Chapter 39

Massera, who had settled on the sofa, felt the presence of someone and opened his eyes.

The moment he saw Cynthia looking down at him, he hurriedly covered his eyes with a cushion.

“I’m not wearing the one we looked at earlier. I changed into mine.”

Only after she confirmed it was just an ordinary set of sleepwear did Massera relax and lower the cushion.

“What troublesome favor are you going to ask for this time?”

Having always gone along with her requests, Massera asked in a stern tone.

‘Don’t tell me she’s going to ask me to wear my uniform again.’

Cynthia, glancing down at him lost in thought, smiled faintly with her hands behind her back.

“Isn’t it unfair that you’re the only one sleeping on the sofa? You should sleep in the bed tonight.”

“What kind of man lets his wife sleep on the sofa?”

“I’m not that kind of wife though.”

He stared at Cynthia, who was smiling sweetly and not backing down one bit.

If she entered politics, she’d no doubt become a major figure. He thought to himself as he sat up.

“Is it because you can’t sleep?”

“Look at the ceiling above the bed. I just noticed that mural today.”

He calmly looked at the ceiling mural Cynthia was pointing at.

It depicted a bizarre figure with numerous eyes and multiple wings. Beneath it were the words, “Do not be afraid.”

“Apparently this room used to belong to the Medeian princess who married abroad. Didn’t she have nightmares looking at that?”

At Cynthia’s comment, Massera smoothed his tousled hair and looked at her again.

“Are you talking about the angel painting?”

“That thing that looks like a bomber covered in barnacles is an angel? The angels I know don’t look like that… they’re cuter and more adorable…”

“That’s the true form of angels as depicted in doctrine. So, what do you want me to do about it?”

Cynthia carefully sat down beside him and said—

“You know so much! That’s amazing! Then please tell me more about the angels in doctrine.”

Massera came to the conclusion that she was probably scared of the angel painting.

“Stop whining and go lie down on the bed.”

At his indifferent tone, Cynthia’s face grew increasingly sullen.

Seeing her like that, Massera added—

“...I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea.”

Cynthia, now cheerful again, went over and lay down on the bed.

In the end, he pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down, telling her about the angels his mother used to describe to him as a child.

“Aha, so the reason angels have so many eyes is so they can save more people? It’s not meant to be scary at all then.”

Massera looked down at Cynthia, who lay in bed chattering away, and thought—

‘I feel like I’ve become a father.’

With a sigh, he asked her—

“Are you perhaps afraid of sleeping alone?”

With her eyes only slightly open, Cynthia answered him.

“It’s not that I can’t sleep alone. It’s just, I feel more at ease when someone’s there. Anyway, thank you. I’ve always felt it’s such a blessing to have someone who’ll stay by your side, so…”

Cynthia’s hazy eyes slowly shut, and her breathing became soft and steady.

Watching her sleep, he gently touched her round forehead.

Then he caught sight of the necklace around her neck and reflexively pulled his hand back.

For that necklace was both the reason and justification for why he had to treat her so coldly.

“If it’s to save my daughter, I’ll do anything.”

The image of the woman holding her daughter in her arms, hair frozen from the icy wind, was still vivid in his memory.

Even after wandering countless battlefields, he had never seen such a grim and blindly determined expression.

From what he recalled, the daughter had been gravely ill, and the mother had to set off far away to find the child’s father.

Before she was taken away for the crime of aiding the royal family’s escape, Massera’s mother hid him in a closet and said—

“God has given you the eyes of an angel—to see the world from afar and watch over others. So please, don’t live a life blinded by revenge.”

But for Massera, who had barely become an adult in such a ruined world, keeping his mother’s dying wish was no easy feat.

“It’s natural to want to blame someone when something bad happens. But remember—this isn’t anyone’s fault. Don’t be caught up by what’s on the outside. Grow into someone who sees what lies beneath.”

He quietly gazed down at the sleeping Cynthia.

The emotions that surfaced whenever he looked at Cynthia weren’t ones he could easily ignore.

But with time, they would fade just like the sorrow of childhood.

The feelings of pity, the unease—all of it.

