Chapter 3
The solution she had come up with—
was this very marriage.
Choosing to marry, at the age of just twelve, into the House of Cassion—
a family said to be in decline and teetering on the edge of ruin—
was the result of long, careful deliberation.
And to make that marriage happen, Elizabeth had put her uncle Cornwall on the throne.
The royal seal that her uncle had waved around at the beginning of the year when he raised an army—that seal was her doing.
In other words, the person who played the biggest role in Cornwall I becoming king…
was none other than Elizabeth.
Naturally, the newly crowned King Cornwall was both grateful to her—
and terrified of her.
No matter how loudly Elizabeth claimed she had no interest in the throne, it didn’t matter.
Her very existence was a threat to him.
So when Elizabeth paid him a visit just before his coronation and said she had a request,
Cornwall became visibly tense.
“I see. And… what is this request of yours?”
Swallowing hard after speaking, Cornwall watched her nervously.
But Elizabeth simply lifted her teacup with a calm face, speaking lightly, as if it were no big deal.
“I intend to marry.”
“What? Marry?!”
Cornwall was visibly shaken, his eyes going wide as he repeated her words.
It made sense.
Elizabeth already had someone who was considered her fiancé.
The formal engagement ceremony had never taken place, only because her father, Capella II, had suddenly collapsed.
Michael de Asim.
The legitimate son of the Marquis of Asim—he was, by all accounts, a fine young man.
But the real problem was his father.
The Marquis was both ambitious and powerful.
If he took Elizabeth as a daughter-in-law, it was only a matter of time before he would rise in rebellion.
“Don’t worry. Michael isn’t the one I’m going to marry.”
Seeing Cornwall at a loss for words in his flustered state, Elizabeth smiled lightly and added a brief explanation.
“If not Michael, then who are you saying you’ll marry?”
“There’s a man named Clayton—someone who suits both your taste, Uncle, and mine perfectly.”
“Clayton?”
“Yes. The lord of Cassion, at the far northern edge of the Empire.”
“Cassion? Ca…ssion? You mean the Duke of Cassion?”
At the unexpected name, Cornwall repeated the word several times. Then his eyes widened like lanterns.
Watching his reaction, Elizabeth rose from her seat.
As if she had finished all her business after dropping a bombshell, she turned to leave.
But Cornwall, springing to his feet, hurried to grab her.
“Elizabeth. You have to explain this properly.”
“Explain what more? I’m saying I’m leaving—because my existence brings harm to both you and Castillo.”
“No, I mean… I don’t know much about this Duke of Cassion.
He might be from a prestigious house in the Empire, but I’ve never met the man.
And now you’re suddenly saying you’ll marry him—how can that…”
Cornwall fumbled with his words, clearly flustered.
Elizabeth frowned and let out a long sigh.
Then, shaking off the hand that had grabbed her arm, she replied in a cold voice:
“How long must I spell everything out for you? I told you who to approach for the marriage proposal. From there, you should know how to handle the rest.”
Cornwall flinched at the chill in her expression.
She wasn’t wrong.
Even if it was a ducal house, Cassion was a foreign domain.
Moreover, it lay at the northernmost edge of the Empire—whereas Castillo was in the south.
Just traveling between the two took more than two weeks.
Elizabeth’s offer to voluntarily go so far away, to Cornwall, was no different from rain in a drought.
As Cornwall stood watching Elizabeth’s figure retreating into the distance, he finally moved.
Contrary to his concerns, securing a marriage arrangement with the House of Cassion wasn’t difficult at all.
Noble marriages were usually considered important contracts, and so they never proceeded quickly.
In truth, among nobles, an engagement was simply a formal declaration that the two parties were preliminary negotiators for a marriage deal.
Once engaged, both families would spend years adjusting and renegotiating the terms.
Only after a mutually satisfactory agreement was reached would a wedding take place.
But the negotiation between the House of Cassion and Cornwall proceeded at lightning speed.
That was because both sides wanted the marriage.
Clayton, for his part, needed a suitable match to avoid marrying Princess Margaret.
When rumors spread that Princess Margaret had shown interest in Clayton, gossipmongers hailed it as the best opportunity the House of Cassion could ever get.
After all, for someone like Clayton—whose birth was called “half-blooded” due to his mother’s lineage—a marriage with a princess was, outwardly, the perfect match.
But that was only how outsiders saw it.
From the duchy’s perspective, it was a marriage they desperately wanted to avoid.
“If a princess becomes the duchess, the entire House of Cassion will end up in the imperial family’s hands.”
“Exactly.”
And just then, Cornwall came forward with an offer—promising a massive dowry and financial support for the House of Cassion.
With both sides’ interests perfectly aligned, the marriage was sealed in an instant, without even a formal engagement, as quickly as beans roasted on lightning.
Because of this, many said:
Cornwall had finally gotten rid of the troublesome niece.
Cassion had sold off their “half-blood” duke for money.
***
While Elizabeth and Clayton were en route to the imperial capital, having just left Castillo—news of their departure had already reached Emperor Enrique.
His hand trembled violently as he read the report.
“Damn it.”
