I’m Not Sorry But The Prince Will Marry Me Anyway

“Oh my, His Highness has asked Lady Maria to dance again. Such behavior at a party where his fiancée is present—it’s truly excessive.”

“At this rate, scandalous rumors might spread. Surely the fiancée won’t just sit idly by?”

The noblewomen whispered loudly enough for me to hear, their eyes shamelessly fixed on me.

Their target? Lady Dori Redfield, fiancée of the Third Prince, and the character I found myself inhabiting.

Of course, their remarks weren’t meant to be supportive.

They probably wanted me to cause a scene—perhaps grab someone by the hair and create the kind of drama that would light up their dull lives.

But no. The only spectacle I planned to provide was a display of eating madeleines.

Now, if this were a café in Seoul, a single madeleine might cost 3,000 won. By that calculation, I’d just consumed 6,000 won’s worth. Delightful!

Despite my apparent indifference, the noblewomen kept at it, their voices dripping with mockery.

“Oh my, she accepted his dance request! She pretends to be hesitant, but it’s such an obvious ploy. At this rate, she’s going to steal him away!”

No, she won’t.

I sipped my tea, leisurely watching the handsome man and the beautiful woman who had just begun to dance.

The lady’s name was Maria Meyer.

Beautiful, kind, and strong-willed, she possessed all the traits of a classic romantic heroine—a rarity in this era.

As for the man dancing with her, my fiancé…

One of the noblewomen spoke again, her voice pointedly loud.

“Well, someone like His Highness Tristan would naturally prefer a beauty who doesn’t dim his shine.”

The man in question, the silver-haired Tristan Winter Albion, was dazzling.@@novelbin@@

His name evoked the ill-fated knight from Arthurian legend, tormented by an impossible love.

Perhaps it was fitting. With his striking appearance, Tristan looked like the classic romance side character—a knight suppressing fiery, unrequited love beneath a cold exterior.

But in reality, he was neither cold nor in love. He wasn’t a knight, nor even a supporting character.

If anything, Tristan was the clichéd, arrogant male extra you’d find in every romance. The kind of guy who flaunts his status and wealth to impress the beautiful heroine.

Characters like him typically end up being humiliated by the male lead or another supporting character. Sometimes, they’re killed off entirely.

So, what happens to Tristan in this story?

“Dori!”

“...Grace.”

My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

Turning around, I saw Grace Redfield, my elder sister in this life, glaring at me.

“It’s been a while, Grace. Have you been—”

“My health is as fine as ever. But seeing you makes my heart sink.”

“Grace...”

“This is the fourth dance. Have you danced with His Highness even once?”

“No.”

“Do you think you’ll dance with him soon?”

“No.”

“You’re so blunt!”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Grace.”

“Ha...”

Grace turned to glare at the culprit behind her frustration—the prince.

Having finally secured a dance with Maria after multiple attempts, Tristan now wore a triumphant smile, as if showing off a trophy.

Watching this, Grace gritted her teeth.

“I understand you don’t care for this engagement, but to humiliate his fiancée so openly!”

“Grace, I’m fine. I don’t enjoy dancing, and I’m sure His Highness knows that.”

“Oh, Dori! You’re far too kind. How could a child like you be born into the Redfield family?”

Grace pulled me into a tight hug. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, but her warm embrace was comforting. This, I thought, must be what familial love feels like.

But that fleeting sentiment vanished three seconds later when Grace whispered sharply into my ear.

“Dori, being kind is all well and good, but this engagement isn’t just about you. Do you know where that country girl dancing with the prince comes from?”

“Isn’t she from the Meyer barony?”

“Technically, she’s a distant niece of the baron. A girl so insignificant she wouldn’t have even debuted in society in the past. If the daughter of the esteemed Redfield family loses her fiancé to someone like her, can you imagine the disgrace?”

Her words weren’t a question—they were a command.

Don’t embarrass the family. Hold onto the prince.

I had only one answer.

“It’s fine, Grace. His Highness will come back to me.”

“Oh, Dori! You’re too good for this world—it’s a sickness!”

Grace looked ready to tear her hair out, but quickly grabbed her fan when she noticed the stares of nearby noblewomen. Lowering her voice, she continued her rant.

“Dori, you and His Highness have only met a few times over this long engagement! What makes you so confident?”

The original novel.

“I trust His Highness.”

“...I’d sooner believe Father will finally succeed in hunting a deer this year than trust Tristan.”

Grace looked as though she might cry.

Meanwhile, the music in the hall came to an end.

Tristan escorted Maria back to her table with movements as refined as those from an etiquette manual. Then, turning, his eyes briefly met mine.

Surely, I thought, he would look awkward or guilty—if he had a conscience.

But no. That man had no conscience.

Without even a fraction of hesitation, he turned his head away sharply.

Are you kidding me? Even a stray dog on the street would warrant more than 0.1 seconds of attention!

Tristan sauntered over to a nearby table, picked up a glass of sparkling water, and sipped it with the elegance of a wolf who’d just succeeded in its hunt.

Am I supposed to believe I don’t exist to you?

