A Mastermind? No, I'm just the Live-In Son-in-Law-Chapter 14: The Engagement Ceremony (3)

Contrary to the message he seemed to want to convey, the corners of his mouth barely managed to curl into a smile. Paired with his serious expression, it gave off a rather chilling aura.

"Even if you say that, what reason do I have to trust—"

But just as the Lady, who had slowly started to grow accustomed to Whitney’s behavior, scoffed—

"If you really can’t trust me, then I’ll just have to show you."

“Ah.”

Whitney quickly reached out and snatched a wine-filled glass from the tray of a maid who had been trying to slip by their side.

“E-excuse me.”

"Why? Aren’t you serving?"

“...I-I apologize.”

Startled by Whitney’s unsettling smile, the maid paused, bowed quickly, and hurried off.

"What are you doing all of a sudden, right in the middle of a conversation..."

Watching this suspiciously, Meredia’s gaze soon began to tremble.

—Hssss...

It was faint, but the glass in Whitney’s hand reacted with something. Black smoke began to curl out from it.

“Do you believe me now?”

“...Ugh.”

"Lady Meredia?"

Whitney looked down with a knowing expression and tried to speak, his face practically glowing with confidence.

"I get it, now get that thing away from me."

“Ah.”

Only then did he realize that Meredia’s face—mere inches from his own—had gone unusually pale. Snapping back to his senses, he quickly moved the glass away.

“Ugh...”

But it was too late. Her right hand, now exposed to black magic, revealed a serious burn that hadn’t been visible before.

‘I didn’t think she was this vulnerable to black magic...’

That grotesque mark—Whitney knew it well. It was the reason Meredia loathed black magic so much and the flaw she most desperately wanted to hide. His expression darkened.

“......”

A tense silence followed.

—Rustle...

Whitney silently pulled a handkerchief with the Ringaarden family seal from his pocket and gently pressed it into Meredia’s hand.

“They say among noble ladies, it’s trendy these days to carry a memento from the one they’re tied to at the moment of fate.”

“......”

“We may not be that kind of couple, but since we’re engaged, I figured we could at least set the mood—Ah!”

She had remained still, letting him place the handkerchief in her hand, but at his teasing remark, her face twisted in annoyance and she shoved him forward.

"I was just kidding..."

“So what was that black magic, then? If you prepared it in advance, I won’t forgive you.”

But Meredia didn’t throw the handkerchief back. Instead, returning to her usual tone, she asked the question directly.

"First of all, I’m a white mage. I can’t use black magic even if I wanted to. But if my guess is right, that was a ritual spell designed to designate the drinker as a sacrifice."

“What does that mean? If that’s true, how could no one have noticed...”

She looked around in disbelief, but then something clicked, and her words trailed off.

"Don’t tell me... you’re not just insane without reason, are you?"

Because at that moment, she realized that not a single white mage was present in the ballroom—despite the event gathering powerful figures from across the Empire.

"Lady Meredia, was it widely known that I’d be attending this event?"

“...You're not important enough for that. I only forced your name in. It wouldn’t have been announced."

"Exactly."

Except for the Whitney standing right in front of her.

"But for the food and drink served here to have passed through without any inspection..."

"That’s exactly it, Lady Meredia."

Though she tried to reason through her own doubts, Whitney’s response cut her short.

"The truth is, right here where the engagement ceremony is being held—there’s an enemy inside."

And with that, silence fell between them.

“Everyone, your attention please!”

Breaking the stillness, a loud voice from the host rang out.

“First, I thank you all for your enthusiastic interest in my engagement ceremony!”

As all eyes turned toward the Prince at the head of the ballroom, he raised his voice.

"By now, you must all be wondering—who is my fiancée? Sorry to keep you waiting, but the star always enters last! Haha!"

Just as he said, the woman who was supposed to be the star of the engagement ceremony had yet to appear.

The crowd was more curious about who the Prince’s fiancée could be than about the Prince himself, who had simply been wandering around making small talk.

“Well then, let me skip the preamble and introduce her now!”

With all eyes on him, the Prince dramatically opened the door to the waiting room behind him—

"My fiancée and the future Empress—Lady Hestia of the Baron Hestia family!"

“...Huh?”

But strangely, the doors that were supposed to swing open on cue didn’t budge.

“Your Highness...”

“Ah. Hmm. Is that so.”

One of the handmaids quickly whispered something in the Prince’s ear, and his expression turned subtly sour as he nodded.

“Keep an eye on her. If she’s unwell, inform me right away.”

