Chapter -03
The rumor reached Liddell’s ears about three months after she had married Oscar.
“Have you heard, Madam?”
The one who spoke was the sister of Oscar’s lieutenant.
A woman three years older than Liddell, wrapped in a luxurious gown that accentuated her voluptuous figure, and who always looked down on her with a condescending gaze. Liddell had never liked her.
Her lips, painted a vivid red, uttered the name of a young girl from a small village—
a girl whom, she said, Oscar visited often in his spare time, spending long hours in her company.
Though of humble birth, the girl was said to be kind and gentle. Oscar, pitying her poor circumstances, had invited her to the castle many times.
“I’ve seen her once myself, you know,” the woman went on sweetly. “Such a beautiful girl she was—bright and radiant, like the sun. The Lord seems so happy when he’s with her.”
It almost sounded as though she had added, quite unlike his dull, gloomy wife.
The words were a deliberate jab at Liddell, who, despite being married, had yet to share a truly intimate moment with her husband and was treated as though she were invisible.
As Liddell remained silent, the woman pressed on.
“The maids have been talking, you see. They say the Lord must have wished to marry her instead—oh dear, listen to me, what a thing to say!”
Feigning surprise, the woman covered her mouth, her apology utterly insincere.
“I’m sorry, truly,” she said lightly.
Liddell kept her expression calm, answering evenly, though her voice trembled faintly.
“Please, don’t trouble yourself. A rumor is only a rumor.”
It took all her willpower to keep her voice from breaking.
Surely, it was only a misunderstanding. Her husband was admired by many; it was his duty as a lord to care for his people. That girl was simply one of them—nothing more.
Liddell repeated the thought over and over, as if to convince herself.
“Well, a poor girl without family could never become a wife, no matter how dearly she’s loved,” the woman continued. “After all, no one can compete with a former princess in terms of rank.”
It was as if she had said outright: You have nothing but your title to recommend you.
“A woman like me can accept being just a mistress, but a man couldn’t make his beloved one his concubine, could he?”
The woman smiled in quiet triumph.
Not long after, Liddell learned that the same woman had been attending balls and soirées as Oscar’s partner.
He had never even told Liddell he’d been invited to such gatherings.
It was customary for married men to attend social events with their wives. To bring a mistress instead was not unheard of—but for newlyweds, it was far too soon.
Yet Oscar frowned openly whenever Liddell so much as appeared at the training grounds.
When he went out, she never knew where, with whom, or for how long. Even when he returned, he offered only curt greetings and never shared a single story with her.
Had that woman—the lieutenant’s beautiful sister—danced with him at those balls?
Had they smiled at one another, their hands entwined, admired as the perfect couple?
Had they perhaps shared the same room afterwards?
The image burned vividly in Liddell’s mind, and for the first time in her life, she felt an agony of jealousy so fierce it nearly drove her mad.
It was another three months later when Liddell happened to overhear her husband speaking with his friends.
As both a nobleman and a knight, Oscar had many acquaintances from society and from his days as a trainee. A few of them had come to celebrate his birthday at the castle.
“If I may, I’d like to greet them just for a moment…”
Her timid request was brushed aside.
“There’s no need for you to appear. Stay in your room.”
By then—nearly six months into their marriage—even dull Liddell had begun to understand.
The story that Oscar had gladly accepted the match was a lie her father had told to please her.
In truth, Oscar had only married her because the king commanded it.
To a man as handsome and admired as he, being seen with such a plain wife must have been nothing but humiliation.
So Liddell obeyed without complaint.
She stayed quietly in her chambers, took her meals there, and made sure not to disturb his gathering.
She wasn’t a social woman to begin with; as long as she had her books, solitude caused her little pain.
Yet there was one reason she longed to visit him on that day—
to deliver the birthday gift she had worked on for weeks: a handmade sword belt.
On black leather, she had embroidered intricate silver patterns—a sacred motif said to have been passed down in that region, symbolizing divine protection and warding off danger.
Each stitch was made with care and silent prayer.
May my lord live in health and safety.
She wanted him to receive it on the very day of his birth. Late at night, once the guests had likely retired, would be best.
So she placed the belt and a letter into a small box, tied it with a ribbon, and waited for nightfall.
When darkness fell and the castle grew quiet, she slipped out, gift in hand, and walked to Oscar’s room.
But just as she raised her hand to knock, she heard voices from within—her husband and his friends.
“Hey, why do you always bring your mistress to parties?”
Liddell froze. Her heart pounded violently in her chest.
She stayed perfectly still, her hand suspended midair, as the others joined in teasing laughter.
“You’ve been married only half a year, haven’t you? And not once have you brought your wife! She’s a princess, for heaven’s sake. That’s not a good look, my friend.”
She knew she shouldn’t listen further—eavesdropping was shameful.
But her feet wouldn’t move.
Her own heartbeat roared in her ears.
After a pause, Oscar’s voice came clearly through the door.
“I have no intention of showing her to anyone.”
“Why not? Is it true, then, what they say—that she’s too ugly to be seen in public?”
“…I just don’t want to. And I don’t intend for any of you to meet her either.”
That single statement said everything.
Even through the door, she could sense his friends’ uneasy laughter.
“Then why agree to marry her? You could’ve refused. Don’t tell me you actually like that gloomy princess type.”
“Idiot—it was the king’s order. No one else would have her, poor man had no choice.”
Then came Oscar’s quiet, almost amused breath.
“Do you realize what marrying a princess brings? Wealth, prestige, the king’s trust… All I did was weigh that against a bit of inconvenience.”
Laughter broke out among his friends.
“Still, shame it wasn’t the third princess—she’s the pretty, lively one!”
He must have been smiling faintly then, Liddell thought.
Smiling as he mocked the ignorant princess, never guessing she stood just beyond the door.
Moving stiffly, like a rusty gear, Liddell tore her feet from the floor.
One step, then another. She backed away silently, and once the laughter faded behind her, she turned and fled.
Faster, faster—she needed to reach her room, to be alone.
She burst inside, shut the door, and collapsed to the floor.
“Ah…”
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks. She wiped them away again and again with her sleeve.
Why was she crying?
You should be used to this, she told herself.
Plain. Gloomy. Unwanted. The failure among the royal children—all beauty and grace but her.
How foolish she had been, to dream she’d been a beloved bride.
Oscar had never even looked at her. She had known it all along, and yet she’d pretended not to.
Clinging to a hope that never existed—how pitiful.
When her tears finally subsided, her thoughts turned to the sword belt.
Now that she knew the truth, she could never give it to him.
To receive a gift from a woman he despised would only annoy him.
But she couldn’t simply throw it away—the maid Mina would surely notice.
And the kitchen hearth was always watched, so she couldn’t burn it there.
The only way to dispose of it unseen was to wait for winter and cast it into her own fireplace.
It was a shame, after all that work—but more than anything, Liddell herself couldn’t bear to look at it again.
Each time she saw it, it would remind her of the truth—that she was an unwanted wife.
