I'm Not Sorry But The Prince Will Marry Me Anyway-Chapter 124

At one time, Tristan had considered men who obsessed over their fiancée’s past love life to be nothing more than fools opening Pandora’s box.

What was the point of getting swept up in fleeting, youthful affections that could waver after just a single dance invitation?

"As long as she stays by my side after marriage, isn’t that enough?"

But damn it.

Now, he was the one wavering.

His mind, consumed by intrusive thoughts, had started swinging like a broken pendulum, crashing into everything in its path.

Sometimes, it made his lungs itch, leaving him gasping for air while standing still. Other times, it slammed into his heart so hard that even remaining on his feet felt like a struggle.

Still, he had managed to endure it up until now.

He had planned to wait, to not ask any questions, and to simply hold out until the wedding.

But just moments ago, that resolve had crumbled.

"Your Highness did well."

The way her green eyes—burning with fury only minutes before—looked at him now, filled with unwavering trust.

Doris had the power to string him up on the execution rack of hell one second, then seat him at ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) the banquet table of heaven the next.

Of course, that was just a metaphor.

But for Tristan, the line between metaphor and reality had long since blurred.

The first time I was ever caught off guard by Doris’s gaze was last March, at the Redfield family’s spring tea gathering.

That look in her eyes as she desperately tracked the meringue cookie rolling off the table, as if it were a helpless baby bird plummeting to the ground.

"If I were the one falling, would you even spare me half as much longing as you did that cookie?"

He couldn’t wait any longer.

Taking a deep breath as if preparing for battle, Tristan stepped out of the office.

"Doris should still be at the Redfield Count’s family seats."

There was a chance of running into Percival, but it was better to ruin his mood by facing him directly than to waste time worrying about when and where he might appear.

He’d take Doris somewhere quiet and ask her directly about her feelings. If Percival tried to follow out of curiosity, Natalie would hold him back.

...Assuming she wasn’t lying earlier.

Even now, it still felt like a hallucination.

For Natalie of all people to lower her head?

"People mellow out with age," they say—but she was the same age as him.

If anything, she was the type to flatten everything around her rather than soften herself.

For someone like her to bow her head...

"She must have made up her mind."

Tristan didn’t care about Natalie’s thoughts. What mattered was learning from her resolve.

She despised me, yet still accepted me for her sister’s happiness. So if... if Doris gives me an answer I don’t want...

As he had sworn before, the one thing Doris could never take from him was marriage.

Just ahead, a flash of red hair caught his eye.

To the left was his insufferable older brother. To the right... small and barely visible, but given how Natalie was holding onto her, it had to be Doris.

Time to steel himself and—

"Greetings, Prince Tristan! It’s been a while since we last met."

Just then, someone stepped in front of him.

A young man—one who had inherited his baron title last year. Beside him stood a beaming businessman who owned a construction firm.

"Apologies for the sudden approach, but we heard some wonderful news earlier and wished to offer our congratulations."

"Oh. You must mean the Blue Atrium inheritance."

Both men’s eyes gleamed.

"Yes. Has it been finalized?"

"The official announcement schedule hasn’t been set yet. Until then, I wouldn’t dare speak ahead of His Majesty’s intentions."

"Of course! We wouldn’t dream of overstepping His Majesty’s authority. We merely wished to extend our sincere congratulations."

The businessman eagerly chimed in.

"Indeed! I hear there were quite a few monster sightings. That’s usually a sign of a mana stone mine, isn’t it? If you’re considering development, our company would be more than happy to assist—"

Damn it.

The scent of authority and wealth attracted people like moths to a flame.

Tristan clenched his jaw.

Tristan couldn't exactly shove them aside just because they approached him with smiles.

And, if he were being pragmatic, there was always a chance he’d actually need their help one day.

So, he responded appropriately, nodding along with just enough politeness to keep the conversation moving.

After a while, the two men finally took their leave.

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Highness. We’ll see you at the next event.”

“Yes, take care.”

He barely took two steps forward before another person blocked his path—a high-ranking priest.

