The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

Soon enough, the curious gazes surrounding the pair shifted to envy and laughter.

'Why is it that I always end up obeying this pale, radiant woman?'
Masera subtly pulled away upon feeling Cynthia’s arms around his waist. A certain troublesome signal that only men knew had stirred within him.
Somewhere along the way, a part of him—not his thoughts, but something else—had begun to betray him.

Was it simply because he was a man and she was a woman?
'Still, that’s never happened before.'
What was it about Cynthia that made her so different from all the women he’d met until now?

He clasped the hand resting on her back and paused in thought.
She was the woman he had intended to torment—yet she was the one tormenting him. She smiled as if untouched, skilled at pretending she wasn’t hurt.
Small and soft, yet unbreakable...

His dawn-like eyes drifted to the opal hairpin in her hair.
'She wears it every day. Does that mean she liked my gift? Maybe earrings next time…'
Realizing he had unconsciously been stroking her back, Masera hastily moved his hand away.

Just then, Cynthia tugged him back toward her and said,
“Carlos is going to be staying in the capital for a while. Seems like he’s talking marriage with that charming lady next to him.”
'That’s not true.' Carlos almost blurted out a correction.

In truth, Lady Valeria had been the one to express interest and send a marriage proposal. He hadn’t responded yet. He had only brought her as a partner to gauge Cynthia’s reaction.
“I’m Valeria Eldrin. That’s right, Prince Carlos and I have recently been discussing marriage,” Valeria said shyly, introducing herself to Masera.
Cynthia barely suppressed her revulsion at the word prince and forced a smile.

At that moment, a refined middle-aged woman appeared and offered a warm welcome.
“Thank you all for coming.”
It was Director Isaac’s wife.
She greeted each guest in turn, until her eyes landed on Cynthia.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Princess. I heard from my husband that he had an unforgettable meal at the government residence.”
Returning the greeting, Cynthia smiled faintly.
“Oh, the ratatouille?”

“He said he couldn’t replicate the flavor himself. You must share the recipe with me sometime.”
The director’s wife covered her mouth delicately as she laughed.
Cynthia studied the woman as she moved on to greet others.

The woman seemed especially fond of Helene, grasping her hand with a beaming smile.
“Princess Helene, wasn’t that hunting trip wonderful?”
“Of course. I was amazed by your marksmanship that day.”

The two clearly had a close rapport.
The director’s wife was a former soldier, skilled in shooting, and even ran a hunting club.
But for Cynthia, who flinched at the sound of gunfire, friendship with such a person was virtually impossible.

“It would be lovely if Cynthia could join our Hunting Deer Club sometime, don’t you think?”
Helene smiled as she extended the invitation.
In this country, which had long embraced hunting as tradition, social gatherings often revolved around it.

The Hunting Deer Club was an elite circle that every noble hoped to enter.
'She’s never even held a gun. I heard she once trembled just hearing gunshots while serving during a hunt.'
Whether she accepted or declined, either choice was difficult.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much skill…”
Helene clasped her hand before she could slip away.
“It’s not about skill. It’s about networking. You could even learn from the director’s wife.”

Helene was determined to back Cynthia into a corner.
“Even if you're not good at it, Princess, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll teach you myself. I do hope we’ll see each other often,” said the director’s wife kindly.
Cynthia swallowed dryly and managed a calm smile.

“All right. Thank you.”
There was no avoiding it forever. Eventually, she would have to overcome it.
Cynthia let out a quiet sigh.

* * *
After a light lunch, the guests moved toward the forest owned by the director for the hunting event.
Dressed in riding gear, Helene approached and whispered low.

“Cynthia, do you even know how to ride a horse?”
Of course not. A maid by birth wouldn’t have been taught equestrian skills.
Helene pointed toward a shaded resting tent.

“And you dislike sunlight, don’t you? Carlos told me. Why don’t you wait in the tent?”
She didn’t sound concerned in the slightest.
Soon, the others mounted their horses and rode into the snow-covered white woods, leaving Cynthia behind to sip tea under the canopy.

Well, there were still a few people around. She could chat over dessert—why not?
“Is it all right if I stay here?”
Masera approached, a shotgun strapped to his back. He looked concerned she might be startled by gunfire.

