In a Political Marriage, Isn’t It Normal to Treat Your Fiancée Well? - Chapter 1

Noble marriages are political strategies.

We exist to protect our territories, and by extension, the livelihoods of our subjects.

My engagement was decided when I was sixteen.

The partner was the daughter of the neighboring Count Hart family.

A delicate, petite girl with mint-green hair and orange eyes.

Her name was Sophia Hart.

“My name is Sophia Hart.”

“I am Arslan Seljuk.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

She was thirteen years old—three years younger than me.

The pastel-colored dress suited her lovely appearance perfectly.

Her curtsy was impeccable, and her gestures and manners left nothing to be desired.

It seemed she had received a proper education as a noble daughter.

Her girlish charm and fresh, innocent appearance made her genuinely adorable.

Yet, with such a flawless performance, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Whose idea was this?”

This was our first meeting.

Her expression seemed to say, “I’m here to fulfill my duty and responsibility,” and it bothered me.

Our conversation after that was nothing but dull.

“Lady Sophia, since we have the chance, shall we take a walk in the garden?”

“Yes.”

I took her hand and escorted her.

As fiancés, this much was only natural.

For just a moment, her face stiffened.

I pretended not to notice.

It was spring.

The garden was in full bloom with vibrant colors, and the sweet scent of flowers filled the air.

The garden of my estate was renowned as a famous landscape, and the spring garden was particularly breathtaking.

“Lady Sophia, do you like flowers?”

“Yes, I like flowers.”

“That’s good. Our garden is at its peak right now.”

“Yes. It’s truly wonderful.”

Lady Sophia smiled modestly.

Her smile seemed somewhat awkward.

I guided her through the garden, holding her hand.

As we walked, we continued our conversation, but something felt off.

She answered each of my questions politely.

Yet, the conversation never flowed naturally.

It was just me asking and her answering.

“Lady Sophia.”

“Yes?”

“Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

“…No.”

“I see…”

“…”

“…”

From her expressions and reactions, I felt no interest or curiosity toward me.

Well, perhaps it was unreasonable to expect interest in someone you’ve just met. I shouldn’t judge by appearances, but it seemed Lady Sophia was as immature as she looked. She was only thirteen. She probably couldn’t hide her true feelings.

This was a typical political marriage.

Both our territories prospered from mines, but that was also the problem. A gold mine lay right at the border between our lands, and for years, disputes had arisen over its ownership.

In our grandfathers’ generation, it was settled as joint management—something only possible because the two old men were close friends.

Everyone except those two grandfathers thought it was a temporary peace.

As expected, when the two grandfathers passed away, conflicts erupted. And they erupted on a grand scale.

Still, until now, we had maintained peace, at least on the surface.

Interactions between our subjects had even increased. At this point, we couldn’t revert to the complete non-interaction of decades past. Doing so would pose too great a risk for both sides.

I understood why the parent generation insisted, “This is an opportunity to at least actively engage with each other, even if we can’t call it friendship.”

Our engagement was the result of calculation and compromise.

Awkward as it was, the meeting concluded without incident.