The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

Princess Margarita.
The last of the royal family—and now Count Queensguard’s wife.

Cynthia wore the exact same clear, radiant smile that the duke remembered from his childhood.
Count Queensguard leaned in and whispered quietly to the dumbstruck duke.
“Isn’t it fortunate? That the one being deceived is not Your Grace.”

“…How unexpected.”
Though a flicker of doubt passed through him, the more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed—why would anyone keep a royal descendant as a maid when she could be used in a high-profit marriage deal?
The duke composed his surprise and offered a polite smile.

“Lady Cynthia. May the gods bless your future.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Cynthia remained unaware that the duke had recognized her true identity.

Helene, lifting her champagne glass, approached Cynthia.
“Cindy, are you enjoying life in the capital?”
“Mm-hmm.”

Cynthia casually responded in informal speech.
Helene, still wearing a gentle smile, took her hand.
“How delightful that we’re now living in the same city.”

“Yeah, it’s great. Your Grace, is it okay if I visit my sister often?”
At Cynthia’s innocent question, the duke nodded.
“Of course. Come anytime.”

“Please take good care of my pretty sister. She might look like a haughty cat, but deep inside she’s soft like a little mouse.”
Helene’s expression shifted subtly.
‘Why does that sound irritating? Am I just being sensitive?’
She couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or a sly jab.

Still, the fabricated image of a warm family was surprisingly convincing—largely thanks to Cynthia’s natural and effortless behavior.
“Edford oppa, your nose got bigger. Is it still growing?”
“That’s so rude…!”

As Edford’s face flushed red, Cynthia leaned in and whispered into his ear.
“That’s how real siblings act. Keep up appearances.”
“Then why do you keep talking down to me?”

“Because we’re family now, right? I’m legally part of the family.”
“Ugh…”
He was just about to blurt out, “You’re just a lowly maid,” but swallowed the words. Saying that would spell doom for everyone involved.

Cynthia knew that perfectly well. That’s why she kept mocking them openly.
At that moment, Masera approached, holding a plate with a slice of cake, and came to stand beside Cynthia.
Edford, momentarily mesmerized by Masera’s broad shoulders and striking appearance in his formal uniform, stared blankly.

“Thank you all for coming. I hope you enjoy this reunion with your family.”
Masera was about to excuse himself with that simple greeting, but Cynthia looped her arm around his and kept him there.
“Darling, what took you so long?”

Darling?
Masera’s mouth shut in a thin line, then slowly relaxed as he sensed the people watching them.
He remembered Cynthia’s earlier command that they must appear as if they were hopelessly in love in front of her family.

Of course, he had no intention of playing along. Absolutely not.
Masera raised his chin with regal composure.
“There was strawberry cake over there.”

“Oh! That’s my favorite. You got it just for me? How sweet.”
Even though he had no such intent, Cynthia spun the situation that way.
She plucked a strawberry from Masera’s cake and popped it in her mouth.

Masera silently stared at his cake—now missing a strawberry.
‘…Irritating.’
And yet, she beamed at him as if nothing were wrong after committing what he considered a high crime.

“Is it good?”
“Yes! It’s even better because you gave it to me.”
Masera couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow being played.

Still, he was skilled at hiding his expressions.
From the outside, he simply looked like a man secretly fond of his fiancée.
“Cindy, you’ve gotten quite close, haven’t you?”

It was Carlos’s voice.
Masera’s eyes turned cold as he met Carlos’s hardened gaze.
He recalled the disturbing rumors he’d heard from Dalia—allegations of a scandal between Carlos and Cynthia.

They were unfounded, one-sided claims, but people rarely care about the truth.
Cynthia nodded, tightening her grip around Masera’s arm.
“Of course. He fell for me at first sight.”

'When did I ever?'
Instead of replying, Masera tensed his brow. Cynthia looked up at him and added,
“I did too. It was love at first sight.”

The moment she said it, a shiver ran through Masera’s body. It felt like something had lodged in his chest.
‘What a troublesome woman.’
Masera sighed and swept his bangs back.

