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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: The Truth Behind the Dress
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'What the hell is going on?'
Cynthia sneaked a peek at Masera.
Masera stared at Helen's dress with an expressionless face.
'The Lecanosa Duke snatched it. How utterly childish.'
The duke, who couldn't stand losing even the tiniest thing to Masera, had pulled strings midway and taken it for himself.
"……."
Masera unconsciously checked Cynthia's expression.
He figured she'd be disappointed, maybe upset. But her face was as serene as ever.
"Argh, my sister beat me to the punch. Still, plenty of time before our wedding—lucky break."
"You seemed to really like it. Aren't you upset?"
"Why would I be? We can just get another. Put some real effort into picking this time."
Then Cynthia tilted her head and continued.
"Weird, though. Sis hates copying anyone. Loves stuff that's uniquely hers. Can't stand trendy fads either. Kinda like hipster syndrome?"
"No idea what that 'syndrome' is, but looks like the Lecanosa Duke took a shine to it."
"Oh, for him to wear?"
Cynthia jumped to an unbiased conclusion.
He didn't answer. Not worth dignifying.
Even as enemies, the wedding itself was dazzling, beautiful. Blanketing the entire garden in fresh flowers midwinter? Sigh-worthy extravagance.
Cynthia gazed around the garden in awe.
'Torching a fortune in one day? Not my cash, so whatever. Don't sweat the rich.'
Stimulates the economy, doesn't it?
Cynthia mused inwardly and rose from her seat. Time for cake from the lavish buffet.
Suddenly, her hand paused mid-reach for the cake.
Amid black-haired ladies radiating intense auras, talk of Helen flowed. They spoke in elegant foreign tongues.
["Thought royalty meant a cultured lady. Turns out, no better than your average noble girl."]
["Needs Media to join our chat."]
Not the local language, but it rang naturally translated in Cynthia's ears.
The 'Media' they mentioned was one of the hegemonic powers, lording over countless colonies.
'Right, black hair's a Media trait.'
She'd heard the Lecanosa Duke's mother was Media collateral royalty.
Her maternal kin—fellow presumed Media collateral royals—continued their refined gossip.
["Still, the youngest takes after the founding royals' looks."]
["Oh, there's the youngest princess. Social buzz lately. 'Cynthia'—nickname for moon goddess Artemis. Helen too—all goddess names."]
'Social buzz?'
Cynthia tilted her head, cake in hand, heading back.
What kind? Fallout from the engagement fiasco?
"Cindy."
Familiar voice—Cynthia blinked, turned.
Sharp-dressed Karos Queensguard eyed her with a fond smile.
"Dressed to kill 'cause it's been ages?"
Cynthia glanced down at her outfit, then up, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Nah. Girls glam up for other girls' approval."
Most fuss was for the 'Sis, you're slaying' or 'Sis, exorcism when?' vibes from fellow women.
Karos cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Lately... dunno what's up with the change. Used to be sweet, obedient, always smiling."
'Obedient' grated—Cynthia sighed.
Karos leaned in, whispering low.
"Heard three of your servants died."
Cynthia smiled anew.
"Embezzled military supplies. Sweated bullets containing it—no blowback on the count's family."
"Yeah, not buying you planned it. Accidental kill like old times? Maybe. But you lack the spine. Bet the brigadier handled it over the engagement mess."
Cynthia stayed silent.
"Guy slaughters his fiancée's staff without blinking—thinks he'll go easy on you?"
Warning: don't run to Masera for help.
"Cindy, post-marriage? Watch your step. Kid on the way spells trouble. Doubt he'll coddle you just 'cause it's his."
Sunlit, Cynthia stared vacantly skyward, then broke silence.
"Bullshit bonanza over? Cake time."
"When'd I spout bullshit?"
"Hmm... Unasked-for info. Taste runs to kidless, obedient, pure divorced dudes?"
Dawning she tuned him out entirely, Karos gaped, baffled.
Meanwhile, Masera watched from afar.
Just talking, yet it soured his mood. Worse than usual irritation.
Odd—when did this pristine being hijack his emotions?
Clink.
Cake plate down—cheeks rosy, Cynthia smiled.
"Brigadier General likes this, right? Dig in. Cake's frozen solid, though."
"Fascinating."
Masera replied flatly, gaze shifting.
"C'mon, play nice."
Unusually, Cynthia yielded a cake strawberry.
Karos-aware, Masera ate obediently.
Crunch—the iced berry shattered in his mouth.
"……."
"Told you it's frozen."
Ceremony wrapped—the duke and Helen slipped off to change for the reception gala.
Duke smirked, smug over a wedding too lavish to copy.
'Masera, rootless hack—think you can match this? Even if, just flushing cash on a phony.'
Inwardly pleased, Helen thanked him.
"A dress you prepped yourself? So touched."
Hitherto, only political marriage's stiff aridity clung to him.
Great power collateral royal mother-in-law and kin's lofty barbs stressed her plenty.
Thus, unexpected duke devotion moved her deeply.
Happiest today, Helen thought—greeted guests serially at reception.
Blessings flowed; one duke maternal auntie eyed Helen's gown.
"Meriseiren wedding dress, eh? Commissions backlogged years."
"Yes, he fussed over it. Thank you."
Helen's cheeks pinked.
Lady toyed with her black locks, smiled gracefully.
"Figures. Heard Vicente Brigadier General sourced pearls, diamonds himself—for his princess. Commissioned it. Sour grapes cancel? Even scraps tough to snag..."
"Madam!"
Urgent hush.
Intent to shame clear—mother-in-law's face blazed fury-red.
Helen's paled.
'Vicente Brigadier General made it for Cynthia? Duke stuck me in it?'
Helen's fists quivered.
Meanwhile, clueless it was bespoke for her, Cynthia gaped in shock.
