Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince-Chapter 78 — Madwoman

"Hmm... it does seem to be a democore," the elderly man remarked, adjusting his glasses as he scrutinized the piece of black steel in his hands.

"I thought so as well," Lucian responded, offering a nod of acknowledgement.

"But isn’t it smaller than the ones we’ve encountered before?" Adrian interjected, raising a curious eyebrow.

"It’s significantly smaller, yes. How did you know it was a democore, Your Highness?" the man inquired.

Lucian hesitated for a moment, then replied."

"I’m not entirely sure, but the moment I saw it, something told me it had to be connected to demons," his voice dropped to a near-whisper, as if speaking the thought aloud was almost too much.

He couldn’t admit that what had triggered his suspicion was Cynthia’s earlier words—when she mentioned seeing a demon. He had never witnessed one himself, yet something in her tone, or perhaps the conviction in her eyes, had stayed with him.

[That’s what you call blind trust. Disgusting, Lucian. You’re really going to trust her now?]

Keal’s voice rang in his mind, grating against his thoughts and unsettling the brief sense of clarity he’d found in Cynthia’s words. Lucian pressed his lips together, unwilling to let Keal’s taunt derail his focus.

The elderly man’s voice broke through his inner conflict. "I’m glad you brought this to me. I’ll need a couple of days to determine its age, though. In the meantime, why not enjoy your stay in the capital?" The man chuckled and leaned in with a wink. "The women here are far better company than those on the battlefield."

Lucian forced a polite, if strained, laugh. "I’ll have to pass," he replied, sidestepping the man’s implication. It wouldn’t do any good to offend someone who had once been close to the emperor—a former general who had lost his legs in a brutal conflict against the Eldorians.

Victims everywhere, all because of your country, Princess Cynthia... and yet, I’m still considering treating you as my wife.

Lucian scoffed inwardly, mocking his own foolishness. He had never expected much from her, but neither had he imagined she could be as vile as the rumors or as ruthless as the remaining Eldorians he’d encountered.

If she’s remotely decent, that should be enough...

***

Standing alone in the corner of the hall, Cynthia quietly observed her surroundings. The party hall was noticeably smaller than the grand banquets she remembered attending in her previous life. Perhaps, back then, she had prioritized royal banquets over these smaller gatherings between nobles. Now, it struck her—she couldn’t quite recall that the nobles of Selvarys weren’t as wealthy as those in Eldoria after the war.

"But His Highness made a fortune out of it," she mused, glancing around. The mansion was grandly decorated with a few magic chandeliers on the ceiling, and this banquet hall was hardly any less opulent than those found in a royal palace.

Cynthia swirled the wine in her glass, savoring each small sip. But her contented expression faded as soon as she noticed a group of ladies heading in her direction, their eyes fixed on her. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Here we go... again.

She thought, stifling a sigh.

I was wondering why it had been so calm for the past few minutes.

She couldn’t help but remember what had happened earlier in the evening, the moment she had stepped into the hall. Almost immediately, everyone had flocked to her, starting with Countess Gionhard, who took it upon herself to introduce Cynthia to every noble present.

What followed was a barrage of questions—most concerning Lucian’s whereabouts. Cynthia had been tempted to make an excuse and flee, but she knew she couldn’t. Her presence was necessary, if only to maintain appearances, and she had to endure it long enough to make her attendance valuable. At least until everyone had properly greeted Count Gionhard’s son when the clock struck midnight.

It wasn’t uncommon for nobles to revel into the late hours of the night, but something about the lavish celebration unsettled her. Cynthia’s thoughts drifted back to the small alleys she passed on her way to the mansion, where commoners struggled to survive in the aftermath of the war. She had been so consumed by her plans for revenge that she had momentarily forgotten the harsh reality outside these opulent walls.

I truly have become selfish...

She mused, a bitter taste filling her mouth, the soft taste of wine fading.

"Your Highness? Are you listening?" A sneering woman demanded, side eyeing Cynthia.

