Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince
Chapter 29 — Do You Miss The Battlefield?

Chapter 29: 29 — Do You Miss The Battlefield?

Murmurs filled the hall as Cynthia bluntly interrupted the king, pushing through the crowd to join her brother.

"She... really is something else."

"The king can’t even say anything because she’s a princess. What kind of princess acts this rudely?"

"The rumors say that..."

The gossip continued, but Cynthia, the subject of their whispers, paid no mind. She was used to this kind of talk.

"How have you been?" Alistair asked with a gentle grin once they young couple had greeted him.

"I’m doing fine," Cynthia replied, flashing a bright smile, which only deepened Lucian’s confusion.

"Is she really doing well?" Lucian wondered.

He felt uneasy about Cynthia’s response to her brother. He feared another war could break out if she voiced any complaints, even though there was nothing to complain about.

No one had mistreated her, no one had hit her, she wasn’t starving, and she was well-dressed with maids attending to her every need.

"And you, Grand Duke, how have you been since we last met?" Alistair’s tone shifted, losing the tenderness he had shown Cynthia.

"I’ve been well. And you?" Lucian replied.

"I’ve been missing my sister dearly. She’s not used to living without us, you see."

"Us?" Lucian raised an eyebrow.

At that moment, the young man Lucian had noticed earlier with Cynthia appeared behind Alistair, casually draping his arm over Alistair’s shoulder.

Looking closer, Lucian could see the resemblance to the king, though this man had a different air about him.

"How have you been, my dear squirrel?" the man teased.

Cynthia maintained her smile, though the nickname irritated her. The last thing she wanted was for Lucian to hear such an embarrassing name.

"I need to talk to you," she said, grabbing the man by the arm and pulling him aside, leaving Lucian and Alistair alone.

"That... man—" Lucian began, but the blonde-haired man in front of him cut him off.

"Prince Vincent. My brother."

So, he wasn’t her lover. Of course, who would want to be with a woman like her? Lucian thought bitterly.

"I’ll go greet some other guests if you may excuse me," Lucian said, bowing slightly before walking away.

"Hmm... no complaints?" Alistair was surprised his sister didn’t complain about anything. Has no one tried to harm her ever since she arrived? Or... as always, she was acting strong on her own?

He couldn’t be surprised if she had hid everything from him. He did tell her he would wage war again if they were to harm her.

"Cynthia is too kind for her own good. But I won’t sit back and watch you suffer," he mumbled, his gaze following Lucian who was surrounded by a group of young noblemen.

Among the crowd, he specifically stood out due to his taller figure compared to the other men around him.

"What’s going on here?" Alistair asked, stepping toward Cynthia and Vincent, who appeared to be in a tense discussion.

"Brother!" they both exclaimed, turning to him with sharp looks.

"What?" Alistair said, sensing the tension.

"Tell him to stop calling me that nickname. I’m not a child anymore, and it’s inappropriate," Cynthia said calmly but firmly, arms crossed.

Vincent smirked, but his tone was more controlled. "She’ll always be a squirrel to me. No matter how much she tries to act all grown up, I still see it."

"I’m not the same person I was back then, Vincent. It’s time you realized that," Cynthia replied, her voice steady but with a hint of frustration.

Vincent raised an eyebrow, amused but more reserved now. "Maybe not, but you’ve still got that same stubborn streak. It’s almost endearing."

"Brother, if he keeps this up, I’m serious—he won’t be welcome at the wedding reception," Cynthia said, her tone unwavering as she turned her back on him.

"What!?" Vincent blinked in surprise.

"You heard her," Alistair said, with a subtle smirk, gesturing toward the door. "If you can’t respect her, maybe you should reconsider attending."

Vincent sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You both always gang up on me, don’t you? I guess I’m the outsider here."

He glanced sideways at them, but they remained unphased.

"Alright, fine. I’m sorry," Vincent muttered, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Cynthia. "Don’t stay mad, alright? I came here just for you."

Cynthia softened, her expression relaxing. She knew Vincent didn’t handle her anger well, and despite everything, she valued his presence.

"You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, Vincent," she said with a small smile. "But I guess we all do."

Vincent chuckled, his grip on her tightening slightly. "Runs in the family, doesn’t it?"

