A Barbaric Proposal Chapter 83

※The Princess Consort of Sharka※

[Dieren] "That arrogant son of a bitch."

Slam!

Dieren snarled the words as he thrust his wine glass onto the table with enough force to nearly shatter the stem.

[Servant] "Your Highness... please. Someone might overhear."

[Dieren] "Let them! Do you honestly think that man expects anything but curses from my mouth after a stunt like that? He knew exactly what he was doing. He planned this insult down to the last crumb."

[Servant] "It was... excessive. Should I perhaps send word to His Grace, the Grand Duke?"

The servant spoke tentatively, hoping a chance to tattle to his father might soothe Dieren’s pride.

[Dieren] "And say what, exactly?"

[Servant] "Well, despite the sworn-brotherhood he claims, there is a clear difference in status. Surely the Grand Duke will not take this slight against his heir lightly."

[Dieren] "My father? Don't be a fool. He’d sooner call me pathetic for letting a mercenary outmaneuver me."

[Servant] "..."

The servant wisely held his tongue.

In truth, it had been pathetic.

Black had sent a meal to Dieren’s quarters without an invitation—a clear signal that he wasn't welcome at the high table.

Dieren had forced his way in anyway, only to be humiliated and chased out by a mountain of unwanted food.

The servant often wondered where Dieren found the nerve to be so reckless in front of the Lord of Tiwakan.

It seemed the Prince had actually started to believe the lie of their "brotherhood," even though anyone with eyes could see the Commander looked at him like a particularly annoying insect.

[Dieren] "Damn it all. I spent nearly an hour getting my hair perfect for that dinner."

[Servant] "..."

Ah. So that was the real grievance.

It hadn't been about the food at all; it was about Princess Liene.

The servant suppressed a sigh. It baffled him how Dieren could believe any woman would look at him while the Commander of Tiwakan was in the room.

It was the unfortunate side effect of being the only son of the Grand Duchy—pampered, coddled, and utterly delusional.

[Servant] "Your Highness. Tomorrow is the wedding ceremony."

The servant offered the reminder cautiously.

Dieren’s reputation with women was famously sordid; if he was thinking of targeting the woman about to marry the most dangerous man on the continent, he was playing a suicidal game.

[Dieren] "What of it? If anything, it’s an opportunity."

[Servant] "..."

The servant bit the inside of his cheek, praying his expression remained neutral.

[Dieren] "It’s a forced marriage. Everyone knows it. I heard blood was spilled during the proposal. No sane woman would willingly accept such a barbaric courtship. The moment a better alternative appears, she’ll change her mind. It's only natural."

[Servant] "But Your Highness... as you saw for yourself, the Commander and the Princess seemed quite... close."

[Dieren] "It’s an act. It has to be."

Perhaps the Prince has finally lost his mind.

The servant thought.

[Dieren] "You saw them when we entered the dining hall. You saw what he was doing to her."

The servant had seen it all too clearly.

Dieren had shoved past the mercenary guard and burst into the room before a proper announcement could be made.

The two lovers had been alone, their chairs turned toward each other in a private world. Their lips had been slick and flushed—the undeniable evidence of a deep, interrupted kiss.

[Dieren] "No royal in their right mind would engage in such behavior at a dinner table. My 'brother' hasn't managed to shed his savage mercenary habits, and the Princess clearly lacked the power to refuse him."

[Servant] "..."

[Dieren] "Once she realizes she has a real choice... she might reconsider everything."

Dieren seemed to have convinced himself of this reality.

[Dieren] "Now, how shall I let her know that I am that choice?"

His eyes gleamed as he stroked his chin.

The servant bowed his head in silence, privately asking the gods to ensure he wasn't standing too close when the Commander inevitably killed his master.

---

[Liene] "I felt fine earlier, but now I’m starting to feel a bit guilty."

Their interrupted dinner had resumed in the sanctuary of the bedroom.

Technically, it was the Consort’s Suite that Black had been using. It had been recently renovated for the wedding, and with the bed temporarily removed for the new furnishings, it barely felt like a bedroom at all.

They had agreed to use the space as their private retreat until the ceremony.

[Black] "Don't be. He doesn't deserve your guilt."

His dismissal was sharp and final. He was speaking of Prince Dieren, of course.

