I'm Not Sorry But The Prince Will Marry Me Anyway-Chapter 108

Thinking back, Doris had always treated Tristan the same way.

Even when he openly asked another woman to dance right in front of her, even when she saw him stubbornly waiting outside the royal library for her, her expression never wavered.

Neither drawing closer nor pulling away.

If that was a result of love and trust, it would be a beautiful thing—

But what if Doris had only ever viewed their arranged marriage as an obligation? What if her vow to always stand by him was merely an act of obedience to her parents' wishes?

Wasn’t that the more plausible explanation all along?

Why did I never consider that before?

Perhaps it was because he had grown far too accustomed to being loved. To being envied.

...And speaking of jealousy, another question arose.

On the day of the charity performance, when Doris had seen him approaching Maria, was what she felt truly jealousy?

I’ve acted however I pleased more times than I can count. Why would it suddenly bother her then?

If he assumed that her reaction that day was the first time her patience with his inattentiveness as a fiancé had finally reached its breaking point...

Then the moment that planted the seed of anger in her once-steady heart must have been the night of the hunting competition, when he had said:

"I have no feelings for you."

Anyone would have been furious at that.

Even though, on the night of the charity performance, when he had pulled her into an embrace after the show, she hadn't resisted...

But if I push her away... what guarantee do I have that she won’t leave without a fight?

Smiling as she always did, with not a single trace of hesitation or regret...

The thought alone sent a chill down his spine.

The worst part was that he couldn’t think of a way to change this reality.

Can a person be made to love someone?

That was something he had never once in his life contemplated.

Whenever he met a beautiful lady at social gatherings, he had always wanted only one thing—that she would allow him to take her hand.

If he was being honest, it had never been about love, only the expectation that something amusing would follow.

To feel the burning gazes of envious men. To see if anyone would challenge him to a duel—now that would make things even more interesting.

Even watching the ladies who had mistaken his fleeting attention for genuine interest, only to be left empty-handed, their faces contorting in frustration, had been entertaining in its own way.

But damn it.

Doris Redfield could make a person unbearably happy just by eating a damn madeleine.

And now, without even lifting a finger, she was bringing him to his knees with something far worse—despair.

Tristan bit his lower lip, trying to sever the chain of thoughts before it spiraled any further.

Doris. I’m not particularly sorry, but we’re getting married either way.

That was an unshakable truth.

Soon enough, Doris Redfield would wake up in his bed and fall asleep there, night after night.

Absolutely.

...But no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, the unease creeping into his heart refused to settle.

Did Doris truly love him?

Could she ever love a man who had answered her question that night in the worst possible way?

Updat𝓮d fr𝙤m ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com.

And what about him?

Even if he took every last part of her life into his hands, could he truly endure a future where she didn’t love him back?

"...Damn it!"

Just as he was about to reach for another bottle of alcohol—

A soldier’s voice rang out from outside the tent.

"Your Highness, a messenger from Count Braum has arrived."

Ah, perfect timing.

His miserable train of thought was forcefully cut off.

Whether being interrupted by Braum’s business rather than anything more pleasant was truly a good thing was another matter entirely.

"A messenger? Is this about the final report on the monster hunt? If it’s something as trivial as an invitation to a banquet, tell them to—"

"It’s not about a banquet. It appears there’s still a monster left in Blue Atrium."

Tristan rolled out of bed immediately.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem like a major issue.

The messenger, who looked rather relaxed, even had the nerve to start worrying about him.

"Your Highness, are you feeling well? You don’t look so good. Have you received proper treatment for any injuries?"

"No serious wounds. I can move just fine. Just get to the point."

"If you insist... but please don’t feel too pressured."

The report was straightforward compared to the previous five monster battles.

A monster had been trapped inside the northwestern mine. It would likely die off on its own, but if His Highness still had any strength left, they would appreciate his help in eliminating the last remaining threat.

At first, the messenger’s tone had been polite and cautious. But the more he spoke, the more it became... downright pitiful.

"I deeply apologize! We should have reported this at the beginning of the operation, but—ah, there was a slight oversight on our end! I... I don’t have the words to excuse this mistake!"

Well, obviously.

They had all but cleaned up someone else’s house, and now they were being told, ‘Oh, actually, there’s still some dust under the carpet. Mind taking care of that too?’

Of course he was being cautious.

Though even for a situation like this, he seems unusually desperate.

Wasn’t this just another task that needed to be done?

"His Highness looks exhausted! Please, do not push yourself! This is absolutely not necessary!"

Again and again, he was reassured that he didn’t have to do it.

It felt less like concern and more like an oddly transparent attempt at manipulation.

...Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

If Arthur were in his place, he wouldn’t have taken the bait so easily.

He would have calmly said, ‘I’ll assess the soldiers’ condition and determine when we can proceed with the operation.’

Tristan pressed his fingers against his still-aching left arm.

"I’m not the ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ only one involved in this. I’ll consult the young duke first."

"Ah... about that. It seems the young duke won’t be able to participate."

"What do you mean?"

"Our captain has requested that the young duke provide special training on anti-monster combat. In case more monsters appear after you both leave."

"..."

"If you’d rather not go alone, please don’t feel obligated! It’s been over a week since the monster was trapped, so—"

"I’ll go. Did you bring the maps, strategy plan, and list of personnel?"

"Wh-what? Y-Your Highness, you really mean to do it?"

"Isn’t that what you wanted?"

"O-of course! I’ll make the preparations immediately!"

The messenger scampered off with the expression of someone who had just caught an unexpectedly huge fish.

Even though he had insisted that Tristan didn’t have to do it, he had clearly been ready to push for more.

It was all so obvious.

But Tristan had no regrets about his decision.

Keep it simple.

Do whatever he wants to do.

Whatever he can do.

That was how Tristan Winter Albion had always lived.

...With one exception.

Just one exception.

And even that was already driving him insane.

Arthur, who had been about to depart for Count Braum’s estate, frowned when he heard that Tristan was going on the mission alone.

"You’re only bringing scouts? That’s practically a solo fight. Are you sure about this?"

"The report suggests it’s nothing too dangerous. I’ve dealt with flesh-eating monsters before—remember the hunting competition?"

"I’ll finish the training and head there as soon as I can."

"No need for two trips. Trust me on this."

"Even if it’s a minor matter, it’s still a monster—"

Before Arthur could finish, surprisingly, Rick spoke up.

"I agree with His Highness. Especially in terms of morale."

"Morale?"

"If both of you leave, what do you think the soldiers left behind will do? Nursing their hangovers, following after you, and getting in your way."

"..."

"The messenger made it sound like nothing serious. His Highness should go first. If it turns out to be something bigger, the rest of the troops will have sobered up enough to follow later."

"...Alright. Understood."

Arthur, after shooting Rick a long, unreadable look, departed with a small detachment of soldiers.

As Tristan rode up the mountainside, Rick suddenly blocked his path.

"Your Highness, are you feeling nervous?"

Tristan scoffed. "What, are you offering to help? Should I hand you a sword?"

"Of course not. A mere errand boy like me has nothing to gain from that."

"..."

Rick smirked.

"I have information on the monster in Blue Atrium. But..."

"But?"

"Before that, I’d like to propose a deal."