Across the room, Count Queensguard quietly clicked his tongue and shook his head.
‘…Even Brigadier Visente is just a man in the end. Who would’ve thought he’d act so domesticated around Cynthia.’
He had already sensed Cynthia wasn’t ordinary after seeing how easily she manipulated Carlos and Edford.

Meanwhile, the duke, acting aloof, continued to scrutinize Masera and Cynthia closely.
'She changed him that much in such a short time?'
Having served with Masera during the war, he knew just how cold-blooded he was.

The Masera he knew would never give up a strawberry from his cake.
'It would be a waste to use her and throw her away.'
Narrowing his eyes, the duke stared at Cynthia.

If Masera ended up falling in love with her and then losing her—if he was crushed by that loss—that wouldn’t be such a bad outcome either.
* * *
As the banquet reached its peak, Cynthia, watching couples dance in the ballroom, nudged ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) Masera’s arm.

Masera, hiding his newly acquired strawberry cake behind his back, looked down at her.
“Please ask me to dance. The man’s supposed to lead.”
Hearing that, Masera tilted his head slightly.

Most nobles avoided being too direct; asking outright like this was unusual.
“What if I say no?”
“I’ll dance with another man. Maybe Eugene.”

Across the ballroom, Eugene—who had just made eye contact with Cynthia—instantly ducked behind Dalia.
Just then, someone approached and extended a hand toward her.
“Brigadier Visente. May I borrow Cindy for a moment?”

Carlos, wearing a warm smile, held out his hand to her.
Masera lowered his gaze and stared at him. Why had he been subtly challenging him all evening?
“You speak as if she’s an object.”

Carlos shook his head and smiled as if it were nothing.
“Of course not. She’s my dearest sister. I simply wanted to dance with her, since it’s been so long.”
Cynthia, watching the brewing tension between the two, furrowed her brow.

'What’s with Carlos? Did the cold freeze his brain?'
From what she remembered, Carlos had always been cold whenever she sought affection.
Only when she was about to give up did he suddenly act nice again.

'I’ll just go eat cookies with Eugene.'
She took a few steps toward Eugene—
And then felt a chill down her back.

At that exact moment—
CRASH!
A small chandelier hanging from the ceiling came loose and shattered on the floor.

“W-what was that?!”
People screamed in shock.
Cynthia realized the chandelier had fallen right where she had been standing. She swallowed hard.

Then she locked eyes with Masera, who stood behind her.
His hand was outstretched, his expression briefly startled—then quickly composed.
“As long as you’re unharmed.”

Excuse me?! Say something more than that!
Cynthia stared at him in disbelief.
Carlos rushed over, feigning concern.

“Cindy! Are you hurt anywhere?”
Luckily, no one was injured. After a brief moment to calm down, the banquet resumed.
A politician lifted his champagne glass and raised his voice.

“Ha ha, let’s lighten the mood. They say royal descendants have special abilities, don’t they? Lady, if your striking appearance comes with some special gift, would you be so kind as to show us?”
He was a common-born congressman—and a vocal opponent of the monarchy.
The crowd’s attention immediately turned toward her.

Sensing a chance to embarrass her, Edford stepped forward.
“Of course, Congressman. Cynthia possesses quite a remarkable ability.”
Count Queensguard’s face darkened, and he gave Cynthia a meaningful look.

It meant: we’ve come this far—better show them something.
'Right, there were some who openly resented the royal family.'
She had already researched the guest list thoroughly.

Cynthia smiled brightly and said,
“I’ll show you.”
She asked a servant to bring paper and a pen.

“Since I was young, I could often tell what people were thinking. I don’t know why.”
Holding the paper and pen, Cynthia made direct eye contact with the congressman.
He found himself oddly unsettled by her crimson eyes—like they were taking hold of him.

Then, her soft, lowered voice echoed in his mind.
“It means I can read your thoughts.”
His pupils trembled slightly.

'If you stake your life on something, be prepared to deceive the whole world.'
In Cynthia’s deep red eyes, a strange light flickered.