He Who Covets the Abandoned Bride (10 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 3
“Will Your Highness truly marry such trash?”
It was a far more aggressive remark than she had anticipated. Laila, startled, glanced around once more out of the corner of her eye. Though they stood in the middle of the garden, the banquet was still in full swing, so there weren’t many people nearby.
Still, it wasn’t entirely deserted either. Spotting a few guests scattered near the entrance of the banquet hall and across the wide garden, Laila lowered her voice.
“I was also very grateful for your kindness the other day.”
Even as she spoke, Laila wasn’t entirely sure whether it had truly been an act of “kindness.” After all, Marquis Millay’s intervention in that situation had been nothing but pure coincidence, hadn’t it?
But now was not the time to nitpick over such minor details.
“You mentioned you’re from the Empire, so I’ll say this with genuine pleasure: aren’t you here representing your nation, engaging with the princes of this land?”
“That is correct, Your Highness.”
His slight tilt of the head, as if the question were obvious and thus unnecessary, was plainly visible.
“No matter how informal this setting may seem, I am still the fiancée of the Seventh Prince of this kingdom—and upon marriage, I shall become a member of House Filmer.”
“……”
As she spoke, Laila felt a strange sense of discomfort with her own words.
Fiancée of Reynald. Member of House Filmer. Neither of these positions had been something she’d ever desired. Hadn’t she even thought of Reynald as someone frightening?
Marquis Millay must have read those feelings in her heart—which was precisely why he’d asked if she truly intended to go through with the marriage.
Indeed, his gaze fixed steadily upon her was filled with clear doubt.
Feeling a bitter pang in her chest, Laila pressed further.
“Wasn’t your remark just now, spoken right before me, also an act of disrespect toward me?”
“……”
“I’d like an apology.”
Laila stared directly at Marquis Millay. In response, he merely looked down at her silently, his thoughts unreadable—despite the fact that Laila was still a full head shorter than him.
Was that look in his eyes pity?
Or was it mockery aimed at a foolish woman?
The answer came quickly.
“I never meant to disrespect Your Highness. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
The emotion embedded in those words was pure disdain—for Reynald.
Marquis Millay stepped closer, drawing near enough that Laila flinched.
His large hand rose and cupped one side of her cheek.
Yet despite the warmth of his hand, his pale blue irises held a harshness sharper than the color itself.
“I’ve traveled across many nations and met countless kinds of people. Among them were, of course, a few truly admirable souls without a single flaw.”
“What exactly are you trying to say, my lord?”
“I simply wish to assert that I’m not someone who sees the world through a distorted lens.”
“……”
In other words, to his eyes, Reynald was utterly despicable—beneath contempt. Understanding his meaning, Laila found herself too flustered to respond.
“Surely, Your Highness isn’t dreaming of a future already doomed to unhappiness?”
As he spoke, he lifted her chin. It was a familiar gesture. Despite his polite speech, Marquis Millay’s tone was distinctly domineering.
As if it were natural for him to stand above others.
Could he be from a high-ranking noble family? Given that he was authorized to interact with foreign princes, it was certainly plausible. Though she’d never seen him during her time in the Empire, Laila had been away from Harkin for quite a while—enough time for the internal landscape to have shifted completely.
Perhaps it was due to these thoughts that, despite the clear rudeness of his gesture, she found it difficult to coldly brush him off.
Seizing the moment, Marquis Millay pressed closer and added another question, almost as if pushing her.
“Why is it, then?”
Gently grasping his wrist to push his hand away, Laila tried her best to avoid this uncomfortable topic.
“My lord Millay, please step back a little…”
Just as she turned her gaze elsewhere, she caught sight of a familiar face. It was Reynald, who had just slipped out of the banquet hall.
She didn’t know how long he’d been there, but he stood at one edge of the spacious terrace, watching them. The woman he’d been dancing with inside clung to his arm until their eyes met—Laila’s and Reynald’s—and with an annoyed expression, he pulled his arm away, prompting her to retreat back indoors.
Seeing this, Laila felt a chill seize her chest.
She had been facing away and thus hadn’t noticed him until now—but Marquis Millay was different. He’d been standing directly in Reynald’s line of sight; anyone with functioning eyes would have spotted him immediately.
Frowning slightly, Laila took several steps back from Marquis Millay to put distance between them, then asked sharply,
“My lord Millay—could it be you’ve been mocking me all along?”
“……”
“I wonder who, exactly, has the right to call someone else ‘trash.'”
