I'm Not Sorry But The Prince Will Marry Me Anyway-Chapter 115

"What are you asking about? I—I swear, I haven’t laid a hand on any lady since then! I didn’t even tell anyone that you pushed me!"

"What a fine thing to brag about." Tristan scoffed. "Now shut your mouth before I decide to inform your father about all the bribes you’ve pocketed using your family name."

"Ugh..."

"I don’t care how much of an idiot you are. I just want to ask about this signature."

"A signature? How would I know someone else’s sig—oh."

Alex’s eyes widened. So he did recognize it.

Tristan decided to take a gamble on the theory forming in his mind.

"This signature... it’s related to the Sacred Salon, isn’t it?"

"Yeah. It’s a one-time-use signature from the Sacred Salon. It’s made by modifying the unique 1:1 wager ID that’s notarized by the staff."

"So this is a signature used by participants to verify the outcome of a bet in the Salon?"

A small wave of relief washed over Tristan.

As long as it wasn’t some secret love letter, he didn’t care what it was.

A bet? They could make as many as they wanted! His wife was allowed to have secret little hobbies, wasn’t she?

...Well, she wasn’t his wife yet.

Shoving aside the fleeting image of buying a house or two with his winnings, Tristan, now somewhat reassured, asked a lighter question.

"What do they wager in these bets? Money?"

"For private bets that are notarized by the staff, they use a special coin."

"Like a casino chip?"

"No. It can’t be exchanged for real currency and is only used inside the Salon. At the end of the season, the person who collects the most coins gets a wish granted by the owner of the Sacred Salon—Madame Abigail."

"Ha. A wish? What is this, a fairy tale? And grown adults actually believe in that?"

"It’s limited to wishes related to social connections. You might think it sounds ridiculous, but... you know how skilled chaperones can be in high society, right?"

Of course he did. Experienced chaperones could take a lady who was neither particularly beautiful nor particularly wise and orchestrate a match with an esteemed gentleman.

They didn’t use magic. Just the right connections, well-timed introductions, and a few carefully placed rumors among the noblewomen.

"So it’s basically an extended form of matchmaking?"

"Exactly. People make requests like, ‘I want to connect with a certain businessman,’ or ‘I want to buy a particular mine when it goes on sale.’ Those kinds of wishes get granted too. But the most popular wish, by far, is related to marriage."

"Out of all things, why marriage?"

"Because marriage is a business. And even if someone suddenly finds success, they can just say it was the work of the god of love, which avoids suspicion."

"..."

The word marriage struck Tristan’s mind like a hammer.

Alex, oblivious to the dangerous territory he was treading, kept running his mouth, excited to have someone to break his boredom.

"Of course, some people ask for the opposite too—'Help me escape an arranged marriage and find true love!' That kind of thing. Sometimes members of the Salon end up falling for each other."

"I thought this was an anonymous gathering where people wore masks."

"You can’t hide your attitude or intelligence. Some even consider it a ‘real’ meeting, free from superficial judgments based on looks or status."

"Why is it not real just because looks are involved?"

"...You handsome bastards wouldn’t get it."

Alex muttered bitterly before continuing.

"Anyway, staff prevent people from exchanging personal information inside, but outside the Salon, some members figure out each other’s identities through their behavior."

"..."

"Ha. I wonder how much fun they’re all having at the Salon these days..."

"How do you get in?"

"Huh?"

"Can you introduce me?"

Alex looked slightly flustered and shook his head.

"The Salon chooses its guests. At the start of the season, they gather information and send invitations to people they find suitable. You can’t just walk in."

"A salon that picks its customers?"

"It’s supposedly just a hobby project. And because they exclude royals, there was even a rumor at one point that Madame Abigail was actually Her Majesty the Queen."

"That’s absurd. Everyone wears masks inside anyway. What if I borrowed your membership card?"

"You make it sound easy— Ah, wait, don’t glare at me like that! L-look, I’d help if I could, but the Salon keeps a dog that remembers every guest’s scent. You can’t sneak past it."

"...Hah. Fine."