‘Then I just need to get rid of everything that bothers me.’

Massera’s eyes, gleaming with murderous intent, sank into a chilling calm.

After confirming Cynthia was asleep, he silently headed out. Then he gave orders to his subordinates standing guard outside the door.

“...Around 8:25 PM, we were being followed. Search every inn nearby and find them.”

Pointing to his own head with his finger, he continued—

“Make sure I never see them again. Ever.”

***

The next day, Cynthia sat alone at a banquet held in the royal palace.

Massera was conversing with Medeia’s politicians, high-ranking officers, and royalty.

Due to the previous disagreement, a major investor had withdrawn from the development project, and a new investor had to be found.

Cynthia also tried to make a good impression by greeting the nobles around her and fortunately, some of them spoke Luthemian.

“Though you’ve walked a path of downfall due to the faults of your predecessors, seeing you strive to reclaim its lost glory inspires me to live just as diligently, Your Highness. You’ve given me a lot to reflect on.”

“To have survived as one of the last members of the royal family—you’re truly fortunate.”

Though their words weren’t exactly warm.

Their tone suggested that while marrying a war hero and putting in effort was admirable, she still didn’t deserve to be treated as an equal.

Unlike the Luthemian nobles who retained some respect for the Frost Queen, the haughty Medeian nobles saw the Variessa royal family as nothing but an object of ridicule.

‘As I thought—they don’t think well of me.’

Just then, a woman with thick, lustrous black hair styled up and dressed in an elegant gown spoke to Cynthia.

It was Princess Charlotte—the one who had sent a marriage proposal to Massera.

[“Do you perhaps not speak Medeian? I greeted you but didn’t get a response.”]

Cynthia, who had been lost in thought and missed her greeting, turned to look at her.

‘Is this a showdown with a power player eyeing the male lead?’

But no fierce battle would happen, and that was because she was playing the role of someone who didn’t know how to speak Medeian.

Cynthia, who often ran battle simulations in her head before bed, felt a bit disappointed.

“I don’t speak Medeian.”

Cynthia answered in Luthemian.

Princess Charlotte, who didn’t understand Luthemian, stared at Cynthia’s bright expression.

‘Does she not know I sent a marriage proposal to the brigadier general?’

After the war ended, the soldiers who had contributed to the victory enjoyed worldwide fame and rose rapidly through the ranks. The people of highest standings were all scrambling to form marriage ties with them.

Princess Charlotte was no different—her goal was to marry the most famous among them, Massera.

Given that a possible suitor was an old king who’d gone through three marriages and had thirty mistresses, it was no wonder she felt desperate.

‘I refuse to live as some old king’s woman.’

Another reason was that, unlike other officers who had affairs even after marrying, Massera’s private life was not just clean—it was practically ascetic.

‘But why would the brigadier general choose a fallen princess of all people? Could the rumor about him trying to revive the monarchy be true?’

The princess stared at Cynthia, her head filled with questions.

Once people realized Cynthia couldn’t understand Medeian, they began to openly belittle her.

[“She and Brigadier General Vicente didn’t particularly look like a close couple.”]

[“They’re just pretending to get along. There’s no way there’d be any good feelings between them—not after all the suffering the general went through because of the war started by her royal family.”]

[“She can’t even speak Medeian, the language her husband is so deeply connected to. I wonder how she plans to engage with others in the future.”]

Their tone was sweet enough that, to someone who didn’t understand, it could easily be mistaken for well-wishing.

[“Thank you for your kindness.”]

Cynthia even offered a clumsy thank-you in Medeian.

At that, Princess Charlotte frowned slightly and turned toward the chattering nobles.

[“What do you think you’re doing, speaking so rudely to a royal of another nation?”]

Cynthia’s innocent, oblivious expression suddenly made her look pitiable.

‘I suppose there’s no need to concern myself with a naive and clueless woman who doesn’t even know she’s being looked down on.’

Unaware that Cynthia understood every word being said, the princess sighed.

Having written her off as harmless, she had no idea what was actually going on in Cynthia’s mind.

‘Everyone who talked down on me—I’ve memorized every one of your faces.’