How to Win My Husband Over

Chapter 2

Cezar was funny that way. He was so obsessed with me, and yet that didn’t stop him from hurting me or using me. Perhaps he thought I was his, completely and thoroughly. Three years ago, when I had just gotten used to being fifteen-year-old Rudbeckia, they tried to marry me off to a duke in the Lembrandt Kingdom. I said I didn’t want that marriage.

I knew it was useless, as the pope was soon going to nullify the marriage by declaring the man was impotent. Plus, the duke was one of the people who would bring down House Borgia one day. My new family was nice to me, so I wanted to prevent the catastrophe by not making any more enemies. But as soon as I refused, the pope’s usual kind smile disappeared, replaced by a frighteningly familiar scowl.

That evening, Cezar locked me in my bedroom and beat me until I begged for mercy. After a few more nights like that, I came to realize my new life wasn’t so different from my old one after all. It partly had to do with the fact that Rudbeckia wasn’t really the pope’s daughter. Carmen, who had died right after giving birth to me, had been the pope’s second official mistress. She had been pregnant with me before she met him. No one dared talk about it, but I had read the novel and knew it was true.

So I shared no blood with my family and had to play a role in my every waking moment, just like in my old life. After that, the eating disorder, which had subsided after I became Rudbeckia, came back.

“It torments me to send you away, even though I know this will be the last time,” Cezar said.

“I heard there are a lot of demonic monsters there,” I replied.

“Don’t worry about that, there will be well-trained knights to protect you with their lives. I’ll come to see you as often as I can. It’s not that bad. The North has its own charm. Just think you’ll be escaping Romana’s heat for about half a year.”

“Half a year? Really?” I knew that, of course, but I lit up, feigning surprise.

Cezar chuckled, then took a handful of my hair and held it up to his nose. “Yes. Just hang in there for half a year… And he won’t lay a finger on you anyway, so don’t worry.”

Of course. But that’s not what concerns me.

“Will you really come to see me often?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Please don’t come to visit. I was going to be busy figuring out a way to make my future husband, the knight, not kill me. It wasn’t just about not poisoning his little sister. The Borgias were just going to have someone else do it, and then everyone would believe it was my doing. Therefore, I had about six months to convince my husband—who would, of course, hate me—and his people that I was harmless. Only then could I stop the assassination attempt.

***

Iske van Omerta, the son of a renowned knight, had outdone his father. He was dubbed a holy knight at fifteen, and at seventeen, he fought against demonic monsters in the Gladiatorial Tournament and became the youngest champion in the history of the event. After that, he became a paladin and carried out many heroic deeds.

Northern ladies all admired him, but he had a wretched personality and was so austere that he refused all marriage proposals. It gave his father a serious headache. The only women he kept close were his little sister, Elenia van Omerta, and their childhood friend, Freya van Furiana.

According to what I could remember, he had shut out other women after his mother died. Duchess Isis van Omerta, who had fallen passionately in love with the youthful duke as a princess, killed herself when their children were still little. It must have affected the siblings in many ways, but it was forbidden to talk about it. In this world, they believed the souls of those who committed suicide were cursed by God and condemned to be ghosts—the duchess’s death was a highly sensitive and taboo subject.

Sadly, I had read the novel many years ago and remembered most of it only vaguely. I wish I could recall more details. Anyway, not even the kingdom’s king could control Iske. So why did he agree to marry Rudbeckia? The only reason was that if he refused, Elenia would have to marry the pope’s second son instead.

Yes, either Iske married me, or Elenia married Enzo. Currently, the barbarians who caused problems along Romana’s borders were a thorn in the Vatican’s side. Their army was short-handed because of the civil war in Rimini, so they needed reinforcements. The Northern Britanya was famous for its abundance of great knights, and the kingdom would help the Vatican for the price of the marriage.