“You’re heading deep into the forest, right? If it gets too rough, I’ll go back to the villa.”
He nodded and left, and Cynthia quietly turned to admire the snowy landscape—when Carlos rode up on a dappled gray horse.
“Cynthia, how about a short ride? I’ll take you.”

“What about Lady Valeria?”
“She went ahead with her friends.”
He clearly had something to say.

Even if she refused, he would just keep pestering her, and with others watching, she nodded for now.
She could just ask him to ride slowly—slow enough that an umbrella could shield the sun.
“…Hm?”

That was when she realized her parasol was missing.
Had someone hidden it? She looked up and scanned the distance.
Sure enough, she spotted Helene riding off—holding her parasol.

'You parasol thief!'
She knew Cynthia was sensitive to sunlight and had deliberately stolen it.
Still, better stolen than lost. Cynthia scratched her cheek.

“I don’t think I can ride long. I’m already feeling a little motion sick.”
Carlos nodded and extended his hand.
Cynthia took it and climbed up behind him.

Carlos urged the horse forward at a slow, steady pace.
A short while later, they arrived at a side path near a frozen pond. Carlos dismounted.
Cynthia, with his help, dismounted as well and asked,

“What did you want to say?”
Throwing on his coat and affecting a serious tone, Carlos spoke.
“I just wanted to tell you that the marriage is probably unavoidable. I am, after all, the heir to the family.”

Why is he telling me this?
“Then go ahead and do it.”
Her flat reply prompted Carlos to approach and look down at her.

“I’ve said this before, but… why do you seem like a completely different person? You’re not yourself.”
Because I’m literally not.
“What does it mean to be ‘myself’?”

She shot back with a textbook rebellious line.
Carlos seized her wrist and pulled her close.
“Did you lose your memory or something?”

“What the…”
“I’m starting to think you’ve forgotten that I could have you executed at any moment.”
Ah. He meant the incident where the original Cynthia accidentally caused her father’s death.

Cynthia scowled.
“You think I’ve been cowering in fear because of that?”
“That’s exactly why I’m asking. You haven’t looked even remotely intimidated since you came to the capital.”

That was true.
She twirled her arm, trying to break free. It probably looked silly, so she stopped.
“Go ahead and report me. But I’m not going down alone.”

To do so, they’d have to reveal that she wasn’t really the Count’s daughter. That she wasn’t royalty. That the entire marriage scheme was a fraud.
“You think I’d tremble over such a one-dimensional threat?”
Her words hit the mark. Carlos clenched his jaw.

“What do you even want from me? Your fake father doesn’t seem to have any complaints. It’s like nothing’s wrong.”
Helene’s attitude was clear: How dare a maid pretend to be noble.
Edford’s was obvious too: Why did you smile at me if this was all fake?
But what about Carlos? Why was he so bitter?

“I don’t know, I just…”
Suddenly, he released her hand and took a step back. His own feelings seemed to conflict inside him.
“…I only brought it up because I was afraid you’d ruin everything out of spite.”

“As if. We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
Cynthia looked down at the cloudy surface of the ice pond, glinting with sunlight.
“People’s feelings change. Mine aren’t what they used to be.”

Carlos’s face twisted ever so slightly.
“So even if I marry someone else… it wouldn’t bother you?”
“Of course not.”

He stared at her, searching for even a flicker of insincerity.
What happened next was sudden.
Carlos yanked her into his arms.

She tried to break free in disgust, but he held her firmly.
“Let go of me!”
Crack.

She bit down on his arm—hard enough to draw blood—but he didn’t even flinch.
It was as if he were desperately trying to find the remnants of any emotion.
How long they stood like that, she didn’t know.

“…I see.”
His voice was hollow, and blood had soaked into his shirt.
“You’ve changed.”

He let [N O V E L I G H T] go, wearing an empty expression—before smiling faintly.
“Let’s go back.”
* * *

Meanwhile, some distance away, a few guests happened to witness the embrace between Cynthia and Carlos.
“Oh dear… that can’t be true.”
A woman, who had covered her mouth in shock, lowered her hand to reveal a delighted smirk creeping onto her lips.

“A national war hero, utterly devoted to his wife… and she’s cheating? With her own brother?”
Behind her stood Valeria, her face expressionless.