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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: The Worn-Out Male Lead Picked the Wrong Partner
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The duke's expression, teetering on a subtle boundary, curved into a perfect smile. With the friendly smile unique to nobles, he spoke.
"How intriguing. It seems there's truth to the tales of reading an opponent's innermost thoughts."
It's just that I've been through wars, so I'm quick on the uptake. In war, a lack of awareness gets you killed.
He extended his hand to escort her.
"It's nearly time for dinner anyway. Shall we go together? I suspect the brigadier general will head straight to the dining hall as well. I've been eager to converse with you, Princess."
He'd snatched the dress, and there was clearly some ulterior motive, but finding Masera in this vast estate was next to impossible, so she decided to just go eat.
"Doesn't the brigadier general's aloof nature ever make you feel neglected?"
She immediately shook her head at the duke's question.
Even if her true identity was exposed, she needed to stay on good terms with Masera so he could turn a blind eye, thinking, 'I'm too attached to kill her... better pretend I don't know.'
The duke added,
"Being a war orphan probably means his values differ fundamentally from ours, who've lived as nobles."
She fell silent for a moment, gazing at him.
Why is he saying this to me? Thinking of the hardships Masera must have endured made a corner of her heart ache faintly.
She spoke calmly.
"Once you accept the differences with your partner, there's no room for feeling slighted. Conflicts start from clashing opinions, after all."
Of course, she didn't reveal her true thoughts, instead phrasing it to sound mature and composed. What the man wanted was for her to pity Masera.
The duke met her eyes.
"Acceptance, you say? I'd love to hear more."
I only read it in a romance advice book; I don't really know. He wore the expression of a university professor who'd discovered an exceptional student.
"People all have different life experiences, so their personalities, inclinations, values, and priorities vary. Even something as simple as taste in food. Recognizing those differences, compromising, and adjusting—that's what 'understanding' means. Which is why I can't help but share stories from my hometown. Back when I was in the frigid north..."
She rambled on like a baseball player infamous for talking too much.
Her plan was to fill the conversation with her own words until they reached the dinner hall, avoiding any trickier questions.
"...Understanding."
The duke nodded, murmuring thoughtfully, then flashed her a bright smile.
"The brigadier general has a splendid partner."
He seemed to have quite the fixation on Masera.
Not only did he keep bringing him up, but his expressions shifted subtly whenever he did.
Could the reason he snatched the dress be...?
Imagining the duke tearing up their wedding photo and pasting Masera's face onto his own, she shuddered involuntarily.
My imagination, please behave!
They soon arrived at the dining hall, where the Queensguard family sat alongside elegant, cool black-haired noblewomen.
Green eyes of varying shades fixed on Cynthia.
Those three have an intimidating presence like no other.
Cynthia felt slightly cowed by their frosty demeanors.
"Please, sit."
The matriarch gestured toward Cynthia.
As the duke pulled out a chair for her, he said,
"I personally escorted the princess here so we could converse along the way."
"I see. Judging by the princess's expression, it must have been a pleasant talk."
Cynthia had always worn a bright, cheerful face, but the matriarch assumed the two had cleared up the misunderstanding about the dress by arriving together.
That was the duke's intention as well.
Helen glanced at Cynthia and the duke, giving only a slight nod.
Did he really need to explain himself to a fake princess playing servant?
She intuited they'd discussed something else entirely.
Soon, Masera returned, snowflakes dotting the shoulders of his coat.
Cynthia whispered to him as he sat beside her.
"Where did you go? I was looking everywhere for you."
In truth, she hadn't searched at all, but she made it sound like she'd scoured the entire estate.
"Why do you insist on prying into everything?"
He lowered his voice in reply.
"Can't I?"
"You should at least respect some privacy."
Masera spoke indifferently as he removed his damp gloves.
The duke's remark about a "hidden lover." His curt response carried hints of suspicion and hurt.
A typical regret-story heroine might wilt in dejection, nursing her wounded heart, but Cynthia felt nothing of the sort.
