Chapter 21: Marriage Preparations Are a “Hellish Death March”
After a storm passes, calm arrives.
That should be a law of nature—
and a worker’s right.
Having survived the overtime rush known as diplomatic warfare with the Eastern Empire, I had finally regained my peace.
“…It’s peaceful.”
“Yeah. It really is.”
Two o’clock in the afternoon, in the library.
The usual sofa.
The usual tea.
And the usual fiancée resting on my lap—Claude.
He had his head on my knees, eyes narrowed contentedly like a cat.
The post-treaty cleanup had finally settled down, and he too had returned to “normal operations.”
Outside the window, birds chirped, and the spring sunlight cast long shadows across the bookshelves.
A perfect afternoon.
I almost wished time would stop.
That was when an ominous sound reached my ears.
Thud.
Something heavy was placed on the low table.
I opened my eyes.
There sat a black leather binder, as thick as an encyclopedia.
The one who had brought it was the chief chamberlain standing behind Claude.
For some reason, his expression looked grave.
“…Claude?
What is that?”
When I asked, the man on my lap twitched.
Claude slowly sat up, averting his gaze awkwardly.
“…Eliana.
It’s about time we discussed our wedding in detail.”
“Oh, that.”
I relaxed, relieved.
I had feared another new disaster, but wedding talk was within expectations.
“The date is next month, right?
Is it paperwork that needs my signature?
I can sign it right away.”
I reached for a pen.
It had to be administrative documents.
Sign my name, stamp it, and that would be it.
I would officially become a princess consort, and our calm life together would begin.
Simple paperwork.
But—
Claude shook his head.
“No. That’s not it.
…Please read this first.”
He pointed at the black leather binder.
On the cover, stamped in gold letters, were the words:
‘Proposed Wedding Schedule
Based on the Royal Ceremonial Code’.
A bad feeling crept in.
Anything labeled “proposal” was never harmless.
I cautiously opened the binder.
The first page.
‘Day One: Rite of Purification’
‘4:00 a.m. Wake-up and ceremonial bathing’
‘6:00 a.m. Departure from the Royal Capital’s main gate’
‘Procession on foot to the Grand Holy Cathedral in pure white attire
(approximately 10 kilometers)’
‘Note: The bride must continue waving and smiling at the citizens along the route’
…What?
Did my eyes skip a line?
On foot?
Ten kilometers?
Smiling the whole time?
I turned the page.
‘Day Two: Rite of Oaths’
‘Visit the mausoleums of successive kings and pray for one hour at each’
‘Total: 15 locations’
That was fifteen hours alone.
With travel time included, it exceeded twenty-four hours.
When was I supposed to sleep?
My hands began to tremble.
I kept turning pages.
‘Day Three: Banquet (First Day)’
‘Outfit changes: morning, noon, evening, night, late night (five times total)’
‘Dresses must be full ceremonial attire, total weight no less than 15 kilograms’
‘Day Four: Banquet (Second Day)’
‘Receive greetings from all noble houses (approx. 300)’
‘Note: The bride must remain standing before the throne throughout’
‘Day Five—’
I closed the binder.
Bang.
The dry sound echoed through the quiet library.
“…Claude.”
“…Yes?”
“Is this some kind of torture manual?
Or a punishment game designed specifically for me?”
I asked in all seriousness.
I wanted it to be a joke.
This schedule was worse than the “hellish boot camp training” from my previous-life black company.
If I followed this, I would die of exhaustion.
Or lose the ability to walk forever.
Claude let out a deep, deep sigh.
“…That is the minimum standard for a royal wedding as defined by our laws.”
“Minimum!?”
“I’ve already cut it down.
Originally, it lasted two weeks.
I used my authority to shorten it to seven days.”
He buried his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Eliana.
I swore I’d honor your wish not to overwork yourself…
but the monster called ‘tradition’ is stronger than I expected.”
Tradition.
The most inefficient, most stubborn concept in existence.
“…I refuse.”
I pushed the binder away across the table.
“This is impossible.
I don’t have the stamina to walk ten kilometers.
I don’t have the focus to pray for fifteen hours.
And smiling nonstop for an entire week is a clear labor law violation.”
“I agree.
But—”
“Can’t we just submit paperwork at the registry office?
We love each other, we have witnesses.
Isn’t that enough?”
“Legally, yes.
But… because it’s a ‘royal prince’s wedding,’ it’s not that simple.”
Claude began explaining, his expression pained.