“...Yes, Your Highness.”

Turning back to the crowd with an awkward smile, he began to address them again.

"My apologies. It seems my fiancée isn’t quite ready yet."

But the audience, gathered in the grand ballroom, didn’t hear it as a simple excuse. Their faces filled with shock.

"A Baron’s daughter...? The future Empress?"

"Wait, hold on. If it’s Lady Hestia, then..."

It wasn’t just that the Prince’s fiancée was a mere baron’s daughter—that was shocking enough. The real scandal was that Lady Hestia had been publicly humiliated on the front page of the Imperial Gazette not long ago as the subject of the Prince’s own flirtatious whims.

"Judging by your expressions, I can guess what you're all thinking—but I swear, this isn’t what it looks like."

As the mood in the ballroom turned frigid, even the Prince, normally oblivious, seemed to notice and tried to explain.

"Yes, I’ve pursued Lady Hestia with great passion, but it was always with her and only her in mind."

Whatever excuses he made, though, it was clear that the mood of the engagement ceremony had sunk beyond recovery.

"Actually, several months ago, the Holy Order sent me word in secret."

The moment the word "Holy Order" left the Prince’s mouth, the murmuring crowd fell silent.

"Lady Hestia received a divine prophecy."

As the Prince’s solemn voice echoed through the quiet ballroom, the guests were struck dumb once again.

"That’s right. After hundreds of years, a Saint has been born into this world!"

Historically, a divine prophecy could mean only one thing—the appearance of a Saint.

"And now, this blessed being has accepted my proposal. Is that not the Empire’s greatest fortune?"

As he ended his speech with a bright smile, the ballroom suddenly erupted into cheers and thunderous applause.

“Phew, now we really have no time.”

But Whitney, who had been watching quietly from beginning to end with a grim expression, took a deep breath and turned to Meredia in a serious tone.

"Lady Meredia, I must go now."

"Do you really think I’ll grant your request?"

Still focused on the Prince, Meredia asked in a skeptical tone. Whitney, however, simply gave her a faint smile and turned away.

"Well, if you don’t, I’ll die here."

"You think saying that will change my—"

"Of course, the choice is entirely yours, Lady Meredia."

"Hey, wait—"

As Whitney began to walk away, leaving her behind, Meredia frowned and reached out to stop him.

"Whatever choice you make, I won’t hold it against you. Decide with your heart."

Whitney turned his head slightly as he spoke, and her hand missed, grasping only air.

"Oh—and please don’t throw away that handkerchief."

Watching her quietly for a moment, Whitney glanced at the cloth tied around her hand and added softly before turning his head again.

"If I die, you should at least have something to remember me by."

With those final words, he disappeared into the crowd—

Leaving Meredia alone once more.

***

"So he insists on doing whatever he wants, right to the end."

Meredia stood in place for a long while, staring at the spot where Whitney had disappeared, before letting out a dry laugh and glancing around.

Just like he said, something about the engagement ceremony definitely felt off.

Maybe it was just coincidence that there weren’t any white mages among the guests—but it was certainly no coincidence that she’d just noticed how few of the guards stationed throughout the ballroom were mages at all.

This content is taken from fгeewebnovёl.com.

Even more suspicious was the way the maids and attendants, who were serving wine, hadn't taken a single break or changed shifts. They ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) were moving in perfect sync, like clockwork.

Taking everything into account, if Whitney was right and there really was a conspiracy unfolding here, then not just the bride and groom, but everyone in attendance was in serious danger.

‘People are in danger, so I’m supposed to risk myself?’

But honestly, that wasn’t a convincing argument for Meredia.

She could still remember the cold stares from the crowd when she had held Whitney’s hand earlier. The majority of them looked at her with nothing but disdain.

To Meredia, there was no obligation—no reason or justification—to help people like that.

“Hah.”

Of course, Whitney’s proposal wasn’t one she could evaluate so simplistically.

Right now, she and Whitney were bound by a political alliance, working together for mutual benefit.

‘Still not worth considering.’

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

But that only applied if accepting his proposal guaranteed a return.

Simply trusting Whitney’s grand claims wasn’t nearly enough to outweigh the risk of ruining the Crown Prince’s engagement ceremony. That price would fall squarely on her.

Even if this was the last card he could play to gain a foothold in his family, the numbers just didn’t add up.

‘It’s better to end things with him here.’

With that, Meredia turned around to walk toward the exit—

“...Ugh.”

Suddenly, her right hand tensed, then began to go numb.

‘Now, of all times...’