Liene let out a small, sheepish laugh as she bit into a crisp, sweet grape he offered her.

He really can't stand the Prince.

It’s strange, seeing him like this when he’s usually so gentle with me.

She still hadn't realized that Black was naturally abrasive to the rest of the world; the tenderness was a rare currency he spent only on her.

[Liene] "The poor man is probably struggling to even pretend to eat all that food right now."

[Black] "If it encourages him to pack his bags and leave, then it was worth the kitchen’s effort."

[Liene] "Oh, stop. He’s here for the wedding."

[Black] "The man’s congratulations are worthless. They won't be sincere anyway."

Instead of defending social protocol, Liene nodded.

[Liene] "You’re right. I doubt they would be."

Considering his sister, she knew Dieren couldn't possibly be happy for them. It was a mercy that she had married into Sharka before this all began.

[Liene] "I’m just glad we don't have a close relationship with the Kingdom of Sharka. It would be a nightmare if we felt obligated to invite them to the ceremony."

Black let out a subtle, bitter chuckle.

[Black] "You worry about far too many things, Princess."

[Liene] "I think it’s just my nature. But aren't you the same? You have so many responsibilities on your shoulders."

[Black] "Not quite."

[Liene] "That's not true. Even with the southern fortress... you took care of things I hadn't even considered—"

[Black] "For the last few minutes, I’ve only had one thing on my mind."

He cut her off. He knew her well enough now to recognize when her anxiety was making her ramble.

[Liene] "And what’s that?"

[Black] "The fact that you have a drop of grape juice on your lower lip."

[Liene] "Oh... do I?"

She moved to wipe it away with the back of her hand, but Black was faster, catching her wrist in mid-air.

[Black] "I’ve been wondering what it would taste like."

[Liene] "..."

[Black] "Let me have it."

[Liene] "..."

I can never let my guard down around him.

Liene closed her eyes and gave a small, helpless nod.

Black leaned in, his lips pressing against the dip of her chin. The soft, rhythmic sound of him tasting her skin felt wickedly intimate in the quiet room.

[Liene] "Lord Tiwakan"

[Black] "Mmm?"

Liene whispered his name like a sigh, her fingers idly tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as he hovered over her chair.

[Liene] "What do you think will change the most once we're actually husband and wife?"

[Black] "I couldn't say. I’ve never been a husband before."

[Liene] "I suppose that’s true."

Black moved his lips from her chin to the corner of her mouth, his voice low and vibrating.

[Black] "We’ll find out tomorrow. One step at a time."

[Liene] "I suppose we will."

Suddenly, she found herself yearning for the morning.

By tomorrow, this man would be hers. Entirely. Legally. Forever.

[Liene] "I don't think I’ll be able to sleep."

[Black] "Neither will I."

[Liene] "Should we just stay up like this and wait for the sun?"

[Black] "A tempting proposal."

He was just about to pull her into a proper kiss when the inevitable happened.

Knock, knock.

[Flambard] "Your Highness? I know you're in there. May I come in?"

The Madam’s voice pierced the romantic bubble like a needle.

---

The reason for the intrusion was clear.

Tradition dictated that a bride and groom must never share a room the night before the wedding.

The official reason was to ensure the bride was well-rested, but the unspoken reason was far more practical. Liene found it embarrassing, yet she couldn't argue with the logic.

[Flambard] "For those reasons, Your Highness, you will be sleeping in my quarters tonight. There is a mountain of preparations to be done before dawn."

[Henton] "She’s right."

Madam Flambard squared her shoulders, bolstered by Madam Henton’s support. Having a like-minded ally seemed to have made the woman twice as formidable.

[Flambard] "You heard us. If you've finished your 'late snack,' then it’s time to go."

Liene felt like a scolded child. She shot a mortified look at Black.

[Liene] "It’s not even seven o’clock yet. Surely I can stay until bedtime?"

[Flambard] "Good heavens, no! The preparations for the bridal bath and the skin treatments begin tonight."

[Henton] "Indeed. A bride is meant to be the busiest person in the castle on her final night of freedom."

Liene, who was already defenseless against Madam Flambard’s nagging, found herself completely overwhelmed by the duo.

She gave a resigned nod.

[Liene] "I suppose... if I must."

[Flambard] "You must."

[Henton] "Most definitely."

And just like that, their plan to wait for the morning together vanished into thin air.