“Your Highness! How is your health? I came to visit you recently, but your steward wouldn’t let me in! I was so worried, thinking your condition must have been dire.”

Ah, that must have been the time he’d ordered his steward to turn away all visitors except Doris.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Yes, I’m fine. If not for the church’s mana stone potion, I might not have survived.”

He deliberately omitted the subject of that sentence.

Technically, those potions were reserved for royalty only and strictly for emergencies. The administration had already scolded him for using it on someone else. In the official records, he had agreed to list his own name as the recipient.

While the priest beamed with pride at hearing this, Tristan spotted the Redfield family moving in the distance. His patience was running thin—he needed to end this conversation quickly.

“The effects were truly remarkable. I was grateful to—”

“The next batch of emergency potions is already in production! But surely, Your Highness doesn’t intend to go monster hunting again so soon?”

“...Would those potions work on someone in a coma?”

“Hm. They’re meant for immediate use, so they don’t have the same effect on long-term conditions. If they’re lucky, it might help, but... Your Highness, you seem fine—why do you ask?”

“...Sometimes, I just feel like seeing a monster.”

The priest looked at him as if he had just suggested bathing in lava to relieve back pain.

“Your Highness... please take care of yourself. That potion is rarer than ten mana stones combined. More importantly, you must consider your fiancée!”

The word fiancée jolted Tristan back to the task at hand.

He had to ask her.

Did she love him?

And what exactly was her relationship with Rick, the man who had nearly died in his place?

"Damn it, sticking my head into a monster’s jaws would be easier than this!"

“You’re right, of course. By the way, priest—do you know any medicine for a heart that feels like it has a lead weight tied to it?”

“My first recommendation would be prayer.”

“...Thank you.”

So, no such medicine existed.

By the time he finally escaped that conversation, the Redfield family had already disappeared from view.

He could still chase after them if he ran, but before he could act, more acquaintances stepped into his path.

"Tristan! Good grief, I hardly recognize you these days. Haven’t seen you at Club Ares lately."

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"Your Highness, I heard of your valor at the Blue Atrium! Would you consider sparring at my nephew’s training hall sometime?"

One by one, more people approached—each requiring a different response.

He wanted nothing more than to ignore them all—but—

Doris’s voice echoed in his mind.

"It’s not just about Rick. Don’t bury the voices of the soldiers who stood by you. Or the young duke who fought beside you."

That wasn’t just about his own achievements.

So, he acknowledged each person who approached, over and over, reminding himself that he hadn’t returned here alone.

By the time he finally left the racetrack, the sun was already setting.

His parents and second brother had left long ago, leaving only his eldest brother and sister-in-law, both looking utterly drained.

Considering his brother had owned today’s winning horse, he had probably received more congratulations than anyone else.

"You stayed rather late as well, Tristan. Do you want to ride back together?"

"I have somewhere else to be. You’ve done well today."

"You too."

His brother climbed into the carriage first, while his sister-in-law gave him a passing curtsy and murmured,

"Don’t try to carry everything alone. Your fiancée will share the burden with you, but if you take on too much, you might wear her down."

"I’ll keep that in mind."

So—he had to be careful. Not too much, not too little.

"Doris hates parties, so maybe I should set up a large library for her. Then she could use being ‘unwell’ as an excuse to stay there instead of attending... No, thinking about this now is pointless."

The moment he was alone, useless thoughts rushed in to fill the silence.

Shaking them off, Tristan mounted his horse and rode directly to the Redfield estate.

By the time he arrived, night had fully set in.

He was about to call for a servant at the front gate—but hesitated.

"It’s dinner time. Barging in uninvited would be rude."

It would be better to wait until the meal had ended.

Whenever that would be.

"If Doris goes to bed early, that’ll be a problem."

He left his horse at a nearby inn, bought some bread to pass the time, and waited in a quiet alley behind the Redfield estate.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed.

By now, the sky was completely dark, and the estate’s hallways were glowing with candlelight.

Just as he was about to return to the front entrance and knock—

“...Huh?”

Unexpectedly, from the back entrance of the estate, he heard an unfamiliar voice.

"Have a safe trip, my lady."