Chapter 1
People were left utterly shocked by the news coming from Castillo, at the southernmost tip of the continent.
“My goodness. Is that true?”
“In many ways, Castillo has been full of surprises this year.”
“Indeed it has.”
At the beginning of the year, when the Count of Cornwall, the illegitimate son of the king two generations prior, pushed aside his young niece and declared his intention to become king himself, people weren’t all that surprised.
No one said it aloud, but everyone had been expecting it. After all, it was common knowledge that Capella II, now the former king, was suffering from madness.
Though Princess Elizabeth, Capella II’s only daughter, was said to have inherited the blood of the great witch—the founding queen of Castillo—she was still just a child.
So, not only in Castillo but among the empire’s nobility as well, many had a vague sense that the Count of Cornwall might very well oust Elizabeth and claim the throne for himself.
Thus, when it actually happened earlier this year, the general reaction was that it had been inevitable.
What truly shocked people, however, was the item Cornwall presented as the reason he should be king.
“The royal seal?”
“Yes, and it’s not a forgery—they say it’s the genuine royal seal.”
“Are you telling me Capella II named his half-brother as heir instead of his own daughter?”
“Couldn’t he have stolen it from the royal palace in secret?”
“I heard the royal seal of Castillo is bound by numerous witch enchantments.”
Count Cornwall insisted that his claim to the throne wasn’t driven by personal ambition, but that he was simply fulfilling the will of his brother, Capella II.
And as proof, he presented the royal seal.
Thanks to that, all the predictions that a fierce civil war would erupt, or that Count Cornwall would face great hardship even after becoming king, were completely upended.
As soon as Cornwall produced the seal, the border dukes guarding the Great Forest all announced their recognition of him as king. Once those militarily powerful border lords stepped back, the other nobles had no choice but to follow suit and accept Cornwall’s kingship.
And so, the one who ended up in a pitiful position was none other than Princess Elizabeth, Capella II’s only daughter.
She was only twelve years old, and now the tongues of gossips began to wag ceaselessly once again.
“Killing her would be the cleanest solution.”
“The problem is, she’s said to carry the blood of a witch.”
“Ah, a witch.”
“Then the issue is the curse.”
“Exactly.”
In ordinary circumstances, the best solution to prevent any future trouble would have been to simply kill his niece, Elizabeth.
However, the problem was that Elizabeth had inherited the bloodline of a witch.
Young witches, before reaching adulthood, were protected by powerful spells. These spells cursed anyone who killed a young witch with a terrible fate.
Long ago, there had been those who either didn’t know this or chose not to believe it—and the curses they suffered after tormenting or killing a young witch were so horrific that their stories were recorded even in history books.
And the most terrifying part was that the curse varied from person to person.
Those who valued money became beggars, womanizers were struck with impotence, beautiful women became hideously ugly—the curse always targeted what each person cherished most, in the most agonizing way.
Because of that, the simplest and cleanest method—killing his niece—was no longer an option for Cornwall. So speculation began to swirl about what he would do instead.
Some even placed grand wagers based on their predictions.
In any case, it was for these reasons that the coronation ceremony of Count Cornwall—no, King Cornwall I—scheduled for this summer, drew massive attention from across the land.
Then, quite suddenly, unexpected news arrived from Castillo: none other than the wedding announcement of Princess Elizabeth.
“What? To Cassion?”
“Ha, now that is an unexpected move.”
“He really is an extraordinary man. Truly.”
Among nobles, regardless of nationality, marriage was considered a contract. Because of that, age was rarely a major factor in noble marriages.
Even so, the reason so many people gossiped about the marriage between Princess Elizabeth and Duke Cassion wasn’t just about her age.
One noblewoman, affecting a look of pity, fluttered her fan and spoke.
“Oh dear. I heard the princess is only twelve…”
“Exactly. Things might have been better if the queen mother were still alive.”
“Indeed, and I heard even her mother’s family—the Marquisate of Zibellan—sided with King Cornwall in the end?”
The other gathered noblewomen whispered among themselves with similar expressions. Some clicked their tongues, some sighed and shook their heads.
But not a single one of them truly cared about young Elizabeth’s situation.
Everyone was simply indulging in gossip, delighting in the downfall of someone who had been considered destined for the throne since birth.
“At least I’m better off than her.”
That was probably the sentiment behind it all. The reason they chattered about Elizabeth’s marriage with such mock sympathy was actually because of the circumstances of her husband, Duke Cassion.
The House of Cassion was an old and prestigious noble house, said to have played a key role in the founding of the Empire.
Thanks to the Empire’s nearly thousand-year history, there were fewer than five noble families who had held titles since the founding—including the imperial family.
Excluding the imperial family, only four.
And among those, the others held ranks of baron or viscount.
Only Cassion had retained the title of duke from the founding until now.
So it went without saying that their status and pride were unmatched.
The people of Cassion were so proud of their homeland that they often referred to themselves not as citizens of the Empire, but as Cassionians. Their loyalty and affection for their ruling house were equally extraordinary.
