Chapter 51

“Noona’s awake. Uncle, you’re her husband, so you should go see her quickly.”

Why am I the uncle and she’s the noona? Shouldn’t she be the aunt?

In any case, Massera followed Eugene’s command and dragged his sleep-deprived, exhausted body to the bedroom.

Somehow, it felt like he was a criminal heading to court to receive his sentence.

‘I didn’t say anything wrong though.’

But he had hurt her, and that much was undeniable.

No matter what anyone said to her, she would always laugh it off like it was something ridiculous, but that day, she wore a bitterly pained expression.

The moment he recalled Cynthia’s sorrowful face, he squeezed his eyes shut.

When Major Rodriguez had asked, “Has Lady Cynthia ever experienced an air raid?” he had repeated what the Count had told him: “It’s just aftereffects from going on a hunt.”

And then that damned Major said—

“Regardless of the severity or seriousness of the incident that triggered it, the fact remains that she’s suffering, isn’t she?”

Massera felt a sharp pang of realization.

Wasn’t he, then, no better than a stranger—a husband who couldn’t even empathize with his own wife’s pain?

Of all people, it was the Major who made him realize that, and the guilt and shame over his own shortcomings soon welled up inside him.

Back on the cruise ship during their honeymoon, Cynthia had already told him about the things she feared.

“Gunshots, explosions, alarms—stuff like that…”

[P.S. — As for Cynthia bringing up an “air raid” that had nothing to do with her… Perhaps it was just a cute lie to get her husband’s attention since you’re known for taking such good care of war victims, General.]

After reading the Count’s letter, he simply thought she had deceived him.

He’d forgotten that those suffering from war trauma are often viewed as defective even by their own families.

Especially if the person in question is a daughter meant to be married off.

If the one who lied was actually the Count, then that day’s alarm and explosion must have been a massive trigger for her.

Suppressing his uneasy emotions, he stepped into the bedroom, only to hastily retreat a moment later.

“...”

Through the crack in the open bedroom door, he saw Cynthia with her head bowed low, her tears dripping down and soaking the bandage wrapped around her hand.

‘Did I make her cry again? Because of me?’

That was it—he was guilty as charged. Sentence confirmed.

He knew how to command troops and devise military strategies, but not a thing about comforting a crying woman.

As he returned to his office with heavy steps, Diego spoke to him.

“Did you just come from seeing the princess?”

“No.”

He had seen her, but Massera shook his head.

Diego, who had been tiptoeing around the couple during their cold war, finally rebuked him.

“Isn’t it about time you made up with her? What will you do if rumors about marital discord start spreading already?”

Massera kept his gaze fixed outside the window and didn’t answer.

As his aide, Diego had a rough idea as to why he’d married Cynthia.

‘Of course he had to be cold towards her. It was what everyone expected, after all.’

However, Princess Cynthia was simply not someone he could treat heartlessly.

Diego, too, had tried to act businesslike in line with his superior’s wishes…

‘But it’s not so easy.’

With her innocent smile and gentle expression, there wasn’t a trace of noble pretense in her easygoing personality.

Even the servants of the residence who once insulted her or tried to harass her had eventually been won over.

“I was the one who ruined Your Highness’s shoes. I did it because I hated you so much back then. I’m sorry.”

“Huh? I had no idea. I thought they were just defective.”

To begin with, Cynthia herself never noticed when others tried to harass her.

She also didn’t seem to care much about people’s negativity either.

There had even been people who did nasty things like putting thumbtacks in her shoes or pouring slippery soap on the floor.

But every time, Cynthia would randomly wear different shoes, or an unfortunate maid would end up slipping instead, leading to the revelation of the culprit. One way or another, she always managed to avoid every trap by sheer coincidence.

It was as if some divine protection surrounded her—something unexplainable that made her untouchable.

Diego clutched the “Phoenix Feather Pen of Longevity” Cynthia had gifted him and gave a word of advice.

“General, forgive my overstepping, but wouldn’t it be worth trying to get along with the princess?”

“Aren’t I already treating her well enough? I give her food, and I let her stay in a warm room. Expecting more would be greedy.”

Massera shot Diego a cold glance.

‘Even my own aide is saying the same thing Queen Medeia did.’

Did she have some power to manipulate everyone into liking her?

At this rate, she might turn everyone in the residence to her side and take control of it altogether.

‘Aside from being pretty, kind, sociable, and somewhat clever, what else is there to see in her?’

As his thoughts spiraled, a flash of realization crossed Massera’s face, and he irritably ruffled his hair.

“…She got me.”

It had to be her mind control and manipulation. That’s what he wanted to believe.

Lost in thought, Massera turned to Diego and asked—

“Was I in the wrong?”

