Chapter 10
In such circumstances, the proposal from the Imperial Family to the House of Lurupel was nothing short of heaven’s blessing for the couple.
To them, marriage with a member of the Imperial Family was an honor on par with a count’s title itself.
“…Indeed, as you said, the terms aren’t bad.”
Not bad? That was an understatement.
Objectively speaking, in the marriage market, the Third Prince’s score was nearly perfect.
Though there were two older brothers ahead of him in the line of succession—and his mother’s humble origins were seen as a flaw—none of that was a major drawback.
After all, frontier nobles like the Lurupels had little desire for central power.
In their small domains, they ruled almost like kings themselves. Thus, they were far less greedy for additional wealth or authority.
What they truly desired was something else.
Honor.
Yes—what they craved above all was honor.
Because the honor that came from royal blood was the one thing they could never obtain by their own power.
The Third Prince, though of noble imperial blood, was a low-ranked illegitimate child.
He stood in that peculiar position of being both exalted and distant from the core of imperial power—making him an ideal match for any noble with a marriageable daughter.
“There really isn’t anyone among Hariela’s peers who can compare to His Highness the Third Prince.”
“Isn’t that so?”
At Count Lurupel’s agreement, the Countess’s face brightened visibly.
She was delighted by this marriage proposal.
That’s why, in the previous timeline, I had to struggle endlessly to reject it.
In all three of my previous lives, I had turned down the Third Prince’s proposal.
The first time, it happened by accident.
From the second life onward—after realizing this was a novel’s world—I did it deliberately, trying to twist the original story.
So… did that change anything?
Honestly, I’m not sure.
I spent nearly all my time cooped up inside the mansion—how could I possibly know if anything had changed outside?
Back then, I was too depressed to want to do anything.
Of course, right after I first possessed this body, I had been more active. I’d explored, tried different things, even searched desperately for a way home.
That was before I knew this world came from a novel.
Then, without warning, I regressed.
Everything I had worked so hard to build in that strange world vanished like a soap bubble overnight.
In that moment, all my will to live evaporated.
So from my second life onward, I did little more than sleep away the days, shut up in my room.
And how did Count and Countess Lurupel try to comfort their sorrowful daughter?
They didn’t. Not once.
They didn’t even notice that I was depressed.
Because what mattered to the Lurupels was the image of themselves as loving parents, not the feelings of “Hariela,” the person.
“But the Third Prince’s mother was a fallen noble, wasn’t she?”
“At the same time, she’s the Empire’s most powerful archmage.”
As always, they chatted away, completely oblivious to my presence.
I chewed my salad like a rabbit nibbling on weeds, waiting for their endless conversation to end.
Was it in my second life? I’d once interrupted them—and got thoroughly scolded for it.
The Count and Countess Lurupel loved their youngest daughter in their own way, but they were also deeply authoritarian.
At times, I could almost understand why Hariela had turned out so rebellious.
“As you know, Lady Ramier is one of the Empire’s greatest court magicians. For someone like her, background hardly matters. And besides…”
By now, only a few bland boiled beans remained in my dish—but the Countess showed no sign of finishing her speech.
She continued endlessly, reciting everything she knew about Lady Ramier—enough to fill an entire book titled The Biography of Lady Ramier.
I spooned up another tasteless bean and half-listened.
Honestly, she was clearly a fan.
I’d heard so much about Lady Ramier from the Countess that I could probably recite the woman’s life story myself by now.
It took all my effort not to yawn.
“…So long as Lady Ramier, Her Majesty the Empress, and His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince remain strong, there’s no danger of the Third Prince being dragged into any succession disputes.”
“That does make sense.”
“Moreover, His Highness the Third Prince is said to be an exceptionally intelligent and beautiful boy—his reputation extends even beyond the palace walls. Who could be more fitting a match for our Hariela?”
“That’s true as well.”
Count Lurupel looked utterly entranced, as if he’d believe the Countess if she told him beans were red beans instead of white.
“Then, as you say, we should accept this proposal…”
Once again, the Lurupels were about to make a major decision without so much as asking my opinion.
Shouldn’t the person getting engaged have a say in the matter?
Even after experiencing this multiple times, I still couldn’t get used to it.
It wasn’t that they deliberately ignored me—they simply didn’t realize that a daughter’s feelings might matter.
Nobles’ way of thinking was unbearably self-centered.
It was a chronic disease among their kind—born from their conviction that they themselves were the center of the world.
In my first life, I’d naively waited for them to ask my opinion… and ended up nearly engaged to the Third Prince.
Back then, I hadn’t yet known this was a story world.
But even then, I at least knew that I had to stop a betrothal to a boy I’d never even met.
So I pretended to be sick for over ten days to break off the engagement.
I couldn’t get out of bed, and I barely ate—it was miserable.
But now, in my fourth life, I was a seasoned veteran—Hariela Whatever Lurupel, expert manipulator of her parents.
Convincing the Count and Countess was child’s play for me now.
“Wait, Daddy!”
I called out confidently.
“What is it, Hariela?”
Count Lurupel turned toward me with a puzzled expression.
It was always best to tackle him first in these “battles.” Despite his bear-like frame, he was easy to handle.
His weakness? He was utterly absorbed in his role as the devoted father to his little girl.
Just one line like “Daddy’s the best in the world!” or “When I grow up, I’m going to marry you, Daddy!” and he’d melt like ice cream on a summer day.
“I—no, Harie—”
Speaking in the third person always made me sound cuter.
Sure, using a childish tone at my mental age felt a little degrading…
But there was no more effective tactic for dealing with him.
“Harie doesn’t… want to get engaged yet.”
Add a touch of my award-winning acting skills, and the situation was practically handled already.
“Because… Harie already promised… to marry Daddy!”
For the record, I’d made no such promise this time around.
But Count Lurupel didn’t seem capable of questioning it.
He clutched his chest dramatically and drifted off into some fantasy world of pure paternal bliss.
Good. Mid-boss defeated in one move.
Now, only the final boss remained—Countess Lurupel, the true decision-maker of the household.
Count Lurupel was basically a figurehead.
He was so easily swayed that one word from his wife could flip him over like a sheet of paper.
If the Lurupel estate ran smoothly at all, it was entirely thanks to the Countess.
“Hariela, dear, engagements aren’t something you can decide on your own whim,” she said—gentle, yet firm.
People with that kind of personality were always the most stubborn.
But she too had her weaknesses.
I bit my tongue softly, and tears welled up in my big, pitiful eyes.
Hariela, as the novel’s only designated villainess, was at least blessed with devastating beauty.
Since possessing her body, I’d benefited greatly from that face.
When combined with my acting skills, this look could melt even the hardest heart.
“Cough, cough…”
“Hariela!”
“Cough—cough cough—To get engaged… to someone Harie doesn’t even know… it’s so scary… I think Harie has a fever… cough…”
And there it was—the Countess’s fatal weakness.
She was extremely sensitive about Hariela’s health.
I’d discovered that by accident during my first life, when I’d pretended to be sick out of desperation.
Later, Anna the maid told me why: when Hariela was born, the territory had been suffering from a severe famine.
The Countess had given birth when food was scarce, and the baby had been born weak. Imagine how that must have weighed on a mother’s heart.
That was why Hariela was forever her “sickly little girl.”
Well, it worked out nicely for me—fake illnesses always did the trick.
…Then again, calling someone’s tragic past “convenient” really did make me sound like a villain.
Ah. Right. Hariela is the villain, after all.
