On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 1

The plaza in front of Reham Cathedral, where major royal ceremonies were held, was crowded with onlookers.

The guards efficiently controlled the crowd, creating a path for the carriages of nobles attending today’s wedding as guests. Their sharp eyes scanned the surroundings to ensure nothing untoward would occur.

The gathered crowd eagerly looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the bride at the center of today’s event. However, their gazes were hostile, and their words carried not congratulations, but condemnation.

“Has that wretched con woman arrived yet?”

“Imagine if someone like her had actually married His Highness, the Crown Prince!”

“That’s why they’re marrying her off to a barbarian from the Strover Peninsula. A criminal and a barbarian—what a fitting pair.”

“She pretends to be graceful in public, but behind the scenes, she embezzled charity funds to indulge in luxury.”

The people whispered about the scandalous behavior of Layla Edgestone, who had once been beloved by all as the Crown Prince’s fiancée.

Even Layla, seated inside her carriage, could hear their voices.

Anticipating the public’s disapproval, she had deliberately chosen a plain, unmarked carriage to make her way to the cathedral. Its interior, far from luxurious, smelled faintly musty due to its old, worn-out seats. The carriage was so shabby that no one would have imagined it carried a bride on her wedding day.

Outside, the harsh comments continued, a stark contrast to her pristine white wedding dress. Layla, her hair carefully pinned up and her face partially veiled by delicate netting, sat quietly with her eyes lowered, enduring their words.

Her gaze fell on the bouquet resting on her lap. Despite the makeup and blush meant to give her a lively appearance, her complexion remained pale.

Across from her, her mother, Lewinda, clicked her tongue, her expression weary and fatigued.

“Don’t think for a second that this marriage is some noble sacrifice to save the family. This all happened because of you in the first place. It’s your fault our family nearly fell to ruin. Poor Lillia couldn’t even show her face in society all this time. It’s a blessing you’re the one getting married instead of her. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened to her by now.”

Lewinda let out a deep, heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Layla whispered.

“Rumors about you giving birth before marriage have even started to spread… How did you let things get this bad?”

“Mother… but that’s not…”

Layla’s lips parted to protest, but the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. The weight of everything she had endured crushed her will to defend herself.

After all, no one would listen to her anyway.

Layla had never given birth. Her family knew this.

“Baseless rumors can become truth if enough people believe them. Just like now. Even if you insist it isn’t true, who would believe the words of a criminal accused of embezzling funds meant for the poor?”

Lewinda’s sigh bore down on Layla’s shoulders like a heavyweight.

“I always feared something like this would happen. That’s why I taught you to be cautious with your actions and to conduct yourself with dignity… I should have been stricter. This is all my fault.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Thanks to the merciful Emperor, you avoided being banished from the capital… Layla, you must always carry a heart full of gratitude toward the royal family and His Majesty. If not for the Crown Prince’s grace and the royal family’s leniency, our family would never have been able to set foot in society again.”

Branded as a criminal by both her family and the people of Gramus, Layla Edgestone silently endured Lewinda’s reprimands and anxious words.

Today, Layla was to marry Blake Berman, the man derided as a barbarian.

Blake Berman.

For two years during the war between Gramus and the Strover Peninsula, his name dominated the headlines of Gramus newspapers.

He was the man who defeated the captain of a notorious pirate crew that had terrorized Aywillan Sea—a vast, lake-like body of water bordered by several nations. Known as the man who killed the Pirate King, Blake later turned his sword to the service of Strover, leading a mercenary band in the war against Gramus.

With the signing of a truce, however, a symbolic marriage was arranged to solidify the peace. As a newly decorated colonel in Strover and a war hero, Blake Berman was chosen to represent Strover. From Gramus, Layla Edgestone was selected as his bride.

Today, their union was to take place. A wedding meant to mark the beginning of peace—but for Layla, it felt like a sentence.

The headline read, “The Marriage of a Barbarian and a Fallen Woman,” plastered across the front page of the newspapers. People sneered, mocking the union as a match made in disgrace, and many approved of the marriage, calling it fitting.

It was for such a spectacle that the crowds had gathered at Reham Cathedral, eager to witness the event firsthand.