Listen, Tristan. You’re not getting the heroine.

Grace sighed.

“Well, Dori, I’m leaving now. I have to dance with my husband for the next number.”

“All right. Thank you for the advice.”

“Don’t just thank me with words! If you keep acting like this, I’ll tell Mother!”

Grace stormed off.

From a distance, I saw her husband greet her. His graceful escort made her laugh brightly as she took his arm.

Arranged marriages among nobles could be surprisingly pleasant if you found a compatible partner like that.

The problem is, my life partner is already set.

And that partner—or nemesis—was now speaking, loud enough for his friends to hear.

“How was the dance with Miss Meyer? Well, I’m not one to judge a lady’s dancing skills. …Is there another lady I should be concerned with tonight? My mother, perhaps?”

Unbelievable. That shameless prince.

But Tristan Winter Albion, the Third Prince.

No matter what nonsense you spout, you’re marrying me next year.

The original novel says so.

It All Began Two Months Ago

Late winter.

I had just been let go from my job as a nighttime librarian—a position I’d held for three years, or more precisely, for three contracts of 11 months each. Trusting the library director’s promise to hire me as a permanent staff member, I’d missed the opportunity to apply elsewhere.

Drained of energy, I returned home and started unpacking my bag when an old book tumbled out. I must have accidentally taken it while doing restoration work.

I couldn’t go back to the library, but at the very least, I needed to return the book.

However, upon closer inspection, I noticed something odd. Instead of the library’s barcode, the book bore one from a long-defunct rental shop.

Someone must have mistakenly returned a book they’d purchased from that closed rental shop to the library.

A book with such an unlucky fate…

Abandoned and without a proper place, destined to be discarded even if it were returned to the library—it struck a chord with me. It felt a little too much like my own life.

My nose tingled with emotion, and I rubbed it a few times before opening the book. At the very least, I could prove that its life as a book wasn’t over yet—by reading it.

So I did. I spent the evening repairing and reading that tattered book, oblivious to the fact that the old boiler in my tiny apartment had gone out.

And when I opened my eyes again, I had become a minor character in that very novel.

The Plot Was Simple.

Once childhood friends, the male and female leads reunite in the capital as adults. The male lead, the heir to a northern duchy, and the female lead, a lower-ranking noble, are drawn to each other.

They wrestle with feelings of we’re too different, this will never work, but oh, how I love you, until they finally marry. The end.

To spice things up, the story throws in a lovestruck knight as a secondary male lead, a villainess who covets the male lead, and, of course, an annoying male extra who pesters the heroine.

That annoying extra is none other than the Third Prince, Tristan. His role? To get pummeled by the knightly secondary lead in the later chapters and undergo a forced redemption arc.

In the epilogue, it’s casually mentioned that Tristan marries his patient, long-suffering fiancée. That’s the entirety of his character’s resolution.

And that devoted fiancée? That’s me now—Dori Redfield.

“Lazy writing,” I muttered.

Why do some authors insist on pairing everyone off at the end?

Still, one thing was clear: even if Tristan spends the entire social season chasing after Maria, he will, inevitably, end up marrying me.

“Ugh...”

Frustrated, I let out a deep sigh.

What’s the point of a husband whose only good quality is his face? Being a prince doesn’t make him special—he’s just a glorified freeloader living off the people’s taxes!

In a society where primogeniture reigns, there’s no guarantee that princes who aren’t first in line will lead stable lives.

But what choice did I have?

At least it’s not a bad ending.

I should be grateful that I’d end up with a husband who’s easy on the eyes.

I was halfway through devouring a year’s worth of madeleines—a luxury I could rarely afford in my previous life—when someone called my name.

“Dori Redfield! Look this way, please.”

It was my chaperone, my aunt, who had taken on the role of supervising me at these social events.

Apparently, she’d spent most of the party chatting, convinced that Dori is so well-behaved she doesn’t need much watching.

Well, I suppose she was done talking now.

Smiling politely, I turned my head.

And saw someone I didn’t want to.

“...Your Highness?”

Standing beside my aunt was my future husband, Tristan.

Judging by his expression—like someone who had bitten their tongue while eating—he’d been dragged over against his will.

Even now, he was doing his utmost to avoid meeting my gaze. His dedication to being unpleasant was truly impressive.

My aunt chuckled.

“Dori, you’ve been trying to approach His Highness all evening but couldn’t manage it, could you? I felt so sorry for you that I brought him over myself.”

I never tried to approach him!

While I appreciated her effort, I wished she hadn’t done it in such a horrifyingly false manner.

She wasn’t done, though. My aunt continued to praise Tristan.

“His Highness is always surrounded by people, so our shy Dori couldn’t possibly approach. How thoughtful of him to come to her instead!”

Behind Tristan, my aunt gave me a pointed look, as if to say, Be grateful! Even if you’re not, at least act like it!

“...Your Highness. How kind of you to come,” I said, unfolding my fan to partially cover my face.

Taking advantage of the awkward atmosphere, my aunt slipped away quietly, leaving just the two of us at the table.

I wondered how long this professional troublemaker would endure before running off.