He must've snuck off to build a snowman. I'll have to go add buttons later.
Imagining Masera huddled in a corner making a tiny snowman, Cynthia chuckled to herself.
The meal soon began.
With both families present, everyone wore smiles, though a subtle tension hung in the air.
"I've specially prepared a traditional dish from my homeland."
Following the matriarch's introduction, a bizarre pie appeared, with anchovy heads poking out awkwardly. Their hollow eyes seemed to plead for rescue, as if barely surfacing from a swamp.
A flicker of dismay crossed the Queensguard family's faces at the exotic fare.
Is this meant to belittle us?
The count picked up his fork hesitantly.
Still, it was polite to taste it and comment on the food.
At that moment, Cynthia, who tasted it without hesitation, spoke first.
"Ah, this is..."
Please don't act uncultured and shut your mouth!
The count shot her a pleading look, but Cynthia beamed and continued.
"It looks plain and like an odd combination, but surprisingly, it's harmonious and delicious."
The count, who'd been watching the matriarch's reaction, jolted in surprise. Edford snapped in his stead.
"Calling a dish from the matriarch 'plain'? What rash words for the gourmet cuisine Media nobles enjoy!"
Cynthia smiled sweetly.
"It's not gourmet. This is commoner food."
"Why would a grand noble eat commoner food? Think before you speak."
Edford grumbled openly, secretly hoping her ignorance would get her booted by Masera.
"Cynthia, you can't judge by appearances. Even a child's scribble can be a priceless artwork."
Helen feigned maturity to point out her lack of knowledge.
Cynthia shook her head.
"Sister, this is 'Stargazing Anchovy Pie' from the fishermen in port villages. It's a festival dish honoring the brave fisherman who braved a blizzard to catch anchovies when no one could hunt game and everyone was starving."
As her words ended, the matriarch and the black-haired ladies' green eyes widened round.
"How does the princess know that? It's a nostalgic food we ate together at festivals in our girlhood days. It's rare nowadays, so few recognize it. Are you particularly interested in Media?"
The matriarch, who'd maintained a cool demeanor, spoke with a hint of excitement.
"I've always held deep respect and admiration for Media. Their tea culture is wonderful, and they embrace diverse influences. Their gentlemanly conduct and consideration for the weak are foundational to their civic pride—I think there's much to learn from. Come to think of it, the refinement and grace of you, Matriarch, and the princesses embody Media itself."
Cynthia rattled off her knowledge fluidly.
Of course, she omitted their ruthless colonial exploitation.
In truth, upon hearing Helen's mother-in-law was a "Media collateral royal," she'd devoured every related book.
She'd planned to win over Helen's in-laws too, but found it genuinely fascinating—similar to a nation from her past life. She'd even begged Masera for a Media honeymoon.
Not that the stubborn man had paid her any mind.
Eugene has black hair and green eyes like Media grand nobles, too.
"Such..."
The matriarch's green eyes glistened faintly. She struggled to suppress her joy and maintain composure.
Cynthia noted the matriarch's brow furrowing in touched emotion and thought,
She married abroad and must miss her homeland.
Having her sisters live at the duke's estate was proof enough.
In lonely exile, who wouldn't be moved by a foreigner raving "Korea is the best!" and praising kimchi and doenjang?
"We're planning our honeymoon in Media. As you know, circumstances haven't allowed it until now... I'm thrilled to finally visit the place of my dreams."
At Cynthia's wistful addition, the ladies couldn't withstand the pang of sympathy and empathy.
"I have a villa in the north. The coastline and scenery are splendid."
"No, you must go to the capital. I'll reserve a royal-grade hotel."
"Nonsense. We're family now through marriage—she should stay as a royal guest in the palace. I'll send word to my palace..."
They eagerly began booking Cynthia's honeymoon accommodations.
...I said we're not going on a honeymoon.
Masera silently sliced his anchovy pie, swallowing his regret alongside it.
