"*Breaking news! Breaking news!*"
The newsboy's voice rang through the capital streets, shrill with excitement. Papers flew from his hands like startled birds, scattering across cobblestones as eager customers snatched them from the air.
What breaking news could possibly emerge from this kingdom—this place where everything ran with clockwork predictability, where scandal was carefully contained and proper order meticulously maintained?
Curiosity drew people like moths to flame. Hands reached out, coins exchanged palms, and exclamations erupted across the square as citizens absorbed the headline emblazoned across the front page.
"*My God!* The princess is getting married!"
"And the groom is the Duke of Pembroke?"
"*Pembroke?*" A merchant's voice rose in disbelief. "That half-nobleman?"
"Absurd! Is such a man truly worthy of the princess?"
"His Highness the Regent has gone too far! How can he marry his niece to someone like *that*?"
"Wait—look here!" A woman jabbed her finger at the text. "It says this *isn't* an arranged marriage. It's a *love match*!"
"*The wedding is in one week!*"
The words rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
*A love match.*
*One week.*
The resonance was extraordinary.
Noble marriages were always matters of political calculation—alliances forged, territories united, bloodlines carefully mingled for maximum advantage. Marriages based on *love* were considered vulgar. Common. The sort of thing peasants indulged in when they couldn't afford better.
And yet here was a purebred princess—the most precious lady in the entire kingdom—marrying a duke whose mother had been *common-born*?
For *love*?
Within hours, every newspaper and gossip column in the capital had picked up the story. Within a day, the tale had spread to provincial towns. Within two days, the entire kingdom was buzzing with speculation.
Whenever two or more people gathered—regardless of social class—they whispered about this marriage. Other pressing issues fell by the wayside. Political reforms, economic concerns, the abolitionists' latest protests—all were forgotten in favor of the *romance*.
This was how the story of Adelina and Alexio's marriage gained unstoppable momentum.
A gossip columnist known for embellishing facts would publish some new detail—*the Duke pursued her for months before she finally relented*—and the newspapers would immediately pick it up. Readers would spread the story to their neighbors, adding their own flourishes along the way.
*I heard he climbed the walls of her mansion just to catch a glimpse of her!*
*They say she refused him three times before her heart finally softened!*
*He threatened to abdicate his title if she wouldn't have him!*
Baseless rumors transformed into accepted facts through sheer repetition. The process was so efficient, so thorough, that within three days the marriage had been universally recognized as *the romance of the century*.
Fiction had become truth.
And no one—least of all the supposed lovers at its center—had done anything to correct the narrative.
---
## — The Princess's Chambers —
"This is more dramatic than an actual stage play." Sophie grinned as she handed the latest newspaper to Adelina.
The Duke's face dominated the front page—a position typically reserved for the capital's most celebrated personalities. The photograph had been taken at some public event; Alexio stood in profile, dressed in his customary black, expression remote and aristocratic.
"It's disappointing, really." Sophie tapped the image with one finger. "I wish they'd printed a picture of the *bride* as well. You're half the story, after all."
Since the princess rarely appeared in public, the media had been desperately seeking photographs of her. Requests flooded in daily—to the royal family, to the Roche estate, to anyone who might possess such an image. Both sides refused to provide them. Adelina's appearance remained shrouded in mystery, which only intensified public fascination.
"What good would it do to have my face printed there?" Adelina's tone was mild, but her fingers tightened slightly on the newspaper's edge.
"*What good?*" Sophie's eyes went wide. "*My lady*, you're the central figure in a marriage that will be remembered for generations! The princess who chose love over duty! The woman who stole the heart of the kingdom's wealthiest duke!"
"And what's the point of any of that?"
The words came out sharper than Adelina intended.
After all, every story published in those gossip columns and newspapers was *fiction*. Pure invention. She and Alexio had signed a contract, not exchanged love letters. Their arrangement was transactional, not romantic.
Adelina felt vaguely guilty despite having done nothing to spread the false narrative herself. She had simply... remained silent. Because silence benefited everyone involved.
Still, part of her wanted to write letters to every publishing house in the kingdom. Not to correct the lies about their supposed love story—that fabrication served a useful purpose. No, she wanted to correct the descriptions of *herself*.
The princess depicted in the media was flawless. A paragon of royal virtue, possessing boundless intelligence and inexhaustible kindness, her elegant appearance reminiscent of classical paintings come to life.
"I suppose this is what people imagine an ideal princess should be like."
Adelina smiled faintly, running her fingers across the page describing this fictional version of herself.
"Sophie."
"Yes, my lady?"
"Do you know why I prefer being addressed as 'my lady' rather than 'Your Highness'?"
Sophie tilted her head thoughtfully. "Hmm... because it's friendlier? More familiar?"
"Exactly." Adelina's smile widened slightly. "Because it sounds *friendly*."
She laughed softly at Sophie's answer.
Though the reasoning was incorrect.
