Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince-Chapter 93 — His Care

"I am— was a princess, Your Highness," Cynthia simply responded to her soft tone from earlier, turning as cold as the man who sat before her.

Lucian stared at her, unable to find words to say. His mind had turned blank. It had been happening for the past few days whenever he thought of her; however, it only worsened whenever Cynthia stood in front of him.

The young woman sitting before him exceeded his comprehension. At times, she seemed to be the most elegant, king lady and the next, she would turn into an emotionless, cold-natured woman— almost as if the rumours about her were not lies but the truth. Yet, instead of believing those, he for once wanted to know her— her true self. She had masked her true self behind the mask of kindness or evilness because surely, she couldn’t be both at once.

"You are now the Duchess of Erion," Lucian finally said, breaking the unbearable silence which had begun to strangle him as if the air had been polluted with the scent of blood. For a reason he couldn’t understand, he did not like the sound of her calling herself a princess, which was in the past, compared to using her new title– duchess. Despite initially being against others’ calling her grand duchess, he had started to prefer the sound of that compared to ’Princess Cynthia’.

Cynthia’s eyes widened at his unexpected statement.

He had never— never acknowledged me as the Duchess of Erion...

At a loss for words, Cynthia merely stared at Lucian. Her mind was filled with questions she couldn’t articulate.

"Uhm... yes," she tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I haven’t denied that fact." freewebnøvel_com

The two exchanged glances, only to quickly avert their eyes. They remained silent for a moment before Lucian spoke up.

"I saw the document you prepared for the cost of repairing the market."

"Is that so? How was it?" Cynthia’s tone shifted to a softer register.

"It was good," Lucian managed to reply. He noted how casually she altered her tone, which shocked him. He knew she was putting on an act, yet something inside him felt uneasy whenever she spoke to him in that cold and distant manner. It was as if she was pushing him away, just as she had a few days earlier when he had spoken to her harshly.

Why do I care whether she gets mad or not?

Lucian sighed, rising from his seat.

"Where are you going, Your Highness?"

"Well... I needed to return to work, but then I saw you at the door. So, I thought we should discuss whatever you had to say."

"And what is your answer?"

"Answer to what?"

"Attending His Majesty’s wedding," Cynthia barely managed to control her words, which threatened to turn into harsh criticism or curses.

"I... Erion is a mess right now. I don’t think—"

"Three days," Cynthia interrupted him. "Just three days," she repeated, her voice almost a whisper.

"I will try my best..."

Just as Lucian was about to step out, his gaze fell on Cynthia’s ankle wrapped in white cloth. He frowned, displeased by the sight.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, his voice taking on a commanding tone that demanded an answer.

"Ah," Cynthia gasped. She had almost forgotten about the injury she sustained during her battle with the demon. She struggled to suppress the urge to laugh. After all, he had been present that day and had seemed indifferent to her wound. He was too preoccupied with other matters, and she was probably no more than a ghostly figure to him.

Why does he always act like he cares?

"It’s a minor injury," she forced a smile, attempting to dispel the bitterness forming within her.

Lucian sighed, removing his coat. He draped it over the couch beside her and knelt on the floor. He placed his hand near her feet to examine her injury, but just then, Cynthia swatted his hand away with a rough shove, her motion stronger than necessary. It was an instinctive reaction, almost as if he carried some contaminating disease.

He looked up at her, bewildered, trying to understand her sudden intense reaction.

Her eyes widened briefly—it wasn’t surprise—but rather fear.

As he struggled to find the right words, Cynthia sprang to her feet, moving before she could think.

"I-I’m fine. Let’s..." She paused, not finishing her sentence, and stormed out of the bedroom.

"What’s wrong with her?" Lucian frowned, staring at his hand.

She was the one who usually initiated physical contact, so why had she pushed him away just now? Did he do something wrong? He surely didn’t—not the way she did. He was simply checking her injury because he didn’t want her to be hurt—

Lucian shook his head.

It shouldn’t matter if she was injured. So why did he feel uneasy upon realizing she might have been hurt the day he had acted so harshly with her? He had tried to turn a blind eye to it then; however, once he noticed the wound was still there, he realized it might have been serious.

And like a fool, I blamed her.

As if he had finally unraveled a long-standing riddle, his expression softened.

"That explains why her demeanor has been so cold and distant for the past few days," he whispered.

***

Rushing through the hallway, Cynthia had only one thought in mind. She needed to reach her bedroom as swiftly as possible.

Her chest tightened as bitterness coursed through her.

Why does he pretend to care now?

She wondered, her jaw clenched tight. He didn’t concern himself with her injury when she was in pain that day, but now he tried to show her concern for it.

Hypocrite.

She never imagined she would one day think this way of Lucian—the god of war—the man who had rescued countless souls from demons and the one whom she had adored blindly in her past life. However, his actions only left her more bewildered. She couldn’t comprehend him. Not anymore. It seemed the man she once knew was gradually fading, leaving another stranger in his place. The Lucian she remembered wasn’t so nurturing.

"Ah," she gasped, halting her steps.

"That book," she whispered in a low tone.

Turning on her heel, Cynthia hurried to the library. Sifting through the pile of volumes she had left strewn across the floor for the servants to reorganize on the shelves, she searched for a specific title, almost desperately.

"It’s here," she murmured, fumbling through the pages.

[Ways to express love: 7. Care.]

That single word seemed to convey more than she could grasp without seeing those letters inscribed in the book. A soft chuckle escaped her, soon transforming into laughter. Anyone overhearing her might mistake her for a madwoman—and perhaps she was—but she finally began to take her first step toward revenge. The satisfaction she felt was beyond words and far better than she could have anticipated.

With the book clutched tightly in her hands, Cynthia felt a surge of determination. She turned back towards her bedroom, her mind racing with possibilities.

Did he begin to like her? Perhaps even love her? The very word that had once repulsed her now loomed as a powerful weapon in her arsenal—one she planned to wield against the man who had neglected her in her past life until her last breath.

As she reached her door, she paused.

Should she confront him now, or would it be better to wait for the right moment? Numerous plans began to form. She could draw him in, make him think she was softening, only to reveal her true intentions when he least expected it. Or she could also declare her love for him, making sure he was convinced of her feelings until she revealed the bitter truth to him. She had always thought how unfair it was that she was the only one who would remember the hell she lived in her past life.

Even her brother, Alistair, had no recollection of his harsh behavior toward her. It would be a lie to say she did not hold a grudge against him. But she watched him take arrows, getting himself stabbed for her on the battlefield. After witnessing such care, she had to give up on her initial plans to make him suffer as well.

Stepping inside her room, she walked to the window, looking down at the carriage Lucian entered. She clenched the book in her hands tightly, her resolve hardening. She would not let him manipulate her feelings any longer.

Hearing footsteps approaching her room, Cynthia quickly placed the book inside her desk’s drawer.

"Your Highness," Elise called out.

"What brings you here?"

"His Highness asked me to assist you in case you need something," the red-haired young woman grinned

Cynthia raised an eyebrow, hardly able to believe her words.

"Did he?"

"Do you not believe me?" Elise frowned. "Doubting me means doubting the grand duke because I am one of his personal maids, Your Highness," the smirk on Elise’s face grew wider.

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