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

Surprisingly, Tristan Sat Down Quietly

Perhaps it was because an elder had arranged this meeting. Despite his discomfort, Tristan displayed a semblance of proper decorum. For a fleeting moment, I felt a faint sense of camaraderie.

And then, he shattered it.

“Ha... Let’s not waste each other’s time.”@@novelbin@@

...My opinion of him dropped before it could even fully form.

After sparing me the briefest glance, Tristan slumped into his chair, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. From my perspective, all I could see was his chiseled jawline and the rugged motion of his throat as he spoke.

“Dori Redfield. Do you remember the day you first heard about our engagement?”

“Five years ago, I think. My parents mentioned it over dinner.”

“I recall it vividly—time, place, everything. It was five in the afternoon, and I’d just returned from the training grounds. My uncle approached me and casually said, ‘Tristan, have you met Dori Redfield? She’s your fiancée.’ Every single word in that sentence was news to me.”

“...”

“Arranged marriages often disregard the will of the people involved, but this one was particularly absurd. Even now, five years later, the memory still makes me seethe.”

Okay, I admit, that does sound like a shock.

For a brief moment, I felt a pang of sympathy for Tristan.

And then he obliterated it, too.

“If nothing else, if the other party had been a beauty, I might have felt like I’d been given a pleasant surprise. But this... ha.”

“...”

What nerve, for a guy who’s all packaging with nothing inside to call me a disappointing gift.

He waved his hand dismissively, as though trying to soften the blow.

“Ah, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying you’re unattractive. You’re just not my type—I prefer ladies who resemble lilies. Don’t read too much into it.”

Oh, a backhanded compliment? I see. Perhaps he realized he’d gone too far.

...Or so I thought, until he opened his mouth again.

“But standing beside me, I worry you might not even seem like a lily—more like an ordinary blade of grass. Everyone has their proper place, after all.”

I almost punched him.

But no. I could handle this.

After all, I’d endured worse from unruly library patrons.

Like the man who once said, “I came here to nap, but I can’t fall asleep. Why don’t you read that book in your hand aloud, Miss Librarian?” I resisted the urge to drop my hardbound copy of Ulysses on his foot, even “accidentally.”

Silently calming myself, I refrained from reacting. Meanwhile, Tristan glanced up, apparently checking my mood.

“...Are you listening, Dori Redfield?”

“Of course, Your Highness. I always pay attention to your words.”

I’ll listen to your words.

But your nonsense? That, I’ll ignore.

Looking slightly unsettled, Tristan resumed speaking.

“Anyway, I don’t consider our relationship a proper engagement. The initial arrangement was never ours to begin with, and nothing has progressed since then.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

Originally, the Redfield family had aimed to marry their second daughter, the most beautiful of the three, to the First Prince. But when that fell through, the families hastily agreed to pair their third daughter and the Third Prince instead.

Now, at 21 years old, with Tristan at 23, our engagement remained stagnant.

To the royal family, it was an unimportant matter. To the Redfield family, it was a “nice-to-have” arrangement that wouldn’t devastate them if it fell apart.

The only one truly shackled by it was Tristan himself.

He sighed deeply.

“Let me make this clear. Even if this party continues until dawn, I won’t ask you to dance. Not tonight, or at the next party, or the one after that.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t get your hopes up—wait, hold on.”

Tristan froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening.

“Dori Redfield. Did you actually understand what I just said?”

“Yes. You’re saying that the informal nature of our engagement gives it no binding force, unlike a typical arrangement. Isn’t that correct?”

“That’s... right.”

“I’m glad I understood. Of course, I can’t disregard my parents’ approval, but I have no intention of restricting Your Highness’s freedom.”

“Are you saying—”

“I will wait for your decision, as well as that of our parents. Until then, please continue living freely, as you are now.”

Go ahead, pile up all the regrets and embarrassing moments you want.

You’re destined to marry me anyway.

And when you eventually apologize for your behavior, I’ll enjoy every moment with a bag of popcorn.

Unaware of my thoughts, Tristan’s expression stiffened. When our eyes finally met properly, I noticed how striking his silver-blue gaze was. Too beautiful for a pathetic villain like him, his eyes now trembled with frustration.

“Well... If I may ask—and forgive me if this question sounds absurd—do you happen to have someone else in your heart?”

I nearly punched him again.

“Of course not! What do you mean, Your Highness?”

“How else am I supposed to interpret my fiancée telling me to ‘live freely’?”

“Don’t misunderstand. I mean it quite literally. I trust in the decisions of the royal family and my parents. My only wish is to avoid causing any trouble for you, Your Highness.”

“...”

“This is the wisest course of action I can take. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll remain quiet and unassuming.”

Tristan looked as though my words were driving him mad.