The red carpet laid across the grand steps of the cathedral was flanked by royal guards standing at attention. Their commanding officer called out loudly, “First unit, to your positions!”

The guards lined up along both sides of the crimson carpet. Soon, an unmarked carriage approached, coming to a halt at the base of the cathedral steps where the red carpet began.

When a guard opened the carriage door, the bride of the day, dressed in a white gown and veil, stepped out. Two attendants rushed forward to adjust her wedding dress.

But before they could begin, a voice rang out from the crowd.

“It’s Layla Edgestone, the fraud!”
“She’s the one who defiled this nation!”
“Leave Gramus! The royal family must exile that fallen woman!”

Then, splat! A rotten red tomato struck Layla square on the head, bursting on impact. Crimson juice seeped through her veil and dripped onto her pristine gown.

That was the signal for chaos. Overripe tomatoes began flying from all directions, hitting Layla and staining her white wedding dress deep red.

The guards belatedly sprang into action.

“Arrest them! Stop this at once!”

Layla Edgestone, once adored by the people as the future queen and Crown Princess, had now become the object of their scorn and hatred. The betrayal they felt was overwhelming.

“Punish the fallen woman!”

“If you have any shame, you should die!”

Shrouded by the guards, Layla hurried up the steps, nearly being pushed and jostled in the chaos. Her bouquet was crushed, its petals mangled beyond recognition.

Breathless and shaken, she finally reached the cathedral’s entrance, where the eyes of every guest turned toward her.

There she stood, a pitiable sight in her wedding dress—its once-pure fabric now stained red, the hem torn and trampled underfoot. The guests regarded her not as a bride, but as an object of ridicule.

Their faces showed shock at first, but soon gave way to cruel smirks.

“Oh my, look at the bride.”

“Ha! This is quite the show.”

“Serves her right. You reap what you sow.”

“She looks perfect for the barbarian she’s marrying.”

Derisive laughter erupted throughout the cathedral.

Because this was a political marriage, members of the royal family were also in attendance. Among them were the King and Queen—and even Layla’s former fiancé, the Crown Prince.

To marry another man while her ex-fiancé watched—it was the ultimate humiliation.

“Showing up like that… what if the Strover Peninsula takes offense, thinking we’re insulting them?”

“Even that barbarian knows what kind of person his bride is. The papers claimed he fell in love with her at first sight and proposed, but who believes that? The royal family originally wanted her younger sister as the bride, but with the sudden change, there must have been some backdoor dealings.”

“There’s no way this marriage will last. They say barbarians don’t even know basic etiquette.”

The snide whispers began to die down as heavy footsteps echoed through the cathedral. Layla, her head lowered and her gaze fixed on the floor, caught sight of a pair of legs clad in a crisp white suit.

A gloved hand extended toward her.

“Your hand,” a voice commanded.

As the ringing in her ears faded, the voice grew clear. Layla lifted her head.

Before her stood a man with golden hair, sun-kissed bronze skin, and sharp, striking features that exuded a raw, untamed charm. His piercing eyes held an intensity that seemed to summon images of a commanding figure aboard a mighty ship, sailing across vast, sunlit seas.

This was Blake Berman, the man who would be her husband.

“I need an obedient wife,” he had told her when their marriage was finalized. “Just stay quiet and stand behind me. That’s all you need to do.”

“And in two years, we’ll divorce. Afterward, I’ll return to Strover and marry the woman who’s been waiting for me. In the meantime, Lady Edgestone, you’re free to find yourself another man, if that’s what you want.”

Those were the words Blake had spoken when their marriage was arranged. His tone had been cold, indifferent, and unapologetically dismissive. He hadn’t even bothered to hide his irritation, as if meeting her before the wedding was a complete waste of time.

Blake had made it abundantly clear that this was a marriage of convenience—a duty-bound union for the sake of their respective nations. He had shown no interest in her, responding to her polite attempts at conversation with curt, obligatory answers and spending the bare minimum amount of time with her.

In many ways, Blake seemed like Layla’s ideal partner. A marriage devoid of affection was easier to endure. His indifference was preferable to dealing with someone who might demand emotions she could no longer give.

