The Jilted Noble Lady's Windfall

Chapter 2

“...You... just want to see Emperor Odin's utterly humiliated expression?” Abigail couldn't fathom Marianne's sense of satisfaction. After all, she was the underage witch Marianne had rescued from the stake, so her mindset leaned more toward a hybrid of dark elf and half-orc: " In a witch's mind, revenge means making him endure every t*****e imaginable, bleeding dry in the high-hanging Holy Virgin."

Marianne felt something shatter inside her, even her burning cheeks cooling noticeably.

“Isn't that a bit cruel?” Marianne feigned concern. " We're civilized people; we can't resort to such b****y acts of vengeance."

Abigail nearly vomited at Marianne's affected posture. Even when dealing with those pretentious, fragile-hearted nobles, she hadn't felt this urge to throw up last night's supper: “Enough! Don't put on that fake compassionate act in front of me.”

The blunt little witch smoothed her chest, reminding herself that if she dared vomit in Marianne's presence, she'd lose her free late-night snacks forever: “Dear mistress, I refuse to believe a being as wise and wicked as you would stoop to watching those damned, boring knights.”

Abigail believed women who adored knights were either brain-dead or had been enslaved in a past life—otherwise, why would they abandon their dignity so eagerly, acting like dogs? "Revenge should reduce someone to ruin, screaming into the devil's ear until they can't utter a sound. That tedious refrain of ‘I lost only my life, but he lost his love’—isn't that the latest attempt at satire in literature?"

No wonder Abigail's elders rarely allowed her to read popular literature from the human world.

Truthfully, Marianne didn't care for the knightly tales flooding the market either. But to blend into the circle of noble ladies, she forced herself to plow through one after another, dragging Abigail along to suffer with her.

“If circumstances allowed, I too would tear Odin's little emperor from his throne, watching him plunge into the mud for all to trample.” Marianne wore a look of daydreaming before sighing softly, her voice thick with the sorrow of unattainable dreams: “But could I really do it? He's Odin's emperor! I'm counting on getting a piece of his flesh! If he falls, who would I demand compensation from?”

Marianne recalled the revolting face of that old man and retorted, “Are you suggesting I rely on that damned uncle? He dared deceive Odin's little emperor—what wouldn't he do?”

“Quite right!” Abigail knew full well who her benefactor was, so Odin's emperor couldn't fall until Marianne received her annulment compensation.

But letting Odin's little emperor off so easily didn't quite fit Abigail's nature. After all, she was a competent witch and part-timer, so it was only right to help Marianne out: “Need me to put a curse of misfortune on Odin's little emperor for you?”

Marianne declined with heartfelt gratitude: “I'm not ready to start rescuing people from prison or the stake just yet.”

After all, Odin's young emperor was surrounded by holy knights and sacred priests.

With Abigail's half-baked skills, trying to trick Odin's young emperor would be harder than climbing to the heavens.

“But your willingness to help means a lot to me.” Marianne patted the seat beside her, gesturing for Abigail to sit closer.

“Let's leave Odin's little emperor alone for now!” Marianne wrapped her arm around the reluctant Abigail, leaving one wondering which of them had actually been rejected.

Count Arlen never imagined he'd serve as Odin's imperial envoy, negotiating the annulment of the marriage pact with Calda's Marianne.

After all, it was this venerable nobleman, well past fifty, who had proposed the alliance to Grand Duchess Archique on behalf of the previous emperor three years prior.

His Majesty the Emperor of Odin likely sought to play the emotional card with Marianne, hence dispatching the person she knew best.

Though Count Arlen, summoned at this critical hour, had braced himself for Marianne's reproaches and even anticipated her various reactions, her unexpected composure upon meeting him left him momentarily at a loss for words.

This was bound to be a negotiation fraught with misfortune from the start.

The moment he sat down, Count Arlen was overcome by a sense of impending doom.

He wasn't afraid of Marianne throwing a tantrum, screaming and refusing to break her engagement to Odin's emperor. For those blinded by rage often fail to see the traps hidden within agreements, allowing Count Arlen to secure a result pleasing to the emperor at minimal cost.

But when Marianne remained calm, carefully reading through the agreement drafted by the royal lawyers, Count Arlen knew he would have to keep raising the stakes to convince her to let go.

“I never imagined Odin had sunk so low as to sell its emperor to Obsda.” Marianne's opening words after reading the agreement made Count Arlen and the royal lawyers pale.

The dignified old noble couldn't help but rebuke her: “Princess Marianne of Calda, please watch your words. You must know that misfortune springs from the tongue. Your every word and action could bring endless calamity upon Grand Duchess Archique and the Count of Calda.”

Facing Count Arlen's accusation, Marianne retorted bluntly: “Sir, are you instructing me on how to conduct myself?”

Though Count Arlen and Marianne's father shared the same title, their social standing was worlds apart.

Especially since Marianne's betrothal to Odin's emperor remained unbroken, Count Arlen's behavior amounted to insubordination.

