I'm Not Sorry But The Prince Will Marry Me Anyway-Chapter 117

"That’s intriguing. Securing business funds isn’t easy, even for the sons of established merchants."

"Would you like to hear my plan? I’ll offer it for just one coin."

"Ahahaha! Seems like our roles have reversed. Fascinating, but I’ve already inherited everything I need, so there’s no poin—"

Madame Abigail cut herself off mid-sentence, clearing her throat. She had let personal information slip. Even something trivial could be dangerous.

I quickly lowered my head and stared at the peanut cookies in front of me.

Updat𝓮d from freewēbnoveℓ.com.

I heard nothing! My only concern right now is the peanut ratio in these cookies!

"...Ahem. It seems I become too talkative when faced with an interesting lady. I should get back to work."

"Thank you for your time. I should head over to the September wagers myself."

The primary social event for September was the royal family’s horse racing tournament, held at their private track. The wagers would likely revolve around it.

Madame Abigail stood but paused to glance back at me.

"Do you know what the main wager for September is?"

"Isn’t it the horse race? A bet on which horse will win... no, that wouldn’t be it."

That could be done at the racetrack itself.

Madame nodded.

"In the Salon, we always bet on people. That means this time, you must predict the winner or loser of the race."

"That sounds too complicated."

I knew something significant would happen during the race, so I could probably guess the top-ranking horses. But betting on a person’s success or failure? That was practically mind-reading.

Madame tapped the corners of her lips lightly with both index fingers, as if mimicking a smile.

"I believe you’ll do well. After all, this is about people, not horses. ...And personally, I think you are the closest person to uncovering my true identity."

"Excuse me? No, I have absolutely no idea! And I don’t want to know!"

"‘For now.’ I hope we can continue our relationship as guest and host for a long time."

With graceful steps, Madame Abigail walked away. I watched her retreating figure for a moment before quickly turning my head.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about her identity.

But right now, I didn’t want to know.

I plan to extract as much information and as many coins from this Salon as possible.

For a Salon to operate smoothly, secrecy was essential.

Soon, my focus shifted back to this month’s wager.

Across the Salon, a group of people were loudly discussing their bets.

"His Majesty is betting on Her Majesty’s horse but predicting a loss. Her Majesty is betting on the Crown Prince’s horse to win... That’s way too safe. Even if she wins, she’ll barely earn a single coin."

"I heard the Derby champion is competing, but do you think any high-ranking noble would bet on it? The horse’s owner is a commoner, after all."

I was beginning to understand the atmosphere surrounding the race.

This was less about gambling and more about political networking.

People would bet on the horses owned by those they needed to win favor with.

Of course, there would still be some who prioritized practicality over politics, and spotting those people would be key to winning this Salon’s wager.

With that in mind...

As I finished filling out my betting slip, someone sitting at the table beside me glanced at my paper and scoffed.

"You’re really going all in, huh? You must not know much about horse racing. Just because a horse is a frontrunner doesn’t mean it has the advantage. Especially on this track—there’s a long final stretch, so it’s likely to be overtaken at the last minute."

They were right. I didn’t know a single thing about horse racing terminology.

But I did know how this particular race would end. And I did know how to shut up people who enjoyed flaunting their ‘knowledge’ for free.

"You sound confident. How about a private wager? Money or coins—your choice."

"Huh? I was just giving you some advice!"

"Between strangers, the only way to prove good intentions is with money."

"F-Fine, but don’t regret it when you lose!"

Muttering under their breath, the person backed off.

A Salon employee, who had been holding back laughter, finally let out a small chuckle as they addressed me.

"If you win with this bet, my lady, you’ll earn at least two coins."

"And if I wager my own coins?"

"It depends on the final tally, but at the moment, I’d estimate a threefold return."

"Then I’ll bet all of them."

I placed all three of my coins down.

From behind her mask, I could see the employee’s eyes waver slightly.

But she still performed her duty.

"This wager is non-refundable."

"I’ll leave it in your hands."

The three coins slid smoothly across the table.

I wasn’t certain I would win.

After all, I was completely confident about the hunting tournament bet last time, and look how that turned out.

But with the social season nearing its end, I didn’t want to play it safe and regret it later.

Either I leave empty-handed, or I win a wish.

Hopefully, I’ll at least make someone happy.

***

Under the glaring September sun, the horse race began.

The announcer’s voice rang out cheerfully.