She clenched her teeth and froze in place, already bracing for the all-too-familiar, unbearable pain that had haunted her ever since the scar had formed. Her body trembled slightly, and she shut her eyes tight—

“......?”

But the pain never came.

Not the kind of pain that made her want to cut the flesh off her own hand—nothing.

“No way...”

Blinking in disbelief, she slowly looked down and realized Whitney’s handkerchief was still wrapped around her hand. With a hesitant expression, she used her other hand to loosen it slightly.

“Kh!”

But the instant she did, excruciating pain surged through her, and she quickly clamped the handkerchief back over the burn.

She stood there for a long time, just staring blankly at the handkerchief resting on her hand.

"Now then! Let’s raise our glasses—to the Empire, and to Lady Hestia!"

“...Whitney. It seems you know me far too well.”

As everyone in the ballroom raised their glasses filled with that murky red wine, Meredia turned away from the server with a resigned expression.

"If you can truly lift a curse that no one else could."

She gave a cold smile as the jewels at her ears glittered faintly, then muttered to herself.

"Then in the end, I’ve done nothing but dance to your tune."

—Clatter...!

The champagne glass in Meredia’s hand shattered into brilliant fragments of light, and shards of glass burst in every direction.

“What the—!?”

“Ahh!”

In an instant, darkness descended, and the ballroom descended into chaos.

"Well, I don’t really care—as long as a few black mages get taken down."

Amid the confusion, Meredia calmly looked around, then absently brushed her fingers across the handkerchief still warm in her palm and murmured,

"Truly annoying... and unbelievably stubborn."

And though her words sounded irritated, hidden in the shadows, her expression didn’t seem the least bit displeased.

***

Meanwhile, in the ballroom’s waiting room—

"Agh...!"

Hestia Chester, the Crown Prince’s fiancée, sat slumped in her chair, drenched in cold sweat and groaning as she was tended to by a group of nervous maids.

"Are you alright?"

"Shall we call a physician?"

Worried that they might somehow be held responsible, the maids fretted as Hestia’s condition grew visibly worse.

"I’m fine... please just leave me alone for a while."

Her face pale, Hestia raised her hand to stop them, and the maids looked at each other in confusion.

"Please... I’m begging you."

"I’m sorry, but we can’t do that."

"We were ordered to keep a constant watch on your condition."

At their firm response, Hestia pressed her lips tightly together and shut her eyes.

"If you keep standing there... you’ll get dragged into something awful...!"

She started to say something ominous, but before she could finish, a wave of pain struck her, and she clamped her mouth shut.

‘What the hell do you people want from me...?’

As she writhed in agony, her eyes drifted toward the mirror hanging on the wall.

‘A false prophecy... an engagement I never wanted...’

Staring at her distorted reflection, she began muttering in her mind—

‘I did everything I was told...’

And then, her face in the mirror suddenly turned pale and was slowly consumed by terror.

“...What?”

There was no one else in the room but Hestia and the maids.

But even so, as if someone had just whispered something unthinkable to her, she abruptly jumped to her feet and shouted.

“No! I won’t do it—absolutely not!”

"Lady Hestia?!"

Startled, the maids gasped at her sudden outburst, but Hestia ignored them. She continued to glare into the mirror, her voice rising.

"I don’t care what happens to me! But I won’t sacrifice innocent people—!"

—BZZZT...

“AaAAaAGhHH!”

But the very next moment, a wave of pain unlike anything she had experienced before hit her, and she collapsed, unable to speak.

"Ugh... haa... nghhh..."

"........."

Unable to even rise from the floor, she dug her fingers into her hair and wept, and even the maids—tasked with never looking away—closed their eyes and turned their heads.

"Ordering others around from the shadows... you damn coward."

No one knew how much time had passed.

‘So if I don’t obey... what exactly do you think you’ll do to me?’

Struggling to her feet, Hestia’s expression was steeled with grim resolve, her gaze blazing.

"If I’m wrong... then show yourself. Come stand before me."

Just then, as she sneered at her own reflection in the mirror—

—Creak...

"Don’t resist. It’ll only complicate things."

The tightly closed waiting room door suddenly opened, revealing a boy standing just inside. Behind him, the unconscious guards lay slumped against the walls.

"There you are."

"Ah..."

When he spotted Hestia standing there in a daze, he beamed and spoke brightly.

“You’re... you’re not—”

"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Hestia."

But before she could finish, he cut in cheerfully, extending a hand.

"Would you mind being kidnapped by me for a little while?"