Chapter 6

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Chapter 6: I Can’t Open My Heart To An Unknown Nobody

Monica awoke, bothered by the unpleasant stiffness covering her face. She suddenly remembered why she had put on makeup after what felt like months, or even years, and bolted upright.

—In the dead of night, when everyone was fast asleep.

(Ah, thank goodness it’s still night.)

Monica recalled collapsing onto her bed right after the tea party, without even bothering to remove her makeup.

Just before she drifted off, her maid Dorothy had shouted, “At least take off your dress!”

She now glanced down at her wrinkled lace dress and sighed.

“Well, of course, I’d get sleepy—doing makeup and getting dressed at a time when I’d normally be asleep…”

She pouted to herself, but her cheeks felt sticky and tight. As she wondered why, the reason quickly came to mind.

(Oh, right… I…!)

Outside the window, the moon and stars scattered their light across the room, casting lattice-like shadows on the bed. In the indigo glow, Monica began trembling.

Then, as if snapping, she suddenly stood and shouted, “Ahhh, enough!”

She stomped her feet on the bed in frustration.

“That wretched bespectacled woman! What do you mean, ‘Well done, Monica’? Stop acting so high and mighty already!”

The bed springs absorbed her stomping rage, kicking up dust from the unwashed sheets. She kicked a pillow near her bedside, sending a few feathers into the air.

“And imitating the ‘Crown Princess’? Was that some kind of insult!?”

Two weeks ago, upon hearing that a “behavioral tutor” had been hired because she hadn’t undergone proper bride training in years, Monica stormed out before the conversation was even finished.

Her parents, who had moved to a separate residence since her rebellious streak had become apparent, had only just shown their faces at the annex—only to deliver this news.

Since then, as usual, she had shut herself in her bedroom, refusing to speak even to her maids. The tea party incident had caused quite a stir until she fell asleep, but Monica felt no remorse.

(Hmph, maybe that smug face of hers stiffened just a little.)

She had shown all the disrespect she could during their meeting and tea party. For all she knew, that woman—Annie, was it?—might be gone by tomorrow.

She paused, then laughed to herself. Imitating “Betsugao” (Different Face) had been her masterpiece, she thought, crossing her arms while standing proudly.

Initially, she had doubted Annie Vincent’s sanity—how could a mere commoner have the audacity to act as Crown Princess and host a tea party? At the same time, she had doubted her own father’s sanity, wondering if he had finally gone senile.

But when the event began, the woman was seriously acting like the Crown Princess.

(She has to be insane.)

Monica furrowed her brows.

(…Still, to be so well-versed in mannerisms and court etiquette… Who is she? That tacky pair of glasses is laughable, though.)

Her dress was opulent, embroidered in a way befitting a real Crown Princess. Even the accessories adorning her hair were expensive items obtainable only in neighboring countries.

In short, if her father’s words were to be trusted, Annie really was a candidate endorsed by the First Crown Prince or even the royal family. Monica bit her lip hard.

“What are Father and Prince Janold thinking now, of all times!”

With nothing left to kick and tired from standing—her dress made moving difficult to begin with—she sat on the bed.

Attempting to hug her knees, she found the thick fabric and her own stomach getting in the way, causing her to topple over instead.

(It’s too late now… I wish they’d just leave me alone forever.)

On the verge of tears, she reached for the romance novel lying on her bed. Pulling it close, she clutched it to her chest.

For over a year, the only love she had received came from the heroes in her novels. The moonlight illuminated the title: “When the Rose Blooms at Dawn.”

“Ah, my darling Dania… Yes, until I meet you…”

Her eyes gleamed fiercely.

“I will definitely, definitely, get rid of that woman!”

The day after Monica’s tea party, Anise formulated a plan.

First, avoid any mention of the engagement and focus on gathering information from Monica herself.

Then, continue to have Janold woo her with advice from behind the scenes.

Finally, gain Monica’s trust as a friend, while subtly increasing Janold’s favorability in her eyes.

With less than three months left until the Holy Birth Festival, the key would be how much progress could be made in the meantime.

(I won’t expect her to participate in the festival. As long as the betrothed pair grow closer, that’s all that matters. The problem is whether I can establish a friendly relationship…)

Yesterday’s tea party made it clear that Monica was quite formidable, which gave Anise some relief. “At least I won’t have to hold back with her,” he thought, patting his chest.

He judged that Monica wasn’t the clingy, sulking type who needed constant pampering.

If anything, Monica’s straightforwardness reminded her of Janold’s. This realization felt like a ray of hope.

(Next tea party, I’ll delve deeper into her preferences.)

The invitations had already been sent, and Monica’s swift reply had just arrived. Her promptness suggested she was itching for a fight, making Anise smirk.

As she was about to read the reply, the sound of a large group approaching the hallway caught her attention.

