I Am Being Hostilely Watched by My Husband’s Childhood Friend, but No Matter What She Does, I Am the Wife
A young girl was married into the harsh, frigid northern lands.
Feeling for the first time the skin-piercing cold, she realized her life ahead would surely be full of hardships.
In the Kingdom of Spring, known for its warm and pleasant climate, the northern region alone was a land of bitter cold.
Originally, the North had been like the rest of the country—bathed in gentle sunlight, filled with colorful blossoms, a land of plenty.
But several centuries ago, everything changed when monstrous beings appeared on the border.
They radiated wicked energy, trampling over the people.
The Kingdom of Spring was protected by the Spring Fairy, but the Spring Fairy was poorly matched against such creatures.
To protect both the kingdom and the Spring Fairy, the Winter Fairy rose.
The Winter Fairy bestowed winter’s blessing upon the North, shielding it from all corruption.
And so, even now, under the enduring blessing of winter, the North remained a land of bitter cold, where snow piled up all year round.
It was to the Marquis family governing this North that the girl came.
The North was poor soil for crops. With its short daylight hours, many also fell into illness of the mind.
To help, there was a long-standing custom: a woman blessed by Spring must marry into the Marquis family, so that Spring’s blessing might flow into the land.
In other words, a political marriage.
The Kingdom of Spring had no shortage of those blessed by Spring, but neither were they overly common—and even fewer among women of noble rank fit to marry the Marquis.
This time, the one chosen was a seventeen-year-old girl: Shellris.
Shellris was only seventeen, while her fiancé, the Marquis of the North, Snilvan, was twenty-eight.
An age difference of nearly eleven years. But such was common in political marriages.
Shellris’s own parents had a similar gap. She herself had no objection.
When the marriage was proposed, she accepted readily, saying, If this is my duty, then so be it.
And so, after more than a month in a carriage—switching midway to one designed for snowy roads—she arrived in the North, a land that felt almost foreign.
The biting cold, the gales that nearly swept her whole body away.
For a body accustomed to warm climates, it was harsh beyond imagination.
Yet Shellris did not waver.
She understood: this was the duty placed upon her as a noble’s daughter, as one bearing the Spring’s blessing.
“Thank you for coming to such a cold place. I’m sorry your partner is an old man like me.”
So Snilvan said, upon their first meeting.
Shellris’s cheeks, nose, and ears were red from the cold, but his words, spoken with his brows lowered apologetically, left her with a good impression.
Her betrothed, the Marquis Snilvan, though with the air of a mature man, looked younger than his years thanks to his handsome features.
His hair, white as snow, was tied in a single bundle behind him, a mark of those with winter’s blessing. His deep blue eyes shone like a sky full of stars.
With a beauty otherworldly, like a winter fairy itself, Snilvan instantly captured Shellris’s heart.
But—there was one thing that caught her attention.
“Lady Shellris, pleased to meet you. I am Fiende. I’ve been Snilvan’s childhood friend since forever. Let’s get along.”
The woman smiling beside Snilvan.
Her presence alone gnawed at Shellris.
Fiende, arms folded, looked Shellris up and down as though appraising her.
Though she said “let’s get along,” her eyes held no such intent.
And after all, this was Shellris and Snilvan’s first meeting.
Why, then, was his childhood friend seated here?
Shellris found it strange, ignored Fiende’s words, and turned toward Snilvan.
“Why is she here?”
The unspoken: She’s just a childhood friend.
Fiende’s mouth twitched.
Snilvan, not catching Shellris’s true meaning, cheerfully explained:
“Fiende is twenty-two, close to your age. I thought she might serve as your personal maid. Having someone from the North would help, don’t you think?”
Shellris already had several maids from her family, who had willingly followed her despite the harsh northern life.
But Snilvan’s reasoning was sound. The North was different, often closed-off, with customs they wouldn’t understand.
Shellris considered this—and then proposed with a smile:
“Thank you for the thought. But are there other candidates? If possible, I would prefer someone else.”
Snilvan blinked, bewildered.
Her smile was so bright that he wondered if he’d misheard.
“You little brat! How dare you! Snilvan went out of his way to consider you, and you spit on his kindness?!”
Fiende burst out angrily, face flushing red.