Tristan gave up on questioning him further. Whatever plan he could come up with, Madame Abigail had probably already anticipated it.

"Thanks for the information, Alex. Get well soon—and stay out of my sight from now on."

As Tristan stepped onto the threshold, Alex muttered under his breath.

"When I first told you about the Salon, you said you’d pretend you never heard it. So why are you suddenly..."

There was no time to grab him by the collar and shake him for asking useless questions.

Leaving the convalescent facility, Tristan headed for the Meyer estate to formally apologize for failing to return their employee unharmed.

The financial matters required for Lord Meyer’s dignity were settled swiftly.

However, the sound of someone collapsing behind the door was beyond Tristan’s jurisdiction.

As Tristan left the Meyer estate, Arthur passed him on his way in, having just finished his own task.

Not long after the front gates shut behind him, Maria’s weeping rang out from somewhere beyond a window, raw and unrestrained like that of a child.

This should have been a moment for human-to-human sympathy.

Yet, the thought that crossed Tristan’s mind was something else entirely.

Dori, I hope you won’t be sad when you hear this.

Since he knew he hadn’t thought of it purely out of concern for her, Tristan was forced to suffer a bout of self-loathing until Dori came to visit him at the palace the next day.

When they finally met, her voice was as sweet as ever.

"Your Highness, are you really okay? Please don’t hide important matters from your fiancée."

Each sentence felt like candy, something he wanted to savor little by little every night.

Even if those lips one day said, ‘Do I love you? No, I respect you as my fiancé, but I don’t love you,’ he felt like he could still be happy.

Which was pathetic.

Tristan had practiced a certain question over and over in his head back in Blue Atrium. But in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Right now, only one thing mattered.

"Dori. You’re going to marry me, right?"

"Y-yes, of course I am!"

That was enough.

She might have been shaken by Rick’s injury, but she didn’t seem to feel anything beyond friendship for him. That alone was a small comfort.

Of course, that comfort came with a crushing realization—

I’m standing over the man who got hurt in my place, and all I can think about is this? Just how much dumber do I become around Dori?

And then, as if to twist the knife, he recalled what Dori had said before.

"Thinking you can claim a blood tie without ever interacting is nothing but thievery."

New n𝙤vel chapters are published on freeweɓnøvel.com.

A relationship you could claim without ever interacting.

Wouldn’t that include the engagement his parents had handed him?

Alex had said it—most people in the Sacred Salon wished for marriage.

Dori’s favorite thing is reading... but she wouldn’t go to the Sacred Salon just to ask for more reading time, would she?

On the way back from escorting Dori to the Redfield estate, a horrifying thought struck him.

A masked Dori in that secretive Salon, standing before that shady woman, Madame Abigail.

"Look, I’ve collected my coins! Please annul my engagement and let me marry someone else!"

"I’ll do my best to make it happen, my lady."

"...What a stupid thought."

Tristan clenched his teeth, as if trying to grind the ridiculous notion to dust.

But the fact that he even had to tell himself not to think about it meant it was already consuming him.

There was only one way to kill a delusion—

Find out for sure.

"Dori. I really can be satisfied with just marriage."

...At least, for now.

"So please... don’t take away the one sure way I have to make you mine."

***

If life were a book, I wished I could place a bookmark whenever moving forward became too difficult—step away for a while and return when I was ready.

But even in the pages of a book, time moved forward.

So, to do what needed to be done, ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) I stepped into the Sacred Salon on a Saturday.

"I’m here to collect the coins from a wager notarized in August."

The staff, who usually moved with AI-like precision, hesitated for a brief moment at the letter I handed over. Well, of course. It wasn’t every day they had to handle a letter written in blood.

"Please wait a moment."

I took the drink I had ordered and stared at it absentmindedly.

Maybe I had gotten too used to exchanging nonsense with a skull mask whenever I came here. Sitting alone like this felt unnervingly awkward.

I still need to participate in the September wagers...

Just then, someone approached me.

"Good evening, my lady. May I sit here for a moment?"

"...Ah, Madame Abigail?"