The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

The duke, whose expression had remained delicately poised on a subtle edge, finally broke into a perfect smile. With the characteristic graciousness of nobility, he said,

“How amusing. I suppose there’s a reason people say some can read others’ inner thoughts.”
It was just that he’d been through war and become quick-witted. If you lacked that kind of awareness during wartime, you died.
He offered his hand in a polite escort.

“It’s nearly time for the evening banquet anyway. Why don’t we go together? I expect the brigadier will join us there directly. I’ve been wanting to speak with the princess.”
Though it was obvious he had some ulterior motive—like snatching the dress earlier—there was little hope of finding Masera in this vast mansion, so she decided she might as well go eat.
“The brigadier tends to be rather indifferent by nature. Doesn’t that bother you?”

At the duke’s question, she shook her head immediately.
Even if her identity were exposed, Cynthia needed to stay on good terms with Masera so he would say, ‘I’ve grown too fond of her to kill her… I’ll just pretend not to know.’
The duke added,

“Well, he did grow up as a war orphan. His entire worldview would be different from those of us raised as nobles.”
She fell silent for a moment, looking at him.
Why is he telling me this? Just thinking about the hardships Masera must have endured stirred a faint ache in her chest.

She answered calmly.
“If you accept that people are different from you, then there’s nothing to be hurt by. Conflict always starts from differing opinions, after all.”
Of course, she didn’t speak her true feelings. She phrased it in a polished way, as if she were someone deeply understanding—just as the duke wanted, since he was clearly expecting her to pity Masera.

The duke met her eyes.
“Acceptance… I’d like to hear more about that.”
Honestly, she didn’t know much—she had only read it in a relationship advice book once. But the duke was now looking at her like a university professor who had just discovered a brilliant student.

“People live different lives, so their personalities, tendencies, values, and priorities all differ. Even their tastes, down to something like food. Accepting and adjusting to those differences is what we call ‘understanding.’ Speaking of which, I can’t help but remember something from back home. Back when I was in the northern region during the midwinter…”
She launched into a long, rambling anecdote, like a talkative baseball player known for going off-topic.
Her goal was to keep talking until they reached the banquet, to avoid being asked any difficult questions.
“…Understanding.”

The duke, in a thoughtful tone, nodded as he murmured the word. Then he turned to her with a soft smile.
“The brigadier has found himself an excellent partner.”
He really seemed to care about Masera.

He kept bringing him up, and even his subtle expressions changed whenever the topic came around.
Could it be that the reason he stole the dress was…?
Cynthia suddenly imagined the duke ripping their wedding photo in half and pasting Masera’s half onto one of himself. She shuddered.

Please, imagination, don’t do this to me.
* * *
By the time they arrived at the banquet hall, the Queensguard family was already seated, along with several noblewomen with elegant yet cold black hair.

Their eyes, all green in subtly different hues, focused on Cynthia.
‘These three are seriously intimidating.’
Cynthia shrank back slightly under their cold stares.

“Please, sit.”
The Grand Madam gestured toward her.
The duke pulled out a chair and said,

“I brought the princess myself so we could share some conversation along the way.”
“Is that so? Judging from her expression, it must have been an enjoyable talk.”
Cynthia naturally had a bright expression, but the Grand Madam assumed that her misunderstanding about the dress had been cleared up since the two had arrived together.

Which had, of course, been the duke’s intention.
Helene glanced at Cynthia and the duke, then gave the barest nod.
‘Was it really necessary to make excuses to a maid pretending to be nobility?’

She had already sensed that the two hadn’t simply been talking about the dress.
Soon after, Masera returned, snowflakes still clinging to his coat shoulders.
Cynthia leaned toward him and whispered,

“Where were you? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
In truth, she hadn’t looked for him at all. But she spoke as though she had searched the entire mansion high and low.
“Why are you always so eager to know everything?”

He kept his voice low as well.
“Can’t I?”
“It would be better if you respected my privacy.”

Masera replied coolly as he pulled off his damp gloves.
The duke’s comment about a ‘hidden lover,’ Masera’s blunt and detached response—all of it might have sparked suspicion or disappointment in someone else.
A typical female lead in a regret-driven romance would’ve grown timid and nursed her hurt feelings.

But Cynthia didn’t dwell on it.
‘He must’ve been out secretly building a snowman. I’ll go # Nоvеlight # add some buttons later.’
She smiled quietly to herself, imagining Masera crouched in some corner, crafting a tiny snowman.