Shellris deepened her smile further.
Bringing her fingers together, she pointed to Fiende with her open hand.
“This is why.”
“…? What do you mean?”
“This is why I don’t want her. See how she acts, showing such rudeness even before her possible mistress? A person who can’t even speak politely could never be maid to the Marchioness.”
“!!”
“…You’re right. Fiende’s behavior is far from how one should address the future Marchioness. I was blinded because she’s my childhood friend.”
“Wha—!? Snilvan!”
“Shellris, forgive me. There are other candidates, rest assured. …Fiende, I’m sorry, but please leave for today.”
“!!”
Fiende’s eyes widened. She had never imagined Snilvan would side with Shellris.
But his decision stood, and the butler guided her out.
Fiende left, face red with anger and humiliation, glaring at Shellris, who only smiled back.
From then on, Fiende’s resentment only grew deeper.
After being dismissed from the Marquis’s residence, Fiende returned home and raged uncontrollably.
She smashed the vases and paintings in her room, tore down the curtains, and screamed. The maids trembled, her parents could only hold their heads in despair.
Her life had, until now, gone fairly smoothly.
As a child, she had always been doted upon by Snilvan. The adults around her indulged her. Among her peers, she was admired.
The only part of her life that hadn’t gone well… was love.
When young, she had adored Snilvan as an older-brother figure.
When she came of age, she realized she liked him as a man. Falling in love with him had been only natural.
But the moment she realized her love, she also realized despair.
The Marquis of the North must wed a woman blessed by Spring.
Fiende did not bear that blessing.
No matter what she did, no matter how she wished it, she could never be Snilvan’s wife.
In her grief, Fiende told herself:
If I cannot be his partner, then at least I will decide who is worthy of him.
That partner must be beautiful, kind, intelligent, dependable enough to support Snilvan, who could sometimes be absent-minded.
She must be humble and respectful of the North, too, for she would become its Marchioness.
That was what Fiende told herself.
And then came Shellris.
Seventeen, five years younger than Fiende.
Her hair, a pink unique to those with Spring’s blessing, made her look even younger.
She will need to be disciplined, Fiende thought.
But then—her attitude.
That proud, insolent smile. So unlike her meek appearance.
Fiende could not forgive her.
“That girl… just you wait…”
Her parents tried to soothe her, but Fiende was deaf to their words.
Several weeks later, Fiende was at a tea party attended by the most influential noblewomen of the North.
She used the opportunity to spread stories of how shockingly rude Shellris had been at their first meeting.
As Fiende was something of a leader among the young noblewomen, when she spoke ill of Shellris, the others followed.
How awful, how disrespectful, how pitiful for Lord Snilvan—everyone chimed in.
Fiende, feeling triumphant, smirked.
Just then, Shellris arrived, a little late.
“Lady Fiende.”
“…Oh my, you’ve finally arrived. To be late to such an occasion—are you mocking us?”
Fiende only glanced at her and sniffed.
The other young ladies fell silent.
This tea party had a history stretching back centuries. For the noblewomen of the North, being invited was a mark of status. No one dared fail in such a setting.
Thus, Fiende seized the chance to accuse Shellris for arriving late.
But Shellris had already informed the hostess she would be delayed. She had an unimpeachable reason.
She had been performing the Spring Ritual—an essential duty of the Marchioness of the North.
To pray for hours so the land would receive the blessing of Spring.
That was why she was late.
Of course, it had not been announced publicly, so the women here didn’t know.
Normally, simply saying she was delayed by her duties would have been enough. No one questioned the Marchioness’s schedule.
There had been past occasions where a Marchioness had been late, or had left partway, or missed entirely. No one had dared complain.
Everyone here should have known better.
Shellris smiled serenely.
“There is much I could say… but first, Lady Fiende, when someone of higher status greets you, should you not return the greeting? Or are the manners of the North different?”
Fiende’s eyes narrowed.
“…First you should apologize to everyone here, for being late.”
“I already explained and apologized to the hostess. Do you mean I must go around and apologize to each one of you as well?”
“That would be sincerity. Perhaps you are too young to understand, but as Marchioness you must show more consideration.”
“I see. Then once I finish apologizing to everyone… will it be your turn to apologize?”
“…What? Why should I?”
