Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince-Chapter 79 — He Returned

Once Cynthia’s carriage arrived at the mansion, she stepped out without waiting for Dylan to escort her out of the carriage.

She hurried through the hallways, her footsteps quick and deliberate, while the curious gazes of the servants followed her every move.

"Her Highness is back?"

"She seems strange tonight..."

"I’ve never seen her like this..."

"Did someone anger her?"

They whispered among themselves, undoubtedly wondering what had happened at the party to cause such a rush.

Reaching her bedroom, she slammed the door shut behind her with a loud thud.

She looked around, disoriented as if she didn’t recognize her own bedroom’s settings. Her hands trembled as she fumbled through the desk drawer, desperately searching for her diary. She needed something to ground herself, something to hold on to after everything that had happened.

Flipping through the pages, her eyes skimmed the clumsy notes, her lips quivering with frustration. She had always been so precise in her planning, so careful with every detail. But tonight, it had all fallen apart.

"How could I let this happen?" she muttered to herself, the words dripping with disbelief. She had planned everything so meticulously, yet the moment those vile ladies started their harassment, her composure had crumbled.

"Weren’t you ready to face them?" she whispered, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Why did you lose control like that?"

She sank into the chair, burying her face on the table, despair weighing her down. Her mind was a swirl of thoughts, regret gnawing at her insides as she replayed the night’s events in her head.

After a few moments of silence, she lifted her head, her eyes catching on the calendar hanging on the wall. The circled date jumped out at her—a reminder of what tonight was supposed to be. The night she would spend with Lucian. freewebnøvel_com

"Did he run away?" she scoffed bitterly, the thought sending a pang of resentment through her.

With a sigh, she flipped back through her diary, her fingers moving faster now. She stopped at an old entry, one written on her 17th birthday. The handwriting was messy, the ink smudged with the tears she had tried so hard to hide.

Duke Ramsel, my uncle. My late mother, Queen Irina’s brother. He... he betrayed her. Will he betray me too? For the first time, I’ve seen it in his eyes—the contempt I dreamed everyone had for me, he had it too. But... aren’t we family? How could he do this? Even if he hates me, what about Mother? Why did he kill her?

Cynthia’s jaw clenched as the painful memory resurfaced. She had never forgotten that day—it had been the day she vowed to take revenge on everyone responsible for ruining her life. The day she decided to stop being weak.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she traced the words with her finger, the ink long dried but the pain still fresh. Had anything really changed since then? Here she was, still trying to keep Lucian by her side, desperately clinging to the hope that he might stay.

If he’s not on my side, shouldn’t I just leave him and make a new plan? The thought gnawed at her mind, but she quickly shook it off.

"No," she murmured. "It’s too late for that now. His Majesty would never allow our divorce. Just like in my past life..."

The memory of the party replayed in her mind, vivid and sharp. The king’s voice had cut through the tension-filled air like a blade, sharp and mocking.

"So, you’ve been requesting an audience with me?" His voice had been laced with cruel amusement.

"Y-Your Majesty, please stop His Highness from wanting a divorce. I don’t want to..." Cynthia’s voice had been weak, almost breaking under the weight of her fear and desperation.

"That won’t happen," a voice had assured her. "He won’t dare divorce you. It’s all talk."

"H-How do you know that?" Cynthia had asked, her brow furrowed in confusion, waiting for an answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.

The king had simply laughed, the sound echoing in the grand hall. To him, she had been no more than a fool playing at a game far too dangerous for her to win.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Cynthia slammed the diary shut, the sharp sound breaking the heavy silence of the room.

How could she have thrown away everything she had meticulously planned, all because of a fleeting, useless emotion?

Her revenge was supposed to begin tonight, establishing her place among the nobles of Erion, all while keeping her high status. She had crafted her role perfectly—acting like their friend, only to ruin them from within. This was the moment she had been preparing for, and she had lost control at the worst possible time.

After all her progress, after carefully positioning herself for this, she had let her anger unravel everything she had worked so hard to achieve. One misstep, and the evening had crumbled into chaos. All her efforts to maintain composure and execute her plan had slipped through her fingers like sand.

She stood abruptly, pacing the room, her mind racing. Her gaze fell once again on the calendar. The circled date mocked her, a reminder of tonight’s failure—almost as if it cursed her.

Lucian... What exactly is he doing at the capital?

They were supposed to talk tonight, to make sense of everything that had happened between them. But she had let the evening spiral out of control.

Had he given up on her? Was he rethinking his promise to give her a chance as his wife?

She had urged Philip to at least tell her where he went before he fully spilled that Lucian went to the capital. However, even he didn’t know the reason. Apparently, he merely came home to pack a few clothes only to leave the next hour.

She sighed, biting her nails as she tried to think of a solution on how to stop rumours from spreading about her behaviour tonight at the party. However, nothing to her mind.

Her chest tightened at the thought. Lucian rarely tolerated public scenes, and she knew he especially loathed chaos at parties—especially hers.

What if Dylan told him about the incident? It’s not impossible for him to use teleportation and visit His Highness at the capital... No. That won’t be happening.

Cynthia shook her head, trying to steady herself although her chest clenched tightly.

He might hate me... but he wouldn’t go that far... right?

Her fingers brushed the edges of the diary again, but this time she closed it gently, reminding herself that her past mistakes didn’t define her. The mistake of being weak and tolerant of everything the Selvarians had done to her wouldn’t be repeated. She had come too far to let this slip. If Lucian confronted her, she would stand stronger this time.

As if in answer to her thoughts, a loud bang came from outside her door.

"Open the door, Your Highness." Lucian’s voice was clear and commanding, cutting through the silence.

Cynthia froze, her head tilting slightly as her eyes narrowed. Was she daydreaming again? Lucian rarely raised his voice, though there were moments when his tone became louder, almost as if he were on the verge of shouting at her.

"Yes?" she whispered, her hand slowly reaching for the door but hesitating to open it.

"Open the door," he ordered again, his voice sharp, strained, as though he was fighting to keep control.

Reluctantly, Cynthia opened the door, her gaze immediately drawn up to meet his.

Lucian stood before her, sweating despite the cold evening air. He was dressed in his thick long coat, his cheeks tinged with pink from the chill, and his emerald eyes burned as they locked onto hers. His gaze had always been intense, but this was different. It unsettled her—he rarely made such direct eye contact with her before.

And now, as he stared at her, the only thought that crossed her mind was: What is he doing here? Did he return?

Before she could gather her thoughts, Lucian let out a deep, frustrated sigh, running a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back.

"What do you think you were doing back there?" he demanded, his voice tight, his teeth gritted as though he were suppressing his anger, trying desperately to keep his voice low.

"I—I..." she stammered, her mind going blank under his piercing gaze.

What could she say? She didn’t even have an answer for herself. No matter how much she had tried to calm down earlier, Lucian’s reaction made it clear—his disappointment was palpable. His hatred for her had resurfaced, and everything she had worked so hard to rebuild was about to collapse.

Lucian let out another exasperated breath, tilting his head back in frustration. "Hah... Don’t bother," he muttered, his voice filled with cold resignation. "I don’t want to hear it." His glare cut into her, leaving no room for excuses.

"Y-Your Highness," Cynthia’s lips trembled, but she forced a smile. "How... How come you’re here? I heard... no, um, please, come inside?" she asked hesitantly, clenching her fists, trying to steady her racing heart that felt as if it might burst from her chest.

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