"Speaking of calamity... I doubt your emperor dares inform my parents of this annulment! Marianne's mother possessed a fiery temperament that often clashed with King Obsda. Should Grand Duchess Archique learn of the King and Emperor's actions, the wealthy noblewoman would undoubtedly retaliate by expelling all Odin citizens from her realm.

This was precisely what His Majesty the Emperor sought to avoid at all costs.

Count Arlen pressed his lips together, unsure how to answer Marianne's challenge.

“Don't put on that air of bullying the weak,” Marianne sneered. “If you had the guts to send me back home without warning like Richard of Solins or Seis of Cantreo did, you wouldn't resort to this pathetic tactic of forcing my hand before informing me.”

“Besides, I've endured three days of gossip. What harm is there in mocking the Emperor of Odin?”

Fuming with pent-up frustration, Marianne finally found a suitable outlet. She unleashed her full fury on Count Arlen: "Let me guess what the Emperor of Odin and my dear uncle are scheming. They think I'm easier to deceive than Grand Duchess Archique, so they're trying to bribe me with a pittance to sign that annulment agreement. Then they'll send me packing without a fight, leaving my mother with nowhere to seek justice and no choice but to swallow her grievances whole, right?"

The upward inflection at the end of Marianne's sentence made it hard to believe she was discussing her own annulment.

Count Arlen instinctively wiped the cold sweat from his brow, his tone shifting from stern to obsequiously deferential: “You misunderstand His Majesty the Emperor's intentions...”

Facing Marianne's unmasked scorn, Count Arlen finally realized that the Calda lady everyone praised might be a facade Marianne had maintained for three years.

“Misunderstanding? What a wonderfully subtle choice of words.” Marianne dropped the courtly smile her tutors had trained her to wear, her expression as icy as a plaster statue of the Angel of Judgment. “Did the Obsda envoy not meet with Emperor Odin? Or would the King of Obsda send condolences to a niece he's ignored for years?”

Marianne pointed toward the window, her expression growing even colder than before. “I refuse to believe those carriages bearing Obsda's banners were merely figments of my imagination. My dear Count, you know I'm not in any hurry...”

Count Arlen felt Marianne's words clench his heart, inflicting pain no less excruciating than mental t*****e.

“After all, my cousin isn't desperate for a husband. But Odin's chance to annex Obsda... it's only now, isn't it?”

Marianne leaned back against the plush sofa, her relaxed posture starkly contrasting with Count Arlen's tense posture.

“I can afford to wait, and I'm not particularly eager to relinquish the Queen's throne,” Marianne said, her tone half-serious, half-playful. “But can His Majesty the Emperor of Odin afford to wait?”

Count Arlen could easily envision his fate should he fail his mission. After a moment's internal struggle, he conceded with utter defeat: “Might you state your terms?”

Marianne retrieved the compensation agreements from her two previous annulments and placed them neatly on the coffee table before him.

"Surely His Majesty the Emperor of Odin isn't more stingy than Richard of Solins or Seis of Cantreo! Having participated in Marianne's previous annulment negotiations, Grand Duchess Archique had secured exceptionally generous settlements—so substantial they had left the other parties feeling the pinch.

“I require substantial alimony and an annual stipend, and His Majesty the Emperor of Odin cannot reclaim Dele City as part of the betrothal gift.” “Marianne's demands, drawing on the precedents of the previous two annulments, instantly made Count Arlen's face darken: ”Alimony and an annual salary are reasonable requests, but the territory..."

Though not a core domain of Odin, Dele City still held a population of three to four thousand.

Worst of all, Dele City bordered Archique directly, meaning Marianne had no trouble swallowing this territory whole.

“When Richard of Solins annulled our betrothal, he did not reclaim Colin as a dowry. Does His Majesty the Emperor of Odin intend to emulate the disgraceful, belated compensation of Seis of Cantreo?”

After all, Cantreo's king became a target of bards' satire following his annulment with Marianne.

Count Arlen couldn't fathom Odin's emperor suffering the same fate as Cantreo's king, so he abandoned his dispute with Marianne over the betrothal gift.

“Additionally, I desire a special parting gift.” Marianne recalled a certain dead-faced mage's obsession and casually added, “I want the Montelona Auction House's headline item for this June.”

“That armor once belonging to the Dark Lord—Nidhogg.”

“Your Highness, you must know His Imperial Majesty cannot interfere with Montelona Auction House's affairs,” Count Arlen protested earnestly.

“Is that so? But what does that matter to me?” Marianne replied nonchalantly. “I simply wish to obtain what I desire. Whether the Emperor can meddle in Montelona's business, or how many powerful figures covet that armor, holds no interest for me.”

Marianne's dismissive attitude weighed on Count Arlen with unprecedented pressure. Even under her relentless barrage of challenges, he could only offer a bitter, resigned smile. “You are truly being quite willful.”

“Willfulness is the privilege of the favored,” Marianne replied, her smile thin and forced. “I am no darling of the Emperor. Therefore, neither you nor His Majesty have the right to accuse me of being willful.”