“Because, Lady Fiende, you yourself are displaying no common sense or courtesy. By acting in such a way, you lower the dignity of this venerable tea party. You owe everyone else here an apology.”
“You—!”
“Lady Fiende.”
It was not Shellris but the hostess who interrupted: the Marchioness of Moa.
The North had, besides the ruling Marquis family, two other marquis houses. The three worked together to protect and govern the land. They also oversaw the Spring Ritual.
Lady Moa had long been acquainted with Fiende through Snilvan. She had even treated her kindly.
“Lady Moa! Please, tell her—Shellris—!”
“She had a rightful reason to be late. There is no need to explain it to all of you, nor to apologize repeatedly. And most of all, Lady Fiende—you overstep by demanding it. You and the others here, if you continue this rudeness, will be asked to leave.”
“…Eh.”
Lady Moa’s sharp tone left Fiende dumbstruck.
As the meaning sank in, her cheeks flushed red.
“M-my apologies…”
She whispered it, bowing her head.
Shellris nodded, satisfied.
“As I said before, Lady Fiende, you should study more. At this rate, you could hardly serve the Marchioness as a maid. If you still wish to, I could introduce you to a proper tutor.”
“You—! …Th-thank you for your… concern.”
Fiende rose, curtsied stiffly, fists clenched tight in her skirts.
Shellris only smiled sweetly and moved on.
She had only wanted Fiende to apologize for her earlier insult. She had never expected Fiende to submit quietly—but watching her self-destruct was enough.
From that day, Fiende’s standing among the North’s ladies collapsed.
But even after being disgraced in public, she did not relent.
Her hatred for Shellris only grew.
She would find some way to ruin her, disgrace her, and tear her away from Snilvan.
And so, claiming she wanted to apologize again, Fiende came once more to the Marquis’s mansion.
To Shellris, her intentions were transparent.
But she did not send her away.
No matter what Fiende plotted, Shellris would face it head-on.
“Lady Shellris, I beg forgiveness for all my rudeness until now.”
Fiende bowed deeply.
The two of them were alone in the parlor.
Shellris, smiling, waited to see what Fiende would do.
“I accept your apology. Please be more careful from now on.”
“…Yes, Lady Shellris.”
When Fiende lifted her face, her smile was twisted.
She seized the teacup before her—then suddenly poured it over her own head.
Shellris did not flinch.
She sipped her own tea calmly, thinking idly, Isn’t that hot?
Fiende shrieked.
“KYAAAAAA! Hot! Help! Somebody help!!”
She flung the cup aside, shook her head violently, screaming as though in agony.
Shellris sighed. She should have let it cool first.
The commotion brought servants rushing, Snilvan among them.
“What happened—”
“Snilvan! I—I only wanted to apologize to Lady Shellris… but she wouldn’t forgive me… and then—she poured the tea on me!”
Fiende pushed away the maid comforting her and threw herself toward Snilvan’s chest.
He did not embrace her. Instead, he looked to Shellris, silently asking.
Shellris only lifted her shoulders lightly.
“She poured it on herself.”
“That’s a lie! Who would do something so dangerous?! It’s scalding hot!”
Indeed, no sane lady would risk burning her face.
But Shellris had seen that warped smile.
Fiende was no longer sane. To ruin Shellris, she was willing to harm even herself.
And thus began the most decisive confrontation.
Shellris gazed at Fiende, her expression calm, her tone almost gentle.
“Suppose, just as you say, I poured the tea on you. And then? What would happen to me?”
Fiende’s eyes widened. “W-what are you…”
“Even if I had, nothing would change. I would still be the Marchioness of the North. I am Snilvan’s wife. No matter how angry or jealous you become, no matter how you scheme to drive me away… I am his wife.”
Fiende’s pupils shook, her fury blazing behind them.
“I bear the blessing of Spring. I am one of the very few who could even qualify to marry Snilvan. To try to drive me out—Lady Fiende, are you saying you want the people of the North to die?”
“N-no, that’s not—”
“Then what? What exactly did you hope to achieve, with no blessing of your own? To drive me away, and then what?”
“Don’t act so high and mighty just because you have a blessing!”
