Episode 8
Martina’s face flushed red. She looked back and forth between Bastian and me, speaking in a wounded tone.
“But, Your Highness… this dress was specially tailored for me to attend the banquet—”
“So what?”
“…Pardon?”
“You’re saying you won’t change?”
Bastian asked with a blank expression. As expected, he didn’t like Martina at all.
That wasn’t the look of a man gazing at his future fiancée—he looked like he wanted to kill someone over a dress.
I quickly put down my plate and hurried over to him.
“Your Highness, I’m fine.”
It was surprising to see him act this way, but I could guess why. Just moments ago, the nobles had been gossiping about me—because I was wearing a dress similar to Martina’s.
‘Wait… could that be why he’s been frowning since earlier?’
Surely not… no way. He probably just got irritated by what the nobles were saying.
I brushed off the thought and smiled innocently.
“I actually think Lady Alba’s dress suits her really well. They may look similar, but each has its own charm.”
“Charm?”
Bastian frowned again. Judging by his face, he found charm in neither of us.
Ouch… that stings a little.
Still, I kept smiling brightly.
“Yes. Truly, I’m fine. So please, let’s just enjoy the banquet comfortably, all right?”
The nobles stared at me in shock—not admiration, but disbelief.
‘Did she just talk to the prince like that?’
That exact expression. And honestly, I was a little worried myself.
What if he thinks, Who do you think you are to butt in?
But Bastian didn’t scold me. He just looked at me with a displeased face and said,
“Do as you wish.”
His tone was grumpy, but it sent a huge ripple through the hall.
Martina let out a sigh of relief, and the nobles began whispering among themselves.
I, too, sighed with relief. Thank goodness he listened!
The people in the hall started to move freely again. I walked back toward the food table.
“Thank you, Princess Clara.”
Martina followed me. That was… unusual. She wasn’t usually this polite.
She spoke in a grateful tone.
“I really loved this dress. If you hadn’t stopped His Highness, I would’ve been so embarrassed in front of everyone.”
“I’m glad,” I said with a cheerful smile.
Martina continued awkwardly,
“His Highness must be very tired today. He’s never treated me like that before.”
Really? Because from Clara’s memories, that’s exactly how he always treated you.
I just smiled quietly.
‘But why is she being so nice to me?’
After what happened last time, I’d expect her to hold a grudge, not act friendly—especially just because I stopped a dress argument.
No, this didn’t feel right.
I decided to end the conversation.
“Please enjoy the banquet. I’ll step out to the garden for a bit.”
“Yes, Princess.”
Her smile still looked strange.
I turned to leave—
“Ah!”
Splash!
Clatter!
A man’s startled voice, followed by the sound of liquid spilling down my back and glass shattering on the floor.
‘What the—?!’
I gasped and turned around.
A servant was sprawled on the floor, a large tray overturned beside him. Shards of glass and spilled wine were scattered everywhere.
And there was Martina—her eyes wide in shock.
“Oh my goodness!”
She covered her mouth dramatically.
What on earth was this? I touched my soaked back and frowned.
“The floor must’ve been slippery. The servant suddenly fell… Are you all right, Princess?”
Martina’s voice was full of false concern.
“Oh no, your dress is completely ruined!”
“It’s fine. I’ll just change.”
I tried to sound calm—but then, a thought struck me.
Change?
Wait. How convenient that I spilled wine right after Bastian criticized her dress.
And only after she came over to me, too.
‘Did she do this on purpose… to make me change?’
I looked at her in disbelief. Yeah, she was absolutely trying something.
The realization made my smile fade quickly.
What should I even do now?
Then, a cold voice came from behind me.
“Lady Alba.”
Bastian had appeared. He glanced briefly at the maids trying to dry my dress, then fixed his gaze on Martina.
The air turned heavy. Martina stiffened.
“Y-Yes…?”
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
His words were like ice. And from Martina’s sharp inhale, it wasn’t just my imagination.
“Y-Your Highness?”
“You’re really going to pretend? I saw you trip that servant with my own eyes. You did it on purpose.”
So he had been watching me.
Martina’s face went pale.
“Your Highness, when would I ever—no, you must’ve seen it wrong.”