A royal marriage was not merely a personal union.
It was a national event meant to demonstrate prestige to other countries,
to assert authority over the nobility,
and to serve as a pressure valve—a festival—for the people.
If it were simplified, rumors would spread:
“The royal house is weakening.”
“The bride is being slighted.”
That would destabilize the political climate.
“Especially now, right after signing the treaty with the Empire.
We must show them that the House of Lutetia remains strong.”
He was right.
Perfectly right.
Too right.
But—
(I still hate it.)
I had no intention of offering my life as entertainment for the nation.
I had finally secured my right to leave work on time,
and now the very entrance to marriage was a hellish death march?
Alarms went off in my head.
‘RUN.’
‘YOU WILL DIE HERE.’
I stared at the binder.
If only this stack of paper didn’t exist.
If only this absurd plan could disappear from the world.
I gathered magic in my right hand.
“…《Delete》.”
“Wait, Eliana!!”
Claude grabbed my wrist in panic.
“Don’t act rashly!
That’s just a copy!
Deleting it won’t change reality!”
“Let go, Claude!
Ten kilometers on foot—are you insane!?
I can’t even be bothered to walk from the library to the restroom!”
“Calm down!
I understand how you feel!
I don’t want to walk either!”
“Then let’s run away together!
To a deserted island!
We’ll move the honeymoon forward!”
I screamed in a half-panic.
All my usual composure was gone.
Faced with the terror of “effort,” I was nothing more than a frightened small animal.
The chamberlain hovered helplessly.
Claude desperately held me back.
After thrashing about, I collapsed onto the sofa, spent.
Out of breath.
My hair was a mess, my dress wrinkled.
“…Hah… hah…”
“Feeling calmer?”
Claude gently fixed my hair as he asked.
I glared at him with teary eyes.
“…Not at all.”
“I’m sorry.
But the department handling this is the Ceremonial Bureau.
They’re… a special case within the palace.”
“The Ceremonial Bureau…”
“The director is my uncle—Duke Valerius.
He’s so rigid they call him a ‘walking law book.’
No matter what I say, he shuts it down with ‘there is no precedent.’”
Duke Valerius.
I’d heard the name.
An elder of the royal house, leader of the conservative faction.
A living fossil who valued tradition and decorum above all else,
and never changed once his mind was made up.
“…Claude.”
I stared blankly at the ceiling.
“I’ve decided.”
“What?”
“I’m withdrawing from the marriage.”
“What?”
“I’ll remain your fiancée forever.
If we don’t marry, there’s no ceremony.
Let’s just live together unofficially.”
It sounded brilliant.
If there was love, formalities didn’t matter.
We could just live together in the library.
But Claude shook his head sadly.
“…I’m afraid it’s too late.
The invitations are already being printed.
Notices have been sent to royal families of other nations.
Canceling now would cause an international incident.”
“Ugh…!”
All escape routes were sealed.
The outer moat and inner moat were filled in.
All that remained was to open the gates and die gloriously.
I glared at the black binder.
Seven days.
Twenty outfit changes.
Forced marches.
“…I absolutely refuse.”
I muttered.
Give up?
No.
I would not give up.
Hadn’t I learned this in my previous life?
‘Unreasonable deadlines are crushed through negotiation and loopholes.’
I shot up.
“Claude.
Does this library have the full text of that Ceremonial Code?”
“Eh?
Yes, it should.
If it’s a founding-era document, everything is here.”
“Bring it.
Now.”
A dangerous glint lit my eyes.
We would fight.
Not physically—
but through logic and interpretation.
“…I’ll find a loophole in the law and wipe this schedule clean.”
“Eliana…”
Claude looked slightly taken aback, yet impressed.
“Alright. I’ll help.
…I don’t want to make you run a marathon in a wedding dress either.”
Thus, the blissful wedding preparations suddenly transformed into something resembling legal warfare.
But I was still naïve.
Our enemy was not just paperwork and law.
A far more tangible, far more terrifying foe was already at the door.
Bang! Bang!
The library door was knocked with authoritative force.
An uninvited visitor.
“…Who is it?”
I irritably opened the door.
Standing there was an elderly gentleman with perfectly slicked-back white hair and a monocle.
Behind him stood a squad of maids with expressions colder than ice.
“So you are the young lady engaged to the prince…
Is this the kind of girl who indulges in idle naps in broad daylight?”
His voice was heavy and cold, like rusted iron.