"Yes?" The silver-haired young lady curled her lips into a smile.

"I was asking... Are you not expecting yet? This is the countess’ third child! Her first baby was born during her first year of marriage."

"Did you not have a first night?..." another of them chuckled, as if she would burst into laughter any moment.

"We did. It was..." Cynthia lied, placing a hand on her face, pretending to blush.

Technically, it isn’t a lie. What happened at the inn could count as our first night. And we will have it, today!

A bright smile formed on Cynthia’s lips as she recalled the words they had both agreed to—spending the night together tonight, as it would mark a week since that day.

"Is that so?" Countess Gionhard’s voice cut through the noise of the party as she gracefully maneuvered through the crowd of ladies, having just finished attending to other guests eager for her attention.

She always runs back to me every chance she gets, doesn’t she?

Cynthia clenched her jaw, suppressing her irritation at their petty remarks. These women have nothing better to do than meddle in others’ affairs.

"Ah, right. Before I forget—" the Countess chimed in, her voice laced with fake sweetness. "I haven’t seen His Highness yet. I thought he’d be here by now, joining you as soon as his work was done. After all, what kind of husband leaves his newly wedded wife alone at a banquet?"

"I noticed you arrived with another man..." another lady added, her gaze narrowing, disgust evident from her complexion.

Cynthia parted her lips to speak. Before she could explain about Dylan’s status, another lady spoke.

"Your Highness, no matter how..." The woman hesitated, her eyes scanning Cynthia from head to toe before continuing, "no matter how distant you and His Highness might be, you shouldn’t be seen with other men. It might be acceptable in your country, but here, such behavior is frowned upon."

Your country? As if this isn’t my country as well now!

Cynthia’s fingers tightened around her wine glass, though she tried to maintain a polite smile. But inside, their words stung.

They’re always quick to remind me that I don’t belong here, aren’t they?

Despite her best efforts, the comments continued, each one more biting than the last. The air seemed to grow heavier, and suddenly, the room around her blurred as memories from her past life flooded her mind. She could hear the mocking whispers of nobles from before, the way they had scorned her—much like now. The familiar feeling of isolation crept in, overwhelming her senses.

Hearing a loud gasp, Cynthia snapped out of her turmoiling thoughts. The lady before her was trembling in fear, her eyes widened and her shaking hands raised up.

"What do you think you are doing?!" Countess Gionhard shouted, and everyone’s attention shifted towards the grand duchess.

The music that played in the background came to a sudden stop. The nobles on the dance floor joined the crowd surrounding Cynthia.

Cynthia slowly shifted her violet gaze back to the lady in front of her, suddenly realizing she had pressed the sword she’d brought as a gift for the Countess’s son against the woman’s neck.

A soft sneer curled on her lips as she noticed the fear creeping into the lady’s eyes, her body trembling as if she might drop to her knees at any moment. It was the same expression Cynthia had longed to see on the faces of those who had tormented her in her past life. Yet, even now, it didn’t satisfy her as she had imagined.

"My, my. It seems old habits die hard," she chuckled, pulling the blade back before casually tossing it to the ground. "I..." She paused, considering for a moment. Did she really need to apologize? They were the ones who had provoked her, while she had only tried her best to get through the evening without causing a scene.

Good thing His Highness isn’t here. She sighed inwardly. My carefully crafted image of a refined and elegant lady would be ruined if he saw this. But at least I’ve silenced these women—for now.

The silver haired lady stepped toward the exit of the hall. She halted once she reached the doorway and turned to look behind.

The lady had indeed dropped on her knees. Although she wanted to laugh out loudly, she held back.

"Ah right. The sword was a gift for your third son, Countess Gionhard," she stated, with a bright smile.

The rumours were true... She is a madwoman!

That was the only thought that crossed everyone’s mind as they watched the grand duchess flash a bright grin right after holding a sword at someone’s neck, as if it were the most natural thing to do!

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