And so, the meal began.
Both families had gathered, so everyone wore polite smiles—though a slight tension hung in the air.
“I’ve prepared a special dish from my hometown.”

With the Grand Madam’s announcement, a bizarre pie appeared on the table, strange in form, with sardine heads poking out. Their vacant stares looked like they were gasping for help, as if they had just emerged from the depths of a swamp.
The Queensguard family’s faces showed subtle signs of discomfort at the sight of the grotesque dish.
‘Is this an insult? A test?’

The count hesitated, then picked up his fork.
Still, it was polite to try the food and say something about it.
Just then, Cynthia took a bite without hesitation and spoke first.

“Oh, this is…”
‘Please don’t say anything stupid—just shut up!’
The count gave her a sharp look of warning, but Cynthia smiled brightly and continued.

“The presentation is humble and the ingredients seem mismatched, but surprisingly, it’s well-balanced and delicious.”
The count, who had been watching the Grand Madam’s reaction, looked shocked. Edford spoke up in his place.
“How dare you call the dish the Grand Madam served humble? This is a gourmet dish eaten by Medeian nobles!”

Cynthia smiled sweetly.
“It’s not gourmet. It’s a commoner’s dish.”
“Why would high-ranking nobles eat commoner food? Think, will you?”

Edford muttered openly. He was secretly hoping Cynthia would expose her ignorance and be cast out by Masera.
“Cynthia, don’t judge by appearances. Even a child’s crude doodle can turn out to be a masterpiece of great value.”
Helene feigned politeness as she jabbed at Cynthia’s lack of knowledge.

Cynthia shook her head.
“Helene, this is ‘Sardine Pie That Sees the Stars,’ a dish from a port village. When snowstorms made fishing impossible and people were starving, a brave fisherman pushed through the storm to bring back sardines. This dish was created to honor him.”
The moment she finished speaking, the eyes of the Grand Madam and the black-haired ladies widened in surprise.

“How does the princess know that? This was our childhood festival dish. You rarely see it these days—hardly anyone even remembers it. Are you particularly interested in Medeia?”
For the first time, the Grand Madam’s cold demeanor melted into a voice tinged with excitement.
“I’ve always held Medeia in deep admiration and respect. The tea culture is splendid, and there’s such rich cultural accessibility. The civility, the chivalry, the concern for the vulnerable—it’s all so admirable. Now that I think of it, the elegance and refinement you and the other noblewomen carry must be the embodiment of Medeia itself.”

Cynthia spoke smoothly, listing off everything she had studied.
Of course, she left out the stories of the country’s brutal colonial exploitation.
In truth, after hearing that Helene’s mother-in-law was from the Medeian royal branch, Cynthia had devoured every book she could find on the subject.

Her original goal was to win over Helene’s in-laws, but as she read, she realized the country resembled one from her past life and became genuinely curious. She’d even begged Masera to take her there for their honeymoon.
Of course, that awful man had ignored her entirely.
‘Eugene also has black hair and green eyes like the Medeian nobles…’

“How…”
The Grand Madam’s green eyes glistened slightly. She was trying hard to maintain her composure while suppressing her emotions.
Cynthia saw the faint furrow in her brow—an expression of deep feeling—and thought,

‘She must miss her homeland. She married abroad, after all.’
Even the fact that she’d invited her sisters to the ducal estate made that obvious.
It was like when a foreigner in a strange land hears someone praise Korea, saying “Korea is the best!” and compliments the taste of kimchi and doenjang—there’s no way they wouldn’t feel moved.

“We’re thinking of going to Medeia for our honeymoon. As you may know, the circumstances until now haven’t really allowed for it… so finally being able to visit the place I’ve dreamed of is such a joy.”
Cynthia’s bittersweet smile and soft-spoken words struck the noblewomen with a sense of human empathy, sympathy, and compassion they couldn’t resist.
“I have a villa in the north. The coastline and landscape are magnificent.”

“No, you must go to the capital! I’ll arrange a reservation at one of the royal hotels.”
“Nonsense. We’re family now, aren’t we? You should be guests of the palace. I’ll notify the royal court myself…”
The noblewomen began competing to secure Cynthia’s honeymoon lodging.

‘…We’re not even going on a honeymoon.’
As he quietly sliced into his sardine pie, Masera swallowed the fish—and his reluctant disappointment—together.