“Oh? So my eyes deceived me?”
His tone turned deadly. That kind of question leaves no room for escape.
Martina faltered.
“N-no… I might’ve just moved and accidentally bumped into him—”
“Ha!”
Bastian let out a short, humorless laugh.
“So you’re saying my eyes deceived me after all.”
He kept repeating himself like a broken record—his intensity alone made even sharp-tongued Martina fall silent.
Her face turned as red as her dress.
“Your Highness, why are you treating me like this… I’m Martina! Your future fiancée!”
Meaning: Why are you being so harsh to someone who’s supposed to marry you?
Bastian flicked his hand toward me.
“And she’s who?”
“P-Princess Clara…”
“And me?”
“The… the King, Your Majesty…”
Her voice shrank.
“I’m Bastian Velasco,” he said, then pointed at me again. His voice cut like a blade.
“Clara Velasco. Who do you think I’m closer to?”
He glared coldly.
“Do you not see royalty as royalty anymore, Lady Alba? You dare pull something like this in front of me?”
Martina’s face went ashen. Wow—people’s faces really could turn that pale.
Bastian’s tone dropped even lower.
“You do realize this counts as an insult to the royal family? Tell me—are you trying to die?”
“Your Highness.”
I called his name. Martina’s face brightened like she’d been saved, while Bastian looked annoyed.
“If you’re about to tell me it’s fine again, don’t bother.”
But I wasn’t. I pointed at Martina.
“Lady Alba clearly holds a grudge against me.”
Martina’s eyes widened. Bastian’s face turned unreadable.
“Explain.”
So I told him about running into Martina in the garden two days ago.
When I finished, Bastian suddenly started laughing—darkly.
Then he straightened up and said, completely serious,
“Choose. Prison, exile, or execution.”
“Your Highness!”
A middle-aged man rushed forward—it was the Duke of Alba, Martina’s father.
“Your Highness, please! You know what our house represents!”
The Alba Duchy—one of the most powerful noble families. Even the king couldn’t casually punish them.
But this was a novel. And Bastian was a tyrant. Logic didn’t matter here.
“So what? Even the Marquis of Sapatero can’t stop me.”
Bastian’s blue eyes glinted coldly.
The Marquis of Sapatero—his maternal grandfather.
In truth, Bastian didn’t need to fear any noble. Though not the eldest son, he’d earned the throne through sheer ability. His mother had been the queen, and he hadn’t relied on the nobility to seize power.
Simply put, his royal authority was absolute.
The Duke dropped to his knees.
“Please, spare us! Your Highness!”
“Please, Your Highness!”
A young man—Martina’s brother—rushed forward and knelt beside him.
All this… over a dress.
Bastian turned to me.
“Since Lady Alba can’t choose, I’ll let you pick. Go ahead.”
Uh… what?
‘Wait, I get to decide?’
I blinked in surprise. Martina’s brother shouted at her desperately.
“Apologize to the princess, quickly!”
He knew Bastian would actually kill them if she didn’t.
But Martina just glared at them furiously.
Maybe she couldn’t believe that the prince—her supposed lover—was defending me over her.
Honestly, I couldn’t believe it either.
Even escorting me to the banquet had felt like a miracle—now this?
“I think that’s enough.”
I looked at Bastian. He gave me a look that said, What now?
The Duke and his son’s faces brightened with hope.
I smiled sweetly.
“Exile. That’s my choice.”
I never said I’d forgive her.
The Duke, his son, and Martina all stared at me in shock. I simply smiled kindly back.
Bastian spoke.
“Take them away.”
“Your Highness! Please, Your Highness!”
“Your Hiiiighness!”
The knights dragged them out mercilessly. The once lively hall fell into stunned silence.
The victory banquet had turned into something else entirely.
Still, I felt like I should thank him.
“Your Highness, truly, thank you—for standing up for me.”
“When did I?”
Bastian asked flatly.
When I gave him a puzzled look, he added,
“Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t do it for you.”
He grumbled something like, Didn’t you hear me call it royal insult? before walking away.
I watched his back and chuckled softly.
It might sound crazy, but…
Maybe Bastian was a surprisingly gentle tyrant after all.
