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

The hunting tournament is easily one of the most obnoxious events in high society.

To be precise, it’s a competition where participants go all out to flaunt themselves.

The wealthy show off their well-trained horses, hunting dogs, and equipment. The strong parade around shirtless, carrying deer on their backs. And those popular with the opposite sex, regardless of gender, walk around with their noses in the air.

Still, it’s undeniably a major event.

The men who had been huffing and puffing over the Queen’s May Ball earlier had already shifted their conversation to the upcoming hunting tournament.

“When do you think the bets for the hunting tournament will start?”

“Last year, the talk began in mid-June. It’ll probably be around the same time this year.”

“Our household needs to prepare too. I’m already exhausted just thinking about it.”

“Have you picked out your hunting dogs yet? There’s a breed perfect for catching rabbits…”

It seemed like the bets were still a long way off.

Anyway, since I’d be winning the next bet as well, I decided to focus on how to pass the time at the tournament.

Tristan would undoubtedly be running around, losing his mind over what hunting trophy to present to Maria. I just hoped my parents wouldn’t badger me again about charming the young duke...

While I mulled over these thoughts, sipping my second juice, a shadow fell across my table.

“Excuse me. Didn’t we meet last week? Mind if I join you?”

It was the man presumed to be Rick Ray, wearing his skull mask.

I wanted to refuse, but—

“I owe him for helping me last time.”

I couldn’t blatantly reject a benefactor, so I awkwardly nodded. He placed his cocktail on the table and sat across from me.

He spoke first.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re the lady who visited for the first time last week, right? You’ve adapted quickly to the salon—winning bets already, no less.”

“It was sheer luck. And I only adapted so quickly thanks to your guidance. I’m deeply grateful.”

That’s what I would’ve said normally.

But I reminded myself: Don’t get caught! Stick to the persona you’ve created for the Sacred Salon!

“I’d heard so many extravagant rumors that I came in brimming with nerves. But after experiencing it, the bets lacked much depth, don’t you think? The only thing truly impressive was the drinks.”

“Confident, aren’t you? You were impressive earlier, taking on those nobles.”

“I was merely giving them a chance to reflect on themselves. Though I did hold back on offering my assessment of them—out of fear their fragile egos might dissolve into tears.”

“Hahaha! So, you were confident you could make them cry?”

“Oh dear, the more I talk, the more I feel like the villain. Let’s switch to your story, shall we?”

I took a sip of my drink before asking, “You referred to them as ‘those nobles.’ Aren’t you one yourself?”

“Ah… No, that was a slip of the tongue. You do know the salon isn’t exclusively for nobles, right?”

Though most Sacred Salon patrons were nobles, entry wasn’t restricted to them. The salon selected members based on wealth, influence, and status, which naturally skewed toward nobility.

“I know. I was just intrigued by your disdainful tone toward them.”

“Well… I suppose you could say my line of work has left me with some pent-up feelings toward nobles.”

“I understand.”

I winked at him.

“I’m not fond of nobles either.”

“Pardon?”

“They strut around, lording over their lands, yet barely perform their duties as lords. They just leech off the hard work of primary producers, collecting interest on someone else’s labor.”

“...”

“Sure, there’s a rising trend of nobles running their own businesses without estates. But most of their capital? A handout from their parents. Not their fault they were born with silver spoons in their mouths, but the condescending attitude toward commoners? That’s a bit hard to stomach.”

“...Wow.”

The skull mask sighed and chuckled.

“This is the first time I’ve met someone who speaks so bluntly. You’re definitely not a noble.”

“It’s a secret. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Even if the soul of a 21st-century commoner was ranting through me, my current self was a noble.

Still, his gaze softened, his posture relaxing.

“My lady, you won last week’s bet on ‘Maria and Tristan.’ What brilliant insight did you use to make that choice?”

“So, you’re here fishing for information.”

“I did my best to sugarcoat the question. Shall I be more direct?”

“‘Repay the debt for saving you from those ruffians’?”

“...I wasn’t planning to be that direct.”

I could imagine his face reddening beneath the mask. I laughed and replied, “It’s fine! You did help me a lot. I’ll give you a free lecture—pick a topic. Noble attitudes toward marriage? Ballroom etiquette?”

I mentally sorted through the etiquette books I’d read in the Redfield household.

But his reaction was lukewarm.

“Honestly, I’m not interested in learning about nobles. If I may ask one direct question instead… Who do you think Maria will dance with next?”

“...”