[Liene] "I guess you’ll have to sleep alone tonight."

[Black] "..."

His face was an unreadable mask, though his silence spoke volumes.

[Liene] "Get some sleep. I’ll see you at the altar."

[Black] "..."

He hesitated for a moment before letting out a sudden, dry chuckle.

[Liene] "What is it?"

[Black] "It’s just funny."

[Liene] "What’s funny?"

[Black] "The fact that I’ve waited years for this, yet suddenly, I don't think I can handle being away from you for a single night."

He leaned down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to her cheek.

[Black] "I will see you tomorrow. Sleep well."

[Liene] "You... you too."

She didn't know why her breath felt trapped in her throat.

I don't want to wait anymore. 

The thought thundered in her chest. For the first time, the reality that they were only twenty-four hours away from forever truly sank in.

Tomorrow was the wedding.

---

The moon rose high.

It was a cold reminder that the final countdown had begun.

[Laffit] "God damn it all..."

The liquor was foul, and the cup was dented. The hand clutching the vessel was covered in half-healed scars and grime.

[Laffit] "Damn it... damn it... DAMN IT!"

Crash!

Laffit hurled the cheap pewter mug against the wall.

The swill inside left a dark, ugly stain against the peeling plaster.

The door to the dilapidated bedroom in the old manor creaked open.

[Unknown] "Tsk, tsk... Still wallowing in the gutter, I see."

Laffit didn't bother looking up at the familiar voice.

He remained slumped on the rotting sofa, his face twisted in a permanent scowl.

His life had become as cheap and discarded as the swill he drank.

When he had crossed the border with his uncle—whose leg was shattered—slung over his back, the pain had been so great he’d considered dumping his uncle in a ditch a dozen times.

He had endured the impulse and reached the Kingdom of Sharka, but his efforts had yielded nothing. His uncle had collapsed as soon as they arrived.

Lyndon’s spirit had broken along with his bones. He refused food, refused medicine, and was now waiting for death to take him.

[Unknown] "Come now, nephew. Don't you think it’s time to sober up? This much rot will kill a man. Even a young one."

A short, pudgy white hand patted his shoulder.

Since arriving here, this was the only person who had provided him with enough coin to buy bread and booze.

Laffit lunged, grabbing the man’s hand and twisting it violently.

The man was a distant uncle by marriage, though they were close in age. They had been acquaintances since childhood.

He was a royal by birth, but had nothing else of value to his name. Laffit had never once considered him an equal.

[Uncle] "Gah! What are you doing?!"

[Laffit] "Don't touch me."

Laffit shoved the man away.

The shorter, squat royal lost his footing and tumbled backward, landing hard on his backside.

Even as a minor royal at the bottom of the succession, he had never been treated with such blatant disrespect. He glared at Laffit with pure venom.

[Uncle] "That is the last time I tolerate your insolence. From now on, don't you dare call me kin."

[Laffit] "Just leave. Stop pestering me."

Laffit still wouldn't look at him.

The uncle huffed and puffed, dusting off his pants as he struggled to his feet.

[Uncle] "I can't leave. I’m here on orders."

[Laffit] "...?"

Laffit, who had been staring at the wall like a man trapped in his own personal hell, finally turned his head.

[Laffit] "Orders?"

[Uncle] "You heard me."

[Laffit] "From whom? What orders?"

The man was the son of the 5th Prince. There were very few people with the authority to give him commands—only the direct line of the Sharka royalty.

[Uncle] "The Princess Consort wishes to see you."

[Laffit] "The Princess Consort...?"

If it was the Princess Consort, it was her.

The woman he had seen a month ago when he came to beg for reinforcements. She had sat beside the 1st Prince, wearing a cold, eerie smile that made his skin crawl.

She was from the Grand Duchy of Alito. Her smile was a thing of nightmares—sharp and haunting.

When the Prince of Sharka had ultimately refused to send troops, it was the Princess Consort who had summoned Laffit privately.

She was the one who had whispered the secret that could sabotage Tiwakan’s proposal.

Revenge. 

It was the Princess of Sharka who had told him that the Commander’s proposal was nothing more than a blood feud wearing a wedding veil.

---

(T/N: The Princess Consort of Sharka is Dieren's twin sister and the Princess of the Grand Duchy of Alito)

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