Unable to contain his fury, Enrique hurled the paper in his hand across the room.
While the nobles outside were simply gossiping—some saying the match between the half-blood duke and the exiled princess was good, others saying it was bad—
To Enrique, this was no trivial matter.
Startled by Enrique’s outburst, the attendant who had brought the report from the diplomatic delegation shrank back in fear.
With a discreet wave of his hand, Count Delman dismissed the servant and quietly picked up the crumpled paper before approaching the emperor’s desk.
“Damn it.”
“What’s done is done. There’s nothing we can do about it now, is there?”
With a sigh, Enrique sank into his chair, a deep scowl on his face.
It had been he who assigned that lowborn handmaiden to the former Duke of Cassion.
When that woman gave birth to Clayton, the illegitimate son of the duke, everything was still going according to Enrique’s plans.
The boy hadn’t grown up in Cassion—he’d been raised under Enrique’s shadow, only sent into Cassion when Enrique decided the timing was right.
Even orchestrating the deaths of the boy’s older brother and his wife, who had been the rightful heirs to the dukedom and placing the title into the hands of an ignorant fifteen-year-old boy…
All of it had proceeded without a single misstep.
But then, something unexpected happened.
The boy, who should have hated Cassion more than anyone suddenly developed affection for the house.
Still, Enrique hadn’t worried.
After all, that wasn’t the end goal of his plan.
Clayton becoming the duke was just one small part of the much larger scheme Enrique had been drawing.
As long as his own daughter became duchess, he didn’t care about the minor details.
It didn’t even matter if Clayton slipped out of his grasp—as long as he married into the imperial bloodline, Cassion would eventually be absorbed into the Empire.
That was the plan.
But now…
“Where did it all start to go wrong?”
To the emperor’s muttered question, Count Delman let out a quiet sigh and answered.
“Honestly, I had a bad feeling ever since I found out that Clayton was freakishly talented with a sword,”
Count Delman remarked casually.
Enrique shot him a sharp glare, but Delman only shrugged.
“Tch. I thought Ian would resent Clayton—A lowborn half-brother born with a talent he himself didn’t have.”
“But he didn’t. He praised him, said he was remarkable, even got him a proper master and raised him like his own son. Thinking about it, Ian was a piece of work too.”
“You… seriously…”
Enrique scowled and snapped at Count Delman, whose calm tone was only aggravating his nerves.
But Delman merely looked back at him with a face that said, “What’s the problem?”
“Forget it. Better to die than to be sick.”
Enrique, who was quicker on his feet than most, also had a notoriously short temper and emotional volatility.
Because of that, few people managed to stay by his side for long.
In contrast, his chief aide, Count Delman, was famous for being stupid.
“Dumb Delman”—that was what people called him.
True to his nickname, Delman wasn’t particularly smart or sharp, but he was solid.
Even when Enrique raged or threw tantrums, Delman simply responded as blandly as water downed with more water or wine watered with wine.
And ironically, the reason Delman had managed to remain Enrique’s right-hand man for so long…was precisely because of his stupidity.
Just like today—Enrique eventually lost even the energy to be angry at Delman’s dull reactions, and let out a sigh, his fury subsiding.
Seeing the emperor’s face finally calm, Delman let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Elizabeth, was it? That princess.”
“Yes. She just turned twelve.”
“Then she won’t be having the duke’s child for at least six or seven years.”
“Correct.”
“Clayton’s sixteen now. It wouldn’t be strange for him to develop an interest in women and end up with a bastard or two.”
“Understood.”
What Enrique meant was clear:
Once Clayton came of age, insert another woman at his side, one who could bear his child.
It didn’t matter if the child wasn’t truly his.
As long as the child inherited a few useful traits, the Emperor could declare it was his and claim the House of Cassion.
If the woman who bore Clayton’s child happened to be a princess, things would’ve been even easier—but even if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t be a problem.
“Even if we resolve the Cassion matter like that… Castillo is still an issue.”
Enrique tapped his fingers on the desk, deep in thought.
Having Cornwall take the throne had been part of his plan, but Elizabeth leaving Castillo had not.
To keep the Marquis Asim faction fighting Cornwall, they needed a unifying figure—and that figure was supposed to be Elizabeth.
“For now, wouldn’t it be alright to simply wait and see?”
“You think so?”
“She may have been driven out, but she’s still a princess. She was raised as royalty and lived her whole life believing she would be queen. If her husband has another woman… and a child with her…”
“She’ll demand a divorce. Even if it’s six years from now, she’ll have just come of age. And then…”
“What is it, Your Majesty?”
Delman looked curiously at Enrique, who trailed off mid-sentence.
“Not bad at all.”
Seeing the emperor flash a sly grin, Delman instantly knew he’d come up with a devious new idea.
He was curious what it was, but held his tongue.
Eventually, when his master chose to put the idea into action, he would find out naturally.
‘No need to stick my neck out and get scolded for asking.’
By all objective standards, Delman was a clever man.
But the reason people called him “Dumb Delman” was simple— his master, the Emperor, was simply too brilliant.
Standing next to the sun, any other light is bound to look dim.