Why? You’re not about to repent or become a decent person right now, are you?

You’re not even the knightly second lead—just a petty supporting character.

“Is there anything else you wish to say, Your Highness?”

"Go on, go pester Maria some more."

Tristan looked like he had more to say, his lips parting slightly as if searching for words. But in the end, he rose silently, his towering frame suddenly filling my vision.

Despite his abrasive personality, his scent was unexpectedly pleasant—subtle, woody, almost like an old library.

For a split second, I felt an involuntary flutter.

And then, he ruined it.

“...Fine. If you truly have no desire to dance with me, then do me a favor—don’t look at me with such longing eyes anymore.”

Ahhh! That mouth of his!

Longing? Me? Never! At most, I’ve occasionally pitied him with a disapproving stare, which he’s clearly misunderstood.

Before I could recover from the sheer audacity of his statement, he was already striding away, his long legs making quick work of the distance between us.

What an insufferable man.

How am I supposed to spend my life with someone like that?

Frustrated, I reached for another madeleine, hoping to calm myself with its sweetness.

But even that small solace was stolen from me.

Behind me, I heard a deep sigh.

It was my aunt.

“Dori... Why did His Highness leave so soon? Did you say something overly polite again?”

“What else could I say? It’s not like I could be rude.”

“Rude? That’s not what I mean. You could say something like, ‘I want to keep you all to myself.’”

“That’s impossible!”

A shiver ran down my spine at the thought.

That would be cruel—to my own mental health.

While my aunt lamented my inability to secure a single dance, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

Tristan, now standing at the far end of the ballroom, glanced back at me briefly with a scornful expression before sharply turning away.

***

"Doris Redfield!"

Ah, full names—a universal hallmark of parental rage, regardless of the world.

While I marveled at this shared cultural phenomenon, my father, the Earl of Redfield, unleashed his fury.

“You didn’t even manage to dance a single song with His Highness? Explain yourself!”

“His Highness—”

“Enough with the excuses! No doubt he was chasing after some pretty face. And you just stood there and watched? You could’ve at least grabbed his arm—he wouldn’t have had much choice but to dance with you!”

“...”

“If you can’t win him over with your looks, then you should be making up for it with charm or persistence. What on earth did you learn from your sisters?”

Scowling, the earl gestured at a portrait hanging on the wall. It depicted the three daughters of the Redfield family—Grace, Natalie, and Doris. Their names were conveniently alphabetical, making them easy to remember.

The leftmost figure was Grace, the eldest sister, whom I’d encountered earlier at the party. She was the most agreeable member of the family, though marriage had made her visits rare.

“Grace was beloved by all. Her wit and charm got her married to a baron—smart girl.”

The middle figure was Natalie, the second sister, a striking beauty with fiery red hair and piercing eyes that naturally drew attention.

“It’s a shame Natalie’s engagement to the First Prince fell through. I’m sure even he regrets letting go of such a beauty!”

“...”

“But Natalie will find an excellent husband—of that, I have no doubt!”

The gleam of ambition in the earl’s eyes made it clear he wasn’t looking at his daughters but at investments—like gold bricks waiting to be spent.

Too bad that dream of his will never come true.

Natalie, after all, is the villainess in this story. She spends her days scheming to win over the Northern Duke, only to fail spectacularly, earning public humiliation and a one-way ticket to a convent.

But that’s not my problem to fix.

The earl’s gaze shifted to the last figure—the third daughter.

And there it was. Staring back from the painting was none other than me—well, the original me, Kim Doremi.

When I first inhabited Doris’s body, her face resembled a ghostly sketch. But as I adapted to this world, her features gradually changed to mirror mine, as though my presence had overwritten her generic character model.

While I was content with my appearance, the genre’s rampant beauty inflation made even my own looks feel lackluster in comparison.

The earl sighed deeply.

“You’re... not unattractive. But don’t take too much comfort in that. Perhaps it’s just my paternal bias.”

“...”

“However, you don’t know how to dress more elegantly, you lack a quick wit, and your dancing skills are mediocre at best. Don’t take this the wrong way, but hear me out.”

Oh, no. This is going to be bad, isn’t it?

His next words exceeded even my worst expectations.

“Have you considered joining a convent?”

“What?”

“If you keep fumbling about like this, His Highness will inevitably abandon you, and you’ll become the laughingstock of society. Worse, you’ll disgrace our entire family!”

“...”

“It would be far more dignified to withdraw from society of your own accord. You could do so gracefully, before the rejection happens. The dowry set aside for you could then be invested in Natalie instead.”

“Father...”

I had planned to remain as quiet and compliant as the original Doris, but this was too much.

Invest? Is that all I am to you?

“...And what if your investment pays off?” I asked.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“What if I succeed in marrying His Highness? What will you do for me then?”