My Childhood Friend Regrets Not Wanting Me

In the year I came of age, my father, the King, intended to confer upon me the title of Princess of the State. My mother suggested that good things come in pairs, and proposed that a prince consort be named on the same day as my coronation.

The court selected four proper young nobles. I would decide my choice by drawing lots.

In my previous timeline, without hesitation, I had chosen Henry Lapointe, the heir to the Duke’s mansion, whom I had long admired, as my prince consort.

But after we were married, I learned that he had a beloved. She was a woman who was said to possess the beauty of a goddess. She slashed her face eighteen times and sold herself into servitude at the Princess’s residence just to stay by his side.

For years after our marriage, his heart would twist in agony every time he saw that woman.

He believed that I had used my power to force her to disfigure herself and become a lowly servant to prevent them from being together.

To seek revenge, he secretly poisoned me with a slow-acting toxin and conspired with his beloved to betray the capital’s defense maps.

This led to the Ubury empire’s territory being seized, and I was forced into prison.

He ordered men to force-feed me the poison day and night, which compelled me to serve dozens of perverted old guards. They literally tortured me to death.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of the Prince Consort selection.

Amidst the uproar in the court, I drew the lot for Justin Yale, the hostage prince with the weakest political base.

But on the day the royal decree was issued, Henry broke down.

“Though Justin Yale is a prince of the Western Region, he was sent to Ubury as a hostage, which pretty much means he is being deposed. Are you truly going to choose him, Zenia?”

I held the slip of parchment aloft with both hands. “It’s God’s will. Please issue the decree, Your Majesty.”

Everyone in the court stood speechless. They were utterly stunned.

I walked out of the Halls of Governance while holding the royal decree. Four young men were waiting outside the door. These were the very candidates for Prince Consort to be selected by the court.

Zachariah Scott, the son of a military family, was not one to mince words. “Your Highness, which of us is this royal decree intended for?”

I instinctively looked toward Henry Lapointe. Not so far away, he was exchanging flirtatious glances with Margot Shea, a maid. His debonair and romantic demeanor far surpassed that of a mere male courtesan.

Yohan Walter, the son of the Grand Tutor, was refined and elegant. While fanning himself, he said, “That goes without saying. It’s obviously for Prince Lapointe. Everyone in the capital knows how deeply Her Highness is in love with him.”

Hearing this, Henry snapped back to reality. Our eyes met, and his smile