Having delivered that stinging retort, Laila turned on her heel. Just as she grasped the hem of her dress and hurried to walk away along the path ahead—
A firm voice called out from behind.
“Run away.”
It was a moment when she absolutely shouldn’t waver—but Laila hesitated.
Run away.
That single word, so abruptly spoken, had seized her by the ankles.
She turned her head.
Their eyes met—and he spoke her name.
“Princess Laila Wessex.”
Rudely, without even a shred of honorific.
Yet hearing her name slip from his thin lips made her eyes tremble.
The voice of a boy calling out to her from long ago surfaced in her mind, unbidden. Back then, he’d said—
It sounded just like the name of a flower.
That it was a name of extraordinary beauty.
And then he’d smiled brightly—so brightly that, to Laila, his face had seemed like the sun itself.
Standing in the flower-scented greenhouse of the imperial palace in Harkin—her former homeland—she’d once watched sunlight pour over his head and felt her heart swell with emotion.
‘Things are clearly different now.’
The person, the situation, the place— even time itself had changed.
Yet the way he stood there, bathed in the golden light spilling from the building, suddenly brought someone else to mind.
However—
“If you ever need help, I’ll extend my hand to you.”
He—Adrian Pinter Rains—was not the sort of man who would say such words to her.
That realization snapped her back to reality. Like someone abruptly waking from a dream, Laila steadied her gaze once more.
And again, deliberately avoiding his eyes, she simply said,
“You’re talking nonsense, my lord.”
“Why is it nonsense?”
Laila tightened her grip on the hem of her dress.
“…Because I am the Princess of Wessex.”
It was a line she’d silently repeated to herself ever since her betrothal to the Seventh Prince of Filmer had been decided.
Truthfully, from Laila’s personal perspective, she had countless reasons to avoid this marriage.
An unwanted union. A future shrouded in gloom.
And now, since arriving here, one more reason had been added:
A future in which she would never receive her husband’s love.
But there were also reasons why she couldn’t simply abandon this path.
“I cannot make decisions for myself alone. Even if, as you say, this leads to a future ‘already doomed to unhappiness,’ if my country wishes to walk this path, then I must walk it too. That is my duty as a princess.”
Did her words sound hollow to him? A faint scoff colored Marquis Millay’s voice.
“So marrying into a nation on the verge of collapse is what you call service to your country.”
It was a mutter clearly meant for her ears—and though genuinely insulting, she couldn’t bring herself to anger.
Because she herself had thought the exact same thing.
Laila’s eyes sank into shadow.
“Because that’s all my cup can hold.”
“……”
“I know my place.”
Wessex was a small kingdom teetering on the brink of ruin. And among its royalty, Laila—its fifth daughter, who hadn’t properly inherited the family’s hereditary gift—had always been treated as a burden.
Even in her own eyes, Princess Laila Wessex was truly useless.
For someone like her, the only place she could possibly serve a purpose was precisely here: as the unloved wife of the seventh prince of a remote kingdom on the continent’s edge.
Though she could do almost nothing, as long as she remained here, Wessex and Filmer would at least appear peaceful to the outside world.
And for someone as insignificant as herself, that seemed like an exceptionally fine role to play.
Having gathered her thoughts, Laila moved to leave—it truly was time to return to her place.
From afar, Reynald was watching her with Marquis Millay beside her, his gaze unusually persistent—as if reminding her of her duty as his fiancée, who should remain by his side.
But then Marquis Millay, approaching from behind, gently placed a hand on her shoulder, halting her steps.
“Then would it be alright if I looked into it myself—just how much that ‘place’ of yours truly is?”
As he said this, Marquis Millay’s eyes turned toward Reynald.
“At the very least, it ought to be enough to make that man beg and grovel.”
Male lead says he’s pregnant — and it’s female lead’s child
Something seems a bit off about this world.
Wang Zhao thought as she watched a pregnant man walking towards her…
Intro
Female lead finds herself in a world where the men who possess the ability to bear children.
As she navigates this unfamiliar reality, she is caught off guard by the sudden appearance of her boyfriend, who reveals that he is pregnant.
Is this truly her boyfriend?
Why can’t she recall any details about their time together?
She begins to doubt whether the child her boyfriend is carrying is even hers.
Is there a hidden reason behind her amnesia, or could it be a side effect of her sudden arrival in this strange new world?
Just when it seems the protagonist’s life couldn’t become any more entangled, her ex-boyfriend makes an unexpected appearance, raising questions about the protagonist’s past.
__________
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