“I’m not acting. I am simply stating the truth. I have Spring’s blessing. That is why Snilvan and I are married. I decided to devote that blessing to the North. Do not interfere out of nothing but petty jealousy.”
“You—!”
Nobles could not move purely by their personal emotions.
At least, that was what Shellris believed—and Snilvan as well.
He now realized, for the first time, that Fiende had feelings for him. But knowing made no difference.
She might be his childhood friend, like a sister—but above all else, his duty was the peace of the North.
And if he comforted her now, it might give her false hope. So he stayed silent, letting Shellris speak.
“Lady Fiende,” Shellris continued, voice sharp, “would you be satisfied if your family’s lands no longer received Spring’s blessing?”
Fiende turned pale.
The blessing was vital. It made crops grow in this harsh land. It healed and strengthened hearts against despair. Without it, the land would wither, and its people fall into misery.
And Fiende had just tried to disgrace the very woman whose blessing gave life to the North.
If her family lost that gift, the fields would fail. The people would despair. The fief would fall into ruin.
Fiende had thought of this before. But she had pushed the thought away, consumed by her own emotions.
Now Shellris was forcing her to face it.
“A-ah… I didn’t mean… Y-you’re threatening me—?”
“I only spoke the truth. And yet you can still say such things? Because of your childish jealousy, your family and your people would suffer.”
“Childish…?!”
“If you admit your sins and apologize, it may not be too late.”
Fiende’s face twisted.
If she admitted it here, maybe Shellris would forgive her.
But in front of the man she loved… how could she abase herself so?
Yet if she didn’t… her family…
Trembling, she looked up at Snilvan.
He gazed down at her, face unreadable. Cold.
She had never seen him look at her like that.
And she remembered, suddenly, how much Snilvan loved the North. How he treasured its people.
How he could never forgive her for endangering them.
“…I…”
“Hm?”
“…I’ll apologize.”
It was barely a whisper. But for Fiende, it took everything.
Sadly, Shellris was not satisfied.
“That is your apology? And you still speak to the Marchioness in that tone?”
“—I-I’m sorry…!”
“For what?”
“…I… poured the tea on myself, and tried to blame you…”
“And?”
“…And… I was disrespectful in my speech…”
“And?”
“…And I spread ill rumors about you, tried to isolate you, and to drive you from the North. I endangered the land. It was conduct unworthy of a noble. I am truly sorry…!”
Tears poured down her face. She bent low, sobbing.
No one moved to comfort her.
“Shellris,” Snilvan asked quietly. “It will be as you say. What shall we do with her?”
“Thank you. I am satisfied now. Let her be confined to her home for a time.”
“…Very well. And afterward, we will need to discuss this with her father, the count. Fiende, go home for now.”
“Snilvan—!”
Fiende reached out desperately as he walked toward Shellris.
But he did not turn.
And she collapsed where she stood, alone, weeping.
Several months later, when her confinement ended, Fiende was married off to a distant land.
On the day she left the North, only her parents saw her off.
Her attempt to disgrace the Marchioness—the lifeline of the North—was too grave.
Her father, the count, accepted it seriously. Once his son was ready, he intended to hand over the title.
“Snilvan, you didn’t go to see her off? You always said she was like a sister.”
“It’s better this way. For her, too.”
“How kind of you.”
“Not kindness. It was my responsibility. I spoiled her as a child, treated her specially. That gave her the wrong idea. I misjudged the distance between us.”
“…I wonder, Snilvan. Are there other women you’ve misled this way?”
“Eh?! N-no! Absolutely not!”
Shellris narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Snilvan waved his hands frantically.
Thus began the life of Snilvan and his strong yet sweet wife, Shellris.
And though he already sensed it—he would soon fully realize that in this marriage, he would be firmly under her thumb.
Author’s Note
I usually try to give characters familiar-sounding names, but this time I wanted something a bit more ethnic, so I chose slightly unusual ones. I hope they weren’t too hard to read.
Shellris is the kind of girl with nerves of steel. Even if Snilvan had been a shabby old man, she would have had no problem marrying him.
But since he turned out to be handsome, she secretly thought, “Oh, lucky me!”
Originally, they were meant to be 14 and 32. That felt way too wrong, so I changed it to 17 and 28. Even so, maybe it’s still a bit much… but thank you for reading all the way!
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