The mood shifted as the siblings exchanged a quiet look, the weight of their unspoken grief for their parents settling between them.

It had been a decade. Just before the war broke out, they lost their parents in a carriage accident.

But Cynthia had later discovered the bitter truth. It wasn’t an accident—it was murder. An assassination.

Inhaling deeply, she gently pushed her brother’s arms away.

"Let’s not dwell on the past. The banquet’s waiting," she said softly, offering a faint smile.

Taking both of her brothers by the hand, she led them toward the center of the grand hall, where nobles were chatting and some had already started dancing.

"... Cynthia. Isn’t it rude for them to be dancing without the main couple?" Vincent muttered, his eyebrows twitching at the sight.

Though Vincent rarely attended banquets, even he knew basic etiquette, and seeing the guests break it so blatantly annoyed him.

"They’re obviously trying to mock me and Lucian," Cynthia thought, biting her lip as her eyes scanned the crowd for her husband.

She couldn’t afford to let things spiral out of control, not like in the past. She couldn’t let anyone know her marriage wasn’t as solid as it appeared.

"They will..." she mumbled, her voice trailing off as anxiety tightened in her chest.

"What’s wrong?" came Lucian’s voice, as if he had materialized from thin air.

Without hesitation, she grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor.

Lucian, momentarily perplexed, followed her lead and began dancing, though Cynthia remained quiet.

After a while, Lucian broke the silence.

"Why did you tell your brother you were well?"

"Am I not?" she replied with a sarcastic tone, meeting his gaze briefly before he looked away.

"How am I supposed to know?" he said, frustration evident in his tone. "I thought you’d complain. You’ve lived an extravagant life, after all. You haven’t touched any of the Duchy’s funds yet. We have plenty, so feel free to spend as you please."

"Hah," Cynthia scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Your Highness, I said I was alright because I don’t want another war. Do you? Do you miss the battlefield that much? Are you so eager to die? I, for one, don’t want to see MY people die for foolish reasons." She paused, biting her lip hard enough to draw color to it. "And I’m not—"

She cut herself off, swallowed her words, and abruptly left the dance floor, leaving Lucian standing alone, confused by her sudden reaction.

She always maintained a good complexion and composure until now. Lucian couldn’t help but wonder why she suddenly became agitated like that.

Cynthia rushed to the terrace, her breath catching in her throat as she stared out into the dark, obscure night.

I... DAMN IT! I lost control!

She inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, trying to steady the storm of emotions swirling within her.

She knew the chaos that was about to unfold. She knew future events had yet to happen due to her past life. But for once, she didn’t feel like stopping the danger that was yet to come.

Was it selfish of her?

Maybe.

But she was tired.

Tired of protecting everyone, only to be used as a tool, like she had been on the battlefield.

Here, in this new land, they didn’t even treat her as a person. She was more like a plant—something to be watered and placed in the sun but never truly seen. They neglected the most important fact: she wasn’t a plant.

She was human.

"What are you doing here alone?" a familiar voice asked from behind.

"Leave me alone, Arlot," the silver-haired young woman sighed.

"You didn’t even look back," Arlot chuckled.

Hearing no reply from Cynthia, the white-haired man coughed to break the brief silence.

"I’d love to let you enjoy your time alone, but you asked me to bring you this. Also, you look... strange tonight," Arlot remarked, extending a dagger towards her.

"Strange, huh? How?" Cynthia asked, taking the blade into her hands.

"I’m not sure..." Arlot sighed. "Just... you’re not yourself tonight."

Cynthia examined the dagger and nodded.

"This is good," she whispered, loud enough for Arlot to hear.

"Did you even hear me?" Arlot’s tone shifted, irritated.

"Hear what?" she asked, looking his way.

"Never mind. You rarely listen to me," he mumbled.

"Oh! And you really should tell me everything you need in advance. You keep making me run errands," he complained, but Cynthia was too lost in her thoughts to hear him.

This time... I need to find that person, no matter what.

Cynthia clenched her fist around the dagger as she resolutely turned toward the door leading to the banquet hall.

Soon, screams echoed from the room, and the sound of shattering glass reached even the terrace, where Cynthia stood, though it was quite far away.

"It seems like it’s here," she chuckled, her expression shifting to an amused one.