(What’s this commotion? These footsteps… No way…)

A sense of déjà vu made her look at the door just as a hurried knock sounded. Before she could respond, Piqué entered, bowing hastily.

“Lady Annie (Anise), y-you have a visitor!”

“No… it can’t be.”

A bad feeling ran down her spine.

“It’s an urgent matter. Prince Janold has arrived.”

The door burst open with a bang.

“ANNIIIEEEEE!”

“Oh no…”

Anise covered her face with both hands, exasperated.

“Wow, you’ve really settled into your role as a woman! No matter how I look at it, you’re the perfect image of the third daughter of House Lavery. More tea, please!”

“Why are you even here? This isn’t House Helengel! If you’re here to visit your fiancée, fine, but what do you think you’re doing coming to see me?”

Anise glared sharply at him.

“Right now, I’m Annie. What if weird rumors start because of this?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Anise noticed Pique nodding deeply. It was typical of Janold to casually barge through the front door, but to pull the same stunt at the Lavery marquessate? That was a whole different matter. Anise literally cradled his head in his hands.

“Oh, right. Weird rumors? Nah, it’ll be fine. Who’d spread them, anyway? The moment I see you, I just fall into my usual rhythm. Anyway, I came to deliver this.”

Janold rummaged through the inner pocket of his white military uniform and pulled out a few letters.

Taking them, Anise skimmed their contents. Letters from his family, Annabel, and—

“From the Marquess of Lavery?!”
“Yup. This morning’s royal council brought up matters related to the expedition. After greeting my sister-in-law Annabel, I was invited for tea.”

“By the marquess? Or by my sister?”

“Your sister. She apparently volunteered to mediate between you and the marquess. ‘Your Highness, please visit and check on dear Annie for me. Let me know how she’s doing, won’t you?’ She handed me a letter, so I made the trip just for you.”

Anise glanced at Janold, who wore an easygoing smile, his blue eyes crinkling in a way that naturally drew people in.

Anise felt his cheek involuntarily twitch.

Since arriving here, he’d been smiling so much that his facial muscles were starting to ache.

(My sister… Why? Why go through such convoluted measures?)

A bad feeling welled up within him. Trying to shake it off, he muttered, “Wait here a moment,” to Janold before breaking the seal on the letter with the knife Pique had handed him.

Janold, meanwhile, seemed to take an interest in exploring the guestroom and began looking around with various exclamations.

Pique silently followed him like a shadow. With that reassurance, Anise focused on the letter in his hand.

The letter from the Marquess of Lavery was addressed to “Assistant Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Annie Vincent,” with impeccable attention to detail.

“By royal decree, I have entrusted my foolish daughter to you, a most significant event in the history of House Lavery. My household’s honor has fallen into disgrace. Please understand the depths of my anguish.

Though recommended by the Crown Princess, we have taken you into our family without so much as a meeting. While I have heard of your talents and the Crown’s high regard for you, I cannot rest easy knowing that you, a man—even in a woman’s guise—are by my daughter’s side.

I wish to meet you in person.

Next month, my wife, Monica, and I will make time for a dinner meeting. I ask your forgiveness for testing your competence during our first encounter.”

“…What?”

Anise read further, cold sweat forming on his brow. He dabbed it gently with a handkerchief.

(This letter isn’t for me. It’s for ‘Annie.’ Could it be… the marquess doesn’t know I’m Annie? Has the King and even my sister kept this from him?!)

The realization struck Anise like a bell ringing in his mind. He nearly collapsed but managed to steady himself against the edge of the couch, waiting for the dizziness to subside.

(I see now. The marquess doesn’t know I’m cross-dressing. That’s why he distrusts Annie, assuming she’s some random man. It makes sense why he didn’t contact House Helengel sooner and why the household staff have been so cold.)

The marquess had likely warned his servants not to trust Annie.

Of course, no reasonable parent would welcome some unknown man disguised as a woman cozying up to their daughter, a potential Crown Princess.

Anise groaned, clutching his head as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

“Annie! Are you okay? Feeling unwell?”

“…Janold, please just go home for today. I need to gather my thoughts.”

“No way! Annie, you’re the type to act tough. Hey, you there—does this house have a court physician?”

“The house steward has medical training. I’ll summon him immediately!”

(The steward? That’ll only complicate things. If this misunderstanding deepens…)

“Stop… please. Just… Janold, leave,” Anise weakly waved his hand, trying to call Pique over. But it was too late.

Janold knelt beside him, grabbed his hand, and shouted dramatically, “ANNIE! Stay with me! I’m here for you!”

Just then, the sound of the door creaking open echoed through the room.

Through the gaps of his fingers covering his face, Anise saw the steward walk in, eyes wide.

(Oh no, here comes more trouble…)

The next day, gossip spread through the Lavery estate like wildfire—rumors too scandalous to discuss in polite company:

“Prince Janold is a man-lover, and Annie Vincent is his mistress.”