"Welcome to the Saint Queen Stakes! Our first horse in the paddock today is none other than Her Majesty’s beloved steed, Autumn Arrow!"

Since the race had ‘Queen’ in its name, it made sense that the Queen’s horse was the first to enter.

Even to my untrained eye, it was a beautiful, well-bred stallion.

The King would bet on it to preserve his wife’s dignity, and many noblewomen would place bets on it just to have an excuse to speak with the Queen later.

One by one, the horses owned by the royal family entered the track.

As I listened to the introductions, I asked,

"Does His Highness Tristan not have a horse in this race?"

Sitting beside me, Tristan replied,

"I don’t care for keeping horses just for racing. Training a horse solely for sport feels like a waste of resources."

"That’s very... fitting of you, Your Highness. So you won’t be placing a bet?"

It was just a casual remark, but instead of answering, he countered with a question.

"...Which horse are you betting on?"

"I was planning to decide after seeing them in the paddock. Hmm, that black one looks impressive."

A strong, muscular horse caught my eye.

"I’ll bet on that one."

"Good choice. That horse placed second in the Wonder Cup two weeks ago."

"Oh, there was a race recently?"

"Horse races happen every month. This one is only notable because it’s a showcase for the royal family’s horses—it’s not particularly prestigious in the racing world."

"I see."

"However, the Wonder Cup was just two weeks ago. That horse hasn’t fully recovered yet. Are you still confident it will win?"

Confident?

How could I be? The only people who believed in horse racing were gambling addicts.

"I don’t know much about racing. It just looks strong, so I picked it."

"So you don’t mind if it loses?"

"I’m not planning to wager a fortune. Winning would be nice, of course."

A servant handed me a betting slip and pen. I carefully wrote the name of my chosen horse and submitted it.

"Which horse will you bet on, Your Highness—"

I turned to look at Tristan, only to find him standing up.

He removed his ceremonial white gloves and tossed them aside with unsettling determination.

"You’re not betting? Where are you going?"

"I thought I might participate as a rider."

"...You’re joking, right?"

"It looks fun. I’ve always been curious about how my horse would perform on a proper track."

I had assumed he was joking, but he was already unbuttoning his coat.

Wait. He’s serious?!

Panic rising, I looked around for someone to stop him.

The nearest people were Natalie and Percival in the next booth.

Not them.

Those two would encourage him.

As Tristan ordered a servant to bring his horse, I stepped in front of him.

"Your Highness, isn’t this too sudden? The registrations are already finalized—there must be administrative issues!"

"The royal family owns most of the horses here. What’s the problem?"

"Battlefield equestrianism and horse racing are completely different! What if you get injured?!"

"I’ve never been injured in mounted combat. Why would I get hurt on a polished racetrack?"

Then, with a smirk, he added,

"Or... are you worried that the horse you bet on will lose to me?"

"......."

It wasn’t like I was some kind of gambling addict, so why was he suddenly so fixated on betting? Why was he acting so tense about this?

Then, realization struck.

Tristan had been talking about gambling this whole time. As if he believed I was someone used to placing bets—someone who was certain of their victory.

And the moment I submitted my betting slip, he suddenly decided to enter the race.

As if he wanted to ruin my wager by any means necessary.

Could it be—

"Your Highness... are you doubting me?"

"Doubting you? About what?"

"You figured out what Rick’s letter meant on your own. And based on that, you must have come to some kind of conclusion. Isn’t that right?"

"...I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"The day you delivered Rick’s letter to me, instead of asking me what it meant, you only asked if I would marry you. I thought that was a sign of trust, and I was genuinely grateful."

There was no way he wasn’t curious about the letter’s contents.

To be honest, I had been in no position to explain it at the time either.

But at least...

At least I thought you trusted me.

I had assumed that after the way he had neglected me at the start of the season—after all the mess he had made—he was now trying to make up for it.

"But in reality, Your Highness... you didn’t trust my vow to always be honest with you. You didn’t even trust my answer when I said I would marry you. You’ve been suspecting something all on your own, haven’t you?"

"Dori—"

The playful light that had been dancing in Tristan’s eyes just moments ago vanished.

Meanwhile, my voice continued to rise, simmering with anger.

Tristan. You really shouldn’t be doing this.

"If you have doubts, then ask me outright. If you can’t even match the faith and patience I’ve shown you, then don’t you dare pretend otherwise!"