The Villainess Enjoys a Carefree Married Life in a Former Enemy Country in Her Seventh Loop

“Dummy. …I hate you.”

She voiced her protest in a tiny, tiny murmur.
“I hate being treated so gently like that…”
Arnold could be cruel at times.
To hide his true feelings, he would deliberately speak in ways that pushed her away. Yet now, Arnold’s words were born of concern for Rishe.

In other words, he truly feared, from the bottom of his heart, that Rishe might come to dread this marriage.
“There’s no way I could ever think it frightening to become your bride.”
She had no desire to glare at him—but if she didn’t, her face would grow even more pitiful.
So she knit her brows tightly, and even as she looked up at him, she continued.

“And furthermore—”
She pressed strength into the hand that touched the back of his.
“Accepting this marriage is something I decided for myself.”

It was as if she were pressing his hand against her own cheek.
She wanted to wrap it completely in hers, but his was too large, too manly—she could only layer her fingers atop his, as if to weave them together.
“No matter what happens, I’ll never hate you. …I don’t need to hear such words as ‘Even if I’m hated, I’ll still…’”
“…Rishe.”
Her name, spoken aloud, sent another sharp ache through her chest.

She rubbed her cheek against his well-formed, sinewed hand—half without realizing it.
She didn’t want him to see her face, and just as much, she didn’t want to let go of his hand. Her emotions refused to settle.
“This marriage…”
The words caught in her throat, frightening to speak—and yet she could not say why they frightened her.
She crushed that fear down, raised her face with effort, and met Arnold’s gaze head-on.

“…Do you feel indebted to me for it?”
“…”
Arnold lowered his eyes.
The shadows of his long lashes fell across them. Eyes that always shone with sharp light now seemed hazy, unfocused.

“At that time,” Arnold said quietly,
“I would have done whatever it took, if it meant making you my wife.”
“…!”

He must be referring to the moment just after they met—his proposal.
(Only two months ago, yet it feels like something from long, long ago…)
Perhaps it felt the same to Arnold.
His voice, gentler than usual, spun calm words.

“I am the one who petitions, and you are the one who judges.”
His thumb traced slowly across her cheek.
“At that point, we were not equals—you understand that, don’t ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) you?”

“…No.”
Of course she could not agree; she shook her head firmly.
Even if he treated her as if humoring a child, she could not simply accept it.
“I…”
With a trembling voice on the verge of breaking, she refuted him.

“I want to grant your wishes in return for every selfishness of mine that you’ve indulged.”
She wanted not only to receive, but to give back just as much.
“In a marriage bound by contract between nations, both parties should gain something. Yet in this one, I am always the one being given to. If this is truly a political marriage, then it is far too warped a state.”

She clasped the hand that caressed her cheek, gently entwining her fingers with his.
“What you wish from me…”
Her left chest ached unbearably as she said it.

“…I want to give you many things in return.”
Her heart felt like crying, yet no tears would come.
Sorrow with nowhere to go melted thickly inside her chest. With each beat of her heart, the heat grew stronger.

“So, please…”
Rishe poured her desperate plea into her gaze, fixing her eyes on his blue ones.
“Your Highness Arnold…”

“…”
Speaking his name felt unbearably lonely.
In none of her past lives had she ever called anyone with such feelings.
Breath left her lips like a prayer.

“Rishe.”
Arnold did not look away from her.
And with that same gentle tone, he spoke.
“My taking you as my wife is no political marriage.”

“—…”
Arnold bent down, lips drawing near her ear.
Close enough to kiss the curve of it—she gasped at the ticklish nearness.
His faintly rough voice vibrated in her eardrums.

“That is why I ask nothing of you. Even if you were to beg it of me.”
“…!!”
At that instant, a fierce pain throbbed deep within her chest.

Arnold drew back, still meeting her eyes, and smiled.
It was a self-mocking smile, his eyes shadowed darkly. He mimicked the words she had spoken earlier.
“…‘You hate it,’ then?”
His thumb traced gently over her lips.

As though coaxing her to repeat those words, he pressed with the faintest pressure.
Of course she hated hearing him say he wanted nothing. She wanted to nod—but realized she could not.
Left adrift, she was at a loss.
(Your Highness always says cruel things on purpose, to hide what you really feel…)

She already knew that much.
That was why she had trusted in the honesty of his actions over the falseness of his words.
But this time, what he had spoken carried his unmistakable true feelings.
(That you ‘wish for nothing’—I know it comes from your kindness…)

And precisely because of that, it hurt far more than any feigned cruelty.
—‘Even if this marriage makes her hate me…’
Arnold truly believed he could accept being hated by her.

(You said I need not make any resolve to become your wife…)
Recalling his earlier words, her vision seemed to waver.
(…No.)

She could not bear to show him an even weaker side.
Yet she refused to give up on dialogue, either. Turning her thoughts over and over, Rishe lowered her gaze and slowly moved her hand.
“…”
She raised it, in a small gesture beside her face.

“…What is that hand for?”
Arnold’s perplexed voice came down from above. She drew a deep breath to speak.
“Forgive me, Your Highness Arnold.”

She knew what she was about to do was terribly improper.
But to halt the discussion here would mean going in circles.
She did not want to run from facing him. However clumsily, she had to begin.
“Presumptuous as it may be…”

So she looked up at Arnold and declared:
“…From this moment, I proclaim our first quarrel as husband and wife…!!”
“…”

After several seconds, Arnold gave her a look as though beholding something utterly unfamiliar. Then he asked back:
“What did you just say?”
“I said, this is our very first husband-and-wife quarrel!!”

In truth, they were not yet married—but what other word could she use?
Even through her sadness, Rishe puffed herself up with resolve and stared straight at her betrothed.