife.
And…
"I have to survive. Without dying…"
"What did you say?"
I had muttered the words under my breath while staring out the carriage window, and Ania, who had been sitting in a daze, turned to ask.
"Nothing."
"You don't look very happy."
She tilted her head.
"Nonsense. How could I not be happy?"
"Right?"
I carefully avoided her eyes as she smiled that bright little smile again.
Just meeting her gaze for a moment set my heart racing. How was I supposed to carry on a married life with her?
I was already worried sick.
"There… I can see it."
At her words I looked ahead, and a manor came into view—a house with a lovely garden, neither grand nor modest.
"That's the house where we'll live together from now on."
"How… exciting."
And yet the sight of the manor stirred contradictory feelings in me. Dread about the married life ahead, and, nestled in a corner of my chest, a strange little flicker of anticipation.
Was that Edward Radner's emotion? Or was it simply my own?
For all my fretting, married life turned out to be perfectly ordinary.
No—beyond ordinary. It was dull.
The Ania Brontë who, in the original novel, had schemed endlessly to turn Edward into her plaything might as well have been a different person.
"Boring…"
A week had passed, and I found myself staring out the window more often than not. Marriage hadn't changed a thing. Ania Brontë still bore the Brontë name, and I still held no title as Count of Radner.
Sold off in marriage, and yet somehow I felt abandoned.
When I looked out over the garden, I would see her. For a duke's daughter, she was surprisingly hands-on—tending the grounds herself. She wore a wide-brimmed white hat and gloves, digging in the dirt and planting flowers with tireless care.
I had wondered what she was planting so diligently. By the time the blooms opened, I knew. Every last one was a Geumdonghwa.
She really did love those flowers.
In the novel, her fondness for them had been mentioned in a line or two. I never imagined it ran this deep.
"If I'd known, I would have planted some ahead of time…"
The words slipped out before I could stop them. I slapped a hand over my mouth.
"Idiot. Absolute idiot… Why would you plant those?"
I was clearly losing my mind.
I did not like Ania Brontë.
Yes, my eyes followed her without thinking—when she was working in the garden, choosing dresses in her dressing room, or sitting blankly and sipping tea. Even so, I did not like her.
Which left me with only one conclusion.
Edward's self was growing stronger.
Probably because I had possessed his body. The body was Edward's, but the mind was entirely mine—that was why I still couldn't fully match his etiquette or his swordsmanship.
And yet, somehow, the part of him that loved Ania Brontë had remained… was that it?
"I'd be more at ease if I just went out."
But even that wasn't an option. Edward and Ania's marriage was already the talk of high society. Dukes this, marquises that, counts the other—every man of consequence in the empire had his eyes on us.
Not because the marriage itself was so shocking. The empire had simply been peaceful of late. Nothing of note ever happened.
And in that climate, if a newly married man left his house and wandered about?
Rumors would start at once.
"Seems the Radner and Brontë couple are on cold terms."
"I heard the wife proposed first."
"Took everything he could get and now he's looking elsewhere? That Edward fellow is something else—married to the most beautiful woman on the continent and still out carousing."
"They say the eldest son of the Radner Count family can't perform as a man… Could that be why?"
Just imagining it made my skin crawl.
If talk like that got around, Valentine Brontë—who never said a harsh word to his own daughter—would fly into a rage.
"What are you doing out there, dragging my daughter's name through the mud?!"
Then he would go straight to William Radner.
"I hear your son is leaving my daughter alone and running around town! Explain yourself, Count Radner!"
Father would panic and come find me.
"From this moment on, you will not set one foot outside this manor!"
And a swarm of spies would be set to watch my every move.
That could not be allowed to happen.
Absolutely not…
"Haa… What am I supposed to do?"
I was leaning on the windowsill, letting out a heavy sigh, when a knock came at the door.
"Young master?"
"Speak."
"It is time for luncheon."
"I'll eat later, on my own."
"……"
No answer came.
"What is it?"
"Well… that is…"
"Out with it."
"The young lady insists… she must dine with you…"
"Tell her I'll speak with her later."
"……"
Silence again.
"Why do you keep refusing to answer?"
Frustrated, I shoved the door open myself—and found a young maid looking up at me with tearful eyes.
"She said… to bring you by any means necessary… or else… she would lock me in solitary confinement…"
"Haa…"
What a thoroughly impossible woman.
"Husband!"
I followed the maid down to the dining room, and Ania Brontë waved at me with a bright smile.
Noble etiquette expressly forbade waving to greet someone…
Well. When you were a duke's daughter of Ania Brontë's standing, who was going to scold you for ignoring a little thing like manners?
"You called for me."
"Yes, Husband."
Ania pulled out the chair beside her with her own hands.
"Please sit."
"I'm sorry, but I don't have much of an appetite right now."
"That won't do."
She puffed out her cheeks and furrowed her brow.
"You have to eat at proper times to stay healthy."
"I don't usually eat at this hour."
"Then how about starting now?"
"Why?"
"Because we're married."
That damned word again—married.
As if she loved Edward. As if she hadn't treated that devoted love like a toy.
But I couldn't show my dislike in front of her. I was the one who had been sold into this arrangement. If the marriage fell apart, I was the one who would lose.
"Married couples should eat together."
"Very well."
I gave in and sat down.
Not because of Ania Brontë's beauty. Simply because the food on the table looked delicious—a whole roasted pork haunch, young goat meat grilled with spices, potato dishes, and more.
The table was practically groaning under the weight of it.
"Shall we say a prayer?"
"Let's."
I clasped my hands and recited the prayer. Who would have thought that memorizing it out of sheer boredom back home would come in handy?
"…We give thanks for this day and for our daily bread."
I finished the prayer and reached for my utensils—only to find food already held out in front of me, food I hadn't even picked up myself.
"Open wide."
It was Ania Brontë. She had already speared a bite and was holding it to my lips.
"How improper."
"Young couples in the capital all do it this way these days."
"The world must be going mad."
"Can't you just eat it?"
I stared her down, trying to refuse—but of course I never stood a chance.
Those bright, pleading eyes. How was anyone supposed to win against that?
"Aaah~ Open up, Husband."
"……"
I gave in and took the bite.
"It's good."
"Isn't it?"
Ania rested her chin in both hands like a flower cup and smiled sweetly.
I had absolutely no idea what she was thinking.