After my father brought up my fifth engagement at that dinner, things proceeded fast. A ship loaded heavily with my dowry sailed away, and a delegation from Britanya arrived soon after. I had a proxy marriage ceremony with a knight who had come as the groom’s representative, then prepared to leave Romana.

***

Even after three years, seeing the unfamiliar girl in the mirror sometimes startled me. She had wavy blond hair, wide blue eyes like two lakes, rosy cheeks, and an innocent pair of lips—the old me was gone without a trace. The only enduring resemblance was the long hair and petite build.

In my teenage years, I had hated my appearance because I looked different from everyone else. But now that I could never get it back, I sometimes missed it, as funny as it was.

“You look lovely, my daughter.” His Holiness the Pope, my father, pulled me in for an embrace with a contented expression.

I was eighteen. In this world, I was an adult already, but he still treated me as if I were a five-year-old. Cezar was like that too. He made me sit on his lap and petted me whenever he wanted.

“Look at you, the beautiful bride. I’m sure the entire North will fall in love with you.”

“Father.”

“Oh, you’re sad already. There’s no need to cry. It’s not like we’re saying goodbye for good.”

I rather wish we were. I made myself cry so easily. It was effortless.

My father affectionately wiped away my tears, and I smiled at him. “I’ll miss you, all of you.”

“And we’ll miss you too, you poor thing. I wish I could have your brother accompany you, but I’m afraid the situation demands his presence here.”

And I’m grateful for that. My personal feelings aside, the men from the North had been looking at us siblings warily ever since they arrived. It scared me. I wondered if my father didn’t know what people said about me and Cezar. Perhaps he knew and simply didn’t care.

“Ugh, this is stupid. But apparently, I’m the only one to think so. Ugh!”

“Enzo,” I called.

“Ha. Come here, you fool.”

Enzo, who was stamping his feet and cursing, still unhappy about the marriage, suddenly gave me a tight hug. He embraced me as a brother. He was the pope’s favorite son, which made him arrogant, impulsive, and short-tempered. Still, at least he never hurt me or made me feel helpless. In a way, he was the relatively sane one in the family.

“I’m going to miss you,” I told him.

“Well, I won’t miss you, dummy,” he grunted. Despite his words, he hugged me even tighter.

But our embrace had now lasted too long, and Cezar’s thick eyebrows started twitching. “That’s quite enough, Enzo. You’re suffocating her.”

I had half a year. I had yet to know what would happen after that, but there was one thing I was sure of: If Cezar died, I wasn’t going to be sad at all. I wouldn’t bat an eye, not even if House Borgia were burned to ashes.

“Ruby.” Cezar gently caressed my wet cheeks, sending a chill down my spine. His azure eyes were seemingly warm, but they resembled those of a viper toying with a skylark. The snake threatened to sink its venomous teeth into the bird if she didn’t sing, so the skylark had to keep warbling on. In many ways, he reminded me of my eldest brother in my old life.

“Cezar, you have to come see me. All right?”

“Of course I will. Until then, be strong.”

Suddenly, it occurred to me that survival instincts were a powerful and comical thing. I had wished to die, and then I did, only to find myself in another miserable life. And yet, I was desperate to survive. Hilarious.

***

Unlike what most people from the South believed, it didn’t always snow or rain in the North. During the summer, the sun never set, and it was neither too hot nor too humid, just like in the South. The problem was that the sun never came up when it wasn’t summer.

What was going on at the training ground resembled the Gladiatorial Tournament that took place every three years. It was a sunny summer weekend, and yet the men there were lying in the dirt and groaning. It didn’t make for an impressive sight. Sir Ivan shot them a quick glance.

Pathetic, he thought before turning to the culprit.

“Can we talk?”

The knight planted his sword on the ground and took off his helmet. Only then did he look at his friend. His sharp jawline and long eyelashes were characteristic of a bard, but with those glinting red eyes, his face glistening with sweat, the black-plated armor covered in dirt, and his towering six-foot-six stature, he looked more like a demon straight from hell.