The truth was simpler and sadder: Adelina knew that even if she died and was reborn a thousand times, she would never become the perfect princess people imagined. She didn't even hold the position of *true* princess—not really. Her title existed solely because Prince Arthur enjoyed the Queen's favor, and that favor had extended to his daughter as well.
*Adelina Brielle Estria-Roche.*
It was, admittedly, a name fit for a princess. Long and elaborate and heavy with the weight of two royal bloodlines.
But it had never quite felt like *hers*.
"Although," Sophie said cheerfully, breaking into Adelina's thoughts, "in four more days, 'my lady' will transform into '*Madame*'!"
*Madame.*
The title felt foreign on Adelina's tongue. Strange. Her fingertips tingled with something that might have been nerves.
"It would be even stranger if my surname changed," she murmured.
But it wouldn't. As a member of the royal family with theoretical succession rights to the throne, Adelina would retain her birth name after marriage. She would spend the rest of her life carrying that extravagant collection of syllables.
"Of course," Sophie continued, leading Adelina toward the mirror, "even after you marry and become Madame, you'll always be 'my lady' to me. Nothing will change that."
She positioned her mistress before the glass and began fussing with the drape of her dress.
"The designer who'll create your wedding gown should arrive soon. The tiara will be borrowed from Her Majesty—the same one she wore on her own wedding day. And the bouquet and floral arrangements will come from the royal gardens."
Adelina nodded absently, only half-listening.
Despite having merely ten days to prepare for the wedding, the process had proceeded with remarkable smoothness. This was largely thanks to the Duke, who had shouldered most of the organizational burden himself.
Royal marriages were notoriously complex—burdened by centuries of accumulated protocol and tradition. However, His Highness the Regent had dramatically simplified the procedures for this particular wedding, announcing that it would serve as an example of how royal marriages might be streamlined in the future.
The public had applauded this decision. *See how the royal family is changing! See how they're modernizing!*
Prince Leopold, no doubt, was extremely pleased.
"In any case," Sophie said, adjusting a ribbon at Adelina's collar, "the royal family is handling the guest list. So you can relax and conserve your energy until the wedding day. Otherwise, you'll be so busy and overwhelmed that you'll collapse from exhaustion."
"My marriage..." Adelina stared at her reflection—a slender woman in a simple but well-made dress. "I still can't quite believe it's happening."
The woman in the mirror looked calm. Composed. Nothing in her expression suggested she would be married in four days.
But then, there had been too much planning, too many arrangements, to indulge in sentimentality now.
*Knock, knock.*
Sophie's face lit up with excitement.
"The designer must be here!"
Adelina had always dressed modestly—partly due to her own preferences, but mostly because of Prince Arthur's extravagance in other areas left little budget for his daughter's wardrobe. This meant Sophie rarely experienced what she considered the true joy of a lady's maid: adorning her mistress in magnificent clothing.
"Come in!" Sophie practically ran to the door, flinging it open with undisguised enthusiasm.
"Greetings, Your Highness!"
A middle-aged woman swept into the room, a measuring tape draped around her neck like a stole. She carried an enormous sample book and wore a gown so elaborate it could have served as advertisement for her skills. Clearly the wedding dress designer.
But she wasn't alone.
"Uh..."
So many people poured through the doorway that Sophie's welcoming smile froze in confusion.
"W-who are all of you?!" She stepped back, looking around at the sudden crowd filling her mistress's chambers.
They appeared to be craftspeople of various sorts—each carrying tools or cases that suggested specialized expertise.
In response to Sophie's question, the visitors began introducing themselves rapid-fire, talking over each other in their eagerness.
"Greetings, Your Highness! I'm the wedding dress designer—these three are my assistants."
"What an honor to finally meet the princess everyone's been talking about! I'm the hairdresser responsible for your coiffure. Oh my *goodness*, your beautiful hair is losing its shine! Split ends *everywhere*! We have so much work to do!"
"I'll be handling your skincare regimen. Since we need to finalize the dress design today, I'll just examine your complexion now, and tomorrow we'll begin the treatments proper. Trust me—by the wedding day, your skin will be soft as a baby's!"
"I'm responsible for nail care—both fingers and toes—"
"Wait." Adelina raised one hand, her expression growing slightly strained. "I don't think nail care is necessary. They won't even be visible beneath the dress and gloves..."
"*Oh my God, what are you saying?!*"
The young woman who'd identified herself as the nail specialist looked genuinely scandalized.
"After the ceremony, you'll spend your wedding night together!" Her eyes went wide with emphasis. "There won't be any part of you your husband doesn't see. *Every inch matters*—from the top of your head to the tips of your toes!"
The words landed like a thunderclap.
Adelina's eyes widened.
"W-wedding night?"
Her voice came out smaller than intended. Almost a whisper.
The room full of chattering experts fell suddenly, conspicuously silent.
Sophie and Adelina exchanged a long, horrified look.
Neither of them had considered that particular aspect of marriage.
---