My Fiancé Is The Duke's Disgraced Daughter

"It seems you are about to be married, my lord."

Kenric Wulf paused, the quill pen he was writing with suddenly coming to a stop. The words had been said so casually that he'd needed a moment to process them.

"Excuse me?"

"You are about to be married, Lord Wulf. What a joyous occasion," Gerard, Kenric's butler repeated flatly. He was always like this, even-faced no matter what the situation was at hand. Gerard stroked his greying, yet well-groomed triangular beard as he squinted his wrinkled brown eyes over the opened letter in his hand again, "It seems your bride-to-be is Duke Filangris' daughter: Elizabeth Filangris."

Shaking his head and returning to penning his letter, Kenric asked, "I think I've heard her name on the maids' lips recently."

"Yes, as have I. Would you like to know why the esteemed Duke Filangris is sending his firstborn here of all places?"

"You're going to tell me even if I say no, won't you?"

"Well, the story goes…"

 *

Elizabeth Filangris dreamed. She dreamed of a man with wavy blonde hair and easy-going charming eyes. The man's persona was always so filled with confidence and ease, how could any woman not fall in love?

 His Highness Albert Gwydon, Prince of the Kingdom of Yareth. And Elizabeth had been destined to marry him. Ever since they were both five, they had been promised to each other. A perfect love story.

The only problem was, Albert and Elizabeth rarely got a chance to meet; she could count all their meetings when they were children on one hand. Thankfully, that would all change when they would attend the Royal Academy. All nobles, small and large, went to the Royal Academy in the capital for their education. It was there that they made connections with the other soon-to-be important figures of the realm, and built up knowledge from the finest minds Yareth had to offer. A haven for the nobility.

But then, a backwater peasant from nowhere was allowed in. This was not so rare as to never be seen, but it was still an uncommon event, and this particular backwater peasant was different from the rest. She did not know her place. She seduced Prince Albert—a promised man far beyond her station—pretending all the while that she had done nothing.

It chafed. For four years, it chafed.

And then, on the eve of graduation, during the Great Rosebud Ball, Prince Albert confronted Elizabeth in front of everyone. Her attempts to oust the peasant from the Academy were brought to light, and the engagement was broken off.

She still remembered Albert's glare. Rarely had she seen him so serious. But the disdain… that had steadily built up during their four years in the Academy. She had simply failed to recognize what it was until the very end, or perhaps she had simply tried to avoid recognizing it.

"I've had enough! Leave!" He had said, his voice loud and booming, washing over the thousands of spectators that had made a large circle around them, "You are no longer my fiancé!"

The stares magnified, the whispers loudened, Albert's glare burned, and worst of all, the peasant stared with pity—

Elizabeth awoke in her carriage with a gasp. She could feel the dampness of sweat in her clothes, and she pulled her long blonde hair aside out of her eyes. She used to maintain it every day, spending close to an hour just brushing it and making sure it was as straight and elegant as could be. But now… what was the point?

She looked out the window, greenery passing by outside her carriage, and her mind took a moment to catch up to reality. Right, she was on her way to the Northern border, where her groom-to-be awaited her. A few weeks after the debacle during the Great Rosebud Ball, her father had announced that she was to be married to a new man, a minor lord whose name she'd never even heard of before. Her father had seemed full of pity and regret, but he was a noble all the same. He did what had to be done.

Almost out of habit, Elizabeth began straightening her hair. Despite everything, she could at least look slightly presentable. She judged herself with her slight reflection upon the window, but then she caught sight of her blue eyes, so like crystal, so like Albert's… she looked away. That was enough. There was no point in dolling herself further.

This was the third day of the journey to the Northern border, and if her scores in Geography at the Royal Academy had meant anything, then she estimated it was also the last. The cold had already settled in, and now it was just a matter of an hour or two before she reached.

Perhaps it was just her mind, but the air grew colder and colder as time passed. The journey got rougher too, with the road getting bumpier and bumpier. She would have raged against these indignities once. Now, her dead heart could not find it in itself to care. Although, she had once idly wondered what her groom-to-be would be like. She knew how minor lords were like: quivering messes who bent over backwards to satisfy their betters. Only, now that she had been disgraced, would he hold it over her head, relishing in the turn of fortunes?

The carriage pulled into a city, a city so unlike the capital or Elizabeth's home. The people looked harsh, the buildings had been built with the bare essentials, and the roads weren't even paved. Worst of all, the city itself was so tiny that reaching the small manor—that only slightly stood over the rest of the buildings—took no time at all.

The carriage was allowed into the manor, its rickety gates opening with a loud groaning sound, and it stopped inside the barely-maintained courtyard. Even just through the window, Elizabeth could spot the dying shrubbery—the steward back home would have keeled over in horror.

A well-groomed servant with a triangular beard opened the door to Elizabeth's carriage, and she took a small breath before exiting to a man with short and messy black hair. The first thing she noticed about him was his dark eyes; they were like a hawk's, piercing and sharp, as though he was picking her apart weakness by weakness. There was a harshness to him so unlike Albert's that it gave her pause. So overwhelming was his presence that it took her a moment to notice that he was leaning slightly on a cane with his left hand, which was strange as he looked to be her age: eighteen.

"Do you have any luggage?" His voice was cold and to the point.

"Y-yes, I've brought a trunk, it's in the carriage," Elizabeth answered, feeling rather a lot like a soldier answering her commanding officer.

The man turned to the servant, "Gerard."

Apparently that was enough, because Gerard nodded, "I shall have Lady Finagris' luggage sent to her room. Please make sure to show her around in the meantime."

The man turned around, walking into the manor, with every step of his producing a sharp tok. When he noticed she wasn't following him, he looked back, "Come along then."

Elizabeth walked to him. As he opened the doors to the manor proper, she asked, "You are Lord Wulf then?" It was already obvious, but she couldn't find anything else to say.

"Correct," Kenric Wulf said, "And you are Lord Filangris' consolation prize."

"I'm sorry?" Elizabeth asked. They were walking through the halls now, well-maintained, but bare. There were no fineries upon the plain windows, nor the stone walls, nor the uncarpeted floors. This whole place felt… cold, and the actual cold in the air did not help matters.

"I asked him for soldiers and supplies, as I have countless times before," Kenric said, "And when he finally responds, he sends me a bride instead."

"Soldiers and supplies?"

"Yes," Kenric said, "Our territory is where our Kingdom of Yareth's Northern border meets the Wereion Empire's Southern border. If they ever want to invade, then going through our territory is the most efficient path, and they've made plenty of attempts."

"Aren't we at peace?" Elizabeth asked, "The King made peace with the Wereion Empire decades ago."

"And?" Kenric laughed harshly, "All that means is that their attempts have gotten less overt. They denounce those we capture as traitors who acted on their own, dress their soldiers up in the clothes of bandits—their excuses are endless, and because the King is so proud of his monumental peace, he ignores these attempts. After all, it's not like a single one has succeeded yet."

Elizabeth was not stupid, she knew what he was saying, "They haven't succeeded because you're here."

"For now," Kenric said, "And not without sacrifices. Countless people here have faced their end against Wereionic raiding parties, including my father. And to help support our efforts, we get you. How magnanimous of Duke Filangris."

Elizabeth found she could say nothing to that.

Kenric smiled coldly, "Let's continue our tour, shall we?"