"You're Rick Ray, Aren't You?"

In the original story, Rick never openly expressed his feelings for Maria. Instead, he spent his time dealing with men who had less-than-noble intentions toward her.

Take Tristan, for example, or the third prince—or even my fiancé—those guys who fell for Maria at first sight.

While reading, I’d always thought Rick had impeccable timing when it came to rescuing Maria. Turns out, it was thanks to the intel he gathered at the Sacred Salon.

Especially now, when he had sought the perfect person to ask for advice.

Feigning ignorance, I asked, “Sir, are you sure you’re not here for relationship advice rather than betting tips?”

“Ahem! Absolutely not. I’m only interested in gaining insight into the mind of a significant figure often mentioned, like the young duke.”

“Sure, whatever you say. I won’t pry.”

Your love life is doomed anyway. Good luck.

“Well then, what was your wager for Maria’s dance partner at the Queen’s May Ball?”

“I bet on her dancing with no one.”

“Oh? Did you intentionally go for a risky option?”

“No, it’s just… how do I put this? She seems like the type who’d be more suited to picking wildflowers in the countryside than dancing with city folk.”

“…”

Oh, this one’s a lost cause.

“You do realize Maria has danced at every ball she’s attended so far, right?”

“Yes, I know that. Intellectually, at least…”

“Do you? Or do you just leave your brain at home? We humans have these wonderful things called skulls, which are excellent for carrying brains.”

“Your sarcasm is brutal.”

“Your reality is worse.”

This man was truly hopeless.

“Wildflowers in the countryside,” really?

It felt like he was trapping Maria in an idealized fantasy, particularly one rooted in his vision of a perfect “hometown.”

I got it, though. Rick didn’t really have a place to call home.

After he and his mother were cast out of Blue Atrium, he was forced to wander the world. He only found stability at eighteen when he stumbled upon work in Baron Meyer’s fief and met Maria.

To Rick, who had spent his life distrusting everyone and living rough, Maria must have been his light, his new home.

“Though even that feels more like a second lead's fate.”

Feeling a pang of sympathy, I told him, “Whatever your relationship with Maria might be outside the salon, don’t confine her to some idealized image. You can’t have feelings—or even friendship—with a framed painting.”

“Wise words. But all I want is—”

“To find out who’s planning to get close to Maria next, nothing more?”

“Yes.”

“You’re rather twisted, aren’t you?”

“A seed planted on a cliff either grows crooked or dies.”@@novelbin@@

His voice carried a hint of self-deprecation. After a pause, he added, “I’ve had too much to drink. Sorry for rambling nonsense.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

I clinked my glass lightly against his—a small gesture of encouragement.

“For now, I don’t have much to tell you. After the major events in May, Maria will likely stick to smaller gatherings for a while.”

“And the June hunting tournament?”

“The participant list hasn’t even been announced yet. I’m not a fortune-teller. I’ll let you know when I have something.”

There was a minor character in the hunting tournament who hit on Maria, wasn’t there? I should check the participant list later.

Though, in the original, that guy ended up being dragged out by Rick anyway.

“Thank you. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Sure, see you next time.”

Social battery depleted. Time to wrap this up.

But Rick briefly stepped away and returned to place a glass of lemon water in front of me. A thoughtful gesture.

“Thanks.”

Of course, that gesture came with a price.

“Earlier, you said you can’t share affection with a ‘perfect portrait.’ So, what should one do?”

“Hmm… expose your vulnerabilities to each other.”

“Sorry, what?”

How do I explain this?

I mentally scrambled through all the psychology books I’d read, then gave up.

I’ve used up today’s supply of patience!

“Basically, grudging affection is stronger than sweet words.”

“Pfft!”

“I’m not saying you should deliberately pick fights, but that’s how the world works. An unexpected act of kindness between bickering parties is more endearing.”

“Hmm.”

“Let me give you an example. Like finding out the arrogant man you couldn’t stand was secretly protecting your family. Or discovering that the annoying guy you detest somehow notices when you’re hungry and sneaks you your favorite snacks…”

…Wait.

The first example was straight out of Pride and Prejudice. But that second one… where did that come from?

“Uh, never mind the second example! It’s childish and doesn’t exist! Forget I said anything!”

“No, it’s fine. I get your point.”

Behind the skull mask, his green eyes curved into a smile.

“For instance, I might find myself drawn to the version of you who criticizes skulls as brain transport tools, rather than some idealized lady.”

“…”

“Haha, just kidding.”