“I don’t know what you fought about, but as the husband, you absolutely have to say it was your fault.”

Yeah, it probably was my fault.

After all, he had prematurely judged her and said cruel things when she was someone willing to risk her own life to save a child.

And instead of asking her directly about her struggles, he’d believed only the Count’s letter and misunderstood.

No matter who the other person was, Massera believed he should own up to the wrongs he had committed.

Seeing him deeply furrow his brows in reflection, Diego made a suggestion.

“Why not make it up to her by giving her flowers and a gift?”

“You think I’d do something so embarrassing?”

Massera stood up, his brows twisting into a fierce scowl.

Though he spoke as if he'd never give such a gift, he then asked—

“But what kind of gift would be good?”

“It’s best to get the princess something she likes, but in general, sparkly things work well. Shall I go instead?”

Massera sighed and slung his coat over his shoulders.

“I’ve got errands anyway, so I’ll just go myself.”

***

On his way into the city, Massera stood blankly in front of the flower shop for a long while.

‘I’ve never bought flowers for anyone nor have I ever stepped into a place like this.’

It felt as daunting as walking straight into enemy territory.

[Sonnenschirm Flower Shop]

TL/N: “Sonnenschirm” is a type of yellow rose and the name itself is also German for “parasol”

Even the shop’s name made him not want to go in.

“What are you hesitating for? Be a man and come on in.”

But the shop owner, a big man holding a tiny potted plant, egged him on and before he knew it, Massera had stepped inside.

“What kind of flowers are you looking for?”

“Uh, I don’t know much about flowers. Something white.”

“Is it for a memorial?”

“No.”

“Who are they for?”

Massera cleared his throat with a composed face.

“They’re for my wife.”

The flower shop owner burst into laughter.

“You’re becoming a romantic, I see. The start is always hard, but once you see your beloved’s happy smile, you’ll feel like you rule the world. There’s joy not just in receiving, but in giving, too.”

‘He talks too much. I’m never coming back here.’

Massera made that resolve in his mind.

It was as irritating as those sales clerks who won’t stop hovering around you, and the discomfort was beyond words.

“Sir, how about baby’s breath? Its flower meaning is ‘moments of love’—”

“That’ll do.”

“And what ribbon would you like?”

“Please, just take care of it yourself.”

Massera, wanting to get out of there fast, hurried him along.

After quickly buying the bouquet of baby’s breath, Massera dropped by the Capital Defense Command to investigate the recent gas explosion at a factory and ended up getting relentlessly teased.

“A bouquet?! Wow, marriage has really turned you into a total romantic!”

“I never thought I’d see the day the General bought flowers. So this is the charming side to the princess’s man.”

Massera felt a deep sense of regret.

‘I shouldn’t have bought the flowers first.’

He endured the shame and humiliation as he met with the intelligence officer to receive the briefing on the explosion.

“The explosion occurred at a firearms manufacturing plant where spies had been running illegal trades. It seems conflict broke out with an arms smuggling organization, and during that clash, a gas explosion occurred. The dealers and the spies were all caught in it and died.”

Massera reviewed the photos of the deceased, who had been identified as spies.

“...”

Among the identified people was someone who had been tailing them near the ferris wheel in Medeia.

After he had ordered them to be tracked and eliminated, it seemed this one had narrowly escaped, but eventually died here.

“It seems like the radical Liberty Council includes remnants of the fallen imperial faction.”

At Massera’s words, the intelligence officer in charge of the investigation nodded.

“We issued orders to disband the Liberty Council after the attack at your engagement ceremony, but it looks like they are still operating in secret.”

The intelligence officer added a warning.

“They may target your wife, so please be cautious, General.”

On his way back from the briefing, Massera paused outside a jewelry store, his eyes caught by an opal hairpin on display.

“Something sparkly.”

That was what Diego had recommended.

The opal, white at a glance but shimmering with subtle colors, reminded him of Cynthia somehow.

After buying the hairpin, he stopped again—this time in front of a dessert shop.

“Something to eat.”

It was something Cynthia enjoyed.

He bought a chocolate cake topped with plenty of cherries, recalling her saying something about how delicious cherries were.

Leaving the dessert shop, Massera caught his reflection in the window and flinched. He was holding a cute cake box and a ribbon-wrapped bouquet.

The sight of himself like that was unbearable. He wanted to hurry back before anyone else saw him like this.

After buying the last item—materials to build a cat house—he finally headed back to the residence.

And the moment he stepped into the front garden, he spotted Cynthia smiling brightly at Brigadier General Steve—the very man who always picked fights with him.

She was free to smile, of course, but for some reason, irritation surged within him.