The story in the papers, claiming that Blake had been captivated by Layla at first sight, was nothing more than a fabricated narrative to make the arrangement seem palatable. Nobody believed it.

So why now?

Blake Berman’s expression had shifted.

The man who had previously looked at her with complete indifference now fixed her with a glare sharp enough to kill. His deep-set blue eyes burned fiercely, their intensity piercing even through the tomato-stained veil that obscured her face. His gaze was scorching, like a physical blow to her skin.

“Is it because of how I look? Does he think Strover has been insulted because of me?”

Layla swallowed a sigh, trying to suppress the heavy weight of humiliation and guilt as Blake spoke again.

“Your hand.”

“…Yes,” she replied quietly.

Was this just the whim of a barbarian? Or was it his way of saying that even in a sham marriage, showing up in such disarray was an insult? Or perhaps he genuinely saw this as an affront to Strover itself?

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was just one more person among the thousands who despised her.

Layla lightly placed her trembling hand in his outstretched palm. Blake gripped her hand tightly, almost crushing it, before releasing his grip just as abruptly.

The contact was fleeting, but it left a tingling sensation in her fingertips, like a jolt of static.

With Blake holding her hand, Layla began walking down the aisle, stepping onto the virgin road.

Reham Cathedral, the site of royal weddings.

As a child, Layla had often imagined this moment—standing in this grand cathedral, surrounded by nobles, her parents, and members of the royal family, all watching her marry her prince. She had dreamed of this day with joy and hope, imagining herself as the center of admiration.

And now, her dream had come true.

But instead of the Crown Prince Ethanwark Gramus, it was Blake Berman by her side. Instead of applause and blessings, there was mockery and scorn.

As they approached the altar where the archbishop awaited, Layla’s eyes were drawn to the King and Queen seated nearby.

Her gaze briefly met that of the Queen, who offered her a painted smile, cold and full of reproach.

“We cherished you and treated you so well, and yet you’ve brought shame upon the royal family in this way… How pathetic I was to think someone like you was worthy of favor.”

The Queen, barely suppressing her anger, glared at Layla, who was crumpled on the ground.

To those who pleased her, the Queen was known as a kind and warm figure. But to those who disappointed her, she was merciless.

Layla had pleaded her innocence countless times, insisting she had not committed embezzlement. Yet, the Queen did not believe her. To the Queen, the tarnished reputation of the royal family was far more important than the truth.

Recalling that day, Layla instinctively lowered her gaze even further to avoid meeting the Queen’s piercing stare as she stood before the archbishop.

Beside her stood Blake Berman, a man who felt as misplaced in this ceremony as an ill-fitted puzzle piece.

“Today marks the opening of a historic chapter of peace,” the archbishop began. “The conflict between Gramus and Strover ends today, with this sacred union as a pledge of harmony and a brighter future. The marriage of Strover’s valiant general and Gramus’s noble lady will forever be remembered as a symbol of peace.”

The archbishop’s long address was less a blessing for the bride and groom and more a proclamation celebrating the political pact between the two nations.

Layla barely heard the words. She was too consumed by discomfort and humiliation, silently willing the ceremony to end as quickly as possible. The sticky remnants of tomato juice soaked through her dress, clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

“Blake Berman,” the archbishop continued, “though you are of Strover, do you swear before God to honor and cherish Layla Edgestone of Gramus, respecting her culture and treating her as a beloved wife?”

“I do,” Blake replied firmly.

“Layla Edgestone,” the archbishop said, turning to her. “Though you are of Gramus, do you swear before God to respect and honor Blake Berman of Strover, following him as your husband?”

“…I do.”

“May this union be a symbol of peace between Gramus and Strover, and may you build a harmonious household. I now pronounce you husband and wife. May God bless your marriage.”

The declaration of their marriage finally brought the ordeal to an official end.

But there were no cheers or applause.

The oppressive silence hung in the air until the King himself began clapping loudly, forcing the reluctant nobles to follow suit. Polite words of congratulation, laced with sarcasm and thinly veiled ridicule, began to circulate.

“May you both be happy.”

“Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Live well together.”

What should have been warm blessings sounded more like jeers and curses, drenched in mockery.

That evening, the newspapers published the story under the headline: “The Most Shameful Wedding in History.”