In fact, the land had once been the Kingdom of Cassion before it was merged directly into the Empire—at which point the royal house became a ducal family. Perhaps for this reason, Cassion had always acted like it was part of the Empire, but not truly of it.
This was possible because Emperor Frank the Great, founder of the Empire, had once declared, “Without Cassion, there would be no Empire,” and granted them a wide range of privileges other
territories could never even dream of.
In any case, for all its lofty pride, the House of Cassion had fallen on hard times in recent years.
Starting decades ago, they began suffering from chronic financial losses, and now, they were even facing concerns of total bankruptcy.
And misfortune hadn’t ended there.
Last year, in a sudden carriage accident, the then-young Duke Ian, his wife, and their heir, Lord Edward, all died at once.
As a result, the title of Duke fell to Clayton, who at the time was only fifteen.
The problem was that while Clayton had been legally registered into the Cassion bloodline, he was not born from a formal marriage.
His father, the duke two generations prior, had lost his wife Clara—a duchess and mother of the late Duke Ian—long ago, so Clayton wasn’t a bastard exactly.
But Clayton’s mother, who had never been formally married, had raised him in secret. Given that, it was clear her origins were humble and unremarkable.
A ducal house on the brink of collapse under a mountain of debt, and a duke whose own mother’s identity was unknown—wasn’t that the perfect target for ridicule?
Of course, not everyone looked down on Clayton. While older noblewomen and male aristocrats tended to dismiss him, the young ladies were completely infatuated.
This was thanks to Clayton’s stunning appearance when he visited the capital last year for his succession ceremony.
At the time, he was fifteen.
True to his Cassion bloodline, even at a young age he had a tall build that surpassed most adults, a strong physique honed by swordsmanship, and silver-blond hair with emerald eyes—he looked like a prince straight out of a fairy tale.
In fact, the royal characters in northern fairy tales, which were rooted in myth and legend, had all historically been modeled after the old royal family of Cassion.
“Unbelievable…”
“Wh-what… how…?”
Clayton, who had just turned sixteen this year, was still legally a minor. Because of that, many believed there was still time before he could even think about marriage.
Even if the ducal house was on the brink of collapse, it was still a duchy in name and history.
There were plenty who thought that a thousand-year-old noble house wouldn’t fall so easily—and that with the dowry brought by a duchess and the support of her family, it would be entirely possible to revive the house.
Thanks to that belief, many young noblewomen from wealthy families, beloved by their fathers or brothers, set their sights on the position next to Clayton.
One of them was none other than Princess Margaret.
If her father, the Emperor, lent his aid, the duke’s family debt would be of little concern. And more importantly, when she casually brought up the idea to her father, his reaction had not been unfavorable.
“Duchess of Cassion, hmm… not bad. Yes, not bad at all.”
When she nervously broached the subject, worried he might explode in anger, the Emperor had only chuckled and nodded, murmuring to himself.
She knew very well that this response from her father was, in fact, permission. So she had planned to tell Clayton as soon as he came to the capital again—and firmly tie him to her side.
“But marriage? This is absurd!”
Upon hearing the unexpected news, Princess Margaret shouted and threw her teacup across the room.
At that very moment, in the royal capital of Castillo—
The warmth in Clayton’s eyes, which had been gently helping Elizabeth into the carriage, turned cold.
“Your Grace?”
“No one’s coming with her? Not a single person?”
Clayton’s quiet murmur made the knight beside him, Alex, glance at him anxiously with a dark expression. Even to him, this was going too far.
Sure, they couldn’t kill her, so they were sending her off to a faraway foreign land as if selling her off—but still, she was their niece.
In any noble household, when a daughter was born, they would raise a girl from among the retainers to become her personal maid. This maid would accompany her when she married.
In wealthier families, they would even raise and send a personal knight to guard her.
So for a princess like Elizabeth, it should have been natural to send not only a maid, but also a knight to be responsible for her safety.
And yet, seeing Elizabeth come out completely alone—without even a single maid, let alone a knight—Clayton felt something rise in his chest, something that made him want to burst.
‘Even if she’s treated like a disgrace… how could they…’
Clayton, his face twisted in frustration, stared hard at her, and Elizabeth tilted her head curiously at the sight before silently stepping into the carriage. She had no idea why Clayton was reacting that way.
‘Why is he making that face? What on earth did I do to displease him now?’
Elizabeth pondered for a moment, then shook her head. She was sick and tired of overthinking.
Trying to decipher someone’s expression, analyzing the meaning of every word they said, tiptoeing around to avoid offense… she didn’t have to live like that anymore.
Inside the carriage, Elizabeth stretched out her arms and let out a deep breath.
‘Haah… this is really goodbye.’
She was fully aware of all the cruel things people were saying about her—how she was being married off to a foreign land at the tender age of twelve.
But more than anyone else, it was Elizabeth herself who had desperately wished for this marriage.
